Title: In Our Other Lives
Fandom: Criminal Minds (2005), (c) Jeff Davis
Characters/Pairings: Jack Hotchner; Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid; Spencer Reid/Lila Archer; Jack Hotchner/OFC; Team; Sean Hotchner; other OCs
Genres: Post-Canon-ish/Drama/Romance/Alternate AU
Rating: R
Summary: [Contains SPOILERS up to SEASON 6] After a particularly bad case, Hotchner forces Reid into early retirement. Reid takes a position as a philosophy professor at the University of Virginia. Jack Hotchner turns eighteen and decides to show both of them what might have been.
Note: also x-posted to livejournal: .com/tag/title%3A%20in%20our%20other%20lives
"It's the things I might have said that fester."
Clemence Dane
Chapter 3
Aaron Hotchner thinks about apologizing sometimes. He thinks about what he might say, treating this whole thing as a delicate hostage negotiation spanning several years. He thinks of what might have been different.
An apology means he's wrong, he's made a mistake, and Aaron knows he hasn't. There are only worse choices and better choices. There is no ideal, and there is certainly no mistake. There is only what might have been.
They catch the unsub in Colorado, a thirty-year-old homeless man suffering from mild schizophrenia. Aaron watches as the local authorities drag him away, Rossi takes a place beside him, and says, "It was obvious."
In the end, the total body count is five. There should have been much less than that.
Aaron shrugs, "Hindsight's always perfect. Pack up, early flight tomorrow."
On the way back to the hotel, Aaron finds a message from Jack, sandwiched between standard bureaucratic orders.
"Hey Dad, it's Jack. Um. Figured you'd probably be busy, but I just wanted to say hi. And um," there is a long long pause. Aaron counts one, two, three, almost four seconds of dead silence. "Never mind, let's have dinner when you get back. There's this great place off campus. Bye."
Aaron replays the message fifteen times; each time, he fills in the silence with different things.
For his first (short) six-paged paper for Introduction to Game Theory, Jack gets a B+. Under his concluding paragraph, Dr. Reid has written in blue pen in the kind of cursive that is only employed by old men: Thoughtful argument, well presented. Endgame needs more work.
Endgame. Dr. Reid is very funny. Jack quickly tucks his paper away.
Chloe, despite everything that she's been saying, stands by the fact that being privy to Spencer Reid's pretty face two days a week is totally and completely worth failing a class for. She gets a C slashed on her paper, and the margins are filled with sharp scrawls.
"He loves me," Chloe tells Jack with a more or less a straight face. "See? He even wants me to come see him during office hours."
It takes Jack a moment to arrange his expression in order. In a similarly deadpan manner, he says, "You are so unbelievably shallow, Clo."
She laughs, and loops her arm easily through his, "D'you want to grab some coffee?"
His first date with Aaron did not go well. The only consolation was that Aaron probably didn't see it that way.
By "date" Reid discounted coffee detours after work, and lunches at the office. Their first date consisted of taking visiting a park, only to have that ruined by a freak storm - Reid could memorize any weather report in a heartbeat, but even he was powerless against coincidence. What should have been a pleasant walk and picnic sandwiches and poring over files outdoors, turned into Aaron looking very awkward in Reid's clothes while Reid hung Aaron's clothes up to dry in his bathroom.
They ate wet tuna sandwiches, and pored over files that miraculously stayed dry over strong, thick coffee in Reid's living room. Aaron took his coffee with a stately spoonful of cream. This was starting to seem a little familiar.
"The weather station lied to me," Reid said, sounding probably as betrayed as he felt.
"Don't beat yourself up," said Aaron. "Data is wrong, sometimes."
"They shouldn't be. I get confused."
Aaron laughed, a short-lived little chuckle, "Don't you ever get tired of being genius?"
Reid pinched the bridge of his nose and touched a hand to his glasses. The words on the page before him were slightly blurry, and he made a mental note about getting new prescriptions, maybe.
"That's inaccurate, because by using the word genius? You assume that I know everything, which I don't. Contrary to popular belief, Google's still probably more knowledgeable than I am if you look at the search engine as a whole." It was a speech that he had to give often, so it was more of a reflex. A reflex that Reid instinctively wished he didn't have, this time.
"Google is a machine," Aaron deadpanned, reaching for his coffee mug; Aaron didn't know it, but he was drinking from Reid's favorite cup, the blue one with two chips on the right side of the rim. "Do me a big favor and don't compare yourself to a machine, it makes me feel less strange. I like you just fine as Spencer Reid, human being."
Reid felt his face grow warm, and he resisted rubbing his cheeks to make the telling color go away. He stared at the coffee cup in his hands for a long time before he could bring himself to look up at Aaron again.
"I, um. Yeah, okay."
The thing about having a near-perfect memory is that everything's stuck in your head. Reid settles down in his office with a legal pad in hand. He intends to write a letter to Emily in Lausanne, although she's now calling herself Sophie Careau. He writes:
Dear Sophie,
Maybe Reid can tell the truth this time. The truth is much easier to write down because he hasn't much of an imagination.
It's so nice to finally hear from you.
He writes two pages about how he was teaching at the University of Virginia now, as an assistant professor in the Department of Philosophy, and yes, he had a Ph.D in Philosophy now because he was bored, specializing in something that he really can't shorten into a summary, so he cannot exactly tell her. He likes it here at the campus. It's really a change from working at the BAU. Sometimes, the students he meets are really something.
In conclusion, Reid tells her everything but the truth. He mails off the letter by the end of business and knows that it isn't a mistake.
Sincerely, Reid
Three weeks have passed since Jack's started his semester at college and the voicemail he leaves Aaron gets to be about that old when father and son finally manage to work out two hours of free time on a Wednesday night to have a late dinner at "this really great place off-campus" - rather, a small sushi restaurant owned by one of Troy's friend's uncles. They get a twenty percent discount.
"Be honest," says Jack.
Aaron looks at him, "Excuse me?"
"Did you run a background check on my roommate?"
"No."
"Dad."
Aaron sighs, "Yes, I did. But he doesn't have a record. Nothing was sealed. I just don't want you to come home one day tattooed all over."
"Dad."
This time, Aaron lets it go. He knows that Jack isn't nearly as infuriated with him as he pretends to be. He waits a tactful minute, and asks, " - How are your classes?"
Jack more or less imitates his gesture and stretches out the pause between them before he gives an answer, "They're good, I'm busy, though. Taking a class on introductory Game Theory. The professor's brilliant."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, it's Dr. Reid. He asked about you."
Aaron Hotchner knows that Spencer Reid, former profiler at the BAU, has turned into an assistant professor in the Philosophy department, a more or less mundane job that keeps him at a desk all day. The only reason he has not yet made tenure is because his social skills are still lacking, and bureaucracies are never kind to people like Reid.
Aaron knows all this. None of this surprises him, and yet. And yet he cannot read his son's expression across the table. Aaron hasn't the slightest idea what this might mean.
"What'd you tell him?"
"Same old same old," Jack picks up a piece of fried shrimp and marinates it in sauce. "That you work too much, and you still think about him."
Aaron opens his mouth, but his son continues speaking for him:
"You think about all your mistakes, Dad. It's how you are."
"Spen - Reid wasn't a mistake."
Jack fixes him with a look that is much too old for eighteen, and reaches for his cup of tea, "Dr. Reid is unhappy." It's not an accusation, but it sounds like one, because it's Aaron who has made Reid unhappy.
Aaron says, "Jack. I can't always be what Spencer needs."
Jack doesn't seem to believe him, "Were you ever what Mom needed?"
"Don't talk about your mother like that." It kind of hurts, but less than he thinks it ought to. Aaron doesn't know what that might mean either.
"I wasn't ever talking about Mom," says Jack, reaching for more shrimp. He waits a beat, and Aaron stays determinedly silent. "Try some of the shrimp. It's really good."
Aaron does. He thinks he's definitely had better shrimp.
A phone goes off, and it isn't Aaron's.
"Hello? Oh, Clo," Jack's face unmistakably lights up. "I'm just...I'm having dinner with my dad." (It's no surprise that he doesn't sound particularly enthusiastic.) " - Can't you call Troy? Look I," he purses his lips tightly, and Aaron imagines looking into a mirror. Jack puts the phone down, "Dad, I think I have to go bail out a friend."
"From where? Jail?"
Jack doesn't look amused, "No, she got ditched at this club."
At least his son is trying to be a good decent person. Aaron nods, "Go."
Jack puts down a twenty-dollar bill as he stands, "Will you at least go talk to Dr. Reid?"
"I'll think about it," Aaron says, and almost means it. No, actually, he means it. He has been thinking about talking to Spencer Reid for years. He can certainly spare the idea some more thought, if only for his son.
After his disastrous night with Lila, it is no surprise that she doesn't call him again. Reid doesn't call her either, but he thinks it's polite to at least see her off to the airport. He catches her as she is coming off the elevator.
"Spencer," after the the initial shock of his presence wears off, her expression returns to something close to neutral. "How did you know I was leaving?"
"Math," says Reid. She will believe him, "I wanted to apologize. For the last time." He hasn't any idea what he is apologizing about, but he has long since learned to apologize for everything, because that way, he doesn't have any reason to be sorry.
"Oh, Spencer," she takes both of his hands. "You don't have to be sorry."
"All right."
They stand there like that for a long time. Finally, Lila glances at her watch and says, "I have to go." She pauses, as if she expects him to ask her to stay.
Instead, Reid leans forward and kisses her on the cheek, "Goodbye, Lila."
He watches her go, and tries to form words similar to "I'll call you soon -" but the words get stuck in his throat.
"What's your dad say?" Chloe is waiting on the curb when Jack pulls up. She gets in, and Jack can vaguely smell alcohol.
"He asked if I was bailing a friend out of jail."
She snorts, "That's actually, pretty funny."
"Yeah."
Chloe sets an unexpected hand on his knee and pats it three times, "You're kind of a wonderful person. Can I turn on the radio?"
"Go for it," Jack shrugs. He does not care, either way.
Jack doesn't confirm or deny her statement, because he's only wonderful on his good days and sort of feels like a cheat if he discounts the bad days altogether. Bad country music plays on the way back to the dorms, and he listens to Chloe sing all the words.
Reid is at the Student Union getting coffee when he bumps into Brightwood, who seems to be in a hurry to get somewhere, "Spencer, are you on your way back to your office?"
Reid stirs cream and sugar into his cup and nods, "I have office hours in a few minutes. Just needed something to keep me going. Why?"
Brightwood is carrying an assortment of files, "I was wondering if you could give these to Angela in her office?" Angela Whitmore is the department secretary. "Also, you have someone waiting for you. I met him on my way here."
"Sure, I can do that." Reid takes the files from her. Then he frowns, "A student?" Why would Brightwood be mentioning the meeting if it had been a student? She knows he has office hours. The statement is redundant.
"Said he was FBI," Brightwood shrugs. She knows somewhat that he used to do work for the bureau, but not any of the finer details. "I thought I would pass that along, just in case it's important."
Reid nearly drops his coffee, "Oh." Before his reaction gives away too much, he quickly turns and tosses over his shoulder, "Thanks for letting me know."
Angela the secretary shows Aaron to Professor Spencer Reid's office in a lonely corner; it's cramped and reeks of books, stale ink. "You're welcome to wait in here. Dr. Reid probably left to get some coffee, he'll be back soon."
"Thanks," Aaron says.
When Angela leaves, he peruses Reid's bookshelf. A majority of the works on his shelves are French and German. Aaron does not read either of these languages, but he can stumble his way around in Spanish. He spots a thin volume on Thomas Hobbes and pulls it out. At last, something familiar.
"Did you need something?"
Aaron puts the book back where it had been, and turns around to face Spencer Reid. His chest is tight, "Reid -"
"No," Reid's face is resigned and old. Only his eyes have not changed. "No, Hotch."
Aaron watches as the younger man maneuvers around him to get to his desk, his movements stiff and jerky, "I have not said anything."
"But you're here to argue with me," says Reid. "It's what exes do."
"And who told you that?" Aaron finds it hard to believe that Reid is making this postulate out of experience. (And the fact that he's Reid's ex just makes everything so distasteful, but it is not untrue.)
"Television," Reid sits down and cradles his cup of coffee defensively, as if it's some sort of barrier that will keep Aaron at bay. "It's accurate, though."
"I don't watch television."
Reid shrugs, "I get bored."
In spot of himself, Aaron is smiling, "I figured. You got another Ph.D."
"Ha," says Reid. The word just hangs there, incomplete. Then suddenly, he straightens up from his chair again, "Are you here about Prentiss? JJ sent you to tell me, didn't she?"
"You know about Prentiss?"
Reid's voice holds years and years of bitter disappointment, it makes Aaron wince. He looks away, "Of course I know about Emily. She apparently thought I was still part of the team and wrote me."
"Oh," says Aaron, because there isn't anything else.
Reid, restless, stands up from behind his desk and walks to where Aaron is standing. The hand that reaches out to touch Aaron's face has heavily callused fingertips, but he notes that Reid's palm is still smooth.
"Aaron," Reid says his name, tasting it like his coffee. "I -"
Aaron stands frozen to the floor. He finds that it is impossible to move his hands, and thinks in a completely Reid-like manner that he must be having a physiological reaction.
A knock sounds on his door, a boy's voice says, on the other side of the door, "Professor Reid? Do you have a moment?"
Reid's hand drops back to his side, "I have office hours now, Aaron. Please don't come back. I don't want to see you."
"Spencer -" because Reid's name is the only way Aaron knows how to keep him. There are no words, Reid knows them all.
Reid stops, and inhales a deep breath and shows him the door, "Have a good day, Agent Hotchner." There's a smile on his face. The smile is obviously not meant for Aaron, but he savors it anyway, tucking it away along with the other things that should be.
"Goodbye, Dr. Reid."
Jack thinks that it's utterly unfair that Magnus Carlsen was ranked number one in the world at the age of nineteen. He also thinks that it's unfair that both chess and Dr. Spencer Reid have to so fucking complicated.
"You never told me how you met Dr. Reid," Chloe is supposed to be reading Pride and Prejudicefor her Literary Adaptations class, but an hour has passed and she's maybe read ten pages, by Jack's generous estimate.
Jack picks up a white pawn from its designated square and rolls it idly between his fingers, "Why do you want to know so much?"
She shrugs, "Because it's something. You don't have to say."
"I don't mind saying," Jack just thinks her curiosity is odd. "When I was six, Dad introduced me to the smartest man in the world." He can't help but smile a little at the memory. "I can't remember what I asked him, but he had the answer in five seconds."
Chloe taps her book thoughtfully against the bridge of her nose, "Do you think he is?"
"Do I think he is what?" Jack puts the pawn down and turns to face her.
"The smartest man in the world."
"He's probably close," Jack shrugs. "But there are a lot of things that Dr. Reid doesn't know, too." He holds out a hand towards her, "Do me a favor and hand me a pencil?"
Chloe does, and turns a page of her book, although she's given up all pretenses of reading. There is a brief pause, "You know, I've always sort of liked chess. I mean, I never knew what was going on, but I like chess. Are you any good?"
"Dr. Reid was the one who taught me how to play," Jack removed one knight and one rook from the board and set them aside. "Of course he kind of made everything unbelievably complicated. But we used to play everyday."
She finally abandons her book all together and crawls onto his bed next to him, her hair brushes against his shoulder. "And then?"
"And then - and then, I wish I knew," Jack sighs.
