The time Hotch broke his foot stepping over a brand new puppy and spent the entire holiday season laid up.
Words: 4.4k
Pairing: Hotch/Morgan
Warnings: broken foot and associated pain
**
“I’m parked four blocks down,” Jessica complained when Derek opened the door. She hated their neighborhood, there was too much foot traffic for her taste, and the street parking was pure hell. More often than not she took the train when she wanted to come visit them, but not when she needed to get there quickly and come with arms full of food. She hadn’t anticipated Fran and her daughters driving, they usually just walked over but now there were three extra cars in front of the house. She was irritated by the distance and walking with so much in her arms, but maybe more than that she was just taking out her worry on the parking. Derek opened the door to the sight of his mom and sisters busily and not quietly moving his house around – shifting furniture, measuring, shifting again. Jessica stared up at him defiantly until he took one of the bags from her arms. “If it gets broken into…”
“Good to see you too.”
She accepted his one armed side hug gladly and shook her head against him, exasperated and cold and worried. “How is he?”
“Sleeping. He’s been in and out all day.”
“Healing bones is hard work.”
“They gave him some pretty powerful drugs to get through the wait for surgery. He said he didn’t need them but Dr. Carter insisted he at least have them on hand. They gave him the first dose as an injection in the office and he took the next dose about an hour ago when he woke up hurting.”
Jessica dropped her bags and her shoes by the doorway before making her way into the house, a beeline right for Hotch sleeping on the couch. The puppy was playing with a toy nearby, still sitting guard beside her injured friend. She’d been outside to play with Hank twice but kept whining to be let back in where she could gnaw on her baseball beside Hotch. A week and she was already bonded to him.
“Who is this precious little beast?” Jess asked, crouching beside Paige and opening her hands. The puppy stretched her neck forward, sniffing at Jessica’s hands until she decided she was good people and scooting forward to accept the pets that would follow. Jess smiled and scratched behind the puppy’s ears happily.
“That’s Paige. She’s the reason he’s laid up…” He knew he had to stop that. It wasn’t her fault, necessarily, but he didn’t know how else to say it. Jess just huffed and spoke directly to the puppy who was now very interested in her hands, probably smelled her cat on them.
“You wouldn’t do such a thing. I know you wouldn’t. No, ma’am.”
“Yeah, well, she did. I think she’s forgiven though.”
Standing back up, Jess looked at Hotch sleeping peacefully on the couch and sighed. “Has he talked to Jack?”
“Not yet. I thought maybe you two could do it together. I talked to him earlier, he knows.” Word spread fast in families like this, and while Derek hadn’t told anyone else from the BAU but Penelope, he’d been getting texts all day from everyone asking how they could help. It seemed disproportionate to the injury, at least that’s what Hotch had said earlier when Derek read him Rossi’s email about how he planned to help them out come December but Derek only huffed and shook his head. Hotch would downplay any injury or illness, no matter how severe. And as Savannah had already made sure they both knew, no matter how small the injury sounded in theory, a broken bone (and subsequent surgery) was a traumatic injury and the body would respond accordingly. Hotch didn’t much care for that.
“I don’t want to wake him up, we’ll call Jack later.”
“…’m not sleeping…” came a muffled voice from the couch. Derek and Jess looked down at him in unison, startled at the sound of his voice. He sounded rough and worn, his face half buried beneath a blanket and muffled by the pillow. Jess made her way over to him and crouched in front of him, placing her cold hand against his temple. He was hot, a little sweaty, and his breathing sounded slow and labored, still thick with sleep.
“Hey you.”
“...hands are cold…” He was half out of it, the new dose of meds just barely kicking in. The old dose had worn off enough that the pain had begun creeping in and they didn’t catch it in time. Now he had to play catch up. If he didn’t move, barely breathed, it didn’t hurt as bad. But that was easier said than done, and he was busy learning a lesson early. Dr. Carter had said to keep on top of it, but he wouldn’t let his pride believe he needed it – he got through weeks after Foyet’s attack with barely a need for anything stronger than occasional tylenol. He didn’t have that kind of fortitude anymore, that kind of stubborn will to prove something stupid to himself. Now he just ached, his entire body, and he desperately wanted to sleep through it but even that was impossible. Jessica’s cold fingers on his temple were shocking but they felt nice against his flushed skin.
“How are you doing?”
He didn’t know how to answer that, not in words, so he just peeked one eye open and hoped she could read the miserable look in his eye. It wasn’t just the pain, that was such a small part of how he felt overall – if he couldn’t sleep, he was thinking about all of the trouble he was causing everyone and that was somehow worse.
“That bad huh?”
He hummed and closed his eye again, even that was too much. She pushed the hair back from his forehead and ran her nails over his scalp in a soothing circular motion, trying to take the edge off with a little distraction.
“You said he took more pain meds?”
“He slept through the time we should have given him another one. He missed it by about an hour, it should kick in soon.”
“Okay. We don’t wait until he’s hurting next time.”
“That’s what I said!” Desiree shouted from the kitchen, poking her head out to say hello to Jess. “I told him to wake Aaron up but he said he wanted to let him sleep.”
“Yeah, yeah, it’s my fault. I know. Lesson fuckin’ learned.” As if he didn’t feel like a bad enough husband, now he had four women in his house pointing out each and every one of his many glaring faults. There were plenty to go around, from not keeping his fridge well stocked with their approved items (he thought they were doing just fine on their own) to not having enough pillows, and then there was the issue of the bath tub and shower. Their bath tub was huge, he’d bought an over-sized tub so they could get in together but apparently that was going to be an extra hazard now because it was too big for him to safely get in and out of with a cast on his foot. Well, he wasn’t replacing the fucking tub he’d just have to make sure he was there for all of the bathing. And okay, maybe he was a little on the grouchy side, maybe he should have taken a nap earlier, but it was too late for that too.
“Hey, I’m not trying to place any blame. I just know from experience with my dad...it’s better to stay on top of the pain instead of chasing it. If he doesn’t want to use a lot of the strong stuff, we can piggy back ibuprofen and tylenol, and then add in the big guns only when it’s really needed.”
“Savannah said to do it that way starting tomorrow.” His voice wavered, and the emotion in it threatened to spill over. Jess nodded and tried to soften her stance a little. He was a pillar of strength but she could sense his imminent collapse and the journey had barely even begun, they were still on day one. Kind of like a pregame show. The surgery would be the real day one and he was already being pushed to his limit, though when she looked around at the chaos that had overtaken their once serene home, she thought maybe she could understand it. Maybe it was too many people invading his space, telling him what to do, thinking they were all helping but really just stressing him out. And where was Hank? He usually rushed her at the door and had somewhere to drag her off to – some Lego creation or dinosaur world or a drawing or a book to read...his silence was felt big.
“Do you want me to leave? I can come back another time if it’s too much. I don’t want to be in the way.”
“No, Jess, you don’t need to leave...I just...I need a minute. Okay?”
It wasn’t easy for him to ask for something like that, and he certainly wasn’t going to wait for the okay before walking through the house with the puppy in his arms toward the backyard under the guise of letting her go do her business. He could sit out there on the deck and watch her nose around in the grass and growl at squirrels in the bushes and think. No one followed him, though from the corner of his eye he could see the light on in Hank’s room at the end of the house and it made his heart hurt. The kid had been in there all afternoon. He’d come out only when Derek asked him to take the puppy outside, but he went right back inside without even looking at Hotch each time. That would be a conversation for later, once the dust had settled.
“Derek?”
“Not now Desi,” he groaned miserably. “I just wanna sit out here by myself.”
“I know, but Jessica said she brought some things to make for dinner so I’m gonna get outta here. Ma and Sarah are gonna go get her house ready for Hank to stay the night, they’ll be back to pick him up after you all eat. I think you guys need some quiet time.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“I’m sorry if we were too much. We just wanna help. We mean well, big brother.”
“I know. I know...thanks Des.”
He sat outside for at least twenty minutes, until the chill got into his bones, until the dog was nosing at his leg to be let inside. She didn’t want to be out in the cold either. He scooped her up into his arms and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, tucking her into the warmth of his chest and walking her inside. Yeah, he was already attached to her too. She might have been the cause of all of this, but she was also a balm on his soul. Having her to bring outside for a spot of quiet, having her to kiss, having her to sleep on Hotch’s lap like she was protecting him...it all gave him a peace he wasn’t sure he would have had otherwise.
He found Hotch sitting upright on the couch talking to Jack on a video call with Jess so he stood back and watched as his husband did his best to pretend he was totally fine for the sake of his son who wanted nothing more than to fly back and help out. They didn’t talk for long, but it was enough that Jack decided he could stay in New York until the Thanksgiving break started the following week, but he might try to get his classes to be long distance between that break and the winter break if they seemed like they needed him. He’d already talked to his teachers and they were open to the idea, but Hotch was adamant that he not do it. They had plenty of help. He really didn’t want more people in his house, and he certainly did not want his son to jeopardize his first year of college for his dad. He’d done enough to ruin his son’s life over the years.
After the call with Jack, Hotch looked ragged but awake. “Derek,” he said as the puppy was set back down in front of the fireplace. She stretched out and turned her little belly to the flames, eyes already heavy. “Is Hank still in his room?”
“Yeah. Kid won’t come out.”
“I’d like to go talk to him. Can you help me?”
Derek nodded and lifted Hotch up from the couch, steadying his body against him. Hotch felt so warm against him, and unsteady on his one leg after the drugs and the day spent lying down. This was going to be a long road and he worried that they would lose so much of their fitness while he had to rest. “You good?”
Hotch hummed and smiled, being so close to Derek. “Yes,” he whispered, slipping his arms around Derek’s waist and holding him there for a moment. “Thank you.”
“Kiss me,” Derek said quietly, his features too serious, too stern. Hotch leaned forward and kissed him gently, it was a little sloppy and slow, but his lips were warm and sincere. Derek needed that, he needed to remember that it was them here. Not their house turning into a hospital, not Hotch just being his patient to care for, but his husband, and Hotch was happy to oblige. He needed the reminder too.
They had crutches and a walker nearby, but Hotch was content just to hop along beside Derek for the few steps it took to get down the hallway to Hank’s bedroom in spite of the fact that Derek had offered to carry him. Maybe later, he’d said. For now he wanted to move his body a little. And he didn’t want Hank to see all of that yet, thinking it might be better if he was equipment free for the time being. He knocked, just three quick little raps of his knuckles, and waited.
“Hank?” he called. “Can I come in?”
Silence. He almost knocked again, but at the last moment the door slipped open just a crack and revealed the little boy and his dark eyes, red rimmed from crying. Hotch felt a sudden tightness in his chest at the sight of him, how impossibly small and fragile he looked all of a sudden. And scared, he looked so scared.
“May I?”
“I guess.”
Derek pushed in and helped maneuver Hotch over to Hank’s bed, offering to get him situated comfortably but Hotch just waved his hand and shooed Derek out. He wouldn’t be in there long enough to regret it too much, he figured, but he needed to see Hank and it needed to not be a big production. All he did was sit right on the edge, his feet flat on the floor, and while he regretted it immediately...he’d committed. For now he’d risk it. Hank just watched him for a second curiously, looking at his bandaged foot like it might jump up and bite him. Hotch waited, and when he was done waiting, he patted the bed beside him, begging him to come. He was reluctant
“Can we talk?”
“Sure.”
Hank looked on the verge of tears and Hotch knew he had to tread carefully. Hell, he was on the verge of tears himself and a little high on pain killers so this was a dangerous situation. “I haven’t seen you all day...I’ve been missing you kiddo. How was school?”
“Okay.”
“Just okay? What did you do today?”
“I dunno. Stuff.”
“Sounds riveting.”
Hank was being purposely evasive, and he’d anticipated it, but it still hurt. Hank was always open and engaged with him. He loved school and he loved to tell Hotch about every single thing his teachers taught him, always hoping to get that one “huh! I didn’t know that!” out of him. Now it looked like he was scared, like Hotch was fragile. Like he’d betrayed him somehow.
“Are you upset about me hurting myself?”
“...yeah…” Hank didn’t look at him while he said it, ashamed of himself for saying it, but he didn’t lie to his dads. He was upset. This changed everything. And it wasn’t like Hotch was the pillar of health, he’d seen his dad knocked out by migraines and ongoing heart issues and chronic pain his entire life, but somehow this was shocking and different. This happened so fast and everyone was making such a big deal out of it, and they kept saying surgery and Hank didn’t exactly know what surgery was but it sounded like Hotch could die from it.
“Do you have questions about it?”
Hotch’s foot was already starting to hurt, just a low slow throb up near his swollen toes. It was the first time since returning home that it wasn’t propped up on a pillow and the blood was rushing south about as fast as it could get there. He sucked in his breath and looked at Hank earnestly, trying to ignore it for the time being.
“I want to talk about it with you. What do you want to know?”
“Does it hurt?”
“Very much.”
“When will you be able to walk again?”
“It’s going to be a while. Months, maybe. But I’ll get better at moving around every day. I won’t have to stay in bed the whole time. Just at the start.”
“Dad said you hafta have surgery...is that gonna hurt?”
“Yes. But that’s okay, I can handle it. Do you know what that means?”
“Not exactly,” Hank said, finally looking up and meeting Hotch’s eyes. Hotch offered him a soft smile and nodded.
“They’re going to make a little cut in the top of my foot and put some metal rods inside of my foot bones to help them heal stronger.”
“So you’ll be like Iron Man?”
“Kind of.” How had he not seen that coming? He should have opened with a superhero. It would have made all of this so much simpler. Hank’s eyes lit up at that and he scooted a little closer, no more hesitation. “I guess you could say that.”
“Do you hafta be in the hospital?”
“I get to come home as soon as I’m awake and the doctor gives me the thumbs up. Then you guys will have to help me out for a while. It’s going to be really hard on dad...he’s going to need your help a lot. Can you do that?”
“What can I do?”
“Well...dad’s going to have to help me get around the house and do all of the big jobs for a while by himself. He’s going to be really tired. Maybe you can make some plans for things we can do for fun while I’m stuck in bed. We can read or watch movies or build legos, you can teach me how to play Minecraft…”
“You’d play with me?”
“I’m going to be in bed for a while, Hank. I’m going to need a lot of help keeping busy.”
Hank perked up noticeably at that. “I can do that! I have lots of fun stuff we can do.”
Hotch’s foot was starting to hurt worse and he shifted to try and distract himself from the intensity of the pain. It was getting harder and harder to distract himself. Luckily, Hank had that part covered.
“Why do I have to stay at Grandma’s tonight?”
“We thought you’d like to get out of here. Things have been a little weird today and you always love staying with Grandma. I think she’d like the company, too.”
“What if something happens?”
“Nothing is going to happen.” He knew that sounded hollow, considering the way the day had started. Hank gave him a look that said as much and he smiled and nodded, admitting that it wasn’t exactly comforting coming from the man with the bandage on his black and blue foot. “It’s probably not going to be a very good night. When you get hurt like this, sometimes it feels worse at night and I think you don’t want to be here to listen to me keeping your dad up all night complaining.”
And that was when the tears fell, when it hit Hank that things were going to be bad for a while. It wouldn’t just be okay in the morning. Hotch couldn’t just sleep this one off. “You’re gonna miss my basketball season. You promised you’d help coach.”
Hotch forgot about the pain in his foot entirely at the sight of his son crying. He pulled Hank closer to him, wrapping him up in a hug, letting him cry there before he spoke again. “I’ll still be there. I might not be able to run around on the court with you maniacs but I can sit in the bleachers and help. I won’t miss your basketball season. I promise.”
That was all he could take. His foot felt like it was going to explode from the pressure building and he had to put it up before Hank had to see him hit a low point. He thought maybe it was a good time to see if Hank would feel better helping instead of being left out, though. “Hey, buddy, why don’t you find a book for me to read you while I get a little more comfortable? We’ve got some time before dinner’s ready.”
“Is it starting to hurt?”
“Yeah, it is. I just need to put it up and it’ll stop. Mind if I put my stinky foot up on your bed?” Hank giggled and said no while he rushed over toward his bookshelf to find something suitable, something long. He usually just grabbed picture books, things they could go through with their eyes closed at this point, all of his favorites were well worn. Hotch had always loved to read to him, it was what they did. Derek built him the bookshelf when their little hobby got out of hand. But this time he picked from the big shelf, from the long books with lots of chapters and small words that would make Hotch have to put on his glasses...Hank loved that too. While Hank perused the shelf, Hotch scooted back on the bed until his foot was on the mattress, and almost instinctively Hank grabbed a folded up blanket from the end of this bed and helped tuck it beneath Hotch’s foot just like he’d seen on the couch. Hotch thought he might cry.
With a large, old canvas book tucked under his arm, Hank scooted in close and lay down. They had a certain way they fit together, Hank resting his head on Hotch’s arm, the book above their heads so they could both look at all the words and all the pictures at the same time. It was just what they did, and the minute Hank was in position he felt better. Like things didn’t feel so scary because Hotch might be broken but he could still do this, and this was important.
When Derek came in to let them know dinner was ready, he found them snuggled up beneath Hank’s blankets, deep into the second chapter of the book. He recognized the book right away, the worn green canvas, the corners that had taken a beating through years of reading and carrying around from home to home.
“The Once and Future King,” he said, standing in the doorway with a smile. “My dad used to read that to me. That was his copy.”
“Hank picked the book,” Hotch said quietly, resting his cheek against Hank’s soft hair. Derek liked when Hank kept his hair braided, but Savannah liked him to wear it wild and natural so Hank sided with his mom and Hotch reaped the benefit now as he nestled in beside the boy. His hair smelled like coconut and the book smelled musty like an old library basement, he was truly comfortable for the first time that day.
“I think Jess is finished making a mess of our kitchen. You boys hungry?”
“Yeah!” Hank said. “But we have two pages left until the end of the chapter. Can we finish?”
Derek made a show of thinking it over, even so much as looking at his watch before smiling and making his way over to the end of the bed to take a seat. “Yeah, sure, go ahead.” He listened to Hotch read the words his dad had read to him so many times as a child and wondered at how like him Hank looked, at how his dark eyes flickered over the words on the page as he tried to keep up with Hotch’s reading. Hotch who created little voices for everyone, Hotch who did atrocious accents (not worse than his own father, it turned out, but nearly)...Hotch who loved his son so much that he was in here caring for his feelings when he was the one in pain. Derek didn’t think he’d ever loved two people more than he did in that moment.
Until Jess walked into the room and snipped at them for making her dinner get cold. “Calm down woman, we’re comin…” Derek said, patting the bed. “C’mon Hanky. Go help your mean Aunt Jess get the table set. I’ll get slowpoke daddy out of your room.”
Hank slid the bookmark into their spot and set the book on his nightstand, ready for them to dive into again soon before following Jess dutifully out of the room. Derek looked over at Hotch and found himself just wanting to stare for a moment, just to take it in. The sight of that book hit him square in the chest, and after a long hard day, it was almost enough to make him cry. It was exactly what he needed.
“Are you okay with me reading that to him?” Hotch asked, misreading the look on Derek’s face. “If you were waiting to do it...I’ll find another book. I just needed a reason to put my foot up and reading to him seemed like the best idea.”
“No…” Derek whispered, clearing his throat. “No. Keep reading it. I just…” He didn’t have the words, not tonight. Maybe never. “You hungry?”
Summary: Hotch & Morgan have a little accident while messing around. Now, their bed is broken and Hotch is a little broken too. Shopping for a new bed is more than a little embarrassing with your arm in a sling. (Alternate summary: they're too damn old for this shit.)
Pairing: Hotch/Morgan
Words: 3k
Warnings: sex & a shoulder injury (no explicit sex, just obviously that's kind of the theme of these hijinks)
Notes: Today we're using a prompt from my forever muse @unionjackpillow - "Shopping for a new bed because the old one - that they got only 2 years ago - broke. Now they’re trying not to tell the sales person why exactly the frame is no longer in one piece." Oh. Well. I don't think they needed to say anything at all, do you? This fits into the Chicago Timeline, so they're older and have creaky bones but they're definitely not wiser. (The title sounds very serious but it's a line from "Let's Get It On" by Marvin Gaye so...)
Read on AO3 if you prefer!
**
“They don't need our whole life story,” Hotch said, perhaps a little too stiff as he tried to pull himself out of the car. He didn't mean for it to come out that way, but it did need to be said. Most people would assume that to be the case...not Derek. Not the man who could charm his way into a new friendship any place he went if he was in the right mood. Today seemed like one of those dangerous days. “Okay? You're not on the market for a new best friend, just a bed. Because you broke the last one...”
“We broke the last one. And why are you so mean anyway? You were having just as much fun as I was.”
“You’re right. I'm sorry. I’m tired and my shoulder hurts, I probably should have stayed home. I shouldn't take it out on you, even if it is your fault.”
Derek rolled his eyes dramatically and hooked his arm around Hotch's waist, careful not to bump against his sore arm. He did have a point, they had been a little rough the night before and when you’re on the bottom of some intense acrobatics when your bed breaks and your arm takes the brunt of two people’s weight against an unforgiving hardwood floor...Derek supposed he had a fairly good excuse for being a little on the grumpy side. “I'm gonna tell 'em everything. About how you dislocated your shoulder, about how I offered to set it back in place and you growled at me to keep my hands off...about the trip to the ER at 2am, everything.” Hotch wasn’t proud of his reaction but the injury had blindsided him. He was nearly finished, his mind was way out in the stratosphere and then WHAM! His entire world exploded in bright hot agony. It took him nearly a full minute to even figure out what happened and in that minute he did not want to be touched. He’d already apologized about one hundred times.
“I would prefer you didn’t.” How was that for diplomatic? What he really wanted to say was the fuck you are, but he didn’t swear often and he really didn’t think it would come across as (almost) playful as he meant it. Better let that one die on his tongue. Derek’s jovial mood was hanging by a thread, too, and he was a lot better at hiding it but Hotch knew how easily they could devolve into a bitter argument.
They ended up at the mall, purely because Derek was hungry and planned to send Hotch on a mission to grab them some lunch and wait at the food court while he talked his way around the furniture store. The problem in that plan, he discovered, was that Hotch with only one useful arm wasn’t going to be able to easily carry trays of food on his own, not without risking some very embarrassing public mishaps. Like he needed to draw more attention to the humiliation of the injury.
Derek did plan to be vague, he wasn’t a complete maniac, but it was fun to let Hotch think that their antics would be center stage. Hotch turned down the food court idea promptly, insisting that they go together or not at all. The pain in his shoulder was making him feel a little sick, and he wanted nothing more than to stand beside Derek quietly observing. There wasn’t much Derek could do when Hotch looked at him with those sleepy dazed eyes, the look of a man who was just beginning to feel the effects of the pain medicine he’d taken before they left the house so he could get through the day as comfortably as possible. There was a time, years ago, when he wouldn’t have touched the pills but he was too old for that now. His body already hurt whether he injured it or not, and dislocating your shoulder is a young man’s game as the doctor had said. Scolded. It was kind of a scolding. “How do you dislocate your shoulder at this time of night?” he’d asked, and Hotch had no good answer. In his days as an FBI Agent that answer was always easy, it hadn’t occurred to him that he no longer had that safety net. Derek wasn’t even in the room with him, just to be a little less obvious. It didn’t matter. “Take it easy, you’re no spring chicken. This’ll take a little longer to heal.”
Longer to heal spelled trouble anyway. He’d dislocated his left shoulder which meant writing was going to be a challenge down the line. Hopefully taking longer didn’t mean past Spring Break, or at least that he would have some command of his arm by the time classes resumed. He hated to have to add taking time off to the list of indignities he was suffering for having a little too much fun with his boyfriend. Lesson learned. Maybe. It was fun.
“Just time for an upgrade?” the salesman asked with a wink, eyeing Hotch in his sling with a knowing look. Hotch felt the flush of utter humiliation rising like the tide in his neck. How did he know already? Were they that obvious?
“Yes.”
“Anything in particular you're looking for?”
Derek grinned. “Can we look at the ones with the padded headboards?” He was tired of hitting his head on hard wood, he’d been complaining about it for months. Now was the time to make a change if there ever was one.
Hotch wanted to die immediately, this was only getting worse. He should have gone to the food court. Dropping a tray of soda and pizza in the middle of hungry families eating would have been preferable to the horrors of this interaction. The salesman glanced from one of them to the other and nodded sagely. “Of course. We have some very nice ones, just got ‘em in.”
While they walked toward the showcase area, Hotch rubbed absently at the back of his hand resting in the sling. His fingers were tingling, they felt the way he imagined the inside of a snow globe might feel all liquid and glitter swishing and moving around. It wasn’t quite static, it was less intense than that but still unnerving. An unfortunate but temporary side effect of the injury they assured him would pass within a day or so. Sometimes nerves got jostled or pinched, but as long as it wasn’t painful or numb it was probably fine. He didn’t care for the word probably being used in a medical capacity. Come back if it doesn’t go away in 24 to 48 hours, that’s the drill. Hotch flexed his hand and sighed. At least, for the first time that day, he didn’t feel his tendons pull angrily at his injured joint. It was blissfully unaware of the movement below.
“I like the gray one,” Derek said pointing to a dark gray tufted headboard. It was nice. Looked like a bed and a wing back chair had an elegant baby, and he didn't mind it. Didn’t particularly like it bu the didn’t hate it either, and he wasn’t terribly picky about what his bed looked like. He cared a lot more about the mattress. “What do you think?”
The bed frame was upholstered in the same dark gray fabric, low to the ground, with no foot board. Metal, not wood. “It’s nice. You choose, I really don’t care as long as I can sleep in a bed tonight.” He was grouchy, running on about three hours of sleep and he was in pain...not really his shoulder, but every overcompensating muscle group that surrounded his shoulder ached deep and complained loudly. He wanted to be sitting down. He couldn’t possibly keep it still enough to be comfortable otherwise.
“Looks sturdy.”
“I've heard plenty of stories of beds being broken,” the salesman started with a sly smile. Hotch turned away. “If you can imagine it, someone has told me about it. Of course there’s the naughty stuff, but there’s also animals and kids and people rearranging a room, earthquakes…” he was rambling, he’d already clearly decided they had sex, he kept eyeing Hotch’s sling and the bags under his eyes. You don’t end up in a sling because your dog jumped on your bed, or your kid, and there hadn’t been an earthquake in Chicago recently. It was a pretty sure bet. “But not this style. Indestructible. How’d you hurt your arm anyway? Looks fresh.”
Derek, sensing the way Hotch immediately bristled at the question and moreover the implication, stepped in. “Work accident. I think we’ll take this one, it’s nice. Matches the rest of the bedroom. How soon can it be delivered?”
They’d told Jessica and Jack the same thing. A work accident. Jessica just gave them that look, wondering what kind of a work accident a professor of law could possibly get into (especially while his students were on spring break) and Hotch was sure he would fold if she asked for details...he couldn’t lie to her. But she didn’t ask, and Jack only rolled his eyes and said yeah, right, whatever. Hotch couldn’t tell if it was the kind of sarcastic yeah right that said he knew exactly what they were doing, or if maybe he thought Hotch had been doing something stupid like climbing a ladder without Derek there to support him...wouldn’t put it past him. Could go either way. He hoped for the latter of the two. In any case, the two of them were back in Virginia so Jack could spend his spring break with Roy. The broken frame was removed from the house and Hotch could live with that lie. Of course they’d have to answer for why they had a new bed once Jack returned to Chicago but that was a problem for next week.
“This afternoon. You’ll be sleeping in your brand new bed tonight.”
“Do we have to build it ourselves?” He sounded like a wuss, he knew it. He could build the damn thing himself he just...didn’t want to. He wanted to sit with Hotch on the couch and not worry about it. He wanted to throw a nice big tip at someone who was willing to do it for them.
“We can send someone out to put it together,” the salesman said, leading them toward the cash register. “It’s a two person job, and it appears you only have one able to work so I get it. They’re booked out a few days but I’ll see if I can’t get someone out there for you today.”
The bed was delivered and built without issue while Hotch took a much needed nap on the couch with Hank. Hotch needed the nap more than Hank did. Fran was fussing over him, knowing exactly what happened and not shying away from shaming her son for his childish antics. “You two are grown men, you have children who live in this house…”
“There weren’t any kids here, ma. We had a night free to be grown ups and do what grown ups do. We’re not allowed to have a little fun?”
“That is not the point, Derek Morgan. Look at him. That poor man. Was it worth it?”
Derek, glancing into the living room at Hotch sleeping with Hank on his chest, carefully tucked into the crook of his good arm, smiled. They were huddled beneath a blanket that left only the fluff of Hanks unruly hair and the top half of Hotch’s face visible. “I dunno. It wasn’t not worth it. You see that new bed?”
She smacked his arm with the pot holder and shoved him out of the way so she could get into the oven for her roast. She had insisted on making them dinner, as if Hotch’s minor injury meant they couldn’t do it for themselves. Sure, at least for today, Hotch was more or less useless but if he had to do something he would have. He just didn’t have to. He had the luxury to lay around with a toddler tucked against his chest and sleep off a good night that turned a little sour. Sleep off sore muscles and joints and a late night hospital visit.
“I was going to offer to keep Hank the Tank again tonight so you could take care of Aaron but I’m a little afraid you’re going to misunderstand me. Can I trust you?”
“No,” Derek said with that infuriating smile. “Of course you can’t. But you can probably trust him. I don’t think he’s planning on any hanky panky for a while.”
“Well at least one of you is using the brains God gave you.”
“Aw, ma, don’t bring him into this. Go sit down with your coffee and I’ll finish up here. I’m perfectly capable of making dinner for my family.”
She rolled her eyes but set the pot holder down, lifted her coffee and made a beeline for their bedroom to see the new bed (it was very nice, she had to admit) before wandering back to the living room to have a seat and wait for him to ask her help setting the table or waking the sleepyheads.
She did end up taking Hank back to her place for the night, just to make things easier. She also loved having him stay the night, he made every part of her house more cheerful just by his presence and she was missing Jack’s afternoon visits a little more than she thought she would while he was back in Virginia. She had a countdown on her fridge with a big circled date for her biggest grandchild’s return. It was partially for her, partially for Anthony, they both missed him fiercely. Their afternoons spent playing board games and drinking lemonade were a lot less fun without Jack and his unique brand of humor.
“You wanna give it a shot?” Derek asked as they started the arduous process of getting ready for bed. Hotch was struggling to pull his t-shirt off around an arm that he didn’t want to move. It wasn’t exactly stiff, the joint just felt weak and achey. And the tendons felt weak, like if he moved too far or too fast his shoulder would slip right back out and he’d be in a world of hurt all over again. His entire arm felt like it was hanging by a threat, unstable and dangerously close to blinding pain. He’d abandoned the cumbersome sling sometime around dinner time, deciding instead that he would rather just rest the sore arm in his lap or against his chest, engaging some muscles made it feel a little more secure.
Reaching out, Derek grabbed the shirt and helped maneuver it around the swollen mound of his mottled purple and red shoulder. He slid it down around the elbow and off, trailing warm soft kisses in the wake. He started at the deep bruising, the odd stretch marks in the skin where it had popped, and followed the line down to his elbow before standing up and finding eager and waiting lips instead. Maybe his idea that Hotch would be against hanky panky was a little off. It was a delightful revelation. “I’ll be gentle. I promise.”
“What would your mother say?” Hotch asked with a small smirk, already on board.
“Uh-uh, don’t you dare invoke her name in this bedroom…” Derek warned, already undoing Hotch’s belt and then his pants. Hotch was content to let him do all the work. He just watched with that amused little smile while Derek undressed him eagerly. “You trust me?”
“Against my better judgment…” Hotch whispered against Derek’s lips. “Always.”
That night, shoulder injury notwithstanding, they gave the bed its maiden voyage. Slow and steady, Hotch still riding the last bits of his paid med high.
Not a squeak, not a shift.
Derek had propped Hotch up on pillows, he really was less an active participant as he was a very involved observer. Eager and willing to let Derek do whatever he wanted. He did what he could, he wasn’t a cold fish, but ultimately found himself met with Derek chiding him, telling him to be still, to just enjoy the process. He barely even felt it in his wrecked shoulder or the angry muscles holding it in place. It was so comfortable, so quiet that they went at it again almost immediately before hopping in the shower to clean up. The discussion was limited to “yeah?” and “yeah”, monosyllabic and quick. Derek helped Hotch wash his hair and had trouble restraining himself when their hips brushed and rolled against one another, when their fingers touched, when Hotch sagged against him tired and finally, having exceeded the length of his medication and badly in need of another dose, feeling considerable pain. The muscles running the length of his spine ached as they worked twice as hard to hold his arm still.
“No more?” Derek asked and Hotch shook his head. He was tapping out. Derek wouldn’t argue.
“I’m ready to sleep.”
Derek was too, he wanted to lie down in bed, prop Hotch up with as many pillows as it took to make him comfortable and crowd in on him. Absorb his heat, give him heat, touch him and breathe him in. Tangle their legs and drape his arms and drift off. He wanted all of that too, but he feigned disappointment anyway. Because that was fun.
“Yeah...alright. I am a little tired. Guess we should see if the bed is good for that too, huh?”
Fran Morgan is so worried when she works out there's no adults really supporting Spencer. (Although there's obvious James's parents.) So when she sends care packets for Derek she keeps slipping in extra things carefully labelled for Spencer.
she is SUCH A GOOD MOM I love her
----------
Fran Morgan was concerned.
Derek had told her that his roommate was younger. “He skipped a few grades” had been his exact words. Except her son had neglected to explain that Spencer Reid had skipped all the grades.
When Derek was ten he had been tall for his age, already threatening to tip into a growth spurt. He was a noisy tornado of nonstop energy, trying to play basketball in the house and whining when his older sister beat him at video games and making an absolute mess at the dinner table. And he was still young enough to anticipate being tucked into bed every night with a hug and kiss, to run to his parents to be consoled when he bruised himself for the millionth time after playing too hard and too carelessly, to fall asleep in the car and expect to be carried inside and put to bed. He was a happy-go-lucky kid, bursting with energy and affection and noise.
Fran took one look at Derek’s little roommate and alarm bells went off immediately.
Spencer looked far smaller than ten- seven or eight, maybe. He was small and skinny, his face pinched and his eyes too large. Any energy spilling from him was highstrung and anxious, as if he was perpetually worried that he would be told to be quiet or to go away. It was both a relief and a concern to watch him cling to the Miller girl; he would cling to her skirt or the hem of her sweater, and she would take his little hand or pick him up to hold on her hip. At least he was getting affection and attention somewhere, but where were his actual parents? How could they send their little baby off to school, all by himself?
Then again, Derek could tell her nothing about the child’s parents. No one seemed to know anything, it seemed. She hadn’t met James Blake or his parents before this family weekend, but when she inquired with Charlie she didn’t know anything either. Maybe the little boy didn’t have any family at all.
She didn’t know what she could to help, but she couldn’t just ignore the situation either.
—-------
“My mom sent me another care package!” Derek said. He tossed it on his bed and ripped it open eagerly.
Spencer looked up from his book. “What did she send you this time?” he asked.
“I don’t know, let’s see!” he said. His mother and sisters had sent him a care package from home every other week like clockwork since his freshman year, and he always looked forward to it. “Let’s see…she made cookies again, and there’s some candy…”
He pulled out the letter on the top carefully and set it aside. The letters he always saved so he could read them properly, ideally when he was alone in case they made him cry. “A new shirt…a new comic book…oh!” He paused. “There’s something in here for you.”
Spenc er peeked over the edge of his book. “Really?” he said. “For me?”
“Yeah, it’s got your name on it,” Derek said. “Want to open it?”
He held out the paper wrapped parcel and Spencer took it timidly. “Why did she send me something?” he asked as he picked at the tape.
“I don’t know, maybe she just liked you or something,” Derek said. “What’d you get?”
Spencer held up a new shirt and a bag of Reese’s cups, beaming. “I like these!” he said. He surveyed the shirt. “I like both of these! Your mom is so nice!” He hugged the shirt to his chest. “No one ever sends me anything in the mail.”
“I’ll tell her you liked it, she’ll be excited,” Derek said. Spencer was already struggling to open the bag of candy; Derek opened it for him and handed it back. He rarely saw Spencer that happy, and already he was planning to tell his mother to keep adding surprises for him in his care packages. The kid needed it, clearly.
Spending Christmas in Chicago at Fran’s. Morgan’s sisters building a snowman with Jack while Hotch and Derek enjoy a lazy morning under the warm covers.
Hotch and Derek attending the annual Christmas play at Jack’s school and going for hot chocolate at the Christmas market afterwards.
Both of them falling asleep on the sofa on New Year’s Eve, Jack taking a picture and sending it to Jess and Fran.
Well, I am absolutely certain you had no intention of me using all 3 of these in one story, but I did. With an added dash of baby fever! Hotch and Morgan plus a pregnancy announcement. I think I might carry this one on, too, as a long-term story if anyone is interested? Add it to the pile, folks! I don't write a lot of baby-centric fics but I was sort of in the mood here for some reason. Lots of sweet, soft fluff. Some angst. 3.5k words of SURPRISE WE'RE HAVING A BABY.
***there is comfort where we overlap ***
“We have to go,” Derek said, breezing through the bedroom, from hallway to bathroom with a purpose. Hotch had been in there for over an hour either showering, shaving or having some kind of extended quiet panic attack. “You almost ready?” On the counter was an open bottle of Tums, extra strength, half empty. He popped the lid closed and looked around.
Silence. Derek peeked behind the shower curtain to find Hotch just...sitting...beneath the water. “Aaron, come on.”
“What time is her appointment?” Hotch's voice was small and wet sounding.
“Doesn't matter. We'll know when we know. Come on, Jack's expecting us to show up for this cookies and cocoa thing with his teachers beforehand. Jessica will actually murder us if we miss it, I guarantee it.”
“I know.” He made no effort to move, however.
“Then get up and come on. It's out of our hands.”
Hotch wasn't usually one to mope around, and under normal circumstances he would be the one who had everything together and was ready hours beforehand. But there was something about this particular circumstance that had completely robbed him of the ability to exist. Slowly he unfurled his long legs and stretched them while Derek cut off the water supply and dropped a towel on top of his head rather unceremoniously. “Up.”
“I'm getting up.”
“No, you're stretching like a lazy cat. Get up.”
He got up. Begrudgingly, he managed it and toweled himself off entirely before stepping out of the tub. Derek had already laid out some clothes for him and threatened to set a timer for him to get ready, but Hotch didn't protest and didn't drag his feet. He simply did his best to turn his brain off and put his clothes on.
C'est la Vie had never been in Hotch's life plan. His need for control ran so deep that he couldn't even let other people drive the car he sat in. And this situation was so far outside of his control that it was giving him an ulcer, or at least adding to the one that was already in there. He could feel it gnawing away at his stomach lining. For the last two weeks he'd been eating Tums and drinking Alka Seltzer at an alarming rate. He was making himself sick, and there wasn't anything Derek could do to stop the spiral except wait it out and remind him they had no control and if they found out that it hadn't happened...they would simply try again. And again. And it wouldn't have been his fault.
They missed cookies and cocoa by ten minutes, but they made it before the play started. Just in time to apologize and promise that they'd go out to the little Christmas market downtown afterward to see the tree lighting and parade. They would have just enough time to pop in, grab some hot cocoa, watch the tree lighting and hit the road. Hotch wasn't thrilled, but he'd been the reason for the tardiness, so he kept his protest to a minimum. “It's three degrees,” Hotch muttered, but he'd already given in.
The play was sweet. Not great, most of the kids forgot their lines and some had even lost parts of their costumes, but it was sweet. The really little ones looked like a box full of kittens had been upended on the stage and they all scattered in different directions. There were teachers and parents rushing the stage to set them back on track. The slightly older kids, like Jack, stood on the risers and sang their parts and spoke their lines sometimes too loud, sometimes too quiet, always off key - but overall, it was about as good as could be expected. It would leave them with stories to tell, if nothing else.
As they sat, Hotch worried his thumb over his nailbeds and kept it hidden in his pockets. As if Derek didn't know what he was hiding. With some otherworldly level of stealth, Derek reached over, pulled one of his hands free and squeezed it. At attempt at being reassuring but it only made Hotch feel like crying. That Derek was so laid back and he was absolutely beside himself was cruel.
Their phones were off. Derek had insisted. Not just silence but completely off. “Whatever the result is, we don't need to know while Jack's on stage. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
Derek led a standing ovation for the kids, much to the delight of the kids on stage who took exaggerated bows and pointed at their families and smiled for pictures. Hotch, for one brief moment, was completely overwhelmed by what was happening on the stage and how completely sweet it was and forgot entirely about the text he was anticipating. In fact, his mind wandered in the other direction, and he found himself wishing he could turn to his right and see Haley there smiling up at Jack through tears of joy and laughter.
Finally, in the lobby while Jack was with his class getting their things together, it was time. Derek took his phone out and looked at Hotch a little expectantly when the screen began to show signs of life. They both saw it, the little flashing light that said he had a text. “No matter what, it's okay, right? If it didn't take this time, we'll try again...”
Hotch's sample had been hard to come by. The timing was off, his work schedule was impeding every attempt at an appointment he made, his stress levels were through the roof...he was starting to feel dead in the water before he'd even made it to the damn clinic.
“Yeah,” Hotch whispered, his breath caught in his throat. If it didn't take it would be entirely his fault and sure they could try again and again, but at a certain point it would be worth questioning how they were going about this. It was their second attempt. The first time, Hotch had wept for a whole night in spite of himself. Derek had to admit that he was disappointed, too, but he could see it for what it was: an imperfect science. They were warned it might take a few attempts and it wouldn't indicate anything wrong, not right away. But Hotch had a hard time seeing it that way when he thought back to the years and years that he and Haley had tried and failed, tried and nearly succeeded, tried and tried.
Derek held his phone up to Hotch, and through the shine of tears he saw the photo, the piece of paper with a big bold word printed right at the top of all the other various lab results. POSITIVE.
“You see it? You see what it says?” Derek asked, unable to wipe the smile from his face. Hotch sniffed and pulled his handkerchief from his pocket before nodding. He was staring at it. Couldn't take his eyes off of it. “We're doing this.”
His voice didn't seem to work, but Derek didn't mind that. He just held up his phone, snapped a picture of Hotch with tears in his eyes, and sent it to Sarah as confirmation that they were ecstatic.
In a few hours, after the Christmas market, they would be on a plane with Jack headed to Chicago to spend the week of Christmas with Derek's family and they would have to keep this quiet until Christmas morning. “Can we tell Jack?” Derek asked, and Hotch shook his head.
“No. Sarah wants everyone to find out when your mom does, she was adamant about that.”
“You don't think he can keep it a secret?”
“Derek. Jack has proven, time and again, to be abysmal at keeping even the most basic of secrets. I would love to tell him but I think it would be ill-advised.”
“All I heard was blah blah blah. Let's tell Jack. I want him to know he's going to be a big brother.” He paused, really taking a second to look at Hotch, at the way the color had drained from his cheeks and the tears glistened in his eyes. “Let's go sit down on that bench and wait for Jack before you pass out right here. We'll decide when we see him.”
Hotch allowed Derek to lead him to the bench, but he wasn't intending to budge on the rest. He was certain that they should not tell Jack, as much as they both wanted to. Until the minute that Jack appeared before them dressed like a little elf and even Hotch could hardly contain himself. With one sideways glance that Derek took as approval to spill the beans (whether it was or was not would be the topic of many discussions throughout the week), the words spilled out.
“Jack,” he said, pulling the kid into his lap. “You ready to be a big brother?”
(x)
There's regular snow and then there is Chicago snow. Hotch relinquished the driving reigns infrequently, but when the snow on the side of the road was piled up as high as the car, and the slush they had to drive in threw the car around like a rag doll, he handed the keys to Derek without any fuss. He could drive in regular snow, out on country roads was his specialty, but there was something daunting about having to adapt to both big city driving and deep snow that he simply couldn't manage. Something about it tipped the scales from him having control to having absolutely none.
The storm was moving in quickly, and they'd been fortunate that their plane had even been allowed to land at O'Hare, but they'd be pushing their luck to make it all the way to Fran's unscathed. By the end of the drive, the car was more like a sled on the big busy streets just sliding without traction, and once they were on the side streets the poor thing was working double time to pull itself through the mounds of wet slush and snow that wouldn't be plowed for days to come. But they made it in one piece and were ready to hunker down and wait out the rest of the storm inside Fran's nice warm home.
And they had four whole days to keep a huge secret from everyone.
The look on Sarah's face, the absolute bliss in her eyes when she reached out to hug Derek, Hotch knew it was going to be a difficult few days. And when she hugged him around the neck, he had to fight back more tears. He was on the verge of tears often, but this was far and away the worst it had ever been. Suddenly he was remembering that first few days after finding out that Haley was pregnant, it was funny how he'd managed to forget all of that now that Jack was older and everything had changed. Now, like he'd stepped into a time machine, he was feeling all those huge overwhelming things again. His life, Jack's life, this baby's life, they all flashed before his eyes. He squeezed Derek's hand out of desperation, and Derek squeezed him back out of love.
Dinner the first night was mostly quiet, with Sarah and Desiree bickering and Derek trying to mediate on Sarah's behalf. As the evening wore on, he began to get a little overbearing and Hotch had to tell him to back off of Desiree more than once.
“She's gonna stress Sarah out,” he hissed as they ducked around the corner. “She needs to back off.”
“Sarah will be fine.” It was Hotch's turn to be reasonable, to find himself slightly more even. His ulcer was still smoldering embers, but he felt more peaceful. The panic had, at least momentarily, subsided. “She's okay.” The strain in Derek's eyes, the absolute uncertainty and out of control feeling that seeped from him was concerning. He was going to blow the secret before anyone else by virtue of his need to care for his sister who was carrying his child.
“I need to take a walk,” Derek said finally, and Hotch nodded in agreement. “Get outta here for a bit. Get some fresh air.”
“Why don't you ask Sarah to go with you? I could use a ginger ale from the corner store.”
Derek reached out and pulled Hotch close to him, pressing their foreheads together. “You're a genius.”
“I know.”
They slept on the pull-out sofa bed with Jack on an air mattress nearby. Fran had made him up a bed, but he insisted on sleeping beside the Christmas tree and how could she say no to that? Beneath a mound of blankets, they listened to the gentle sound of Jack's little snores and whispered, conspired, smiled over the fact that soon they'd have another. And sleepless nights, they would have those too. Hotch was ready for those, he slept so little already.
“How are you so chill all of a sudden?” Derek whispered, his lips against Hotch's ear. It tickled and sent goosebumps in a flushing river down his spine.
“I remember this part. The anticipation. There's a lot of work to do, I like that.” What he meant to say was that there were things he could control now. He could build a crib and set up a bedroom, he could research and buy a car seat, he could do all of these things that would make him feel useful.
“I can't stop thinking about everything that could go wrong.”
“Derek, you said it yourself. You trust Sarah. More than anyone. That's why we asked her specifically.”
"You made a spreadsheet," Derek mumbled against Hotch's shoulder and they both let out low chuckles.
"I did."
Derek buried his face in Hotch's neck and sucked in a shaky breath. “But she lives here and we live there.”
That had been troubling to both of them, but Hotch knew they could make it work. It was a short flight, a slightly longer but still short drive, and they would simply find a way to make it work. She would have Fran here, and the rest of the Morgan family, she wouldn't be on her own. Not even if she wanted it. “It will all work out.”
The next few days flew by in a blur of shopping, eating and laughing with family. Groups of people would drop in with desserts and stay for coffee no matter the time of day, and Hotch felt like he'd inadvertently stepped into a time machine. Back to a time when his mother would keep cakes and other pastries in the freezer on the off chance that company dropped by. Fran's house was a sort of meeting place, a central location for everyone to gather with a full pot of coffee and plenty of seating. They were surrounded by company and laughter, sometimes loud bursts of song would erupt from out of nowhere.
And bickering. Derek and Sarah were at each other's throats, which Fran insisted was perfectly normal when it appeared to be stressing Hotch out. “They've always been like this.”
“How do you handle it?”
“Like this.” She smiled sweetly and stood, walking into the kitchen and approaching her arguing adult children like they were small, like she could ground them from the bikes and sports and summer vacation. It took a minute for her to find her leverage, but she managed and soon they were able to stand beside each other again without fighting.
Finally, the anticipation about at its maximum and Derek and Sarah nearly at their breaking point, Christmas morning arrived. Jack tore through his gifts with fervor, lavishing everyone with huge thanks and hugs. He played Santa, delivering gifts from beneath the tree to their new owners. Everyone got Hotch something warm. A box of fancy tea for relaxation, wool socks, gloves. Derek got vinyl records and new headphones, with a few boxes of screws and nails as a little joke because he always ran out in the middle of projects and had to run to the hardware store.
“Grandma!” Jack chirped, pulling a small gift from beneath the tree. It had been lodged way in the back, a small white box with delicate silver ribbon wrapped tight and topped by a perfectly symmetrical bow. Derek glanced at Hotch and knew, somehow, that he was responsible for the presentation. Fran held the box lightly, turning it over and over in her hands, giving it a little shake next to her ear only to hear nothing. The gift was light as air.
“It's a box!” she exclaimed, and Jack giggled with delight. “What a beautiful gift. I've always wanted a lovely little box. Think of all the things it'll hold.”
“Grandmaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.”
She slipped the ribbon from the box carefully, all eyes on her. “Why are you all staring at me?” she asked, a little flushed, and Hotch thought for sure he was going to blow the whole thing by crying before she even knew what she was looking at. He glanced around the room and realized, with some certainty, that Fran was the only person who didn't know. Desiree and Jack's faces were shining with anticipation, and he and Derek were barely containing themselves. Beneath their shared blanket, they slotted their fingers together and held their breath.
Inside the box was silver tissue paper, delicate and soft, and tucked neatly beneath that was an ultrasound with Sarah's name at the top, and something that looked like a squishy little jellybean right in the center.
“Sarah?” she asked breathless, blinking, stunned. “You're pregnant?”
She grinned. “Yes, mama. I'm pregnant.”
“But you're not...” she was struggling, they could see, to put the pieces together. Sarah wasn't even dating anyone. She hadn't in forever, and she'd made it abundantly clear to the entire family that she did not want to have children. Or a relationship. “You said...”
“Read the back, mom.”
Fran flipped the picture over with one shaking hand and it was then, as she read the words scrawled on the back, that she began crying. And laughing. Wet, teary laughter rattled through the room.
“Hotchner-Morgan?” she gasped out, swiping at her eyes with the silver tissue paper absurdly. It was the closest thing she could grab. “You boys?”
“Yes, mama. It's our baby.” Derek paused and squeezed Hotch's hand beneath the blanket. “I thought we said it would be Morgan-Hotchner?”
“You asked me to write it because your handwriting is too sloppy. I made a choice. It's alphabetical.”
“Yeah, I'm sure that was your reason...”
Back home, they spent the rest of the week walking through Derek's house planning out the space. They'd forced themselves to wait until they had a positive result before they started making any real decisions. Hotch wouldn't re-up the lease on his apartment, that much was for certain. They'd managed to uphold two households the entire time and it was fine, but having a baby made it pretty clear that they would no longer be playing that game. Hotch and Jack would move in with Derek full time, and good riddance to that apartment as far as Derek was concerned.
They spent the week slowly moving things over, little things, knickknacks and Jack's art and his favorite bedroom items. They would save the big stuff for later, Hotch still had three months on his lease and then there was the issue of his storage unit full of he and Haley's things. Derek placed a photo of Haley on the mantle beside the rest of their family, a gesture that Hotch would never have asked of him, and once more he found himself with tears on his cheeks. He knew Sarah's hormones would be all wild and out of control, but he was starting to feel like he was experiencing them for himself firsthand.
On New Year's Eve, Penelope and Dave came over to celebrate with them. They were going to tell the team slowly, disperse the information quietly, but it started with those two over glasses of champagne as they counted down the hours to midnight. To a new year filled with possibilities and growth. Hotch's last couple of years had been hard, and he felt hopeful for once. He was overwhelmed by that feeling, and exhausted by it all.
To no one's surprise, by the time the ball was dropping so so slowly on the television and all of New York City was counting backwards from ten live, Hotch and Derek were fast asleep beneath a blanket. They were completely worn out by the week they'd spent joining their households and dreaming of a new baby that was a perfect mixture of both of them. There was still so much more work to be done.
With some urging from a slightly drunk Penelope, Jack slipped his dad's phone off of the table and snapped a photo of them lying there snoring at the stroke of midnight. Dave kissed Penelope on the cheek and Penelope kissed Jack on the cheek and they sent the photo of the two sleeping men on the couch to Jess with the caption “too old for New Years”.
“They think they're tired now,” Dave said, tucking Jack into his bed before he and Penelope left for the night. Derek and Hotch slept soundly on the couch, and no one had the heart to try and get them to move to their bed. They simply looked too peaceful. “Just wait until that baby comes.”
Summary: Derek takes Hotch on a much-needed vacation. (Post-Route 66)
Warnings: Lots of food and alcohol...(will update as I go)
Words: 10k (and counting)
Notes: This is an interconnected series of one-shots, the shenanigans that Hotch & Morgan get up to while on vacation in Mexico, Jack being spoiled by Fran and the rest of the Morgan family, etc and I think it's pretty obvious from Derek in Chapter One that there is a big finish planned. This is kind of a fun experiment, like a book of short stories with one over-arching theme. An ode to summer, and not taking things too seriously and just having fun.
Summary: Morgan interrupted Foyet in Hotch’s apartment and saw everything. Now Hotch is staying with Jessica, Morgan is trying to figure out how to save the day and Foyet is on the road.
Notes: WE MADE IT! THIS IS IT! We did it, you guys! 37k words...did anyone join me all the way? I hope the ending was satisfying. Let me know? Maybe? Or not. Much love! (Now to finish the other long one I've got going...)
Chapter List
Read on AO3: The Silence Drowns
**
The sunlight felt nice on their skin. It's just Hotch and Derek swaying on the breeze in the rough little hammock Derek slapped together in the backyard on a whim. A few hours, his screw gun and a vodka iced tea was about all it took to get the thing together. Garcia yelled at him repeatedly for taxing himself, building something when he was in recovery too but he said it was for him. It would help, so she helped. They built it together.
Now he and Hotch lay together, curled tight, wondering at how peaceful the world feels when they're not trapped inside of a cage of Foyet's making.
Haley and Jack were fussing around the dinner table, setting plates and forks eagerly while Fran taught Jessica how to make her famous tater tot casserole. “It isn't anything fancy,” she said wistfully, watching Jessica place the frozen tots in a layer on the bottom of the dish. “But it'll fill 'em up, and you won't ever hear a single complaint.”
Jessica smiled. It was wary, and her hands still held a fleck or two of gunpowder that she hadn't bothered to pick out. They were like freckles now, reminders of what had happened in Hotch's apartment. The building was emptying, like rats abandoning ship. Served them right, she thought bitterly. They sat by complicit while Hotch and Morgan suffered in those walls, but with news of the second attack and then the landlord...no one much wanted to stay and find out how it would all play out. The building was on the nightly news, made national headlines, and rubberneckers were coming from all over to take pictures. They could burn the place down for all she cared. Aside from walking back inside one time to grab Hotch's important papers and his wedding ring, she didn't plan to go back. Sometime soon, after the biohazard cleaning crew ravaged the place, movers would come and box it all up for donation. Hotch didn't want a single thing left.
Fran placed her hand on top of Jessica's and pulled her close. She'd been doing that a lot the last few days. “You did the right thing.”
She wasn't so sure. She could believe it for a while, but then she saw Hotch's face and she knew packed under those layers of thick white gauze was a mess of spidery black stitches holding his face together. His face. Maybe she saved their lives, maybe maybe not. Derek might have managed something too and without so much collateral damage. She'd changed Hotch forever, he couldn't look in the mirror and she couldn't look at him. “Sweetheart,” Fran said, drawing her back to reality. “Finish the tots and go outside. Sit with him.”
Derek told him he was still pretty. Every chance he got, he would change the bandage (after Hotch changed his) and he would lay feather light kisses along his jaw before putting the new layers of gauze over it. In the meantime, he simply repeated himself. “You're so damn beautiful, baby,” and Hotch couldn't complain about being called baby right now. Sometimes Derek pushed it, called him sweetheart or honey, but he mostly stuck to baby.
She hadn't been alone in a room with Hotch since it happened. A group, sure, and she could look anywhere but his eyes. That was easy. She could be around. Derek kept trying to force her to be alone with him though, so did Fran, but she just couldn't stomach it. She may have held herself together after the gunshot that nearly killed Foyet (the cockroach was still hanging on, but the doctors were sure he wouldn't survive the damage) but she couldn't stomach the guilt. He'd be too nice, he'd thank her for what she did, and she'd fall apart.
But tonight was their last night in Virginia. They were cleared to travel and had plans to stay with Fran for a few months in Chicago to try and heal, figure out how in the hell to move forward after this.
She let Derek convince her, finally. He traded her places, she had no choice. She had to see him, he means everything to her and it's been easy not to see him because he's been surrounded by people who love him. Haley and Jack were back, they were safe, she saved them maybe. They won. But she hasn't felt much like a winner and now he was leaving, after all of that she was losing him...maybe for a few months, maybe he'd fall in love with Chicago and stay forever.
“You know,” she started, taking the feeding supplies from Derek with a nod. “It's so nice not having to hear you talking all the time,” she says around tears. “Your voice drives me crazy.”
He couldn't smile and he couldn't reply, but her hands fumbled around a syringe and his feeding tube in direct opposition to what she said. She loved him. To the ends of the earth, she loved him. She hadn't been alone with him but she had learned this part. After all, he was unable to eat because of her. (The canned response of course was that it was because of Foyet and yeah she got that...she wasn't stupid, she wasn't the one with the knife to his throat but dammit she was the one with the baseball bat. That knife never would have touched his face if not for the Louisville slugger he took to the back of the skull.) He watched her careful hands work and wished he could say something to her.
Thank you, really. That was all he wanted to say and she hadn't given him one single opportunity to say so.
His hand rested against her thigh and she turned her eyes to his. Slowly, like she had to drag them, and in that one moment she could feel the heat and the desperation of his forgiveness. He didn't hate her and he didn't blame her. He loved her.
Before bed, every night, he peeled back the gauze to let his wound breathe. That was what they told him to do. But he always did it in the dark, in the bathroom alone. He couldn't see it all but he could see enough. His mouth turned up in a jagged mockery of a smile. Twisted webs of stitches casting shadows, spider legs creeping along a fault-line permanently cut into tectonic plates. His face was forever changed, but maybe his heart didn't have to be.
He was hoping to find peace and redemption in Chicago.
