Impatient they start
Time and again boys are raised to be men
Impatient they start, fearful at the end
But here was a man mourning tomorrow
He drank, but finally drowned in his sorrow
"I- I don't know what's wrong Emily! He won't- He's bleeding and I-I… He said to call you."
As frustrated as she is for being left at home, Penelope Garcia can understand why it isn't necessary for her to come along for this excursion. Still, she can't help but not like this one bit. Watching Derek put his things together, Garcia sits on the edge of his desk. Picking at her nails, her nerves are easy to pick up on. "Derek," she asks softly. Waiting for him to stop what he's doing and look up at her. "Please look out for Hotch, okay? I know you think he's okay but…"
Morgan sighs down at the floor. He knows something is wrong. For now, he'll continue on indifferent because that's easier and because what else is there to do? Until Hotch tells them what's wrong, there's nothing they can do. Nothing they can say. Morgan can only do what he knows: continue on. He steals files from Hotch's pile and watches his back.
Rubbing at his jaw, Morgan nods. Even if he doesn't want to admit it, he's afraid. "You know I will, baby girl." Once, he'd made the mistake of making Hotch feel as though the two of them were incapable of a relationship. "Wanting to hang out with you and needing you to lead this team are two very different things." That was his mistake. His knife was buried in Hotch's back. Never again.
He would die for Hotch and he knows Hotch would too… that's the scary part.
"Look at me," he cups Garcia's cheek in his hand. He looks into her eyes, smiling at the way she just melts into his palm. "Nothing is going to happen. Okay? I've got him. We're going to be just fine."
Garcia nods her head but she can't shake this feeling. The dragon that twists in the pit of her stomach is relentless. Taunting and reminding that even if something does go wrong, she won't be there to do a thing. Waiting for the phone call. Too late to help. All she'll get is an update- is a member of her family laying cold in the morgue or getting a few stitches and a week's worth of aches.
She hates sending them off and Derek Morgan hates that he feels like he's lying to her.
Because he is. Not directly and against his will but a lie none-the-less.
Profiling is the easy part. Morgan takes one last look at the board containing their preliminary ideas and the faces of their victims and shakes his head. For a moment, watching his team member's backs takes the back burner. He's not worried about them, he just needs to get out of this stuffy old precinct. "Coffee run," he offers, tugging his jacket onto his arms. "What do you want?"
Reid perks up first, "where are you going?"
Sighing in anticipation for the ridiculously sugary and probably diabetes-inducing drink Reid's going to force Morgan to order, he rolls his eyes but answers truthfully. "I'll go to Starbucks." Guessing at what the others want is a much simpler task. They'll request what they always get. Rossi is partial to lattes. JJ likes the seasonal drinks. Garcia will give him something off the wall. Hotch always gets an Americano (because he has no taste buds).
"Wait-" he's already halfway out the door by the time he processes what he's being told. Not Reid's caramel whipped creamed thing- he knew that was coming. What's only just now processing in his mind is that Hotch said he didn't want any coffee. Trying and failing to hide his surprise back to his friend. "You don't want anything? This coffee sucks ass, man. You're not going to stomach any more of that shit."
Now, Hotch is not entirely sure what's wrong but he knows coffee isn't going to help. At all. "I'm fine," he defends without lifting his head from his files. "I just don't want any coffee."
Morgan raises an eyebrow, looking at Dave and JJ but both shrug. "Okay then." It seems like a normal thing, maybe, outside of the BAU but the staple of every one of their diets is an unhealthy amount of caffeine. "I'll be back in a few minutes."
He should have said something.
Taking the time to pause, push further on the matter. To just ask- "Are you feeling okay?" Because the glare would have been worth it. He would have been able to piece something together. Get some sort of answer. Even if he had to come strained and profiled.
In no rush to get back to the precinct and be sent back out to the field, Morgan takes his time getting the coffee. Going as far as sitting in the SUV in the precincts parking lot and enjoying a piece of banana bread in the silence of his own company. He loves the team. He really does but there's only so much rambling and scowling he can put up with before he needs a break too.
He can't take too much time though, Reid's surgery filled, cavity creating, whipped cream topped drink is melting all over the seat. That last thing Morgan needs is Hotch riding his ass about sticky leather seats. Which, of course, won't be Reid's drink's fault but rather his.
As he gets out of the car, juggling their drink orders, Morgan notes their second SUV is gone. Meaning either someone has found something or there's been another body. For the sake of the headache, Morgan has only nursed back down to a dull twinge- he's really hoping for a complete ME report and a conversation with the medical examiner.
"Reid, come get your damn-" Morgan's busy fusing with the whipped cream melting onto his hands. Whipping the sticky goop off on his pants he looks back up and cuts himself off. "What the hell happened?"
On the floor, head between his knees and a wad of uselessly blood-soaked tissues pressed to the nose, Hotch is laboriously breathing through his mouth. There's blood pouring down his face, already having soaked through his white dress shirt and caked itself onto his hands.
"I- I don't know what's wrong Emily! He won't- He's bleeding and I-I… He said to call you." Reid's kneeled down by his side, eyes wide as he looks up to find Morgan. "It won't stop!" He moves his phone from where it's tucked under his ear and shrugs hopelessly. "I- I called Emily. He said- He told me to call Emily!" His tone is urgent, pleading. Reid's inability to aid in the situation has driven him to near tears and without Emily here, Morgan's the first relief he's seen since this whole mess started.
Squatting down to access the damage, Morgan grimaces as he places a hand over Hotch's. The blood, despite Hotch's hold, is still pouring down between his hands. Creating a mess akin to crime scenes Morgan's seen time and time again. "You've got Emily on the phone?" Morgan asks. He puts his hand between Hotch's shoulders, shaking his head when he sees Reid's covered in blood too.
This is way too much blood for a nose bleed.
Reid nods, "ye-yeah." He swallows thickly and offers Morgan the phone.
It's slick with blood. Morgan holds it to his ear. "Hey princess," he greets. He presses the phone to his ear using his shoulder. "Reid," he motions towards the tables where their coffees sit forgotten. "Get me the napkins under the-"
Reid stumbles to his feet quickly, holding up the brown napkins before Morgan can finish.
"Yeah," Morgan takes the napkins and presses them to Hotch's bundle. Pressing his own hand around Hotch's. "Emily, you there?"
"Yeah-" the other end of the phone is picking up static and the sound of moving around. Emily's struggling to get shoes on, already trying to make her way out the door to leave starts heading their way. "Yeah, I'm here. What's happening? Reid wasn't making any sense."
Morgan removes pressure for just a moment, cursing uselessly when all he sees is that the blood has made its way through the new napkins. "Dammit!" Morgan immediately regrets the outburst when Hotch jumps, flinches in his grasp. Morgan tries to reach out but Hotch turns his head, eyes pinched.
Sighing, Morgan forces himself to take a moment. He has to stop. There's way too much blood. Reid's past the point of helping, the kid is anxiously rocking himself on his heels. Hotch is three shades too pale and clammy, he has to do something.
"Alright." Morgan pulls the phone from his shoulder. "Emily? Listen, I'm taking Hotch to the hospital right now. His nose is bleeding. I have no idea what's wrong" Out of the corner of his eye he can see the immediate distress that washes over Reid. The kid hates hospitals. "We're in Charlottesville, like two or three hours from Quantico." Moving his body he prepares to haul Hotch up to his feet. "Do you know what this is? What to do?"
Emily stops. She considers her options here. She has an idea but cancer doesn't typically cause nose bleeds… right? He'd been off earlier but he'd just gotten out of radiation therapy. That's probably pretty draining. She won't tell Hotch's secret. He'd told her in confidence and she won't betray that now.
"No," she answers, in half-honesty. "I'm heading your way right now, okay? Let me know whatever you find out."
"Alright. Be careful."
"Derek?"
Morgan pauses.
"He's okay, isn't he?"
Morgan glances at Hotch and then at Reid… "Just get over here, Em. We need you." Ending the call, Morgan tosses Reid's phone at him. Setting into the more taxing task at hand.
Right. They've got this.
"Pretty boy," he motions Reid over. "Get his other side." Rubbing his hands together, Morgan prepares himself for what he can only assume is going to be a difficult tax. "Alright, Hotch. You with me?" He kneels down and waits for Hotch's eyes to find him. Hotch gives him a little nod. "We've just got to get you to the car, okay?"
Looking to Reid now he says, "we go on three. Together." Given the amount of blood they're sitting in- enough to rival some crime scenes Morgan's seen- he doesn't think getting Hotch to his feet is going to be a flawless exercise.
"Ready?"
Hotch and Reid nod.
"One."
"Two."
"Three."
What little of his blood that isn't actively trying to exit his body through his nose, immediately leaves his head in a rush. Dizzy and now blinking rapidly to keep some semblance of control over his body, Hotch is standing on his feet. It doesn't feel like it.
For the most part, he's really not.
Morgan's got most of his weight. One hand molding their hips together, clutching at the fabric of Hotch's pants. The pulling Hotch's right arm over his shoulders. "Alright," Morgan grunts, pushing out a breath. "It's just a few feet," he can see the door. It's not that far. "Reid, get the door."
Reid looks shocked- stuck. Unsure if he's supposed to listen or remain glued to Hotch's side.
"Reid. Go."
Nodding Reid ducks, wiggling out from under Hotch's other arm. Glancing back only once before going ahead of them. He hovers there, awkwardly. "Hotch?" Reid takes in the sight of his boss. His pale and sweaty face. The blood is thinner than it should be. It's… weird. Thinner, Reid thinks, than what blood should be.
"Are you anemic?"
Morgan just shakes his head, scowling. "Now's really not the time for twenty questions, kid."
Hotch's dazed eyes find Reid's, hardly slivers. His feet are hardly lifting from the ground as Morgan less than gracefully pulls him along. "No," he replies from around his mound of tissues. Not that he knows of.
Reid tilts his head, "I think you might be."
"We can worry about that later," Morgan deflects. " Door, Reid." He can feel Hotch losing his footing. Feet shuffling across the carpet and side meaning heavier and heavier into Morgan. "Hey!" Morgan grunts when Hotch's knees give out from underneath him
Reid jerks back, eyes wide. "Hotch?"
Morgan smacks blindly at Hotch's face, trying to rouse him. "Hotch! Hey, man." Hotch's eyes flutter, uselessly darting as he struggles to remain conscious. "It's just a nosebleed, you're fine!" Grunting, Morgan pulls them both back up. His own knees shaking. "Come on. Come on!"
The whites of his showing through slivers, Hotch pulls in two quick hitches breathes. Body jerking as they prove too shallow. "Sorry," he rasps, falling limply down.
Reid shouts. Blinded, really, with fear and having no idea what it is that he's supposed to do. He just stands there, frozen right where he is, watching Morgan fail to attempt to rouse Hotch. The urgency in the other man's voice increasing. The desperation worsening.
"Someone call 911," the Sheriff's voice moves the room into action.
Morgan pulls Hotch's head into his lap, uselessly moving the lump of napkins back under Hotch's nose. Failing to prevent the blood from spreading further. "Don't," he mumbles darkly. Stopping the Sheriff from reaching out and touching Hotch. "He's fine."
The Sheriff glances at Hotch and grimaces. That's not true. "We're getting him some help, alright?"
Between Morgan's coffee run and the nosebleed, JJ and Rossi had left to speak to the coroner. Her autopsy report was ready and what she'd found, as she told Hotch, there had been some interesting developments found on the body. The sort that Rossi was eager to report.
"Derek," Rossi sandwiches his phone between shoulder and ear, clumsily trying to start the SUV. After watching him struggle for a moment, JJ takes the phone from him. Glancing over he reminds her, "make sure you tell him about the-" He stops, struck by the look of horror JJ has. "What?"
JJ nods her head as she listens to whatever it is Morgan's saying. "Okay," she manages. "No, we're just leaving now-" she nods her head. "No, no we'll be there in a second. I'll tell Dave." She glances at him, eyes shooting back to her lap. "Okay. I'll see you in a minute." Ending the call she sighs. She's been publicly announcing awful news for years. She's spoken about brutal murders committed against children. Rape. Murder. Incest. Yet…
"Reid and Derek had to take Hotch to the hospital." She hands Dave back his phone. "He passed out at the precinct. They had to call an ambulance. He's getting checked out now but they won't tell Reid or Morgan anything because you're his proxy."
Rossi struggles to take this news in. Hotch is in the hospital. Okay.
Hotch has been acting weird. Rossi should have said something days ago. They all noticed. Why hadn't they stopped him from coming on this case?
"Which hospital?"
The thing about hospitals is that they all look the same.
The one that Rossi had been directed to after the explosion in New York looked exactly the same as the one that Emily directed him to when Foyet stabbed Hotch a year later in Virginia. The white walls are always suffocating. Bone-chillingly cold and unloving. The waiting room chairs are organized the same way and even the seats looked the same.
The only difference is the desperation.
Today, Spencer Reid sits with his knees tucked under his chin. Eyes vacantly cast to the floor. Likely disassociating to someplace safer than here. He's prone to that level of destruction when things get tough. It's enough to tell Rossi that whatever the genius saw had harmed him irreparably.
Derek Morgan sits beside him. He's bent over. His hand over his mouth and his elbow on his knee. The other leg bounces rapidly. He's not pacing but Dave recognizes it won't be much longer now until that chair can no longer contain Morgan. Then he'll be walking laps and too anxious and worked up to properly talk.
"How is he?" Rossi doesn't waste a second.
Reid doesn't even blink.
Morgan stands and meets them a few feet from the shocked genius. "They took him," Morgan tells him, with a confused shrug. "I don't know anything, man. Hotch was- He was unresponsive and then they took him back to another room and told us to wait here. Whatever it is they won't tell me, they said they have to talk to you." Morgan rubs at his hands, "that's bad, isn't it? They couldn't just tell me so that's bad."
Dave settles a hand on Morgan's shoulder. Honestly, he's certain that's bad. Even after Foyet, Dave was Hotch's proxy but they'd still told Emily everything she'd wanted to know. They'd given her his chart and everything. "He'll be fine," Rossi assures. "Whatever this is," he shakes his head, "he'll be okay."
All three jump as one of the big doors are thrown open. A doctor steps out. The same one that had talked to Morgan and Reid previously.
"Go sit down," Dave tells JJ and Morgan. "I'll tell you what he says." Dave steps to meet the man a few feet from the others.
"David Rossi?" the doctor presumes, offering his hand to be shaken. "Hi. I'm Dr. Davis and I'm Agent Hotchner's doctor, this evening." Tucking the agent's chart under his arm he glances to the room full of agents still watching his every move. "Uh," he's certain he should probably put some more space between himself and them for the patient's discretion but he's, frankly, not got the time. "I need to do some tests. Blood work to make sure that Agent Hotchner's cancer hasn't further complicated his current situation." Bring the chart around, paperwork already at the top, he points a pen to where he needs the other man to sign. When he looks up though, he realizes… "You didn't know about the cancer, did you?"
David Rossi is frozen in shock. He can hardly manage to shake his head. No. No, he had most definitely not known about any cancer.
Sighing, Dr. Davis can feel an approaching headache forming at the base of his skull. "Agent Hotchner was diagnosed with stage three Hodgkins Lymphoma about-" He didn't really look at the chart that long, okay? He doesn't know all the details. "I have only notes," he answers truthfully, "from his oncologist to go on. I've contacted his doctor and we're consulting with his team on what to do but I assure you that Agent Hotchner is in the best hands."
Directing Rossi's attention to the files in his hand, the doctor taps his pen against the board. "The first one," he points to it. "Is just simple blood work. We're going to send the results to his oncologist, Dr. Fitz. This is for his depleted platelets- it's an iron treatment for his deficiency. He's anemic." Fortunately, the doctor can see the compliance in the agent's eyes.
Dave nods his head and starts signing.
"He's groggy but was awake when I was doing a check-in a moment ago," the doctor adds. "If you'd like, I can take one or two of you back. Just give the nurses ten or so minutes to let him get settled."
Dave nods.
He's not there. He's not- He's can't- David Rossi has already lost a child. It's not an experience he wants to repeat. It's not one he even considered having to experience the first time it happened. Having that baby placed in his arms, so fucking small. Kicking and screaming and James Rossi had fought until the bitter end. Dave had been there for it all. He'd watched his son die.
And he… Oh God, he can't do it again.
Morgan watches the doctor walk away, sending a tight-lipped smile and a nod their way. Looking back at Rossi, he sees the older man shaking. "Dave? He stands, glancing at the others. Morgan only just gets there in time to catch his friend. "Dave!" He shakes his head in shock, unsure of what to do. "What's wrong? Is he okay?"
There'd been so much blood. Morgan had spent thirty minutes scrubbing it out from under his and Reid's nails. Hotch hadn't moved when the ambulance came to the precinct. He'd only really managed to open his eyes once, reacting to Reid's shout of his name. But he can't- Nosebleeds don't kill people.
They don't. … Right?
Wiping his eyes with both his hands, Rossi shakes his head. He can't do this right now. "He's-" Rossi stares down at the tile. He's got cancer. Aaron Hotchner. The spunky ass recruit that Rossi has lovingly dotted on for years. The boy he treats like a son loves like a son. Cancer.
Rossi is going to kill him. A decade- No! TWO decades and that little shit couldn't tell him about this? "I'm going to kill him," Rossi stands, using Morgan when his knees give a protest at the movement. He's a little too old to be crouching on tiled floors.
And the anger and dramatization of his feeling that has him storming down that hall, on his own mission to find that damned boy- melts the second that finds him.
Propped up on pillows and watching the nurses behind heavily hooded eyes, Aaron Hotchner looks deathly pale and vulnerable. Nothing like the boy David Rossi found puking his dinner up by the side of the road. A little too soft around the edges and not yet accustomed to the sights of the job. Dave had loved that kid with all his heart and that kid had grown into a hard-headed idiot. And David Rossi still loves him all the same.
"Sir," one of the nurses finally spots him. "You can't be back here." The nurse steps around but she's stopped quickly.
"No," Hotch croaks. "Dave can come," he assures, raspily, lifting his hand and twisting from the nurse on his left side.
Rossi steps in, only bothering with a glance at the nurse still trying to decide if he should be in here. He takes Hotch's hand, glancing at the
The doctor steps into the room a second later, glancing between his patient and the agent he hadn't let back yet. Looking at Agent Hotchner's firm grip on his guest, the doctor decides he's not putting a fight up for this one. Pulling on a pair of latex gloves, he is very aware of the timidly fearful look on his patient's face. "I know you're probably tired of being poked," he admits. The nurses have had their fill, literally. "I just need one more test and I'll leave you alone."
An arterial blood gas.
Hotch already knows. It's not his first and it's probably not going to be his last. They have to check his heart. His father had cancer at forty-seven and died of a heart attack. Beaming radiation at his chest every day of the week isn't good for his already predisposed grim outlook of a heart attack.
"Flex your hand for me."
Hotch turns his head away, eyes pinched shut as the doctor puts pressure against his ulnar artery.
Dave watches in shock and horror as the doctor pressed the needle into Hotch's wrist.
Hotch bites down against a grunt of discomfort. It hurts. He squeezes Dave's hand, closing his eyes so that he doesn't cry.
"Alright," the doctor pulls the needle. "All done."
Asshole. Hotch glares at the man until he leaves, not processing a single thing that he says. When the man finally leaves, Hotch sinks into the pillows behind him. Slowly finding it harder and harder to keep his eyes open. "You know?" he asks, softly.
Dave takes one look at him. Hotch's head turned to him, eyes fighting him to stay open. "I know," he whispers. He smiles sadly, more to himself than anything. Gently, he moves closer and works his hand through Hotch's hair. Sighing when Hotch's eyes sink, submitting to the comfort. "We'll talk about it later, okay? Get some rest."
Sleep, Hotch thinks grimly. That's all he's good for these days. Always tired. But Dave stays and he finds it steadily harder to remain awake. Sleep can be good too.
Emily Prentiss arrives hours later.
She looks first to the bed, looking for Hotch and too preoccupied to care about sweeping the whole room for other occupants. The thing about family is that there's this strange connection. She can tell the difference between the way they walk. She knows that Reid takes his coffee with four sugars, four creamers but JJ takes hers with only two sugars and one creamer. That Morgan listens to Nas on the way home to cheer himself up and that Aaron Hotchner, for as long as she's known him, always slept either on his left side or on his stomach.
The figure sleeping on the bed is not, nor could it ever be Hotch.
Soft, half-curled locks of hair are haloed out on the pillow. Light brown hair that lays in every direction. A soft purple sweater is just hardly visible from under the thin, nearly transparent, blanket that is pulled to the person's chin. To Reid's chin.
Reid sleeps on his back.
The sight makes her smile. His long legs stretched out and hands clutching that blanket to his face.
"He just fell asleep."
She turns, arms crossed on her chest, and finds him watching her from a recliner on the other side of the room. She's not sure how she missed him. Sitting there tucked away with a blanket of his own and way too many machines snaking in and out of his shirt.
He turns his head to her, a silent will of which will break first. Will she flood the room? Shake him around, stuck between the fear his actions have caused or the anger she feels for his stupidity. Will she take her stand on this hill and decide that it's not worthwhile? That he's not worth all the hassle.
"Well," she looks back to Reid. He's taking up only half the bed, pressed into one of the rails. "He's never gotten enough sleep," she says, smiling softly. It's crazy how she's known him since he was a kid. The thought makes her smile and, as gently as she can manage, she moves a strand of Reid's hair from his face. Tucking it behind his ear. Though, she has not known him as long as Hotch, of course. It brings to question how Reid's going to handle this- "Have you told him? Have you told any of them?"
Sitting up causes his head to spin but he does it regardless. Leaning heavily on his left arm, he lowers his head as he closes his eyes. Breathing in and swallowing down against nausea. "Dave knows," he manages, clenching his fist as his head pounds. They'll all know soon.
Blinking away the haze from his eyes, he sits up. Wincing when he can't control his shivering, despite the blanket in his lap. "Jack is who I'm worried about," he informs her, watching her for a reaction. She doesn't give him anything. Just nods. "I have to tell him." Leaning his head into his palm, he rubs at his temples. He's stressed just thinking about it. "He doesn't deserve this."
Emily's head snaps up, a tight frown on her lips. For just a split-second her body pulls taut. Her shoulders straightening and eyebrows furrowing like they always do when she's about to argue with him. It's gone just as quickly as he can place it. "No one deserves this," she informs him. "Especially not you."
Especially? He doesn't know about that. Honestly, he's not even sure if this isn't exactly what he deserves. Besides the moral grey of committing murder, Foyet's and Haley's deaths are a direct effect of his actions. His fault. He'd killed Emily too. If he were a better friend, a better boss she would have been able to trust him. If he'd been a better leader, she would have never felt the need to leave at all.
But he had failed her.
That's why she left. That's why she died.
Maybe she can't see it but it's all he sees when he looks in the mirror. Someone who deserves to be punished for all the things he's done.
For the people he failed.
For taking more than he gave.
For existing in a capacity he wasn't sorry enough for.
"Did that scrawny little shit already get to your jello?"
He blinks stupidly as he's pulled from his thoughts. Looking over at Emily Prentiss, he's faced with yet another moment he's so glad she's here. She's holding the lid of the lunch tray the nurse had brought in some hours ago. He hadn't touched it then and he won't now. Reid had inspected it and sheepishly inquired about the jello. Hotch had given it to him. How could he say no?
The indifference had paid off when Reid had smiled brightly and cupped the little cup in both his hands.
"I gave it to him," Hotch defends.
Emily narrows her eyes at him, "of course you did." She puts the lid back on the food and seems to have come to the end of her inspection of the room. He can't tell if she's approved or still mad he's here in the first place. He hopes it's not the latter. There are many more hospital visits in his future and if she's tired of this place already he hates to imagine how the rest of this is going to play out.
"You've always been a softy," she mumbles, sitting on the edge of the hospital bed. She pats Reid's hand affectionately- as if she isn't in the same rough exterior that bleeds into parental instincts boat as him. He doesn't deny it though. With a sigh, she tucks the strands of hair falling into her face back behind her ear. "How are you doing?" she asks, looking back up at him.
Hotch isn't a liar. The truth is just more than he wants to deal with right now.
Darkly circled eyes raise to her's, his mouth twisted down. Shoulder's fallen. "Can we talk about anything else? Anything but this?" For the last twelve hours, all he's heard about is cancer. It's all he's talked about. As if it was not already bad enough the shit is inside of him, spreading to his organs despite the radiation. He just… he's so tired of cancer.
She clicks her tongue, kicking her hanging legs out as she thinks. "I mean, we can talk about the weather," she offers with a devious smirk. He can hear the snark about his age coming into this sooner than he'd like. She shrugs, "I'm still kind of attuned to London weather though. It's rather warm over here. I forgot how unpredictable Virginia's weather can be."
He tilts his head to the left, lifting his lips in a smile he can't help. In the time since she'd moved away, he'd only gone to visit her once. Between school and work, it's pretty hard to secure that sort of trip but he'd managed it. Jack had a fantastic time. Hadn't minded the constant dreary state of perpetual rain one bit but he's always been a fan of the rain and storms. Emily, however, went around looking like a drowned rate and essentially dared him to make a comment about her hatred of the rain.
She had looked rather harmless in her purple rain boots, he'd forgotten about that.
But even to a native Virginian, he can attest to the unpredictability of the weather. Three weeks ago the temperature refused to budge above forty-five degrees and now it's sixty and sunny. In December. "Don't worry," he mumbles sarcastically. "In a few weeks, you'll be wishing for this weather back."
January will hit and with it will come constant ice storms. It stresses him out just to think about it. Driving for treatments is going to dangerous2 with roads like that. The black ice that comes in patches and is so hard to see.
"Doubt that," Emily mumbles with an eye roll.
He's not sure what else to say and despite his insistence on a change of subject, he finds himself distracted. Even sitting here, watching Emily kick her legs like a child and hearing the steady breathes of Reid… There are other things he has to worry about. Jack. His treatment.
Does he tell her about the chemo?
"Knock, knock?" Dave is standing in the doorway and offers a small wave to their little group. "They're letting you out," Dave informs Hotch. "A nurse will be in and we're good to take you home this afternoon. That is, of course, as long as you listen to your doctors and go home and rest."
Hotch shakes his head.
The nurse that comes in to untangle him from all the machines isn't too sympathetic with her removal.
Reid's woken up by now, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and sheepish that he's been caught sleeping.
Catching sight of the wheelchair being pushed his way Hotch shakes his head. That is not happening. "I have cancer," he states dully. "I'm not paralyzed. I can walk out."
In all the time that David Rossi has known this man, it never fails to surprise him how youthfully childish he can be when putting his foot down. Except, he's never won the battle of wheelchair escorts out of hospitals. Not once but he still tries every time
"Just get in the wheelchair," Emily interjects before Rossi can say anything. "Do you have to be a stubborn asshole about everything?"
Yes. The answer is yes.
Hospital policy (and the fact that he wants out of here) wins and he lets Emily push him out. Dave meets them outside, pulling the car up to the curb for an easy and quick pick-up.
"In," Emily motions, but they're a little hesitant as Hotch stands. Waiting for any indication that he's not as ready as the hospital says he is.
Sensing Hotch's annoyance about getting into the backseat of the SUV, Dave taps the wheelchair against his legs. Earning him a heated quick glare but no words. No threat. Shaking his head, Rossi prods, "get in there slowpoke."
"Do you treat all of your dates to this little number?"
Rossi rolls his eyes but faces the nurse with a smile and a grateful nod of his head when she takes the wheelchair back. With a sigh, "well, only the ones with cute butts. So, you should be flattered."
Emily chuckles and Reid curls his nose up, "ew."
Shutting the door behind Hotch, Dave comes around and gets into the driver's seat. "Buckle in, kiddos." He turns the car on and looks back to make sure Reid and Hotch have both done as asked. "Let's rollout." Dave drops Reid off at the hotel and he, Emily, and Hotch start on their three-hour drive back to Quantico.
Hotch falls asleep in the backseat. He's completely unaware of the system that has been put into place. Whether he likes it or not, he's got their support and they're going to drag him through his treatment kicking screaming. They're not ready to lose him.
And of course, the fact that once Penelope Garcia gets her hands on him it's still very unclear if she's going to strangle him via a hug or her hands around his neck.