Note: This was co-authored with the amazingly awesome terriblycontrite!

Chapter 21

Trepidation

"Wow…ok I think I'm gonna need you to talk this out with me, PG." Derek manages, actively trying to work out the implications. "Gordon and Claire Porter are Amelia's parents, and they left a small fortune to a man named Lucas Olson, who just happened to be friends with Alec Smythe, who died leaving his farm unclaimed for ten-"

"Twelve years," Penelope corrects, waving him on as she does, excited to be bringing him up to speed.

"Twelve years," he corrects himself. "At which point he buys the property from the bank, but only owns it a few weeks before turning it over to Jane Appleby, who is actually the fugitive daughter of the friends who left him the money in the first place…that's what you're telling me?" Derek's mind is whirling.

"Yep, uh huh, pretty much exactly!" Penelope says brightly, turning back to her computer, typing as she rambles. "Now, I know there are a lot of details that need to be filled in, but I couldn't wait to tell you Derek! Think about it! This Lucas Olson is someone that knows Amelia and could potentially tell us all about her and may even be in contact with her. I know it's not case solved, but it gets the taste of defeat out of my mouth and I can enjoy my seriously expensive coffee again, maybe even-"

Derek leans over to catch hold of Penelope's arm, interrupting to turn her away from the computer to face him.

"PG, just a second." He hates to ask what he's about to because it's going to crush her if she hasn't thought of it already. "You've put in so much effort here, you said it, you're holding back defeat, and this is information we can really work with, but I need to ask…do you know where Lucas Olson is now?"

Worry touched her face for just a minute when Derek got serious, but now she lights up again.

"Oh! That's no problem! I can figure that out in a jiffy, I have his last known address in the police file, and even if he's moved on, he should be easy enough to track." She flashes him a grin, and his heart sinks a little. "That is a small hurdle as far as this beast of a case goes." She tries to assure him.

He gives her arm a gentle squeeze, refocusing her attention on him. "Yes, I never, ever doubt what you're capable of doll face," he smiles grimly, "but we have seen how Amelia cleans up after herself, and… it makes me wonder what condition we will find Lucas Olson in."

Derek gets to watch her face fall as realization dawns. With a moan that is almost a wail, she jerks out of his grip, turning to slump down on the desk, face buried in her arms. Her next reply is muffled but delivered in a tone shrill enough that he catches it anyway.

"Of course! He's dead! How in the name of all that is pink and fluffy did I not think of that, Derek!"

Scooting his chair up next to her, Derek pulls her into his side, trying to soothe her.

"We don't know that for sure, but I have to deal in doom and gloom sometimes. Comes with the job." He says softly, rubbing her arm and hoping he's wrong. "Let's find out, and then we can check in with Hotch and Dave."

Hotch pins Spencer with a searching look that makes him squirm. Reaching for his journal and the organized mess of maps and notes, Spencer pulls them over in front of him, avoiding Hotch's eyes and stalling for time all at once.

"Spencer…" Hotch starts, then stops himself, his expression hard and appraising, when Spencer chances a look up at him. Whatever he meant to say he rethinks it, as he takes in Spencer's body language. Suddenly he seems undecided about what to do, and the quiet in the room becomes oppressive. Spencer can hear a man and a woman laughing loudly in the hall, followed shortly by the resounding bang of their door slamming shut. The heater in the room clicks on, cars pass on the road outside, and Spencer wonders how long they can stay like this, not talking, just listening to the sounds a hotel makes.

It takes some time, but Hotch must have come to a decision because he breaks the silence. "Of course you can go first." He allows, pushing himself away from the desk he's been leaning against. "But if it can wait a few minutes, I need some air."

Hotch doesn't wait for an answer before he turns to rifle through his go bag, pulling out sweatpants, then pinning his eyes back on Spencer. Ducking his head again, Spencer wants to object, because he is going to lose his nerve, but at the same time he wants nothing more than to put it off. Hotch continues to watch him, waiting for a response, oblivious to Spencer's internal panic.

Spencer can hear Hotch sigh and wonders if he is losing all patience with him. He wishes he would give him some indication that he's not mad, because he hates to have Hotch upset with him. The man has a way of disapproving that makes him question every action he has ever taken, trying to figure out what he can change to get back in his good graces.

"I'm going to finish getting dressed and go update the team." Hotch tells him tone brokering no room for argument. "You start getting undressed and I'll help you shower when I get back. Then we talk."

It is an order just barely disguised as a request, and Spencer can't do anything but watch him go.

"Wait," Dave says, switching his phone from his right ear to his left. "Green is dead? The professor that helped Garcia with the plants? I suppose you're about to tell me how exactly Amelia is involved."

Dave's phone rang in the middle of a depressing search of suicides, deaths by exsanguination, and death's given the dubious label of 'undetermined'; all males in their teens, from the handful of Canadian cities where Amelia was reportedly sighted between 2002 and 2009. A win meant finding a dead kid, whose parents recognize a picture of their missing killer, and are able to give him an alias that could, if he was lucky, lead him to another death in another city…Dave swears that while most of the time his job is extremely rewarding, other times he feels like he's digging holes, when he's meant to be filling them in.

He listens as Hotch brings him up to speed on the discovery of Green's body, his missing van, the too tidy house, and the photo's of Andy Farland that point to a blackmail plot they have yet to fully unravel.

"So you don't believe Amelia killed Green?" Dave questions when Hotch finishes his update on the ever intensifying saga of Salt Lake City.

Hotch is certain that Green's death was a professional hit, and that somehow, he was connected to both Amelia and the cartel, meaning he lied to them the entire time he was supposed to be helping. Morgan was going to have a field day, because he had never liked the man, and now it appears that his suspicions were not quite as unfounded as Dave had thought. Damn it! Green may even have known how to find Amelia and never said a word. Morgan was going to lose it.

"How is Reid?" Dave is a little wary of asking. Hotch's choice to let the kid work the case and prolong their stay in Utah has become a source of contention between him and his former protégé. He knows that Hotch isn't being honest about his reasons, even has some inkling of why, but the man refuses to open up to him about it.

Dave listens to the vague reassurance that Spencer is healing, just slower than expected with a few tossed in complications, and opts not to comment beyond sending his best wishes. One of these days he expects that Hotch will remember that he trusts him and tell him what's really going on with him.

"Garcia managed to find confirmation that Amelia was in the North West Territories in 2006. It's not a lot to go on but we think it's the beginning of something." Dave shares, wanting Hotch to know they have his back, and he isn't alone in this. Progress is being made. "JJ and Kate are taking the jet to Canada to pursue it. It's a small town, we are optimistic that someone will be able to give us the alias she was using at the very least."

Dave winces when Hotch asks if Cruz cleared the use of the jet, because he's sure that Cruz thought Hotch did. But that's a minor issue to be dealt with at a later date; with any luck, after they've closed this godforsaken case.

"You're going to call Garcia and fill her in then? Get her to look into the cartel angle?" Dave changes the subject. "Otherwise, I'll bring everyone up to date."

Hotch tells him that he plans to call Garcia himself and Dave hopes maybe she will have better luck getting him to confide in her. It is damn near impossible to get through the tough exterior that Hotch has been honing all these years, but it is equally difficult to deter Penelope from trying, so it's sure to be a decent battle of wills. The thought makes Dave smile as he ends the call, tossing his phone onto the desk, and turning his attention back to the task at hand.

Returning to the room after updating the team, Hotch is a little disappointed, mostly in himself. He had wanted more from his conversation with Dave, namely confirmation that handing off the Amelia Porter case was the right thing to do. Hotch isn't used to be being so hesitant, and he wanted reassurance that he was doing the right thing, and that he was not, in fact, being ruled by emotion. The problem was he had caught Dave reinvested in tracking down new leads, and suddenly he hardly seemed like the right person to ask.

Then his call with Penelope had brought up thought provoking new info that made him second guess whether he really was giving up too soon. The team is back to working the case, Spencer will be excited about Garcia's finds, and they do offer some new hope, Hotch admits. He resolves to talk to Spencer and go from there.

Hotch pushes open their hotel room door, still frustrated but ready to get on with it. He is determined to hear what Spencer has to say, then have his say, so they can start dealing with what needs to be done, free of distractions./p

Moving into the room, he observes Spencer who is where he left him, but half dressed, hunched in on himself, looking cold, alone and absolutely miserable. The physiotherapist said it was good for Spencer to maintain independence and continue to try performing everyday tasks... but seeing Spencer shiver, one arm wrapped around his middle protectively, hair stringy and in need of a wash, Hotch is inclined to agree with Spencer's earlier decree; that the physiotherapist should keep her opinions to herself. He reproaches himself for letting Spencer's erratic moods get to him because he should never have left the room. He made a commitment to seeing Spencer through this, and not leaving him alone was a major part of that commitment.

During Spencer's hospital stay having Hotch help him to change, shower, and even get to the bathroom was the lesser of two evils; Spencer hated having the nurses touch him. Hotch was glad to have something useful to do and found himself surprised by the tenderness he felt toward the younger agent. It also became clear that Spencer didn't like being left alone, so Hotch made excuses to stay close. The truth was, it made him feel safer too.

Hotch remembers like yesterday, bouncing, rocking and pacing with his infant son while Hayley slept or ran errands. Jack would cry inconsolably, only to stop instantly once he was back in his mothers arms. Hotch concluded that he was not particularly good at nurturing, and let Hayley take over, while he worked outside the house. But now, with Spencer, his Hotch feels uniquely qualified to attend to his needs. After all, he understands Spencer's insatiable drive to impress, being the youngest agent ever recruited to the BAU, and a socially awkward one at that. It was Spencer's strength and tenacity that prevailed when he failed the physical testing that most other candidates exceled at. Instead of dwelling on it, he redoubled his efforts to dominate in other areas, like linguistics and statistical analysis, where he was unbeatable. Hotch has admired him from the start, and he knows that Spencer must be compelled to accept the help he needs now, because his desire to prove himself simply won't allow him to ask for it.

Tossing his key card, wallet and phone onto the desk, Hotch goes quickly to kneel in front of Spencer, picking up one foot then the other to remove his socks, joking with a grin, "These socks match, who let that happen huh?"

Spencer smiles wanly but clutches his arm tighter around him at the same time. He looks dejected to say the least, and Hotch wants to be more comforting, but has no idea how without talking about the tension between them, and it's underlying cause.

"You did good, Spencer," Hotch comments softly, picking up Spencer's discarded pants and tossing them toward the plush chair in the corner.

"I am not two, Aaron." Spencer replies haughtily, but there is no real heat behind the words. And then, "I used to be quite good at getting myself undressed."

Hotch can't stop a snort of laughter at that statement.

Realizing, Spencer says wryly, "ha-ha," but he is working to hide the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Ok, move your arm, so we can get your shirt off. Here," Hotch tugs the arm away with a light touch as he narrates. "Let's move to the bathroom and finish there."

Placing his hands under Spencer's arms, he helps him stand and wrap his good arm around his neck, so he can support most of his weight. Spencer is lighter and easier to move than he should be and Hotch makes a mental note to pay more attention to what he's eating at mealtimes.

Once he has settled Spencer on the closed toilet seat, he starts the shower to warm up, then turns his attention to Spencer's wounds. They are all in various stages of healing, garish in the bright bathroom lighting, but he keeps his expression neutral as he carefully looks them over. The incision that marks the deep stab wound in Spencer's thigh looks much fresher than it should, still stitched and stubbornly refusing to fully heal. The doctors cautioned that they need to watch closely for signs of infection so that's what Hotch does, not entirely trusting Spencer to alert him of a problem. Spencer flinches away when Hotch's fingers get near it, just hovering, a sure indication of how much pain he's in. "Sorry, I didn't touch. You need to say something if it hurts Spencer." Hotch admonishes.

"Of course it hurts, Hotch!" Spencer shoots back, irritated. "I think that's to be expected. I can handle it."

Hotch shakes his head, feeling like he's constantly avoiding one battle or another with the ornery agent in front of him, but he moves on to Spencer's neck which is much further along in the healing process. Despite being a much more ragged wound to begin with, it has closed nicely and if the puckered, red scar tissue continues to lighten and smooth out, in a few more weeks it will be much less noticeable. There is the concern of deeper nerve damage to contend with still, but the expectation is that Spencer will regain full use of his arm with time and continued physio.

Both the long incision down the middle of Spencer's belly, and the penetrating wound under his ribs look much less scary than they once did, free of stiches and staples, though the scars will serve as a permanent reminder of the invasive surgery it took to save Spencer's life. Hotch prods Spencer's right arm out of the way again, so he can get a good look and be satisfied that all is as well as it can be before moving on.

"I'm getting cold, Hotch." Spencer prompts, impatiently pulling his arm away from Hotch to place it back around himself. "Can I just get in?"

Hotch nods, once again pulling Spencer very carefully to his feet, gesturing at the boxer shorts he still wears. Spencer shakes he head, and Hotch shrugs. Years of sports, locker rooms, and boarding school, followed by training at the academy, mean Hotch isn't precious about nudity, and can't see the point of showering in underwear, but he leaves it alone.

"Do I have to stand? What happened to the shower chair, Hotch?" Spencer asks as he's guided over the edge of the bathtub and under the shower spray.

"We don't need it." Hotch replies, reaching up to adjust the shower head, keeping hold of Spencer's bicep with his other hand. "The doctor and physiotherapist agree that standing some is good for you. Im right here, I won't let you fall."

Spencer huffs at that, and Hotch knows that he's tired and sore, and he feels a pang of guilt but tamps it down. For the greater good, Spencer needs to get on board with his own recovery, or Hotch will have to force him to.

After ensuring Spencer is steady on his feet, Hotch grabs a washcloth and the bar of soap wetting both under the water while Spencer leans on the wall under the shower spray. There is no resistance from the other man as Hotch moves in to run the cloth over his back, massaging as he goes trying to subtly soothe and provide some comfort. He goes slowly, giving Spencer time to let the hot water relax him, and hoping he will relish in the break from the pile of maps and case files he has been pouring over obsessively. Again, Hotch worries over Spencer's prominent rib cage, and sharply jutting hip bones, making note to try and tempt his appetite with the sugary desserts he loves. The situation is taking a toll on the younger agent, and his attempts to channel all of his fear, pain and trauma into his work may not be working as well as he wants.

Drawing himself away from his thoughts, Hotch warns, "I'm going to wash your legs ok? I'll be careful, but I need you to steady yourself. Can you stand up straight and brace yourself on the wall? So I know you won't fall."

Spencer obliges wearily, bracing his right arm against the shower wall and closing his eyes. Spencer doesn't like Hotch to touch anywhere near the injury on his thigh, but the area needs to be kept clean so Hotch carefully wipes around it anyway.

Once Spencer's body is soaped up, Hotch gives him a chance to rinse, while he works shampoo into Spencer's tangled hair, noting that he should offer to brush it for him. He uses his fingertips to rub all over Spencer's scalp, smiling, but not commenting as he leans into the touch.

Maybe he's overthinking, but Hotch is self aware enough to question his motives in wanting to make Spencer feel good. In this moment, it is having an all too pleasurable effect on him. Spencer's vulnerability, in opposition to his recently irascible nature is igniting a feeling in him that he recognizes even if he hasn't felt it in a long time…the same feeling he got being close to Hayley in the early days of falling in love. The thrill it gave him when she allowed him to take control, to hold and touch her in ways that required a deeper form of trust.

There is a stirring low in his belly, a spreading warmth that is accompanied by a shiver, that runs from his neck all the way down his spine as he recalls Spencer's words from back in Green's bedroom…you could fall in love with anyone if you open your mind to the possibility…the earnest speech, the meaningful look that Hotch had understood then, but not the way he is understanding it now. Right now, this second, he isn't seeing the practical, only the possible. Just like with Hayley when he had met her and known he would marry her no matter what it took.

Turning his back under the guise of finding the conditioner, Hotch subtly tugs at his sweatpants which feel tight where they didn't before, and coughs to loosen the lump in his throat.

"You ok?" Spencer asks, squinting at him now. It's true that Spencer misses social cues, but he reads body language as well as anyone Hotch knows, and he is afraid that he is giving far too much away with his unfocused gaze, hunched stance, and heated cheeks.

"Ya-uh, I mean yes." Hotch tugs at his pants again, praying that Spencer will think his red face is from the steamy heat in the bathroom. "Just…thinking."

Turing back to the shower, he averts his eyes from Spencer's inquisitive ones, pouring conditioner into his hand as an excuse for looking away. He can feel Spencer continuing to study him, as he pauses to turn his thoughts forcibly to anything that will calm both his racing heartbeat, and the rush of blood to his groin.

"Conditioner and then done, I think." Hotch manages, reaching too quickly to apply the conditioner, making Spencer shrink back a bit. "Sorry," he apologizes.

"It's fine." Spencer replies, still staring at him questioningly, but keeping any thoughts to himself.

"Ok. Let's finish so we can talk." Hotch tells him, with a nervous smile, that Spencer is all too quick to misinterpret.

"Why me?" Kate asks, slinging her go bag onto her shoulder as she follows JJ out of the building.

JJ appraises her over one shoulder without missing a step. They are on a tight timeline to meet the jet, and JJ doesn't want to run into any delays.

"This is what you're good at Kate," she responds, with tempered good grace. "Whatever you're thinking, stop. I chose you, us, because we can be delicate. We are about to dredge up a lot of memories for parents who would likely rather forget. Who would you send?"

Scrunching her nose, Kate thinks about it. Maybe it is that simple. "Fine, good point. I really do want to help JJ." She insists.

"You know Kate, the only person doubting that right now is you." JJ points out, speeding up as they reach the parking garage. "We need to think about what we hope to accomplish from this."

Faintly annoyed by JJ's first comment, Kate shakes it off and considers the last statement.

"We need to connect Amelia to Ryan, beyond a doubt." Kate muses. "If Amelia wasn't his mystery woman then his death is tragic but nothing to do with us. Can we verify that without bothering his parents?"

JJ grimaces, heading for her car in the parking garage. "It would be nice, but I doubt it." JJ fishes her keys out of her bag. "He didn't have any friends to speak of. We can try his track and field coach. According to the police report Ryan confided in him. They don't say what about."

Kate and JJ slide into opposite sides of the car, bags tossed in the back.

"If someone can verify that Amelia was his secret girlfriend, then what?" Kate wonders aloud.

"I'm not sure," JJ answers, starting the car and pulling out. "It's a very small town. Someone must have known her. Anything we can learn about her would be a bonus."

"Maybe." Kate says doubtfully. "I'm still not sure we will be a lot farther ahead. It's unlikely she left a forwarding address."

"Don't give up before we start, Kate." JJ warns, with a pointed look. "This is what we do. How many times have we struck gold by just asking around?"

"Wouldn't we be better off talking to Cole Rainville?" Kate questions. "Amelia was his girlfriend for two years and he lived to tell about it." She finishes grimly.

"Funding apparently." JJ says. "Dave says Cruz won't authorize the trip to Ontario when Cole has already told the local police what he knows."

"The North West Territories is ok, though?" Kate asks, confused.

"Pretty sure that Dave didn't ask this time. He plans to justify it by presenting Ryan's suicide as a murder is my guess." JJ looks over to Kate to share a wink, "and, by then we will have stopped in Ontario on our way back."

Kate smiles, and JJ turns her full attention to the road, as they pull out of the parking lot and head for the airport.

Finished with the shower and back in the bedroom, Hotch is trying to get Spencer dressed, while having to actively avoid being bombarded by his thoughts from the bathroom. Did they mean what he thought they might, and if so, was it something he could act on? After being in love with his wife for so many years…and there was Jack to think about, and work…

"There can you get your arms in?" Hotch says talking to interrupt his own internal battle. He just pulled Spencer's shirt down over his head and is crouching to work on his socks next.

"Hotch, can we please just talk?" Spencer has gone from being unsure about what to say, to knowing if he doesn't get it out in the open, he is going to lose his mind. He kicks his foot a little in irritation because Hotch is currently taking forever to turn a sock right side out.

"I can do that Hotch." Spencer objects, reaching to snatch the socks from Hotch's hands.

"Oh?" Hotch raises an eyebrow. "You want to bend down here while you're still healing from abdominal surgery? For the noble purpose of putting your socks on with one hand because the other one is healing from significant nerve damage? Seriously, Spencer there is nothing wrong with needing help, and I'm happy to do it."

Spencer grunts an unintelligible response, sitting back and allowing Hotch to finish.

"And you can go ahead. I'm listening." Hotch tells him, from where he is on the floor, still fussing with the socks.

Reaching behind him on the bed, Spencer drags his journal closer, unfolding the map he had tucked inside until he was ready to share what he's been working on.

"Can you take this and spread it out on the desk?" He holds the map out to Hotch who has just finished pulling Spencer's pant legs over his feet. "It will be easier than trying to unfold it on the bed." Never mind that that's how Spencer has been working the last couple nights, using the dim light from the bedside lamp after Hotch has fallen asleep.

"Yes, I can but we need to get your pants on first."

Spencer can't help but roll his eyes at the continued use of the pronoun 'we', since Hotch is doing all the work and Spencer is just going along with it. Hotch thinks it makes him feel like part of the process, but what it really does is make him feel like a toddler. Shrugging it off, Spencer accepts Hotch's help to stand, blushing only slightly as the older man makes short work of tugging his pants up and into place. He is quick to remind himself that replacing his wet underwear had been much worse.

Hotch grabs the cursed cane for Spencer to lean on, then takes the map from his hand, clearing off the accumulated clutter from the desk, so he can lay it out flat. He studies the marks, notes, and intersecting lines with apparent interest, and some confusion, while he waits for Spencer to limp his way over.

"Ok, so what is all this Spencer?" Hotch asks, without looking up from the map in front of him. "There's a lot going on here…these lines go nowhere, and I can't read the writing here," he says dubiously, pointing to one of Spencer's scrawled notes. "I'm not sure I know what I'm looking at."

"It's a geographical profile, Hotch." Spencer snaps, unreasonably insulted and feeling defensive. "It's what I was good at before everyone lost faith in me and stopped asking my opinion."

The stern look he receives makes him quail but Spencer refuses to backtrack. Hotch may be his superior, but the team works because everyone uses their individual strengths, everyone is integral, and everyone has a role. They can't keep dismissing his. "I am an excellent profiler, Hotch. I may not be good at kicking down doors and tackling suspects like the rest of you, but this," he waves a hand at the map. "This is what I do, and it has proved invaluable in solving many BAU cases in the past. You didn't even ask me this time."

Hotch's frown becomes more of a glare. Impassioned though that speech may be, it was also insubordinate, and Hotch wasn't having it. "When, sir, should I have asked? Between the first and second surgery to save your life? After, when you couldn't get out of bed because it took all of your strength and endurance just to manage the pain without narcotics?" Spencer flinches at the harsh tone, and the memory. "You are only working because of my intervention, so I would thank you to remember who you are talking to."

Spencer sucks in a shaky breath, hurt by the words, even if he deserved them. He can't bring himself to look at Hotch, so he stares down at the map, tracing the lines with his eyes, waiting until he knows his voice won't crack to speak again.

A few tense minutes pass, then Hotch sighs loudly. He does that a lot lately. "I am your biggest supporter, Spencer, in almost everything." His face is a mix of hurt and concern. "I don't doubt your abilities. You know that."

"Well, maybe you should!" Spencer exclaims too loudly. "You don't get it, Hotch." Spencer lowers his tone to a more professional level, breathing hard, trying to stay in control. "She-back in the shed when-anyway, she told me that I had underestimated her, and she was right. Specifically, she told me I wasn't the only genius in the world…we never accounted for that when we tried to profile her. For how intelligent she really is."

Hotch is watching him, still bristling, but he gentles his voice anyway.

"Ok, so make me get it Spencer."

Spencer shifts to lean into the desk, hand tightening around the cane in his right hand. He intended to start with the map and build from there. This was going all wrong.

"Let's just go over the map. I'll explain what I've got and -"

Hotch cuts him off, putting a hand over the map and commanding, "no, let's keep going. You were finally going to tell me what's bothering you."

Pressing his lips together, Spencer tries to ignore the cornered feeling and keep in mind that Hotch is his partner. He needs to know what Spencer is thinking. At least about the case.

"Our profile was incomplete, and we had no business relying on it in the field." Spencer states, thinking back to the car on that first fateful trip to the Appleby Farm. He had been on the right track, they were chasing Benton, but he wasn't the real problem. "It wasn't my call, but we had no business storming the Appleby farm."

Hotch's face hardens, lips tightening, back stiffening. "No, it wasn't your call. We were trying to save Rebecca's life, if you remember Spencer."

"Yes!" Spencer shoots back. "Yes, we did what we had to, I'm not denying that, but we didn't end up saving anyone, did we Hotch?" More softly he repeats. "Did we?"

Hotch is speechless. The truth behind Spencer's statement hits hard and brings all his insecurities rushing back to the surface. Back from where he had buried them, with all his guilt and recriminations.

Spencer is currently staring at him, waiting for a response, or maybe his ok to go on.

"She's smart, Hotch," Spencer says tentatively. He knew his words were hurting Hotch. He hadn't necessarily meant for that to be the case. "So smart, and she's still here. I know you think she's left, but you're wrong. I can show you."

"You can show me where she is?" Hotch is incredulous.

"No, of course not. I'd never keep that from you. Obviously." Spencer revises.

"No, just everything else you're feeling. And doing." Hotch mutters, turning back to the map.

Spencer's jaw practically drops at the injustice of that. Hotch has hardly been open and willing to talk, having secret conversations with the team, freezing Spencer out on the drive to the prison, changing the subject to avoid getting too real, like they did back at Green's house.

"That's not fair! You can barely look at me since the attack! You treat me like an-an- obligation, not your partner! Babysitting me until I give into my addiction, is that it?" Spencer is incensed and done with holding back. "I might look broken Hotch, but I am far from it! I am right here, and I can work this case! I can make it right. You don't have to feel sorry for me!"

"An obligation? That's what you think this is?" Hotch is flabbergasted.

"No, not at first." Spencer responds truthfully. "But since Green's house, and what I said-God I'd take it back if I could Hotch! I don't know what I was thinking, I got caught up, and it was unprofessional-but God Hotch, I can't have you look at me like-"

"Don't!" Hotch cuts him off, grabbing him by his upper arms, too roughly, and giving him a shake. "Please, don't take it back Spencer…I'm sorry that I'm not good at this, I wanted to say…well I don't know what I wanted to say, something but it's all so…"

Their faces are inches from each other, Hotch's hands are tight enough on Spencer's arms to hurt, but he doesn't dare say anything. He is frozen, confused but also hopeful.

Hotch moves one hand to Spencer's hair, brushing it back from his face, then lets the same hand slide to the back of his neck. "Can I-will you let me try something?" Hotch's voice is breathy, and there is something desperate and almost predatory in his eyes. Spencer can only offer a nearly imperceptible nod, unclear what is happening, but he doesn't hesitate, he wants to find out.

There is no more thinking, as Hotch pulls Spencer close, so close that Spencer can feel his breath, and appreciate the flecks of gold in his deep, brown eyes, that are so sincerely wanting. All reason is pushed aside, and Spencer would let him take everything he has to give…and then their lips are touching, like a whisper, a promise, a prayer, spoken and then gone, leaving behind just the wish.

"Time, Spencer," Hotch breathes out, as Spencer breathes in, overwhelmed but wanting more. Hotch's hand tightens on the back of Spencer's neck. "I just need a bit of time…can you give me that?"

Notes:

:O Anybody else have a mushy grin on their face reading that last scene? *swoon* I definitely did, every time I read it, which was a lot, this went back and forth a couple of times between TC and I. lol I love the possibility of more, but the crazy uncertainty, yikes! How does a man who was in all outwards appearance very straight his entire life flip a switch and fall in love with a male co-worker? Well as we see with Hotch's last words, that he needs time, it's not as easy as flipping a switch.

What comes next? Where do they go from here? How do they exist together with this hanging between them? Be the first to find out by hitting that favourite button. Don't forget to leave us some feedback! We really do want to know what you think, don't be shy, please comment.

~CC~