You're gone, gone, gone away; I watched you disappear
All that's left is a ghost of you
Now we're torn, torn, torn apart; there's nothing we can do
Just let me go, we'll meet again soon
Derek Morgan walks into the hospital with no rushed agency. A simple leisure stroll guiding him through the hospital and the winding halls. He keeps his eyes cast to the book he's reading as he works his way to the elevator. No need to watch too carefully when he knows where he's going. These halls are kept clear of spectators and everyone's got an agenda so there's rarely the chance to run into someone's conversation. His right thumb sits wedged into the spine, holding it open as he eats an apple with the left. He's not sure he could tear himself away from the pages if he wanted to- this shit is enrapturing.
His feet carry him on autopilot, making turns he's memorized without so much as parting his eyes from the words on the page. "How are you holding up, old man?" he doesn't knock as he steps into Hotch's room. Not much of a point in it anyways aside from letting Hotch know someone's coming. The only thing he does worth hiding these days is moving places he shouldn't be without help. Which, when the fancy strikes, he's a real fiend for. But he's in bed, propped up by pillows and half watching Judge Judy and trying to succumb to the drugs pulling him back down for another nap.
Hotch turns his head in the direction of the noise, already knowing from the loud entrance that it's Morgan. Which eliminates any performative pieces he'd need to throw on to look healthier or to prepare for another round of being poked at and moved about. He lets his eyes slide shut, too tired to engage in conversation and past the point of caring if that looks disrespectful or cold. A shiver escapes him, his skin is broken out in painful goosebumps with his arms bare in the room. Any attempt to curl into himself, turning his shoulder into the bed, is met with sharp pain from the chest-tube.
A nurse had come in not that long ago and moved him around enough to disturb his blankets, even pulling that dreadful mask back up over his face. She'd tucked the blankets around his hips and upped his medicine enough to subdue him. Leaving him too tired, too fogged to piece together the words and tell anyone that he's cold and wants another blanket. He's not really there when they give him all the drugs and he hates his inability to communicate. Even opening his jaw requires so much careful thought that he knows any speech he can produce will be slurred to the point of incomprehension.
He looks over to Derek, pleading that in some way the other man has acquired the ability to read his mind. It's overwhelming but all he can manage is a scratchy hum in reply and a sloppy, " 'm fine." It leaves his mouth poorly, tongue hardly able to move to enunciate what he wants to say. But there are some benefits to having known someone as long as Derek has known Hotch.
Derek noticed the shiver and the pained wince, immediately. Seen the wheels turning over in Hotch's head and the way he'd sunk deep within himself, disappointed when he was unable to produce it on his own. Derek can't imagine what it must be like to forfeit so much independence and he knows he'd hate it every bit as much as Hotch must. Only a year ago, Hotch had stood looming over them all giving out orders and the first person they all run to when shit gets bad. JJ's right hand no matter if she needed him to be her "bad" guy and yell at misogynists or to just be her similar ear when fleshing out theories. Now she's his defender.
Placing his book and apple down on the visitor's chair, he moves first to the tangled mess of blankets around Hotch's legs. Pulling the blankets back and moving them so they sit laid across his body, actually providing him with the comfort and the warmth he wants. Tugging them up until Hotch's arms are covered with the thick blankets and only his head peaks out. "Better now?" Derek asks, softly. He stays standing, taking Hotch's hand and watching for Aaron to peel his eyes back open and nod his head. "Good."
Derek sits back down and, though Hotch has closed his eyes and is just hardly awake, cracks his book open. "You must be on some next level drugs to recommend me this fucking book," he says. Glancing just in time to see Hotch hide a smirk. "Nah, don't play with me right now. I'm in an emotionally vulnerable place. You told me it was good and it's not, it's sad. I'm sad all the time. I'm only sad. Why would you tell me to read this book?"
Hotch smirks, "didn't think you'd listen… never did before."
Derek rolls his eyes, "what does that even mean? Of course, I listen to you sometimes." He just wishes he'd thought a little more about taking on this book. The stupid thing is breaking his heart. He's getting comfortable again when his phone goes off, ringing and not just another text from Garcia. The one at the door had requested he tell Hotch that she loves him and he would if it was pressing but she's about ten minutes away and can tell him herself when she gets here. But it's not Garcia. "Hello?" he stands again, glancing at Hotch and not bothering to excuse himself when he sees Hotch doesn't even open his eyes to see what it is.
"Is this Derek Morgan?"
Morgan glances back around as he steps out into the hall, feeling off about leaving Hotch alone in that big room. "Yeah," Derek mumbles. "I mean, yeah, I'm Derek Morgan."
The person on the other line hums, "I'm calling about Dr. Spencer Reid. I have his medical files here and you're listed as his power of attorney?"
Derek freezes, "yeah. Yeah, I'm his- I"m his power of attorney." It had bounced around between them over the years. Jason and Hotch and now Morgan. Though the point of keeping that amidst the team was so when they went into the hospital it would be easy to get information from the hospital. You can never control what happens in the field.
"I regret to inform you that today Dr. Reid was in an automobile-"
They're all learning the hard way the field isn't the only place where they relinquish control.
Derek laughs. Tears sting his eyes and he laughs. For the last month- no God since fucking January, it's supposed to be Hotch. He had a suit tailored to fit him because of all the weight he's lost. Clothes picked out and a tie he and Emily and Garcia fight over at least once a week. Hotch refuses the one Emily likes and Garcia hates it when Emily argues that Hotch will be dead so what does he even care. There's a Will they've been over at least a dozen times and contingency plans for Jack. Derek hasn't planned and overthought every word he's said to Hotch in the last year afraid something stupid will be the last for it to be…
"Yeah- yeah I hear you."
"Again, I'm very sorry."
"Yeah," Derek breathes. "Okay." He stands there with the phone pressed to his ear long after the line dies. He just stares. Unable to comprehend what just happened. What is happening? It's just really not their year. Emily never shuts up about how close they are, just over the hill or some bullshit equivalent metaphor. But she's not the one forcing herself back together knowing that if Hotch suspects Derek's hiding anything it'll kill him. He'll stress himself out trying to figure out what it is and if he does figure it out or even if he doesn't… it will kill him. He steps back into the room, double-checking that Hotch won't see that he's just cried. "Hey-" he stops right there at the door.
Hotch is sitting up with his eyes vacantly cast to the blank wall in front of him. His shoulders pull up to expand his lungs but he can't get enough air. "Hotch?" Derek looks around the room, to the monitors picking up speed as his heart rate rockets and his blood pressure drops. "Hotch, you okay?"
Hotch looks over to Morgan and then back at the wall. "I can't breathe," he pulls at the gown loosely holding onto his shoulders. "Something-" his face pinches, a hushed cry of pain leaving his lips as he folds into himself. "It won't- Somethings- Somethings wrong."
Derek moves to step in but he freezes as the room is filled with the sound of very, very angry sounding machines. He stumbles back, watching Hotch fall back onto the bed. Kicking and writhing as he tries to breathe. He's not even sure what to do. His mind is fogged with the news about- God, how's he supposed to tell Hotch? Garcia's coming, he'll have to tell her. And Dave and Emily and JJ. They can't handle this. They won't make it.
"Excuse me," a nurse steps past Derek and he stumbles back. He hits the wall behind him, jumping hard at the sudden jarring hit. Derek looks back at Hotch one more time, watching his legs slide back down to the bed. His frantic wheezing gets softer. And Derek walks away. He runs away. He can't be there.
Mid-February
Emily looks down at the comforter, playing with the soft material rather than looking at him. He is laying down, stretched out beside her. It's the first time she's seen him vulnerable- the first time she sees the way that he has no control over what his body decides to do anymore. Ice pack over his head, trying to soothe his headache, and a bloodied tissue in the other as he awaits the next nose bleed. They're close enough to touch despite having a whole bed to layout on. His leg against her side, her arm near his hip.
"I'm sorry," he offers nasally. Turning his head to look over at her, she winces at the sight of his bloodied face. "I know it's a lot to ask."
She looks down at her lap, scratching at her pants so that she doesn't have to look at him. It is a lot to ask. It's a job she's had before and for a long time. After Foyet he asked her to be his power of attorney because Haley wouldn't be able to while in protective custody and as they stood she was the only person who could stand to be around him. She'd agreed, so long as he'd be hers that way she could get her mother off the list. They'd done the paperwork together.
"I don't want Dave-" he chokes himself up. Holding his hand over his mouth as he averts his eyes away, trying to hide just how upset the idea makes him. "He, ugh, I don't want to… He had a son, you know? A- A baby and I don't mean to say I'm, you know, but I don't want something to happen and force him to…"
Dave cares very deeply for all of them but it's no secret that he has a special little attachment to Aaron and Emily. A bond that is a little more pronounced, he just knows how to deal with them. Something about that reckless nature of theirs that he knows all too well. Emily knows what Hotch means even if he can't bring himself to say it. Before making Dave his power of attorney was a matter of convenience. Now he has to think, far more than before, about who he knows will make the right decisions.
"Aaron," she squeezes his hand. "I'll do it." Her heart hurts just to think about the worst-case scenarios. Imagines doctors asking way too many questions and his lifeless body spread out on a stretcher waiting for her to tell them they can pull life-support. Will she find herself in charge of a zombie, hovering between life and death, and all he has is her by his side and her voice to go by. To tell the doctors they can try shocking his stilled heart one more time or if they can stop dumping chemo into his unresponsive veins. What is she getting herself into?
"One condition." she barters. "You be mine again. Old times sake."
He'd caved because he knew it was the only way to win.
In another hospital on a metal tray in the E.R. soaked in blood and screen cracked, Emily Prentiss' phone sits idle. The decision to make him her medical proxy was a whim but there was an air of urgency in making her his. To him, they were playing with time and he hates waiting for the inevitable. She'd just wanted things to go back to the way that they were before. Coming home because she misses them and maybe working in the BAU or at least within the FBI again. She gets to be his right-hand man again and she and Dave and Hotch get to spend afternoons drinking in Hotch's office.
It wasn't supposed to mean this.
This was never supposed to happen.
David Rossi picks up the unknown call, agitated to be bothered while he's driving. "This is he." He gets onto the high-way and grimaces at the carnage of mangled and warped metal sitting on the side. Waving the man in the fireman's suit who directs him into an adjacent lane but he's not spared the sight of the crimson pools of blood baking under the sun. He shakes his head, sighing sadly.
He nearly causes another wreck.
"Are- Are you sure you have the right… I mean, I just it's hard to believe because-"
"Yes, sir. Ms. Prentiss' I.D. was found on her person at the scene. We'll have to have someone come to identify the body but yes-"
The body.
He just opened the text she sent. Urging him to go to the hospital sooner because she was leaving to go get Reid and didn't want Hotch sitting there alone any longer than he had to. She's always thinking about that, covering them in ways they hadn't thought of. Sending them articles about cancer and never seeming to have to ask Hotch anything just knowing. There were two texts, one that was distinctly her and the other Reid. Too much grammatical rule-following to be Emily who texts by shortening every word she can and miss-spelling the other half.
If Emily's dead… where's Reid?
He has no choice but to keep driving to execute this one thing that's been asked of him. He's going to go sit with Aaron until someone else comes and he'll keep this all under wraps. Just a few years ago Aaron pulled off the opposite, convincing them Emily was dead. Let them bury her and work through their grief assessments all while knowing she was alive. Dave can manage this.
But Aaron hadn't fooled Dave.
And Dave doesn't fool Aaron for a second.
"Where is she, David?"
David. No one else is there when he arrives and no amount of water he splashes across his face can wash away the deep red agony of the mourning he feels in his bones. To lose a child… He can't protect any of them. Another painful reminder to hit him like a kick as he steps into Aaron's hospital room. Watching as the staff around Aaron plunge drugs into his forever thinning body. Even though he knows there's nothing to be done now, it's a futile fight.
The weight of his body in that visitor's chair is unwelcomed, wrong.
Aaron's body might fail him every chance it gets but he's been a profiler his whole life. It's the only way to survive and now is no exception. No amount of Dave's soft diversion will distract him from the red swelling around Dave's eyes. From the wet rings around his sleeves where he didn't push his sleeves up high enough before splashing water onto his face. And he pieces his own truth together through what Dave won't tell him.
Until he knows.
"Don't lie to me," he asks softly. They'd tried to intubate him just after Derek left but he'd refused it. Fought between heaving breaths until they left him alone. Gave him the steroids and left him to his own devices. He didn't care right in that moment or even now as his chest burns from the exertion. No more, he's decided. He's tired and in pain. No more cuts and tubes and hospitals. The sort of thing that he's expecting to scream and fight with Emily about. Only the papers are on their way, waiting to be signed by his trembling hand, and she's not here. "Please, Dave. Don't lie to me."
David Rossi is a bad man. Not so much a coward as just his morals askew, the things he's willing to do and the things that he does do… Though for all the bad things he's done, he knows that Emily and Aaron keep turning back around expecting Dave to be there. Needing him to come into their chaotic as all hell lives as if he has a place at that table. But his place is there, the plate set. Aaron is looking back at him, asking just a simple thing of Dave. It's right there and the truth will kill him but a lie will shatter all that they have.
"She's dead, Aaron."
Dave continues on as Aaron chokes, turning his face away from Dave.
"Derek thinks it was the snow. She and Reid… there was just so much snow and when she-"
"No!" he doesn't want to hear it. "No, please leave me alone." The panic builds up like the fluid in his lungs. Until he's choking on both and can hardly breathe. He doesn't want to hear anything. Doesn't want to know that it happened.
"Aaron?" Dave stands from his chair, trying to reach out to him but Aaron pulls his hand away.
"Please," he wheezes, fingers wound into his gown. "Please, Dave, please go."
A nurse steps into the room and Dave looks back at and then to Aaron and he listens. For once in his life he listens to Aaron's pained cries and he relents. He steps out of the room, pushing hot tears off his cheeks with his fists. He's losing them. Lost them. It's far too late now. What was Aaron holding on to before? The idea of living was only entertaining with the prospect of getting to work with Emily again- being on the team. Aaron's been convinced for far too long now that Jack would be better off with Jessica and the past few months, in his mind, have only proven that. The team functions without him, they've been sent off on cases without him. Morgan taking charge. It's not the first time Morgan's taken charge.
So, what does that leave?
His mess has been cleaned up. He doesn't have to pretend to be strong for Reid. Doesn't have to stay for Emily. Derek will take care of the team. Jessica will raise Jack. It's better this way. Garcia and JJ don't need him, they never have. Dave's always saying how he needs friends his own age. This puts them on a new path. A new leg. They'll be okay.
It's better this way. It really is.
"Sir?"
Hotch signs the papers- all of them. A DNR that Emily had once rolled her eyes at him for even considering. She wouldn't let it get that bad, she'd promised with a chuckle. He's not dying on her. Funny how just a little snow changes everything. He signs himself out of the hospital and realizes that he doesn't have anyone to come get him. A nurse tries to talk to him, to comfort or console but he's consumed by his grief. Shaking as his silent sobs shake his thin body. She's nearly afraid he'll kill himself like this, crying so hard that he can't breathe.
He takes a taxi home. Forehead leaning against the cool glass and thankful that the man driving doesn't even bother to pretend to be interested in him. No one's at the house but she's everywhere. Her coat on the floor where it had fallen off the rack. A pair of her shoes right in front of the door, he nearly trips over them. A mug she left out on the counter. A book left she'll never finish on the couch. A sweatshirt thrown over a chair.
His feet carry him on autopilot, body too tired to fight but he can't make it back to his room. If she were here- he'd still be in the hospital- she'd bully him back onto his feet. Rolling her eyes and keeping him in motion. She always seems to know when to push and when to cave and he doesn't. He can't tell the difference between pain that he can push through and pain that's going to kill him.
Well… maybe it's pain that is killing him now.
The couch is cold but the blankets are kept in a chest too far away. Across the living room just far enough away that he knows he might be able to get to it but he won't be able to get back to the couch. All he can do is look over at it.
He already misses her. The way she buzzes about everywhere or how she'd probably force him to sit up and watch some shitty sitcom with her. He's gotten used to her invading his personal space and demanding his attention. Talking all the time even if he doesn't respond.
He's alone again.
How did he ever set out thinking he could do this in the first place without her?
He gets worse, quick.
The pneumonia is what's hurting him the worst, the cancer spreads slowly but the pneumonia settles deep in his lungs. Breathing is taxing, consumes far too much of his energy. Once, maybe a few weeks ago, he would have assured them that he would be fine. There's no need to worry. It's hard to lie about something like that when he needs Derek's help to stand, when he can't sit up on his own without being propped up by pillows.
They argue where he can't hear them, not that it matters anymore.
He wants to go to the funerals but it's still cold out. How are they supposed to make that happen? Derke hates the idea, tells JJ to just abdon whatever plan she's come up with because he's not going. He's still convinced they can force life back into him, go back and fix everything. He's living in some world where there is no cancer or car accident and Emily's in London and Reid's in Las Vegas visiting his mother.
JJ goes on. She picks out a suit and finds his best jacket. Hunts down a nice blanket and takes the wheelchair the hospital offered them. She smiles and tells Garcia that she's an angel when she knits him a black hat to pull down over his head, beaming when she produces a matching scarf. "It's got a little blue in it," Garcia says, showing her the dark blue accenting the ends. "That's his favorite color."
JJ squats down beside the bed, pulling her dress up so her knees can bend, and she can move how she'd like. Gently, afraid touch alone will unravel him, she places her hand on his shoulder. She doesn't shake him, she just rubs her hand over his arm until his eyes crack open. "You're still sure you want to do this?" she asks as he slowly places himself. A weary, bone-tired weight settling over his face as he looks back at her processing what she's asked.
He glances at his nightstand to the alarm clock sitting to his right. They've given him an hour, which is more time than he'd normally need, but they're not moving at his normal pace. They're moving at their own pace, how quickly they can work him into clothes. With a nod, he sets them into motion. There used to be a time when he could be picky about these sorts of things- who saw him naked and who he allowed to help him. Now he can't go to the bathroom unless someone helps him drag his stiff bones there. Can't stand unless he's leaning into someone else's strength.
He's folded into JJ, going where she pulls him into her chest, so that Derek can slide in behind him and help her work his unwilling arms and legs into pants and a shirt. The day isn't altogether that weary just a little cold. Considering the weight he's lost, it makes things easier for them to layer his clothes. He lets JJ pull a long-sleeved t-shirt over his head, slowly working his arms into the sleeves while she finds his white button-up and the black sweater Morgan laid out to go underneath it. It takes her no time to attack the buttons on his shirt. He gets no real warning from Derek as the black sweater is tugged down and he hears a soft, pleased huff of a half-laugh that Derek gets out of his surprised grunt.
JJ frowns at Derek, unamused with him. She squats down by Aaron's legs, JJ cups his cheek, tilting his head up so she can look into his eyes. Stroking her thumb across his cheek, "you don't have to come, Hotch. No one will-"
"I do," he whispers. "I can't- I won't forgive myself if…"
So he goes and she's glad he's there because she doesn't want to be alone. There's something still grounding about him being there, sitting there beside them. Squeezing their hands to comfort them, offering Garcia a handkerchief to wipe her eyes. It's like… It's nearly like he's himself for a day. Holding JJ to his chest and rubbing her back until she can stand and give the eulogy she'd written. He's talking softly to Morgan, the two of them taking charge of the day and Derek is just relieved to be told what to do again. To have a plan of action that he doesn't have to come up with.
Jack stays glued to him, sitting in his lap or holding tight to Hotch's sleeve.
Hotch is Hotch. He stifles his coughs and sits up straight. Pretending is exhausting and by the end of the day, the other's flooding his dining room with the thick scent of food and soft sniffles as they cry and laugh, he settles into the couch. Listening to Derek tell the story about the time he took Spencer hiking and the kid twisted his ankle half-way to the top, didn't tell Derek, and he had to carry him all the way back down. It was like listening to a podcast, Spencer telling them all kinds of things about every little thing they passed. At the time he was annoyed but now...
Jack stops at the end of the couch, sniffling as he uses his sweatshirt's sleeve to wipe his nose. It's obvious he's been crying no matter how hard he's tried to cover it up. His eyes get red and the skin around his eyebrows very pale, he gets that from Haley. Neither of them has ever been able to hide their tears. They're cryers, Hotch knows, Jessica is too. He finds it terribly endearing and he's always adored their ability to be so sensitive. He's glad Jack never lost it… he hopes he never loses it.
"Don't wipe your nose on your sleeve," Hotch says as well as he can. It's hard to breathe around the fluid in his lungs but he can manage anything for Jack. He'll do anything for him. "That's gross."
Jack giggles because he's young and boogers on his sleeve are something to laugh about. Hiding his face by looking down at the floor he stumbles over to the couch. Sinking down onto his knees with a little thunk and folding over the cushions until he can press his face into the stack of blankets over his father's body. He turns his head, looking up at his father, and smiles again. Closing his eyes when Hotch puts his hand over Jack's cheek, stroking back the overgrown hairs. "Daddy?" Jack doesn't know the word for the way that he feels but it's anxiety. He's terrified and he's anxious because losing Haley had been quick and he hadn't even known it was happening.
Losing his father is… everywhere he looks.
"What is it, buddy?" Hotch strokes the soft blonde strands back behind Jack's ear. Lost to the simple soothing motion.
Jack turns his face into the blankets, relieved to smell something homely. From what feels like so long ago. It doesn't smell like Jessica's house or like the hospital. It just smells like his dad and home and like everything that has been happening is one great big old lie. He doesn't want to cry but no matter how hard he wipes at his tears they keep coming.
"Okay, okay." Hotch can't lift Jack but he still manages to catch one of Jack's furiously rubbing hands. His grip isn't strong and Jack could pull free but he doesn't. "Buddy-"
"You're gonna die, aren't you?"
He put off this conversation far too long but it still hits like a MACK truck. "Bud-" he swallows thickly, wincing at the stab of pain across his chest. Right, he's reminded, have to stay still. And Jack sees it. No matter how hard they've all tried to protect him he sees Hotch freeze as the pain overwhelms him. Unable to speak, just has to keep forcing air in and out of his failing lungs. It is only a minute but Jack watches frozen in horror as Hotch slowly comes back. "Sorry," he whispers, unable to make his voice any louder.
Jack is holding his hand, hiccuping softly. "Mommy probably misses you," he whispers, tentatively.
Hotch smiles but doubts that. Tears swell and he can't even wipe them away. "I'm so sorry Jack." He's making an orphan out of his son. He's just a baby. Someone else will teach him how to shave and someone else will sit with him when he opens his acceptance letters to all kinds of great colleges. Hotch will never get to see him graduate- not even from elementary school. He'll never struggle to piece together what to say when Jack gets his first heart-break or to find out if he's into men or women or likes to wear nail polish or if he's a coffee fiend like him or hates it like Haley.
He won't be there.
"I'll still talk to you," Jack offers. "I promise. I'll tell you anything and everything-" there are tears pouring down his little face. Frantic now and Hotch isn't sure which of them he's trying to console. "And- and-" Jack's lower lip curls under the other and lets out a choked sob. He tries to hide it but it comes out he sits up, pushing himself as close as he can get to Hotch. "I don't want you to die. I don't want you to be with Mommy. I want you. Why can't you stay with me?"
It's not the first time Jack felt anger towards his mother but it's the first of many times he hates both his parents. His mother for not being here and father for being weak because that's all Jack can understand. That cancer is a battle and his father, the man he thought invincible, is losing. So he must not be fighting hard enough. Why can't he just fight harder? Why isn't Jack enough?
Why aren't any of them?
Garcia knits him thick winter hats but he'll never make it long enough to see the next snowfall and need them. He takes the hats she brings him and lets her start new ones even though he knows he'll never see their completion. Jack draws pictures, endless in supply, and they go up all around Hotch. JJ takes the time to pin each one someplace he can see it.
His awareness goes first. The confusion that sets in… it's hard to know what to say. They never know what to do.
He asks about work. JJ takes his hand and talks him through old cases. Tries to settle on the good ones and he lets her. Smiling comes easy when there's winning and she reminds him of the children they did save. Of the goods things.
He tells them that he's not in any pain but he'll get confused a few moments later and with tears streaming down the sides of his face ask them why it hurts. Trembling and looking so desperate, choking in pain and shuddering as he fights it. "Why?" he asks. He doesn't honestly know why it hurts or why they won't help. "Everything- Everything hurts-" And sometimes he can't even speak. Just has this hazy glow to his eyes as he shakes and coughs. And there's nothing they can do for him.
The worst is that he won't stop asking for Emily. They come up with so many lies and sometimes they can get little smiles out of him by telling him something clever if it feels right and like something silly she would do. It's hard to be so positive in the face of that very fresh wound but it's so much worse when he does remember. When he asks and then hardens and whispers, "no… no, it's okay. I remember." He looks so much happier when he doesn't.
He stops eating two days before he gives up drinking.
"Just a sip," Garcia begs, crying and knowing what this means.
Hotch just looks back at her but he's not there.
"Leave him alone, baby girl." And Derek pulls her out of the room as she cries, sobbing and screaming because she can't stand to lose anymore. Emily and Reid and now he's going too. It's too late she knows to tell him the things that she needs to. What if he doesn't know that she loves him? He might stay if he knew that, right? He wouldn't leave her. She'd ask Derek to promise he won't leave but Hotch did that too once. Crotched down in front of her office chair and took her hand and promised that all she needed him he'd be here.
Well, she still needs him, okay? So…
Now it's borrowed time.
"Let's go outside, old man." Derek has to stop, turning his head to the side when Hotch smirks at the way he says 'old man'. A tear falls down the side of his face and rubs it away, harder than necessary. It's a practiced maneuver, he lifts Hotch and puts him in the wheelchair. He's careful, wrapping Hotch in as many blankets as he finds within arm's reach, propping his sides up with pillows. Suddenly, overcome by just the way Hotch's bed looks. Two years ago it was empty, only ever occupied by him. Now they sleep here with him every night, trying to make sure that if he goes in his sleep he's not alone. So that they can have the comfort of knowing they were here and they did do everything they could.
"Jack," Hotch rasps as they approach the door.
"Can you hear him?" Derek asks, opening the back door and closing his eyes against the sun he feels on his skin. "Look at him," Derek says, " out here running around like a heathen." Jack doesn't notice them and neither does Henry. The two loudly going on about their game dodgeball or maybe keep-away it's hard to tell. There's just a lot of thrilled shouting. It makes Derek smile, seeing them just be kids.
He puts Hotch in the shade and waves to Garcia and JJ already standing out there, the two of them dragging out chairs to stand in the sun. The two of them move to soak in a strangely warm day. After all the snow, all of which still hasn't melted, a random nearly sixty degree day with a bright hot sun feels like spring. "You okay here?" Derek asks, setting the brakes.
Hotch nods, smiling softly as he watches Derek join Dave and the boys in the yard. He watches them play, hears Jack scream with pure joy when Derek throws him up into the air and when JJ fusses with all four of them for even thinking about taking off their jackets. They go on and on and he gets tired just watching them. Resting his head against the wheelchair he does his best to keep his coughs soft, undetectable to the others. He's cold but he doesn't want to go inside just yet and though it's hard to breathe he doesn't want anything. He just wants to watch a little longer.
Just a little longer.
Derek isn't sure what it is, something churning in his stomach, but he looks up. Eyes moving across the lawn- Garcia knitting under the safety of her large brimmed hat and JJ stretched out on a chair trying to read. Jack has Henry pinned, the two of them going on wrestling with or without Derek now that he's distracted.
"Hotch?" Derek steps closer. Derek feels it crawl up his throat, a rabid animal clawing and ripping him to shreds. He wants to rush over, fights the urge to run over and shake him but he already knows. He glances over to Dave, listens to the older man chuckle and shove at Henry who tries to overpower him. Sees JJ smile at something on her page and Garcia frown and undo a piece she's messed up.
For a moment, he's the only one that knows and he isn't sure what to do. How to shield Jack from this or who he's supposed to call.
"Uncle Derek!" Henry screams, begging to be released from where Dave has him pinned to the ground mercilessly tickling his sides.
Derek looks back at Hotch one more time, forcing himself not to cry. This is what he wanted, right? Not in a hospital or hooked up to machines. He was sitting in his yard and listening to what's left of his family enjoy a warm sunny day.
"I'm coming buddy," he finally manages, smiling at Jack when he comes running up. Hoping that for just a few more minutes Derek can preserve something of his youth. Remind him how much fun he had today. That these parts be what he remembers.
"Uncle Derek?" Jack asks, once Derek pulls him up into his arms. "I think we should go get ice cream. Don't you? I'll get strawberry and I'll even share with daddy. Henry will be good too! Please?"
Derek nods and smiles, "why don't you get Uncle Dave to take you, huh?" He nods to Dave, "take these heathens to get some ice cream."
And Derek Morgan stands all by himself as he ushers them away, tells them to go on that he and Hotch will be fine. Go, go, and don't come back without a cone for him. Waits until he can't see the car anymore and he allows himself to cry. Sucking in choked breathes as he walks back to the yard. Pulling up the breaks. "Come on," he whispers to Hotch. "One last time, old man." He's almost expecting that lazy smile. To hear Hotch grumble his name in that exasperated tone Derek loves so much. Only to be met with silence.
Nothing.
They didn't say goodbye.