It was three in the morning, an ungodly time to call it a night, especially when the day starts an hour later, but Hotch just can't physically force his teammates to do that second all-nighter. True, they will come pouring in at six, he, as their supervisor, will be there two hours earlier just like he was there an hour later than most.
If his eye would just stop twitching, he'd almost be able to call it a night… day… night… whichever. He melts into a recliner the hotel provided, his suit shed neatly the way a snake does with a layer of skin it has completely outgrown in the course of time. His tie is half off, his shoes gone at the door, and he dexterously toes off his black crew-socks one by one.
He feels the temperature fall half a degree, which is preposterous as the only light in the room is a cheap-ass halogen lamp built into the ceiling. He looks up at the protruding shadow only to find Reid leaning over him in a laughably threatening gesture. In his hand is a glasses case, he can't tell why it's so familiar, but he suspects it's Reid's. After all, he had been wearing those damn contacts for the past week straight.
"You're straining your eyes. Eye fatigue increases the sensation of tiredness. Did you know this is the forty-third time within your career as SAIC that you've gone three nights without sleep and called the fourth day with only an hour nap?"
"…Somehow I managed to block that out."
"Well, today makes forty-three. You'll need these tomorrow. I'm going to sleep my three hours now, somehow… I think this week is going to run long."
Hotch let out a soft laugh, "Some genius…"
Reid turns to look at his lover flashing a warning look, "Don't give me that. I've been awake just as long as you were, except instead of dealing with the police and reporters all day, I was elbow-deep in entrails, bone fragment, and a forensics guy who was a little too into it… and then I had to work on …you're already half asleep. I'm going to bed."
"What? No shower?" Hotch smiles already three-quarters the way to dream-land.
"You know, that's a cheap shot coming from you. Just wear them, I know you have some irrational thought that glasses make you look old, but the god-honest truth is- you don't look old when you wear them, you look fuckable. And I'm going to put aside my urge to mutually off any cop looking at you and not bend you over the nearest desk every time I see you tomorrow just so you can be more comfortable and reduce any compounding levels of fatigue until we catch this…"
"I love you."
Reid growls, "I love you too, you're impossible… I'll be in the shower." He mutters as he walks away from his objective- 100 thread-count sheets, and to a shower that hasn't been cleaned since the discovery of hypochlorite.
Hotch is sure more than half of the memories from the hotel last night are his mind playing a delightful trick on him, but he can't help but think, every time he sees Reid's eyes land on him and his glasses that maybe, just maybe his subconscious was onto something. It makes him give a goofy grin of a man in love with far too little sleep, and even as the day nears completion at 3 AM again, and his tie is already a casualty of the sweltering atmosphere in the confines of the file-room turn BAU hub, that maybe, just maybe, glasses weren't the worst accessory he could be stuck wearing.
Fin.