A/N: Just something I thought of while watching 'The Crossing.' Finally got around to writing it. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own Criminal Minds
Experts at Something
"We've got four failed marriages between us, we're experts at something."
-Aaron Hotchner; Criminal Minds; The Crossing-
It's late, and he knows he should just go home, but the alcohol he's imbibed is clouding his senses. Not enough that he doesn't feel comfortable driving, but enough that he finds himself in front of Hotch's house before he realizes where he was driving to.
He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to talk sense into himself, but all he can see is the look on Hotch's face during their conversation about marriage and divorce.
And that look, that image burned into his memory, makes up his mind for him.
He slips from his SUV, silently hoping that Hotch isn't home, though the other man's car is right in front of his own. He pauses for a moment when he reaches the door, eyeing the light that shines behind the shades. He wonders, for a moment, how Hotch can stand to stay here, with all of the memories.
But he quickly shakes the thoughts away and knocks before his mind can catch up to his actions and tell him to return home.
The door opens a few seconds later, not enough time for him to change his mind and just leave, and he finds himself staring at a disheveled Aaron Hotchner. The man is dressed in sweatpants and a black, bleach-stained t-shirt, his hair tousled.
"Rossi?" he queries, raising an eyebrow in confusion. "Is there a case?" Rossi shakes his head and clears his throat. He searches his mind for something to say, but the casual appearance of his coworker has him inexplicably flustered. So he clears his throat again.
"David," Hotch tries again. "Is something wrong?" The switch from surnames takes Rossi by surprise, but he manages to recover enough to speak.
"Uh, no," he says. "Nothings wrong. It's just," he clears his throat and runs a hand over his coarse beard. "May I come in?" It's Hotch's turn to stare, to be flustered, but he finally nods and steps back, letting Rossi inside.
"Do you want something to drink? A beer maybe?" Hotch asks as he follows Rossi into the living room. Rossi knows it's a bad idea, that drink is what got him here in the first place, but he nods anyway.
"Yeah, a beer would be great," he says. Hotch nods as well and disappears for a few moments. He returns with two bottles of beer. He hands one to Rossi, then sits on the sofa, his eyes on Rossi as the other man begins to pace.
The silence is somewhat comfortable, though Rossi can feel something hanging over them that threatens the moment. He sips at his beer, not daring to look at Hotch, and as he keeps pacing he remembers what brought him here.
The look. The pain. Hotch isn't taking divorce well.
Rossi stops pacing and turns to face the other man. He sets his beer on the coffee table in front of the sofa and slips his hands into his pockets, staring down at Hotch. Their gazes lock, and it isn't until Hotch looks away, down at the label on his drink, that Rossi even tries to speak.
"Why do you stay here?" he asks, voicing the question that had bothered him when he first arrived. He regrets it instantly as he watches Hotch's reaction. The other man leans forward, setting his beer down by Rossi's, and presses his hands against his eyes. A frustrated sigh escapes him before he looks back up at Rossi, determination and sadness mingling in his eyes.
"Because, it's what I have," he says. "It's all that's left of us. Me, Haley, and Jack." His voice is quiet, almost a whisper. More like a confession to a priest than an answer to a friend's question. Rossi only nods.
"I'm sorry," Rossi says, but Hotch only shakes his head. He retrieves his beer and leans back, surveying Rossi for a moment before he speaks.
"You have no reason to be," he says. "It's my life, my marriage. It's all on me." Rossi nods.
"I know," he says. "I've been there." Hotch nods in return, then shakes his head.
"None of it makes sense," he says. "I gave my all to everything, but still…" he trails off and runs a hand through his hair, mussing it up even more. Rossi shrugs and slowly resumes pacing, each step bringing him closer to the sofa. He finally reaches the unoccupied end and sits down, keeping his gaze fixed on the wall across from him.
"It all falls apart," he mutters. "Always." He catches Hotch's nod out of the corner of his eye. "At least," he continues. "At least you lasted longer than I ever did…ever could. At least you-"
"Got a son?" Hotch finishes. "A child?" He barks a harsh laugh, drawing Rossi's gaze to him. "That makes it harder," he says, staring at the sofa's back, obviously avoiding Rossi's gaze. He sighs and his eyes flick up and catch Rossi's. "Where does it all go wrong?" he asks, repeating his question from their earlier conversation. Rossi shrugs.
"Maybe it doesn't," he says. Hotch just stares at him. He sighs and looks down, as though searching for an answer in the creases of his trousers. "You said it yourself, we're experts at something," he finally continues. "Maybe being married just…isn't it."
"Obviously," Hotch counters. Rossi shakes his head.
"That's not what I meant," he says. "Maybe," he looks up to find Hotch's eyes still on him and he slowly reaches over, setting his hand lightly on the other man's knee.
"David," Hotch says. Rossi knows it's a warning, but he doesn't move, he just waits, his eyes locked with Hotch's. Soon, he feels the warmth of Hotch's hand on his own; and, though he knows the other man will only push him away, his breath catches and he breaks eye contact, looking down at the coffee table, his beer abandoned on it.
When he feels warm fingers wrap around his own instead of his hand being pushed aside, he blinks and looks back to Hotch, his eyes squinted in confusion.
"Aaron?" he queries, but Hotch only shakes his head, leaning forward even as he makes the motion. He sets his beer aside and brings his now free hand up to Rossi's shoulder. He pauses and Rossi, reading the uncertainty in the man's eyes, closes the distance, pressing his lips to Hotch's.
It's a slow kiss. Soft and sensual, their tongues darting out only for mere moments as their lips move, and Rossi feels something catch in his throat. He moves closer to Hotch, moving his hand from the other man's knee and wrapping it around his waist instead, pulling him closer. And he feels Hotch's hands move as well, one to his waist and one to his cheek, as the kiss deepens.
When they pull apart, Rossi presses his forehead to Hotch's and searches the man's eyes for any signs of regret.
"'Experts at something,' huh?" Hotch asks, his tone lighter than it's ever been since the divorce was served. Rossi nods.
"I guess so," he says.