Note: This was co-authored with the amazingly awesome terriblycontrite!
Chapter 25
Now We Leave
"Wake up." The voice is soft but demanding, speaking directly into his ear, where he is lost in a thick fog.
"Wake up. Help your friend." The same voice, urgent but not desperate, smooth as silk but strangely devoid of kindness. Squinting at the light even through his eyelids, he registers pain that urges him to stay lost and floating, weightless, and warm.
"Hey! Come on now." Reality closes in with the voice, drawing him mercilessly back to where he's needed, recollection crashing against reverie.
Something is yanked tight around his arm, igniting a searing pain that burns a path all the way to his fingertips and back, and he finds his voice in a strangled scream before agony settles to a throbbing ache. Nausea threatens to overwhelm him, and the sound of lilting laughter confuses him, then he is shifted forcibly upright by firm hands.
"Open your eyes, Agent Hotchner." The voice is back, insistent, not to be ignored, and he is shaken roughly before something is pressed into his open palm. He tries to follow the order, catching flashes of movement and color as he slowly blinks leaden eyelids, trying to make sense of his surroundings.
He hears a door open, then shut, somewhere behind him and then a new voice. This one triggers a memory of guns, shattering glass, and falling…
"911 what's your emergency?"
His emergency…it might be that he's dying, or it might be that Spencer is already dead… breathing suddenly rapid, awareness returning, adrenaline surging, one coherent thought pushing him to move…Spencer…he has to move, he has to get to Spencer…
"911…what is your emergency?"
Dave is left clutching his cell phone, completely flabbergasted, in need of several seconds to gather his wits and execute a plan. What he wants is to fly straight to Utah, collect their wayward leader and his charge, then never let them out of his sight again; what he does is send the girls and the jet asap, because Cruz has ordered them all off the Amelia Porter case, and he needs to deal with the deteriorating situation at headquarters.
"How the hell did it happen Hotch?" Dave exclaimed seconds ago on the phone, his relief warring with outrage. "How did you get out of there alive?"
"Dave I-" Hotch started, seemed to reconsider, then said. "I can't talk about it right now."
"No? Well you had a front row seat to how dangerous she is, we provoked her by flushing her out of her home, so you knew she was volatile, and still the two of you thought…damn it! What were you thinking Aaron!"
He was met with silence on the line, so he softened his voice with some effort.
"Hotch this isn't you. This is not how you work," Dave pleaded, "for the love of God, tell me where your head is at?"
"I was thinking I couldn't let him live with it! Not like I had to, Dave!" Hotch snapped, then immediately lowered his voice to continue. "With her constantly in the back of his mind, always looking over his shoulder…Dave! I thought we would catch her, he needed to catch her. It wasn't just about the arrest! It was about freedom! It…was."
Dave winced, rubbing at his brow. There were a hundred things he wanted to say, but his reassurance would fall on deaf ears right now.
"You aren't chasing anything now." Dave told him with finality instead, even though he had no authority to give orders to his chief. "JJ and Kate are heading your way with the jet, I'll talk to Cruz, smooth things over. That's what I can do for you." He made sure his tone brokered no room for argument. "You will get on the plane with Spencer and the girls, you hear me? That's what you can do for me…will you do that?"
Another long pause, where Dave could hear Hotch breathing, deciding. The man wouldn't lie to him, so Dave waited for his honest answer.
"Ya-I mean yes. Yes." Hotch stammered, finally. "We will be on the plane."
Dave accepted that with a nod Hotch couldn't see. "Stay at the hospital. I'm telling you to stay there. Wait for JJ and Kate. Got it?"
There was a tired sigh that contained a lot of unspoken feeling. Dave should be there; he knew he should. He is the only person Hotch might accept some much needed comfort from…but the jet is in Canada, speed is of the essence, so JJ and Kate will have to do.
"I'm not going anywhere." Hotch swore, with an uncharacteristic sniff. "Neither is Spencer."
Right after hanging up Dave immediately dialed JJ, even as he hurried out of his office to intercept Cruz, praying that Hotch would be true to his word.
Aaron hunches over, elbows propped on knees, clutching his head in his hands. He is desperate to stop the barrage of terrifying images, what if's, and self recrimination, he's been dealing with ever since the ambulance arrived, taking Spencer's fate out of his hands for a second time. His talk with Dave hadn't made him feel any better. He had felt persecuted, his authority under fire by the mentor he counts on. Hotch understands that he put them all on a collision course with disaster, and that Dave is right to question his judgement, but he can't help feeling hurt all the same.
Straightening up with a sigh, he looks to the hospital bed where Spencer is tucked, peacefully unconscious. The doctor assured him Spencer's injuries are minor, considering, and that the second head injury combined with exhaustion, are what's keeping him from waking. His body is simply claiming the rest it needs to heal, and that's good; for the moment Spencer is safe, Hotch has eyes on him, and he doesn't need to know that Cruz has pulled them off the Amelia Porter case entirely.
Hotch grimaces thinking about what an impossible conversation that will be. He has no words that will curb Spencer's obsession, stop it growing with every lead, and mutating with every dead end. It will take more than an order to keep Spencer from being enslaved by his need for closure, Hotch knows that better than anyone.
Perturbed by his thoughts, Hotch forces himself to his feet, groaning at the reminder of his own injuries. He cradles his arm in its sling, and squints against the insistent throbbing from his head, but he knows he's lucky. The bullet tore cleanly through his upper arm, missing the bone and major blood vessels, and he will heal with barely a scar. God knows, he's had worse injuries in his career, and though the pain is significant, its not what keeps him from giving in to sleep. No, what is really bothering him is that they stumbled into an ambush, very narrowly escaped, and that they owe their lives to a psychopath…it is crystal clear now that Amelia never left the area, they are on her radar, and if she wanted them dead, they would be, so she must want something else.
Moving stiffly to Spencer's side Hotch uses one finger to smooth the furrow in Spencer's brow…the one that's always there but deepens when he's thinking. He continues tracing the line of his prominent jaw to his full lips, soft and inviting, pressing his thumb there for a moment, longing to see Spencer's goofy grin light up a room again. He wants to tease him about his untameable hair, how well he wears a sweater vest, and the telling way he bites his lip when he's nervous. There is nothing Hotch doesn't like about the man in front of him, from his rambling awkwardness to his outright stubbornness. He doubts Spencer knows just how much he admires him, that Hotch tries to temper his hardness by emulating Spencer's softer ways, or that he credits Spencer with saving him after Hayley's death crippled him with guilt.
Standing here looking down on his sleeping friend, Hotch lets himself remember what it was like to fall in love, thoughts that are nowhere near professional. On the contrary, his desire to protect Spencer from Amelia, the job, the world, is entirely personal, and it could lead them both into a different kind of trouble. If he were awake, and Hotch gave voice to his thoughts, Spencer would claim that it isn't Hotch's job to shelter him, that he's an agent in his own right and capable of looking after himself. He would go on to rant about being independent his whole life, taking care of a mentally ill parent, attending college at age 12. Spencer would never accept that as unit chief, the team's mistakes were his mistakes, or allow him to beat himself up for his perceived shortcomings. All that would do precious little to alleviate the desperation roiling in Hotch's gut, though. The thought of Spencer back in the field, risking his life in a hopeless pursuit is too much, because wherever Amelia is, she is watching them, and she is not about to let herself be caught.
Hotch's lack of contact weighs heavy on JJ's mind, especially after Dave's call, but she is trained to stay focused, on task, and in control of what she can control. Currently, she and Kate are trying to sort out how Amelia could possibly have facilitated the snowmobilers demise, and track down the missing journal that might answer that question.
"No answer on Charlotte's cell, and the long term care home where she works says she's not on shift." Kate informs with a huff, tossing her phone onto the bed. "We may need to drop by in person. Might be better anyway, harder to lie to our faces."
"Hmmn…seems like she already did lie to our faces," JJ hums, forehead creased, distracted by the news article she's pulled up online. "Here, Kate, listen…'Three Dead in Tragic Accident Sunday Night'" She reads aloud, scanning the page. "Looks like they left the marked snowmobile trail after dark and ran into some deadfall, the locals wrote it off as poor judgement, nothing criminal…no mention of alcohol involvement, though you'd wonder."
Kate gives JJ a dubious look. "Is poor judgement code for reckless? Because I'd think a pile of logs, branches, and leaves would be fairly noticeable."
"Two snowmobiles and three riders…it sounds pretty brutal, Kate. The first two riders were run over by the third after being thrown from their sled…they died from a combination of their wounds and hypothermia, they weren't found until the next morning…third one broke his neck when he collided with a tree and was killed instantly. Geez." JJ shivers and pulls the blanket she's wrapped in, tighter around her shoulders. She swears she's been cold since she got here.
Kate drops herself into the desk chair by the electric fireplace, thinking that over. "How would Amelia and Ryan make that happen?"
JJ wonders that herself, but its not like they haven't seen stranger things in their careers.
"I guess they could have piled the deadfall, disguised it somehow, but they would had to have known where the boys would be. We need to check to see if they frequented the same area…they could have lured them off the trail maybe?" JJ is just throwing suggestions out even if it they don't sound all that plausible.
"We need the last journal. Maybe it's all laid out in writing, or it could even be a confession. There must be a reason Charlotte didn't want us to have it." Kate answers, back to leafing through one of the journals they do have. "Hey, it's conceivable that Ryan happened to witness the accident. If it took all night for two of the boys to die, his guilt could stem from inaction, not action."
That made sense, Ryan had a snowmobile, he could have been out riding too. But it didn't explain the disillusionment with Annie at around the same time, if she in fact, had nothing to do with the deaths. She says as much to Kate.
"She might have been with him, maybe stopped him from helping. Or his guilt turned everything else sour." Kate puts forth, making a face "It happens when you just can't get over a thing."
JJ's head comes up, and she studies Kate critically. "Are you talking about Ryan? Or the team?" She asks gently.
Kate picks at a fingernail, breathing out in a steady sigh as she actively avoids JJ's steady gaze on her. "Ryan. But I guess it applies to my situation too."
JJ gets up to move to the end of the bed, close enough to rest a hand on Kate's leg. In truth, JJ is torn. What happened to Spencer bugs the hell out of her, but the way the case got away from them is no more Kate's fault than anyone else's. Even if it were, blame is counter productive, nothing but a distraction from the real issue, which is that their suspect is running circles around them.
"Kate, listen-"
"I'm leaving, JJ." Kate cuts her off, her tone defeated, frowning down at her hands in her lap. "I want to finish this, then I'm transferring back to the sex crimes unit. It's all set up."
Shocked for a second JJ pulls her hand back, not sure how to feel. To give up so easily feels like a betrayal, and to not even talk to the team certainly doesn't feel like trust, but she is sure it won't be productive to say.
"Kate, whatever you're feeling, I'm not sure that's the right thing." JJ says slowly, careful with her choice of words. "The team took a big hit. Give us all a chance to work through it."
Kate bites her lip, still not meeting JJs eyes. "I thought this through, JJ. I'm not a good fit, and…well it's going to be ok." She claps her hands together, determined to move on. "But first I need to see this case through, so let's get going."
Not entirely happy with the abrupt end to the conversation, JJ stands anyway, drawing her breath in and biting her tongue. "Should we start with Charlotte then?"
Kate gives a nod, standing and grabbing her coat. "Back out in the cold." She says, regretfully, even as she heads for the door.
Just as JJ is about to stuff her phone in her pocket, it rings, and her hopes soar as she glances at the screen, but it's Dave not Hotch.
"Hey, Dave any word yet?" She answers, hitting speaker and waving Kate back to her. They listen with growing horror to Dave admonish them to be safe, but to change their flight plan and get to Salt Lake City asap.
"Do you know what Rossi asked me?" Garcia pounces on Derek before he makes it through the entrance to her tech cave, causing him to stumble backward, catching himself on the door frame. In other circumstances Derek might have been annoyed, but Penelope is a special case, and he's used to her particular brand of drama.
Taking Garcia gently by the shoulder, he guides her back into the room, nudging her toward a chair. "Alright, mama, I'll bite, what did Rossi say that's got those gorgeous feathers of yours so ruffled?" He asks with mock seriousness, smoothing her perfectly styled hair with one hand.
Garcia gives him a withering glare, but he decides their relationship is long standing enough that he can continue teasing her anyway.
"Did he propose?" Derek jokes, forcing his features into a grim expression. "Homing in on my territory and you'd like me to go Outsiders and invite him to a rumble?"
Garcia turns away, suppressing a grin that would reward Derek's childish behaviour.
"No, you foolishly handsome man," she says dryly. "None of the above. You will never believe what I am reasonably sure he hinted at! Not if I gave you a million guesses." She crosses her arms, and he quirks an eyebrow wondering if she's actually going to make him divine the answer.
"Alright, baby girl. Hit me with it, what did the old man say?"
She gets up and hustles to close the door, and then rounds on him, wringing her hands as if she's having trouble containing her excitement.
"Derek!" She squeals, "he practically told me that Hotch and Spencer are a 'thing'! Can you believe that?! It's completely outrageous!" She bites her lip, shuffling her feet, unable to keep still waiting for his reaction. "Well?! Can you?!"
Derek sighs inwardly. He would prefer not to engage in this conversation, but Penelope is standing between him and the door. "Well duh, smart girl."
Penelope's jaw drops, and Derek takes the reprieve while she splutters to get his jacket off, sit down, and brace for the screeching explosion.
"Derek Morgan! You had better tell me everything you know this instant!" She recovers quicker than he thought and stamps one high heeled shoe, moving to get right in his face. "I am scandalized, and if you have been keeping essential team gossip from me, I-well-I'll be doubly scandalized!"
Holding his hands up defensively, Derek shakes his head. "Hey, I have no insider info, but you have some serious change blindness if you didn't see the Rotchner love train coming at you." Derek smirks, turning away to leaf through the clutter on the desk in front of him.
Penelope's eyes widen a comical amount. "Are you kidding me?!" She shrieks, and Derek flinches at the high pitch, closing one eye and leaning away. "Why on planet earth would I ever see that coming!" She pauses then tilts her head, mouth forming a tight line. "You gave them a couple name? How long have you known? I know your mother taught you to share Mr. Morgan, so what made you think you could keep this from me!"
"Whoa! I don't 'know' anything and I'm happier that way." Derek defends himself, glancing at her over his shoulder. "But I see the way Spencer looks at him, PG, you should have too."
Penelope begins to pace behind him, one hand pressed to her forehead, the other on her hip. "Hotch is his mentor, he admires him. We all do, Derek, of course he looks at him a certain way…but not that way! Does he? Seriously? Is it that way, Derek? Derek!" Another stomp of her foot indicates that she is less than pleased with his lack of attention.
Derek grins wickedly, giving his chair a casual spin. "Ya, sure but let it be said, that I don't admire him quite the way Spencer does, if you catch my drift." He expects the whack he gets to the back of his head, but he is suddenly focused on what's in front of him. "Hey, PG what's all this?" He holds up a handful of police reports.
"Gah! You frustrating man!" Garcia grinds out. "I'm going to get to that, but you don't think they're…Hotch is straight! He had a wife…there was Beth for a few minutes…"
With an exaggerated sigh Derek turns back to her, papers resting in his lap. "PG think about it. Spencer used to be intimated by Hotch, now he bolts for his office the second we finish a case…when we have to share hotel rooms, he goes with Hotch, not me." He gives her a moment to process that. "Hotch drives Spencer home, even when he's not leaving himself," Derek searches for other examples to make his point. "Did you know our boy wonder is authorized to pick up Hotch's kid from school? Which he does, whenever Jessica can't. And Beth? That was going strong until Spencer started stomping around here all sad puppy eyes, then suddenly she's on a plane to Hong Kong, and Hotch is laughing it off like she's last weeks problem? He dropped her like she was burning his hand…come on, girl, you can't tell me you haven't noticed?"
Penelope is staring at him, wide eyed, with horror. "Oh…my…God!" She draws out the words, clearly stunned and trying to rationalize her inattention to detail. "None of that is proof of anything, though." She shakes her head forcefully. "Neither one of them is gay! There was Maeve, and Hayley was Hotch's great love, what the heck Derek!" She recovers, back to shouting at him.
He clucks his tongue. "Oh, oh, oh look at my baby girl using that big brain and coming up small minded." He ribs, wanting more than anything to close the subject now. "Think outside the box, babe…gay, straight, it's all just feelings, and the heart wants what it wants."
Penelope shakes her head again, emphatically. "No! Come on though, what would people think of us and the way we talk? If they didn't know us."
Derek is ready for that. "People would likely think we were dating, but…" he pauses for effect, " a profiler would know exactly what was going on, just like this profiler does." Derek gives her a more serious look. "Besides, he invited Spencer to move in with him, geez PG."
Penelope flings herself into her own chair beside him, clearly frustrated. "Ah!" She objects, giving him a pinch on the arm. "Spencer is injured. That's what that was. It made sense. You can't use that."
Derek stealthily wheels his chair out of pinching range, raising an eyebrow. "Hey! Hands to yourself, missy. And sure, but he could have stayed with me. Hotch shut me down real quick when I offered."
Penelope is contemplative, staring at the blank screen in front of her, fingers twisting at her chunky beaded necklace. "Just…wow…" she breathes after a moment. "My mind is totally blown, Derek."
Derek is reading the police report in his hands, giving her time to process and come to the same conclusion he did long ago.
"I'm not sure it's right, PG." He confesses, keeping his eyes on the page. "Hotch is the chief, it's misconduct for one thing. The bureau won't allow it, and Spencer is smitten…he doesn't have a lot of experience with this sort of thing, and Hotch does so he shouldn't lead him on…and baby girl what is this? More murders?" He holds up the report he's been reading.
Clearing her throat, clearly distracted, she waves in his direction. "Oh, yes. That's what I found after you left this morning. Dave doesn't think it's worth pursuing though." She pulls herself up in her seat, clicking her computer on, entirely too subdued for his liking now.
"It's not our business, PG. That's why I've never said anything." Derek says after a time, sensing that she's genuinely upset with him. "Maybe I'm wrong anyway, so let's work. Ok?" He reaches over to squeeze her hand. She nods, reluctantly.
"Of course, hot stuff. Let's work." Penelope allows reaching for her keyboard, then pausing she adds, "you know, misconduct or not, I think it would be a great thing. For both of them."
Kate and JJ have no choice but to leave their investigation unfinished, not even stopping long enough to collect the last journal, they are truly hoping exists. Kate drives their borrowed car, and JJ spends most of the time on her phone, talking to their pilot, Rossi, and trying to get Hotch on the phone.
"Still no answer?" Kate asks, when JJ sets down the phone between calls.
"No, Dave says they've been admitted to the hospital though, so I hope they're just sleeping. I really would love to hear their voices, though." JJ finds herself holding back tears, tired and admittedly daunted by everything going on. They have all been wearing themselves out on this case, working double time to fix something that JJ is beginning think can't be fixed. "Anyway, take off is in 20 minutes, the pilot is ready and waiting, we are landing in Seattle to refuel instead of waiting to do it here, then straight to Salt Lake City. We should be there by early morning."
Kate smiles, sincerely JJ thinks, both of them glad to be bringing Hotch and Reid home, but torn because they are leaving behind the small amount of progress they managed to make in this case.
"You'll be glad to see them." Kate comments, eyes on the road. JJ turns to look out her window, nodding in acknowledgement. It doesn't feel right to have the team separated, and that line of thinking leads to a pang of guilt about Kate's plans to leave them.
"Yes, I miss Spence a lot." JJ acknowledges softly, realizing how true it is. She's has been trying not to dwell on it, then grinning in spite of herself, "Hotch too of course. We need the whole team." She glances pointedly at Kate.
Kate laughs at that. "Of course, Hotch is the backbone." She sobers quickly though, her face growing worried. "He and I haven't talked since Spencer was…attacked. I don't know if I'm looking forward to that, JJ."
Tugging at her coat to adjust it, JJ considers that. "Hotch may not be the warmest person I've known, but he is the most rational. Talk to him, give him a chance, before you make a final decision, Kate. He might surprise you." JJ reaches over to brush Kate's shoulder, trying to offer her solidarity, even if the brunt of her loyalty will always be with Spencer.
The rest of the drive is silent, and after that it doesn't take long for them to get in the air. It's already getting dark, and JJ makes herself as comfortable as she can, hoping for sleep.
Spencer regains consciousness all at once in the early hours of the morning, springing from deep sleep to cruel awareness in a flash, hands flying to his throat, gasping, at the same time his mouth gapes, only to find no sound comes out. Growing more panicked by the second, he thrashes wildly, heart racing, struggling to free himself from whatever is holding him down, still trying to scream, but all that comes out is a pathetic raspy wail. He has to get up, defend himself or die on the concrete floor, but his legs are trapped and the sharp pain of trying to jerk free makes him cry out all over again with what voice he can muster-
"Whoa, hush!"
Spencer ignores the warning, arching his back and shoving at the hands holding him down…he can't give up, he can hear echoing laughter, the sound as sinister as it is pleasing, and he knows he has to try…
"Hey! No, you're going to hurt yourself. Spencer stop!"
The hands are on his shoulders, not around his throat, pinning him, and he wants to keep fighting but through his confusion he realizes this is the person he needs, the voice he's dying to hear…
"Aaron!" He moans, blinking rapidly, trying to focus on the face looming over him. His thoughts are jumbled, but if Aaron is here, then he isn't dead.
"Yes, I'm right here. We're in the hospital. You're ok." Hotch's voice is placating, and Spencer grabs at him wanting to be sure he's real. He grips Hotch's arm so tight he hears Hotch hiss, and mutter under his breath.
"You-you are? Are you? Aaron you were…I thought…" Spencer voice is tight, difficult to force out, and he doesn't really want to say what he thought anyway. The hands, Hotch's hands, stop restraining him, give him a pat on his head, then move to untangle what he now knows are bedsheets, from his ankles. Spencer misses the contact, straining to sit up, reaching for Hotch.
"I'm ok too." Hotch assures him, but his voice is strained, and Spencer doesn't entirely believe him. "Just, please, try to calm down." Another pat to his head, and Spencer leans into the touch. Eyes open now, he stares up at Hotch, back to clutching his arm, relief washing over him. For a moment he luxuriates in the feeling of safety brought on by Hotch's closeness, his smell, his solidness, it's enough to settle him. But only for a moment.
"Hotch where is she? She was there, in the greenhouse, Hotch, I know she was." Spencer rambles and watches Hotchs face fall. He stops petting Spencer and stands, rubbing at his forehead, as if the question physically hurts him.
"Who, Spencer?" The words are ground out through gritted teeth, and Spencer knows that Hotch is being obtuse for some reason.
"Amelia, she was there! He-the cop-he was strangling me, I knew I was dying Hotch, and he wouldn't let go, I couldn't breathe and then she was there, Hotch!" Spencer hardly believes what he's saying, but he knows it happened. He can rely on his memory, he will never be able to forget, even when he inevitably wants to.
Hotch opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again, presumably thinking better of what he was going to say. His posture slouches as he formulates his response, and Spencer doesn't like how defeated he looks, because that isn't Hotch. Hotch always know what to do.
"I don't know anything more than you do." Hotch admits after a tense pause, meaning he can't deny Amelia's presence, but he won't confirm it either. "I was shot, I fell, I was knocked unconscious, and I woke up thinking you were…" He turns away to clear the lump in his throat, and Spencer reads the slump in his shoulders, the tightness in his neck, for what is; Hotch hiding his own horror at what transpired. "You were covered in blood, his blood, whoever he was, but it scared the hell out of me. Why did you go in without me, Spencer? For Christ sake, you were unarmed!"
Spencer shrinks back into the mattress at Hotch's change in demeanour, but he isn't giving up, even though he mourns the loss of Hotch's touch. "She saved my life," he presses, "he was strangling me, I couldn't breathe…I was sure I was going to die! She killed him to save me, Hotch."
Hotch regards him blankly, dark circles standing out under his eyes, the shadow of a beard, and unkempt hair giving him a ragged appearance. The scrub top he wears is entirely out of place on a man who spends most of his life impeccably dressed. Hands tightening on the bed rail, his mouth twists, and Spencer is certain he's biting back what he really wants to say. Eventually, he turns away, dragging himself back to the nearby cot, pulling the call bell on his way.
"Let the nurse take your vitals, and the doctor will examine you." Hotch tells him lying down carefully, arm resting on his chest, and closing his eyes. "We both need to sleep, and then we can talk."
Spencer struggles to sit, fails, and lies back down. "No, Hotch please, I can't go back to sleep. Please, come back over here." He tries, wincing at his own volume and the stiffness in his limbs.
Hotch doesn't budge from his spot. "Not now, Spencer. I'm relieved to see you awake, but I'm too tired right now."
Spencer turns on his side to try again to convince Hotch to talk. He isn't going to sleep. But before he can beseech a response from Hotch, the nurse is there, urging him onto his back, asking him how he feels, and assuring him the doctor will be in soon. He keeps his gaze trained on his boss, wanting him close because his chest is tight with unease, afraid he's out of Hotch's good graces. He can't help but want to understand what happened, or why Hotch doesn't want the same thing.
Cursing himself for being childish, he closes his stinging eyes and tries not to focus on the image of the fake cops face above him, ugly, leering, until suddenly he isn't…and it's the cop who's dying, and Spencer can breathe again because that's what Amelia wants; it's her game and they get to play, like it or not.
After landing in Salt Lake City, Kate and JJ waste no time clearing security, their badges expediting the process, in the early hours of a Thursday morning. They are met at the airstrip by a tired looking local officer, not the sheriff himself, and given the keys to a borrowed vehicle. It's hard to tell whether the locals would prefer to have them gone or are somewhat bitter that the FBI is pulling out, case unsolved, the death of one of their own unanswered for. For now, JJ shrugs it off, excited to be reunited with Spencer and Hotch after what feels like a lifetime.
"You will wear it, Spencer, that's an order, and I am not discussing it anymore." Hotchs voice is tight with irritation, and JJ thinks she wouldn't bother to answer back. Spencer does, though.
"It bothers me, Hotch." Spencer argues, equally irritated, but not as loud, and in a voice that sounds strained. "You can't order me not to have feelings."
A pause, some shuffling, then Spencer' distressed cry. "She used it to shoot Rebecca! Take it back Hotch. Profilers don't need to carry! You've said so yourself." Another pause and some coughing.
"Profilers in the field do, and you do today." Hotch declares in a tone that JJ definitely wouldn't argue with. Glancing at Kate, JJ asks with her eyes if she thinks they should knock or wait. Kate shrugs, turning her palms skyward.
When there is no more sound from the other side of the door, JJ decides it's safe to make their presence known, giving a brisk knock, not waiting for an answer before opening the door.
Inside, Spencer is sitting up on the side of the bed, still wearing a hospital gown. Hotch is dressed in hospital scrubs, looking entirely displeased. Both of their heads snap toward the door, understandably jumpy, and probably too absorbed in their discussion to have noticed her knock. JJ winces at the visible bruising on Spencer's neck, Hotch's arm in a sling, but schools her reaction, desperately happy to see them in one piece.
"Oh my God, JJ!" Spencer rasps, brightening immediately, Hotch's face softening too. JJ goes straight for Spencer to wrap him in a hug, staying mindful of any injuries she can't see, noting the Smith and Wesson revolver resting next to its holster on the end of the bed.
Kate and Hotch are left to face each other, while Spencer allows JJ to fawn over him. Not knowing what else to do, not having anticipated the awkwardness between them, Hotch reaches to hug her. She accepts, but only briefly, before pulling away with the ghost of a smile. Hotch has just enough time for a fleeting thought about how out of touch he's been with his team, then they are switching. Kate moves to Spencer's side, and JJ latches onto Hotch, squeezing tight, resting her head on his chest.
"How are you really, boss man?" She murmurs, clutching the back of his shirt to keep him close. He rests his chin on top of her head, giving in and hugging back hard.
"I will be just fine. Had worse." He whispers into her hair, suddenly more grateful for her support than he can bear to admit. JJ has always brought a mix of compassion, strength, and integrity to the table, and it has bolstered the team through many tough times. Having her here might just give him room to breathe.
"Not just physically, Hotch." She clarifies, pulling back just enough to look up at him. "How are you really doing?" Intense blue eyes, sizing him up, and he can't lie even if he wants to.
"I'm exhausted, sore, but I will be fine." He tells her, eyes darting to Kate, who is talking earnestly with Spencer. "I promise, I will." Hotch kisses the top of JJs head, but she doesn't let go just yet.
"Dave is worried you know. I'm worried." She whispers, for his ears only. "Don't shut us out, Hotch. You might be the chief, but that doesn't mean we can't be here for you. You're hurt, you have to let me, us, take care of things. Ok?"
Hotch hums noncommittally, giving her hair a playful tug, as he eases her off of him. "Maybe you want to help this one get dressed? I would love to sit down for a minute." He waves to the bed and the clothes laid out at the end of it. "We can go as soon as the doctor officially signs the papers. Make sure he's wearing his gun." Hotch adds, giving Spencer a meaningful look.
Spencer snorts, boldly returning the stare. "We can go when we choose. I am not a hostage, and I can get dressed." The comment comes with more venom than Spencer, or any of them, would generally dare to aim at their boss, JJ notes.
Hotch's face darkens with unspoken warning. "No, you can't. You can go when the doctor says. If you want to get dressed yourself, well, be my guest." Hotch retorts, baiting, in JJ's opinion, which isn't how Hotch would normally respond.
JJ sees the hurt cross Spencer's face, but its gone as quick as it came, and she is equally baffled by Hotch's tolerance, and Spencer's snippiness. Both are out of character for the men, who she has never known to be less than respectful to one another. She isn't sure what exactly is going on, but the tension is palpable, so she sets about getting them out of here. The sooner they are back on the plane, the sooner they will feel more like themselves, back in their element, and away from here. Plus, she is hoping they can have Spencer sneak a look at the journals.
Hotch limps back to his cot and waits until JJ and Kate are busy fussing over Spencer, pants and shirt on, before speaking again. JJ is just kneeling to pull a burgundy argyle sock onto one of Spencer's feet, when Hotch drops the bomb they all knew might be coming, but weren't eager to hear.
"So, Cruz has ordered us off the Amelia Porter case. He was extremely clear. It's finished for us." Hotch informs them, holding up a hand to stop anyone from speaking when all heads swivel his way. "As of now, Spencer is officially on medical leave, and I…" Hotch pauses, wanting to tread carefully because what he has to say won't be well received. "I've been suspended from duty, effective immediately."
Spencer's head shoots up, and he nearly knocks JJ over when he yanks his foot out of her hands. "Wait, you what?!" He exclaims in what should be a shriek but comes out as a gasp. His hand goes to his throat in a subconscious gesture of protection from the discomfort. "When? Why didn't you say anything?" His eyes glaze with realization, and this is what Hotch feared, because he won't have Spencer blame himself.
"It's because of me," Spencer wheezes out the words. "Because I was hurt, because I wanted to keep working the case, right? Because of the greenhouse…I never meant…you took all the blame!" It's an accusation, and JJ stands to put arm around Spencer's shoulders, shooting an aggrieved look in Hotch's direction.
"Spencer, it is not your fault. I am your superior, and I made the choices that got us here." Hotch tries to reassure. Getting back up, he hunkers down in front of Spencer, patting his knee. "It's going to be good. I'm going to take care of you while you heal, Jack is going to be thrilled to have our full attention on the science fair, and who knows, maybe I can finally read some of those books you're always telling me will change my life." Hotch offers a wink that he hopes doesn't appear strained, using a finger to lift Spencer's chin. "Everything is ok, Spencer. I promise."
Once again, JJ is caught off guard by the shifting dynamic between her team mate, and boss. The switch from annoyed to supportive is almost manic. She supposes it could be written off as the result of trauma, but she doesn't have to be a profiler to see that Salt Lake City has changed them, for better or worse.
"You love your job, Hotch. Please, you can't let this happen." Spencer pleads, leaning into Hotch, probably subconsciously. Hotch not only allows it, but stands from his crouched position so Spencer can bury his face in his chest. Kate and JJ watch, trying not to analyze their friends' slightly erratic behaviour.
"I do love my job, but this isn't the end. I'll be back at work before you know it, and until then I am going to enjoy life, time with Jack, time with-" Hotch cuts himself off, and JJ's eyes narrow, certain Hotch was about to say, 'time with you', meaning Spencer, before clamming up. If Hotch has another someone in his life to devote time to, no one on the team knows about it.
"I'll talk to Cruz, tell him it was all me and you were only trying to appease me, I can-" Spencer starts, voice hesitant and muffled, with his face still buried against Hotch's front.
"No. You won't. It's done, Spencer." Hotch shakes his head, which Spencer feels rather than sees. "Dave will be taking my place as unit chief, temporarily." Hotch stresses the temporary, "and Garcia will be your press liaison in the meantime. That, at least, should be interesting." Hotch chuckles, addressing all of them in an effort to sound unfazed, abruptly, but tenderly, pushing Spencer away from him. "Now, clothes. We should get going sooner than later. Don't forget your gun."
JJ jumps to interjects before Spencer can formulate a response. "Yes!" She says entirely too cheerfully. "Let's get a move on. The plane can't leave until we do." The attempt at a joke falls flat, Spencer staring after Hotch, who returns to his cot, laying back and closing his eyes.
Kate begins to sort belongings, JJ goes back to dressing Spencer, and Hotch actively ignores it all, never moving from his cot until the doctor arrives to clear them both for travel. One thing's for sure, JJ needs to get Spencer alone to talk.
Hotch wanted to avoid going back to the hotel, and it was with the greatest reluctance that he conceded that they had no choice. Spencer had gone on a tirade to spite his swollen throat, about preserving their gathered notes, files and evidence, and made the excellent point that it should all be handed off to another team. He rejected the idea of JJ and Kate going alone to clear the room, so Hotch swallowed his misgivings for what he vowed would be the last time, left JJ and Kate guarding the door, and followed Spencer into the room.
Unsure whether Spencer was going to try to stall, Hotch is quick to start gathering their personal items, cell phone chargers, books, stuffing them into their duffel bags without much attempt at organization. He picked up the pile of dirty laundry, stuffing it into a plastic bag, and headed for the bathroom to round up their toiletries, returning to find Spencer perched on the bed, making no effort to sort out the piles of papers, maps, reports, and notes.
"Spencer, let's go." He commands, dropping the folders from the desk onto the bed beside the younger agent. "Sort those out. Move."
"Hotch, please." Spencer clutches at his wrist when he tosses a second pile of random papers toward the bed. "Stop for second!"
Hotch draws in his breath, holds it, the let's it out in a slow, measured way. Then he does it again, even as Spencer tugs on his wrist.
"Is that a breathing exercise? Am I bothering you that much, Aaron?" Spencer's brow creases, hurt, but also indignant. He is not a toddler asking for candy before supper, he is a respected agent asking for consideration of his opinion. "Well forgive me for thinking that my life and career are my business, and that you might want to hear what I have to say."
Yanking away from Spencer's hold, Hotch draws in another long breath, before answering in an infuriatingly calm voice.
"I don't forgive you, because while it may be your business, there is nothing to debate. We have our orders, we are executing them now, that's all. Got it?" Hotch turns away to resume tossing items into bags, avoiding looking over his shoulder because he can feel Spencer's eyes still on him. Hotch considers the messy beds but decides to leave that to housekeeping along with a large tip, and simply plucks the blankets from Spencer's bed off the floor, where they landed after his nightmare.
Spencer is sputtering, furious at the very clear dismissal, and what he views as a gross overreaction to all that's gone on. Yes, they could have handled things better, maybe, but they take on danger as a matter of course, and this is no different. You don't chase serial killers, only to quit when things get hairy.
"No." Spencer firmly objects, hands gripping the bedspread underneath him to fend off any attempt at forcible removal.
Hotch pauses, muscles tensing, but only for a second, before moving to the bathroom to double check that he had missed nothing the first time. He rationalizes Spencer's irrationality, reminding himself that obsession is all consuming, and all he can do is interrupt the trend. Yelling at Spencer when he is at his most obstinate won't be productive, instead he opts for distraction. Popping his head around the door, he asks, "do you need to pee before we go?"
Everything down to the childish wording strikes Spencer as the provocation it's meant to be. It has the desired effect for Hotch, of distraction, but it's at the cost of gentlemanly conduct. The figurative gloves are off, and fuming, Spencer snaps.
"What the hell, Hotch! No, I need you to stop acting like a ruling dictator and listen to me!" The volume and effort leave Spencer winded, clutching at his chest, eyes watering from the sting in his abused throat. This isn't what Hotch wants, he wants a quick exit, and his heart goes out to Spencer who looks younger than his years, curled in on himself, desperate to be heard, but Hotch is also a born leader who does not appreciate insubordination.
Hotch's faces twitches, but he manages to maintain his neutral expression. "You need to be heard. I can understand that. Go ahead, but I'm warning you that it won't change our course of action. Not this time." He crosses his arms, leaning against the door frame beside him, stance deliberately intimidating.
"What the hell, Hotch!" Spencer explodes once more, wincing and coughing, but undeterred. "You can't just declare this finished! She is out there, she is a lethal predator loose in society, free to do as she pleases, and now she thinks she has us running scared! Have you forgotten who you are? What your job is?"
Spencer may be determined, but he can't help flinching when Hotch closes the distance between them entirely too quickly, grabbing Spencer by the upper arms, and crouching to look directly into his face. Up close, Spencer can see the fear and anxiety marring his features, fueling his anger, compromising his judgment maybe. He is sure Hotch won't physically harm him, but he shrinks back anyway, the close contact overwhelming, almost making him regret his words. Almost.
"Oh no I haven't, but you clearly have! I'm your boss, agent Reid! That's who I am." Hotch grits in a barely controlled shout. "Damn it!"
By sheer force of will, Hotch reins in his temper before he continues, but he doesn't make any move to let go of Spencer. "This is not the job! Our job is to accurately recreate violent crimes based on known facts, then use it to provide a psychological analysis of the unsub, in order predict their future actions based on the profile we create, so we do not need to be reckless with our lives. Urgh! " Hotch pauses to catch his breath, giving Spencer a shake, head pounding with the exertion. "It is certainly not to use ourselves as bait for a psychopath when we can't get a read on her motivations. Do you get it yet?"
Spencer jerks away, placing a hand on Hotch's chest, pushing him back and keeping him at arms length. "I'm just getting started and you can't bully me into stopping."
Hotch's turn to sputter, face turning a brilliant shade of red, a sure sign Spencer has pushed way too far. No one sees Hotch sweat, or hardly ever.
"Spencer has anyone ever told you no and meant it?!" Hotch controls his tone by force, as his face contorts into disbelief. "You are acting like a spoiled child! I am still your superior, and I am giving you an order. You will leave today."
Hotch's face alternates through a range of emotions as he searches for patience and struggles to calm himself. Adjusting himself to his knees from his hunkered down position, he holds up his hands in a silent ask, to which Spencer hesitates, then nods letting his arm drop. Hotch takes his face in both hands, making sure their eyes meet before he speaks again.
"I'm not trying to bully you, Spencer. I would plead all day if I thought it would do any good, but you are so damn stubborn!" Hotch huffs out a breath, biting his lower lip before continuing. "Listen."
At Spencer's head shake, he presses his thumb to Spencer's lips, and repeats, "listen. The fact is I will do whatever it takes to get you out of this city…beg if you want, but as unit chief I will use any and all methods at my disposal...I will suspend you, fire you, or throw you over my shoulder and carry you…whatever it takes to get you on that plane." Throwing caution to the wind, Hotch presses a kiss to Spencer's forehead. "Now do you get it?" Hotch doesn't wait for an answer before standing and turning back to his task of clearing their hotel room.
Spencer remains silent. Frustration radiates through him and his body quakes as he tries to contain his own mounting anxiety, very different than Hotch's. He has no desire to die, but he can't leave this undone, or his mind will never rest; Amelia will always be there, reminding, taunting…he will always hear her laughter, remember her words…one trick pony…but then there is Hotch, he is injured, exhausted, reputation tarnished, and all that is wrong too. Embarrassingly his eyes burn, and he wipes angrily at his face, trying to formulate a response that will change the way things are.
"Your arm…" he mutters, barely audible. "You can't carry me." It's a feeble attempt at humour, but an olive branch for the man he respects most.
Hotch turns slowly, to give him a small grin. "Nah, I was going to get JJ to do it."
The brief shift in mood doesn't last long, though. Spencer snorts, sucking his bottom lip in, desperate not to seem pathetic, but unable to let go. Shifting on the bed, he fills his lungs shakily, then blurts.
"She saved my life, Hotch. Your life…doesn't that mean something? Don't you want to know why?"
Hotch's face clouds over instantly, and he draws his shoulders back stiffly, stretching himself to his full height. "No," he declares with certainty. "I don't. And she is not your saviour, put that out of your head right now. I mean it."
"Just like that? Stop thinking about her?" Spencer can't curb the bitterness in his tone, as he reaches shakily to snatch the map Hotch is trying to fold. "Like you did with Foyet?" The last is mumbled, but Hotch hears it, stilling, and forcing himself not to react.
Spencer has stopped moving too, staring down at the map in his hands, waiting for Hotch to start yelling again. It is a fair comparison, so he doesn't try to take it back, even though he has no desire to hurt the other man.
Hotch is stung by the accusation, and he has to search for the right way to explain what he needs Spencer to understand. He wants Spencer to learn from his experience, rather than follow his footsteps straight into a dangerous preoccupation with a serial killer, that will end with no winner, only loss. Hotch may typically rule with few words, but he reminds himself he is a shrewd negotiator, articulate when he needs to be, so he gives it his best shot, burying nothing, wearing his heart on his sleeve.
"You know Spencer, when Foyet offered me the deal, call off my hunt and he would leave my family alone, every part of me balked at the idea." Hotch starts, keeping his back to Spencer who doesn't need to see his glassy eyes, and shaking hands. "It was wrong, we don't make deals with the criminals we hunt, but everyday since Hayley's murder, I've thought she would have said yes, Spencer." He blinks and swallows hard. "Make the deal, save our family, and worry about the rest later. That's what she would have said, and I'm not at all sure she would have been wrong, not anymore, and..." another pause, and Hotch scrubs at the stubble on his face. "And here, now, I would make that deal to save you from what I went through. I would, Spencer, and I'm not ashamed. I'm not apologizing for it."
Hotch glances over his shoulder, gauging Spencer's reaction to the speech, before turning back to the task of sorting clothing, and making it fit back in the overstuffed duffel bags. He lets Spencer digest, hoping he will take some insight from it, and conclude what Hotch already has; continuing the hunt for Amelia is a Sisyphean task that's likely end, will be them getting run over by the boulder they are pushing uphill.
Spencer is contemplating what Hotch just said, watching him move around the room, knowing what Hotch just divulged was a huge confession. But surely Hotch knows he couldn't have made a deal with his devil and come out on top…it's just grief talking, the longing for terrible events to have played out differently. Trauma shapes people, effects their judgement, changes them in ways they may not even notice until it manifests in their behavior. If Hotch is relating Amelia to Foyet in his mind, his objectivity is compromised, Spencer concludes, before his attention is drawn elsewhere.
"Hotch, is that my key card?" Spencer asks abruptly, pointing to the desk near Hotch's elbow. Spencer knows his skills of observation are impeccable, and the small, colourful card, lying where it is, makes his blood run cold, and his mind race.
Shooting him a confused glance, Hotch reaches for the card, misunderstanding, and handing it over to Spencer. "Yes, mine is in my wallet. I let us in the room."
Spencer recoils unintentionally, and Hotch pulls the card back toward himself, turning it over, trying to divine what the problem is.
"Hotch, my card was in my wallet!" Spencer exclaims, scrambling to find it in his pocket. "It's not here, Hotch. That's my card, in your hand."
Hotch can't decide whether to be worried, or amused, setting the card back on the desk. "Yes, I think we already ascertained that Spencer. What's the matter? Whoa, there."
Hotch offers his hand when Spencer starts to stand unsteadily, intensely focused on whatever is going through his head at the moment.
"You're not getting it-Hotch-Hotch!-stop! Stop, don't touch anything else!" Spencer totters on his feet, but pushes Hotch's hands away agitated, eyes darting wildly around the room, before pressing one palm to his forehead, bottom lip clenched between his teeth.
"Ok, Spencer, you might have to-" Hotch starts, about to suggest he explain himself, getting cut off by a troubled Spencer, who obviously thinks Hotch isn't appreciating the gravity of the situation.
"My key card was in my wallet, in my pocket. Now it's here on the desk, but I never took it out of my wallet. You let us in, like you said, so I didn't need to…" he trails off, eyes locking with Hotch's, hand falling from his head to his side. "Do you see what I'm saying?"
Hotch doesn't as he surveys the room again, and Spencer is impatient.
"It was in my pocket when we left the room yesterday, we haven't been back until now…she took it Hotch!" Spencer stumbles against Hotch when he surges forward. "Ow, fuck! Hotch, she was in the room." Spencer shifts trying to recover his balance, fails, and slumps against Hotch, slightly panicked.
Hotch scrambles to catch up to that startling revelation, holding onto Spencer to keep him upright. Scanning the room with a more critical eye now, he is horrified, but obligated to maintain decorum. They have been living here out of suitcases, with none of Hotch's usual brand of militant organization, so it is hard to see what Spencer is seeing to make him so certain.
"Hold on, what makes you think that Spencer?" Hotch soothes, not wanting to be dismissive, but trying not to be alarmed. "You probably just forgot it. We left in a hurry yesterday, I've been letting us in and out, you just forgot."
Spencer growls in frustration, tugging at Hotch's shirt as he does. "I have an eidetic memory, Hotch. I didn't forget, and I am not wrong. She was here, nothing is where it should be, damn it, I should have noticed right away! The map, did you write on the map?"
"What? No, why would I?" Hotch is baffled, but while he may not see what Spencer sees, he knows better than to ignore what he's telling him. "Spencer, tell me what is going on!"
"The map, Hotch. Look at the map."
Notes:
Yes, we finally updated! We're sorry it has taken so long. Have no fear though, as I keep telling everyone, we will never abandon this story! ...it just takes us a while to get a chapter out, but I think our chapters are worth the wait! Also, what you don't see, but I hope we get out to you at some point, is that we have crazy backstories for everyone and geography, like maps and notes galore, so while you see the chapter, there is a whole lot that goes on behind the scenes. lol
So not an action packed chapter, but their nightmare trip to Salt Lake City seems to be coming to an end! Let's get our boys home!
Fuel the jet with your reviews please so we can see what awaits them at home!
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~CC~