The lights of the hospital waiting room flickered dimly, causing Hotch to vaguely wonder when the light bulbs at his new apartment would need changed. Not that he spent much time there anyways, in the empty rooms and lifeless halls of a life lived elsewhere.
With a sharp buzzing sound, the dancing lights stabilized, and Hotch turned his attention away from them. Toward important things, things he knew he ought to be thinking more about at this moment in time. Like the unsolved case, potential victims, his hurt agent….
But instead, he thought to himself, I'm stuck here in this waiting room, with absolutely no information regarding absolutely anything. The decision to stay had not been his own, despite the power that came with being Unit Chief. No, it had been determined that he stayed to wait for the results of Emily's CT because he had been on the scene of the accident, and of course he was eager to determine the extent of Emily's injuries. It was the seemingly endless waiting that took its toll on the insistently active agent.
It was the curious behavior of his other other team members that also played a role in his fidgeting anxiety. They had seemed especially keen on him staying at the hospital to care for Emily, to the extent that Reid went off on a diatribe concerning concussions and memory loss and familiar faces that left Hotch not only more confused about their motives, but with increased nervousness for the well-being of Emily. Of course I'm invested, he thought, Prentiss is a part of the team. It was baffling that the other members thought so much of his involvement that they deemed it necessary that he wait, bored and useless in the case-fileless waiting room, to talk to the doctors perfectly capable of making a diagnostic without him.
Hotch's bland, waiting room expression soured even further as two young men entered the room. One, obviously drunk, was leaning on the other, carelessly dripping water onto the linoleum floor and yelling that he need IMMEDIATE ASSISTANCE. The drunk's supporter, oblivious to the other patrons waiting silently, loudly seconded this opinion and shoved his fluid friend into the path of a harried-looking nurse.
The nurse, with practiced concerning winning out over her more immediate reaction of irritation, attempted to ascertain the injury. The drunk man, upon the nurse asking what part of his body hurt, doubled over in laughter so boisterous the nurse took a visible step back.
Hotch's brow furrowed even further at the reply of the less-intoxicated man, "He just needs to be admitted, see, just get him a nice little bed and no harm done. That's what hospitals are for, right?" The nurse attempted to extract herself from the situation, asking the men to take a seat and assuring them that a doctor would be around to see them shortly.
The taller friend glowered, lowering his voice to a harsh whisper. The people in the waiting room found sudden interest in the walls, the magazines, anywhere besides the uneven confrontation taking place right before them.
Hotch waited a moment longer, hesitant, unsure of how serious the hooligans were. His uncertainty disappeared a second later, when a dirty hand grabbed the arm of the nurse, pulling her in with a threatening look. Hotch stood up deliberately, not drawing attention to himself, but making his way quickly to the trio at the front of the room nonetheless. The two men glanced up at his approach, the drunk one sneering at his business suit and tie. Hotch placed himself between the frightened nurse and the men, tilting his head so his eyes met theirs in a way that demanded respect. He may have been forced to wait in this godforsaken room, but that didn't mean he couldn't help someone while he was here.
"I'm going to tell you once and only once. You and your friend are going to turn around and walk back through that door. No complaints, not one word of protest. You will do this now, with so much as even a glance at this nurse who attempted to help you."
The sallow man released his hold on the nurse's arm, roughly manuevering his friend between him and the large, angry man. He had planned on putting up a fuss when this know-it-all, rich looking figure in a suit had approached, but the towering man's glowering countenance and the force behind his words had cowed any form of resistance. He cast one last glance at the awed nurse, and then propelled his oblivious friend out the door.
"Are you alright?" Hotch turned his attention to the nurse, impressed by her quickly regained composure.
"Of course," She answered, "Although thank you for the help. Usually I can handle drunks, but these two took me by surprise." She turned to leave, glancing back once at the hardened man, and then continuing on her way.
Just as Hotch prepared to return to his seat, once again feeling mired down by the indomitable act of waiting, a voice at the desk called his name. "Agent Hotchner?" The receptionist sounded uncertain, as if doubting that any person with such a title could really be found in the dingy room.
Hotch rapidly approached the desk, all thoughts of the minor encounter with the intoxicated pair forgotten. The gloom seemed to lift, and Hotch was inordinately pleased to be the one that the nurse called "in regards to the condition of Agent Emily Prentiss".
As he was led back to the room containing his hurt agent, his previous reservations on the proposal of waiting dissipated. In fact, he thought to himself smugly, without even a hint of embarrassment, the waiting hadn't been that bad.