Criminal Minds Fic #3: The One told from Hotch’s Point of View
Title: The One told from Hotch’s Point of View
Author: myrna1_2_3
Pairing: Rossi/Reid
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The ubiquitous hurt/comfort fic
Word count: ~8,000
"I cannot play with you," the fox said, "I am not tamed."
From The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint Exupéry
Hotch stepped out of the hotel shower and out of reflex stuck his head out of the bathroom door to see if he’d received a phone call while he was showering.
He and Rossi were in Kansas to interview Harold Melkin who was serving three life sentences for a string of nursing home murders in the last eighties. He’d played coy with law enforcement personnel for years, and usually cooperated only when his ego flared up because he’d been out of the spotlight for too long. Still, there was always something to be learned from the criminally insane, even when they thought they were pulling a con.
The phone indicated that there was, indeed, a message, so Aaron checked the screen and frowned. It was a text was from Garcia and said Please phone asap-private, which meant she didn’t want to be on speaker phone when Hotch called.
He hit Recall and Garcia answered before the first ring ended. “Thanks for calling so quickly, Hotch,” she said, and Aaron’s concern clicked up a notch. No ‘Ahoy there Captain,’ or ‘Bonjour Monsieur Cappyton.’ It was never good news when Garcia cut to the chase.
“Can you talk?” she continued.
“I’m still in my room, Garcia,” Hotch said. “I’m meeting Rossi for breakfast in 15 minutes.”
“Sorry for the cloak and dagger,” she said, her tone moving to its more chipper norm. “Just didn’t want to needlessly alarm our revered Mr. Rossi. Spencer looked like death warmed over when Morgan and I went over last night. He wouldn’t hear a word of going to the doctor though, so this morning, Morgan hog tied him when he walked out the front door and bundled him over to the ER. It looks like they’re going to keep him there for a bit. We’ve set up a pool here in the office and odds are on a pneumonia diagnosis, with Morgan taking malaria as the long shot.”
Hotch chuckled even through his concern. “We’re scheduled for two more days here, should we cut it short?”
Garcia paused, and the pause was enough of an answer that Hotch started gathering up his toiletries. “I don’t want Rossi fretting the whole trip home or anything, but…you know how it is with Reid. One day everything’s fine, the next he’s allergic to the two in O2…I think maybe Rossi should come home.”
Hotch said, “Book us both on the first flight to DC. Harold Melkin isn’t going anywhere for the next 150 years.”
“I’m a step ahead of you,” Garcia said. “You’re on American 538 at 10:30 in to Dulles.”
“Thanks, Garcia.”
“One more thing, Boss. I got off the phone with Morgan about five minutes before you called. He had to leave the waiting area to get cell reception, so tell Rossi in that civil, diplomatic way of yours not to freak out if he can’t reach Spencer.”
Hotch snorted in amusement. “You’re the one he’ll unload on when he can’t get through,” he warned her.
“I will be bracing for impact from the moment we disconnect.”
Rossi was reading the paper in the hotel restaurant as Hotch approached his table. He looked up and saw Hotch with his bag slung over his shoulder. “Live one?” he said, pushing back from the table.
“Ah, hold on a second,” Hotch said. “I just got off the phone with Garcia. Reid wasn’t feeling well, and when he went to get checked out, the hospital decided to admit...”
“Wait, wait, stop,” Rossi said, shaking his head. “I talked to Spencer last night. He had a cold. Morgan and Garcia were coming over for dinner, and…”
“They wanted him to see someone last night but he wouldn’t. I guess this morning, Morgan just chucked him over to the ER.”
Rossi was still shaking his head with a grimace of irritation at the inconvenience of having to prove Hotch wrong. He pulled out his phone and looked at the display. “There’s no message,” he said, as if that was proof that Aaron was mistaken.
“No cell phone reception at the hospital,” Hotch said. “I just got off the phone with Garcia. Morgan is with him, and they’re waiting to get a room assigned.”
“Why the hell did she call you?” Rossi groused. He forcefully pushed back from the table and a glass of water tipped over.
Hotch quickly reached over and set it upright, grabbing a couple of napkins to sop up the water. “I must be on speed dial,” he said wryly.
Rossi looked slightly chagrinned as he waited for Garcia to pick up. “What’s up?” he said into the phone. He gave Hotch a wave as he headed toward the elevators, returning to his room to pack his things.
He was back in the lobby 15 minutes later, still trying to raise Reid on his phone.
“Leave any skin on Garcia?” Hotch asked mildly, as they stowed their bags in the trunk of a taxi.
Rossi gave a look of mock affront. “I’m not one to shoot the messenger.”
“Pardon me, I don’t believe we’ve met,” Hotch said, extending a hand that Rossi brushed aside with a smirk as he got in the cab.
He shook his head at Hotch. “I’m gonna throttle him when we get home. He’s coughin’ up a lung last night; can barely stand upright, and he digs in at Morgan and Garcia like a two-year-old who doesn’t wanna go night-night.”
“I’m sure he just thought…”
“Don’t stick up for him,” Rossi said, still working the speed dial on his phone. “He’s a fucking idiot. I am continually amazed that someone with off-the-chart intelligence can lack the most fundamental levels of common sense…”
Hotch had to stifle a belly laugh when Reid obviously picked up the phone. Rossi’s entire physical being-from tone to facial features to body language-melted as soon as he heard Reid’s voice. “Hey, Babe, what’s goin’ on?” he asked gently. “Yeah? Where are you now?...Is Morgan still with you? Good...When do they think they’ll get you a room?” Rossi made a sour face. “Flash your badge around. A God damned Federal Agent of the United States of America shouldn’t be cooling his heels in a waiting room, coughin’ up a lung…I don’t think you’re protecting and defending anyone by letting them get x-rayed before you…Well, Morgan’s right…Fine, we’ll agree to disagree on that.”
“No, Hotch and I are heading back. The flight leaves at 10:30 so I should make it to the hospital by 3:30, four at the latest…” Now Rossi’s face clouded into anger, though his tone was still fairly mild. “Well, news flash, Einstein, this is what you do when your partner is in the hospital. You get a call some day that I’ve keeled over in my oatmeal, you’re gettin’ your ass on a plane and comin’ home, all right?...You don’t know that--I might start eating oatmeal…Are we seriously gonna have a fight right now about whether or not you’re calling off work when I’m on my death bed?... I’ll tell you what-you admit you’ll come home if I’m ever laid out, this is a discussion; you insist on leaving me all alone in some God forsaken hospital room, it’s a fight…Thank you…They give you any idea how long you’ll have to stay-this just overnight or…Yeah, I know, worse than attorneys aren’t they?”
Rossi looked over at Hotch with a grin that morphed into a chuckle at Hotch’s We are not amused glare.
“I know, Babe,” Rossi said into the phone. “That’s easy enough to fix, though. Just let Morgan pick you up a change of clothes at the house…Why?...Sweetheart, it’s not like he thinks you’re sleeping in the chandelier… I mean he got the last puzzle piece he needed when he helped you move in a year ago… Okay, fine, seven months, four days…You’re being ridiculous--Victorian spinsters were less uptight than you are…No, no, you’re right, it isn’t fair to assume spinsters were more uptight than anyone else…Are you going to let Morgan get you the clothes or not? All right, good…I assume Prentiss already nabbed the dog?... We should probably do a tox screen to make sure she didn’t slip you something just to get her mitts on him…We’re at the airport now. I’ll have the phone on for another hour, so call if you need me, okay? And leave me a voice mail when you get your room number, and I’ll see you in a few hours…I love you…What me too? That’s bullshit, say it back…I don’t care--Aaron’s sitting right here next to me. I want the full treatment…So what, you’d rather he think you’re livin’ with some guy of whom you’re quite fond? Say it…There now, was that so hard?”
Hotch could tell by the way Rossi jerked his ear from the phone that Reid had hung up on him. Rossi was grinning as he slid the phone in to his pocket.
“Seems mean to torment him when he’s sick,” Hotch said.
Rossi laughed. “It’s good for him.” He made a face and gestured at the phone in his pocket. “Tells me there’s no reason to cut the trip short. What the hell is that?”
Hotch shrugged. “He’s used to fending for himself.”
“Don’t stick up for him!” Rossi said again. “I swear to God, if he were a puppy there is not an inch of the BAU that wouldn’t be peed on, chewed up, or totally trashed.” Rossi lifted his bag onto his shoulder and headed toward the security gate. “Besides,” he grumbled. “I’m the last God damned sap on the planet he needs to be protected from.”
Flying commercial was a pain in the ass when you were armed law enforcement; unless you had Garcia paving your way. Within the hour, Rossi and Hotch were buckled up and ready for takeoff. Hotch muttered an inward Thank God when Rossi turned off his phone and slipped it into his pocket. Between Rossi’s checking for messages every few minutes and nervously flipping the case open and shut and open and shut, Hotch was getting ready to hurl the damn thing into the nearest toilet.
Hotch grinned to himself, moved-even through the irritation--by Rossi’s obvious concern for his partner. Funny to think he had been worried about Reid when his relationship with Rossi began-though not really because of anything particular about Rossi, but rather because of how different the two of them were.
Underneath the intellect and the awkwardness, there was something about Reid-a formality of speech and body language--that made him seem of another era. When he first met Reid, Hotch had theorized that Reid’s parents were older, perhaps in their late 40’s when he had been born. Learning that Reid had been raised with a schizophrenic mother wasn’t a shocking moment, so much as an “ah-ha” one where the pieces finally clicked into place. Reid’s quiet, deliberate ways had been borne of a childhood that had no time nor place for impulsiveness or exuberance. And besides, Hotch had an idea that the majority of Reid’s social cues had been gleaned from books published a century or two earlier.
Hotch had always pegged Rossi’s style as, well, 1970’s swinger. It certainly seemed an incongruous match to Reid’s demeanor, but Rossi was nothing if not a world-famous profiler-a world-famous profiler, it appeared, who had no trouble recognizing Reid’s old fashioned ideas about relationships.
“I tell you, he’s courting him,” Prentiss had reported one morning in the break room. They had just come back from a case in…God, somewhere…and they’d all been watching Reid and Rossi with growing curiosity. “All with the chivalry and the ‘if you please’ and ‘may I have the honor.’ It’s sweet. Disturbing, too, don’t get me wrong. But sweet.”
“He’s taming our Reid,” Garcia had cooed. She had demanded details the moment Prentiss stepped through the door for a cup of coffee. “Like the fox in the Little Prince. Every day Rossi sits a little closer and a little closer…”
“You become responsible forever for what you have tamed,” Prentiss had said sagely.
“I love that book,” Garcia had sighed.
Morgan had sighed too, but there was more exasperation to his. Before he could say anything, Garcia snapped at him. “If you say one more time that Reid can’t be mixin’ it up with Rossi because he hasn’t cleared it with you…” She rolled her eyes at the ridiculousness of the very idea.
“What could you possibly do to me, Baby Girl?” Morgan had asked with a smirk.
Garcia smiled sweetly at him. “Ask me that the next time you’re sitting in a swanky restaurant with one of your honeys and your credit card is declined, my dearest darling.”
“You know how I hate to be the voice of reason or getting back to work,” Hotch had said. “But I’m sure Reid and Rossi wouldn’t appreciate all of you speculating about the two of them.”
Prentiss snorted. “Rossi doesn’t want us speculating about him,” she had agreed. “I’m surprised he’s not hosting weekly seminars to help us discover new and better ways to speculate about him and Reid.”
“For God’s sake,” JJ had quickly broken in. “Do not even joke about that around Rossi or we’ll be sitting around with 25 page PowerPoint presentations by the end of the day. Annotated footnotes and all.”
“Ooo, but maybe there’ll be a video accompaniment!” Prentiss had said hopefully.
“There’s no video,” a thoroughly disgruntled Garcia said. She clearly felt eyes on her demanding further explanation. She had looked offended. “It’s not like I looked for one!” she said. “Not intently. Over an extended period of time.” She had shrugged with mild superiority. “That would be rude.”
Morgan refilled his coffee cup. “You know, for as much as fraternization rules get tossed in my direction…” he had muttered.
Prentiss, JJ and Garcia all rolled their eyes at the complaint. “Reid’s the only one who ever tosses those your way,” JJ said. “Obviously he’s been sublimating.”
“Transferring,” Prentiss had corrected in a stage whisper.
“What’s the difference again?” JJ asked.
“Sublimating,” Hotch had said. “As in, the BAU team sublimated their insatiable thirst for gossip with an insatiable thirst for completing backlogged expense reports in a timely fashion.”
That broke up the coffee klatch, except for Emily who stood in the doorway shaking her head at Hotch.
“What?” Hotch had asked, more defensiveness in his tone than he liked.
“You!” Prentiss had said. “Acting like you couldn’t be less interested in Reid and Rossi if you tried.”
“Beyond the supervisory issues it might present, I’m not,” Hotch had said.
Prentiss had tossed her head back in disbelief. “Pah-leeze! Contortionists would kill to be able to twist themselves into the position you were in last night trying to watch them on the plane.”
“There was a noise over the wing,” Hotch had said.
“So why were you looking at Reid and Rossi at the back of the plane?”
Hotch had felt a tug at the corner of his mouth. “All right, maybe I’ve got an eye peeled. Rossi is hardly Reid’s speed, is he? I don’t think Reid has any idea…”
“Not you too,” Prentiss had groaned. “You and Morgan with this idea that Rossi might take advantage of our timid little Reid. Rossi is totally, 100 percent, certifiably besotted. Reid hiccups and the man acts like a national holiday should be declared.”
Hotch had a hard time believing that. “What?”
“Rossi’s lucky Reid has no clue. Can you imagine Reid wielding his powers for evil?”
Hotch had paid a little closer attention after that and had realized that Prentiss was right-about Rossi’s degree of infatuation and Reid’s obliviousness to it. There was something sweetly comedic about it, and Hotch had come to agree with Emily that Rossi was lucky Reid was both naïve and inherently kind enough not to use Dave’s feelings against him.
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“Where are you going?” Hotch asked after they debarked the plane. Rossi was heading toward the escalator to baggage claim. “The car’s this way.”
“I was gonna catch a cab,” Rossi answered.
“I drove us here from the office,” Hotch reminded him.
“And yet, I can still take a cab to the hospital. Which is across town from where you live.”
“Shut up,” Hotch said.
Rossi laughed and fell in to step with Hotch. “I’m not really gonna throttle him-you know that, right?” he said, as they neared the car.
Hotch smirked at him and motioned for him to get in. He’d opened his door when he heard Rossi’s sharp inhale, as if he’d stepped of the curb and nearly lost his footing. Hotch looked over to see had happened, but Rossi was frozen with a hand outstretched toward the door.
He gruffly cleared his throat and wouldn’t look at Hotch when he spoke. “Aaron… Garcia didn’t… tell you somethin’ I don’t know yet, did she?”
“Dave, no, absolutely not.”
Rossi nodded, eyes still averted. He swiped at his goatee, nodding to some inward conversation and got in the car.
They ran in to Morgan heading toward them down the hall. “Hey, guys!” he said. “I was just getting ready to call you. Cell phone reception is spotty in Reid’s room. There’s an area down the way where the reception works best.”
“What’s wrong?” Rossi asked. He’d been growing more nervous as they’d approached the hospital, not less as Hotch had assumed.
“Aw, man, sorry,” Morgan said quickly. “I was just calling with an update. He’s feeling pretty crappy, but it looks like they’re done pokin’ and proddin’. Now they’re just pumpin’ him full of meds.”
Rossi jogged the rest of the way to Reid’s room, but forced himself to slow down and walk calmly inside.
Reid was lying flat on the bed, an oxygen mask covering his nose and mouth. Rossi muttered, “Jesus,” as he tossed his bag to the side and moved to Reid’s side.
Reid was panting for breath and restless with discomfort, and the naked cry of relief he gave when he caught sight of Rossi made Hotch smile. No reason to cut short your trip indeed.
Rossi leaned down and kissed Reid’s forehead, running a hand through Reid’s hair. “I leave you alone for a few nights and you gotta scare the shit outta me?” Rossi said. His words may have been coarse, but his touch was gentle, his gaze revealingly tender.
“Sorry,” Reid whispered.
Rossi quickly perused the room, noting the pile of books on the bedside table and an overnight bag of Reid’s. He cast a grateful look at Morgan who seemed embarrassed. He waved away the look.
Morgan leaned around Rossi and said. “I’m done with my babysittin’ for the day.” He clapped Rossi on the shoulder. “Good luck, my man,” he said. “And hey, sorry about Much. I tried to grab him, but Prentiss is mean, and she bites.”
“Understood,” Rossi said. “Thanks. I owe you, all right?” He obviously didn't want Morgan brushing off the gratitude.
Morgan started to go, but Reid reached for his sleeve, looking slightly self-conscious. “I might have been slightly aggravated earlier,” he said diffidently.
“Might?” Morgan echoed.
“So, if I said things that were…”
“Cruel,” Morgan supplied helpfully.
“Well… I just want to say…well, you totally deserved it!”
“What!” Morgan yelped, laughing in spite of himself. “I saved your life, Pretty Boy! You’d be drowning in your own phlegm if I hadn’t swooped in and saved the day!”
“I’d be asleep in my own bed is where I’d be!” Reid protested. “You and Garcia are alarmists!”
“This from the kid whose lung x-ray had to be taken three times because the tech couldn’t believe it was for someone who hadn’t been under water for the last three days.”
“Alarmist!” Reid repeated.
“Yeah, I’ll collect on what you owe me later,” Morgan said. “Hang tight.”
A nurse walked in as Morgan was leaving, and she paused and watched him go, leaning around the door as he loped down the hall. When she turned back into the room, Reid, Rossi and Hotch were all looking at her.
“Did I come in here for a reason?” she asked.
Rossi extended his hand. “I’m Dave Rossi,” he said. “Spencer’s…”
“Ahh, the intimidating boyfriend. The lovely Mr. Morgan warned us about you,” she said with a smile.
“Intimidating?” Rossi repeated. “I’m a teddy bear.”
Perhaps Reid’s coughing jag was a coincidence, but the timing of it did seem comically precise. As he struggled to breathe through the fit, the nurse brought an oxygen mask to his face and held it gently to his nose and mouth.
“Mr. Reid, you use that oxygen when you need it, okay? Take lots of shallow breaths. You probably can’t take a good deep breath right now, and that can make you feel panicky, which makes it harder to breathe, which makes you panicky…you get the idea, right? So the best thing right now is to just stick to those shallow breaths. The leads will tell us if you really aren’t getting oxygen and it’ll take us about 10 seconds to get to you. That’ll be about 8 seconds too long for your partner here, but don’t you worry, okay?”
Reid nodded carefully. His stomach growled, and he blushed and smiled apologetically at the nurse.
“Can he eat something?” Rossi asked.
The nurse looked Reid up and down and shrugged. “Well, on the one hand he’s got teeth and a mouth, so I’d say yes. On the other, it sure doesn’t look like he knows how to use ‘em.”
Reid glared at Rossi who held his hands out in a gesture of innocence. “Hey, I just got here!”
The nurse winked at Rossi. “No diet restrictions. The antibiotics might make him nauseous so nothing too complex.”
Hotch chuckled. “I can run downstairs and get something. What sounds good?”
Reid said nothing, frowning in concentration as Rossi helped him pull on a pajama top. “How about a strawberry milkshake,” Rossi said, but it wasn’t much of a question.
Reid nodded absently, then said in a hoarse voice, “And French fries.”
Rossi smiled at him like he’d said something brilliant, and Hotch heard Emily’s voice in his head. Reid hiccups and the man acts like a national holiday should be declared. “Yeah? French fries sound good?” he said. He nodded at Hotch. “And French fries,” he said. “Thanks.”
When Hotch got back with Reid’s food, Reid was sitting up in the bed, leaning forward with Rossi holding the oxygen mask to his face with one hand and rubbing his back with the other. It was a toss up whose face was grayer.
“Everything okay?” Hotch asked, concerned at the flecks of blood he could see on the oxygen mask.
Rossi nodded. “Yeah, we’re good,” he said, sounding anything but.
Hotch set the food down on the bedside tray, feeling ill at ease while Rossi set the oxygen aside an fetched a washcloth for Reid. Rossi moved the tray closer to Reid and slid the straw through the lid of the cup.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat fries,” Rossi said, clearly amused. He turned to Hotch, “When I met Reid, he only ate five things,” he said.
Reid smirked at Rossi as Hotch counted off on his fingers. “Coffee, espresso, cappuccino, latte… what’s the fifth?”
Reid narrowed his eyes at Hotch. “I have noticed a serious up tick in your sardonic side since Dave returned to the Bureau.”
Hotch nodded in agreement. “I’m probably speaking out of turn, but as his supervisor, I can confirm more than one mention in his personnel file of his being a bad influence on others.”
Reid made a noise that sounded like, “Hrmph.” Then he said, “I only like French fries when I’m sick. Morgan said for him it’s macaroni and cheese.”
“I’m an old fashioned chicken soup guy,” Hotch said. He winked at Reid and pointed at Rossi. “What does David Rossi consider comfort food, filet mignon? Goose liver pate?”
“You’re a laugh riot, Hotchner,” Rossi said dryly.
Hotch said to Reid in a conspiratorial tone, “I once saw him pay $125 for a hamburger.”
Reid grinned in delight. “In Italy, he ate a $45 dollar slice of pizza!” he reported with an excited bounce.
“Et tu?” Rossi said to Reid. He looked over at Hotch. “I’ll have you know Dr. Spencer Reid of the PhD in Mathematics messed up the exchange rate. I had no idea what I was paying for that pizza.”
“I was off by four cents!” an indignant Reid exclaimed. “The exchange rate was adjusted that morning!”
Rossi sniffed. “A man makes decisions based on information presented as fact.”
Reid just shook his head as he pushed the tray table away from him and settled back against his pillow.
Rossi frowned at the barely-touched food on the tray. “Can’t you eat a little more?” he asked.
Reid shook his head. “Tastes funny.”
“Come on, a few more bites,” Rossi said, his voice deepening to a coaxing timber.
“Hm mm,” Reid said.
“Just a little more?” Rossi said. “For me?”
Reid’s eyes widened, and he cast a sideways look toward Hotch then back to Rossi. The look turned horrified when it seemed like Rossi might be reaching for a fry.
Hotch cleared his throat as Rossi’s finger twitched, and Hotch could swear he heard the riff from The Good, the Bad and the Ugly playing faintly in the background. Reid looked nervously from Rossi to Hotch and back to Rossi. Hotch spoke in a deadly serious voice. “If you feed him a French fry, I will fire you.” Rossi blinked slowly, but otherwise gave no indication he’d even heard, so Hotch continued in a tone that had broken serial killers and madmen alike. “And I will see to it that you never work in law enforcement again.”
Rossi moved his head like he was working out a kink in his neck and slid both hands into his trouser pockets. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said smoothly.
“Honestly,” Reid muttered as he grabbed another fry and ate it. He pushed the tray further away with a look toward Rossi that dared him to say anything. Rossi shrugged with exaggerated innocence.
Reid reached toward the bedside table and handed Rossi a book so old the spine barely held the pages together. Rossi glanced at the title and smirked at Reid. “More comfort food,” he said, shooing Reid over in the bed so he could sit down. Once he was stretched out on the bed and Reid was settled against his side, Rossi kissed the top of Reid’s head and opened the book.
Hotch stood up. “Well, this is so precious, I’m actually getting nauseous, so I’d better go,” he said.
Reid turned and snickered into Rossi’s side. “Thanks for coming, Hotch,” he said, voice muffled.
“Feel better,” Hotch said as he buttoned up his coat and headed out the door. He paused on the other side of the door and listened, just for a moment, as Rossi softly read to his partner.
I feel that there is much to be said for the Celtic belief that the souls of those whom we have lost are held captive in some inferior being, in an animal, in a plant, in some inanimate object, and so effectively lost to us until the day (which to many never comes) when we happen to pass by the tree or to obtain possession of the object which forms their prison.
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Driving home from the hospital, Hotch thought it a shame there wasn’t an activity of Jack’s he could attend by surprise. He was making an effort to push aside all of the crap that had held him at bay from Jack and just be there for his son. Things could still be touch and go with Haley--if he showed up late for something, Haley’s attitude was See?; if he showed up early, it was Why couldn’t you have done this before?. But lately, they’d settled into peaceful coexistence. The relationship with the man Haley was seeing-Nick-had grown serious, and she told Aaron that they were planning to marry in the summer.
Nick was an okay guy; he was good to Jack and that was the only litmus test Aaron afforded himself. He was in medical sales; safe to be sure. But jeez, what did it say about you when Aaron Hotchner found you boring? Oh, well, maybe there was another litmus test or two to be had.
Aaron found himself grinning as he remembered the pre-school play he’d attended the week before. He’d arrived 15 minutes or so before the start Why couldn’t you have done this before? and traded banal chitchat with Haley and Nick, but managed to excuse himself to the restroom a few minutes before the production started. When he returned to the auditorium, he had to (thankfully) sit several rows back from Haley and Nick. They’d already mentioned joining them for dinner after the show, and while Hotch appreciated the offer, the thought of it was suffocating.
Still, he saw them whispering and chuckling as the performance started, and he felt a wave of-it wasn’t jealousy-nostalgia was more like it. He remembered what it was like to have a co-conspirator at silly events like this.
Hotch was sitting next to a woman around his age who’d obviously just arrived from an office job. He didn’t recognize her, though most of the parents were starting to look familiar to him. At first, he thought she was crying during the show, and he made a mental note to change seats at the intermission. Sure, the kids were cute, but come on.
During a break in the action someone sitting on the other side of the woman elbowed her hard enough that she brushed Hotch’s shoulder. The pusher hissed, “Would you stop it?”
“I can’t help it!” the woman next to Hotch whispered back, and Hotch realized then that she’d been laughing.
“They’re four!”
“I know that! It wouldn’t be so funny if the parents didn’t think they were all little Brandos up there.”
Hotch coughed a laugh and she looked over at him. “Sorry,” she said. Hotch waved away the apology in complete and total understanding. “My niece is the rock,” she said, pointing to a tiny girl with frizzy blond hair.
Aaron laughed again in spite of himself. “I think she’s supposed to be a potato,” he said.
The woman nodded slowly. “Oh, yeah, okay. The duet with the butter makes more sense now. Which one’s yours?”
“The broccoli,” Hotch said pointing to a group of vegetables waiting for the show to restart. He winced as Jack made an abrupt turn and one of his stalks smacked a carrot in the back of the head.
“Just applying to Ivy Leagues or are we gonna give some of the state schools a whirl?” the woman asked politely and Hotch laughed again as she was elbowed once more in the side.
“I’m not worried,” Hotch confided. “His forte is playing breads and other cereals.”
“I can see that. He’s got the build for it.” She took a closer look at Hotch from head to toe, then guessed, “Fed?”
Hotch nodded with feigned resignation as she laughed and sat back with an air of defeat. “Ah, shoot, and it was going so well between us,” she said with a sigh.
“Career criminal?” Hotch made a stab at her employment.
She shook her head. “Worse. I’m an associate director for the ACLU.”
Hotch nodded in understanding. “Hard at work reversing all my arrests?”
“I wish!” she joked. “I’m in Employment Practices. Not quite as sexy as freeing all those innocent death-row inmates.”
“It’s funny,” said Hotch. “You don’t look like a godless hippie.”
She nodded sympathetically. “I know. You should see me when I’m dressed for work, though.” She offered her hand. “Laurie McLean.”
“Aaron Hotchner,” he said, then added with an air of farewell. “Nice knowing you.”
Laurie laughed. “Well, we’ll always have “Our Vegetables, Ourselves,” won’t we?”
“There is comfort in that,” Hotch had agreed.
Then the kids had begun the second…third?... act and their attention returned to the stage. Laurie turned to Hotch after the curtain call. “I’m sure I’ll see you again,” she said, handing Hotch her business card. “There are five other food groups after all. But if you’re ever up for some hands-on, food-group practicum, give me a call.”
Stunned for a moment, Aaron took the card, but before he had a chance to politely decline, Laurie’s niece came racing up.
“Lolly, did you see me?” she called. “I only forgotted the part about tanassium!”
“You were awesome!” Laurie said excitedly.
Jack came toddling up then, still encased in his broccoli costume. “Dad! Did you see? I made the strong muscles and the healthy bones come!”
“You sure did. I’m proud of you! You kinda knocked that candy bar over pretty hard, didn’t you? Did you make sure she was okay?”
“Yeah, that’s why she gots a pillow on under her wrapper. Come on, Dad! Mommy says we’re havin’ pizza for dinner! You haveta come too!”
Aaron did end up having dinner with Jack, Haley and Nick and the awkwardness was manageable, at least. He could picture the future now-he could see how he and Nick would coexist, and that brought some peace of mind. Jack was a smart, happy kid. Well-adjusted. Aaron liked him, and somehow that made the overwhelming sense of failure less acute. After months-years if he were to be honest-of uncertainty and doubt, Aaron was finally starting to regain a sense of equanimity.
Pulling into his driveway, Hotch acknowledged that he might not be deliriously happy, but he wasn’t hopelessly miserable either. He snorted at himself. Kinda sad to consider “not hopelessly miserable” as a step-up, but there you go. He thought suddenly of Rossi’s pinched, worried face and his anxious demeanor throughout their flight home. Sharing your life with someone didn’t guarantee smooth sailing, did it? Maybe it wasn’t so bad returning home to an empty house at the end of a long day.
==================================================================
Hotch was at the office the next morning by 7:15, but there was already a voice mail message waiting for him. An exhausted-sounding Rossi said Reid had had a bad night and he wouldn’t be in until later. Frowning, Hotch checked the time stamp of the call-6:45 that morning-and dialed Rossi’s cell phone.
Rossi picked up on the first ring. “Hey, what’s going on?” Hotch asked.
Rossi sighed, “Hey,” he said. Aaron heard him speaking to someone in the room with him. “I’m going to take this out in the hall.” Aaron couldn’t make out the response, other than it came from a female voice. “You there?” Rossi asked a moment later.
“Yeah, how’s Reid?”
“Doing a pretty good impression of the girl from the Exorcist right now.”
“Oh, no. He okay?”
“He will be as soon as they light on an antibiotic that doesn’t make his head spin around and pea soup come flyin’ out of his mouth.”
Hotch chuckled. “What can I do?”
“Nothin’ thanks, we’re good,” Rossi said. “Just call me if you need me.”
“I will,” said Hotch. “Reid up for visitors?”
“What do you think will happen if I say no?”
“Pretty much the same thing that’ll happen if you say yes.”
Rossi laughed. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. I don’t suppose anyone’s heading out of town anytime soon?”
“Not today, anyway. Look, if Reid really isn’t up for it, let me know, okay? I’ll run interference.”
“Can’t imagine anyone will show until lunchtime. Hopefully he’ll feel better by then.”
“All right. I’ll stop by after work tonight, take you out for a reasonable dinner.”
“I’d tell you not to put yourself out, but how else am I gonna teach you what reasonable means.”
“I’ll sell some plasma at lunch and see you around 5:30,” Hotch said.
Morgan ran over to the hospital midday and came back to report that Reid was doing okay, but Rossi hadn’t ticked off any of the hospital staff, so Reid was obviously pretty sick.
When Hotch arrived that evening to take Rossi to dinner, Prentiss, Garcia and JJ were already there. A disgruntled-looking Rossi had been relegated to a folding chair near the door, and he jumped up when Hotch walked through the door. “Hey, all right then, back in a couple of hours,” he said, grabbing his coat.
“You’re leaving me here alone?” Reid asked, more than a little squeak to his voice.
Three female voices immediately chimed in.
“Hey!”
“Whaddya mean alone?”
“Helloooo, lookee here Boy-o!”
Hotch didn’t even have time to ask Reid how he was feeling before Rossi had manhandled him out the door.
“Christ, it’s Spencer Has Three Mommies in there,” Rossi groused.
Hotch punched the elevator button for the lobby. “I would’ve thought Prentiss had dog sitting duties to perform.”
“She’s picking him up at six. Apparently he’s having a spa day.” The look on Rossi’s face would have been more appropriate were he viewing gruesome crime scene photos.
“Nice to have friends, isn’t it?”
“Aaron, there are moments when I look at my life and the only explanation is that I’m on some reality show where the joke’s on me.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed how miserable you’ve been this last year. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about it.”
“I’m in too deep now.” Rossi sighed like a man who had suffered long and hard in his life. “All I can do is keep guttin’ it out.”
“Your fortitude is commendable.”
“It is, isn’t it?”
They decided on a diner a couple of blocks from the hospital. It was a fair evening-chilly, but no precipitation. Cooped up all day in the hospital with Spencer, Rossi asked Hotch if he minded the 10 minute walk. Hotch didn’t mind and in 15 minutes they were sitting at the diner with their meals already ordered.
“So when are you guys gonna get out of there?” Hotch asked
Rossi lost his joking demeanor and sighed. “They still haven’t found an antibiotic he can tolerate. So not only does he feel crappy because of the meds, but the pneumonia isn’t getting any better.” Rossi shrugged. “You know what it’s like--hospitals are no place for sick people, right?”
Aaron chuckled and nodded in agreement.
Rossi shrugged diffidently and leaned in closer. “On top of that, he’s got this voice in his head-his mom’s voice-tellin’ him, hospitals are… hell, I don’t know, governmental institutions stealin’ his brain cells and replacing them with synthetic mind-control tchotchkes.”
Hotch stared at him blankly.
“I’m paraphrasing,” Rossi said with another shrug. “But the illogic of it just galls him. He can’t stand that the voice is there, but it is, no matter how crazy he knows it is. And every time they hand him a pill or replace a line in the IV, his heart rate takes a jump and it pisses him off.”
Hotch’s chuckle was sympathetic. “I never thought of him having to sift through the things he heard growing up-this is true, this isn’t; this is sane, this isn’t.”
Rossi nodded in agreement. He smiled ruefully. “You can’t help but wonder sometimes where he’d be if he’d been raised by Ward and June Cleaver.”
==================================================================
By the time they returned to the hospital, JJ and Emily had left, and Reid was watching Garcia play a video game. Her hand rested absent-mindedly on Reid’s forearm. Hotch wouldn’t have even noticed it if Rossi hadn’t brought up the issues with his mom, but now he wondered if Garcia hadn’t picked up on Reid’s anxiety and sought to calm him. Like JJ, she was something of a profiler too.
Rossi slid his hand under Reid’s. Spencer loosely held the hand in both of his; drawing it to his chest the way a child might clasp a beloved stuffed animal. Aaron ducked his head, embarrassed not by the action itself, but by the way it moved him.
“You okay?” Rossi asked Reid.
Reid nodded. “Tired,” he said.
Rossi leaned down and kissed the hands holding his. “I love you,” he whispered, somehow making the words seem extraordinary. Maybe they were. How unlikely was it that this thrice-married, fifty-year old man and this pristine young man nearly half his age would somehow find one another? And not just find one another but trust in one another. Reid’s entire life been built upon such an unstable foundation- a schizophrenic mother; an absent father; tormented by his peers when not invisible to them; paraded around like a circus attraction by officials of every school he’d ever attended and, yes, to an extent, Jason Gideon, all of whom were nowhere to be found when Reid needed someone to lean on. How on earth had Reid found the strength to let Rossi in? Suddenly, Hotch was stunned by the enormity of it. He swallowed past a lump in his throat and inwardly rolled his eyes at such sentimentality.
“All right, Honey McSweetie Pants,” Garcia was saying. “I’m off.”
“Thanks for coming,” Reid said.
“You’re welcome. So long as you understand that logging in and playing under your user name is a one-time-only, congested-lung, stomach-hurling event that will not be duplicated.”
Reid’s eyes widened and his forehead wrinkled in concern. “But you have to play everyday to keep your ranking,” he said.
Garcia pointed a finger at him. “What have I told you about that look?”
Reid looked confused. “Use it to get Hotch to spring for dinner more often?”
“After that.”
“Use it to get Mrs. Jackson to make Chocolate Chip Cookies on Mondays and Wednesdays?”
Garcia looked toward the ceiling for strength. “I always forget about that memory of yours. Don’t use it on me, that’s what I told you.”
Reid nodded. “That was the 14th thing.”
Garcia impulsively kissed the top of Reid’s head. He flinched with what would have been exaggeration on anyone else. “See you tomorrow,” Garcia said, with an affectionate laugh.
“You’ll only have to play for a little bit,” Reid promised.
==================================================================
It was three more days before Reid was released from the hospital. Rossi has started showing up at work in the afternoon, but between obsessively checking his cell for messages and calling Reid to see how he was doing, he wasn’t particularly effective. Nothing felt right anyway when they were a man down.
It snowed the night before Reid was to be released. Hotch called Rossi that morning-he’d been sleeping at home the last couple of nights-and told him he’d pick Rossi up and then they’d head to the hospital to get Reid. Rossi had started to protect-there was only a few inches of snow on the ground. He’d grown up in New York, for God’s sake. This was nothing.
Hotch said “I am amazed that someone or your intelligence can lack the most fundamental levels of common sense.”
“Fuck you,” Rossi said.
“See you in ten,” Hotch said with a laugh.
The roads really weren’t that bad. Hotch knew Rossi could have managed on his own, but he felt better seeing for himself as Rossi helped a shaky Reid in their front door. Reid was dressed in sweat pants and a sweatshirt that made him look ridiculously young. He always had dark circles under his eyes, but the alabaster cast of his skin made them more pronounced, now, almost like bruises after a broken nose. He looked tired and frail, but above all he seemed vastly relieved to be home.
Hotch wasn’t quite sure Reid really needed help to make it to the couch, but he had an idea that Rossi wasn’t about to let go as he guided Reid over. He settled Reid down on the couch, and maybe it was just their positions-with Reid seated and Rossi standing in front of him. But Reid was gazing up at Rossi with a look of such adoration, as though he’d just helped Reid scale Mt. Everest instead of make his hesitant way across the living room.
Rossi’s look was no less affectionate as he tucked Reid’s hair behind his ear and caressed his jaw and chin. He carefully sat down next to him, and they both heaved long, loud sighs.
Reid’s breathing was hitched, but he smiled as he exhaled. “That’s the first breath in over a week that made it all the way down,” he said, eyes closed.
“Me too,” Rossi said softly, looking at him with warm eyes. He leaned over and kissed his cheek, then cocked an eyebrow at Hotch. “Too precious again?” he asked.
Hotch shrugged. “I’m getting inured, I think,” he answered with a shrug.
Rossi stood up with a groan, cracked his knuckles and headed for the telephone. “All right, I’ve gotta negotiate with Prentiss for the return of my own damn dog,” he said.
“What are you willing to offer?” Hotch asked, putting on his coat.
Rossi pursed his lips. “I’ll start the checklist when she picks up. I’ll tell you one thing, I sure as hell ain’t offering spa time.”
Hotch clucked his tongue and shook his head. “Starting with an ultimatum? Bad idea.”
Rossi nodded his I know. “To be honest, I feel a little guilty bringin’ him home. Much’s probably enjoyed a whole week without Spencer forcing him to learn magic tricks.”
“I’m not teaching him magic, they’re basic physics theorems,” Reid called from the couch. He looked over at Hotch and earnestly explained. “You need opposable thumbs for most magic tricks.”
==================================================================
Arriving back home that night, Aaron unholstered his gun and locked it in the mudroom safe. It was exactly a week since he had entered his house after dropping Rossi off at the hospital and felt a sense of relief that he wasn’t anxiously tied up with someone else.
Tonight, though, a slow-motion set of pictures and sound bytes floated through his brain as he went through the routine motions of heating up dinner in the microwave-Rossi’s irritated glare on first hearing that Reid was in the hospital; the desolate look on his face when he asked Aaron if there was something Aaron wasn’t telling him; his head bowed over Reid’s hand whispering ordinary words with so much reverence, I love you. He remembered Reid’s head resting on Rossi’s shoulder and the way he gingerly held Rossi’s hand to his heart, and he remembered Reid’s look of dazed devotion as Rossi gently settled him on the couch.
Aaron wasn’t aware of a decision being made-he wasn’t aware of any thought-process, really, but suddenly there was a voice in his ear and he heard himself say, “Laurie? This is Aaron Hotchner. We met last week at… Right, right. I’m good, thanks. How are you?...That’s good. Would you like to have dinner Saturday night? My brother’s a chef at DuBois’, and if I promise him a kidney or two, there’s a fair chance we might get a table.”
End
Author: myrna1_2_3
Pairing: Rossi/Reid
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The ubiquitous hurt/comfort fic
Word count: ~8,000
"I cannot play with you," the fox said, "I am not tamed."
From The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint Exupéry
Hotch stepped out of the hotel shower and out of reflex stuck his head out of the bathroom door to see if he’d received a phone call while he was showering.
He and Rossi were in Kansas to interview Harold Melkin who was serving three life sentences for a string of nursing home murders in the last eighties. He’d played coy with law enforcement personnel for years, and usually cooperated only when his ego flared up because he’d been out of the spotlight for too long. Still, there was always something to be learned from the criminally insane, even when they thought they were pulling a con.
The phone indicated that there was, indeed, a message, so Aaron checked the screen and frowned. It was a text was from Garcia and said Please phone asap-private, which meant she didn’t want to be on speaker phone when Hotch called.
He hit Recall and Garcia answered before the first ring ended. “Thanks for calling so quickly, Hotch,” she said, and Aaron’s concern clicked up a notch. No ‘Ahoy there Captain,’ or ‘Bonjour Monsieur Cappyton.’ It was never good news when Garcia cut to the chase.
“Can you talk?” she continued.
“I’m still in my room, Garcia,” Hotch said. “I’m meeting Rossi for breakfast in 15 minutes.”
“Sorry for the cloak and dagger,” she said, her tone moving to its more chipper norm. “Just didn’t want to needlessly alarm our revered Mr. Rossi. Spencer looked like death warmed over when Morgan and I went over last night. He wouldn’t hear a word of going to the doctor though, so this morning, Morgan hog tied him when he walked out the front door and bundled him over to the ER. It looks like they’re going to keep him there for a bit. We’ve set up a pool here in the office and odds are on a pneumonia diagnosis, with Morgan taking malaria as the long shot.”
Hotch chuckled even through his concern. “We’re scheduled for two more days here, should we cut it short?”
Garcia paused, and the pause was enough of an answer that Hotch started gathering up his toiletries. “I don’t want Rossi fretting the whole trip home or anything, but…you know how it is with Reid. One day everything’s fine, the next he’s allergic to the two in O2…I think maybe Rossi should come home.”
Hotch said, “Book us both on the first flight to DC. Harold Melkin isn’t going anywhere for the next 150 years.”
“I’m a step ahead of you,” Garcia said. “You’re on American 538 at 10:30 in to Dulles.”
“Thanks, Garcia.”
“One more thing, Boss. I got off the phone with Morgan about five minutes before you called. He had to leave the waiting area to get cell reception, so tell Rossi in that civil, diplomatic way of yours not to freak out if he can’t reach Spencer.”
Hotch snorted in amusement. “You’re the one he’ll unload on when he can’t get through,” he warned her.
“I will be bracing for impact from the moment we disconnect.”
Rossi was reading the paper in the hotel restaurant as Hotch approached his table. He looked up and saw Hotch with his bag slung over his shoulder. “Live one?” he said, pushing back from the table.
“Ah, hold on a second,” Hotch said. “I just got off the phone with Garcia. Reid wasn’t feeling well, and when he went to get checked out, the hospital decided to admit...”
“Wait, wait, stop,” Rossi said, shaking his head. “I talked to Spencer last night. He had a cold. Morgan and Garcia were coming over for dinner, and…”
“They wanted him to see someone last night but he wouldn’t. I guess this morning, Morgan just chucked him over to the ER.”
Rossi was still shaking his head with a grimace of irritation at the inconvenience of having to prove Hotch wrong. He pulled out his phone and looked at the display. “There’s no message,” he said, as if that was proof that Aaron was mistaken.
“No cell phone reception at the hospital,” Hotch said. “I just got off the phone with Garcia. Morgan is with him, and they’re waiting to get a room assigned.”
“Why the hell did she call you?” Rossi groused. He forcefully pushed back from the table and a glass of water tipped over.
Hotch quickly reached over and set it upright, grabbing a couple of napkins to sop up the water. “I must be on speed dial,” he said wryly.
Rossi looked slightly chagrinned as he waited for Garcia to pick up. “What’s up?” he said into the phone. He gave Hotch a wave as he headed toward the elevators, returning to his room to pack his things.
He was back in the lobby 15 minutes later, still trying to raise Reid on his phone.
“Leave any skin on Garcia?” Hotch asked mildly, as they stowed their bags in the trunk of a taxi.
Rossi gave a look of mock affront. “I’m not one to shoot the messenger.”
“Pardon me, I don’t believe we’ve met,” Hotch said, extending a hand that Rossi brushed aside with a smirk as he got in the cab.
He shook his head at Hotch. “I’m gonna throttle him when we get home. He’s coughin’ up a lung last night; can barely stand upright, and he digs in at Morgan and Garcia like a two-year-old who doesn’t wanna go night-night.”
“I’m sure he just thought…”
“Don’t stick up for him,” Rossi said, still working the speed dial on his phone. “He’s a fucking idiot. I am continually amazed that someone with off-the-chart intelligence can lack the most fundamental levels of common sense…”
Hotch had to stifle a belly laugh when Reid obviously picked up the phone. Rossi’s entire physical being-from tone to facial features to body language-melted as soon as he heard Reid’s voice. “Hey, Babe, what’s goin’ on?” he asked gently. “Yeah? Where are you now?...Is Morgan still with you? Good...When do they think they’ll get you a room?” Rossi made a sour face. “Flash your badge around. A God damned Federal Agent of the United States of America shouldn’t be cooling his heels in a waiting room, coughin’ up a lung…I don’t think you’re protecting and defending anyone by letting them get x-rayed before you…Well, Morgan’s right…Fine, we’ll agree to disagree on that.”
“No, Hotch and I are heading back. The flight leaves at 10:30 so I should make it to the hospital by 3:30, four at the latest…” Now Rossi’s face clouded into anger, though his tone was still fairly mild. “Well, news flash, Einstein, this is what you do when your partner is in the hospital. You get a call some day that I’ve keeled over in my oatmeal, you’re gettin’ your ass on a plane and comin’ home, all right?...You don’t know that--I might start eating oatmeal…Are we seriously gonna have a fight right now about whether or not you’re calling off work when I’m on my death bed?... I’ll tell you what-you admit you’ll come home if I’m ever laid out, this is a discussion; you insist on leaving me all alone in some God forsaken hospital room, it’s a fight…Thank you…They give you any idea how long you’ll have to stay-this just overnight or…Yeah, I know, worse than attorneys aren’t they?”
Rossi looked over at Hotch with a grin that morphed into a chuckle at Hotch’s We are not amused glare.
“I know, Babe,” Rossi said into the phone. “That’s easy enough to fix, though. Just let Morgan pick you up a change of clothes at the house…Why?...Sweetheart, it’s not like he thinks you’re sleeping in the chandelier… I mean he got the last puzzle piece he needed when he helped you move in a year ago… Okay, fine, seven months, four days…You’re being ridiculous--Victorian spinsters were less uptight than you are…No, no, you’re right, it isn’t fair to assume spinsters were more uptight than anyone else…Are you going to let Morgan get you the clothes or not? All right, good…I assume Prentiss already nabbed the dog?... We should probably do a tox screen to make sure she didn’t slip you something just to get her mitts on him…We’re at the airport now. I’ll have the phone on for another hour, so call if you need me, okay? And leave me a voice mail when you get your room number, and I’ll see you in a few hours…I love you…What me too? That’s bullshit, say it back…I don’t care--Aaron’s sitting right here next to me. I want the full treatment…So what, you’d rather he think you’re livin’ with some guy of whom you’re quite fond? Say it…There now, was that so hard?”
Hotch could tell by the way Rossi jerked his ear from the phone that Reid had hung up on him. Rossi was grinning as he slid the phone in to his pocket.
“Seems mean to torment him when he’s sick,” Hotch said.
Rossi laughed. “It’s good for him.” He made a face and gestured at the phone in his pocket. “Tells me there’s no reason to cut the trip short. What the hell is that?”
Hotch shrugged. “He’s used to fending for himself.”
“Don’t stick up for him!” Rossi said again. “I swear to God, if he were a puppy there is not an inch of the BAU that wouldn’t be peed on, chewed up, or totally trashed.” Rossi lifted his bag onto his shoulder and headed toward the security gate. “Besides,” he grumbled. “I’m the last God damned sap on the planet he needs to be protected from.”
Flying commercial was a pain in the ass when you were armed law enforcement; unless you had Garcia paving your way. Within the hour, Rossi and Hotch were buckled up and ready for takeoff. Hotch muttered an inward Thank God when Rossi turned off his phone and slipped it into his pocket. Between Rossi’s checking for messages every few minutes and nervously flipping the case open and shut and open and shut, Hotch was getting ready to hurl the damn thing into the nearest toilet.
Hotch grinned to himself, moved-even through the irritation--by Rossi’s obvious concern for his partner. Funny to think he had been worried about Reid when his relationship with Rossi began-though not really because of anything particular about Rossi, but rather because of how different the two of them were.
Underneath the intellect and the awkwardness, there was something about Reid-a formality of speech and body language--that made him seem of another era. When he first met Reid, Hotch had theorized that Reid’s parents were older, perhaps in their late 40’s when he had been born. Learning that Reid had been raised with a schizophrenic mother wasn’t a shocking moment, so much as an “ah-ha” one where the pieces finally clicked into place. Reid’s quiet, deliberate ways had been borne of a childhood that had no time nor place for impulsiveness or exuberance. And besides, Hotch had an idea that the majority of Reid’s social cues had been gleaned from books published a century or two earlier.
Hotch had always pegged Rossi’s style as, well, 1970’s swinger. It certainly seemed an incongruous match to Reid’s demeanor, but Rossi was nothing if not a world-famous profiler-a world-famous profiler, it appeared, who had no trouble recognizing Reid’s old fashioned ideas about relationships.
“I tell you, he’s courting him,” Prentiss had reported one morning in the break room. They had just come back from a case in…God, somewhere…and they’d all been watching Reid and Rossi with growing curiosity. “All with the chivalry and the ‘if you please’ and ‘may I have the honor.’ It’s sweet. Disturbing, too, don’t get me wrong. But sweet.”
“He’s taming our Reid,” Garcia had cooed. She had demanded details the moment Prentiss stepped through the door for a cup of coffee. “Like the fox in the Little Prince. Every day Rossi sits a little closer and a little closer…”
“You become responsible forever for what you have tamed,” Prentiss had said sagely.
“I love that book,” Garcia had sighed.
Morgan had sighed too, but there was more exasperation to his. Before he could say anything, Garcia snapped at him. “If you say one more time that Reid can’t be mixin’ it up with Rossi because he hasn’t cleared it with you…” She rolled her eyes at the ridiculousness of the very idea.
“What could you possibly do to me, Baby Girl?” Morgan had asked with a smirk.
Garcia smiled sweetly at him. “Ask me that the next time you’re sitting in a swanky restaurant with one of your honeys and your credit card is declined, my dearest darling.”
“You know how I hate to be the voice of reason or getting back to work,” Hotch had said. “But I’m sure Reid and Rossi wouldn’t appreciate all of you speculating about the two of them.”
Prentiss snorted. “Rossi doesn’t want us speculating about him,” she had agreed. “I’m surprised he’s not hosting weekly seminars to help us discover new and better ways to speculate about him and Reid.”
“For God’s sake,” JJ had quickly broken in. “Do not even joke about that around Rossi or we’ll be sitting around with 25 page PowerPoint presentations by the end of the day. Annotated footnotes and all.”
“Ooo, but maybe there’ll be a video accompaniment!” Prentiss had said hopefully.
“There’s no video,” a thoroughly disgruntled Garcia said. She clearly felt eyes on her demanding further explanation. She had looked offended. “It’s not like I looked for one!” she said. “Not intently. Over an extended period of time.” She had shrugged with mild superiority. “That would be rude.”
Morgan refilled his coffee cup. “You know, for as much as fraternization rules get tossed in my direction…” he had muttered.
Prentiss, JJ and Garcia all rolled their eyes at the complaint. “Reid’s the only one who ever tosses those your way,” JJ said. “Obviously he’s been sublimating.”
“Transferring,” Prentiss had corrected in a stage whisper.
“What’s the difference again?” JJ asked.
“Sublimating,” Hotch had said. “As in, the BAU team sublimated their insatiable thirst for gossip with an insatiable thirst for completing backlogged expense reports in a timely fashion.”
That broke up the coffee klatch, except for Emily who stood in the doorway shaking her head at Hotch.
“What?” Hotch had asked, more defensiveness in his tone than he liked.
“You!” Prentiss had said. “Acting like you couldn’t be less interested in Reid and Rossi if you tried.”
“Beyond the supervisory issues it might present, I’m not,” Hotch had said.
Prentiss had tossed her head back in disbelief. “Pah-leeze! Contortionists would kill to be able to twist themselves into the position you were in last night trying to watch them on the plane.”
“There was a noise over the wing,” Hotch had said.
“So why were you looking at Reid and Rossi at the back of the plane?”
Hotch had felt a tug at the corner of his mouth. “All right, maybe I’ve got an eye peeled. Rossi is hardly Reid’s speed, is he? I don’t think Reid has any idea…”
“Not you too,” Prentiss had groaned. “You and Morgan with this idea that Rossi might take advantage of our timid little Reid. Rossi is totally, 100 percent, certifiably besotted. Reid hiccups and the man acts like a national holiday should be declared.”
Hotch had a hard time believing that. “What?”
“Rossi’s lucky Reid has no clue. Can you imagine Reid wielding his powers for evil?”
Hotch had paid a little closer attention after that and had realized that Prentiss was right-about Rossi’s degree of infatuation and Reid’s obliviousness to it. There was something sweetly comedic about it, and Hotch had come to agree with Emily that Rossi was lucky Reid was both naïve and inherently kind enough not to use Dave’s feelings against him.
==================================================================
“Where are you going?” Hotch asked after they debarked the plane. Rossi was heading toward the escalator to baggage claim. “The car’s this way.”
“I was gonna catch a cab,” Rossi answered.
“I drove us here from the office,” Hotch reminded him.
“And yet, I can still take a cab to the hospital. Which is across town from where you live.”
“Shut up,” Hotch said.
Rossi laughed and fell in to step with Hotch. “I’m not really gonna throttle him-you know that, right?” he said, as they neared the car.
Hotch smirked at him and motioned for him to get in. He’d opened his door when he heard Rossi’s sharp inhale, as if he’d stepped of the curb and nearly lost his footing. Hotch looked over to see had happened, but Rossi was frozen with a hand outstretched toward the door.
He gruffly cleared his throat and wouldn’t look at Hotch when he spoke. “Aaron… Garcia didn’t… tell you somethin’ I don’t know yet, did she?”
“Dave, no, absolutely not.”
Rossi nodded, eyes still averted. He swiped at his goatee, nodding to some inward conversation and got in the car.
They ran in to Morgan heading toward them down the hall. “Hey, guys!” he said. “I was just getting ready to call you. Cell phone reception is spotty in Reid’s room. There’s an area down the way where the reception works best.”
“What’s wrong?” Rossi asked. He’d been growing more nervous as they’d approached the hospital, not less as Hotch had assumed.
“Aw, man, sorry,” Morgan said quickly. “I was just calling with an update. He’s feeling pretty crappy, but it looks like they’re done pokin’ and proddin’. Now they’re just pumpin’ him full of meds.”
Rossi jogged the rest of the way to Reid’s room, but forced himself to slow down and walk calmly inside.
Reid was lying flat on the bed, an oxygen mask covering his nose and mouth. Rossi muttered, “Jesus,” as he tossed his bag to the side and moved to Reid’s side.
Reid was panting for breath and restless with discomfort, and the naked cry of relief he gave when he caught sight of Rossi made Hotch smile. No reason to cut short your trip indeed.
Rossi leaned down and kissed Reid’s forehead, running a hand through Reid’s hair. “I leave you alone for a few nights and you gotta scare the shit outta me?” Rossi said. His words may have been coarse, but his touch was gentle, his gaze revealingly tender.
“Sorry,” Reid whispered.
Rossi quickly perused the room, noting the pile of books on the bedside table and an overnight bag of Reid’s. He cast a grateful look at Morgan who seemed embarrassed. He waved away the look.
Morgan leaned around Rossi and said. “I’m done with my babysittin’ for the day.” He clapped Rossi on the shoulder. “Good luck, my man,” he said. “And hey, sorry about Much. I tried to grab him, but Prentiss is mean, and she bites.”
“Understood,” Rossi said. “Thanks. I owe you, all right?” He obviously didn't want Morgan brushing off the gratitude.
Morgan started to go, but Reid reached for his sleeve, looking slightly self-conscious. “I might have been slightly aggravated earlier,” he said diffidently.
“Might?” Morgan echoed.
“So, if I said things that were…”
“Cruel,” Morgan supplied helpfully.
“Well… I just want to say…well, you totally deserved it!”
“What!” Morgan yelped, laughing in spite of himself. “I saved your life, Pretty Boy! You’d be drowning in your own phlegm if I hadn’t swooped in and saved the day!”
“I’d be asleep in my own bed is where I’d be!” Reid protested. “You and Garcia are alarmists!”
“This from the kid whose lung x-ray had to be taken three times because the tech couldn’t believe it was for someone who hadn’t been under water for the last three days.”
“Alarmist!” Reid repeated.
“Yeah, I’ll collect on what you owe me later,” Morgan said. “Hang tight.”
A nurse walked in as Morgan was leaving, and she paused and watched him go, leaning around the door as he loped down the hall. When she turned back into the room, Reid, Rossi and Hotch were all looking at her.
“Did I come in here for a reason?” she asked.
Rossi extended his hand. “I’m Dave Rossi,” he said. “Spencer’s…”
“Ahh, the intimidating boyfriend. The lovely Mr. Morgan warned us about you,” she said with a smile.
“Intimidating?” Rossi repeated. “I’m a teddy bear.”
Perhaps Reid’s coughing jag was a coincidence, but the timing of it did seem comically precise. As he struggled to breathe through the fit, the nurse brought an oxygen mask to his face and held it gently to his nose and mouth.
“Mr. Reid, you use that oxygen when you need it, okay? Take lots of shallow breaths. You probably can’t take a good deep breath right now, and that can make you feel panicky, which makes it harder to breathe, which makes you panicky…you get the idea, right? So the best thing right now is to just stick to those shallow breaths. The leads will tell us if you really aren’t getting oxygen and it’ll take us about 10 seconds to get to you. That’ll be about 8 seconds too long for your partner here, but don’t you worry, okay?”
Reid nodded carefully. His stomach growled, and he blushed and smiled apologetically at the nurse.
“Can he eat something?” Rossi asked.
The nurse looked Reid up and down and shrugged. “Well, on the one hand he’s got teeth and a mouth, so I’d say yes. On the other, it sure doesn’t look like he knows how to use ‘em.”
Reid glared at Rossi who held his hands out in a gesture of innocence. “Hey, I just got here!”
The nurse winked at Rossi. “No diet restrictions. The antibiotics might make him nauseous so nothing too complex.”
Hotch chuckled. “I can run downstairs and get something. What sounds good?”
Reid said nothing, frowning in concentration as Rossi helped him pull on a pajama top. “How about a strawberry milkshake,” Rossi said, but it wasn’t much of a question.
Reid nodded absently, then said in a hoarse voice, “And French fries.”
Rossi smiled at him like he’d said something brilliant, and Hotch heard Emily’s voice in his head. Reid hiccups and the man acts like a national holiday should be declared. “Yeah? French fries sound good?” he said. He nodded at Hotch. “And French fries,” he said. “Thanks.”
When Hotch got back with Reid’s food, Reid was sitting up in the bed, leaning forward with Rossi holding the oxygen mask to his face with one hand and rubbing his back with the other. It was a toss up whose face was grayer.
“Everything okay?” Hotch asked, concerned at the flecks of blood he could see on the oxygen mask.
Rossi nodded. “Yeah, we’re good,” he said, sounding anything but.
Hotch set the food down on the bedside tray, feeling ill at ease while Rossi set the oxygen aside an fetched a washcloth for Reid. Rossi moved the tray closer to Reid and slid the straw through the lid of the cup.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat fries,” Rossi said, clearly amused. He turned to Hotch, “When I met Reid, he only ate five things,” he said.
Reid smirked at Rossi as Hotch counted off on his fingers. “Coffee, espresso, cappuccino, latte… what’s the fifth?”
Reid narrowed his eyes at Hotch. “I have noticed a serious up tick in your sardonic side since Dave returned to the Bureau.”
Hotch nodded in agreement. “I’m probably speaking out of turn, but as his supervisor, I can confirm more than one mention in his personnel file of his being a bad influence on others.”
Reid made a noise that sounded like, “Hrmph.” Then he said, “I only like French fries when I’m sick. Morgan said for him it’s macaroni and cheese.”
“I’m an old fashioned chicken soup guy,” Hotch said. He winked at Reid and pointed at Rossi. “What does David Rossi consider comfort food, filet mignon? Goose liver pate?”
“You’re a laugh riot, Hotchner,” Rossi said dryly.
Hotch said to Reid in a conspiratorial tone, “I once saw him pay $125 for a hamburger.”
Reid grinned in delight. “In Italy, he ate a $45 dollar slice of pizza!” he reported with an excited bounce.
“Et tu?” Rossi said to Reid. He looked over at Hotch. “I’ll have you know Dr. Spencer Reid of the PhD in Mathematics messed up the exchange rate. I had no idea what I was paying for that pizza.”
“I was off by four cents!” an indignant Reid exclaimed. “The exchange rate was adjusted that morning!”
Rossi sniffed. “A man makes decisions based on information presented as fact.”
Reid just shook his head as he pushed the tray table away from him and settled back against his pillow.
Rossi frowned at the barely-touched food on the tray. “Can’t you eat a little more?” he asked.
Reid shook his head. “Tastes funny.”
“Come on, a few more bites,” Rossi said, his voice deepening to a coaxing timber.
“Hm mm,” Reid said.
“Just a little more?” Rossi said. “For me?”
Reid’s eyes widened, and he cast a sideways look toward Hotch then back to Rossi. The look turned horrified when it seemed like Rossi might be reaching for a fry.
Hotch cleared his throat as Rossi’s finger twitched, and Hotch could swear he heard the riff from The Good, the Bad and the Ugly playing faintly in the background. Reid looked nervously from Rossi to Hotch and back to Rossi. Hotch spoke in a deadly serious voice. “If you feed him a French fry, I will fire you.” Rossi blinked slowly, but otherwise gave no indication he’d even heard, so Hotch continued in a tone that had broken serial killers and madmen alike. “And I will see to it that you never work in law enforcement again.”
Rossi moved his head like he was working out a kink in his neck and slid both hands into his trouser pockets. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said smoothly.
“Honestly,” Reid muttered as he grabbed another fry and ate it. He pushed the tray further away with a look toward Rossi that dared him to say anything. Rossi shrugged with exaggerated innocence.
Reid reached toward the bedside table and handed Rossi a book so old the spine barely held the pages together. Rossi glanced at the title and smirked at Reid. “More comfort food,” he said, shooing Reid over in the bed so he could sit down. Once he was stretched out on the bed and Reid was settled against his side, Rossi kissed the top of Reid’s head and opened the book.
Hotch stood up. “Well, this is so precious, I’m actually getting nauseous, so I’d better go,” he said.
Reid turned and snickered into Rossi’s side. “Thanks for coming, Hotch,” he said, voice muffled.
“Feel better,” Hotch said as he buttoned up his coat and headed out the door. He paused on the other side of the door and listened, just for a moment, as Rossi softly read to his partner.
I feel that there is much to be said for the Celtic belief that the souls of those whom we have lost are held captive in some inferior being, in an animal, in a plant, in some inanimate object, and so effectively lost to us until the day (which to many never comes) when we happen to pass by the tree or to obtain possession of the object which forms their prison.
================================================================
Driving home from the hospital, Hotch thought it a shame there wasn’t an activity of Jack’s he could attend by surprise. He was making an effort to push aside all of the crap that had held him at bay from Jack and just be there for his son. Things could still be touch and go with Haley--if he showed up late for something, Haley’s attitude was See?; if he showed up early, it was Why couldn’t you have done this before?. But lately, they’d settled into peaceful coexistence. The relationship with the man Haley was seeing-Nick-had grown serious, and she told Aaron that they were planning to marry in the summer.
Nick was an okay guy; he was good to Jack and that was the only litmus test Aaron afforded himself. He was in medical sales; safe to be sure. But jeez, what did it say about you when Aaron Hotchner found you boring? Oh, well, maybe there was another litmus test or two to be had.
Aaron found himself grinning as he remembered the pre-school play he’d attended the week before. He’d arrived 15 minutes or so before the start Why couldn’t you have done this before? and traded banal chitchat with Haley and Nick, but managed to excuse himself to the restroom a few minutes before the production started. When he returned to the auditorium, he had to (thankfully) sit several rows back from Haley and Nick. They’d already mentioned joining them for dinner after the show, and while Hotch appreciated the offer, the thought of it was suffocating.
Still, he saw them whispering and chuckling as the performance started, and he felt a wave of-it wasn’t jealousy-nostalgia was more like it. He remembered what it was like to have a co-conspirator at silly events like this.
Hotch was sitting next to a woman around his age who’d obviously just arrived from an office job. He didn’t recognize her, though most of the parents were starting to look familiar to him. At first, he thought she was crying during the show, and he made a mental note to change seats at the intermission. Sure, the kids were cute, but come on.
During a break in the action someone sitting on the other side of the woman elbowed her hard enough that she brushed Hotch’s shoulder. The pusher hissed, “Would you stop it?”
“I can’t help it!” the woman next to Hotch whispered back, and Hotch realized then that she’d been laughing.
“They’re four!”
“I know that! It wouldn’t be so funny if the parents didn’t think they were all little Brandos up there.”
Hotch coughed a laugh and she looked over at him. “Sorry,” she said. Hotch waved away the apology in complete and total understanding. “My niece is the rock,” she said, pointing to a tiny girl with frizzy blond hair.
Aaron laughed again in spite of himself. “I think she’s supposed to be a potato,” he said.
The woman nodded slowly. “Oh, yeah, okay. The duet with the butter makes more sense now. Which one’s yours?”
“The broccoli,” Hotch said pointing to a group of vegetables waiting for the show to restart. He winced as Jack made an abrupt turn and one of his stalks smacked a carrot in the back of the head.
“Just applying to Ivy Leagues or are we gonna give some of the state schools a whirl?” the woman asked politely and Hotch laughed again as she was elbowed once more in the side.
“I’m not worried,” Hotch confided. “His forte is playing breads and other cereals.”
“I can see that. He’s got the build for it.” She took a closer look at Hotch from head to toe, then guessed, “Fed?”
Hotch nodded with feigned resignation as she laughed and sat back with an air of defeat. “Ah, shoot, and it was going so well between us,” she said with a sigh.
“Career criminal?” Hotch made a stab at her employment.
She shook her head. “Worse. I’m an associate director for the ACLU.”
Hotch nodded in understanding. “Hard at work reversing all my arrests?”
“I wish!” she joked. “I’m in Employment Practices. Not quite as sexy as freeing all those innocent death-row inmates.”
“It’s funny,” said Hotch. “You don’t look like a godless hippie.”
She nodded sympathetically. “I know. You should see me when I’m dressed for work, though.” She offered her hand. “Laurie McLean.”
“Aaron Hotchner,” he said, then added with an air of farewell. “Nice knowing you.”
Laurie laughed. “Well, we’ll always have “Our Vegetables, Ourselves,” won’t we?”
“There is comfort in that,” Hotch had agreed.
Then the kids had begun the second…third?... act and their attention returned to the stage. Laurie turned to Hotch after the curtain call. “I’m sure I’ll see you again,” she said, handing Hotch her business card. “There are five other food groups after all. But if you’re ever up for some hands-on, food-group practicum, give me a call.”
Stunned for a moment, Aaron took the card, but before he had a chance to politely decline, Laurie’s niece came racing up.
“Lolly, did you see me?” she called. “I only forgotted the part about tanassium!”
“You were awesome!” Laurie said excitedly.
Jack came toddling up then, still encased in his broccoli costume. “Dad! Did you see? I made the strong muscles and the healthy bones come!”
“You sure did. I’m proud of you! You kinda knocked that candy bar over pretty hard, didn’t you? Did you make sure she was okay?”
“Yeah, that’s why she gots a pillow on under her wrapper. Come on, Dad! Mommy says we’re havin’ pizza for dinner! You haveta come too!”
Aaron did end up having dinner with Jack, Haley and Nick and the awkwardness was manageable, at least. He could picture the future now-he could see how he and Nick would coexist, and that brought some peace of mind. Jack was a smart, happy kid. Well-adjusted. Aaron liked him, and somehow that made the overwhelming sense of failure less acute. After months-years if he were to be honest-of uncertainty and doubt, Aaron was finally starting to regain a sense of equanimity.
Pulling into his driveway, Hotch acknowledged that he might not be deliriously happy, but he wasn’t hopelessly miserable either. He snorted at himself. Kinda sad to consider “not hopelessly miserable” as a step-up, but there you go. He thought suddenly of Rossi’s pinched, worried face and his anxious demeanor throughout their flight home. Sharing your life with someone didn’t guarantee smooth sailing, did it? Maybe it wasn’t so bad returning home to an empty house at the end of a long day.
==================================================================
Hotch was at the office the next morning by 7:15, but there was already a voice mail message waiting for him. An exhausted-sounding Rossi said Reid had had a bad night and he wouldn’t be in until later. Frowning, Hotch checked the time stamp of the call-6:45 that morning-and dialed Rossi’s cell phone.
Rossi picked up on the first ring. “Hey, what’s going on?” Hotch asked.
Rossi sighed, “Hey,” he said. Aaron heard him speaking to someone in the room with him. “I’m going to take this out in the hall.” Aaron couldn’t make out the response, other than it came from a female voice. “You there?” Rossi asked a moment later.
“Yeah, how’s Reid?”
“Doing a pretty good impression of the girl from the Exorcist right now.”
“Oh, no. He okay?”
“He will be as soon as they light on an antibiotic that doesn’t make his head spin around and pea soup come flyin’ out of his mouth.”
Hotch chuckled. “What can I do?”
“Nothin’ thanks, we’re good,” Rossi said. “Just call me if you need me.”
“I will,” said Hotch. “Reid up for visitors?”
“What do you think will happen if I say no?”
“Pretty much the same thing that’ll happen if you say yes.”
Rossi laughed. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. I don’t suppose anyone’s heading out of town anytime soon?”
“Not today, anyway. Look, if Reid really isn’t up for it, let me know, okay? I’ll run interference.”
“Can’t imagine anyone will show until lunchtime. Hopefully he’ll feel better by then.”
“All right. I’ll stop by after work tonight, take you out for a reasonable dinner.”
“I’d tell you not to put yourself out, but how else am I gonna teach you what reasonable means.”
“I’ll sell some plasma at lunch and see you around 5:30,” Hotch said.
Morgan ran over to the hospital midday and came back to report that Reid was doing okay, but Rossi hadn’t ticked off any of the hospital staff, so Reid was obviously pretty sick.
When Hotch arrived that evening to take Rossi to dinner, Prentiss, Garcia and JJ were already there. A disgruntled-looking Rossi had been relegated to a folding chair near the door, and he jumped up when Hotch walked through the door. “Hey, all right then, back in a couple of hours,” he said, grabbing his coat.
“You’re leaving me here alone?” Reid asked, more than a little squeak to his voice.
Three female voices immediately chimed in.
“Hey!”
“Whaddya mean alone?”
“Helloooo, lookee here Boy-o!”
Hotch didn’t even have time to ask Reid how he was feeling before Rossi had manhandled him out the door.
“Christ, it’s Spencer Has Three Mommies in there,” Rossi groused.
Hotch punched the elevator button for the lobby. “I would’ve thought Prentiss had dog sitting duties to perform.”
“She’s picking him up at six. Apparently he’s having a spa day.” The look on Rossi’s face would have been more appropriate were he viewing gruesome crime scene photos.
“Nice to have friends, isn’t it?”
“Aaron, there are moments when I look at my life and the only explanation is that I’m on some reality show where the joke’s on me.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed how miserable you’ve been this last year. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about it.”
“I’m in too deep now.” Rossi sighed like a man who had suffered long and hard in his life. “All I can do is keep guttin’ it out.”
“Your fortitude is commendable.”
“It is, isn’t it?”
They decided on a diner a couple of blocks from the hospital. It was a fair evening-chilly, but no precipitation. Cooped up all day in the hospital with Spencer, Rossi asked Hotch if he minded the 10 minute walk. Hotch didn’t mind and in 15 minutes they were sitting at the diner with their meals already ordered.
“So when are you guys gonna get out of there?” Hotch asked
Rossi lost his joking demeanor and sighed. “They still haven’t found an antibiotic he can tolerate. So not only does he feel crappy because of the meds, but the pneumonia isn’t getting any better.” Rossi shrugged. “You know what it’s like--hospitals are no place for sick people, right?”
Aaron chuckled and nodded in agreement.
Rossi shrugged diffidently and leaned in closer. “On top of that, he’s got this voice in his head-his mom’s voice-tellin’ him, hospitals are… hell, I don’t know, governmental institutions stealin’ his brain cells and replacing them with synthetic mind-control tchotchkes.”
Hotch stared at him blankly.
“I’m paraphrasing,” Rossi said with another shrug. “But the illogic of it just galls him. He can’t stand that the voice is there, but it is, no matter how crazy he knows it is. And every time they hand him a pill or replace a line in the IV, his heart rate takes a jump and it pisses him off.”
Hotch’s chuckle was sympathetic. “I never thought of him having to sift through the things he heard growing up-this is true, this isn’t; this is sane, this isn’t.”
Rossi nodded in agreement. He smiled ruefully. “You can’t help but wonder sometimes where he’d be if he’d been raised by Ward and June Cleaver.”
==================================================================
By the time they returned to the hospital, JJ and Emily had left, and Reid was watching Garcia play a video game. Her hand rested absent-mindedly on Reid’s forearm. Hotch wouldn’t have even noticed it if Rossi hadn’t brought up the issues with his mom, but now he wondered if Garcia hadn’t picked up on Reid’s anxiety and sought to calm him. Like JJ, she was something of a profiler too.
Rossi slid his hand under Reid’s. Spencer loosely held the hand in both of his; drawing it to his chest the way a child might clasp a beloved stuffed animal. Aaron ducked his head, embarrassed not by the action itself, but by the way it moved him.
“You okay?” Rossi asked Reid.
Reid nodded. “Tired,” he said.
Rossi leaned down and kissed the hands holding his. “I love you,” he whispered, somehow making the words seem extraordinary. Maybe they were. How unlikely was it that this thrice-married, fifty-year old man and this pristine young man nearly half his age would somehow find one another? And not just find one another but trust in one another. Reid’s entire life been built upon such an unstable foundation- a schizophrenic mother; an absent father; tormented by his peers when not invisible to them; paraded around like a circus attraction by officials of every school he’d ever attended and, yes, to an extent, Jason Gideon, all of whom were nowhere to be found when Reid needed someone to lean on. How on earth had Reid found the strength to let Rossi in? Suddenly, Hotch was stunned by the enormity of it. He swallowed past a lump in his throat and inwardly rolled his eyes at such sentimentality.
“All right, Honey McSweetie Pants,” Garcia was saying. “I’m off.”
“Thanks for coming,” Reid said.
“You’re welcome. So long as you understand that logging in and playing under your user name is a one-time-only, congested-lung, stomach-hurling event that will not be duplicated.”
Reid’s eyes widened and his forehead wrinkled in concern. “But you have to play everyday to keep your ranking,” he said.
Garcia pointed a finger at him. “What have I told you about that look?”
Reid looked confused. “Use it to get Hotch to spring for dinner more often?”
“After that.”
“Use it to get Mrs. Jackson to make Chocolate Chip Cookies on Mondays and Wednesdays?”
Garcia looked toward the ceiling for strength. “I always forget about that memory of yours. Don’t use it on me, that’s what I told you.”
Reid nodded. “That was the 14th thing.”
Garcia impulsively kissed the top of Reid’s head. He flinched with what would have been exaggeration on anyone else. “See you tomorrow,” Garcia said, with an affectionate laugh.
“You’ll only have to play for a little bit,” Reid promised.
==================================================================
It was three more days before Reid was released from the hospital. Rossi has started showing up at work in the afternoon, but between obsessively checking his cell for messages and calling Reid to see how he was doing, he wasn’t particularly effective. Nothing felt right anyway when they were a man down.
It snowed the night before Reid was to be released. Hotch called Rossi that morning-he’d been sleeping at home the last couple of nights-and told him he’d pick Rossi up and then they’d head to the hospital to get Reid. Rossi had started to protect-there was only a few inches of snow on the ground. He’d grown up in New York, for God’s sake. This was nothing.
Hotch said “I am amazed that someone or your intelligence can lack the most fundamental levels of common sense.”
“Fuck you,” Rossi said.
“See you in ten,” Hotch said with a laugh.
The roads really weren’t that bad. Hotch knew Rossi could have managed on his own, but he felt better seeing for himself as Rossi helped a shaky Reid in their front door. Reid was dressed in sweat pants and a sweatshirt that made him look ridiculously young. He always had dark circles under his eyes, but the alabaster cast of his skin made them more pronounced, now, almost like bruises after a broken nose. He looked tired and frail, but above all he seemed vastly relieved to be home.
Hotch wasn’t quite sure Reid really needed help to make it to the couch, but he had an idea that Rossi wasn’t about to let go as he guided Reid over. He settled Reid down on the couch, and maybe it was just their positions-with Reid seated and Rossi standing in front of him. But Reid was gazing up at Rossi with a look of such adoration, as though he’d just helped Reid scale Mt. Everest instead of make his hesitant way across the living room.
Rossi’s look was no less affectionate as he tucked Reid’s hair behind his ear and caressed his jaw and chin. He carefully sat down next to him, and they both heaved long, loud sighs.
Reid’s breathing was hitched, but he smiled as he exhaled. “That’s the first breath in over a week that made it all the way down,” he said, eyes closed.
“Me too,” Rossi said softly, looking at him with warm eyes. He leaned over and kissed his cheek, then cocked an eyebrow at Hotch. “Too precious again?” he asked.
Hotch shrugged. “I’m getting inured, I think,” he answered with a shrug.
Rossi stood up with a groan, cracked his knuckles and headed for the telephone. “All right, I’ve gotta negotiate with Prentiss for the return of my own damn dog,” he said.
“What are you willing to offer?” Hotch asked, putting on his coat.
Rossi pursed his lips. “I’ll start the checklist when she picks up. I’ll tell you one thing, I sure as hell ain’t offering spa time.”
Hotch clucked his tongue and shook his head. “Starting with an ultimatum? Bad idea.”
Rossi nodded his I know. “To be honest, I feel a little guilty bringin’ him home. Much’s probably enjoyed a whole week without Spencer forcing him to learn magic tricks.”
“I’m not teaching him magic, they’re basic physics theorems,” Reid called from the couch. He looked over at Hotch and earnestly explained. “You need opposable thumbs for most magic tricks.”
==================================================================
Arriving back home that night, Aaron unholstered his gun and locked it in the mudroom safe. It was exactly a week since he had entered his house after dropping Rossi off at the hospital and felt a sense of relief that he wasn’t anxiously tied up with someone else.
Tonight, though, a slow-motion set of pictures and sound bytes floated through his brain as he went through the routine motions of heating up dinner in the microwave-Rossi’s irritated glare on first hearing that Reid was in the hospital; the desolate look on his face when he asked Aaron if there was something Aaron wasn’t telling him; his head bowed over Reid’s hand whispering ordinary words with so much reverence, I love you. He remembered Reid’s head resting on Rossi’s shoulder and the way he gingerly held Rossi’s hand to his heart, and he remembered Reid’s look of dazed devotion as Rossi gently settled him on the couch.
Aaron wasn’t aware of a decision being made-he wasn’t aware of any thought-process, really, but suddenly there was a voice in his ear and he heard himself say, “Laurie? This is Aaron Hotchner. We met last week at… Right, right. I’m good, thanks. How are you?...That’s good. Would you like to have dinner Saturday night? My brother’s a chef at DuBois’, and if I promise him a kidney or two, there’s a fair chance we might get a table.”
End