Chapter 8

Bruises

The blaring sound of Reid's alarm clock jolted him awake Wednesday morning. He couldn't remember the last time he woke up feeling so well rested. Then he remembered why he had gone to bed so sated. FUCK, he thought, was that a dream? He pulled the covers off his body. He had fallen asleep in boxers and t-shirt. He looked down at his knees, bruised from kneeling on the pavement while his boss fucked his mouth. Shit. He got up and walked into the bathroom, looking at the mirror. His cheekbone was slightly bruised, but it was more red than purple. His neck was another story. There were dark purple bruises lining his neck. He stared at them, remembering how they got there, remembering the feeling of teeth and tongue. Blood rushed to his dick. He never even touched me, Reid thought¸ remembering how hot it was when Aaron—umm, Agent Hotchner, wrapped his strong hands around his throat and ordered him to touch himself. He moaned as he wrapped his hand around himself the same as he did last night. Thankful that his eidetic memory allowed him to relive every sensation. This time, however, no one was there to tell him to come and his release came fast, splashing his chest. He got into the warm shower, hoping that jerking off would be enough to prevent his cock from standing at attention the moment he saw his boss.

Hotchner lay awake, in bed, staring at the ceiling. He'd woken up fifteen minutes before his alarm clock. He was so well-rested that he thought he overslept. He looked at the clock and fell back down to his pillows. It had been a long time since he'd woken up naturally like that, woken up without having to force himself out of bed. He lay there relaxed thinking of what he had to do that day, running through a list in his head. Oh, he thought and I have to remember to give the report on that triangle case to Reid before the…wait…last night…was that real…did I really…oh my god. The images began to flash through his head. Reid's firm ass against him, saying Teach me sir, their lips meeting, Reid on his knees begging, touching himself. He reached his hand under the sheets and around his throbbing dick, wishing that his hand was Reid's mouth. His other hand clutched the bed sheets, and he remembered how his fingers felt, tangled in Reid's hair. He wished he had Reid's eidetic memory so he could relive every sensation. He didn't need it though, the vague images were enough. It didn't take long before he was coming.

"Daddy?" he heard Jack at the door.

"Is something wrong, I'll be right out."

"Did you have a scary dream? I heard you yelling for Uncle Spence?"

He sighed. He didn't even realize he had done it. He was screaming Spencer's name as he came all over his hand.

"I did, but its okay, I catch the bad guys even in my dreams. Go brush your teeth. I'll be out in a minute."

He looked down at the mess he'd made on himself, ashamed. Then he picked up his phone to see if he had any missed messages.

9:42 p.m. Beth: Hey. Missed our usual call last night. I know you've been busy. Love you. Tell Jack I love him.

5:03 a.m. Aaron: Late night. Jack said he loves you too.

As Hotchner approached the elevator he heard a commotion behind him at security, Garcia was setting off the metal detectors and swearing to the guard that she was not carrying any weapons, other than her beautiful mind, her words. He turned around and walked over, showing the officer his badge.

"My hero," Garcia pretended to swoon.

"Why does this always happen to you?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?"

"Probably not," he laughed, pressing the button to the elevator. He was looking at his phone, already reading his emails, when someone yelled, "hold the door!"

Garcia pressed the button to open the door. As though fate had played some evil trick on him, there stood Spencer Reid, his hair and clothes drenched, and his face like a deer in headlights when he realized that Hotchner was on the elevator.

"Good god boy genius, haven't you ever heard of an umbrella," Garcia exclaimed as Reid stepped onto the elevator."

"It wasn't raining when I left my apartment," Reid said. Unlike Garcia and Hotch who drove to work and came in through the indoor garage, Reid had taken public transportation then walked a block to the building.

Hotch was just staring at him, silently. He saw the slight discoloration on Reid's cheek and though he was starting to blush. Then he realized what it really was. A bruise..A bruise from him. This felt like the longest elevator ride of his life. He needed to break the silence. "Do you have a change of dry clothes in your go bag?"

"Yes," Reid answered.

Finally the elevator doors opened and they all shuffled out. Reid went to his desk to grab his bag. "Oh nooooo pretty boy what happened to you?" Morgan said laughing as Reid approached.

"Shut up. I didn't realize it was going to rain." He grabbed his bag and headed toward the bathroom.

A few moments later, Hotch's phone buzzed.

8:07 a.m. Spencer Reid: I have a problem.

Aaron: What is it?

Spencer: Can you just come to the bathroom?

He stared at his phone confused, wondering if Spencer was propositioning him. He realized that was insane and headed down to the restroom.

"Reid?" he questioned quietly as he entered.

"I'm in here," Reid said from a stall.

"What's wrong? Hotch asked.

"My shirt," Reid responded, "the only shirt I have in my bag is a v-neck sweater."

Hotch was confused. "What's the problem?"

The stall door opened. His stomach turned when he saw Reid, standing in front of him in a tight, black sweater, with dark, purple bruises revealed on his neck. "Are those—did I?"

"Yeah," Reid answered, looking at the ground.

"I am so sorry. I didn't even realize—"

"They don't hurt," Reid reassured him, "I just can't go out there like this."

"No. You can't," Hotch replied, "wait here."

Hotch left and Reid waited in the stall. A few moments later he returned. He handed Reid a white dress shirt. Reid put it on and walked out. It was too big on him. He looked absolutely adorable. Hotch couldn't help but laugh. Reid glared at him and he stopped. Then Reid tucked the shirt in and put his sweater back over it.

"How do I look?" he asked, turning to Hotchner.

"Cute," escaped his lips before he could stop it. Reid looked up at him, wide eyed. He opened his mouth to say something else when the door swung open behind them. He turned and started washing his hands while Morgan teased Reid.

"Okay wow, this look is so much more GQ than that ugly ass turtleneck you came in wearing," he laughed.

"Hey, I like that turtle neck," Reid exclaimed.

"Hotch, please tell the kid he looks good," Morgan said as he walked over to the urinal.

"Leave him alone," Hotch said as he dried his hands and walked out. Reid smiled and followed. As they were walking down the hallway, side by side, without looking at him, Hotch said, "you look good." Reid smiled and made his way to his desk.

As Hotch closed his office door behind him, he began swearing under his breath. Ten minutes into the day and I told him he looks cute and good. Fuck. I can't do this. Why is this so hard? Why is he so…he looked out the blinds in his office down at the young doctor who was now chatting with JJ at his desk and smiling…perfect.

A few hours later, everyone was summoned to the conference room. Rossi, Morgan, JJ, and Reid were already in the room when Garcia walked in. They looked at her questioningly. "Don't look at me, I don't know any thing."

Hotchner walked in. "Sorry for the short notice," he said, "urgent situation, came directly to me. Garcia, do you have a go bag ready?"

"Yes Sir," she responded.

"Good. You will be going with Rossi, Morgan and JJ to Hawaii. They've had two couples killed in their resort rooms in as many nights."

"What about me?" Reid asked.

"You and I will stay behind and assist from here, but we still have a killer at large who has struck in Virginia and Maryland. And you're expected to be giving the profile to the local police tomorrow."

Hotch briefed the rest of the team, who tried to pretend not to be excited to be going to Hawaii. He sent them out to get ready and meet at the jet. Reid was pouting in his seat.

"Stop that," Hotch demanded.

"Anyone could have given the profile in the case. Why are you making me stay?"

"Do you honestly think I wouldn't have jumped at the chance to ship you away to another state if I could?" Reid looked up at him with sad eyes, "I'm sorry that's not what I meant. I just meant that I am having a difficult time, keeping my distance from you, and I seriously considered how much easier it would be if you were on that plane to Hawaii right now."

"So why aren't I?"

"Because the unsub in Hawaii is a disorganized spree killer," he said, sitting down, "and the one here, is a calculated, intelligent, and patient sociopath. You're wrong. Not anyone could give that profile. Not everyone would have even put the murders together. You did."

Reid was fidgeting with his hands.

"Reid, its not like they're going on vacation to Hawaii…"

"I know its just…"

"Just what?" he said looking at Reid. Then he started laughing. "You're still trying to get out of golfing aren't you? Wow you're really committed. What would you have done if I asked Morgan and Garcia about your mini-golf story anyway?"

"That wasn't a lie," Reid said, "I just left out a somewhat important detail." Hotch looked at him confused. "It was seven years ago." Hotch was still confused. "They kept hounding me to go out with them. They were worried about me. Well, with good reason. So I finally said yes to make them stop…but it was when I was using Dilaudid, and I was so high I barely remember getting there."

Hotch looked upset. "Reid…"

"They don't know that part," he said, "besides, its probably for the best. I think if I had out performed Morgan in an athletic competition, it would have shaken the very foundation of our friendship."

Hotch laughed in agreement. "Why do you want to get out of this so bad?"

Reid looked down at his lap. "I just don't want to do or say anything embarrassing," he said, "its one thing when I have to talk to people about a profile or facts, but this is different, its small talk, I'm terrible at small talk, I have no idea what to do or say and I'm going to mess up."

"Since when do you care what people think?" Hotch asked.

"I don't care what people think about me," he replied, "but I'm not going as me. What I say reflects on the team. On you. I don't want to let you down."

"You couldn't if you tried," Hotch said, he rested his hand on Reid's, then quickly pulled away. Reid gave him a shy, understanding smile. "I wish I could just tell you to be yourself and to hell with what some Senator or the Director of the FBI thinks," he said, "but it would be a lie. You've seen me rubbing elbows with people like that. Do I act like myself?" Reid shook his head no. "I told you that politics was a part of this job. You can chose what that means to you."

"What do you mean?"

"You can be like Gideon and Rossi who said 'screw politics,' who were and are excellent profilers, the best, but who ended up reporting to me, someone that they once mentored," he said, "and if that is what you want then I will support you."

"Whats the other option?"

"Learn how to play the game. I'm not like Morgan. I don't feel at ease in a crowd. But I learned how to act like I do. I learned how to say the right things and wear the right clothes. This," he looked down, "this suit and tie isn't who I am," he said, "it's a uniform, its part of the job."

"Are you…" Reid looked down at his hands, "would you be willing to…"

"Six feet," Hotchner said.

"What?"

"The answer is yes, I will help you," he answered, "but we will keep six feet between us the entire time, understood?" Reid nodded. "Alright," Hotch said standing, "lets get back to work."