Nightmares Of a Certain Reality
No claim on any characters or story!
It started off insignificantly enough; everyone got them and it was almost cliché to say out loud. He was dozing on the plane ride home (no one got any shut eye on the way to a case, as that time was consumed with case study and prep). Actually he was dozing only 10 minutes into the flight; generally that was only typical of the kid. Letting my mind follow this particular train of thought, I wondered why he hadn't been sleeping at night as this could be the only logical explanation for him to lay down the case file. There I derailed, why is it my business he isn't sleeping? It's not. So, content, but not satisfied (Not satisfied because I wish that he'd trust me enough with even some of his personal-non work related thoughts.) with this conclusion, I myself closed my eyes and drifted into a half sleep of airplane noises, overly comfortable seats and a distant dark man.
The second time I noticed, he was sleeping in the chair in the corner of the plane with his head leaning on the side of the mock wall. From my seat across from Derek I saw him twitch out of the edges of my periphery. He shifted his calm, sleep consumed expression into a look I hadn't expected: that particular combination of facial positions on him seemed unthinkable. Worried? Scared? Hardly, it's almost comical to think of him as anything but in control, collected! It was an oddity and I just counted it as a lucky glimpse of what those emotions would look like on him if they were possible in reality. At this point, I passed it off as just a dream; nothing to mention. This or a close variation of it became the norm. The rest of the team saw it, and accepted it without occurrence. And the same applied to myself, until one time it escalated into a different level of intensity.
After a case in the Pacific Northwest, time was given to all the members of the team; personal time to recollect the composure that was weakened by that particular case. As the case was closed on a Tuesday, the team was given to the Monday after next; a week and a half. At this news, Derek immediately began planning a camping trip in the Cascades to which JJ, Reid, Rossi and Garcia were all on board. Unfortunately I had things to do back home that couldn't be put off and Hotch slyly avoided being invited all together. So it was Hotch and me on the late night plane ride back to the east coast. Once on board, Hotch asked if I'd like the couch and, seeing the craving look he gave the couch as he said the word, I smiled and said that he looked like he knew better how to prove its worth. Unexpectedly, he looked up at me and I saw another combination of facial gestures that I didn't think him (or not much anyone) capable of and the only description I came up with is "reluctant longing." Really? On Hotch? I was intrigued a) with the oxymoron I created with that particular description and b) with seeing it on a man that rarely showed any emotion other than fortitude. And so I chose a seat that was closer to him than I would have chosen given the fact that I had the whole rest of the plane to choose from; the seat across the walk way adjacent to the couch. We both busied ourselves with getting settled in; I opened my laptop and plugged in the power and Hotch took off his jacket and removed his shoes. By the time the plane leveled off, Hotch was asleep on his side, lost to the insides of his eyelids as I was focused on the outsides of the vary same lids. At first they were unmoving for about 15 minutes, and I began to think that he was only just sleeping, nothing more; then they rapidly began to move. Minutes after that, the uncharacteristic look of worry and fright surfaced on his face. Concern began to flood my instinct to wake him away from whatever he was living in his betraying subconscious, yet guilty curiosity about this stoic man kept my waking words afloat. I then heard him produce a sound, a weak sound from the back of his throat; half way between a whimper and moan. This was worrisome but before I could decide whether or not to wake him I heard it again. And again. It felt wrong but I was spellbound by this weakened identity manifesting itself on Hotch's skin and in his voice. For about ten minutes these sounds came and went, some more loud than the others but each one disguising their true origin. Was it loss that brought them out? Fear? Pain? They were all so obviously sounds of stronger cries being held back, but the reason for them is what kept me from saving him from their cause. And there, in the middle of that thought, he quieted somewhat. He was now only breathing, breathing shallow, pointed breaths. I couldn't help myself; I had to see him closer so I knelt on the floor at the head of the couch; only about a foot and a half from his head. He rolled onto his back; it startled me. Thinking he was waking, I froze with the thought of explaining myself in my current position upon his waking. He didn't wake, but settled on his back with his left hand over his chest and the right hand above his head all the while breathing short ragged breaths. Then, all at once his fist clenched around his button-down shirt and his eyes winced as he cried out. This time there was no doubt that it was a cry of pain. The left hand that clenched was an action of an attempt of protection, that was for sure. His eyes tightened in a way one only does at a sudden sound or a forceful blow. But his cry, a cry so specific to the release of pain, so distressing it is rarely heard in a normal existence, is what left my thought process at a loss of what to feel. By this point his brow was beaded with sweat and his face was withered with pain. I couldn't help myself anymore; my eyes were clouded with tears I rapidly blinked them back and I gently reached out with both hands. I settled my left hand over his and my right over his damp brow. "Hotch," I breathed in a hushed, unsteady voice I didn't recognize as my own. I couldn't take seeing his pain any longer. I could feel my own sobs surfacing as a reflection of his emotion and I drew closer to him. He didn't stir and again cried out and flinched in the way he did before. I grasped his hand more tightly, shook his chest and steadied my breath, "Hotch!" I repeated. "Please wake up!"