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ssalavellan · 3 years

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The Places I Can't Reach

Warnings: Nothing really. It takes place mostly in the hospital but I kept the descriptions of Hotch's injury (Foyet's stabbing) minimal - it's not about that.

Notes: I've been writing this for a while now and it's not getting any better so...it just has to be done. It's just straight up Mortch, some sad, some fluff, mostly just...average ramblings because one night I wondered what it would look like if someone suddenly decided to be a parent to Hotch. ~4000 words

“Derek?” He could hear it in his voice. It was Aaron, of course it was because he watched him speak, but it also was not. He was weak and tired and the countless medications being dumped into his system to keep him alive, keep his pain managed, were creating a perfect storm of confusion and fear and hopelessness. He stood over Aaron's bed, holding his hand, and he tried to force a soft, reassuring smile while the world crumbled to dust around him. He'd sworn after Carl Buford never to put another person, not a single other living breathing creature fallible as he was on a pedestal but here he was, shattered at the sight of a man he hadn't realized he'd held in quite such high regard until the moment he'd witnessed him struck down. There was more to it than that, there always was, but that was the ground floor, the foundation of it all. The man in the hospital bed was just a man, and until this moment, watching him come apart at the seams, too weak to move, barely able to speak, he was certain that hadn't really ever occurred to him. Not like this, anyway.

“We gotta go to Albuquerque,” Derek said, and he heard what sounded like a strangled sob, a hitched breath, a painful gasp and he watched with his own growing fear as Aaron fell apart, just briefly, like it caught even him off guard when it happened. His features contorted into something tragic and silent tears burned in his eyes, coated his lashes as he tried to blink them away. Derek had already been wary of leaving, had tried to worm his way out of it, and now he knew without a doubt it was a mistake. It was just he and Rossi going, they had a trial they'd been subpoenaed for and there wasn't any way out of it no matter who he talked to. The one person who had the connections and the authority to get him out of it was lying in a hospital bed, unable to even sit upright without help. Aaron didn't know what day it was most of the time, so asking him to be in charge of his faculties enough to talk to the AG was akin to asking for the moon.

“Please. Please don't leave me. ” Even through the fear he couldn't admit what was really there, and on every level beneath the surface he knew the truth - that Derek had to leave, that everyone always left, and if they didn't, he would push them away. Good intentions mean nothing to the ebb and flow of reality. He would let Derek go before admitting he was afraid to be without him. The only person who didn't look at him with pity, the only person who made him still feel human, like Foyet hadn't stripped him completely of his dignity. The only person who didn't look at him like Foyet had shucked him, removed his shell and returned him to the scared, angry boy he once was, eager to fist fight his way out of any situation fueled by sheer desperation and fear and rage. Derek knelt beside him, he wanted to sit on the bed but they'd tried that trick already and it had ended up with blood and a crash cart, and maybe it had nothing to do with him being so close but he never wanted to feel that helpless again so he would have to settle for a little more distance. He kissed Aaron's knuckles, let his fingers trail up along the soft gauze on his arm, held eye contact. Every move he made was small, carefully planned and methodical, no surprises, no sudden movements.

“We'll be back in four days. And when I get back, I'll be just in time to bust you out of this place.” He wouldn't say he promised, though, because Derek didn't like to make promises – he wouldn't ever forgive himself for breaking one. Instead, he told Aaron that he wouldn't be alone, and even though Aaron had asked the team to stop visiting him, demanded it really, he had something else up his sleeve.

A moment of peace. A soft, sweet voice, barely audible over the hum of the machines, the groan and hiss of the blood pressure cuff inflating and deflating on his calf, the strangled sound of his own breath. It was barely there, but he could feel it and he knew it wasn't someone from his team, he'd told them to go home, to stay there. To stop coming, tear up their damn schedule and let him be. Maybe it was too angry and maybe they didn't realize before just how angry he was, the fury that burned slowly just waiting for a real spark. It wouldn't have to be much. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate their devotion but he just wanted silence, he wanted to be free from endlessly having to convince them he was alright for their own good, he needed them to stop pushing him so damn hard. He thought his weakness scared them, but maybe it was the anger that hovered there just beneath the surface that really did it. Emily wanted him to talk, to tell her things he never wanted to share and she wouldn't take no for an answer, but he could be silent forever if he needed to, he could fade away until you forgot he existed at all. JJ and Penelope wanted him to eat, but they didn't understand how bad it hurt to eat, to put food in knowing it had to come back out. Dave wanted to reassure him they'd catch Foyet but he'd been chasing Foyet for over a decade already and he hadn't yet so it just felt like lies. They were desperate and directionless without him, without knowing how to help him. It knocked out their center of gravity, they were spiraling, and there was a moment when Derek made his decision clear by simply telling him that he didn't owe any of them a single thing. That no matter how involved they tried to be, this time, this pain, this healing belonged entirely to him.

So he told them to stop. Rip up their schedule, get back to work, leave him alone. Dave and Derek took charge and brought their feet back to the ground, meeting every argument to the contrary with the same canned response that he was a grown man and they would respect his wishes. He may have been lonely, but the loneliness could be comforting in its familiarity. Even with Derek and Dave out of town, the team respected his wishes, no one came to visit him (though he suspected they were keeping tabs, maybe even peeking through the open door, but no one entered).

Still, there was a voice beside him anyway.

Somehow, even after all the years, he'd underestimated Derek and his enormous bleeding heart. He hadn't counted on Derek doing exactly what he said, following his orders to a T, but also carefully ambushing him with someone to care for him that let him be exactly where he was, off the hook for strength, lonely and in pain and weak. She wouldn't stand for his false bravado, wouldn't put up with any of his grumbling about being able to do something on his own that he clearly could not or should not. Instead, she sat beside his bed in that chair and she made sure the nurses were called when they were needed, she made sure he drank his apple juice by watering it down until he could handle it and ate whatever food the doctors said was absolutely necessary but let him off the hook for anything they considered optional (there would be plenty of time for food later), and she kept his phone from him so he wouldn't be the least bit tempted to work. Most of all she talked with him, she listened to him, and when he was spent, she read to him until he slept in the hopes that his dreams would be good because she understood all too well how nightmares could settle into every crack and crevice if you let them.

Derek had flown his mother in from Chicago, and it was everything Aaron didn't know he needed, he'd never had a mother who doted on him, who was nurturing in the ways Derek's mother was. His own mother comforted out of necessity, and it was strained and it was selfish.

Fran appeared after he woke, startled from a dream, the same awful dream over and over and he'd expected to see Dave there like he usually did. Dave would hover over him when he frightened himself awake, and he'd see his friend reassuring him it was all a dream, he was safe, but that didn't happen. No Dave lying to tell him he was safe because he was not safe, he never had been. Dave was in Albuquerque he reminded himself. Dave and Derek were both there, across the country, away from him. He turned his head painfully to the side at the sound of crinkling paper, pages turning. His gauze and stitches bit into his skin at the subtle shift. The smallest movement took all of his energy, reminded him that stillness was his only recourse.

“Fran?” he whispered, licking his dry, chapped lips. She looked up from her book and smiled so sweetly at him he thought he may have been dreaming, except no one smiled in his dreams.

“Hey sweetie,” she replied, sliding a worn out business card into her book to mark her page and setting it down. He tried to speak but the words wouldn't come, his throat was sandpaper. She grabbed his water cup and held it up to him, turned the straw to let him sip, remembering what Derek had told her. Aaron would never ask for what he needed, she would have to learn how to read minds and learn it quick. He'd given her a list, things to do, things to say, and most of it she intended to ignore completely – she knew how to comfort people without a numbered list, especially from her son. The list would be easily forgotten. She thought she knew Aaron especially well after all of the years Derek had been on the team, and all of the years her son had been head over heels for this strange, too serious man with his angry, pinched features that softened to sunshine around her son.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, finally, once the water had done its job, eased the pain in his throat. He'd asked her this same question for two days now, the drugs fading his memories in and out, but she just smiled like it was the first time because he deserved that much.

“Can I get you anything?” she asked, ignoring his question. Telling him the truth, that she'd been there two days already and he couldn't remember it wouldn't help anyone, least of all him, but she wouldn't lie to him either. When he shook his head no and closed his eyes, she put down her own book and picked up their book, The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe, the book she'd been reading aloud since she'd made herself comfortable beside him. She'd read it to her children, even as teenagers. Derek had told her it was a particular favorite of Aaron's and one he planned to read Jack someday. It was a sweet adventure, nothing too heavy, and one he could easily lose himself in if he afforded himself the luxury. She'd asked the nurse if it was an odd choice to read to a grown man in his position, but she assured her it was perfect, meeting him where he was with something light that flooded him with memories of goodness and comfort, things he needed above all else. When she began reading about Lucy and Mr. Tumnus, Aaron opened his eyes and she could see it, the sadness and humiliation as he remembered how long she'd been there, how much of the book they'd already covered, he just forgot, but she forged onward. He let himself sit in Mr. Tumnus' home, and the words swirled through his mind as she spoke them, sometimes even a moment before, he knew the story so well. He opened his mouth to speak, and she paused, marked the page with her finger and set it in her lap to listen.

“I read this book to Sean,” he whispered, his features grim but soft. “It was summer, and I blew out my knee in a soccer game, couldn't go outside and play for a month...just had to stay on the couch.” She pursed her lips and nodded, leaning closer to hear him, he was so soft spoken, his lips hardly moved. “Sean was little, four maybe. He sat on my stomach with his cereal in the morning and I read to him, we got through the whole book before I could go play again. Mr. Tumnus was his favorite. I asked our mother to get us some Turkish Delight, we didn't know what it was but it had to be great for Edmund to sell his soul for it. I'm not sure how she did it, but my mom found some. It was the best thing either one of us had ever eaten, just pure sugar. We used to joke that the White Witch could have us anytime she wanted so long as she brought the candy.” He went silent again and she smiled at the memory, told him it was sweet, but she knew his relationship with his brother was strained so she didn't ask if Sean was going to come visit or what he was up to now. Instead she just made a soft humming noise and went back to reading, and he didn't speak again before falling asleep.

“Who is that with Hotch?” JJ asked, wheeling Spencer down from his room. The chair had a squeaky wheel and it echoed through the hallway, announcing their arrival with every turn. They paused in front of Aaron's room, peering in through the door silently. He'd been cooped up in the hospital the same amount of time, but he hadn't been down to visit Aaron and even though he knew they were under strict orders to stop coming, he didn't think that applied to him since technically he hadn't even done it yet.

“That's Derek's mom,” Spencer replied, very matter of fact, as if JJ should have known that though he wasn't sure why she would. He couldn't recall a time when the two of them would have met, in fact, he'd only met her once years before. He couldn't account for why she was there, though, in Aaron's room reading softly to him. He couldn't hear her but he could read her lips, knew what she was reading. JJ glanced down at Spencer, eyes wide.

“Derek's mom? Like...Derek Morgan's mom?”

“Yes,” Spencer's reply was short, he was trying to sort things out. “Her name is Fran. I think we should leave. Come back later.” JJ nodded, she agreed. There was something strange about knowing Derek's mother was sitting with Aaron, something that felt forbidden, like they were trespassing on something not meant for them. There was no explanation either could come up with, on their way back up to Spencer's room, that seemed to hold any water but JJ was struck by a feeling reminiscent to her own not so long ago, trying to preserve some level of privacy in a group of people designed to invade and penetrate that very thing. Still, her curiosity was piqued.

“We could just...ask Derek,” JJ said, finally, helping Spencer back into his bed. He glanced up at her, a look of concern crossing his features. She didn't want to, but it was on the table. The room was too quiet, every word they spoke seemed to echo mercilessly.

“He would have mentioned it if he wanted us to know.”

“You think he's trying to hide something?”

“I don't know. I guess I just figured he would have said oh, by the way, I'm flying my mom in to be with Hotch or something but he didn't so maybe it's supposed to be a secret.”

“Yeah, that sounds just like him,” she muttered sarcastically, rolling her eyes. “Come on Spence. He probably thought something like I'm not about to just let him be alone and then bought her a plane ticket without saying anything to anyone because he makes his own rules.” She did her best Derek impression and Spencer chuckled, she wasn't half bad at mimicking his deep, gravelly tones. Still, it gave them pause, and after some more careful consideration they decided to call him.

“I forgot you knew what my mom looked like, kid,” Derek said to Spencer, seated on the bed in his hotel room. He was preparing for another day in court, psyching himself up to be called to the stand. This phone call wasn't helping. “Didn't think anyone would know. Don't say anything, okay? You're the only ones who know she's here and I really don't wanna answer any questions.”

“Why is it a secret?”

“Spence...” JJ said, having put it together the moment she heard the tone in Derek's voice. “Think about it.”

“I am. I haven't stopped thinking about it since I saw her and it doesn't make sense, unless...” he let his voice trail off, and Derek waited expectantly, knowing he was nearly there. This wasn't exactly how he'd pictured them telling their friends, but then, he hadn't really ever pictured being in this situation in the first place. He'd also been operating under the assumption that they might just be able to hide it forever.

“Unless...” Derek mumbled, and Spencer's eyes went wide and he blinked rapidly, three four five times like he was short circuiting. JJ suppressed a smile.

“No...”

“Yeah, kid. Don't have an aneurysm OK? It's all good.”

Fran sat with Aaron morning and night, taking only small breaks in the middle of the day while he had appointments with all sorts of therapists to go to Derek's home to walk his dog, take a shower, change her clothes. She spoke on the phone to her daughters and her friends, kept busy, but made sure that when his eyes were open, she was all his because that's what a mom was supposed to do and she was certain, the longer this went on, that he'd never been given this much attention by anyone in his entire life who didn't want something from him in return. During one particularly painful evening, when the doctors couldn't seem to get him comfortable or keep him asleep no matter what they pumped into his IV, he called her mom, cried out for her and it nearly broke her heart but she sat there beside him and held his hand, there wasn't anything else she could do. He wouldn't ever remember doing it, but she wouldn't ever forget it.

“Safe? Who said anything about safe? 'Course he isn't safe. But he's good. He's the king, I tell you,” she read softly, and out of the corner of her eye she saw the shadow of her son leaning in the doorway, duffel bag slung over his shoulder like he'd come directly from the jet. She smiled and closed her book, set it on her lap gingerly and stood up to greet Derek.

“He sleeping?” Derek whispered, wrapping his mom in a hug. She nodded.

“Just barely, it's been another bad night.” He knew what that meant, knew how hard it was, but the peaceful look on his face made him infinitely glad he'd flown his mother out. “Are you staying?”

“Yeah, mom, I'll stay. You go get some sleep.”

Derek couldn't believe Aaron would want to return to his apartment. He'd hounded everyone he could to get new carpet, to fix the hole in the wall, but all of the work was sub-par at best and if Derek could tell, Aaron would surely be able to. He tried to convince him to come stay at his house, at least temporarily, but Aaron needed his autonomy, he needed his solitude, and on some level Derek suspected Aaron was punishing himself for what had happened to himself, to Haley and Jack, to Derek, to O'Mara, the people on the bus, anyone he could imagine to be a victim of Foyet's. He would need to pay a penance for all of it, and part of that had to be living in the home he'd been violated in, the place that should have been safe and secure.

“I'm staying,” Derek told him, and Aaron argued fiercely, he may have been weak and in tremendous pain but he wouldn't go down without a fight. Suddenly he was ten again, fighting for his life on the playground with boys two and three grades above him who saw an easy target in the boy who was too small, who bruised easily and cried furious tears as he threw his fists around. He was desperately trying to gain some sort of control over his unraveling life, and it looked like anger and harsh words and a pain he could explain away as his wounds but it started long before Foyet and his knife. Derek wasn't afraid of him, and he wouldn't fight back, he just planted himself firmly before Aaron and told him repeatedly that he wasn't going anywhere. Sheer exhaustion and unbearable pain forced Aaron to give in, to lie in his bed and let Derek help him. He brought his ice packs and his heating pads, he heated up broth and watered down apple juice to the point that it was barely able to be considered juice at all. He counted out his pills in the morning and in the evening, he changed bandages, and he took a break only when his mother told him he was pushing too hard and he need to leave for a bit. She was gentle with Aaron, she met him where he was, didn't try to force him to take a step forward when all he wanted to do was stay put.

“It's okay,” she would say. “Today, you're right here. Tomorrow you might want to take a few steps, or maybe that won't happen for a week, or even a month. There's no timeline for this, sweetheart, but we're here to take those steps by your side when you're ready.”

She baked him a peach cobbler and told him to keep Derek's hands off of it. She portioned some of it into tiny little cups and threw them in the freezer, for when he wanted a little treat, and left the rest in the refrigerator. When Derek noticed it, he dove right in with a fork, unable to contain his glee. He hadn't had his mother's cooking in far too long, and her cobbler was a masterpiece with sweet syrup and cinnamon and buttery biscuits on top.

“Uh uh,” she scolded, smacking the fork out of his hand. “That's for Aaron.” They both knew Derek would end up eating all of it, that Aaron wouldn't touch more than a bite or two, but that wasn't the part that mattered.

After a few more days, she flew back to Chicago and Derek went back to work, giving him his days to himself. Derek still came by after work, stayed the night with him, but he didn't push so hard. Aaron was reading the rest of the Narnia series, a book a day for a short while, and then he was picking up books from his shelves that he'd bought years ago collecting dust or recommendations from Spencer that he hadn't gotten around to reading. Derek would return from work to find him curled up on his couch, wrapped in his heated blanket and a book, a cup of tea on the coffee table usually untouched but at least he tried, at least the effort was there. Some days he'd eaten a few saltines or a bowl of real soup, other days he couldn't stomach anything and Derek would have to force him to drink one of those thick, chalky shakes the doctors prescribed that made him sick but at least he would get some form of calories.

A week after Fran had gone, a package showed up on his doorstep. He'd heard the knock but he couldn't bring himself to open the door, afraid of what he'd find on the other side. Instead, the package waited on his stoop until Derek came strolling in after work. It was a small box, and upon opening it, he found it to be an ornate candy box, red with gold trim and a gold ribbon tied delicately around it all. Inside were six Turkish Delight candies, bright red and orange and dusted with powdered sugar and glistening like tiny jewels. He smiled and pulled out the card from inside the box.

Call your brother. - Mom

“Uh oh, my bad...” Derek said, draping his arm over Aaron's shoulder as he sat with the small box in his lap, hardly able to comprehend the gift, or the note, or the love behind both. It wasn't anything akin to what he was used to, what he knew a mother's love to be, and he wasn't entirely sure how to navigate. “There's no turning back now. I don't know why, but she must have liked you. Lemme just tell you...if you don't call Sean, she'll know. I wouldn't test her.”

He didn't want to call Sean, but he also didn't want to upset Fran Morgan, so he popped a candy into his mouth (which made Morgan unreasonably happy to watch on a night when he knew they were destined for another chalky protein shake) and he picked up his phone.

#I love this so much

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ssalavellan · 3 years

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So do you fics where there is one bed and they have to share it? The one bed trope but with mortch. They both have to sleep on one bed and then Hotch ends up cuddling with Morgan. Morgan doesn't say anything and just lets Hotch be. And when Hotch wakes up, he's embarrassed and starts rambling about how he is sorry and Morgan ends up kissing him to shut him up.

Oh, absolutely! I’ll do just about anything if I can make it Mortch. I don't have a lot of time for something good and long but I hope this is satisfying! <3

***

“One bed?!” It wasn't bad enough that they all had to share rooms, or that he'd ended up being paired up with Hotch, but now they were in the one room that only had one bed. One, single queen sized bed with its thin blankets and few pillows. After the long day they'd had, going directly to the police station and crime scenes without a stop at the hotel first, all he wanted was to get into the shower and get into bed. Hotch felt the same.

“I'm sorry, Morgan,” Hotch said softly, setting his bag on the floor in the corner. He crouched and unzipped it, pulling out his toiletries and items that needed hanging. “I'll take the floor, don’t worry about it.” He'd had a headache all day, the kind of dull ache behind his eyes that told him he hadn't had enough water, hadn't slept enough, and he wasn't in the mood to haggle over the bed or grumble over the state of the room. He just wanted to curl up in a blanket and close his eyes wherever he landed. He and Morgan had shared rooms plenty of times and he wasn't sure why it was different now, but he had no energy to care.

“You're not sleeping on the damn floor,” Morgan replied after a moment of careful consideration. He felt awful that Hotch thought that was even necessary to offer. The bed was plenty big for them to share, he just wanted to complain. It had been a bad day, there were images of gore that floated through his mind every time he closed his eyes, he and Prentiss had argued at the crime scene and Reid was being snippy with him. He wasn’t in the mood for this on top of everything else but it wasn't Hotch's or the hotel's fault. “It's not like it's the first time we've shared a bed, man.”

Quiet. They went through their evening routines in quiet, taking the shower in shifts, washing up, tying up loose ends. Hotch pulled out his laptop and fired off a barrage of emails to his bosses, updates on the case, action items he wanted on meeting agendas, a to-do list for his desk back at Quantico. They had consults piling up, seminars to book and there were at least three trials coming up that he had to prepare for and he needed to delegate at least one of them to another team member if he was going to keep his head above water. He had rescheduled a meeting with the DOJ twice and he was about to do it again, which was going to cut into his case prep time considerably. These were the things that kept him up at night, stressed him out, forced him to compartmentalize in order to be of any use during cases. He wanted to email Strauss and the Director, see if they could find another team to absorb some of the consults but every time he started typing the letters rearranged themselves in his mind and he had to blink hard to get them back to normal. His headache was getting worse the longer he stared at his computer, he could barely manage staying upright. He'd have to settle for putting most of that on his list for later. He liked to keep his desktop sorted and his inbox empty, it helped him get what little sleep he could to know nothing was going to surprise him in the morning but travel always ruined his focus the first night.

“Close that thing,” Morgan said, glancing up from his text to Garcia and watching the way Hotch was struggling to type, hitting a few keys then furiously backspacing over and over. “You need to call it a night.”

“Almost done.” He fired off a few emails and meeting requests, some of which pinged on Morgan's phone, eliciting a dramatic eye roll.

“I'm gonna find a movie,” Morgan muttered as he watched Hotch finally close his laptop and slip into the bed, curling around himself in an almost childlike way. He just made a soft grunting noise and nodded his head, it wouldn't matter. His headache had gotten worse since his shower, but the moment his cheek was against the thin, cool pillow and his eyes closed, he felt better. Morgan just shrugged and propped the remaining pillows against the wall, leaning against them with his long legs stretched out before him. He clicked through the channels mindlessly, the volume barely above a low hum until he found a Stallone movie that was already half over so it was in the thick of the good stuff. He set the remote down and listened to the sounds of Hotch's breathing, rhythmic and deep, he was already sleeping. He slipped down into the blankets himself, rolled on his side and cradled his head on his arm, feeling his eyelids drop heavily with each blink and he finally fell asleep to the sounds of Rambo's gunfire.

The bright green digital clock read 2:17am when Morgan woke up sweating, having kicked himself entirely out of the blankets. The room was stifling, it was hard to breathe and the TV was still on. He glanced over at Hotch who looked like he hadn't moved, not even a little but he could see the steady rise and fall of the man's chest that told him that he was still alive. Slowly, he slipped out of bed and over to the thermostat, grumbling when he saw it set to 75 and with sleepy eyes he turned it down. He had no idea how far down he turned it, he just kept clicking and clicking until the wall fan blew cool air onto his legs, then made his way to the bathroom for a cold drink of water before returning to bed. He didn't get back under the blankets, just sprawled himself out and hoped it wouldn't take long for the room to cool or he'd have to go hang his head out the window for some fresh air.

4:24am and he woke again, but this time he had to pee. He blinked lazily a few times, disoriented, feeling the weight of a body against his that hadn't been there when he'd gone to sleep. It took a moment to take stock of the situation, the chill in the air, the gentle shiver of the body against his, the cold nose pressed into his shoulder. Hotch was sleeping, and somehow Morgan had forgotten that he ran cold, it had been so long since they'd shared a room. The first time he'd woken to the feeling of Hotch against him, huddling with him for warmth, he'd been shocked but this time it felt like coming home. He slid out of the bed and padded toward the bathroom to relieve himself, and when he returned Hotch had rolled back to his own side of the bed and bundled himself deep inside of the blankets. Morgan thought about turning the thermostat back up, but decided to let it be, their alarm would be going off in an hour anyway, there wasn't much point so he slipped back into the bed and went back to sleep.

The shrill scream of the alarm forced them both awake before the sun. Hotch found himself shivering, and much to his chagrin, wrapped up in Morgan's arms. Morgan's eyes were open, but he made no move to untangle them, nothing about it seemed to ruffle him though Hotch felt his entire body go electric with humiliation.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered, pushing himself upright and starting to slide away from the other man. “I uh...it's cold in here...” He was stuttering, something Morgan forgot he did when he got anxious. He'd forgotten a lot of things about Hotch over the years, he supposed, but the memories were coming back to him at an alarming rate now.

“Don't worry about it,” he replied, reaching out to hold Hotch's forearm, pull him back in. He pressed the snooze button and grinned when Hotch didn't protest too hard, let himself be pulled back into the warmth of the blankets. They were lying there now, face to face, bundled in the mess of sheets and blankets, noses almost touching. There was a look of terror in Hotch's eyes, and Morgan knew that look, the one that said he had no idea how to navigate the situation at hand and he was intensely uncomfortable when he didn't know how to do something.

“I...shower...station...” Hotch was still trying to make words happen but his mind was fuzzy, he couldn't sort his thoughts, and finally to put an end to both of their misery, Morgan leaned in and pressed a kiss to Hotch's lips. Something he had wanted to do for some time now, as he was recalling with some sudden clarity. It was crossing a line, it was wildly inappropriate behavior, and yet he felt an easy satisfaction over it all. Damn the consequences, he figured. He felt Hotch melt into his embrace, betraying just how touch starved and lonely he was, and Morgan held him tighter.

“Stop talking,” Morgan whispered, lips tickling against Hotch's. “It's all good.”

#this is so soft holy shit #I loved that last paragraph #and I love Mortch fics from Morgan’s POV #ughhhhh my heart

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