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masterwords · 1 year

Text

a fine line

This WIP has been sitting in my drafts forever waiting for...something. And I don't have that something, so it's just here. Hotch's injuries after Perotta should have been a little more extensive, and I can't be held responsible for putting Morgan in a situation to help him out. (2.2k messy, pointless, choppy and unedited words)

“Aaron?” Haley asked, swiping her hand over the once warm place he'd occupied in their bed. It was rumpled enough that she knew he had come to bed. Later than her, she'd been there hours before he came home, and now he was gone again. “Aaron?”

Silence. At first, but after a moment she could hear him in the bathroom. The shower was running, hot steam filtering slowly beneath the door. She thought about getting up, checking on him, but it was 4am. He was probably being called in and he hated to be bothered while he got ready for work. There was a certain routine he insisted on in order to prepare himself for the work he would have to do, the things he would have to stomach, the pieces of his soul he would have to guard. He had to set his mind right, block out everything that made him human.

They had argued plenty over it. She only wanted to help, to make him coffee or breakfast, help him in some way. Be part of it instead of always being on the outside. But she couldn't, and at a certain point she stopped trying. So, with one fearful glance at the closed bathroom door, she lay back down and pushed her face beneath the covers to go back to sleep. His side of the bed smelled like him and she would have to be content with that for now.

Jack woke while he attempted to drink a cup of coffee. Just a diaper change and a bottle, both of them managed to stay entirely silent so Haley could stay sleeping. It was both the most and the least he could do in his condition. Jack was a baby, he didn't need conversation, he needed action.

He managed to slip out of the house before she woke again, his starched and stiff collar high on his neck, tie pulled tight. The bruises, Perotta's marks, had deepened in the hours since the junkyard. His neck was flooded nearly black with bruises, one deep red pressure cut slicing through the middle garish and mad. Walking from his car to the front door, his mouth filled with saliva and the thought of swallowing it nearly brought tears to his eyes. He'd been spitting into a cup for the last few hours, the swelling in his throat finally reaching the point that swallowing was nearly out of the question. But he couldn't spit into a coffee cup in front of Quantico so he forced himself to swallow and nearly cried for the pain of it. His grip on the coffee cup tightened while he rode the elevator, while the saliva once again built up with nowhere to go but down or out. If he wasn't careful, he'd be sick, and then he'd really be in for it.

Gritting his teeth, he made his way from the elevator to his office without more than a good morning wave at the few people who were in earlier than he was. They probably had actual work to do, he was just hiding his injury from his wife. Home only long enough to sleep for a couple of hours. She wasn't going to understand this one, not with a new baby at home. It was a miracle he'd managed to come home and leave without Jack crying and waking Haley, and he knew he couldn't do it again.

He would have to find a way to make it seem better than it was.

The hum of the fan in his office was calming. His heart beat in time with its quiet rhythm and he popped the top off of the coffee cup to spit inside, praying no one would come and witness it. He was lucky, just barely got the lid back on before Gideon sped by with a quick glance and a wave. Anyone else and they might have stopped to chat, but even if Gideon had figured him out, seen what he was doing, he doubted very much that he would stop and inquire. Close call. He set the coffee cup on his desk and settled into his seat. There had to be something he could do to entertain his mind, focus him on something other than the strangling pain in his throat.

Garcia showed up with donuts, the giant pink box filling her arms to the brim. Maple bars, pink sprinkles, chocolate, all the classics. His stomach growled just thinking about that glazed blueberry cake donut right there in front. She was holding the box open and indicating it, like she'd picked it out just for him. “Sir?” she asked, curious at the look of desire on his features but his lack of motion. “The blueberry one is most definitely for you. The last one they had.”

He'd already attempted talking, just to himself in the car, and there was no way he could do it without coming under instant scrutiny. His voice was strangely crushed sounding, gruff and breathy, air through a bent straw. So he just smiled and reached out for the donut, placing it on the napkin she'd put on the desk for him and trying to force the words “Thank you” out as quickly and evenly as he could. She caught it, just briefly, but didn't know him well enough to say anything. He was intimidating enough with his frown set, that deep crease between his eyebrows that told her not now, maybe not ever...so she smiled at him and closed the box.

“You are ever so welcome, sir,” she said a little quieter, a little more serious before turning and leaving. Maybe she would talk to Derek, he seemed to be the only one who ever talked to Hotch with any sort of confidence. Sometimes it was uncomfortable to watch, the way he stood up to Hotch's orders, questioned them either in public or in private, but there was something there. Some mutual respect or admiration, so when he did that...Hotch listened. He may not always side with Derek when all was said and done, but he would always give Derek the floor and to Garcia that spoke volumes. So, with her box of donuts, she made the rounds until she ended at his desk.

“Hey, you,” she said, leaning against his desk. “You want some sugar?”

“Not during office hours, hun,” he replied, swirling around in his chair and waggling his eyebrows at her. “Ohhh you got maple bars!”

“Nuh-uh, that last one is for boss man's afternoon snack. You know how he gets when he has meetings through the lunch hour...I got you the chocolate with sprinkles.”

Derek scrunched his nose and frowned, but in the end he only shrugged it off and grabbed the chocolate frosted donut gladly. Any donut was better than no donut. In truth, he doubted very much that Hotch would feel like eating that or any donut after the junkyard but Garcia didn't know that, she didn't watch it happen. He was waiting for the right time to approach him about it, and watching Gideon breeze past Hotch's office told him that time hadn't come yet. If Gideon didn't think it appropriate, he would wait too.

Until Garcia opened her mouth. She leaned forward and in a hushed whisper that made the hair stand up on the back of his neck, she spoke. “I don't think he's okay,” she started, flicking one finger against a crumb of frosting stuck in the corner of Derek's lips. “Can you check on him? Please?”

“Babygirl,” he sighed, shoving the last bite of the donut he'd made very short work of into his mouth. “If he's in bad shape after last night, he'll wanna be left alone for a while. He's here in the office, that's something.”

“Not enough,” she huffed indignantly, pushing the giant box at Derek's chest. One final donut remained. “Take this up to him later. That's your excuse.” He rolled his eyes but there was no telling that woman no, so he agreed. He'd go up in a bit, give Hotch time to settle into his day. Curiously, he clicked around until he was in Hotch's schedule, he had full access to it as his lead, as his former partner, and usually all he did was add things to it but slowly he poked around finding things he could pull off instead. A consult here, a deposition request there, until his schedule looked light enough that they might have time for a chat in a bit. Sure, Derek had his own work to do, but Elle and Spencer didn't look too busy so he was able to pass things on down the line.

“Hey, Hotch, you got a minute?” Derek asked, just after the lunch hour, after an entire day of tooling around without seeing Hotch leave his office one time. Not even for a quick bathroom break. Hotch nodded and slipped his hand around the coffee cup on his desk, sliding it out of the way. As if Derek wouldn't immediately notice the shift, the slight movement, and frown.

“You go to the doctor like Gideon told you to?”

Hotch glowered, his eyebrows dangerously close together. “No,” he rasped, his hand immediately flying to his throat without any thought. The sharp burst of pain at the first word he'd spoken since thanking Garcia was shocking and if he'd been standing, he might have found himself more than a little weak in the knees. Derek didn't need any other evidence before shutting the door behind him and entering Hotch's office completely.

“Let me see.”

He set the maple bar down beside the untouched blueberry donut and came around Hotch's desk, leaning his hips there casually. He reached out slowly, and backed up just a little when he caught the slightest hint of a flinch, like he was afraid. It was gone as fast as it came, and if Derek was anyone else he might blurt something out, mention it, but Derek had experience. He'd been there through others, he'd held his hand in the ambulance after Bale, he understood deeply. So he pressed forward until his lithe fingers tugged gently at the knot in the tie, loosening it just enough that he could unbutton the stiff collar on his shirt. Immediately he found himself faced with a sight he wasn't prepared for, the brutality of it immense. He ached to go back in time, the pressure of the gun in his hands, a direct line of sight to Perotta's forehead. One bullet, right between the eyes, and this damage might not be so bad.

But this was his failure. He listened to Gideon, and he let this happen. “Hotch,” he whispered, his fingers lightly dancing over the other man's jaw, trying to get a view of each angle. “I'm so sorry. I shoulda shot that bastard. I had him in my sights.”

“You did...” Hotch rasped and Derek shook his head, pressing his thumbs lightly around Hotch's adams apple just to see. He had some limited EMT training from his days with Chicago PD, and he was rusty but it was better than the nothing Hotch was willing to consent to outside of this office. The swelling was obvious, he could feel it with barely any pressure. “Gideon's orders.”

Derek scoffed. It was a little louder than he intended and he saw the corner of Hotch's lips tick upward in a small attempt at a smile. Derek loved Gideon in his own way, but he didn't like him much tehse days and he certainly didn't trust his judgment. Maybe he hadn't since Boston. “Yeah, well...”

“It's okay Derek.”

“No, it's not,” Derek said quieter, lifting Hotch's jaw to feel beneath the sharp angles. Hotch didn't fight him, didn't move a muscle. Breathing hurt enough that he was on the verge of tears with every swallow, every breath in, so arguing with Derek felt more than a little out of the question.

“Alright. Alright, I'll stop beating myself up if you stop talking...deal?”

Hotch kept up his end of the bargain, but Derek did not. He couldn't let it go. Slowly, carefully, he opened Hotch's collar the rest of the way and told him to wait a moment. Out and back in a flash, straight to the freezer for an ice pack and a cup of ice chips, then the door was closed once again. The ice pack was rested gently against his neck, against the worst of the bruises, and he let Derek hold it there for just a minute before Hotch took it in his own hand and breathed frigid relief against the cooling of his fevered skin.

“Haley must not know yet, huh? Otherwise I doubt you'd be here right now...”

Hotch couldn't help smirking and shrugging, met with only a nod of understanding.

Derek nudged the cup of crushed ice and the spoon in Hotch's direction with a smirk. “Betcha skipped breakfast...and lunch.”

Ice chips. He was starving and Derek had ice chips for him. “You want me to run out for some ice cream or something? I could use a reason to get outta here.”

Hotch smiled and nodded, still not eager to talk. Derek doesn't need him to say a word, but before he left Hotch pushed both donuts in Derek's direction. Getting to have the coveted maple bar didn't feel quite as good now, not while he was sitting here in Hotch's office being given the strangest silent treatment of his life. The first time he'd ever demanded it. But he did enjoy those donuts while he sat there in silence thinking about putting a bullet in Perotta's skull.

Right between the eyes. Pow.

#aaron hotchner #derek morgan #penelope garcia #haley hotchner #criminal minds #fanfiction #it isn't hotchgan but also it is...because i am incapable of telling where the line is between platonic and in love with them #they simply are.

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