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codename-mom · 9 days

Text

Cookie jar

Summary: The team is on the field without Hotch who's on a leave for some days, but they have to call him anyway. Suddenly, something happens and everybody worry about Jack.

Characters: BAU team and Jack Hotchner

Contents: TW a child is hurt (but everything is fine) and a tiny bit of angst because can't be anything else but anxious.

This is a text written for the KidFic CM challenge organized by @imagining-in-the-margins.

PS : English is not my mother language so they are necessarily mistakes. Sorry about that.

___

The team had gathered in the room the police had assigned them – a cubbyhole, so to speak, cluttered with cardboard boxes and mops – and Derek dialed Hotch's cell phone number. The latter was on leave for a few days. His men were reluctant to call him when he did, so that he could enjoy his time away from Quantico to the full, but they had no choice. The first clues found in the field echoed those of an old case the director and Jason Gideon had worked on in the past. As the latter had vanished into thin air, they could only contact the former.

He picked up after several rings.

“Hotch?”

“One moment, he stopped him on the spot. Jack, I said no. I’m coming back.”

Morgan had put his phone on speaker so that everyone could follow the conversation, and so they all heard the TV gradually fading away, until it was almost muffled. They imagined he must have gone to his bedroom, or some other room where he could close the door behind him.

“What's the matter?” he asked, in an annoyed tone.

“Sorry to bother you,” apologized Emily, trying to appease him.

It wasn't certain that this impromptu call was the cause of his irritation, but if in doubt, it was best to try and smooth things over.

“Tell me,” he ordered, his intonation unchanged.

“We've potentially got a resurrected serial killer,” the ex-policeman attested.

“If I tell you: branding on the shoulder, chains on the ankles and whipping. Does it speak to you?” went on Dave, next to him.

A silence passed, during which he had to return to his memories.

“… Yes, but the culprit was sentenced to life.”

“Actually, he passed away last month, Derek clarified. But the last victim was killed on Monday.”

“His accomplice was released for good behavior last year, but his file disappeared, Prentiss explained from across the table. Can you remember his name?”

“I imagine you've already searched the digital archives for this information.”

“Affirmative, confirmed Penelope, who had come with them for the occasion. And there’s nothing. The guy just disappeared.”

The agency manager fell silent again. For a long time. The profilers stared at each other, tense.

“Hotch?” impatiently asked Morgan.

“Just a moment, I'm trying to remember, thundered his superior. His name was… De…”

A loud crash and a breaking glass could be heard in the background, and everyone froze as the giant shouted:

“Jack!”

A door opened and footsteps moved away from the handset. Clearly, the giant had left his phone behind. Tension gripped the whole group, their senses on the alert and their hearts pounding against their ribs.

“Did we kill tiny-Hotch?” moaned Garcia, on the verge of tears.

In the distance, the voice of the father calling his son made them fear the worst. Then the little boy started screaming at the top of his lungs, and everyone shuddered.

“Apparently not,” ironized Emily, who wasn't putting up much more of a fight than her colleagues.

“What do I do? wondered Derek, unsettled by the situation. I hang up?”

“Maybe he'll come back to us,” Spencer stated uncomfortably.

“I don't think so,” objected JJ, listening intently to the distant din.

“Why?”

“This is clearly the cry of a child in real pain.”

As the only mother in the unit, they trusted her judgment without a hesitation.

“Well, maybe I'll hang up now,” voiced Morgan, ready to press the button.

“Wait,” advised Rossi.

Jack was still crying loudly, perhaps a little quieter than a few moments earlier, but more importantly, they noticed that the sound was now moving. And he grew weaker and weaker until he disappeared completely.

“It sounded a lot like a door slamming,” Prentiss claimed, her eyebrows furrowing.

“You can hang up now,” Dave confirmed.

Derek obeyed sighing. He hadn't expected such a turn of events and now felt guilty about what had just happened. He knew the kid a little and he was always delighted to see him, his eyes shining with admiration every time. Like his counterparts, he didn't know what had occurred, but feared that something grave had happened, which would leave neither the child nor its progenitor unscathed.

“It could have been worse,” pointed out JJ.

Everyone looked at her, bewildered.

“Are you kidding? Retorted the brunette. I don't know what’s going on, but it's serious enough that Hotch left with him.”

“Yes, but Jack was crying.”

“So what?” inquired Morgan, confused.

“That means he was conscious,” Reid attested confidently.

The man who had taken over the leadership of the team when Aaron was absent took a long breath and ordered his peers to get back to work in spite of everything. They worked with this question in the back of their minds: how was Jack doing? Based on the thin clue left by their superior, they searched, groped, and modified their profile until they found a certain Denis Porter, who turned out to be their unsub. All this in record time. Since they were in the neighboring state, they returned to the Quantico offices while it was still daylight. Immediately, the worry that had been nagging them all came back to mind, and synchronously, they looked at their phones. None of them had received a message, which didn't reassure them at all.

“Penelope, do you have any way of knowing which hospital he was admitted to?” inquired JJ.

“Why do you ask? teased her colleague, who immediately took to her keyboard. I'll do it right away, my little ones.”

She typed the toddler's first and last names into her search engine and the result appeared almost instantly on her screen. All gathered around the analyst in her colorful lair, they read the information at the same time.

“Let's go,” commanded Emily, leading the way.

A few minutes later, they jumped in two Bureau SUVs and headed for downtown Washington DC, following the itinerary on their GPS. They parked quickly and hurried to the reception desk. The nurse behind the counter was somewhat surprised to see the herd arrive, armed and determined, but was reassured to see Derek's warm smile. She directed them to the pediatric emergency room on the other side of the building. Together, they made their way through the corridors until they reached another admissions department, where they were given the room number.

They shared a similar fear at this moment. They dreaded discovering the state of the youngster and prayed the titan wasn’t ready to drop again. He'd already suffered enough; he didn't deserve to be in even worse shape. Morgan didn't have the courage to knock on the door, which was ajar but not wide enough for them to see what was going on inside. Rossi did it for him.

“Knock, knock!”

“Come in,” Hotch reacted, in his usual tone.

They took a few steps and saw the boy lying on a bed, in a hospital gown, his head turbaned, but grinning from ear to ear. His father was sitting in a chair on the other side of the bed, and a brief chuckle lifted the corner of his lips. Relieved, all the agents took Jack in their arms one after the other – except Spencer, who simply banged his fist against his. The girls added a kiss on his cheek and told him he was very brave. The effusive reunion over, Aaron declared:

“Denis Porter.”

“Yes, we found him,” Dave replied, squeezing his shoulder.

“Good.”

He didn't have the expression of someone satisfied with their work. He still looked distressed.

“What happened?” said JJ, asking aloud the question they'd all been asking themselves.

“Mister wanted a cookie. I pointed out to him that it wasn't the right time, but he waited until my back was turned to take one.”

“And?” bounced Prentiss.

“Well, he had his cookie. A lot of cookies. And the jar itself.”

The adults' gaze swiveled towards the injured boy, who gave them his best little rascal smile. He had no regrets about what he'd done. Some of the visitors felt sorry for him, once again showering him with hugs, while the others shook their heads in disappointment.

“Concussion?” continued JJ.

“It’s what we’re waiting to see. He has been under observation since 3:30 p.m.”

They reflexively glanced at their watches. He had been here for almost three hours.

“He looks okay, Derek remarked as he sat down on the bed next to him. Right, buddy?”

“Yeah.”

“Tomorrow you'll be a hero at school,” affirmed Rossi, leaning against the bedposts.

“Yeah!” exulted Jack, proudly.

“Because he took a cookie jar to the forehead?” judged Emily, eyebrows furrowed.

“Scars,” Reid whispered, in a tone of obviousness.

“… Guys...” sighed the three women in unison, as they saw the same victorious expression on the faces of their male comrades.

Someone knocked on the door and a nurse entered, a little disconcerted to see so many people in the room.

“Mr. Hotchner?”

“Yes,” responded the interested party, rising to his feet.

“Can you come with me for a moment?”

Instinctively, he turned to his offspring and met his irises.

“We'll look after him, Hotch, Penelope reassured him, having grasped the source of his apprehension. Go.”

His teammates nodded in support, and Aaron very gently kissed his son on his bandaged forehead before leaving the room. Without them needing to ask, the hero of the day began to tell them all about his adventures, dwelling on unimportant details, forgetting the end of some of his sentences to go back and move on to something else, and surely exaggerating certain facts. All this with boundless energy and plenty of grand gestures that definitely appeased them about his state of health.

However, Morgan saw the nurse pass by again in the other direction out of the corner of his eye and was puzzled not to see Hotch reappear immediately afterwards. He waited a little longer, in vain. He apologized to his fellows and returned to the corridor. He discovered the giant a few yards away, leaning against the wall, a document in his hand. His pupils turned towards the ground, he seemed lost. Derek felt a vise tighten around his throat. What if…?

“Trouble?”

“What? gasped the manager, rudely jolted from his thoughts. No. This is the exit voucher. Everything is fine.”

The former policeman relaxed.

“So why the long face?”

The agency head lowered his nose, dodging his gaze, before sighing. Then he lifted his chin and turned his dark irises on him.

“… How did your mother do it?”

“To what?” he reacted, taken aback by this private question.

“To raise three children on her own into perfect adults.”

He couldn't help but burst out laughing, even though his interlocutor had spoken very seriously. At least he understood why he looked so downcast when all the indicators were green. As usual, the ex-prosecutor scourged himself for not having been able to protect a loved one, when there was no reason to do so.

“I'm not sure she'd say that,” he joked to lighten the mood.

“You arrest serial killers and, from what I've seen, your sisters don't seem to be into organized crime.”

Seen like that, indeed, his mother had done a very good job of keeping them on the straight and narrow. But that didn't mean the road wasn't full of bumps.

“Hotch, what happened was an accident, as it happens in every family in the world. I did the same stunt when I was a kid and, obviously, I'm fine.”

It was the truth. He himself had taken a tin of candy on the corner of his skull when he was a little older than the director's son. He had climbed onto a chair and then onto the kitchen counter before stretching out to grab the object of his desire, which his mother had placed as high up in the room as possible. In the end, he found himself in the emergency room with a huge lump on his forehead. The images were no longer so clear in his mind, but he still remembered his mother's concern as she brought him unconscious to the hospital. The same expression of anguish and guilt appeared on his neighbor's face.

“Hotch, Jack's moving, he's talking, and he's got clearance to get out of here. So, everything is okay.”

“Then why do I feel like the worst father in the world?” he retorted, not daring to look up.

He almost replied that it was because he had very low self-esteem, but restrained himself to give him a more consensual, but no less correct answer.

“You were scared for him, it’s normal.”

“But it's not just that, he despaired, peeling himself away from the wall to walk down the corridor. I constantly asking for help. To Jessica, to Haley’s mother, to my own mother… even JJ. I’m incapable of taking care of him all by myself.”

Morgan was touched despite himself by the disarray of his opposite, who was still struggling to adapt to his new life as a single father. Not being in his situation, he couldn't really give him advice, but could always try to make him see reason.

“Hotch, I think all parents ask other people for help. My mother would ask other women in the neighborhood for advice, and some of them would even babysit us. Your mother must have done the same thing, JJ does and I'm pretty sure Haley did too. You're no more incapable than anyone else.”

He and his sisters had spent entire afternoons and weekends at their aunts' so that their mother could work or simply have time for herself, and none of her children had had the audacity to reproach her in any way.

“… I wish I could be as sure as you are.”

Derek rolled his eyes and held back from kicking his butt. His propensity for only seeing the glass as half empty annoyed him to no end, but he tempered his urge to strangle him by reminding himself that the context wasn't helping either. So, he chose a gentler method.

“Does Jack smile?”

“What?” exclaimed Aaron, raising his nose.

“Do you see Jack smiling?”

“Yes.”

“Laugh?”

“Yes.”

“Does he tell you he loves you? Without you having to tell him beforehand or giving him something he wanted?”

“Yes.”

“So, everything is good.”

The giant analyzed the exchange they had just had, and his subordinate saw his features gradually relax. He fixed his gaze in his again and, with a pale smile, said:

“… Thank you.”

Morgan's lips stretched warmly, and he laid a hand on his shoulder in return. The two men then went to the little boy's room, where his father told him the good news.

___

This idea jumped in my head after my first watch of season 5 and this dialogue between Derek and Hotch, where Derek has decided to write his own report to leave more free time for him to take care of Jack (because he knows what it is to be a single parent).

That scene was so cute, that I needed to imagine another peaceful moments between the two of them. Because we all know that they appreciate each other more than they will confess it. Because boys are boys...

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codename-mom · 4 months

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It's a piece of cake

Summary: Jack is turning six and Penelope wants to do something for the occasion, but Hotch may have a bad news for her. Or maybe not.

Characters: BAU team (Pentagone JJ's era) and Jack, Will and Henry

Contents: TW mention of nausea, but it's completely safe. :)

This is a text written for the CM Office Party challenge organized by @imagining-in-the-margins.

PS : English is not my mother language so they are necessarily mistakes. Sorry about that.

___

Hotch was trying to figure out why there was a seventeen pennies discrepancy in the agency's accounts when a tornado rolled into his office.

“Sir! Sir! Sir!”

“Garcia, calm down, he ordered her softly. And stop calling me “sir”, please.”

The young woman had been working under him for seven years and still hadn't broken this embarrassing habit. He knew why she did it – because he still impressed her despite the deplorable state she'd already seen him in – but it bothered him terribly every time. This "sir", supposedly respectful, added twenty years to his real age and added a layer of austerity to his already cold and distant appearance.

“… Hotch?” she murmured, suddenly shy.

“Better. What… why are you here?”

“I don’t disturb you, I hope?”

Aaron glanced in the direction of his interminable table of numbers and commas, still broken, then returned to his guest.

“… No. Go on.”

“Okay, she commented, starting to fidget again. It’s Jack’s birthday this week, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Thursday.”

“Perfect! That's exactly what I noted, she pointed out with a certain pride. Would… would you like me to prepare a little surprise party for him this weekend?”

If there was one thing the director hated, it was seeing disappointment on the faces of people he loved. And even more so on Penelope's plump face, which held a special place in his heart. Jack adored the technical analyst, who gave him all sorts of odds and ends every chance she got, and who told him extraordinary stories with boundless energy. And the agent cherished the little boy as if he were her own, never failing to notice that he was the unit's first baby – a fact that seemed crucial to her. Both would have gladly accepted this proposal. But…

“… In other words, there's already a party planned for him this weekend. Saturday, to be more precise.”

All the former hacker's enthusiasm died down like a soufflé. Hotch had to restrain himself from rising from his chair and taking her in his arms. However, his interlocutor was resourceful and her ingenious brain suggested an alternative route.

“And… and you’ve already organized it all?”

“I was all for it, but Jessica stopped me when I started to estimate precisely how much food each child would eat, taking into account their intolerances, allergies and other specific dietary requirements.”

He'd already built a chart based on what he'd read on the Internet, but his ex-sister-in-law had closed his laptop without even glancing at it.

“So nobody's organizing it anymore?”

“Actually, someone does. Jessica.”

“Ah. And you think she could need a hand?”

He sighed, feeling that this conversation could go round in circles for several more hours if he didn't quickly put things right.

“Penelope, what do you have in mind exactly?”

“Well, I'd like to throw a party in honor of Jack – who, I remind you, is the BAU first-born – with the whole team, as well as Will and Henry.”

“I see. Look, Jack loves you but… he’s about to be six, he just want to celebrate his birthday with kids of his age. With his school mates.”

Aaron saw that his protégée looked even more distressed than a few minutes earlier. He felt as if an invisible hand were crushing his heart. And it didn't get any better when she said, nose down and eyes wet:

“… Oh. Okay. So… sorry to have bothered you, sir. Well, Hotch, I mean.”

She slowly turned her back on him and walked away towards the door. Logic would have dictated that this discussion should end on this sad note, but he couldn't bring himself to let her leave with that discouraged expression. And so it was the turn of his brain's cogs to activate and deliver a parry that would suit everyone.

“Penelope.”

“Yes, sir?” she answered cheerlessly.

Looking sheepish, she almost stood on the threshold, her brown irises turned towards the carpet, as she no longer dared to face her superior's piercing gaze.

“…There's always a way to throw him a second birthday party the following weekend, he said, controlling the timbre of his voice as best he could. As long as he has cake and presents, he's happy, you know.”

The round ginger’s attitude changed in a split second. She straightened her shoulders, lifted her nose, smiled again and a warm glow lit up her eyes.

“So you don't mind if I prepare something for him?”

“No.”

“And you're giving me carte blanche?”

A shiver ran down the giant's spine.

“… Yes, of course.”

“Oh, thank you! Love you!”

She immediately ran in his direction, rounding the desk at full speed to take him in her arms, before setting off again at the same pace towards the exit. He then heard her trumpet the good news to the whole team. He didn't know if he'd made the right decision, but he'd clearly annihilated any sadness she'd felt earlier. A good thing done, he thought with a smile. Then he turned his attention back to his spreadsheet and frowned. Where did this penny difference come from?

Two weeks later, as planned, father and son went to Garcia’s home. To keep the surprise going, the young woman had invited everyone to her home, and Aaron had used the pretext of a celebration of some kind to take his offspring with him. For good measure, the boy had drawn a group portrait, which he held proudly in his hands while his father pressed the doorbell. The hostess quickly opened the door and exclaimed, cotillions as necklaces:

“And here is the hero of the day! Welcome, my little duckling!”

She placed a kiss on his cheek, leaving a cherry-red mark.

“Hero of the day?”

“Come in,” Hotch advised him, smiling.

Jack took a few steps into the apartment and discovered his name banner hanging from the ceiling. All the guests present cried out in chorus to wish him a happy birthday, and the child was left stunned.

“Happy?” asked him the tenant.

“Yeah! That’s so cool! Thank you, Penelope!" he said, jumping around her neck, a smile reaching up to his ears.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

And she kissed the top of his head, as pleased as her guest of honor. She then released him so that he could rush over to the other agents and greet them appropriately.

“And all the team is here! So great!" he exclaimed, in the arms of the former liaison officer.

“We wouldn't have missed it for a million.”

“Not even to catch a bad guy?”

All eyes turned to the unit manager, who had taken the time to undo his jacket while following his son going around.

“We would have postponed it until the following weekend," he replied confidently.

The little boy was fascinated by superheroes, and rubbing shoulders with FBI agents always made him particularly happy. He felt extraordinarily privileged because he really knew people who were saving lives on a daily basis, like those characters he watched on television. And since Aaron only wanted the happiness of his descendant, he knew that the analyst's idea would please him enormously. To tell the truth, even if it hadn't been for his birthday, he would have been content to see them.

“Did you know?" the toddler questioned, coming back to him, his hair a mess.

“I've had a few clues, yes," he said, helping him off with his coat.

Spencer had picked up his drawing along the way and seemed to be studying it very seriously at Will's side. Henry was perched in his arms, gawking at the work. The two boys were two years apart, and the eldest's artistic talents left his cadet in awe.

“Come and sit down, everyone! Penelope called out, clapping her hands. Cake is ready.”

Everyone immediately moved closer to the table and chose a seat according to their preferences. Jack was invited to sit at one end, on a booster seat, and this attention was just right for him. Presiding over the assembly, he eagerly awaited the delicacy that the luscious redhead had prepared especially for him. Candles lit, barrels releasing clouds of sparks, she walked towards the group, who began to sing more or less in unison. The kid was walking on air. Cheered on by the spectators, he blew out all the flames and received a round of applause. Everyone congratulated him, and his delight grew even stronger.

Then the cook removed all the candles to begin the cutting, and the munchkin's smile was instantly wiped away. Aaron immediately understood why.

“What? What's wrong?" worried the event organizer.

“Uh… Sorry, apologized her superior, embarrassed; I should have warned you, but Jack doesn't like pineapple.”

The cake boasted magnificent yellowish slices and a distinctive sweet smell emanated from the edifice of cream and fruit. There was absolutely no doubt about its composition.

“Oh, my God! Really?”

“Yes,” confirmed the saddened child.

His father guessed that he was blaming himself at not being able to appreciate the cake she had baked, and took his hand to reassure him. His son wasn't the most demanding of eaters, so he hadn't expected the computer expert to select the one food he refused to eat. He was therefore the only one to blame in the story, even if there were more urgent matters to deal with. All eyes were on the bespectacled blonde, who looked distraught.

“Oh. Uh… Well… I… Maybe… Hold on.”

She abandoned the spatula she had planned to use to cut the slices for her guests and returned to the kitchen. Hotch saw JJ and Emily wince. They felt bad for their fellow sister.

“Yes! Exclaimed their hostess victoriously. I… I still have some brownie, if you want.”

“Yeah! I love that!”

“So, the gentleman's brownie is advanced, she said, her joy restored. Just give me time to warm it up a bit.”

From his seat, Aaron saw her cut a generous slice, place it on a plate and pop it into the microwave. After setting the timer and pressing the start button, she returned to her guests and, with a smile on her face, continued:

“Is pineapple cake okay for everyone?”

“Yes, of course,” affirmed JJ.

“Perfect!” commented Dave, unfolding his towel and slipping it into the collar of his shirt.

“Don't hesitate to give me a big slice," asked Derek, already holding out his trough.

“Wonderful! Give me your plates.”

She then began diligently to break up her culinary work and, with an expert gesture, distributed the first edible block to her nearest neighbor. The manager watched her do it without saying a word, surveying the size of the remaining shares out of the corner of his eye. Then the oven emitted a loud "Ting!" and she let go of her utensils to bring back the day's celebrity snack. With the steaming brownie safely in the boy's hands, she planted new candles on the shiny crust. She continued dismembering her cake until all were served, then set fire to the wicks, lighting up Jack's already bright eyes.

The disorganized choir began singing again, and the kid repeated his feat before the wax dripped onto the chocolate. After the applause, everyone melt into their meal, nibbling the stacked structure of pastry, cream and fruit spoonful after spoonful, all the while chatting happily. Aaron looked at his son's ecstatic face with a smile on his face. He had brown crumbs all around his mouth and chocolate on the tip of his nose, but his father was delighted for him. Seeing his offspring happy was what mattered most to him, notwithstanding the vital importance of his work for the well-being of his fellow citizens. The toddler met his gaze and he returned his blissful expression. Then Penelope's irises intercepted his and slid down to his still-full plate. He hastily swallowed another mouthful.

Then it was time for gifts, and Jack energetically tore up all the colored papers before squealing happily as he discovered each of his presents. The profilers were right on target without having received any clues from the giant. The youngster was proud to show him all the toys he'd received, and commented on each one. Like a movie star, he thanked all his benefactors on the fly, his latest trophy still in his hand, and declared that they were "awesome". In response to this assertion, Garcia threw back a round of cake, offering a sizeable slice to her boss, who thanked her with a nod. Behind his navel, his digestive system snorted violently as the caramelized odor reached his nostrils. He clenched his teeth.

A little later, while Jack, Will, Derek and Dave had taken their places on the sofa to play video games, and Spencer, Emily and the tenant of the premises were chatting in another corner of the living room, JJ and Aaron were still seated at the table. He noticed the crinkling of his former liaison officer's eyelids. She was staring at him with too much insistence for his taste, but he guessed why.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, I… - he managed a pause – I try to convince my stomach to digest what I forced it to ingurgitate.”

As if to confirm his words, the principal concerned rushed dangerously under his ribs.

“What do you mean?" she raised an eyebrow, puzzled.

“I… I hate pineapple.”

For as long as he could remember, he had loathed this fruit. He hated its taste as much as its fibrous texture and shunned it like the plague. When he got Jack back after almost two years without seeing him grow up, he had to rediscover little by little everything the child would or wouldn't eat, sometimes coming back several times to make sure that the first refusal was the result of a genuine disgust and not a simple apprehension of the novelty. In fact, he'd had to put pineapple back in his shopping basket, praying he wouldn't have to finish it. In the end, it was Jessica who took charge, as her nephew rejected this food with at least as much force as his progenitor.

“What? Croaked JJ, before lowering her voice. But… you ate two slices of her cake.”

“I know, he growled, holding back another retching. But did you see the look on her face when she found out Jack wouldn't eat it? I wasn't going to tell her that I didn't either. She prepared this birthday party for two weeks.”

“Aaron, did you just force yourself to swallow two slices of a cake filled with a fruit you hate just so you wouldn't upset her?”

“Yes.”

Jennifer shook her head in dismay.

“It’s going to kill you one day, you know.”

“And what was I supposed to do? He retorted immediately. Tell her I find it disgusting.”

“No, you could have told her that you don't like pineapple either and that you wouldn't have minded a slice of brownie yourself, she suggested in a tone of the obvious. She's the one who made it, she would have been happy that you liked her recipe. Even if it wasn't the one originally intended.”

Hotch analyzed this proposal and realized that it was not without meaning. On a contrary. And it would have spared him that unpleasant feeling of being on the deck of a sinking ship. Drops of sweat beaded on his forehead and icy waves crisscrossed his entire torso as he couldn't help swallowing to repel what was at the back of his throat.

“… Too late.”

“Okay. How high are you on the nausea scale?”

“So much so that if anyone ever says the name of this fruit again, I can't guarantee that I'll keep it all.”

Just uttering those words made his esophagus rebel, and he had to concentrate not to let go.

“I'll see if I've got anything in my bag to help you get over the hump,” said his neighbor, looking at him strangely, probably torn between pity and the desire to slap him in the face.

“Thank you.”

“And next time, speak.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

JJ stood up with a smile and reached for her purse. In the meantime, Jack returned to his father and climbed onto his lap, not without putting all his weight on his belly, already battered from the inside. Aaron put on a brave face, however, so as not to spoil the party.

“Do you have fun?”

“Yeah! Confirmed the little boy. Spencer, he’s doing magic tricks so great!”

“Yes, I’ve seen it.”

“How is he doing?”

“I don’t know. Those are secrets of magician.”

Sitting further back than the multi-graduate's spectators, he saw what the latter couldn't, and thus understood some of the young agent's sleight of hand. But he would say absolutely nothing to keep Reid's mystery to his son.

“Can you do magic tricks too?”

“No.”

“Oh, he said, disappointed. Why?”

“Because. I can’t do everything. No one can do everything.”

“Oh,” he repeated, pouting.

Year after year, the boy realized that his extraordinary dad, who saved so many people and stopped so many villains, was perhaps not so fantastic after all. Sure, he still had an impeccable suit, a very nice watch and an FBI card that opened a lot of doors, but he couldn't cook, wasn't extremely wealthy, didn't fly the BAU’s private jet, couldn't fix electronic games and, now, had no gift for magic. The toddler assimilated this new disillusionment while his progenitor – usually attentive to this kind of tragic revelation – tried to ignore the acid smell that rose up his nose.

“Dad?”

“Yes, Jack.”

“I thought you don’t like pineapple.”

“I don’t,” he admitted with a feverish smile.

“So why did you eat the cake?”

“Because your father is an idiot,” declared JJ reappearing by their side.

She sat down in her place, grabbed the water jug placed in the middle of the table and filled the titan's glass.

“Really?” wondered the youngster, fluttering his eyelids.

Like all children, he did not perceive the second degree, which the adults around him handled with varying degrees of dexterity. At six, he was just beginning to grasp that he wasn't always being told the truth, and that some of the answers he was given were in fact humorous red herrings. But systematically, he took all the statements made by grown-ups at face value in the first place.

“What JJ means is that, in order not to make Penelope sad, I've agreed to eat something that's going to make me sick, he confessed, before taking the glass in which a pale yellow mixture now sparkled. But, thanks to the magic of this, it should get better.”

“What's that?" he asked immediately, curious.

“Secret," quipped the blonde as Hotch sipped his life-saving beverage.

Jack watched him do this for a moment then redirected his attention to ex-agent Jareau, his discreet eyebrows furrowed.

“But I didn't want to make Penelope sad either.”

“No, but you're all forgiven, the mother reassured him, stroking his cheek. Don’t worry.”

“Is that true?”

“Yes," confirmed his father, putting down his glass before kissing him on the forehead.

The rest of the afternoon passed without a hitch, with JJ's magic potion working beyond his patient's expectations. Then came the terrible moment of separation, the only couple invited indicating that it was time for them to go home – a bath and a meal awaited Henry, who grunted with fatigue.

“There's some cake left, Garcia pointed out, appointing the third of the pastry that was still intact. Who want some?”

“Me!" Spencer replied sharply, raising his arm.

“I wouldn’t say no,” Rossi agreed.

“I'll be fine," said Derek, who had had the largest portions of the group.

“Ditto, supported Prentiss, satiated. I'm already going to have to roll back to my car…”

The analyst served the gourmands, then turned her gaze to the last ones not to have spoken.

“Hotch?”

“Uh… that is..." he stammered, thinking quickly to get out of this trap.

“I know Jack doesn't like it, but you and Jessica can always eat some.”

He opened his mouth, not knowing what to say, but felt a violent kick strike his shin under the table. He then met the menacing gaze of the wiry blonde beside him. The message was clear: he had to refuse this proposal at all costs. The problem remained to find the right reason not to leave with something that neither he nor his son would eat, without hurting the feelings of the person who had taken the time to cook it.

“A… actually, Jessica doesn’t eat it either. She’s… she’s allergic.”

“Oh.”

At the edge of his field of vision, he saw JJ's bluish irises roll into her eye sockets.

“On the other hand, he continued, I'd like your brownie recipe. Jack loved it.”

“Of course! Rejoiced the pastry chef energetically. No problem. I’ll send you an e-mail.”

“Great.”

“Yeah!" exclaimed the little boy, salivating in anticipation.

Jennifer and her companion retrieved what was left, but not without her gaze lingering on the giant. He couldn't decide whether she resented him for piling one lie on top of another, or whether she appreciated the fact that he had reached a compromise in spite of everything. At this hour, however, he was mostly happy that his son had had an excellent second birthday party and that it hadn't turned into a disaster in his desire not to offend anyone. One day, perhaps, he'd find the courage to express his true feelings; in the meantime, it was time to take all these toys home without leaving a single accessory behind.

___

And this is the second entry for the CM Office Party challenge. This one was written just for the occasion (as the next one). That was fun! :D

I love to describe Hotch as the silly idiot he can be sometimes (remember when he litteraly beg to go back to work when the doctor was saying that he's going to be deaf). XD

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