The next morning Aaron Hotchner wakes to the smell of coffee, Belgian waffles, and maple syrup; by the time he convinces himself to open his eyes, Dave is standing over him with a tray. A smile spreads across his face of its own volition as he pushes himself upright and runs a hand through his hair.
"Breakfast in bed? What did I miss?"
Grinning, Dave Rossi just sets the tray down and drops onto the bed, nudging Aaron's legs over under the covers.
"Thought you could do with an easy morning," he admits as he leans back against the post and takes a sip of his own coffee from the extra mug he'd left on the tray.
Aaron does the same, sighing in pleasure. "How on earth did you get up and not wake me?" Then he pauses in the middle of reaching for the waffles. "Did you drug my tea last night?"
Dave laughs aloud and shakes his head. "Nope. You were just out cold."
Rolling his eyes (though whether at Dave or himself is a moot point), Aaron opens his mouth, and Dave cuts him off.
"Kids are still asleep," he says, pre-empting the question, and Aaron just glares.
"That is not what I was going to ask."
Dave just raises one dark brow in disbelief, and to Aaron's credit, he holds for a minute before he caves (thank god he doesn't have to go up against Dave in court, because he'd lose every case if he did, followed shortly by his job). "Fine. JJ really slept through you making waffles?"
"For now, at least."
Taking a bite, the younger man blows out a breath. "I still don't know how you do this, but I'm so glad you do." He takes another bite, then offers the third to Dave, who accepts with a bit of an idiotic grin. "Did I ever tell you the first time you made these here, you were away on a case and she asked me for a week when Pappa was coming home so you could make her waffles again?"
Shaking his head no as he swallows coffee, the agent hides the broadening smile. He's not sure when this family became so irrevocably his, but they did, and it still surprises him sometimes how nice it is to fit. It's become a bit of a running joke now that you don't come between JJ and Dave's waffles.
"She doesn't usually ask for things, either, but I told her you'd be back that next weekend, and she wouldn't leave me alone until I promised her I'd con you into cooking breakfast again."
As if on cue, a voice from the door asks, "Daddy, Papa?" The tiny blonde walks through the door a moment later, still rubbing sleep out of blue eyes that zero in on Aaron's tray.
He grins at her, heaves a mock sigh, then pats the bed next to him; a smile lights up her face. Going out of her way toward Dave, she stops to give him a hug first.
Oo" 'Morning, Dad," she says cheerfully, with that absurd awake quality children tend to have in the morning, and Dave savours in the act of returning the hug.
She doesn't seem to notice either his reaction or her slip, and she proceeds to go around to the other side and climb up into bed next to Aaron. (The mattress is about level with her shoulders, but she's entirely undaunted.) He looks up to find Aaron's gaze trained on him, eyes suspiciously bright, but then Dave realises he's doing some fast blinking himself. Later, he'll remember this as the proudest moment of his life, but right now he's just trying to remember how to breathe around the lump in his throat and the tightness in his chest.
JJ, completely unaware of the undercurrents, reaches for Aaron's fork with a certainty that says getting her way is a foregone conclusion; he hands it to her, picking up the extra from the tray for himself. He nudges Dave's leg under the comforter and catches his eye over the blonde head tucked by his shoulder.
"Thank you," he mouths, and Dave smiles at his partner.
God help anyone who tries to get between him and his family.