Oblvio- a Criminal Minds fanfic
A/N: None of the characters are mine and no profit is being made. This is an episode tag to 4X07, 'Memoriam', and the third in the Cravings series, after 'Second Step' and 'Lucky'. It contains references to both. I haven't seen many fics that deal with the aftermath of Reid's confrontation with his dad, and this is my take of it, in the Cravings series context. Contains consensual CP of an adult.
On the way back to the hotel to pack and leave, in the space between saying goodbye to his parents and hello to his team mates, Spencer Reid shut down his emotions completely. He was too raw and too confused to talk about what had happened- to talk about anything, actually. He really appreciated the team's support in uncovering the facts of this old, almost forgotten case, but just then he felt stupid, and treacherous, and like a terrible, terrible son, and their kindness would have grated on his already frayed nerves. So he locked it all away with the skill born of years of experience, and assured Morgan and Rossi that yes, he was ok, no, he didn't want to talk about it, thank you, and could they just go home now? The enticement of JJ's baby, born while they'd been away, distracted them enough for him to switch seats on the commercial flight they took home so he was four rows ahead of them and could just close his eyes and try to forget everything. He took advantage of their pre-dawn landing and the fact that visiting hours at the hospital started at ten to take a taxi home alone- except he didn't go home.
"Hello, my name's Spencer, and I'm an addict." He paused while the other three at this very early morning meeting greeted him. "I- I saw my father this week, for the first time since he walked out on me 17 years ago." The words were halting, but it helped that this wasn't his usual meeting. And that he was still in deep lockdown, saying it to hear the words but not really feeling it. "I accused him of terrible things. Some of them I was even right about. But in a lot of it I was wrong. I was willing to think he was capable of the worst a human being could be...And he wasn't. He was just weak. And I can't say I'm any better. I've been clean 17 months, two weeks and three days, and I have to go visit my friend in the hospital later today. I don't know how I'll stop myself from just...stopping at the pharmacy on the way out. Picking a lock on a medical cabinet. It- it brought up too many things I'd forgotten, about my childhood, and all I want is to forget again."
He sat down, drank too-sweet tea, listened to the others talk about their troubles, and tried not to let it all overwhelm him. Not yet. As they broke up, the meeting coordinator came up to him. "Spencer?"
He raised an eyebrow, too tired to talk, but not to listen.
"If you don't have to be alone today, don't be." The man, older than him and somehow radiating reassurance and empathy, advised. "Do things you know will distract you from the craving. Talk to your sponsor or to other friends you trust. Don't escape back into forgetfulness."
Knowing he was right didn't make accepting the advice any easier, but he nodded, shook the man's hand, and grabbed an extra large coffee and two muffins on his way to the hospital. He still looked enough like a zombie that JJ commented on it, post-labor and all. The visit allowed him not to think for a while, to immerse himself in a tiny newborn and in the huge honor JJ was doing him. He didn't have the first idea about of how to be a good godfather, but he'd definitely try. He owed it to JJ and Will for trusting him, and to the sudden skipped heartbeat caused by a small fist latching on to his finger, astonishingly strong. But the craving was still there, almost as strong, and he couldn't stay at the hospital forever. He wondered if he dared ask for help- for the sort of help he knew would be effective, but wasn't sure he could burden another with giving. They'd all already given too much time and effort for his fucked up cause.
He broke away from the group again when they were all sent away several hours later. JJ needed rest, Will had a nursery to set up, and the rest of them needed to get back to work. His hands were shaking. Maybe it was better to ask for help in keeping himself from flying apart then to ask for it later, when it came to putting the pieces back together. He caught up with Hotch in the parking lot.
"Hotch?"
The senior agent turned and gave him a quick, scanning look. "Reid."
"Can- are you going back to the office?"
"I was planning to, yes." It was only the middle of the day. "Why don't you take the rest of the day off? JJ was right, you look beat."
"Uh- actually, I sorta-" He had to at least try. "Can we talk?"
Hotch considered that for a moment, a flash of understanding in his eyes. "Sure. At work, or-?"
"Work. If it's ok." He wasn't going to suggest somewhere public for this, and his apartment would be far too private a setting. Hotch's apartment was unthinkable. The office would allow a level of detachment he really needed.
"Ok. Let's go then." As he let himself into Hotch's car, Reid took a moment to be very grateful for having a very understanding boss. He had a feeling he was going to stretch that understanding, he just hoped it wouldn't be past its limit.
The bullpen was humming with quiet activity when they arrived, and beyond passing greetings it looked like nobody needed their immediate attention. Another thing to be grateful for. They sat down, in silence. Reid hunted for words, as Hotch simply looked at him, patient enough not to push.
"I was willing to believe my father was a murderer and a child molester." He said at last, as blunt as he could possibly be. "I accused him- had him arrested- and-" He was trembling, cold for no reason. "I ruined a man's life, a man who'd already lost a son in the worst possible way- they'll have him for manslaughter, at least. Maybe worse." He couldn't look at Hotch. "I hate myself."
"Isn't that a little bit dramatic?" Hotch raised an eyebrow, and Reid scowled.
"Group therapy's always telling s to verbalize our emotions. I'm verbalizing- I hate myself right now."
"You did what you thought was right."
"Yeah, but I wasn't right!" He snapped. "I was wrong, all wrong, and- and-" He didn't even have words for the self loathing her felt. "I dragged you all into my crap, too. I'm sorry."
"We were glad to help. Think about it, two cases have closure now. Real, filed closure. Not the kind you can get with a baseball bat at midnight." Reid shuddered at the reminder, and Hotch rested his fingers lightly on the younger man's arm. He twitched and drew away. "And you can stop wondering, too. About several things. It's one nightmare you'll probably never have again." There was a long silence before Reid finally spoke again.
"I'm not sure it was worth it." All that work, the hours, the anguish of not knowing, and he was sure he would've preferred to go back to blissful ignorance. The one time he'd be happier not knowing. "I wish I could undo it all."
"You can't." One of the things he appreciated about Hotch was the lack of platitudes. "You can move on from it a better, wiser person. But what's done is done, and what you remember can't be un-remembered." He gave Reid another searching look, as if he was trying to see under his skin. "But you want to forget, don't you?"
"I got off the plane this morning and went straight to a meeting." Finally, Reid looked up at Hotch. "It didn't really help much. But I'm here instead of somewhere else."
"Yes, you are." Hotch nodded. "And you still want it?"
"You have no idea." His voice sounded faint in his own ears, thready and needy and pathetic. "He- he forgave me, Hotch. For everything. But- you know, for years he's been keeping track of me, and he never once tried to contact me. Not once!" Almost of its own volition, his hand rose and slammed into Hotch's desk, making everything on it rattle and jump. It also hurt, and he rubbed his hand, sheepish. "And I almost ruined his life. Again. And he forgave me. But I don't know if I can forgive myself, or him, or anyone. I feel like there's nothing I can do to make up for it." He wanted to curl up into himself and disappear. "Sorry- I- I shouldn't drop all this on you. I'll just-" He started to stand up, but Hotch's hand on his arm stopped him, tugging back down.
"Sit. Reid, you know you can always talk to me. I'm glad you came to me. You have a lot on your mind, and it's good to talk about it." He looked at the door, and they both knew someone could come in at any moment.
"I- I need- " Could he say it? Dare he? At worst, he'd be rejected. "I want more than to talk about it." He swallowed, his mouth too dry with nerves to speak for a moment. "Self harm falls under self destructiveness. And spiraling." He knew Hotch would understand. As usual, he wasn't disappointed. His superior's eyes narrowed a little, thoughtfully.
"You're considering harming yourself?" His voice was neutral, careful- but searching.
"I'm asking for it, doesn't that count?" Reid almost laughed. "And besides, the past four days have been the most self destructive thing I've ever done, without, uh, chemical assistance." He was wondering now if he'd been thinking straight at all, sleep deprived and seeing things that weren't really there, only in his freaked-out mind. "The past two times it really helped with the cravings." And he knew it would help with the guilt as well, at least a little. "I shouldn't ask- I know you don't approve- I'll just-"
"Spencer." Hotch's voice was sharp, and stilled him immediately. "Sit down and calm down. There's nothing wrong with asking, alright?" At Reid's hesitant nod, he nodded as well. "Good. Now, we're not going to do anything more about it here and now, there are too many people around." He checked his watch. "I'm going to give you a set of orders, and you are going to follow them to the letter, ok?"
"Yes sir." Orders he could deal with, as long as they weren't too unorthodox. Reid could feel himself relaxing.
"First, go pick up some food for both of us. Your choice of where from," Hotch knew that Reid remembered what he liked and didn't like when it came to take out food, they'd eaten together often enough that everyone on the team knew everybody else's preferences, "and an iced tea, green if they have it. Then you're going to bring it up here, and we'll eat. I'm going to do my paperwork, and you're going to work on your consults, up here. Bring a laptop if you need it, but you should have enough work that doesn't require it. And then we'll see."
"Oh- ok." The orders puzzled him a little, because there was nothing actually unusual about them, except that Hotch didn't usually have people in his office unless they were working on something together. "Won't I bother you?"
"No. And I don't want you out of my sight for any longer than is necessary until we leave here today, just in case you decide to start self destructing ahead of schedule." Hotch nodded to the door. "Go. If you see it's going to take more than fifteen minutes, call me. Here." He fished some money from his pocket. "This should cover me."
Reid wasn't sure whether to be annoyed with Hotch for not trusting him, or relieved that he wouldn't have to trust himself for the day, wouldn't have to hold on to control with his fingernails because someone was looking out for him like that. He decided to be grateful, nodded and promised he'd be back inside the allotted time. Fourteen and a half minutes later, he was back in the office, breathing only a little fast from running most of the way back. He dropped Hotch's favorite chicken salad and the cup of iced tea on the desk, keeping his own cheese and veggie sandwich and orange juice. "Hope it's ok."
"It's great, thanks. Now sit, and eat." Other than muffins and hospital food with his mother, Reid wasn't sure when he'd last had an actual meal, so he dug right in. Hotch did the same, and the silence between them was again, comfortable. More so than with anybody else Reid could think of. When the meal had become nothing more than an empty plastic box and some napkins, Hotch nodded at the piles of paperwork on his desk. "I have plenty of things to keep me busy. Go get your own consult pile and come back here."
Only Agent Todd was down in the bullpen when Reid came down, and she was on the phone and barely knew him, anyway. She wouldn't know enough to be curious, fortunately. He gathered his papers from his desk, snagged several colored pens and the maps he used for geographical profiles, and a pile of files almost larger than he could comfortably carry, and was back behind the safety of a closed door moments later. Hotch was absorbed in a file, and Reid tried to become equally absorbed but it was hard. He was tired and out of focus. It took about half an hour of flipping through a file without really taking it in before he relaxed enough to read, and refocused properly. As soon as he got into it, everything else receded from his conscious mind and he was completely immersed in notes and observations and details-
Or so he thought, anyway, because an unknown time later Hotch was shaking him awake. "Reid?"
"Uh- what?" He jerked away in surprise, almost falling off the couch- and almost hitting Hotch, too, before he caught himself. "What?"
"You fell asleep." It was dark outside, Reid could see as he rubbed his eyes. Ok, embarrassing, but it didn't look like he'd had any nightmares, which was at least some comfort. "Looked like you needed it, too."
"Guess I did." He admitted ruefully. "How long was I out?" He stretched his arms. His neck felt stiff, but he felt refreshed, if still awkward about it.
"About three hours. Fortunately nobody came in here to ask random questions." A sleeping subordinate on his sofa would've taken some explaining, if it'd been anyone outside the team. "We can officially go home now."
"Oh, good." Reid looked down at his notes and blinked. He didn't even recall writing most of them. "Huh. I need to double check this, but if I wasn't sleep-writing I should email this back to Atlantic City, looks like the profile only fits two of their suspects."
"Is it anything urgent?" Hotch was packing up his briefcase.
"No...A series of robberies with a fetish element- the unsub leaves used kitty litter in the houses he robs, and uses the bathroom in each, but doesn't leave any trace evidence behind except a note on the toilet seat." Strange, sure, but at least this one wasn't violent. "It can wait for tomorrow morning, he only strikes on weekends."
"Good, then let's go." It was only six, but Hotch wanted to get away before a case pulled them into the office again, as sometimes happened exactly when people had plans.
"Ok." Reid nodded. "Where are we going, by the way?"
"Either your place or mine. Your choice." Hotch didn't sound like he'd mind hosting, but Reid wasn't really sure...earlier, it had seemed too intimate. Now it was just slightly scary, but late enough in the day that it could just feel like an evening in with a friend. He had them with Morgan often enough...Finally, he shrugged.
"You're welcome to come over. I'll need to stop for food though, I haven't been home in a few days." Obviously, they'd been in Vegas for the case, then two days after that. At least it meant his place was clean and not messy, as the cleaning service had been there right before he'd left. At worst, it might be dusty.
"Sure." Hotch nodded. He'd only been to Reid's place once, two years earlier when the younger agent had drawn the short straw for the team post-New Year party. He mainly remembered that even with most of the furniture removed, it had been a bit too cramped for seven adults in his living room. He figured there were only two of them now, and besides he wanted Reid to feel safe. "You navigate, then."
They stopped at a supermarket and Reid picked up some fruit, and glanced at Hotch. "More takeout, TV dinners, or actual cooking? I make pretty good pasta."
"Whatever you like." Hotch shrugged, then shook his head. "Actually, I hate TV dinners. They remind me too much of my student days." Since he'd moved out he lived mainly on sandwiches and take out. "If you're up to cooking I'm willing to risk it."
"Hey, it's not a risk! Cooking's just chemistry, you know. Well, that and flavor-balance. Anyway, I haven't poisoned anybody yet, not even myself. And I've been cooking since I was ten." It was that or starve, some days, or force down whatever his mother decided was edible that day and hope for the best. On her good days she'd been a pretty good cook, so he usually froze whatever would keep and saved it for later. But he'd had to cook for himself often enough. "Ok, five more minutes." He picked up mushrooms, fresh tomatoes, some herbs and, on a whim, diced chicken breast. He already had the rest of the things he needed at home. A tub of ice cream for dessert, and he was good to go. Hotch tilted his head at the ice cream, questioning. "Soy-based, I'm not in the mood for a stomach ache. Would you like something else?"
"No, that's fine. I've never tried it before, but I'm willing to be adventurous." If they kept up this mundane talk about food and cooking and work, it would be easier for Hotch to forget that they did have something further to discuss that night. If he was really lucky, maybe Reid would forget as well. He knew this was unlikely, but, for now, was happy to pretend it was just dinner and hanging out. He parked right behind Reid's ancient car and they both got out. There was a small pile of mail by Reid's door, which he added to the grocery bag with a sigh.
"I swear, I could paper the living room with ads for new sushi places." If he'd been the papering kind, of course, which he wasn't. He rather liked his pale purple walls, actually. "Come in, make yourself comfortable." Reid toed off his shoes automatically by the door- as usual, one plain blue sock and one in a red and black diamond pattern- and headed straight for the kitchen. "Or come in here and watch me cook. I might even have beer." From the last time Morgan had had an impromptu movie night at his place.
"Uh- shoes?" Hotch asked, still hesitating a little behind him. Reid frowned for a moment before looking down at his feet, and chuckled.
"Force of habit. You can leave them on or take them off, it's not a house rule or anything." He didn't actually have any house rules. Hotch decided to keep them, for the moment, and took a moment to profile the living room- discreetly of course- while Reid went to the kitchen. He'd sort of expected either a mess or an obsessive neatness, and found neither- it was neat, yes, and he could see the books on the shelves (a full wall of a library, interrupted only by the TV and DVD player) were alphabetized. He was a little surprised by the fairly impressive collection of DVDs and CDs, most of them science fiction and classical, respectively, but it made sense. There wasn't much by way of decoration on the walls, but the purple was a very pleasant color. As he'd expected, there was a huge pile of magazines on every subject in the world by the old-looking computer. It was a fairly comfortable looking room. Satisfied with that very superficial scan, he took off his jacket and joined Reid in the kitchen, finding it tiny, even for one person.
"Not a whole lot of space here, is there?" He found a chair to sit on, pressed between the wall and the fridge, and watched Reid chop garlic. "Uh, d'you need help?"
"No, it's fine." Cooking served as a very good distraction from the roiling emotions he was still barely holding back, only marginally less raw following his nap. "You're right, there isn't much room. I prefer to work alone. No offense." His knife paused in midair for a moment. "Do you even cook? I don't think it's ever come up."
"I cook." Hotch defended his home-ec honor. "Sometimes. Rarely." He admitted with a slight smile. "When I have Jack on weekends." He was good at classic Southern food, and knew he could grill meat without embarrassing himself. "Not pasta though, not usually. Although I learned how to make mac and cheese recently."
"Ugh." The garlic went in a pan with mushrooms and herbs and chicken, and things started smelling really good in the tiny kitchen. "You feed your son processed gunk?"
"He likes it." Hotch shrugged. "Besides, it's not processed and orange, I make it from scratch, with real cheese." There was a certain pride in how he said that- he could feed his son just fine, thank you very much.
"Fine, fine." Reid smiled over his shoulder. "Could you- here." He reached for a high cabinet and snagged a pasta pot from a shelf. "Fill that with water please?"
"Sure." Hotch did so, and decided to broach the subject anyway. "About- what you wanted earlier?"
"I still want it." Reid nodded as calmly as he could. "But after we eat? Please?"
"Ok. But after dinner, we'll talk."
"We will." It was half promise, half threat- from both of them. Reid added the tomatoes and kept stirring, and set the water to boil. "There's beer behind you in the fridge if you like." On one hand, Hotch definitely felt like a beer, but on the other he thought he'd best stay very clear-minded, if they intended to talk later. But it was only one beer. He had to stand up and push the chair in to open the fridge.
"You want one?"
"No thanks. I never developed a taste for it- Morgan left a sixpack here the second time he came over and I didn't have any, so they're really there for him. If there's any soda left, though-"
Hotch popped open a beer and poured soda for Reid. "You have beer here for Morgan, but you didn't want to talk to him about this? He stayed in Vegas to help you."
"I know. But he doesn't really get it, he comes from a different absentee-parent mentality. He was- he and Rossi both were, actually- pretty amazing throughout. But they did stop every half hour or so to ask me whether I was sure I wanted to do it." Reid gave the sauce and extra-violent stir. "You'd think after the first six or seven times they'd get that I was sure." He hadn't even said he was 'sure about it' that much before his first sexual encounter, really...
"Really?"
"Huh?" Realization struck, and Reid dropped the spoon and clapped a hand to his mouth. "I, uh, said that out loud?" He could feel his face heating up.
"Uh huh."
"Crap."
"Uh huh." He didn't look, but he could swear Hotch was smiling. "How old were you?"
"Um. Never mind? I didn't mean to say it." He hated talking about it, God knew most of the team though he was still a virgin, and to Hotch of all people...No, never, absolutely not. He'd already said too much. Way, way too much. Hotch waited, in silence. Reid tried to out-wait him and failed. "Sixteen, ok?"
Hotch chuckled. "And you let Morgan keep teasing you?"
"It makes him happy." And it wasn't like Reid bed-hopped like a frat boy, after all. But he wasn't a monk either. "And it doesn't really bother me much."
"Uh huh." Hotch clearly didn't believe him, and he was right not to. "How old was he?"
Reid fumbled with the pan and managed to burn himself before he recovered and found the easiest answer to that question. "Morgan?" He asked, sucking on his burned finger. "I don't know. He doesn't talk about that time in his life much." They both knew why.
"I know. I meant your first partner."
"Ow- damnit." Two fingers slightly singed now. "How did you- Nevermind, a woman wouldn't have bothered to ask more than twice, even if I was underaged. I hate profilers, have I said that already today?" He couldn't believe he'd slipped up like that, some linguistics expert he was. Reid glared at Hotch and took the sauce off the fire to avoid further mishaps. It was ready anyway, and the pasta was cooking, and he had absolutely no appetite now. Great. "Does it matter?" He was asking about far more than his partner's age.
"Not really." Hotch shrugged. "You do realize I knew you were bi three weeks after you joined the team, right? I mean, Gideon told me, but only after I asked." He didn't care who Reid slept with, as long as he was careful about it.
"Really?" Reid slumped heavily into a chair. "Ok. Um. Most of the others know, actually. It just never comes up." He was what Garcia had defined as non-preferential- he liked certain people, and their gender was less of an issue to him. "I'm glad it doesn't matter."
"Of course it doesn't. You're a grown man, your choices are up to you." If Hotch's hand lingered just a heatbeat too long on Reid's shoulder as he squeezed it in reassurance, Reid was sure it was his overactive imagination. "How's the pasta doing?"
It was a welcome change of topic, and Reid busied himself for a few more minutes with draining the pasta and reheating the sauce, and soon enough they both had heaped plates in front of them. It smelled good enough, but Reid found himself too queasy and worried to eat, following that last bit of conversation.
"This is good." Hotch said after his second bite, and then "You're not eating." After his fifth.
"I'm- uh, surprisingly not hungry, actually. Don't you find sometimes, that by the time you're finished cooking you no longer feel like eating?" Reid moved his pasta from one side of the plate to the other, frowning slightly. "It's like the smell of food is enough to satisfy the need, and-"
"Reid." Hotch stopped him again. "Eat." He took another bite. "I'd offer to talk first, eat later, but I doubt you'll have more of an appetite afterwards."
Reid took a halfhearted fork full of pasta, then dropped it. "I can't. You go ahead, I'll just warm it up later, if I get hungry." He couldn't eat, just like he couldn't sleep recently, and Hotch's presence, effective as it had turned out to be when it came to sleep, did nothing to encourage him to eat this time. "I'm sorry."
"It's your cooking, so I can't take it personally, and I watched you make it so I'm not even a little suspicious." It was clearly a joke and Reid tried to smile, and failed. Now that he was no longer distracted by cooking, he was getting more tense and nervous by the second, bouncing his knee and tapping his fingers on the table. "Ok if I finish, though? It really is good."
"Sure, go ahead." Reid stood up. "Would you mind if I left you alone for a minute? I'll be right back." Hotch nodded, his mouth too full to speak, and Reid made his way to the bathroom. He stopped by his bedroom on the way, just to make sure everything was where he'd left it. Clean sheets on the bed, nothing smelled musty- all good, then. It was good to be home, even if, as usual, he'd brought back all the crap from the office with him. He really wanted a shower, but didn't want to abandon Hotch for that long, so he just washed his hands, removed his contacts and then washed his face. It wasn't ideal, but better than nothing. He returned to the kitchen to find Hotch just about done with his food.
"That was really good, Reid. Thanks." The older man got up to wash his plate. "I wish you'd had some as well."
"I will, later." He promised, knowing it was unlikely he'd get around to it before the next day. But hey, that counted as 'later', didn't it? "I'm glad you liked it, though. We don't get to eat enough normal food."
"Yeah, we don't." The plate clean, Hotch turned to face him. "Living room?"
With a shrug, Reid led the way and settled on the sofa, pulling his knees up on the seat and hugging them to his chest. It wasn't a comfortable sort of position, but he wasn't looking for comfort just then. "So..."
"What exactly do you want, Spencer?" The switch to his first name made it a definite 'after hours' conversation. Hotch kept a decorous distance between them, but didn't sit far enough away that he couldn't reach out and touch Reid if it was called for.
"That's a complex question. World peace? A few days off that don't end in disaster? Uh, I shuldn't be saying that to my boss, right?" Reid hedged, but Hotch gave him an amused look.
"Considering what you said earlier, saying you need a vacation is the least of your worries, isn't it? Besides, I second that need for days off that are actually relaxing. But you're avoiding my question, Spencer. We need to talk about it. You're...struggling?"
Reid snorted softly. "I feel like crap. I'm furious with myself, and with my parents and with half the rest of the world." His hand thumped into the sofa. "Is this what being a real teenager's like? No wonder the statistics for adolescent eruptions of violence and mental illness are what they are. It sucks."
"Yeah, it does. But you're not ten anymore, or sixteen." Hotch pointed out.
"Yeah. Great birthday present I got this year, didn't I? 'Happy birthday, your dad isn't a rapist and killer, and hey, he cared enough about you to Google you but not to call or visit in the past 17 years!'" He hugged himself tighter. "A gift card would've been much nicer."
"You got a gift card." Reid's 27's birthday had been a week earlier, just before they'd been called to Vegas.
"Actually, I got dragged tie-shopping by Prentiss and JJ. They held veto rights over what I could do with that gift card. Apparently sweater vests called for an automatic veto." They were veering off-topic again. "I'm angry, is the bottom line. At myself, mostly. And I remember things I'd buried away in my subconscious for over twenty years and I'd really rather just forget them again, and I can't." He concluded. "Not without drugs."
"And you think a spanking will help you forget?" Hotch had to force himself to say the word, because even after he'd done it once the whole idea still seemed absurd, and he'd never thought he'd have to do it again. "Physical pain to distract you from the emotional?"
"Some, maybe." Reid admitted. "Endorphins are very effective. They're a survival mechanism, you know. The word comes from the Greek, endo- and -orphin, meaning a morphine-like substance originating from within the body, they allow the body to feel better organically in times of physical stress or pain, although oddly enough float tanks, which are supposed to be the ultimate relaxation, have achieved the same effect in producing endorphins that-"
"Spencer." Hotch's fingers closing around his wrist stopped him mid-ramble again. "Focus. If all you want is physical exertion and catharsis, there are ways to get them that won't risk getting us both fired. You could work out, take an extra self defense class, jog?" Reid's expression showed his opinion of such activities clearly.
"Twice a week is more than enough, with all the running we do on the job anyway. And I don't enjoy Morgan's classes, and he'll be hurt if I take somebody else's. Besides, I'm terrible at hand-to-hand." His instinctive reaction, even after training and four years of taking classes on and off, was to shy away from fists aimed at his face. It was one of the reasons he was so good at talking, and insisted on carrying a gun even though he didn't have to. Besides, everybody else carried them. "I'd go out to a club, except I don't enjoy loud music, don't drink, and have seen too much on this job to have meaningless, no-names sex." He blushed a little, then shook off his embarrassment. "Besides, it's a weeknight."
"You want to be punished. Penance and absolution." Hotch stated rather than asked, and Reid sort of halfway nodded. "How Catholic."
"It's better than beating myself up over it, or brooding and eventually lashing out at myself or at somebody else. I think." Shifting the focus, the responsibility for deciding how he should be punished, outside himself, would help decide what was 'enough' because personally he didn't feel anything would ever be enough. Having that decision out of his hands would keep him safer. "It's a lot to ask, I know that. I shouldn't just- unload on you like that." He sighed. "You know, back in New Orleans Gideon told me to put my faith in a power greater than myself to get me out of- you know- the addiction, and that the power was the team around me. He actually meant himself, of course, but in the long run the team as a group did more than he ever did on his own. I don't think one single person should carry that burden, but I'm still- asking." He couldn't look at Hotch. "I'm pretty much expecting you not to agree, you know. It may be the reason I even asked."
It took Hotch a moment to work through all that, as it had been said pretty quickly and almost breathlessly by the end. "You want me to decide how you should be punished for this?" He asked at last, his mind working very quickly. Reid nodded, just barely. "What if I decide that I don't think you deserve to be punished? What if I tell you that you didn't do anything wrong, or that knowing you were wrong will be more of a punishment than anything physical?"
"Then we'll just have to...agree to disagree?" Reid's mouth twisted into a bitter smile.
"You're putting a lot of trust in me, Spencer. To know what you need, and how much is enough- that's a lot of power. Especially considering I'm still pretty new to the whole idea." Not that Hotch hadn't read up on the theory of power exchange, discipline and punishment, as well as submission and domination, since he realized he needed to know what to expect after that last time six months earlier. A lot of it seemed to be entirely too sexual in nature for his liking- he still thought of himself as a married man, despite being divorced for almost a year now, and Reid was a subordinate, and besides, he hadn't felt even a twinge of attraction to members of his own gender since college. Granted, if he ever allowed himself to, he knew he could feel more than a twinge of attraction for Reid, but- that was exactly why he didn't allow it. He had to stay objective. Especially now.
"I know. But- I do trust you. A lot. Enough for this." It was a huge responsibility, he knew that, and unfair to Hotch, but there was nobody else he trusted enough. "Previous experience suggests this is what I need." He managed yet another bitter smile, "And I'll swear on a stack of the religious texts of your choice that I'm not a masochist."
"Of course you aren't." Hotch smiled faintly, but he could believe that, actually- he was fairly sure that there was no sexual element to the punishment, for Reid, and if there was he honestly didn't want to know, ever. "I don't know what to tell you, Spencer. I'm not sure it's what you need, even if you're sure it's what you want. The two aren't the same. And I'm absolutely not going to be a parental replacement for you. You're not a child."
"I don't need a father-surrogate." Reid agreed with him. "Gideon tried to be, and frankly, he was as spectacular a failure at it as my biological father was. I need a friend, someone I can trust, someone I can hand over control to, sometimes, when I need it." Besides, Hotch had a son of his own, who was still relatively issues-free, as befitted a kid who was barely three. He didn't need another son, and Reid didn't want another father.
"Ok." Hotch took a moment to think it over. "If I do this, will you agree to let me have complete control? I say when enough is enough, and when we're done, you stop beating yourself up about this, and try to take this as an experience you can grow from. Otherwise this whole exercise is pointless."
"Yeah." It would be hard, but the whole point was that he wouldn't get to decide, and would abide by whatever decision Hotch made. "You have the final say, and when we're done I'll do my best to move on and not wallow and forgive myself."
"And you'll call your father." Hotch added, catching Reid's eyes and holding them until the younger man broke and looked away. "Ok?"
"I'll think about it." Reid hedged. "Understanding why he left doesn't mean I accept it, not yet. Maybe, eventually, I'll call."
"Almost good enough. We'll see how you feel about it tomorrow morning, and work from there. Morgan's absentee-parent mentality isn't all wrong, you know- he'd probably give anything back to have his father back, he won't understand why you don't want yours if you can have him."
"A. He doesn't want me, so he's already probably different from Morgan's dad, and b, I know, that's why I'm talking to you, not him. Among other reasons." A meaningful look passed between them. "I wouldn't even know where to begin, actually. He was afraid of my mind when I was ten, what would he feel about it now?"
"I don't know. But don't write it off without trying." Hotch said. "Ok. I think even you might be fully talked-out by now. Shall we get down to business?"
"Uh. Yeah, let's." A feeling of cold dread settled in Reid's stomach, but it didn't overwhelm the part of him which longed to give up control, only for a short time. "Did you, uh, bring the paddle from the- the office? Because my hairbrush is plastic now, and I'm not volunteering anything else I'm actually using as an implement."
"I didn't, actually. I don't like it. It's too big and heavy, I watched you trying not to move like you're in pain for a week after last time." Hotch shook his head. "I found something lighter, that might leave just as strong an impression without making me feel like I'm hitting you with a two-by-four." He'd really disliked the heavy frat-style paddle. Reaching over the side of the sofa, he rummaged in his briefcase and pulled out a solid-looking wooden ruler, exactly one foot long, old fashioned and apparently never used. "I've had this since I moved to the BAU, and haven't used it yet to measure anything or draw a straight line, I figured it might as well be useful for something else."
"Oh." Reid reached out for the ruler. "May I?" Silently, Hitch handed it over, and Reid took a moment to turn the ruler over in his hand, bending it to test for springiness, and finally swished it through the air once. "Interesting." Was his only comment when he handed it back to Hotch.
"Interesting, huh? Well, never let it be said I'm boring you." Hotch gave him an amused look. "I'm guessing it's not something you've ever experienced?"
Reid shook his head. "I've only experienced the paddle and the hairbrush. But I'm open to new experiences, as long as we stay away from the heavier things...I don't think I want to try a cane, for example." He'd had more than enough experience with what very narrow implements could do, although of course the soles of one's feet were more sensitive than one's rear end. But he didn't want to think about that at all, thank you. Hotch nodded his agreement.
"I'm not trying to maim you, here. I'd rather not hurt you at all, actually. But it has helped before..." What Reid had said finally sank in. "You were never spanked as a child?"
"Are you serious? My father would've suffered serious bodily harm for even bringing it up. And besides, I never did anything that merited it. I was very...self sufficient and reasonable. Not having friends my own age kept me from trying out dangerous things. The rest was just natural self preservation instincts kicking in." Reid didn't count his mother's very rare violent spells as anything even related to punishment or discipline. As far as her deluded mind was concerned, those had been self defense. And besides, they were hardly more than he got at school. Hotch snorted at the thought of Reid having any self preservation instincts, and Reid scowled at him. "Really."
"Uh huh. I believe you. Absolutely." Hotch rose to his feet smoothly. "Get yourself into position?"
"Yeah." Reid hesitated, looking at his couch, the coffee table, and then towards his bedroom. "Back of the couch?" His bed would be uncomfortable for everyone involved, and not just because it was too low.
"Yup." Hotch discreetly looked away as he heard clothes rustling, giving Reid a measure of privacy. When he turned again, he found his young agent with his ass bared, upturned over the back of the sofa. "I think, just this once. I want us both to be sure why we're doing this." He sighed. "What are you being punished for, Spencer?"
"For not listening to anybody, for being stubborn and letting my own prejudices overrule evidence." Reid's voice sounded small and dejected. "For- accusing him of murder and -" He had to say it, one last time hopefully, "rape, child molestation. For thinking he could've had those feelings towards me, and redirected them to Riley Jenkins. For not leaving well enough alone."
"No." Hotch put a hand lightly on his back. "Not for that. Working cold cases is half of what we do. The cops who worked that case got their closure. Riley got closure. In a way, even your parents and Mr. Jenkins got closure, even if it wasn't what they might've hoped for. Solving cases is our job, Spencer, and you followed through on it. You could've been a bit more sensitive and delicate about it, but you are definitely not being punished for working that case."
"Ok." Reid sounded skeptical but didn't argue the point.
"Trust me, Spencer. If I'd thought it was a misuse of the Bureau's time and resources I wouldn't have authorized it. If you'd gone against orders to investigate we'd be having a very different conversation right now." He saw Spencer nod, accepting the logic of that. "Anything else?"
"For- for opening a can of worms. A Pandora's Box of awful things, and for wanting to run away from the consequences of my actions. I should be stronger than that. I should just...deal with it like a grown up." His voice was already wavering, just from thinking about it.
"Adults are experts at running away from things, you know. It just makes you no different from any of us. The only problem is that your form of escapism is dangerous. Wanting to escape isn't wrong, as long as you don't over-indulge in escapism. You're allowed to distract yourself, to try not to think about it. What you're not allowed to do is shoot up. There's a limit to escapism." Hotch said. He wanted to be absolutely sure he did everything he could not to associate perfectly natural needs and wants with negative reinforcement in Reid's mind.
"So...this is more by way of a preemptive measure than by way of consequences?" Reid frowned, considering this. Technically that was true enough a way to overcome the craving, as well as make some kind of penance for his accusations. "I can work with that."
"I'm glad to hear that." Enough talking. Hotch considered this a fully worked-out list, and moved onto the next logical step without further ceremony. The ruler sliced through the air and across Reid's ass.
"Ow!" Reid turned around slightly and glared at him. "Didn't we agree I'd get some warning last time?"
"No, we didn't. You said I should warn you, but I don't remember agreeing. Does it feel different?" Hotch studied the results of that single stroke carefully- it hadn't been a hard slap, but there was still a faint stripe of pink rising on the pale skin.
"Stings. Not as bad as the paddle. I don't know." It had definitely hurt, but not badly yet.
"Well, I'm not planning on stopping at 24 today. No more analyzing, concentrate on not thinking, just feeling it, ok?" No more talking now. The ruler covered less surface area with every stroke, of course, which would mean a longer spanking to achieve the same effect, which was all for the better. He wanted to give the impression of a truly spectacular spanking without the full extent of potential damage. Still, he was hardly holding back. The ruler snapped down again and again, almost twanging in the air. Reid hissed in pain, but this was really relatively lightweight stuff. After two or three strokes more, Hotch found his rhythm, swinging not too hard but steadily and relentlessly, up across the crown of Reid's ass and then down to his thighs and back up again after concentrating on the crease connecting thighs and buttocks. Reid made a low whining sound in the back of his throat when he did that, but otherwise stayed fairly stoic, which wasn't at all what Hotch had expected. Reid had been on the edge of tears most of the day, and he'd thought it wouldn't take much more than a nudge to make him release all that pent-up emotion and tension, but it just wasn't happening.
"Spencer, you're holding back on me." He stopped, walking around the couch to face Reid properly. The young man's face was pale and strained; his eyes screwed tightly shut and his lips drawn together just as tightly. He was practically vibrating with the effort. "What is it?"
"Nothing." A single breathless word, but Reid's voice hitched painfully on the second syllable.
"Lying is at the top of the list, Spencer. Do you have any doubt that you're going to get that you need, here? Are you pushing for more?" He tilted Reid's face up a little with one finger under his chin. His not-touching-team-members policy was long gone out the window anyway, after all, and if Reid ever changed his mind about this, inappropriate touching would be the least of Hotch's worries. "Look at me."
"Please, just..." Reid's eyes stayed firmly closed. He wasn't even sure whether he wanted Hotch to stop or keep going, except that he wanted Hotch to stop touching him- that one finger on his face felt white-hot. "Please."
"Please what? Spencer, stop thinking. You're supposed to be giving up control and you're not even trying. Trust me, I won't stop when you let go. You may not end up asking me to stop, but you won't be asking me to continue when I'm done, either. You need to have a little faith, here." He cupped Reid's face, feeling stubble rasp against his palm. "Ok?" Reid nodded, almost leaning into Hotch's hand but it was really only a nod, or so they both told themselves. "Good. You say you trust me, now act like it. No holding back. I'm not." Matching actions to words, he let Reid's head drop back to hang over the sofa, and walked back around, raising the ruler and bringing it down smoothly- and a little harder. Reid gasped, shuddering with the impact. "Better." He needed to know Reid was fully with him.
The physical contact had done most of the work- Reid had always had a little more trouble concentrating when he was touched, and it had anchored him, drawing him out of his own mind and into the fact that the ruler packed a very serious sting, and he could trust Hotch to take him where he needed to go. The next gasp was louder, and the one after that a whine of pain again. He let the tears come, almost welcoming the hot trails on his face, knowing he was finally safe and could let it out and wasn't alone to go through it. His world narrowed to the slap of the ruler, the growing sting in his behind, and the deeds he was atoning for, until suddenly there were no further slaps, no new pain beyond the existing blaze. He opened bleary eyes and looked up at Hotch as the older man moved to face him again.
"Spencer?" He didn't have the energy to answer, but Hotch looked worried so he tried to at least appear clear-minded. "Do you want me to stop?"
"N-no." He sounded hoarse to his own ears, and his face was a mess. He frowned. "Why?"
"You've been saying 'I'm sorry' over and over again." At first Hotch thought he could let it go on, but Reid sounded so shattered that it broke his heart. "Take a moment to calm down."
Reid gave a strangled half laugh, half sob. "Not a very calming situation, Hotch." His butt was throbbing along with the beating of his heart, which he realized was faster than it should be. "I'm sorry, it's the truth. I might as well be saying it."
"I know you're sorry. Your parents know it as well. It sounded like they were willing to forgive you. The question is, how many times will you have to say it before you forgive yourself?"
"To err is human. To forgive...unlikely." He wiped his eyes, which didn't really help much but cleared them for a moment.
"Was that a joke, Spencer?" Hotch actually smiled, even though it wasn't really funny.
"I read it on a bumper sticker somewhere. It seemed appropriate." He drew in a deep breath and released it with only the slightest shudder. "I'm calmer now. Are you going to continue?"
"Not until I'm sure it's safe." Hotch sat down on the sofa. "Join me? It's uncomfortable to talk when you're upside down like that."
Reid hesitated for a moment before straightening with a groan of pain. He took a moment to pull his boxers up, and kick his trousers fully off and away, before taking up an awkward position on the sofa, keeping as much of his butt in the air as he could, which meant he was basically kneeling. Something told him he shouldn't really sit next to Hotch in his underwear like that, but considering he hadn't had even that on only minutes earlier, the norms of propriety and modesty were somewhat stretched and fluid tonight anyway. "You are going to continue, right?" He asked, suspicious.
"Probably, yes." This should've been absurd, but it wasn't. It just felt right. Hotch was working on instinct, fueled by his familiarity with Reid and everything he'd read and heard about such situations. He really hoped he was doing the right thing. "Be honest with me now, Spencer- and with yourself. Are you going to forgive yourself when we're done here?"
"I'll try." Reid replied after a moment of contemplation, then shrugged. "It's the best I can offer at the moment. I'll do my best to deal with the memories without running away from them, and to move on. I can't promise I'll be successful."
"Realism is good, and at least you have a positive attitude about it, that's an improvement already. Do you still hate yourself?"
"A little, I guess." Reid wrinkled his nose. "That's a terribly immature thing to say. I'm more angry than hateful at the moment, I think." He was so tired of the emotionality of it all. The past week had been seriously draining.
"Anger is easier to deal with, usually. But this case is closed, Spencer. Now all you can do is clean up after the fallout. See what part of your relationships with the people involved you can put to rights. It'll be ok."
"That a promise?"
"I can't make that promise. That's up to you. But you could agree with me, and then make it ok." Hotch suggested.
"You make it sound so simple. It's not." Reid grumbled. "It's a lot easier said than done."
"You'll manage it, I have complete faith in you." Hotch felt he could make that particular promise in full honesty, and Reid huffed in derision.
"Yes, because emotional entanglements and family dynamics are my strongest suites. Absolutely." He sighed.
"Cut it out, you're going into self pity mode again. But at least I'm assured that you're not dissociating or something like that, so we can finally finish this." Hotch checked his watch and his eyebrows drew together in a frown- it was much later than he'd thought. "We should definitely get a move on. I don't want you over the sofa again." He considered for a moment. "Uh...Stretch out here, maybe?"
"Over...?" Reid waved in the general direction of Hotch's knees and the older man nodded awkwardly. "Are you sure?" The one time he'd tried that with Gideon had been rather embarrassing, but at the time he'd had a lot on his mind besides the undignified position. "It's, uh...If you're sure."
"I'm sure, Spencer. Get yourself over here now, please."
"Ok..." It was easy to do, too easy even, maybe. Reid just shuffled forward and spread himself out, his feet hanging off the edge of the sofa. He grabbed a pillow and rested his chin on it. "Never boring, huh?"
"Another thing you've never tried before?" Hotch forced himself not to think of any implications, and drew Reid's shorts down again.
"Only the once. New Orleans. At the time, I wasn't really in any state to analyze it properly." And fortunately for both of them, right now he was up for analyzing things, but absolutely not 'up' for anything else. Under normal circumstances he knew he wouldn't have trusted himself with his bared privates pressed against Hotch's warm thigh, but under normal circumstances this would never have happened, so the whole train of thought was purely theoretical anyway. It was also sharply cut off by the impact of the ruler against his thighs. "Ow!"
"That's all I want to hear out of you until we're done here. The 'ow'. Clear?"
"Yessir. Ouch." Indeed, as the ruler re-ignited the fire in his butt, Reid was very obliging in making it clear the spanking hurt like hell. Even though he'd been relatively calm before, it took far less than the five minute Hotch had originally planned to continue to get him yelping in pain and tearful again, but the five minutes were seen through fully. When they were over Hotch put the ruler on the floor and pulled Reid up so he could hold him more or less comfortably. He found it was awkward because Reid was a little too tall to be held, ungainly with knees that somehow got everywhere, but eventually they found a position that was comfortable for them both.
"Better?" Hotch asked after a while, when Reid's breath finally evened out again.
"A little." And a sniff. "Damn. There's, uh, a box of tissues somewhere." Reid looked up from where he'd had his head on Hotch's shoulder (which both of them, without any planning, decided to tactfully ignore), and searched the room with his eyes. Hotch reached over and snagged the box from under a pile of scientific magazines. "Thanks."
"You're welcome." Hotch let him go, reluctantly he had to admit to himself, so he could pull his shorts up and blow his nose. "I'm going to get us both a drink, ok?"
"Ok." Reid nodded and curled up into himself for a moment, still wiping his eyes. "I'm gonna...uh, get dressed. I think." He wanted a few minutes to collect himself in private, and just hoped he wouldn't fall asleep standing over the sink. Walking to his room wasn't much fun, but he managed to lose his shorts and pull on some pajama pants, and washed his face. He felt a lot more human, albeit a sore and exhausted one, when he returned to the kitchen and found Hotch hesitating in front of his open fridge.
"You're out of soda."
"I know." But Reid could see where Hotch was looking, and put two and two together with his usual speed. Faster than usual, even, considering this involved interpersonal cues and not arson or murder statistics. "You can have the last beer."
"I won't be good to drive after a second beer." Even though he'd had the previous one a good hour before, having a second beer would mean staying longer, possibly staying the night, and he wasn't sure what kind of signals he was broadcasting- or what he wanted to hint at, here.
"I'd be ok with that." Reid said softly. "If you wanted to stay."
"I'm your boss." Hotch pointed out reasonably, glad he had his back turned so he couldn't see Reid's face. "And you're- you might be feeling things you wouldn't normally feel." He poured two glasses of water. By the time he turned around with them Reid looked like he was as ok with Hotch leaving as he was with him staying, and they both drank in silence. "Will you be ok tonight?"
"Yeah. We'll be lucky if I'm still awake in five minutes." Reid yawned, as if to emphasize the point. "The cravings are pretty much gone for the moment, so, uh, thanks."
"You're welcome. Are you done with hating yourself as well?"
"Yeah, I'm good." He was, actually. Less angry with himself, a lot calmer. He knew he'd be able to sleep the night through for a change. "You ok?" This was hard on Hotch, he knew that, and he wanted to make sure it wouldn't cause awkwardness- especially after telling him he could stay the night.
"I'm fine." Hotch hesitated for a moment and nodded once he was certain he was telling the truth. "I'm fine. I should get going."
"Yeah." Reid followed him out and waited by the door as Hotch picked up his briefcase and shrugged into his jacket. "See you tomorrow?"
"Bright and early." Just before opening the door, which it was still the two of them in the secure privacy of the apartment, Hotch pulled Reid into another very quick hug and whispered "If I weren't your boss, I'd be ok with staying, too."
"Oh." For a change, Reid seemed entirely at a loss for words, and stayed staring at the door for long minutes after it had closed behind Hotch. Then he grinned, despite everything, and ruefully rubbed his butt. They couldn't start anything, of course, the Bureau had rules about that sort of thing, but they could try to become closer. For a start, Reid promised himself that the next time he had Hotch over for dinner would end far less painfully.