Fic: Shutter Speed (Criminal Minds)
Title: Shutter Speed
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Characters/Pairing: Team, Hotch/Blackwolf
Rating: Oh, PG?
Summary: Photography: the length of time a shutter is opened to expose film.
Notes: This is my little fantasy tag for the season finale (To Hell...And Back), set in my little Hotch/John Blackwolf universe, pretty much written just to make myself happy. You don't need to have read any of the other stories for this. Just know that they have a very tentative romantic relationship up to this point. 1400 words, so very spoilery. Thank you to smittywing for letting me natter at her at various points.
He wakes to bright light and blonde hair.
"Haley?" he calls, though his voice turns out to be nothing more than a warble in his throat.
"She's on her way," someone says, soft, comforting, a hand on his shoulder. JJ, he thinks, or maybe Kate. But the halo of her hair is too bright, his sticky, bleary eyes incapable of focusing on her face, and his lids keep sneaking downwards.
Later. He'll figure it out later.
*****
He doesn't quite wake up the next time. Not enough to open his eyes. He should, he knows that. There are things that he has to do, has to take care of, even if he can't remember them quite at the moment. Once he wakes up... But there's a hand on his forehead, and it feels so good to sleep, so maybe that's enough right now.
"You don't get to do this to me, Aaron." Haley's voice is deep, rough, a little phlegmy, like it gets when she's so mad she sees no choice but to issue an ultimatum. "Not anymore. Do you hear me? Jack needs his daddy."
Jack. Aaron tries to open his eyes then, because there's absolutely no way he can sleep if Jack needs him, but it's no use.
He sinks back down into darkness.
*****
One second he's asleep. The next he's not.
He blinks a few times, trying to figure out what's not right about everything around him. The light isn't bright, but it doesn't feel right. Coming from everywhere and nowhere, and there's a sheen of blue to it all, like he's been swimming underwater and only noticed the difference once he'd broken the surface again.
"It's about time." The blankness of the ceiling is relieved by Dave's face, his eyebrow cocked at an impatient angle. Aaron licks his lips, trying to figure out why he's so fucking out of it, when Dave snorts. "Relax, Aaron. Everything's okay."
It clicks, then. The dull heaviness in his body, the fog in his head. A brief memory of pain, and before that-- "Foyet. Did you--" A sudden tickle in his throat catches him by surprise. He tries to keep going, push past it, but it turns into a cough he can't fight.
"Don't worry about him," Dave says as the coughs finally fade, and that is such a horrible evasion Aaron would call him on it, if only he had the energy. He desperately wants a drink of water and some answers, but one second he's awake--and then he's not.
*****
The next time he comes to, it's more natural. More laced with pain, too, but it's bearable. For the first time he wonders just how badly he was hurt. What he's got to look forward to once he makes it out of this bed. It's the second thing on his list to ask, but when he turns his head, he sees a face that makes no sense here. Not in Washington. Not at his bedside.
"John?" he asks anyway, because he can't not, even though he must be dreaming.
That dark head lifts and Aaron finds himself staring into warm brown eyes. "Aaron," is all John says, drawing his name out in a way he never has before.
"You're here?" he asks, still feeling stupidly uncertain about reality.
John's lips quirk up on one side. "Your Agent Morgan called. Said he didn't know if I cared about you one way or the other, but if I did, I might want to think about getting the next flight out."
"John--" Aaron doesn't know what to say. Something hurts in his chest that he's pretty sure doesn't have anything to do with bullets. He reaches out--or tries to, anyway. He's weaker than he thought possible, and his hand is weighed down with tubes and tape. John comes to his rescue, threading his hands through the rail of the bed, curling his left around Aaron's fingers and cupping his right around Aaron's wrist. That something, Aaron realizes, is guilt and embarrassment and a desperate need, all blended together in one slushy swirl under his breastbone.
"You didn't have to come," he finally says.
John snorts. "Oh, I didn't come for you."
"Big lecture to give?" Aaron closes his eyes again, surprised at how much the thought hurts.
"I came for me," John says softly. His hands tighten on Aaron's, and Aaron squeezes back as much as he can. "I didn't know if I was going to get to say goodbye."
Aaron swallows. "I'm sorry."
"Yeah, well. You can reimburse me for my plane ticket once you're out of here."
"Anything," he promises. He wants to say more, although he's not sure what. Before he can get the words anywhere near untangled, he hears Haley, somewhere nearby, spiky with anger.
"But who is with him?" she demands, presumably from the nurse on duty, and god, he never wanted to have this conversation with her. It seems inevitable now.
"My time's almost up," John says, the hand on Aaron's wrist slipping away. "I should go."
"Stay," Aaron says, and not because he doesn't want to face Haley's questions. He's tired again, hurting, and John's hand is warm around his. Warm, and strong, and staying, and John's other hand has returned to Aaron's wrist.
He lets himself drift back to sleep.
*****
"You know, they say they're ready to move your ass out of here, if only you'd bother to stay awake for more than a few minutes at a time."
Aaron smiles without opening his eyes. "Next thing I know you're going to tell me to quit faking it."
"Damn right, I am. Come on, Hotch. A little thing like this keeping you from the office? You're getting soft in your old age."
Aaron chuckles, which is still a bad idea, all things considered. The pull from his gut is enough to get him to open his eyes, just in time to catch Derek's furrowed brow aimed his direction.
"I'm fine," he says, which might not be completely true, not yet, but he's not dead on the floor of his apartment, either. "Foyet?"
"Dead." Derek's eyes are hard. Unquestionably certain. "This morning."
Aaron nods. Some of the pressing sense of things to do fades, but relief hasn't found him just yet. Maybe later, when he can think straight for longer than minutes at a time, when he has the full story of what happened. Maybe later he'll try to process all of this. Now, there are other things he can focus on. "You called John Blackwolf?"
Derek scratches at the side of his head. At first it strikes Aaron as a strangely hesitant gesture, but he supposes it's not that odd, given the circumstances. "Yeah, I did."
"Was I that obvious?"
"That--" Derek gapes, which could mean either a no or a very emphatic yes. Then he chuckles and shakes his head. "Hotch, I didn't even know. JJ called Sean and Haley, and then we were kind of at a loss. He was the last person I could think of who you seemed to even connect with, so I called him. It was a gut move more than anything on my part."
"Your instincts have always been an asset," Aaron murmurs. He's not sure if he's just outed himself or if John managed to do it for him, but it doesn't really matter. Never has, really, other than it was part of his personal life, and thus not something that belonged at work.
Or maybe it's that he hadn't ever been sure if something was there for anyone at work to take an interest in.
He sets that thought aside for the moment. "The team?"
"Worried about you." Derek smiles. "We're okay, Hotch. We can take care of ourselves."
"I know you can," he says, and that's true. His team is the best there is--but none of them has Superman's skill at dodging bullets. "Make sure you do."
Derek's hand closes around his shoulder for a moment. "I'll be back tomorrow. You want to see anybody in particular right now?"
Aaron opens his mouth. He should say Haley, because he still loves her, no matter how broken the two of them are. Or Sean, because he has a fuzzy recollection of his brother bending over the bed, but nothing more than that. Or Dave, even, so he can find out more about Foyet and the team.
He can't get himself to pick a name.
"Don't worry about it," Derek says as he steps back. "I'll take care of it."
It shouldn't surprise Aaron when John settles in at his side a few minutes later.
Derek's instincts have always been good, after all.
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Characters/Pairing: Team, Hotch/Blackwolf
Rating: Oh, PG?
Summary: Photography: the length of time a shutter is opened to expose film.
Notes: This is my little fantasy tag for the season finale (To Hell...And Back), set in my little Hotch/John Blackwolf universe, pretty much written just to make myself happy. You don't need to have read any of the other stories for this. Just know that they have a very tentative romantic relationship up to this point. 1400 words, so very spoilery. Thank you to smittywing for letting me natter at her at various points.
He wakes to bright light and blonde hair.
"Haley?" he calls, though his voice turns out to be nothing more than a warble in his throat.
"She's on her way," someone says, soft, comforting, a hand on his shoulder. JJ, he thinks, or maybe Kate. But the halo of her hair is too bright, his sticky, bleary eyes incapable of focusing on her face, and his lids keep sneaking downwards.
Later. He'll figure it out later.
*****
He doesn't quite wake up the next time. Not enough to open his eyes. He should, he knows that. There are things that he has to do, has to take care of, even if he can't remember them quite at the moment. Once he wakes up... But there's a hand on his forehead, and it feels so good to sleep, so maybe that's enough right now.
"You don't get to do this to me, Aaron." Haley's voice is deep, rough, a little phlegmy, like it gets when she's so mad she sees no choice but to issue an ultimatum. "Not anymore. Do you hear me? Jack needs his daddy."
Jack. Aaron tries to open his eyes then, because there's absolutely no way he can sleep if Jack needs him, but it's no use.
He sinks back down into darkness.
*****
One second he's asleep. The next he's not.
He blinks a few times, trying to figure out what's not right about everything around him. The light isn't bright, but it doesn't feel right. Coming from everywhere and nowhere, and there's a sheen of blue to it all, like he's been swimming underwater and only noticed the difference once he'd broken the surface again.
"It's about time." The blankness of the ceiling is relieved by Dave's face, his eyebrow cocked at an impatient angle. Aaron licks his lips, trying to figure out why he's so fucking out of it, when Dave snorts. "Relax, Aaron. Everything's okay."
It clicks, then. The dull heaviness in his body, the fog in his head. A brief memory of pain, and before that-- "Foyet. Did you--" A sudden tickle in his throat catches him by surprise. He tries to keep going, push past it, but it turns into a cough he can't fight.
"Don't worry about him," Dave says as the coughs finally fade, and that is such a horrible evasion Aaron would call him on it, if only he had the energy. He desperately wants a drink of water and some answers, but one second he's awake--and then he's not.
*****
The next time he comes to, it's more natural. More laced with pain, too, but it's bearable. For the first time he wonders just how badly he was hurt. What he's got to look forward to once he makes it out of this bed. It's the second thing on his list to ask, but when he turns his head, he sees a face that makes no sense here. Not in Washington. Not at his bedside.
"John?" he asks anyway, because he can't not, even though he must be dreaming.
That dark head lifts and Aaron finds himself staring into warm brown eyes. "Aaron," is all John says, drawing his name out in a way he never has before.
"You're here?" he asks, still feeling stupidly uncertain about reality.
John's lips quirk up on one side. "Your Agent Morgan called. Said he didn't know if I cared about you one way or the other, but if I did, I might want to think about getting the next flight out."
"John--" Aaron doesn't know what to say. Something hurts in his chest that he's pretty sure doesn't have anything to do with bullets. He reaches out--or tries to, anyway. He's weaker than he thought possible, and his hand is weighed down with tubes and tape. John comes to his rescue, threading his hands through the rail of the bed, curling his left around Aaron's fingers and cupping his right around Aaron's wrist. That something, Aaron realizes, is guilt and embarrassment and a desperate need, all blended together in one slushy swirl under his breastbone.
"You didn't have to come," he finally says.
John snorts. "Oh, I didn't come for you."
"Big lecture to give?" Aaron closes his eyes again, surprised at how much the thought hurts.
"I came for me," John says softly. His hands tighten on Aaron's, and Aaron squeezes back as much as he can. "I didn't know if I was going to get to say goodbye."
Aaron swallows. "I'm sorry."
"Yeah, well. You can reimburse me for my plane ticket once you're out of here."
"Anything," he promises. He wants to say more, although he's not sure what. Before he can get the words anywhere near untangled, he hears Haley, somewhere nearby, spiky with anger.
"But who is with him?" she demands, presumably from the nurse on duty, and god, he never wanted to have this conversation with her. It seems inevitable now.
"My time's almost up," John says, the hand on Aaron's wrist slipping away. "I should go."
"Stay," Aaron says, and not because he doesn't want to face Haley's questions. He's tired again, hurting, and John's hand is warm around his. Warm, and strong, and staying, and John's other hand has returned to Aaron's wrist.
He lets himself drift back to sleep.
*****
"You know, they say they're ready to move your ass out of here, if only you'd bother to stay awake for more than a few minutes at a time."
Aaron smiles without opening his eyes. "Next thing I know you're going to tell me to quit faking it."
"Damn right, I am. Come on, Hotch. A little thing like this keeping you from the office? You're getting soft in your old age."
Aaron chuckles, which is still a bad idea, all things considered. The pull from his gut is enough to get him to open his eyes, just in time to catch Derek's furrowed brow aimed his direction.
"I'm fine," he says, which might not be completely true, not yet, but he's not dead on the floor of his apartment, either. "Foyet?"
"Dead." Derek's eyes are hard. Unquestionably certain. "This morning."
Aaron nods. Some of the pressing sense of things to do fades, but relief hasn't found him just yet. Maybe later, when he can think straight for longer than minutes at a time, when he has the full story of what happened. Maybe later he'll try to process all of this. Now, there are other things he can focus on. "You called John Blackwolf?"
Derek scratches at the side of his head. At first it strikes Aaron as a strangely hesitant gesture, but he supposes it's not that odd, given the circumstances. "Yeah, I did."
"Was I that obvious?"
"That--" Derek gapes, which could mean either a no or a very emphatic yes. Then he chuckles and shakes his head. "Hotch, I didn't even know. JJ called Sean and Haley, and then we were kind of at a loss. He was the last person I could think of who you seemed to even connect with, so I called him. It was a gut move more than anything on my part."
"Your instincts have always been an asset," Aaron murmurs. He's not sure if he's just outed himself or if John managed to do it for him, but it doesn't really matter. Never has, really, other than it was part of his personal life, and thus not something that belonged at work.
Or maybe it's that he hadn't ever been sure if something was there for anyone at work to take an interest in.
He sets that thought aside for the moment. "The team?"
"Worried about you." Derek smiles. "We're okay, Hotch. We can take care of ourselves."
"I know you can," he says, and that's true. His team is the best there is--but none of them has Superman's skill at dodging bullets. "Make sure you do."
Derek's hand closes around his shoulder for a moment. "I'll be back tomorrow. You want to see anybody in particular right now?"
Aaron opens his mouth. He should say Haley, because he still loves her, no matter how broken the two of them are. Or Sean, because he has a fuzzy recollection of his brother bending over the bed, but nothing more than that. Or Dave, even, so he can find out more about Foyet and the team.
He can't get himself to pick a name.
"Don't worry about it," Derek says as he steps back. "I'll take care of it."
It shouldn't surprise Aaron when John settles in at his side a few minutes later.
Derek's instincts have always been good, after all.