This is a direct continuation of chapter 10. Heed the warnings.


Chapter Eleven

Ghosts and Echoes

.

They both looked at each other for a moment, just sitting in a comfortable sort of silence while Spencer enjoyed the blissful feeling of being so openly welcomed into Aaron's home. He wasn't used to being accepted and wanted, even after working with the team for so long. Not to mention that the last time he'd felt wanted it had all been a total sham, a perverse lie. So because of that a part of him feared maybe Hotch was only doing all of this for him because no one else wanted to be stuck with the responsibility.

However, that thought only lasted the amount of time it took for him to glance around the room once more. He was surrounded on all sides by tangible evidence, proof, that the rest of the team truly cared about him. They'd taken the time to bring his things to Aaron's house to help him feel more comfortable. And he also knew the only reason he hadn't seen JJ, Morgan, Rossi, Emily or Garcia in person yet was because he had requested it. He hadn't wanted any visitors while he'd been in the hospital, and they were staying away to honor his wishes.

He came out of his thoughts and met Aaron's gaze when the man began speaking again.

"Oh, and I forgot that Garcia brought a casserole over," Hotch paused, his brows drawing together in thought as he sighed, "She brought several casseroles over, actually. I'm not exactly sure how many there are, but she tends to cook when she's worried so there's really no telling. Do you think you might be able to eat something?"

"Um, actually I think I'd ah...I mean, if it's okay, I'd like to take a shower?" He felt dirty, and disgusting, and vile; and he was afraid he smelled...smelled like him, like his breath and his saliva. He could still feel Parker all over him, along with everything the man had left behind, and his skin was starting to crawl because of it. He had to get clean. A shiver ran down his spine as he glanced up at Hotch, "I just—I feel like I need to shower, get clean, you know—um, after everything..."

"Do you think you'll be able to manage that?" Aaron gave him a wary look, hesitating, "I don't want you to hurt yourself."

His brows furrowed. Why would Hotch say something like that? He'd been saying things like that to him all day...

.

"I need you to try and calm down. You're hurting yourself, Spencer. Do you think you can do that for me? Can you calm down?"

"Spencer, calm down. You're getting too worked up and you're gonna hurt yourself. I want you to take a deep breath."

.

Did Aaron really think he'd actually try to hurt himself? Granted, he felt horrible, for obvious reasons, but he wasn't suicidal.

"Spencer?"

"Hotch," he quickly shook his head, coming back to the present, "I would never hurt myself! Why would you even say that?! Do you honestly think I'd—"

"No, no, that's not what I mean," Aaron brought his hands out in front of him in a non-threatening manner; a form of surrender. He looked like he was approaching a skittish animal as he stared at him, "I don't think you'd do anything to harm yourself on purpose; but Spencer, you've gotta know you're not steady on your feet right now. I just don't want you to slip or fall while you're in there."

"I need to shower, Hotch. You don't understand, I have to!"

He was starting to feel that panic rising up in his chest again; his skin itched and his eyes stung. He felt like such a child, begging to be allowed to do the simplest of things. He didn't know what he would do if Hotch told him he couldn't take a shower.

"Hey, it's okay. I know you need to," Aaron soothed, giving him a small, sad smile, "I'm not gonna stop you, I promise. But I could..."

He quirked a brow when Hotch paused, wondering what on earth could be running through his mind.

"...I could, stay with you. Just to make sure you're alright."

He was sure his face immediately turned a shade of beet red because honestly, a part of him wanted exactly what Aaron was offering. He wanted Hotch to be in there with him purely because he felt safe and protected when he was around. But another part of him violently cringed at the thought of being that close to another man while he was naked and vulnerable and trapped. There was no way in hell he'd be able to stop him if Hotch tried to do something, he wouldn't stand a chance against the man.

Not that he truly thought Aaron would hurt him. He trusted him, but those thoughts still crept in, like ivy, invading his mind. It had happened at the hospital, too, and he hated the sick feeling it gave him in the pit of his stomach. He wasn't supposed to feel like that when he thought about Hotch. The fact was, he didn't know how he'd feel in any given instant, but right now he knew he wasn't ready to be that exposed and alone with Aaron.

He just couldn't do it.

The irony of the situation was that a mere day before he very well may have jumped at the opportunity to be in a small, enclosed space, naked, with Aaron Hotchner.

"I'll be okay," he assured, swallowing the lump in his throat.

"Well, let me at least help you unwrap your arm."

Hotch sat back down next to him on the bed, and he timidly laid his arm on the man's knee, letting him unravel the bandage to expose his wrist. He didn't pull his eyes away from Aaron's face throughout the process, too caught up in the expression the man wore—it was one of quiet concentration and tender adoration, if he was interpreting it correctly.

He thought he was, and a tiny smile met his lips.

Aaron's hands were extremely gentle as they unwound the bandage. He was taking such careful care with every single touch, as though he thought Spencer might break, and Reid was soaking it all up into his memory. He didn't want to forget any part of this moment, ever.

Once the bandage and the splint were removed he forced his gaze away from Aaron's face and looked down to examine his arm. The bruising was much darker than he remembered, and the indentations from the bindings were very pronounced where the fabric had pressed into his swollen skin.

It didn't look pretty.

And it certainly didn't feel pretty.

He wondered what the rest of him looked like, but he had a feeling the answer would be something along the lines of not pretty.

"I hate to ask this of you," Aaron cleared his throat and Reid pulled his eyes away from the black and purple and red that was the only thing left of his wrist, "But, would you feel comfortable with at least leaving the bathroom door cracked open a little? Just in case? I'd like to be able to get to you easily if something happens. I can kick the door down, but I'd prefer not to."

"You're really worried about me killing myself in the shower, aren't you?"

It was a genuine question, but he'd laced it with a bit of playfulness. It was actually kind of endearing how worried Aaron was about him.

Hotch smiled, "Only a little."

He gave him a small nod and a tentative smile of his own in answer. He could definitely try to do that for him. It was the least he could do, really; and if it helped Aaron feel more comfortable he'd gladly go along with it.

Once that was settled, Hotch helped him up and they both moved into the bathroom across the hall. He laid out a pair of his sleep pants, a pair of boxers and a t-shirt on one end of the vanity and his toothbrush, toothpaste, comb, and electric razor on the other while Aaron heated up the water. It seemed like the more he moved the more his body acclimated to it and the easier it was to keep moving. It kind of reminded him of a snowball effect. Whether or not he'd regret all this activity in the morning remained to be seen, but he was mainly concerned with the present moment, the here and now.

And right now he absolutely needed to get clean.

"You're shampoo, conditioner and body wash are all in the shower already," Aaron informed, then stepped over to the door, "Just yell if you need anything. I'll heat up one of the casseroles while you're in here. I'd like it if you would try to eat something after you're done."

He still didn't know if he was hungry, or if he could even stomach food, but he gave Hotch one more smile and a small nod, then watched as he left the room, leaving the door open just a sliver.

Once he was alone, he slumped against the vanity and let out a long, heavy sigh as his body relaxed. Trying to be okay was utterly exhausting, physically and emotionally; and having Hotch hovering around him was both endearing and suffocating at the same time. Not because he didn't want him around, he truly did, but because he felt guilty for not being alright. He knew, intellectually, that Hotch wasn't upset with him for being a little messed up given the circumstances, but he still felt bad.

He felt bad because every time Aaron looked at him he could see heartbreak and devastation in the man's face; and there was some sort of longing deep in Aaron's eyes that he couldn't quite place, a want or need to fix the situation, yet at the same time understanding that it couldn't really be fixed.

Something like that, anyway.

Huffing, he turned around and looked up into the mirror. Steam was clouding up the surface and he had to wipe it away to reveal his reflection. Once he'd done it, though, he kind of wished he hadn't.

He looked just like he'd thought he would...not pretty.

He looked about the same way he felt, too; which was horrible.

Pale with dark circles surrounding his eyes. A bruise covered half his face, and a cut marred the other side—the skin held together with tiny pieces of white tape. He tilted his chin and brought his hand up to trace over the finger-shaped marks that spanned his neck, wincing at how tender everything felt to his touch.

He'd really messed up.

How in the world had he let himself get into a situation that ended with him looking like this? How could he let himself become a statistic?

He was just another domestic abuse case.

That title felt like his entire identity now. He wasn't a doctor or a supervisory special agent with the FBI or a son or a godfather. He'd let his boyfriend beat the shit out of him and then rape him; and that made him a victim. But he wasn't supposed to be a victim. Not again. He was supposed to be strong—a protector and a savior—but how in the world could he protect anyone else when he hadn't even been able to protect himself?

He didn't have an answer to that question, so he closed his eyes and tried to calm his frazzled nerves instead. There'd been a hint of something he'd been fighting since he'd woken up in the car earlier, and inkling of a memory echoing at the outskirts of his mind. It had been tugging at him, taunting him, daring him to let it in.

It was persistent, and itchy, and he couldn't drown it out any longer...

.

"I guess I'm just gonna have to show you exactly what you are, sweetie," Parker growled in his face, "I'll show you who you fucking belong to..."

Hips rocked roughly against him.

Lips crashed into his.

A tongue forced its way inside, devouring him.

Teeth cut and fingers slithered down his body.

Pressure surrounded him, warm and slick and relentless.

Jerking, coaxing, working him to sickening hardness.

"No!" he gasped, his voice scratchy as he tried to scream, "Parker, stop! Please stop! Y-Y-You don't have to do this—"

Pain shot through his head; he couldn't speak through it, couldn't see through it.

"Shut the fuck up, Spence," Parker snarled, "You brought this on yourself by keeping things from me. You deserve everything I give you, baby. You belong to me, and I'm gonna make damn sure you remember that. And if anyone else ever tries to touch you, I'll kill them."

.

He gasped as his mind jolted out of the flashback, leaving his heart racing and his body trembling. He leaned against the sink to steady himself, hands clutching onto the edge. His legs were trying to fail him, shaky and unsure.

He was probably going to fall...

.

His body crashed to the floor at Parker's feet; pain coursed through his jaw.

.

"No no no no!" he scrunched his eyes closed and tried to clear his mind.

He didn't realize he'd cried out until Aaron burst through the door and gripped his arms tight. Then he was spun around a little too forcefully, and it made his head swim. When he opened his eyes, they met dark, serious ones—their gaze intensely focused on him. He watched them roam over every inch of his body, examining him from head to toe with laser precision, and he didn't know what to do.

"Spencer, what happened?" Hotch frantically asked, "Are you hurt?"

"No," he shook his head, trying unsuccessfully to hold back his tears as he started to sob, "I'm—I'm sorry...it's just that I, I s-saw him and then I was back there. He—He was on me again. Aaron, it was all happening again! I was with h-him and he was...I—I don't...I c-can't..."

The next thing he knew he was pulled into a strong hug, and he automatically wrapped his arms around Aaron's back as he pushed desperately into the warm and safe embrace.

"It's gonna be alright, Spencer," Aaron murmured, and the rumble of the man's chest sent vibrations through his body, "It's okay, I've got you. You're not with him anymore, you're with me, and I'll never let him near you again. Shhh..." He felt fingers run through his hair and he tried to focus on the soothing sensation, "I've got you and it's all gonna be alright."

"When, Aaron?" he whimpered, pulling away just enough to make eye contact, "When's it gonna be alright? When's anything ever gonna be alright again?"

Hotch looked at him, his face drawn with worry and uncertainty. He seemed to be at a loss for how to answer him.

It was a rare and disconcerting sight.

"I don't know," he finally sighed, and Reid merely nodded in agreement.

They were psychological profilers; it's what they did day in and day out. They knew all the case studies and all the published information about the after effects of trauma on victims. Hell, they'd even written some of the books on the subject themselves. But when something like this actually happens to you or someone you're close to all the book knowledge goes flying out the window.

Hotch seemed to be at a loss, yes, but so was he. He had no idea what to expect next. One moment he was bawling his eyes out and the next he was laughing hysterically. One minute he couldn't look anywhere without seeing Parker's face staring back at him and the next he was wondering if Aaron was a good kisser.

It was messed up on so many different levels.

"I don't know, either," he finally murmured, then started to laugh, and Hotch looked at him like he needed a straight jacket and a padded cell.

Maybe he did.

He was beginning to question his sanity.

"It's just funny, I guess," he tried to clarify, "I've never felt as clueless in my entire life as I do right now. It's a strange state to be in, and it's terrifying, and I kind of feel like I have bipolar disorder."

"Well, we'll just be clueless together then," Aaron mumbled, a hand moving to softly wipe away a fallen tear from Reid's cheek, "You're not alone here, Spencer. Like I said earlier, we'll get through this together."

He couldn't help the laugh that escaped him, "I wanted to ask you if you stole that line off a Hallmark card."

They both chuckled a little at that, and the air didn't feel quite so heavy as they leaned in close, heads resting against one another and eyes closed. Aaron's arms held him secure, making sure he didn't fall; and after another minute or so he thought he felt steady enough to actually try and shower.

"I, ah, I think I'll be okay now," he murmured, feeling Aaron's breath hot on his skin.

The man's mouth had to be close to his; he could sense it, there was maybe an inch of air separating them.

So close.

So close that if he just pushed forward the tiniest little bit they'd come in contact...

A shiver ran down his spine at the possibility and he swiftly backed out of the hold, Aaron instantly letting him go. His skin was tingling with something, but he wasn't entirely sure he liked it.

He needed space.

The worried look on Hotch's face didn't go unnoticed by him, though, and he tried to lighten his voice, "My mood has, um, apparently swung in the opposite direction of complete and total despair."

"Okay." Aaron moved through the door, leaving it cracked again as he added, "I'll be listening in case you need anything."

"Thanks, Hotch," he smiled, "That doesn't sound creepy at all."

He opened the door slightly and watched as Aaron walked down the hall, hearing a soft laugh from the man as he headed for the stairs. Once he was sure he was alone, he began to shed the hospital scrubs he'd been given, then carefully stepped into the tub. He couldn't stop the obscene moan that filled the air when hot water ran across his aching muscles, the pressure massaging his body and working with the swirling steam to help him relax. The cuts marring his skin stung a bit at the onslaught, but it was still absolute bliss and completely worth the bit of discomfort. He leaned his forehead against the tile as he let the water wash over him, and his body cried out in relief. He thought he might be able to fall asleep right there, but then he'd surly fall and give Aaron a complete heart attack.

So after a few minutes he made himself start moving, grabbing the body wash and fumbling with the bottle until he managed to squeeze a decent amount onto a loofa that had been hanging from a hook on the wall. It was much more difficult to do one handed than he thought it should be, but he did the best he could and then began to scrub, focusing the majority of his efforts on specific areas he knew Parker still lingered.

He could sense the ghost of the man still nipping at his neck.

"You're my filthy little minx."

Clawing at his thighs.

"If you fucking fight me I'll make it hurt more."

Entering him.

"No! I can't do this anymore, please! Please don't!"

His hands flew up to cover his ears, and he hummed, trying to drown all the echoes out. He knew that it wouldn't work, but he didn't know what else to do and he had to do something. It was unsettling, hearing Parker's voice in his head and feeling those harsh hands, all the phantom touches on his skin playing tricks with his mind.

He decided the best thing he could do was get as clean as possible, so he continued to vigorously scrub everywhere he could until his skin felt raw and tender—then he scrubbed some more. Eventually, though, the water temperature started to cool to an uncomfortable level and he dropped the loofa. He still didn't feel clean, but he knew he'd hit every inch of skin. The feeling had to be psychological.

It was probably psychological.

Trying to block that thought out of his mind, he turned his attention to his hair, opting to just use the shampoo without conditioner to save time and energy. He ended up struggling with that bottle as well until he got enough out to lather into his tangled locks. He focused most his efforts on places he could feel were matted with blood and sweat; and as he massaged his scalp a few tiny, lingering pieces of glass fell out and slipped down the drain.

In the end it wasn't pretty, and he was sure he'd missed some spots, but at least his hair would smell and look relatively clean.

Quickly, he rinsed everything, turned the now cold water off and gingerly stepped out of the tub.

Once he was dry and decently dressed in his pajamas he moved down the hall, noticing a light on in the office. When he approached he softly tapped on the door and Hotch looked up from his desk, then stood and met him at the threshold, looking him over.

"How was the shower?"

"It felt nice, but ah, I kind of used up all the hot water...sorry. And it was a bit difficult to do with only one good hand."

"Yeah, I can tell," Hotch smirked, "You look a bit like a drowned rat."

"Thanks a lot." He tried his best to look hurt, but he couldn't stop the tiny giggle that bubbled up, "I hope I at least smell a little better?"

"That you do," Aaron assured with a nod, a little more serious, "I started dinner. Would you like me to re-wrap that?"

He looked down at his wrist, a bit of the indentations still evident over the swelling and bruises. He wasn't ready to confine it to the tight bandage again just yet. It felt nice to have it open to the air, and much lighter without the heavy splint.

"Maybe after we eat?" he answered, then asked, "What'd Garcia make, anyway?"

"Tater tot something," Hotch shrugged, "She said it was full of potatoes, cheese and meat. That was really all I needed to hear."

"Typical alpha male," he teased, and blushed when his playful reply was met with a dimpled grin.

Aaron took his arm, holding it at the elbow, and gently assisted him down the stairs. The shower had worked to ease his soreness a bit so the journey down was slightly easier than the trek up had been. He hadn't had to focus so much on every single step so he found his eyes wandering to the pictures hanging along the wall as they made their way down. There were several photos of Jack in various poses and ages, probably school pictures if he had to guess, and there were also a few framed cross-stitches.

Aaron must have noticed him looking. "Jessica, she likes to make them," he explained, "She says it's good stress relief. They're pretty much the only things we get from her at Christmas and birthdays."

"I like them." It was homey, and sweet, and it made him smile, "She's pretty good at it."

"Yeah, she is," Hotch fondly agreed, "She's been amazing."

Since Haley died and left Jack without a mother went unsaid, but Spencer could hear it in Aaron's voice. Instead of saying anything further, he concentrated on the journey down, and when they arrived in the kitchen he could smell the food. Instantly his stomach seized up, and he didn't know if it was because he was hungry or nauseous.

"Go ahead and sit at the table. You don't need to be on your feet."

"Okay, Dad," he tried to joke, and the effort elicited another small smile from Aaron that made his heart flutter.

Cautiously, he moved to the table and took a seat, basking in the warm feel of having someone look after him as he watched Hotch pull a dish out of the oven. It was nice not feeling like he was completely alone. He had no idea how he would have gotten through the day and all of its hurdles if it wasn't for Aaron and the rest of his team. He trembled at the thought of how everything could have ended up—of where he could be right this very moment if he hadn't called Hotch for help.

He very well could still be with him.

Or, he might not even be alive.

As Aaron sat a plate down in front of him he still didn't know if he was hungry, but he picked up a fork and started moving the food around anyway. He wanted to make Hotch happy, so he'd try to eat something. "Thanks again," he murmured after a moment, "For, you know, pretty much every single thing in my world right now."

"You don't have to thank me, Reid, but you're welcome. I'm just glad you called me."

They ate in a comfortable silence, Spencer picking at the food on his plate more than anything else. He knew he should eat, but making himself actually do it was something entirely different. It was difficult, but he eventually managed to get about a third of the helping down, and that seemed to satisfy Hotch for the time being because the man started to clear the table.

"What can I do to help?" he tried to stand, but a firm hand pressed on his shoulder, keeping him seated.

"Reid, stay put. There's no way you're helping with this. I've got it."

"Sorry," he mumbled, "I just don't wanna be a bother."

"Hey, that's not what you are." Aaron bent down to look him in the eyes, "You, Spencer Reid, are many things," he grinned, "But a bother isn't one of them."

He could feel his cheeks burning again, and he nervously tucked his hair behind his ears as he contemplated the phrase many things, then gave Aaron a shy smile. A moment later, there was a knock on the front door and he startled, almost jumping out of his seat and whimpering as the movement painfully jarred his body.

"It's okay," Hotch quickly assured, his hand finding Spencer's and holding on tight, "It's just Jessica bringing Jack home."

Oh.

Right.

That would make sense.

He gave Hotch another small nod and took a deep breath, not trusting his voice enough to use it in that moment. He was suddenly nervous for an entirely new reason. Jack was about to come walking through the door, and Spencer didn't have the best track record with kids. Henry was the one main exception; and he hadn't had any bad experiences with Jack, per se, he just hadn't spent a whole lot of time with him. For some reason, though, he found himself really wanting the boy to like him. Maybe it was because he was going to be staying in his house for at least a little while, and the thought of living under the same roof as a nine year old who hated him sounded like pure hell.

He turned in his chair and watched as Hotch opened the door and crouched down, a little person wrapping their arms around his neck a second later.

"Hey, Dad!"

"Hey, buddy! How was your day with Aunt Jess?"

Spencer smiled at Aaron's tone of voice. It was a completely different sound to his ears—one filled with joy, excitement, enthusiasm and unbridled love.

"It was great!" the boy exclaimed, "We went to the park and then to McDonald's and I played on the playground until these babies came in and started climbing all over and drooling on everything. Then we went to the library. And then guess what we did!"

"Ummm, you went sky diving?"

"No, silly! We went to see Grandpa."

"Well, that all sounds super fun," Hotch smiled, then ruffled Jack's hair and stood back up to give Jessica a hug and a kiss on the cheek, his voice lower and calmer as he addressed her, "Thank you so much for watching him today."

"Oh, Aaron, it was no problem at all," she whispered, and Spencer tried not to eavesdrop, but he couldn't help it, "How's he doing?"

He heard Aaron let out a long sigh, "He's dealing. It's gonna be rough for a while, but he's strong, and he'll be okay."

Spencer smiled at that. He wasn't called strong very often, and he most certainly didn't feel strong right now, but knowing Hotch believed in him made him want to fight even harder to prove the man right.

"Hey."

He blinked out of his thoughts when he heard a tiny voice speaking to him, and found himself staring into two little brown eyes, brimming with wonder. "Um, h-hey," he warily stammered.

"Wow, that looks really bad," Jack pointed to his arm and Reid looked down at it in all its swollen, purple glory, "Does it hurt a lot?"

"Um, yeah, a little," he answered, nodding as one corner of his mouth quirked up, "But, I think it looks a lot worse than it feels."

Once he'd said it, he didn't know if the statement was altogether true. It hurt pretty damn bad.

"What happened to it?" Jack asked, then looked up and gasped as his eyes widened, "And what happened to your face?!"

Spencer's own eyes darted anxiously over to Aaron as the man closed the front door and locked it, then they moved back to Jack. He had no idea how to answer that question. He knew it was just a child's curiosity, but he couldn't possibly tell him the actual truth. The truth wasn't age appropriate in the slightest.

"Well," he began, clearing his throat and anxiously fidgeting in his seat, "I um, I fell." That was partly true. "And when I fell I landed on my arm and I hit my head."

Without missing a beat, "How did you fall?"

Shoot.

He frowned; he wasn't at all prepared for an interrogation. He couldn't tell Jack that his boyfriend hit him and then threw him into a wall. He didn't want to traumatize the kid. Maybe he should go with the I'm a clumsy, awkward genius with little to no sense of spacial awareness answer. That seemed like a safe enough response, but before he had the chance to get another word out he heard Aaron's voice answer Jack's question for him.

"He was very brave."

His head jerked up to see Hotch enter the dining room and bend down to Jack's level.

The boy turned to look at his dad, then back to Reid for a moment before asking, "He was?"

"Yes," Hotch nodded and took his little hand, "He was very, very brave."

"How," Jack asked, and Spencer honestly kind of wondered the same thing.

"Well, he was fighting a very bad man, and he got hurt," Aaron answered, glancing up to Reid and meeting his eyes as he calmly continued, "He got hurt fighting him, but he won in the end. He was stronger and braver, and he beat the bad man."

He felt tears stinging his eyes as a lump welled up in his chest. Something about the way Hotch was looking at him when he'd said those words, something about the intensity of Aaron's eyes and the warmth of his stare had him wondering if he truly believed what he'd just told his son. Did Aaron really think he was that brave? Because he sure as hell hadn't thought what he'd done that morning could be considered brave or strong in any way.

When he noticed Jack look away from his dad and back to him he tried his best to calm his trembling and hold back the tears that were threatening to fall, giving the boy a small smile instead.

"So, you're like a superhero?"

No, not at all like a superhero.

"Well..." he shook his head, "I wouldn't say that—"

"Yes," Aaron interrupted, giving him that same warm look again. The look that said I believe in you, I'm proud of you, you're stronger than you think you are. "He's exactly like a superhero."

Spencer didn't know what to do, think or say to that. Hearing his boss, a man he greatly admired and cared for, talk about him like that felt better than he could ever even begin to describe. He was stunned into silence at the praise, and instead of saying anything he just kind of stared at Hotch for a good minute while the older man stared right back at him. It seemed to him like they were transfixed to one another, lost in a moment together where they were connected in a way that felt important and necessary and absolutely right.

But then the moment passed and Hotch looked back to Jack, "Spencer's gonna be staying with us while he gets better. Is that okay with you, buddy?"

"Yeah! We can have a slumber party!"

He smiled at the boy's enthusiasm, although his body didn't quite match it. Exhaustion was creeping in on him.

"Maybe someday," Aaron chuckled, "But for now he needs to rest, and so do you. It's late. Go brush your teeth and get ready for bed."

"Okaaaay..." he whined, "But, can Spencer read me a story?"

"I don't think so," Hotch quickly answered, "At least not tonight. Remember, he's not feeling well?"

"Oh yeah," he laughed and smiled at Reid, "I hope you like staying with us. And I really hope you feel better soon, Spencer. If you want, you can keep Spike until you do. He always gives me strength when I'm scared or don't feel very good."

"Thank you, Jack. I really like Spike, and I think he's definitely helping. I'm already starting to feel better," he looked back to Aaron, trying his best to convey the sheer magnitude of thankfulness he felt for everything the man had done for him, then he smiled, "I really do think I'm gonna be okay now."

He said it, and he truly believed it.

.