You're not even sleeping
You're prob'ly even listening
Keep it simple and honest, stop crying, you're an adult
I could stand up, I could man up, it's just so convenient to be fragile
This pain is constant and sharp, watching the signals that you send
I wanna feel lethal on the inside, I wanna read American Psycho again
But I am not sure that I want any single part of this
Any single part of any of this shit
Cause everybody pays
Yeah, everybody's head is in the noose
-"The Boredom is the Reason I Started Swimming. It's Also the Reason I Started Sinking," by The Front Bottoms
Emily could count on one hand the number of times that she woke up before Alex, but her alarm went off long before her roommate's. She turned off her alarm as fast as she could and slid out of her bed, the floorboards creaking under her feet, but Alex didn't budge, her blankets pulled up almost all the way over her head. It felt strange to creep around their shared room and get ready with her still sleeping; usually their roles were reversed.
Alex's phone rang as the sun was starting to peek through the blinds; Emily paused putting on her makeup as Alex reached out from under the covers and fumbled for it. "Hello?" she mumbled, her voice raspy from sleep. Emily turned back to the mirror. "No, I was sleeping. What?" Emily leaned closer to paint on her eyeliner. "I thought your flight wasn't until noon. It's not?"
Alex groaned and pushed herself to sit up, her blankets clinging to her tangled hair. "Okay, fine, give me like fifteen minutes and I'll be down there," she said. "Fine. Yeah. Give me a second."
She threw her phone down on the bed, buried her face in her hands, and swore loudly. "What's up?" Emily asked.
Alex tossed her covers back. "I thought their flight was at noon, which means they would leave for the airport around ten, which means we could get breakfast around nine. But no, my whole family is waiting for me in the lobby wondering why I'm not ready."
"Oh, that sucks," Emily said.
Alex rummaged in her half of the closet, flipping through the rack of dresses. "My dad does this to me every goddamn time," she said. "He changes plans at the last possible second and then makes me feel like an idiot when I do everything wrong. I don't understand."
"My mom likes to do that too," Emily said. She tossed her lipstick down on her dresser. "Well, when she bothers to make plans with me."
"Do you want to come to breakfast with us?" Alex asked. "I'm sure my parents won't mind. My brothers will love it."
Emily picked up her phone, double checking to make sure she hadn't missed any texts. "Nah, I'm good," she said. "You go have fun with your family."
"You're sure?"
"Yeah, I…uh, I have a date," she admitted.
Alex paused, a dress pulled halfway over her head. "Wait, what?" she said. She tugged the dress down and struggled to zip it up. "You didn't tell me you were seeing anyone."
Emily gestured for her to turn around. "It's not anything serious," she said as she zipped up the dress. "We're just going to hang out in town. See a movie or something. Get off campus, at least."
"That's so great," Alex said. "Really, that's great." She twisted around to look at herself in the mirror and frowned, her shoulders slumping. "Does this make me look too much like a librarian?"
Emily surveyed her half of the closet, then looked her up and down. "You are a librarian," she said. Alex swore and pulled off the dress. "Come on, you look fine. Please don't wear jeans again, it's weird when you wear jeans."
"Are you on your way downstairs? Can you let them know I'm coming?" she said.
"Yeah, yeah, I got it," she said. Alex dug around in her dresser drawers; a couple of her shirts spilled onto the floor. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," she said. "Tell them I'll be there in five minutes."
Emily picked up her phone and her keys and let herself out of the room. The hallway was quiet; most kids on campus were staying with their families at their hotels or had already left for breakfast or the morning chapel service. She passed just a handful of people on her way down the stairs, and the lobby was mostly empty. Alex's family waited near the stairs, her brothers sprawled out on one of the couches.
"Hey, Em," Scotty called. "Whoa, where are you going? Warped Tour in town?"
She brushed her hair out of her eyes. "Nope," she said. "Alex told me to tell you guys that she'll be down in a few minutes. She's rushing."
Catherine elbowed Damon lightly. "I told you, you forgot to tell her that our flight changed," she said.
Damon shrugged. "Lexy's usually up early, I figured she'd be awake already," he said. He checked his watch. "She'd better hurry." Catherine shot him a look.
"You want to come to breakfast with us?" Scotty asked.
"We always go to this one diner in town, they've got great waffles," Danny added.
"No, no, I'm good," Emily said. She checked her phone again. "I'm meeting somebody. But thanks, though. It was really nice to meet you guys. Have a safe flight back to Kansas."
"Thanks, sweetheart," Catherine said. "It was so nice to meet you too. Take care."
Emily smiled back at her and headed for the door, but Danny jogged after her. "Hey, hold on a second," he said. "I want to ask you something." She paused, raising an eyebrow, and Danny cleared his throat. "This is gonna sound dumb, but…I need to ask you a favor."
"What?" she said.
Danny glanced back at his parents and his brother, then back at her. "Can you keep an eye on Alex?" he asked. "I know, I know, it sounds stupid, she can take care of herself."
"She's mature for her age," Emily said dryly.
"She's always been like that," Danny said. "Hell, every time my parents were out of the house they always left her in charge, even when we were kids. She just…she pushes herself too hard, you know? Runs herself into the ground. And she's my little sister. I should have kept a better eye on her when we were both still at home, but…she was too busy keeping my ass out of trouble."
"Yeah, that sounds about right."
"Hey, Scotty is a million times worse than me," Danny said. He raked his hair back. "I just feel bad that I didn't look out for her enough when we were kids, and now I only see her a couple times a year, and when I do see her I'm…I'm kind of shitty towards her. I, uh…I kinda regret that now. "
Emily glanced back at the sound of footsteps on the stairs; Alex ran into the lobby out of breath. "I'm here, I'm here, I'm sorry," she said.
Damon patted Alex on the shoulder. "It's not like you to sleep in, princess," he said. Alex sighed heavily. Her long hair was braided over her shoulder and she hadn't put on any makeup, and she'd settled for leggings and a long cardigan. "It's fine, it's fine. We just can't take that long. But hey, before I forget-"
"Damon," Catherine warned.
"We ran into the rep from UOM," Damon said. "I gave him that extra copy of your transcript. He was pretty impressed. Said he'd pass your name along to the admissions department so they can keep an eye out for you."
Alex's face fell. "Sure," she said flatly. "Thanks, Dad." Damon squeezed her arm.
Emily caught Danny's eye. "Yeah," she said. "I'll keep an eye out for her."
She pulled the hood of her jacket over her head and slipped outside. It was a dreary day, chilly and gray-skied, and it started to drizzle as she walked to the front parking lot. She knocked on the window of the silver sedan idling by the curb.
Ian unlocked the doors and she let herself inside, tossing her hood back. "What took you so long?" he said.
"Just had to say goodbye to some people," she said.
Ian leaned over to kiss her, his lips dry and his breath tasting like stale cigarettes. "Let's get out of here," he said, and she leaned back as he peeled out of the drive.
Penelope hovered close to her grandparents, huddling under the safety of their yellow umbrella as they waited for the taxi that was going to take them to the airport. "Do you really have to go so soon?" she asked. "You could stay a little longer."
Her grandfather squeezed her shoulder. "I'm sorry, sweet pea, we gotta catch our flight," he said. Her lower lip dropped in a frown and George wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "Now, don't look so sad, you're gonna blink and you'll already be home for Thanksgiving."
Penelope wrapped her arms around his waist and he patted her back. Homesickness washed over her like a tidal wave. She wanted to be at home in the little yellow townhouse, in her own room, with her grandparents right there. "Are you sure I have to wait that long?" she said plaintively.
"Oh, honey, time's going to go by so fast," her grandmother said. Polly patted her cheek. "And you're doing so well here. We're so proud of you."
"Very proud," George echoed.
Penelope sighed. Her brief foray in hacking her middle school's computer infrastructure had gotten her into more trouble than she could have imagined for herself, and the worst part had been the disappointment written all over their faces when she got expelled. They had never yelled at her, or said anything mean, or expressed that disappointment, and somehow that hurt even more. Hearing that they were proud of her again made her feel a little more human again.
"I wish you wouldn't wear so much makeup, though," Polly sighed. "You're such a pretty girl, Penny, you don't need any of it. And you're still young, you've got years and years to wear makeup like a grownup."
"I like wearing makeup," she objected. "It's like art for my face."
George laughed. "She's got you there, dear," he said to Polly, who shook her head with a smile. "I still think you look very nice, sweet pea."
Polly sighed. "Your mother was the exact same when she was your age," she said. "Every time we ran errands, Barbie would beg for a new lip gloss or an eyeliner, in every crazy color possible." She touched Penelope's hair lightly. "At least stay away from the hair dye for now, please. I've never been able to get the purple out of the upstairs bathroom."
"Gramma, I have a question," Penelope blurted out before she could stop herself. "Could we go see my brothers for Thanksgiving? Maybe? Please?"
She instantly regretted asking when she saw their faces fall. "That's…that's a little difficult to arrange, honey," George said. "We haven't heard from Emilio's family in quite a while. And not for lack of trying."
"I know, but…" Her voice trailed off. "I miss them. I miss them a lot. And this whole weekend I've watched all my friends with their siblings, and I just really wish I could see them. It's been so long." She rubbed her eyes under her glasses. "Carlos doesn't even answer my texts anymore. I think his number got changed."
Polly pulled her into a hug. "Oh, Penny, I wish I had a better answer for you," she sighed. Penelope hugged her tight; she'd missed her grandmother's hugs so much and she needed as many as possible before she left again. "We'll try, okay? We'll see if we can find them for you."
Penelope nodded into her shoulder. "Hey, you know what?" George said. "Maybe when you come home for Thanksgiving we'll take a day and go to Disneyland. How does that sound, huh?"
"That would be fun," she said, making herself smile, and it was worth it to see them both seem to cheer up at her response.
Spencer curled himself up in a tighter ball under the covers, digging his fingernails into the soft skin of his arms. He was so tired he felt dizzy, but he couldn't fall asleep, his heart was beating too fast.
He must've dozed off in Hotch's room the night before, because the last thing he remembered was offering to help with his math homework and being told to lie down. He had woken up in his own room, in his own bed, with Derek snoring across from him. The clock shone 2:04 in the morning in neon green lights, but he hadn't been able to fall asleep.
He wasn't supposed to tell anyone. Ethan had drilled it into him. If you tell anybody that you're a runaway, they're just going to ship you back here, he'd said over and over again. You can't let anybody find out.
The past year was a nightmare that crowded his thoughts every time he closed his eyes. Sometimes he dreamed about the day they came to perform the wellness check after his mother's coworkers called, when they found the house overrun with garbage and the fridge empty and the unpaid bills piled up in the untouched mailbox, when they gave him ten minutes to toss his belongings into a black garbage bag and forced him into the back of the social worker's car, when he pressed his hands against the window and screamed for his mother and she stared at him like she didn't recognize him. Sometimes he dreamed about the group home, getting his food stolen and his books destroyed by teenagers twice his size, dawdling as long as humanly possible at school to avoid going home and staying awake as much as he could, his body locked in permanent fight-or-flight. He was the youngest one there and they never let him forget it.
Ethan was the only person in the overcrowded group home who was nice to him. It was Ethan's idea to submit for boarding schools across the country, piecing together transcripts and resumes and application essays for full ride scholarships, spending hours in the public library spending loose change on photocopies and stamps. And in the end Ethan wasn't accepted but Spencer was, after some carefully doctored paperwork and forged signatures. They got him a plane ticket using the remaining balances on Diana's collection of credit cards, scraping together just enough to get him the one way flight from Las Vegas to Nashville, and a bus ticket from the airport to school.
If you tell anybody that you're a runaway, they're just going to ship you back here. You can't let anyone find out. And stop crying, okay? You have to take care of yourself, you can't be a crybaby.
Spencer squeezed his eyes shut tight as a tear rolled down his cheek. He messed up. He was a crybaby. And he told. He told Hotch, and if Hotch knew, it would only be a matter of time before someone else knew, and it would spread to the adults, and they would put him back on a plane to Vegas and he would be lost again.
"Hey, kid, you getting up?"
Spencer stayed still, feigning sleep under the covers. Derek clattered around the room, too full of energy to keep quiet. "I'm going out with my mom and my sisters," he said. "Want me to walk you down to the dining hall?"
He stayed silent, trying to force himself to stop crying. He wanted to sleep. If he could just get some sleep he could calm the thoughts racing around in his brain, maybe come up with a plan to make Hotch forget that he'd said anything or stop him from telling anyone else. But he couldn't sleep.
"C'mon, pretty boy, I know you're not sleeping," Derek said. "You're not a very good actor."
He jostled Spencer lightly, playfully shaking him awake, but he froze. "Leave me alone," he said, but his voice came out wobbly and high pitched. He heard Derek leave the room, but he didn't close the door behind him; he curled up tighter and bit down on his lip, trying to distract himself.
If he could just fall asleep, and not dream about anything, he would be okay.
He didn't hear the footsteps until he felt the bed dip under Hotch's weight as he sat down next to him. "Hey, kid," he said. "Derek said you're pretending to be asleep. Are you okay?" Spencer ignored him. "Did you have an accident?"
He squeezed his eyes shut. That only happened every so often, and it didn't matter that it only happened when he dreamed about the goalpost, he was too old and he was mortified.
Hotch pulled the covers back. "Stop faking it," he said. His voice sounded tired and raspy. "I know you're awake. Are you sick?"
He touched the back of his hand to his forehead and Spencer jerked back, avoiding eye contact and trying to pull the blankets back. "I'm fine," he said.
Hotch sighed heavily. He was pale, verging on sallow, and his dark eyes were ringed in deep purple shadows. "You don't seem fine," he said. "Want to talk about it?" Spencer shook his head. "How about we go get breakfast?" Another shake. "Coffee? I'll text Alex, she can meet us."
"No," he said, trying to sound forceful but it came out of his mouth in a petulant, childish whine.
Hotch rubbed his temples. "Spencer, I'm not in the mood to argue," he said. "Just get up and get dressed, please? You need to eat something."
He shook his head. He wasn't hungry, or thirsty. He didn't feel like talking. He wanted to hide in his bed and pretend he'd never opened his mouth.
Hotch picked him up and set him on his feet. "Please, just get dressed," he said. "Something warm. It's raining."
"I don't want to," he whined. "Just leave me alone."
Undeterred, Hotch opened his drawers and pulled out clean clothes for him. He held them out without a word. "Please," he said in an exhausted exhale, and Spencer took them reluctantly.
He got dressed slowly despite himself. Hotch sat on the bed, his eyes glazed over as he stared at the floor. It made him remember why he wanted to tell him about the group home, about being in foster care. He had never felt so lost and alone in his life as he did back then, and he wanted to tell Hotch that he felt that bleak crawling feeling of abandonment.
But he wasn't supposed to tell.
Spencer dragged himself through the steps of getting dressed and putting on his shoes. "I want to stay here," he said. "By myself. I have homework to do."
"No, you don't, I know you finished it already," Hotch said. "I texted the other kids, Alex and James are going to meet us at the Honeybean. Do you want to see Alex?" He shook his head stubbornly. "Well, let's at least get a change of scenery."
He didn't want a change of scenery. It was cold and gray and rainy outside, and he trailed behind Hotch, refusing to take his outstretched hand when he offered it. He tried to walk as slow as possible until the rain and wind picked up, dripping chilled water down the back of his neck, and then he jogged ahead of him down the path to the Honeybean until a stitch tightened in his side and his lungs couldn't catch a deep breath.
He panted for breath in the warm shop, hiding himself against a wall. The smell of coffee inside the shop was too strong and too sugary and he didn't want any, even when Hotch ordered a latte for him. He set the cup down in front of him and sat down a little too heavily at the table. "I don't want it," Spencer said.
Hotch rubbed his ear and set down the chai latte he'd ordered for Alex. All he'd gotten for himself was an herbal tea. "Drink it."
"I don't want to."
"I'll get you a cake pop."
"I don't want it."
Hotch groaned. "What's going on with you?" he asked. "Is this about last night? Do you want to talk about it?"
Spencer stared down at his coffee cup. He didn't want to talk about it. If they talked about it, it would be real, and Hotch would ask too many questions. He wanted to tell him it was a mistake, that he lied, that everything was fine.
He messed up. He ruined everything.
Hotch leaned back in his chair. "Fine, don't talk to me, I guess," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm just trying to help you." Spencer slouched in his chair, scowling at the wood grain of the table.
The bells above the door chimed and James and Alex walked inside, raindrops clinging to the loose strands of hair around her face and the shoulders of his jacket. "God, it's so much colder than I thought it would be," James said as they sat down. "This sucks. I thought we'd get at least a few more weeks of nice weather till it got cold."
Alex undid her braid and shook out her long hair before she took a sip of her drink. "Thanks for getting this for me," she said. "You guys doing okay?"
"Fine," Hotch said tersely. "When's your family leaving?"
"They left right after breakfast, James gave me a ride back to campus," she said. She eyed him critically. "Neither of you look like you got any sleep last night."
"We're fine," Hotch said again. He picked up his tea, frowned at it, and slowly placed it back down.
"How's the food poisoning?" James asked.
Hotch shrugged. "I'll live," he said.
Alex brushed a lock of hair off Spencer's forehead. "You're awfully quiet," she commented. "What's wrong?"
He lunged for her, scrambling off his chair and throwing himself into her arms, and she caught him in surprise. "What's wrong, baby?" she asked again, hugging him tight, and he wished she would hug him tighter, until his soul was crushed back into his body. He wrapped his arms around her neck and buried his face in her shoulder; she smelled like sleep and maple syrup and her violets and vanilla perfume and it made him feel safe. It made him feel like he was back in the uncontrolled fever haze after the goalpost, when he would come to and panic until he realized she was holding him.
His mother didn't like to hold him. She didn't like to be touched, and he told himself he didn't like to be touched either, but Alex was adjusting him on her lap to cuddle him against her shoulder and he wanted desperately to be held and if they sent him away no one would ever hold him again.
He could hear the older kids talking over his head, but he squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his cheek to Alex's collarbone, feeling the vibrations of her voice as she trailed her hand up and down his back. Her long hair draped over him like a protective curtain.
He didn't realize she was talking to him at first. "What do you think, Spencer?" she asked gently. He shrugged, keeping his arms tight around her neck.
"My parents won't mind at all," James said. "It's been a weird weekend, maybe it'll help if you guys come over and hang out at my house instead of staying on campus. I bet they'd be okay with staying the night too. I'll drive us all back for school in the morning."
"You should take Spencer, I'll stay here," Hotch said.
"Mm, no, I don't think so," Alex said. "I don't think you're over being sick yet. You look awful. You should come with us."
"They really won't care," James said. "They've always told me that people can come over to the house whenever I want to bring them over. I can even text them right now if you want me to."
Spencer said nothing. Alex adjusted him against her shoulder and ran her thumb along his cheek. "Why are you crying?" she asked softly, and he shrugged and hid his face again. He didn't know he was crying, but tears were running down his cheeks and soaking into the fabric of her cardigan.
"I guess I'll come," Hotch said reluctantly. "Spencer needs some time off campus, and Alex shouldn't have to take care of him by herself."
Spencer rubbed his cheek against Alex's shoulder. Maybe if Hotch got distracted for the rest of the weekend, he would forget about their conversation. If he forgot, he would stay safe, and it would all blow over, and he could stay.
All he wanted was to stay.
Derek rested his head on his mother's shoulder. It startled him that he was too tall now to just lean over, he had to slide down a little on the bench and hunch his back. Fran wrapped her arm around him and kissed his temple. "I'm proud of you, honey," she said quietly. "Your dad would be so proud too."
He blew out a long, heavy sigh. "You think so?" he said.
Fran rubbed his shoulder. "I know," she said. "We always talked about how we didn't care what you wanted to do with your life when you grew up, if you wanted to be an athlete or a painter or an accountant or a police officer like him. But he always dreamed you'd want to play football like him."
Derek bit back a smile. Five years had gone by since his father's death, long enough that he thought of happy memories first instead of sharp bitter melancholy. "Didn't he bring me a football to the hospital when I was born?" he said.
"Oh, yeah, he sure did," Fran laughed. "We decided to be surprised when you were born, just like we were with Sarah, but he was so sure you were going to be a little boy. The whole time he was driving us to the hospital he kept suggesting different boy names that he liked."
"You only had a girl name, right?"
"Mm-hm, you were going to be Christina Joy," Fran said. "Girl names are so much easier than boys, we agreed on Sarah and Desiree so fast." She patted his arm. "But oh, we just couldn't decide on anything for a boy."
He'd heard the story of his birth a million times, but he never got tired of it. "And then he had to leave the hospital, right?" he said.
"He sure did, he had to pick up Sarah from daycare and take her to Aunt Yvonne's house," she said. "And then felt so bad that he stopped in the hospital gift shop and picked out two toys, a little baby doll and a little football. Just in case."
"But he made it in time," Derek said.
Fran smiled, a little wistful. "He sure did, with seconds to spare," she said. "And then you were born, screaming at the top of your little lungs, and they said you were a boy, and your dad started crying right on the spot."
Derek shifted his weight, resting his chin on his mother's shoulder. "And then he named me," he said.
"I woke up at two in the morning, and your daddy was holding you in the rocking chair, and when he saw that I was awake he whispered 'I think he's a Derek'," she said. "And he was right. You were our Derek immediately." She grinned. "Your middle name, though, that was a battle. We couldn't figure anything out. You're lucky we settled on Jonathan, Sarah wanted your middle name to be Elmo."
He sat up and made a face. "You were gonna let her do that?" he said.
"Oh, no, but she was going through a very intense Sesame Street phase at the time," Fran laughed. She cupped his chin in her hand and rubbed the pad of her thumb lightly along his cheek. "That seems like yesterday, and now Sarah's about to go off to college, and Desiree is almost as tall as I am, and you're a star quarterback with straight As…"
"You think Dad would be proud of me?" he said.
"So proud," she said firmly. "Of all three of you. You're all growing up so fast, but you're becoming good, happy, healthy humans, and that's all your dad ever wanted."
He glanced down at his shoes. "I'm still sorry I went through…that whole phase," he said. "When I was getting in trouble all the time."
"Honey, it's okay," Fran said. "You were grieving. We all were, in our own ways. And good things can still come out of the bad. If you hadn't gotten yourself into trouble, you wouldn't have gotten the scholarship to go to school here. And if you hadn't come here, maybe you wouldn't be on the honor roll and playing varsity."
He twisted around. "Coach Buford is already talking about making me the permanent first-string quarterback before the end of the season," he said. "And he says I should stay over the summer for football camp, if I stay then I'll definitely get quarterback for next year, and that'll get the attention of recruiters when I start applying to colleges."
Fran pressed her mouth into a thin line. "Derek, honey…" she said. "I'm glad you're so excited. And I'm glad that you're getting recognized for how talented and hard working you are. But I just need you to remember that teachers and coaches are grownups in charge. They're not your best friends, or your family."
"Coach Buford is my mentor," he objected. "He really wants me to succeed, Mom."
"I know, I know, and I'm glad he wants to help you," she said quickly. "But…" Her voice trailed off and she bit her lip, as if she was searching for the next thing to say. "I just want you to be safe, baby. Boundaries are important. It's nice that your coach is so supportive, but at the end of the day he's an adult, and you're a child, and that's a professional relationship, not a personal one."
"I'm not a child, I'm fifteen," he retorted. "And Coach is like that with everybody on the team. He is, everybody likes him."
Fran sighed. "Derek-"
His sisters interrupted their conversation as they dragged their suitcases into the hotel lobby. "All right, we made it," Sarah said. "We would have been down here sooner if someone hadn't misplaced her headphones."
Desiree held them up above her head. "Don't worry, everybody, I found them," she said cheerfully.
"Just in time," Fran said, checking her watch. "We probably need to head to the airport soon."
Sarah draped her arm around Derek's shoulders. "Are you going to miss us?" she asked.
"Yeah, yeah, I always miss you guys," Derek said, grinning as Sarah leaned down to hug him and Desiree squished herself between him and their mother. "I'll be back to visit soon, though. And if the team makes it to the playoffs you'll come down to see me, right?"
Fran squeezed his knee. "We wouldn't miss it," she promised.
The car was way too quiet. James glanced back in his rearview mirror. Spencer was completely silent, curled up in his booster seat and clasping Alex's hand. He looked like he hadn't slept well in days, his hazel eyes dull and circled in dark shadows. Alex rested her chin in her hand, gazing blankly at the trees and the mountain road passing by outside, but she was rubbing her thumb in slow circles over Spencer's clenched fingers. She was paler than usual, lost in thought, and it wasn't like her at all.
James glanced at Hotch out of the corner of his eye. He was somehow in worse shape than Spencer, his face nearly gray and his lips colorless. Hotch stared straight ahead out the window, almost without blinking, his fingers tapping an anxious rhythm on his thighs.
"Almost there," James said, trying to sound cheerful but it came out forced and a little too loud. No one reacted.
He drove the rest of the way in silence, scanning from the backseat to the passenger seat to make sure everyone was going to arrive in one piece. He wasn't entirely sure what was going on. Well, he could guess with Alex. She was always in a horrible mood after spending time with her dad and her brothers, it wasn't strange for her to be quiet and snippy and lost in her thoughts. And Hotch was clearly going through something, if his outburst in the Honeybean the other day was any indication. Plus Alex had said something about food poisoning, which made his pallor and silence make a lot more sense.
Spencer was a mystery. Well, Spencer was usually a mystery. James couldn't quite figure him out. One second he was helping kids almost twice his age with their math homework and rattling off statistics and facts off the top of his head that were somehow impossibly correct, and the next he was bawling his eyes out into the security blanket that he swore wasn't a security blanket. Something wasn't quite right, and so far he hadn't figured it out.
James turned into his neighborhood and exhaled deeply. "Almost there," he said again, more for his own sake than theirs. Once they were home, his parents could help untangle this mess.
He pulled into the driveway behind his dad's pickup. "All right, we made it," he said cheerfully, and this time it sounded truthful. And he was glad to be home. It wasn't anything huge and new and elaborate like Dave's house, but he'd lived in the red brick house on Adelaide Street since he was born and he couldn't picture himself being happier anywhere else.
He climbed out of the car, trying to dodge the rain, and started grabbing the other kids' backpacks out of the trunk. Alex helped Spencer out of his booster seat; he stood there in the driveway letting himself get rained on until she picked him up. "Are you okay?" she asked. He nodded but said nothing as he leaned his head on her shoulder.
"Go on inside, Al," James said. "I'll be there in a second."
Hotch unfolded himself stiffly from the passenger seat. It was still drizzling but he didn't bother pulling his hood up, letting rain drip onto his hair. "I can help you with those," he offered.
James picked up the last bag and slammed the trunk shut. "Nope, it's fine, I've got it," he said. Hotch didn't fight him.
Alex held the front door open for him. "Mom, we're here," he called. He set the bags down in the hall and brushed his hair out of his eyes as he kicked his shoes off. "Where are you?"
"Kitchen, honey."
James turned around and grinned at the other kids. "Welcome home," he said, half joking.
Hotch hunched over, his hands in the pockets of his favorite hoodie. Alex set Spencer down on the floor, but he pressed himself closer to her side. The three of them seemed as gray and gloomy as the skies outside.
Barking echoed down the hallway and James grinned as he turned around. "Hey, buddy!" he said as his dog galloped towards him. "What've you been up to, huh?"
Spencer shrieked and grabbed onto Alex's cardigan. "Hey, it's okay, it's just James's dog," she said, but he clung to her in panic until she picked him back up. "You're safe, you're safe, I promise."
"This is Bagel," James said, patting the dog's flank as he wagged his tail happily. "It's funny because…you know, he's a beagle." Spencer didn't laugh. "It's okay, he's just energetic. He's probably due for a walk soon."
Bagel barked again at his favorite word and jumped around Alex in a happy circle. She patted his head, but Spencer clung to her tighter. Undeterred, Bagel trotted over to Hotch and jumped up, his paws on his thigh. "Bages, no jumping," James warned.
Hotch smiled a little and scratched Bagel behind his ears, earning an enthusiastic lick to his fingers. "I always wanted a dog," he said.
Charlie walked into the foyer, her elderly cocker spaniel mix following behind her at a more sedate pace. "Don't let him fool you, Dad just took Bagel out for a W-A-L-K," she said. Bagel barked. "Yes, yes, I know you can understand me when I spell. Please stop jumping on Aaron, he didn't ask for that." He yipped again, but sat down obediently next to Hotch's feet.
James raked his damp hair out of his eyes. "I swear that dog has more energy in the tip of his tail than Banjo has had in his whole life," he said. Banjo woofed at him in reproach.
Charlie laughed. "You're not wrong," she said. She looked over at the other kids, and James could see her quickly assessing the situation in front of her- the exhaustion and worry written all over Alex's face, Hotch's solemn pallor, Spencer hiding his face in Alex's shoulder as she held him on her hip. "You guys got here just in time, I just started making lunch. Are you hungry?"
The last vestige of color faded from Hotch's face and he shifted his weight. "Um…would it be okay if I used the bathroom?" he asked.
"Yeah, of course, you can use mine," James said. "Upstairs, second door on the left."
Charlie frowned as he disappeared upstairs. "He looked awful yesterday but I think he's worse now," she said. "Is he sick?"
"Alex said he told her he has food poisoning," James said.
"And he gets carsick, so that has to make it worse," Alex added. Charlie's dog plunked down at her feet with a huff and a jingle of his tags, and Spencer tightened his grip on Alex's shoulders. "Spencer, it's okay. That's just Banjo, he's nice."
James patted his narrow back. "He's a little old man, he's the sweetest dog in the world," he said, trying to reassure him. Spencer's lower lip wobbled as if he was about to cry. "Just not a dog person, huh?"
"Well, that's okay, you don't have to be," Charlie said. "We'll make sure the pups don't bother you, honey, don't worry."
James glanced towards the front windows, it was beginning to rain harder, tapping mercilessly on the glass. "Jesus, it's gross out," he said. "We got here just in time." Alex nodded in absentminded agreement as she patted Spencer's hip, clearly distracted by his distress. "We should watch a movie or something. Not much else we can do when it's raining this bad."
"I think that's a great idea," Charlie said. "How about you two go get comfortable and pick out something to watch, and Jamie and I will finish up lunch."
Alex finally looked up. "Are you sure?" she said. "I can get him settled and come help too."
"No, no, you're fine," James said. "Go sit. Remote's on the end table, go turn on whatever you want."
Alex shifted Spencer on her hip and carried him into the living roo, and James blew out a long, frustrated breath. Charlie squeezed his arm. "Come on," she said. "I want to pick your brain."
He followed his mother into the kitchen. It smelled like fresh baked bread and caramelized onions, and a covered pot was simmering away on the stove. "Tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches?" he guessed, peeking at the loaf covered with a blue gingham dishtowel on the cutting board.
"Mm-hm, comfort food," she said. "The sort of thing we need on a day like today." She lifted the lid and stirred the contents. "So."
"So, what?"
"So when you texted me, you said your friends were having a rough weekend and needed a break from school," Charlie said. "You didn't tell me it was this bad. What's going on?"
He washed his hands at the sink, trying to pick his words carefully. "Well, everybody's really stressed right now," he hedged.
His dad walked into the kitchen, frowning in confusion. "If you're down here, Mini, who's throwing up in your bathroom?" Ned asked.
Charlie put her spoon down. "Who's what?"
"That's Hotch, he's okay, he's got food poisoning," James said hastily. "I think he's okay, Mom. Well, as okay as someone can be with food poisoning…"
Ned paused. "Yeah, he didn't sound particularly fine," he said.
"I'm going to go check on him," Charlie said.
"Mom, Mama, wait, no, that'll make it worse," James said.
Charlie's eyes narrowed. "How? How will that make things worse?"
He bit his lip. He had never been able to keep secrets from his parents. "He doesn't really…like people helping him," he said. "Especially people he doesn't know very well. No offense, Mama, he doesn't know you at all."
"He does have a point, Chuck," Ned said. Charlie swatted his broad forearm with a dishtowel and he grinned at her.
"I mean, he and Alex are practically attached at the hip raising Spencer and she told me he barely even let her help him last night."
Charlie's frown tugged down farther. "I don't know which part of that sentence I dislike the most," she said.
"What do you mean, they're raising Spencer?" Ned asked. "Where's his parents?"
"We, uh…we don't know," James said. "He doesn't talk about them. I mean, he's mentioned his mom a few times. Never his dad. We don't know much about how he got here, except that he was smart enough to skip five grades. And he's from Las Vegas. He flew across the country by himself, took a bus from the airport, and just kind of…showed up."
"But where are his parents?" Charlie repeated. "He's ten, that's so little. He needs his mother."
"He has Alex?" James offered. "She's kind of adopted him. And Hotch is his RA, so he looks out for him."
His parents both stared at him with blank expressions. He shrugged helplessly. The pot on the stove bubbled over, the lid bouncing as the contents foamed. "Oh, fuck," Charlie said as she lifted the lid and switched off the burner.
"No wonder Alex looks like she's about to drop," Ned said. "She's been taking on too much and stressing herself sick since you kids were in the ninth grade. No one is helping her or Hotch take care of him? Who's the head of Lincoln House?"
"Mr. Gideon, and I don't think he knows what's going on at all," James said.
Charlie rolled her eyes. "Don't get me started on Gideon," she said. "He started teaching during our senior year, and I swear he didn't grade a single assignment until the day before report cards went out."
"Brilliant man, should not be around children," Ned added.
"He didn't even bat an eye when I told him I was Spencer's legal guardian and signed his paperwork," Charlie said as she spooned minced garlic into the soup. She paused and leaned her head back. "Ned, I forgot to tell, I lied on Spencer's paperwork and said I was his legal guardian."
"I would have done the same," Ned said. He uncovered the loaf of bread and started cutting it into thick slices; James held out his hand and Ned handed him the heel. "Anything else you think we should know about the kids?"
James took a bite of the bread. "Well, I know for sure what's happening with Alex," he said, covering his partially-full mouth as he spoke. "Her dad is still trying to force her to stay at home for college."
"Still?" Charlie said, exasperated. "That poor girl has been talking about going to Berkeley since she was a freshman. He needs to let it go."
"Yeah, well, he wants her to live at home and commute to go to school, and then probably live in Kansas for the rest of her life while her brothers can do whatever they want," James said. "Also her brothers are still being dicks to her." He paused. "I was going to apologize for the language, but no. They're total dicks to her. They suck."
"I have to say that I haven't really liked Alex's family when I've met them," Charlie admitted. "Her mother is lovely but those boys are wild, and the father enables their bad behavior."
Ned stacked the slices of bread in pairs. "What about Hotch's family?" he asked. "Did his parents come for family weekend?"
"Alex said something about him not having parents," Charlie said warily.
"Oh, that I know," James said. "They've both passed away. His mom when he was ten and his dad when he was thirteen. His aunt and uncle came to see him, with his little brother. I think they have custody."
"Poor baby," Charlie sighed. "Oh, that's so tough." She shook her head. "He looked absolutely terrible yesterday when we ran into him coming out of the school coffee shop."
"Oh…um, I might have found out why," James said. "The other kids were talking about it. He apparently had a kind of meltdown or something. He got a phone call from his uncle and then just…flipped out."
Ned leaned on the kitchen counter, the bread knife still in his hand. "Bad news?" he said.
James poked at Ned's hand until he moved the knife. "I guess so," he said. "Apparently his family left early because his little brother wanted to leave. I think Hotch was pretty crushed."
Charlie sighed deeply. "I'll bet," she said. "Poor baby. And he's got food poisoning at the same time." She switched the stove down to a lower temperature. "I might make something else for him to eat if he's that sick."
"Probably for the best," Ned said. "I know Alex likes my grilled cheese sandwiches. Think Spencer will?"
"I think so," James said. "He'll at least try if Alex or Hotch are eating it." He brushed the crumbs off his hands. "I'm going to go check on them."
"Good plan," Charlie said. "Let us know if they need anything."
He walked out to the living room to find that the television was turned onto the Netflix home screen, only to find that both of them had fallen asleep before they had the chance to pick a movie. Spencer curled against Alex, half tucked under her cardigan with his head on her chest as he clutched her sleeve. Alex cradled one arm around him and the remote dangled from her other hand.
James rescued the remote and set it down on the end table before picking up a spare blanket and draping it over them. Alex sighed heavily in her sleep and shifted around, cuddling Spencer protectively closer to her.
He sat down crosslegged in an armchair across the room and pulled his phone out of his pocket. If he couldn't do anything to actively help them right that second, he could at least keep them company.
JJ stabbed her fork into her baked potato. When her parents decided to take her out to lunch before they left ("anywhere you want, JJ, you can pick, whatever you'd like") she'd been excited. There were only four somewhat decent restaurants close to their house in Pennsylvania; if they wanted anything different they had to drive at least half an hour. Going out for a meal was practically a fancy occasion. And usually her frugal parents agonized over the menu and offered advice to her and Rosalyn about they should and shouldn't order.
This felt…different, though. She ordered a soda and they didn't bat an eye. She ate the last roll without asking if anyone else wanted it. She tore up her straw wrapper in little pieces and her mother didn't scold her.
Her parents didn't…really say anything.
The three of them carried on with thin threads of conversation- inconsequential things. Her dad's upcoming business trip. Her mother's vegetable garden. The weather. Soccer. School.
Nothing felt like it did before. Granted, her dad traveled a lot for work, and she and her mom usually ate together without him. And they had never really been that great at carrying on conversations.
Well, they used to. But that was because Rosalyn used to bubble over with funny stories from school and wild anecdotes from soccer practice. She was always laughing, always cracking jokes, always teasing in a way that never felt mean-spirited. When Rosalyn talked, other people wanted to be a part of it.
JJ set her fork down. She wasn't hungry anymore.
Sandy cleared her throat. "JJ, do you want dessert?" she asked. "They've got a fudge brownie sundae that looks pretty good."
"No, I'm okay," she said. "Thanks, though."
"Do you want a box at least?" Sandy pressed. "You can take it back with you."
"Sandy, stop pushing her," Roger said, frowning at his phone.
"I'm not pushing."
Sandy glanced away from him towards the door, grinding her teeth. "Well, we should probably start heading out," she said. She paused. "Roger?"
"Mm?" he grunted, not looking up from his phone.
"Roger, we probably need to head out," Sandy repeated. "We need to drop JJ off at school before three."
"Fine," he said. He finally looked up. "Are you ready to go, Jenny?"
She raised and lowered one shoulder. "I guess," she said.
Roger thumbed through his wallet, picked out a couple of bills, and tossed it on the table. "Let's go, then," he said. "That should cover it. I'm going to run to the bathroom before we leave."
He got up, sliding his wallet back in his pocket. Sandy checked the bills, then reached into her purse and added a couple more. "Did you have a nice weekend?" she asked.
"Yeah, it was really nice to have you guys here," JJ said, trailing after her.
Sandy took her hand and squeezed it. JJ didn't know how to react to that, that wasn't something her mother typically did. "I'm glad we got to see you," she said. "We both are, me and Daddy." She adjusted her purse strap on her shoulder as they walked outside the restaurant. "Have you been homesick much?"
"I've been too busy to be homesick," JJ said. "Classes are a lot harder here than they are back home."
"And you've got soccer to keep you busy," Sandy said. She smiled, but JJ knew that expression- thin lipped and watery, without meeting her eyes. "You and Rosalyn were always two peas in a pod growing up. I can just see the two of you going to practice together, running drills in the backyard…oh, she would have loved it."
JJ dug her teeth into the soft wet inside of her cheek. She and Rosalyn were nothing alike. They looked alike, everyone said the Jareau girls looked alike, with their long blonde hair and their big blue eyes and their long curling lashes. But Rosalyn was bright and easygoing and energetic, organized and on top of everything. She had always been quieter, messier, more stubborn. Even their names were different- Rosalyn was romantic and unusual and unique, and she was just…Jennifer, one of three Jennifers in her class. They were night and day, even if their parents couldn't see past the way they looked.
Their parents never really noticed anything, actually.
Roger half jogged down the steps, his hands in his pockets. Sandy dabbed surreptitiously at her eyes. "All right, let's get you back to school, champ," he said, his cheerfulness as forced as his smile.
No one said anything on the drive back. JJ pressed her forehead to the window, listening to NPR while her dad drove and her mother stared at the road. The sky was gray and still drizzling, and she idly pretended to watch the raindrops race down the glass.
They said their goodbyes in the school parking lot. Her mother hugged her tight and ran her hand over her hair. "We'll see you, soon, okay?" she said. "A month and a half until Thanksgiving. So soon."
"Mm-hm," JJ said. "See you soon."
Her dad gave her a one armed side hug. "You're doing great out here, Jenny," he said. "I'm proud of you." Roger kissed the top of her head, and that was weird. He was never affectionate either.
"Thanks," she said. "Bye. Have a safe flight."
"I love you," Sandy said. "Be good. Don't forget to text, okay?"
"I won't," JJ said. "Love you."
Her parents got back in the car. She stood on the curb and waved goodbye until they disappeared under the school's archway and down the road. There had never been a good chance to give them soccer speech. Not when there was so little time, and her dad couldn't look up from his phone, and her mom kept bringing up Roz.
She could try again in a month and a half. She could tolerate being on the soccer team that long.
Hotch dragged his hand over his face and breathed out slowly through his mouth as he leaned back against the bathtub. Nausea still twisted in the pit of his stomach but there was nothing left for him to throw up. He needed to at least drink some water, if not try to force himself to eat something. The thought of food made him pause and close his eyes, bracing himself in case he was about to puke again.
What he really needed to do was get out of the bathroom. If James's parents didn't think he was a freak already, this was definitely going to confirm it.
He forced himself to stand up and his knees buckled. He caught himself against the sink, breathing heavily through his mouth.
Come on, moron, he thought desperately. Just move. You're fine. It's not that bad.
He shuffled out of the bathroom. The house was quiet, and he wasn't sure where anyone else was. Maybe no one noticed he'd been gone for a while, and he could sneak back into the group without anyone asking a lot of questions.
He rounded the corner and nearly collided with James's mom.
"Oh my god," he blurted out. "Sorry. I'm sorry."
Charlie adjusted the stack of folded towels she'd nearly dropped. "Don't be sorry, sweetheart, it's fine, it's just laundry," she said.
He swallowed hard. He didn't know how to back out of this. Should he just keep walking? Should he go back to the bathroom and hide? Should he try to make conversation?
"How are you feeling?" Charlie asked. She opened the hall linen closet and started stacking the towels on the shelf. "Alex said you have food poisoning."
"Um…I'm fine, thank you," he said. He tugged on the hem of his hoodie. "I'll be okay."
Charlie raised an eyebrow. It was funny, James didn't take after his mother much, but he had certainly inherited her facial expressions. "Aaron, don't take this the wrong way, but you look like death warmed over," she said gently. "You're allowed to tell people if you're not okay. I'm not going to be shocked."
He looked down at the floor. "Yes, ma'am," he said in a small voice.
She closed the closet door. "Now, Ned and I made lunch for the rest of the kids, but I have a sneaking suspicion you're not terribly hungry," she said.
"No, ma'am," he said, shifting his weight.
"Is there anything that sounds…well, not good, but like you could probably eat it?" Charlie asked. "I'd be more than happy to make you something."
"No, no, it's okay, I don't…I don't want to put you to any trouble," Hotch said, looking up from the wood grain lines of the floorboards. He was stumbling over his words, his accent starting to slip. "Really, I can figure something out, I can wait till I'm back at school tomorrow, I should probably just go check on Alex and Spencer and make sure they're doing all right-"
Charlie touched his arm lightly. "It's okay," she said. "I need you to take a deep breath for me. Alex and Spencer are doing just fine, they're in the living room with James watching a movie." She squeezed his arm lightly. "How about you go join them, and Ned and I will come up with something for you to eat. All right?"
He bit his lip, his protests dying immediately. "Yes, ma'am," he said, wilting. Charlie smiled at him, picked up the laundry basket, and headed back down the hall.
Hotch tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and groaned quietly, his arms dangling at his sides. This was too much. He should have never started making friends. If this happened last year, he could be sitting on his bathroom floor by himself, puking his guts out without anyone noticing.
Despite his best efforts, there was no way he could stay standing in the hallway alone forever, and he reluctantly made his way down the stairs, his hands in his hoodie pockets.
Alex and James were on opposite ends of the couch, her legs stretched out over his while they watched a movie, and Spencer had somehow squished himself between Alex's side and the back of the couch, his cheek pillowed on her stomach. James balanced a bowl of popcorn on his thighs, pausing every so often to hold it out for Alex. Hotch hovered in the doorway, trying to decide if he wanted to join them or if it would be better to hide out in the bathroom again.
Alex glanced over her shoulder and her eyes lit up. "Hey!" she said. She twisted around as much as she could to see him better. "Hey, how are you feeling?"
"Fine," he said. James shot him a pointed look, his eyebrow shooting up. "Better. I'm…better."
"You still look like death," James said. "Sit down."
If his legs didn't feel like jello, he would have argued. But he shuffled into the room and sank down on the loveseat. "How's the kid?" he asked.
"He's doing all right, I suppose," Alex said. She ran her hand over Spencer's untidy hair; he was breathing so deeply that Hotch could see his narrow shoulders rising and sinking. "I got him awake enough to eat, and then he fell right back asleep. He's still not talking much. But he'll sign with me, so that's something at least."
"That's good," he said, shifting around against the couch pillows. Nausea still threatened in the pit of his stomach and his ab muscles ached, but he was at least more comfortable than if he'd stayed on the bathroom floor.
James set the popcorn bowl down on the end table and got up. "I'm going to get a drink," he said. "Anyone else want anything?"
"I'm fine," Hotch said. "What movie are you guys watching?"
"James picked it out, I don't even know," Alex laughed. She rubbed her eyes. She had braided her hair again but loose strands had escaped to curl wildly around her temples and her jawline; she looked a little sleepy and comfortably rumpled, but she'd lost the strained, pinched look from around her eyes. "He keeps suggesting movies that he thinks Spencer will like, but he's slept through most of it, and I keep dozing off too."
Hotch half smiled. "I have a question for you," he said.
"Shoot."
"Could you teach me to ASL too?" he asked. "Spencer goes through these...these phases where he doesn't really talk, but I've seen him sign with you. I feel like I could help him more if I could communicate better."
Alex blinked. "Of course," she said. "I mean, I'm still learning too, but...you're right. It might help."
"Thanks," Hotch said. "I appreciate it."
"I'll send you all my coursework so far so you can get caught up," she said, smiling.
Charlie's elderly dog trotted over to him, nosed at his leg, and then woofed. "Hey, boy," he said. "What do you want?"
"He wants to sit on the couch with you," Alex said. "Banjo's getting too old to jump up on his own, aren't you, boy?"
Hotch picked up the dog; Banjo shook himself happily and settled down next to him, resting on his knee. "There you go, buddy," he said, scratching him behind his floppy ears.
"Whoa, Banjo wanted to snuggle with you?" James said. "He must really like you. He doesn't like most people. He's known me since I was three and he still just barely tolerates me." Hotch grinned and petted the dog gently. "I know you said you were fine, but this is for you. Flat ginger ale. My dad swears by it."
Hotch took the glass. "Thanks," he said. "I'm really fine, though."
"Yeah, sure you are," James said, settling back down on the couch across from Alex. "Do you want me to start the movie over so you can see what you missed?"
"I'm sure I can figure it out," he said. He took a tiny, cautious sip of the flat ginger ale. It was sweet and spicy and ice cold, but there wasn't any carbonation left to sting his mouth. He sat quietly with the cup in both hands, trying to gauge if it was going to come back up. But he didn't hurt any worse than he did before, and the second sip went down even easier.
He relaxed, leaning back against the couch as he balanced the cup in one hand and scratched Banjo behind the ears with the other. Rain was still coming down hard outside, sluicing against the windows, but inside was warm and calm and cozy.
He took another sip. Maybe this wasn't so bad after all.
Dave scrolled through his Google doc with his hand over his mouth and his brow furrowed, grimacing as he read. "Oh god," he mumbled to himself. "Fuck. This is terrible."
He had written and rewritten and written the same chapter four times, and something still wasn't right. What really sucked was that he couldn't exactly put his finger on what wasn't working.
He hunched forward in his computer chair, jabbing angrily at his laptop keys. "Fucking…shit…goddammit," he said. "This isn't right. Why isn't it right?"
The last time he'd worked on this chapter was summer, right before school went back in session. There was a threat lurking in the back of his mind that it wasn't good, but he'd chosen not to think about it. Now looking at it with fresh eyes, it felt wrong. The words felt stilted and clunky, his characters flat, their conversation unrealistic.
"Fuck!" he said, pushing his rolling chair away from his desk. It rolled a little too far and he had to catch himself on the side of his bed before it tipped over and he fell to the ground.
"David!"
He yanked the chair upright again. "What!" he shouted back.
"Come down here!" his mother called.
Dave slammed the lid of his computer and stomped down the stairs. "What do you want?" he yelled.
His mother sat at the white marble breakfast bar with her iPad. "David, caro, fix this for your mother," Isabella said, holding it out.
"Why? What's it doing?" he asked.
She waved her hand. "My emails disappeared again," she said.
Dave rolled his eyes. "They're right here, Isabella," he said. "Remember, I told you you can just search for the app in the search bar?"
"I can't remember that," she said. She patted his cheek. "This is why you can never leave me or your father, you have to stay here and fix things."
"I thought you wanted me to go to law school," he said.
"Yes, yes, law school," Isabella said, holding up the iPad an inch from her nose and squinting at it. "You should go to Vanderbilt."
He opened the fridge and scanned the contents. "I don't want to go to Vanderbilt," he said as he reached for a Perrier.
"No, you should!" she said. "It's an excellent school. And it'll help you get familiar with the area."
"Why do I need to get familiar with Nashville?" he asked.
"So you'll be ready to join the real estate firm with me and Daddy, of course!" Isabella said. She hugged the iPad to her chest and smiled at him. "We always wanted one of you to take over the firm."
"You literally had four children, you could forced any of us to become realtors," he said dryly as he twisted the cap. "Frankie would have been great at it."
"Yes, but Francesca was walking in New York fashion week when she was your age," Isabella reminded him.
"I know, I know," he sighed. "And Michael is an ad executive in Milan, and Amalia is a television producer in LA. And I'm here." He pulled himself up to sit on the kitchen counter. "A future realtor."
"And they all gave me grandbabies," Isabella said. She paused and looked over at him. "David Stephen, don't sit there."
Dave swigged his lemon-flavored sparkling water. "Ma, what would you do if I just…didn't join the family business?" he asked. "Because I don't want to sell houses to country music stars and music producers."
Isabella let out a long dramatic sigh. "And what would you do instead, carino, write books?" she said. "You're getting a C in creative writing, baby, people who get Cs in a high school creative writing class can't make a living writing books."
"Lots of published authors flunked their high school and college creative writing classes and went on to have good careers," he shot back. "Like…like…well, I can't think of any right now. But it happens." He tapped the bottom of the glass bottle. "And I like writing. I'm good at it. I can make a career out of it, I know it."
The thought of the unfinished and rewritten chapter crept back into his thoughts. He chose not to think about it and stared at the travertine floor instead.
Isabella got up and walked over to him. "My sweet boy," she said, taking the bottle out of his hands so she could take his hands. "I know you like to write. And that's fine. But you have to think of your future. You're too smart of a boy not to try to make something of yourself. And you only have a few months left before you're off in the big wide world on your own." She jostled his hands lightly. "Don't make any rash decisions right now, okay?"
He sighed and looked up at her. "Will you stop pressuring me to become a realtor?" he said. "I won't look good in the jacket."
"Oh, but you'd look so handsome on all of our billboards," Isabella teased. She cupped his face in her hands and kissed his cheek. "Our handsome little miracle baby." She kissed his other cheek. "You don't have to be a realtor if you really don't want to, but you need to do something big and grand with your life. You could be a lawyer, or a CEO, or the director of the FBI."
"Just not a writer?" he said.
"Oh, you can still write if you really want to, for fun," Isabella said. She patted his knee. "I'm just picturing the Time magazine spread now- the rise of the Rossi children. An executive, a producer, a supermodel, and a…a whatever you become." Her phone chimed and she whirled around. "Oh! Where did I put it?"
"Next to your iPad," he said. Isabella picked it up and scowled at the screen. "Mom. Mom. Where's your reading glasses?"
"I don't need reading glasses, David, I'm not old," she said, squinting.
"You're old, Mammina, Michael is going to be thirty-five next year and you have at least four grandchildren," he teased.
Isabella scowled at him and held out her phone to him. "What does that say?"
"Dad's on his way home, he picked up dinner," he read.
"Oh good!" she said. "Go wash up and set the table then. I'll be right back."
He jumped down from the counter as she flitted away. His phone buzzed in his back pocket and he checked it as he finished off his drink.
Hayden 3
6:39pm
How's your day going?
He typed out his answer one-handed as he walked the bottle over to the recycling bin.
What are you doing this weekend? he typed. I need to blow off some steam. Stressful weekend.
Alex brushed Spencer's hair back from his forehead. "Spencer," she said softly. "Spencer, time to wake up. It's dinnertime."
She knew he was constantly in need of a nap, but he spent most the afternoon sleeping- not just dozing off, but sleeping deep enough to snore. He would wake up long enough to shift around and talk to them a little bit, but inevitably he kept dropping off again.
"Spencer," she called again, a tiny bit louder. She rubbed his chest. "Come on, baby. If you keep sleeping you won't be able to fall asleep at bedtime."
He scrunched up his face and mumbled something. "Is he still out?" Aaron asked.
"Mostly," she said. She tickled Spencer's sides lightly. "I'm going to make you wake up, whether you like it or not."
He giggled and opened his eyes, rubbing them sleepily. "Don't tickle me," he protested.
"Well, you were going to sleep through dinner, and desperate times call for desperate measures," she laughed.
"Did you know that tickling is a panic response?" Spencer yawned as he pushed himself to sit up. "It's why you can't tickle yourself, your body knows it's not in danger."
"Good, a fun fact, you're definitely awake now," Alex said. He got comfortable next to her, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
Ned carried in two plates and handed one to Alex. "That's for the little one," he said. "And that's for you. Hope that's all right."
"It looks great," she said as she helped Spencer balance his plate on his knees. "Thank you."
"Are we supposed to eat at the table?" he asked.
"We figured you guys were comfortable already out here," Ned shrugged. "Everybody doing okay?"
Alex glanced over at Hotch out of the corner of her eye. It had taken the better part of an hour for him to manage getting the flat ginger ale down, but he'd had a second glass since then and he didn't seem quite so lifeless. "I'm okay," she said, trying to telepathically tell Hotch your turn to answer, but he didn't seem to pick up on it.
"I'll grab you guys some drinks," Ned said.
Spencer shivered, pressing himself a little closer to Alex's side. "I'm cold," he said.
"Yeah?" she said. She tried to lean around him to grab the blanket from the back of the couch. "Will this help?"
"I don't know," he said.
Alex beckoned to Hotch. "C'mere," she said. He blinked. "Come here." Hotch pulled himself up off the loveseat and crossed over to her, waiting for her explanation. She pointed to Spencer's other side. "Sit down. Spencer's cold."
"I'm cold," Spencer echoed.
Hotch sighed, but she knew he was only pretending to be put out when he sank down next to Spencer, squishing him between them. "All right, Hotch, you can't be mad at me," James said. He balanced a plate in one hand and a bowl in the other. "My mom says that you have to eat something, but nothing too crazy, so all you're getting is plain rice while we get the good stuff."
Hotch eyed the bowl warily as James held it out. "I'm not an invalid," he said. "I can just eat-"
"Aaron, honey, we're not going to let you risk it," Charlie called from the kitchen.
Hotch's eyes widened. "Sorry," he said. He took the bowl.
"Yeah, take it from me, my mom is stubborn and you're not going to win when she puts her foot down," James grinned. "She also said you can have more rice if you want, and that there's applesauce for dessert."
"Delicious," Hotch said dryly.
Spencer tapped Alex's arm. "I don't like applesauce," he signed. "Not for dessert. And I don't like the texture very much."
"I'm sure you don't have to eat it," she signed back. She looked up at James. "What else is there besides applesauce?"
"Don't worry, buddy, there's ice cream and brownies," James said. He sat down on the floor in front of them and stretched out his long legs. "So what do we want to watch?"
Alex ate her dinner slowly, more focused on watching the boys than the movie. Spencer was engaged in the movie and asking James a dozen questions; every so often she reminded him gently to keep eating. Hotch ate so slowly it was painful, taking tiny bites and pausing to make sure his stomach wasn't upset. It worried her. Both of the boys worried her, but for different reasons.
Spencer ate almost everything on his plate, and to her surprise so did Hotch. Ned and Charlie checked on them frequently, taking their plates and bringing back desserts for them- Hotch didn't seem particularly thrilled with the applesauce, but he ate at least half of it. The ice cream and Ned's homemade brownies were much more exciting, but Spencer started to nod off before he finished his, snuggling close between them. Alex moved his bowl away from him before he stuck his whole hand in his melted ice cream.
"Is he really falling asleep again?" Hotch asked.
"Yeah," Alex sighed, shifting around so Spencer could lean on her. "Does he ever sleep during the night?"
"Not really," Hotch admitted. "Derek says he barely sleeps." He sighed as he looked down at the child squished between them. "Half the time he ends up in my room. He doesn't like sleeping alone."
Alex rubbed Spencer's back. "So his random naps during the day are his only real sleep, I guess," she said.
"He didn't fall asleep until three this morning," Hotch said. "I took him back to his room, I didn't want my lights to wake him up, but I don't think he slept very well."
She watched his lashes flicker as he shifted around. "Something's had him worked up," she murmured. She paused. "How much did you sleep last night, if you stayed up past three?"
He shrugged. "Lost track of time," he said. Alex shot him a look.
"Speaking of sleep, we probably shouldn't stay up super late," James said. "We'll have to leave for school pretty early." He got up from the floor and picked up his bowl. "Who's done? I'll take the dishes."
"I'm going to put the baby to bed," Alex said. "He needs to catch up on his sleep, I guess." She ran her hand over Spencer's hair and looked over at James. "Where does Charlie want us? Usually it's just me in the guest room."
"Mom said that Spencer would probably be happier with you," James said. "She got the daybed set up for him, unless he wants to share with you."
"He might need that," Alex admitted.
"Hotch, you can choose wherever you want," James said. "Living room, my room, Alex's room. If Spencer doesn't take the daybed you can, and we've got an air mattress."
"I'll figure something out," Hotch said. "Birdy, do you need help with him?"
"No, no, I think I've got it," Alex said. She stood up and picked up Spencer; he was dead weight when he was mostly asleep, but she could still carry him easily. "Yeah, I've got him."
Hotch tugged on the cuffs of his hoodie sleeves. "I'll help James with dishes, then," he said.
For a second she thought about changing her mind- not that she needed the help, really, but Hotch seemed like he really needed a task to do. But Spencer shifted restlessly against her shoulder, and she rubbed his back in soothing circles as she carried him upstairs.
The Blakes' guest room had always been her room when she and Dave slept over at the house; the soft blue walls and the brass bedstead felt as familiar to her as the dorm she shared with Emily or her cluttered little bedroom back in Kansas. She set Spencer down carefully on the bed and he rolled over onto his side as she switched on the bedside lamp.
"No, sweetheart, not yet," she said. "Pajamas first."
"I'm sleepy," he mumbled into the pillow.
James had already brought their bags up and she dug his pajamas out of his backpack. "Sit up just a little for me," she said.
He grumbled sleepily, and she had to do most of the work to get him into his pajamas. Her heart ached when she saw the faded rope marks on his chest and his back; the bruises had long since healed but the rope burns took much longer. And he was too thin, his ribs hollow and his collarbone jutting out. Alex tried to be as gentle as possible as she dressed him.
I'm not enough, she thought. I don't know what I'm doing. He needs real parents.
She got a warm damp washcloth from the bathroom and wiped the last of the ice cream and chocolate from around his mouth. He yawned heavily, barely able to keep his eyes open. "Alex?" he said sleepily.
"Yes, darling?" she said.
"You're not going to send me back, are you?" Spencer asked.
She paused. "Back where?" she said. "To Las Vegas?" He nodded. "Well…I don't think so. Unless your mother or your father…"
Her voice trailed off as his eyes welled up, pale and glassy. She wanted to so badly to know what happened to him before, but she didn't want to push him and scare him off. "I'm not," she said. "I'm not, baby, I'm not going to send you back. Not unless you want to go."
He leaned forward, wrapping his thin little arms around her neck, and she hugged him as tight as she could. Alex cradled him close, rocking him gently, and she didn't let go until he yawned so hard his jaw cracked.
"Okay, bedtime, for real this time," she said. She eased her grip on him so she could pull the covers back and he could settle against the pillows. "Do you want the bed to yourself, or do you want me to sleep with you?"
"I want you, please," he said in a plaintive little voice. Alex got his blanket out of his backpack and tucked him in snugly with a last kiss on the forehead.
"I'll be right back, then, I'm going to change first," she said. She smoothed the blankets over him. "I'll be gone for a few minutes, okay?"
He nodded, already on the edge of sleep again. Alex got her clothes out of her bag and slipped out of the room. "Hey," James whispered from the top of the stairs.
She jumped. "Jesus, James," she whispered back. "You scared me."
He leaned against the banister, smiling sheepishly. "Sorry," he said, jogging the last few steps to catch up to her. "My mom wanted me to bring some extra blankets and pillows up, just in case."
"Just be quiet, Spencer's almost out," she said. She ran her hand over her braid, pulling it over her shoulder. "He said something odd. He asked me if…if I was going to send him back."
James frowned. "Back to where?"
"I don't know, exactly," she said. "I'm worried about him. I don't…I don't know if I'm doing this right."
He tilted his head. "Doing what right?" he asked.
"I'm not his mother," she said. "I don't know how to be a mother. What if I'm making things worse for him?"
James squeezed her shoulder. "Hey, hey, you're doing great," he said. "Listen, he's going through a lot of shit. Probably went through a lot of shit before he got here. He trusts you, and that's important. I think that's what he needs right now, people he can trust, like you and Hotch."
"You think so?"
"I do."
She exhaled slowly and glanced back over her shoulder. "I'm worried about Hotch too."
"Yeah, he's not doing great," James said. His hand still rested on her shoulder and he rubbed his thumb absently against the seam of her shirt. "Would you be okay if I tried to convince him to stay in your room tonight? I don't think it's a good idea for him to be alone, and he's a hell of a lot more willing to relax around you than he is with me."
"Which still isn't saying much," Alex admitted. "But yeah, of course. He can take the daybed, there's plenty of room."
James smiled at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling up. "You're the best," he said.
Alex looked up at his clear blue gray eyes, and then realized she was gazing a little too intently and a little too long without saying something. "I try," she said, looking away quickly. "I…um, I'm going to get ready for bed. I don't want to leave Spencer alone for too long."
"Yeah, of course," James said. He squeezed her shoulder lightly and dropped his hand. "G'night."
"Goodnight," she echoed, and then she hurried into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. It had been a long weekend, and she was tired, and she shouldn't let her thoughts run away from her like that.
She changed into her pajamas and brushed her teeth, and when she got back to the room James had left a pile of extra pillows and blankets on the daybed, and Spencer was curled up with his blankie, a tiny lump under the covers of the queen sized bed.
She set her alarm and plugged in her phone before climbing into the bed next to him. Spencer immediately burrowed into her side, seeking her warmth.
She was just about to switch off the light when the door tapped open. "Hi," Hotch said. "James said…you had more room in here."
"Yeah, come in," she said. "You can take-" She hesitated. Hotch hovered in the doorway, still pale and a little listless, his dark hair drooping over his forehead. In his faded flannel pajamas pants and his oversized, well washed tee shirt he seemed so much younger and so much more vulnerable than usual. He clung to the doorknob, waiting to hear the rest of her sentence. Faint purple bruising was beginning to emerge along his jawline, a reminder of the blood vessels he'd popped while he was throwing up.
Alex pulled back the covers on her other side. "Come on," she said.
Hotch blinked. "What?"
"I'm freezing and so is Spencer," she said. "And this bed is a lot more comfortable than the daybed, trust me. Just lie down."
He edged closer, frowning. "You're sure?"
"Positive."
"What if-"
She shot him a look until he reluctantly climbed into bed beside her. "Goodnight, Aaron," she said, draping the covers around him.
"Goodnight," he said reluctantly.
She switched off the light and laid down between the two of them. Spencer whined, but immediately settled back down when she shushed him softly. Hotch stayed very still on her other side, his hands folded over his stomach as he stared up at the ceiling. Maybe she'd made the wrong call. He just seemed so sad and forlorn, and if Spencer could feel so much better after cuddling all day, it stood to reason that maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea for Hotch too.
She debated asking him if he wanted to move, but her eyes felt so heavy, and before she could say anything she drifted off.
She woke up in the middle of the night, momentarily disoriented. It came back to her after a second, that she was sleeping over at James's house between the boys. Spencer had rolled over onto his tummy, his blankie tangled around him and his cheek squished against her upper arm. He was out like a light.
She shifted around to check on Hotch. He was also out like a light, one arm flung above his head as he snored softly and his leg draped over hers. At some point she and Spencer must have stolen most of the covers from him; she adjusted carefully until she could tuck most of him back in.
The tension lines around his mouth and eyes relaxed as he slept. He seemed as young and vulnerable as Spencer was, and she was careful not to wake him as she settled back down.
I can't do everything to help them, she thought sleepily. I can't fix them. But maybe they just need to be loved. And I can do that.
Author's Notes:
It's been a YEAR AND A HALF, but here I am!
Since you last saw me, I:
-moved across town
-changed jobs
-got married
so it's been...sort of a hectic time for me.
I've never forgotten about writing or updating, I just had no time and even less energy! (chronic illness problems). But I'm in a great place right now, and I'm working really hard on updating regularly again!
I also went back and cleaned up the first 23 chapters of this fic- no major plot changes, but lots of little details, along with cleaning up typing errors and continuity mistakes. So if you want to reread the fic, there's some new things to look for!
I would absolutely love to hear from you, all comments are SO appreciated and I'm going to answer as many of them as possible! You can also always check in on my tumblr (themetaphorgirl), I've been able to be super active over there lately.
I hope you enjoy this chapter after the long hiatus, and I hope you stick around for the next update! And I'd love to know what you think! (and if you catch some of the changes made in the first 23 chapters.)