Chapter 7
He's never been a particularly spectacular doctor by any means.
Growing up in a position like Hotch's— the one of constantly being the rule-enforcer, caretaker, and diplomat, should probably have trained him to be more prepared for taking care of sick kids. But, at his core, all he's really skilled at doing is coercing medication into their systems and trying to regulate their temperatures. He's well aware that it's not necessarily rocket science, but the thought of being responsible for somebody else's health still puts him on edge.
He spends most of his morning in an anxious haze as Spencer drifts in and out of consciousness. He forgets to shut off his alarm after falling back asleep with the kid in his bed at around 3:30am and wakes up, bleary-eyed and utterly confused, until he remembers why there's a child clinging to his side and why he feels like he's just been hit head on by a two-ton truck. He wakes himself up enough to rouse the kids, before grabbing one extra large cup of coffee. He then continues to pack lunches, ensure each child is up, has eaten and is dressed for school, before herding them outside to wait for the bus.
After the bus had come by hotch, sluggishly returned inside to find his bed empty.
He panicked.
"Spence", he called out. Waiting a moment after, listening intently for a reply. It was then he heard the soft cries from the bathroom. Rushing over he found Spencer hunched over the toilet bowl again, his fingers gripping so tightly to the sides of the porcelain that they turn white. The sounds of the horrible retching make Hotch want to leave the room, but he stays close by anyway, just in case Spencer needs him.
After that, the morning passes relatively calmly. Spencer wakes up complaining about the heat until Hotch goes to fetch the portable fan from the closet and turns it towards the younger boy's face. The boy is either perpetually freezing or sweating and Hotch feels guilty about not being able to take his pain away. The hours drift by and the kid takes more fever-reducing medicine and a few sips of seltzer water Hotch finds buried in the back of the fridge. He curls up in bed next to the kid and reads until his voice is hoarse from prolonged use. He sits by him and strokes his hair when the boy ends up At every possible turn, Spencer seems to vehemently deny wanting his help. It's almost utterly exhausting in itself to try and convince Spencer to choke down a few sips of chicken broth and saltines for lunch, not to mention trying to coax him out of the idea of doing some of his homework in his spare time. He tries not to hover or to be too overbearing, but that's difficult when one minute the kid is sulking at him for some minuscule offense and the next he's out cold with his head situated on Hotch's chest.
Eventually, late morning shifts into early afternoon and they both manage to grab a few more blissfully uninterrupted hours of sleep. Rossi ends up shooting him a quick text that he would be home later that evening. It's nearly 2pm and Hotch is reading well into his copy of Shakespeare's sonnets, even though it's evident that Spencer knows the 14-line poems by heart anyway from the way he mouths the words under his breath as Hotch reads aloud. He's just about to distractedly flip to the next page and set of poems when he feels a sudden jolt beside him. Fearing the worst, he sets the book down and turns his full attention onto his youngest's trembling form. Pursing his lips in concern, he places the palm of his own hand against Spencer's searing forehead and he feels the frown lines deepen on his face into his signature scowl.
"Your fever hasn't gotten any better," he remarks, stating the obvious. Spencer seems to realize this and merely rolls his eyes sarcastically. "You're shaking." He adds, feeling as though it's a bit trivial to be pointing out this information to the same kid that could tell him every single bone in the human body.
"if your fever doesn't come down within the next few hours I have to take you to the hospital" He states and he can tell by the way the small figure tenses beside him that it's obviously not an option the younger boy is going to humor.
"No, please i dont want to" the young boy squeaks.
"Im sorry buddy, but if your fever doesnt get any better we might have to". He watches as the young boy's face falls. "How about we wait until Pappa comes home tonight and then we will see, okay?"
"Okay" Spencer replied, leaning his head against Hotch's chest. His eyes began to droop once again and he was left falling into another dreamless sleep.
Hotch watched intently as the young boy slept against him. His worry and concern that even after giving him all the medicines he could, his fever and sickness was not getting any better. He was no doctor by any means, but he knew that his son should be feeling somewhat better by now.