Why must we tell them why?
Some require an explanation for why we make the things we make
Why rules must break, and for whose sake
But why must we tell them why? Why excuse each deviation?
Why must we serve them prix fixe art? Or prove each part art a la carte
Why must we justify?
Let's deny their forms and fixtures, n ot playing by their rules of thumb
Got to become a little numb
And beat that drum, make something dumb
Make them see where we're coming from
Hold-
(Think and you'll miss it)
Still-
(Think and you'll miss it)
And focus
(Think and you'll miss it, uh oh)
-"Why Must We Tell Them Why?" from 35MM: A Musical Exhibition
monday
Typically, the Honeybean was his favorite place to work after classes, if he didn't want to go straight home or he needed a change of pace from the library. It was peaceful, he could get coffee, and usually the ambiance was just what he needed to focus.
However, he was discovering it was a lot harder to get work done when other people decided he needed company whether he wanted it or not.
Dave glanced up to find a pair of round blue eyes staring at him over his Macbook screen. "Can I help you?" he inquired.
"You're so focused," Penelope said. She rested her chin on the edge of the screen. "I've been staring at you for like ten minutes and you haven't noticed."
"He gets like that when he's writing," Alex said, taking a sip of her iced tea.
Penelope brightened. "You're writing?" she said. "What are you writing? I want to read it!"
"Don't even try, Pen, he never lets anybody read his writing," James said. He leaned back on the couch, propping his heels up on the coffee table. "I've been trying since the sixth grade, and he won't let me see anything."
"Please, Dave?" Penelope wheedled, trying to lean over Dave's arm and going cross-eyed in her efforts to peek. "Pretty please? Pretty please with sugar on top."
He closed his laptop, making her squeak as she lost her balance. "Not a chance," he said.
Penelope stuck out her lower lip. "Can you at least tell me what it's about?" she asked.
"It's just a project for Strauss's creative writing class," he shrugged. "Not a big deal."
Alex dug her straw around in her cup. "Not like the novel you've been working on since you were twelve," he said.
Dave wadded up a napkin and threw it at her. "I regret ever telling you about that," he said.
She tossed it back. "I would have figured it out on my own, you checked out Stephen King's On Writing six times our first semester," she said.
Spencer looked up from his book. "Stephen King had such intense issues with alcohol and drugs that he doesn't remember writing Cujo," he said.
"Yeah?" Hotch said. "Have you read Cujo?"
Spencer blinked. "Of course not, it's scary," he said. He set his book down on the coffee table and slid down from the couch. "We get free refills on black coffee, right?"
"Oh, no, absolutely not," Hotch said, snagging him by the back of his cardigan.
"Why?" he protested.
"Because you'll be bouncing off the walls, my darling," Alex said.
"I'll get decaf," he offered. "Please?"
James pushed himself up from the couch. "I'll go with you and make sure you get decaf," he said. "Besides, you have more sugar and milk than coffee in there anyway. Come on, dude."
Penelope leaned on Dave's elbow. "If you don't want to tell me what you're writing about, I can find it out myself," she whispered.
He frowned. "How?"
She grinned, wiggling her fingers at him. "I have my ways," she said.
"But it's on my laptop," he objected. "And I'm not going to let you near my laptop, so there's not a chance."
"If you've backed it up on a cloud, I can track it down," she said. "I can track anything down." She winked at him, the holographic star barrettes in her blonde hair catching the light. "I have a certain knack for navigating the digital stratosphere."
Emily brushed croissant crumbs off her untucked shirt. "What does that mean?" she asked.
"It means that there was a reason I got sent to Lincoln House," Penelope said with a shrug. "You hack your middle school's mainframe just one too many times and everybody freaks out."
"Yeah, that's kind of unethical," Hotch said, grabbing the cup closest to him and taking a sip. He choked. "Oh my god! What the fuck is in this?"
Penelope took it back. "Well, you grabbed my cup, and if you must know, it's…" She paused and looked at the scribbled sharpie label on the side. "Basically it's a strawberry milkshake, I guess."
"Strawberry milkshake from hell," Hotch mumbled under his breath, taking a long swig from his cold brew.
Dave opened his laptop, making sure to angle it away from Penelope. "I'll make you a deal," he said. "If I get an A on this assignment, I'll let you guys read it. Deal?"
"And if you don't get an A, I'll just find it myself," Penelope said. Dave glared at her. Penelope took an exaggerated noisy sip through her straw and batted her eyelashes at him.
tuesday
Derek threw the door to his room open and tossed his bag on the floor. "Hey, guess what?" he singsonged.
Spencer glanced up from his book. "Without any contextual clues, I have no idea," he said. "Something football related?"
"Yeah, kid, it's football related," Derek grinned. "We might not've won last week, but Coach Buford was so impressed with how I played that he's gonna sub me in for quarterback this Friday. I'm not starting, but that's fine, because who's heard of a sophomore starting quarterback?"
"I sure haven't heard of it," Spencer quipped. "That's pretty great, though." He scrunched his nose. "I think. You wanted quarterback, right?"
"Yeah, of course," Derek laughed. He ruffled the younger boy's hair. "It's good news for me, I swear." He kicked off his shoes, leaving them in the middle of the floor. "You're coming, right?"
"To what?"
Derek blinked, half smiling. "To my football game, duh," he said. He nudged his arm lightly. "I need my cheering section."
Spencer didn't smile, his fingers fidgeting with the pages of his book. "I don't...I don't think so," he said.
"Come on, you're not going to come see me play?" Derek said. It didn't exactly hurt his feelings, but at the same time, it did. "You had fun last time, right?"
"Last time I…" Spencer started to say, but his voice trailed off. He marked the page in his book. "It's just not my thing, I guess. I know you'll do really well, though. And I'm sure the others will want to come see you." He closed the book and slid off his bed. "I'm going to take a shower before Hotch comes in for bedchecks."
Derek frowned as Spencer slipped past him. It wasn't that he exactly expected Spencer to be excited about attending football games, the kid was clearly a lot more comfortable in a library than a sports field. But he'd kind of counted on his friends coming to see him play, and he'd just sort of assumed that his own roommate would be there.
He changed into his pajamas, pausing every so often to check his phone. Some of the other guys and a couple of cheerleaders were talking about going into town and seeing a movie over the weekend, and he didn't want to miss the plans.
Hotch knocked but didn't wait for an answer before sticking his head into the room. "Bedchecks," he said. "Where's Spencer?"
"Shower," Derek said. "Hey, so, uh...guess who's gonna be a sub quarterback next game?"
"I hope it's you," Hotch grinned. "Congrats."
"You guys are coming this weekend, right? Derek said. "Spencer made it sound like he's not coming."
"Yeah, he's probably not," Hotch said. "I think Penelope and I are coming for sure, I don't know about the others. Spencer's probably going to do something with the seniors."
"Why?" Derek asked.
Hotch's eyes narrowed. "Because he doesn't want to go," he said. "And I'm not going to make him."
Derek plunked down in his desk chair, his legs splayed out. "Why do you keep babying Spencer?" he complained. "He always gets special treatment. Everybody's always worried about Spencer."
"Because he is a baby," Hotch said. "And after what happened to him, I don't blame him for not wanting to go to your game."
"Hotch, come on," Derek said. "I've heard the others guys talking about it. It was just a little prank, I don't think it was as bad as you thought. Definitely not bad enough to get anybody suspended from playing."
"You weren't there," Hotch said sharply. He glanced around the hall to see if anyone was walking by, then stepped into the room and closed the door. "They were hurting him. And he doesn't have anyone but us to keep an eye on him."
"Nothing bad is going to happen to him if he just comes to the game," Derek scoffed. "There's a million people there, no one's gonna even notice if he's there. Except for me. I'd like it if my friends came out here to support me."
"Your friends are coming out to support you," Hotch said. "But we're not going to force Spencer to go."
"See, you're taking his side again," Derek burst out. "You were my friend first, you know. Before any of these other kids showed up."
"You've got plenty of friends," Hotch said. "You've got the whole football team, don't you?" He tilted his head. "It's fine that you split your time between them and us. But you can't turn around and shit on me for making you my number one priority right now."
Derek picked up a pen and fiddled with it, spinning it between his fingers. "No, because Spencer's your number one priority," he said.
"Are you seriously jealous of him?" Hotch said, folding his arms over his chest. "He's a nine-year-old kid whose shoes are held together with duct tape. And you're a rising star on the St. Thaddeus Titans."
Derek shrugged, not making eye contact. "I'm not jealous," he said. "And you don't have to get all sarcastic on me. My new friends-"
"Your new friends think it's fun to throw a little kid in a closet," Hotch said flatly. "And I don't care about how popular you get, or if you're the quarterback, or if you singlehandedly lead the team to victory by the end of the season. At the end of the day, you're a Lincoln House kid. And they're always going to be a Lincoln House kid."
Derek threw the pen down on his desk. "That's bullshit, Hotch, they don't care," he said.
"Really?" Hotch said. "All right. Fine. You go hang out with your new friends, and the second something goes horribly wrong they're going to throw it back on you, because the Lincoln kid will always be the scapegoat." He sighed heavily, his mouth drooping, and as his shoulders sagged Derek could see the fifteen-year-old kid he roomed with last year, instead of this newly adult and overly responsible stranger. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to pick a fight. And...and I can see where you're coming from."
Derek raised and lowered one shoulder. "I guess it makes sense why you'd be so protective of Spencer," he said begrudgingly. "Really, though, I think it's all blown over. They might still be a little pissed that Lamb and Willis got suspended, but once we win the game this weekend everybody will forget about it."
"I hope so," Hotch said.
The door tapped open and Spencer peeked in from under Hotch's arm. "Sorry I was late for bedchecks," he said.
"It's okay," Hotch said. "You doing all right?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," Spencer said, climbing onto his bed.
"I'll see you guys in the morning then," Hotch said. "Get some sleep, both of you."
He left, closing the door behind him. Derek slid down farther in his chair. He watched Spencer out of the corner of his eye; Spencer pushed his wet hair out of his face as he picked up his book again.
Derek scratched the back of his neck. "Whatcha reading?" he asked.
Spencer held it up. "Alex is letting me borrow one of her books on Russian grammar," he said.
"Seriously?" Derek laughed. Spencer nodded. "That's, uh. Pretty intense. Are you learning Russian now? I thought she was teaching you ASL, and Emily and Dave were teaching you Italian."
"Oh, they are," Spencer said.
Derek watched him turn pages. "Hey," he said, and Spencer looked up. "I didn't mean to get so defensive about you coming to my game. If you don't want to go, it's cool. I get it."
Spencer bit his lip. "It really isn't a personal thing," he said. "I promise, it's not. I just…" He paused. "You know that was the first football game I've ever been to?"
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I don't get invited places very often," he said. He pressed his mouth together in a rueful little smile. "That part was pretty nice."
Derek cleared his throat. "Listen, Spencer," he said. "I know...my friends were kind of shitty. But I promise they're not that bad." He nudged Spencer lightly. "I'll put in a good word for you, see if I can make sure they leave alone. That's how it works, you know?
"That's how it works?" Spencer repeated.
"Yeah, man," Derek said. "You get a popular kid on your side, everything works out. Hell, all it takes is Alexa Lisbon saying she approves of somebody, they're in for sure."
Spencer pushed his damp hair away from his face. "Thanks for the offer, I suppose," he said. He closed his book. "I'm going to go to sleep, I think."
"Yeah, sure," Derek said. "G'night, kid."
He didn't think much of their conversation after that, and by the time he went to bed himself he fell asleep the second his head hit the pillow.
Normally he never woke up in the middle of the night, but he opened his eyes around two in the morning and rolled over to see Spencer curled up in a tight little ball on his bed, his blanket puddled on the floor. He got up quietly and set it back into place, draping it over the kid. Spencer didn't wake, but he seemed to relax back into his borrowed pillow, and Derek went back to bed and slept until his alarm rang.
wednesday
Alex sank down in her favorite armchair with a heavy groan, dangling her legs over the side. "You doing okay, Miller?" Dave inquired.
"I can always tell when someone's assigned a research paper, let's just leave it at that," she sighed. "Just give me a second."
Emily checked her phone. "Well, you only have thirty minutes left," she said. "And in the meantime, you can help me convince Dave that I will be an excellent wingman for him at the public school party this weekend."
"Oh, no, I don't think he's going to need any help," Alex said. "He's left a steady stream of broken hearts behind him every school year."
"The Taylor Swift of St. Thaddeus?" Emily teased.
"Hey, she has dated a reasonable amount of people, and if she was a guy nobody would question it," Penelope said, pointing her fluffy-topped pen at Emily.
"And I don't write songs about them," Dave added.
Emily shrugged. "Fair point."
"But I do write them into my novels sometimes," he admitted.
Spencer propped himself up on his elbows; he was lying on his stomach with an open book in front of him. "Who's Taylor Swift?" he asked. "Is she in your grade?"
"Oh, my sweet summer child, we need to educate you," Penelope said.
Spencer wrinkled his nose. "So she's not a friend of yours?"
Penelope rolled off the couch to join him on the floor, already pulling out her phone. "No, no, okay, so Taylor Alison Swift-"
"Just make sure you use headphones or something," Alex said. "If I don't let Anderson listen to his music without headphones, I can't let you guys get away with it either." She pushed herself out of her armchair. "I should probably go back to shelving. Anybody want to come help me?"
Spencer started to get up but Penelope pulled him back down. "You have to listen to this," she insisted.
Alex bit back a laugh and went back to the circulation desk. A student was waiting for her with a stack of books. "Sorry," she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "You ready to check out?"
"Uh-huh," he said, sliding his ID and the books towards her.
She scanned them one by one. "Are you working on a research paper too?" she asked, making polite small talk.
"No, just fascinated by T.S Eliot's work."
She paused. "Really," she said. She glanced at the spines- a collected works, two biographies, a couple of poetry anthologies. "Usually I don't see any poetry books checked out unless someone's working on a project."
"No, I genuinely enjoy it," he said. "Are you familiar with Eliot's work?"
"Yeah, I am," she said. She grinned. "I had to write a paper about him freshman year. If you find any blue sticky notes in those biographies, they're probably leftover from me."
He laughed. "You have a system, I like it," he said. "When I-"
Spencer peeked over the edge of the desk. "Hey, Alex, can I go in the office real quick?" he said. She raised an eyebrow. "For...contraband."
"We're going to get dinner right after this," she warned. He drummed his fingers on the desktop, his hazel eyes wide and hopeful. "Go ahead. Not too much, though."
"Thank you!" he said, zipping past her into the office.
"Contraband?" the boy at the desk inquired.
Alex picked up the next book. "My candy drawer," she explained.
"That makes sense," he said. "Cute kid. Is he your little brother?"
"No, a ninth grader," Alex said. She slid the books back towards him over the counter, the ID placed on top. "All right, you're all set. You have them for two weeks, but if you want to renew you can do it on the school website or stop by the library again."
He smiled at her, his blue eyes bright. "I'll probably stop by the library again," he said as he scooped the books up. "Thanks a lot."
He left, and she glanced down at her phone, sighing in relief when she saw the time. "Five minutes left," she mumbled. "Oh, I definitely shouldn't have let Spencer have any candy."
She went back into the office just in time to catch Spencer standing at the phone, the receiver in hand. "What are you doing?" she asked.
He jumped like he'd been electrocuted, the receiver clattering back into place. "I'm sorry!" he said. "I just...I needed to use the phone-"
"No, that's fine, darling," she said. "You could have used my phone if you wanted, it's fine. You can always ask."
"It's okay, I just…" he said. "Never mind."
He tried to slip past her. "Did you get any candy?" she asked.
"No," he said, shifting his weight uncomfortably. "You were right, I didn't need to eat anything so close to dinner."
"Okay," she said. "Tell the others I'll lock up in a second."
He nodded and ran out of the office, the door sliding closed behind him. Alex frowned. She wasn't sure what to make of that. Maybe she should have stopped him, asked more questions.
Instead she picked up the phone and held it to her ear as she hit the redial button. She wasn't sure what to expect, but she listened to it ring half a dozen times, almost long enough to wonder if she should hang up.
"Thank you for calling the offices of Kirschenbaum, Wieder, and Moore. Unfortunately, no one is available to answer your call. Please leave your name and number at the tone, and you will receive a call back at the earliest convenience."
She hung up the phone quickly before the voicemail could beep. Who on earth was Spencer trying to call? It sounded like a law firm.
Was he in some kind of trouble? What kind of trouble could a nine-year-old boy get into that would possibly require a lawyer?
She closed up the office and turned off the lights, locking the door behind her. Penelope was waiting at the circulation desk. "Is it too late to check anything out?" she asked.
"Nope, you'll be the last for the day," Alex said, taking Penelope's ID and the book. "Ah, The Scorpio Races. Excellent choice. I should be getting All the Crooked Saints in soon, I'll let you know as soon as it comes in."
"You're an angel, Alexandra Miller," Penelope said.
Alex slid the book under the scanner. "Hey," she said slowly. "The other day you said that you're really good at tracking things down. Is that Penelope Garcia hyperbole, or-"
"No, no, it's real," she said. "My special skill. I have ethical and unethical methods, but either way I can work magic."
"Can you look up some things for me?" Alex said.
Penelope bounced up on her toes; the flower clips in her hair bounced too. "Absolutely!" she said. "What can I do for you?"
Alex picked up a scrap piece of paper from the desk and wrote down the names she'd heard. "I need you do to some research on this law firm," she said. "I can't really explain it at the moment, but I need you to find out what you can."
"Yes, ma'am," Penelope said, taking the paper reverently.
"Try to stick to the ethical searches, though," Alex said. "I don't want to get you in trouble with this." She handed her the book. "And don't talk to the others about this."
"Ooh, our first friendship secret!" Penelope said. "You can trust me, I promise."
She ran off to join the others in the hall. Alex checked the library for stragglers before shutting down the computers and turning off the lights. "All right, I'm ready," she said as she locked the door. "Dave, are you staying to eat dinner with us?"
"I wasn't, but Penelope says they're going to have corn nuggets tonight, so I'm legally obligated to stay," he joked.
Alex reached for Spencer's hand. He looked up at her, his eyes big, and when she squeezed gently he smiled at her. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm starving," she said. "Let's get out of here."
thursday
Hotch slung his backpack over his shoulder as the bell rang, already pulling his phone out of his pocket to text the group chat- who's got the kid?
He was almost to his next class when he got a video from Emily. It was slightly blurry, but he could see the top of Spencer's head as they walked through the halls. "Spencer, tell Hotch to stop worrying," she said, her voice loud from behind the phone.
Spencer squinted up at the camera. "Hotch, stop worrying," he piped up.
Hotch grinned. They could tease him as much as they wanted, it was reassuring to know that somebody was with the kid. Even Derek had been going out of his way to make sure that Spencer wasn't left alone, despite bowing out of dinners and hangouts to spend time with his new friends.
It wasn't that he was mad about Derek making new friends, or enjoying his newfound popularity- he was glad he'd finally made the varsity team, it was all he wanted last year. But it set his teeth on edge, knowing that eventually the other shoe was going to drop, and knowing what they were willing to do to a ten-year-old kid.
He collided sharply with someone in the hall and stumbled back, gripping tight to his phone to make sure he didn't drop it. "Sorry," he said quickly.
"Watch where you're going, Lincoln House," the other kid shot back. Hotch didn't recognize him, but he recognized the green Kennedy House emblem on his sweater, and he gritted his teeth.
"I'm sorry," he repeated, a little more tersely.
He started to sidestep the Kennedy sweater. "Hey, wait," he said. "You're the one who tattled on Willis and Lamb, aren't you?"
Hotch dropped his phone in his pocket. "I didn't tattle," he said. "I turned them in for assaulting a ten-year-old."
"They were just teasing him," Kennedy Sweater said, rolling his eyes. "C'mon, don't you understand a joke?" Hotch moved to push past him, but Kennedy Sweater caught him by the shoulder and pushed him back. "I asked you a question, Lincoln."
"Don't touch me," Hotch shot back, his hands unconsciously clenching into fists at his sides.
"Answer the question, then," he said.
"I don't have to answer you."
Kennedy Sweater grinned wolfishly at him. "Maybe I'll go see if your little kid thinks I'm funny," he said.
His nails dug into his palms. "Don't go near him," he said through his teeth.
"Yeah?" Kennedy Sweater said, shoving his shoulder. "What are you gonna do about it?"
"Don't touch me."
"Oh, yeah?" Kennedy Sweater jeered, pushing him again. "What are you gonna do about it? Run and tattle again?"
Without thinking he drew his arm back and punched him across the jaw.
He stumbled back, his knuckles smarting. "I'm sorry," he said immediately, raising his hands in surrender. "It didn't mean-"
Kennedy Sweater lunged at him. Hotch put up his arms to block, but he wasn't quite fast enough. He swung out, his fist connecting with a crack.
Two years of hard work on himself and his reputation, down the drain.
It could have been thirty seconds or half an hour, he wasn't sure, but his vision blurred and sound blended in his ears, and suddenly someone was pulling him backwards by his blazer.
"Guys, cut it out, before a teacher sees!" somebody said, and he fell back, his heart beating wildly in his throat, and he leaned against the wall as the roar of the hallway shifted back into loud conversations and his vision stopped showing him double.
A slim hand gripped his wrist tightly. "Come on, we're getting out of here."
He stumbled blindly, adrenaline pumping in his veins, as the hand moved to grip his, fingers interlocking, and he was dragged down the hallway. The bathroom lights were bright and jarring and he winced. He must've gotten at least one bad hit.
A slender figure in a navy sweater and a red plaid skirt busied herself at the sink. The pink sinks. He rubbed his eyes and immediately regretted it as his knuckles popped. "Am I in the girls' bathroom?" he mumbled.
"You sure are."
He jumped in surprise as Haley turned around took his hand in her slender ones. "Haley, how...what's going on?" he sputtered.
"You picked a fight with the dumbest junior in Kennedy House," she said, pressing a damp paper towel at his bleeding hand.
"I didn't pick a fight, he started it," Hotch protested. He want to pull his hand away, but he couldn't move.
"You sure finished it," she said. She eyed his split knuckles critically.
"Haley, this isn't me," he said. "I swear. I mean...I used to get in fights a lot, when I was a freshman, but I was dealing with a lot of shit back then. I'm not the kind of guy who just…"
His voice trailed off. "I know," she said gently. "I caught the tail end of it. You were defending that little Reid boy. And don't worry, nobody likes that Kennedy kid much." She smiled up at him. "I might've punched him myself if he talked to me like that."
"I shouldn't have done anything," he said.
"No, something needed to be done," Haley said. She took a step back and looked him up and down. "I think you won, but he still got in some good hits."
The bell rang as Haley pulled more paper towels from the dispenser and ran them under the faucet. "You should go, you'll get in trouble," he said.
"Oh, it's fine," she said. "All I have to do is say that I needed to do something for cheer, and they don't mark me tardy. Now hold still. And lean your head down a little, you're so tall."
He held his breath as she dabbed at his cheekbone, trying to stare at the wall behind her. She was so close he could see a stray fleck of mascara on her cheek. "It's not that bad," he said. "You don't have to do this."
"Yes, it is, and stop fussing, I don't mind," she said. "Your lip is split pretty bad. And I bet you'll have a black eye by tomorrow."
He tried to squirm away. "Really, Haley, it's fine," he said. "It's not the first time somebody's smacked me around to make themselves feel better."
He froze.
That wasn't what he meant to say. Not at all.
Haley took a step back. "What do you mean?" she said.
"Nothing," he said quickly, his voice rising. "It's- nothing, forget I said anything. I'm just going to go-"
She caught him by the arm. "Aaron," she said. "What do you mean?" He could have gotten out of her grip, but for some reason he didn't pull away. "You can't just say something like that and walk out."
He stared at the far wall, keenly away of Haley's slender fingers holding onto his sleeve, and he waited until he was sure his voice was going to stay steady. "My dad," he said.
"Your dad?" she echoed.
"He, uh...had a lot of issues," Hotch said. "He kind of took them out on me."
"He hits you?" Haley breathed.
He shrugged. "Better me than my little brother," he said.
He turned around, ready to offer her a reassuring smile, but she stared up at him in shock. "Aaron, I'm so sorry," she said. "Are...are you okay? Have you talked to someone?"
"No, no, Haley, it's okay," he said quickly. "He, uh...he died. Lung cancer. When I was thirteen."
Her eyes softened. "I'm so sorry," she said. "I had no idea."
"Nobody does," he confessed, one side of his mouth tugging up into a rueful smile.
To his surprise, Haley stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm so sorry."
He had pictured what might happen if he told somebody. He hadn't expected this.
She hugged him, rising up on her toes so she could rest her chin on his shoulder. He didn't think someone so small could possibly grip so tight. But after a moment he allowed himself to relax and hugged her back, closing his eyes as he rested his cheek against the top of her head.
When he started to lean back she let go, her hands trailing along his arms and lingering against his palms. "Let's get the rest of that blood off you, tiger," she said. "And maybe get some ice for that eye."
"Okay," he whispered. "Thanks, Haley."
She smiled. "Any time," she said. "But maybe don't make it a habit of getting clocked in the face, okay?"
friday
"You're sure we won't get in trouble?" Penelope asked again.
"We'll be fine," James reassured her.
Derek slung his arm around her shoulders. "Besides, we won't be there for too long," he said. "I've got a game to get to, and you promised you'd be there."
"That's true," she admitted.
James led the way down the path through the overgrown grass. "We showed Emily the creek during her first week here, I can't believe we haven't brought the rest of y'all down here yet," he said.
"How far away is this place?" JJ asked. "We've been walking forever."
"Almost there," he promised.
It had been his idea to go to the creek. Everyone had just seemed so...out of sorts. Alex had the afternoon off from the library, and the coffee shop was crowded, and impulsively he'd told everybody to go change and they could go down to the creek and just chill for a while. He'd half expected them to say no, but they'd all agreed. Well, except Dave, who claimed he'd had a "major breakthrough" on his story for Strauss's class.
The water level was a little low, but then again it had been blistering hot day after day, way too hot for late summer. It was cooler in the shade of the oak trees; the air smelled sharp and damp. "Oh, it's nice out here," Penelope exclaimed.
Emily was already pulling at the laces of her Doc Martens. "Learn from me, don't get your shoes anywhere near the water," she said.
"All right, Morticia Addams," JJ said, kicking off her sneakers.
"Hey, I'll have you know that that's a compliment," Emily said. "Morticia Addams is a queen and you know it."
"She's not wrong," Alex said. She and Emily looked like night and day next to each other- one in a black vintage band tee shirt and ripped up acid wash jeans, the other in a white cotton sundress. "Watch the bank, it's pretty slippery."
Derek threw himself headlong into the water, splashing up to his hips and making Penelope shriek. "Jesus, Derek, be careful!" Hotch said.
"It's fine, guys, stop freaking out!" he said. JJ slid down quickly to join him, the hem of her shorts quickly catching the water. "That means you too, pretty boy, get down here."
Spencer set his battered sneakers down and inched towards the bank. One of the girls had already tied his hair into a small knot at the crown of his head and his faded shirt was at least two sizes too big for him. "Nobody drink the water," he warned. "Five million people die every year from illnesses contracted from rivers and streams."
"No one's going to drink the water," Alex reassured him as she waded into the creek. "Come on, you literally sound like the elephant in Tarzan."
"The elephant in Tarzan doesn't talk."
"Not the Johnny Weissmuller films, the Disney one," Alex said. She held out her hand. "You'll be fine, come on."
James sat down in the grass, stretching out his legs. Hotch sank down beside him and ran his hand through his hair. "Oh my god, it's been a shitty week," he sighed.
"Yeah?" James said, trying to keep his voice casual. He would have guessed Hotch was having a bad time, judging by his swollen black eye and his split lip. So far, though, no one had really addressed it, and Hotch hadn't volunteered any information.
Hotch leaned back on his elbows. "Yeah, I had a huge math test today, and I've been dreading it," he said.
"Yeah, math sucks," James offered.
Penelope suddenly shrieked. "Something touched me!" she screamed. "Something touched my ankle!"
"Probably a crawdad," James called back.
"They're also called crayfish," Spencer offered.
"They're not gonna hurt you, baby girl," Derek said. "Maybe just a little pinch."
"A pinch is still a pinch, and I don't want it!" Penelope said, scrambling for the bank.
JJ peered into the water, then reached in swiftly. "I got one!" she said, cupping the crawdad in her hands. "Penny, do you want a closer look?"
"No!"
"The crayfish is the state crusteacean of Louisiana," Spencer said. "They're in the cambaridae family and they're the….no, JJ, noooo, I don't wanna touch it!"
JJ chased Spencer with the crawdad in her hands and he hid behind Alex, clinging to her skirt. "Derek's right, Spencer, it's not going to hurt you," Alex laughed.
"They're so cute!" JJ said. "I'll catch you one."
Spencer clung tighter to Alex and she picked him up. "You're fine, they're not poisonous," she reassured him.
"I know that, but I don't like them," he protested.
"Can I keep them in my room, if I get them a little tank?" JJ asked.
"No way!" Hotch called. "Tara will not be happy about that."
James laughed. "What would the baby squad do without you?" he teased.
Hotch laid back into the grass. "Baby squad, huh?" he said. "Yeah, that seems right. What are the rest of us?"
"Big kid squad."
"That also sounds right," Hotch said. "Where do Emily and Derek fall?"
"Emily is a big kid, Derek is a baby."
"I'll allow that," Hotch said. He sighed heavily. "At least if I have to be the dad friend, there's a mom friend."
James frowned. "Who's that?"
"Alex," Hotch said. He nodded towards the creek; Spencer was still clinging to Alex as JJ held out a crawdad in each palm. "Has she always been good with kids?"
James shrugged. "She babysits all summer to make money for school and she teaches some of the little kid dance classes when she's home," he said. "But she's just like that, you know? She's the kindest person I know, and she doesn't take any shit."
"Is that why you have a crush on her?"
James choked. "How...I don't know…" he stammered. "Is it that obvious?"
"Painfully," Hotch said.
James pulled on a long blade of grass. "Yeah," he sighed.
Hotch's mouth tugged up in a half smile, the bruising on his lower lip showing darker. "She's pretty great," he said. "It's funny, I saw her in the library every time I went there over the past two years, and I don't think I ever learned her name."
"And now you're raising Spencer together," James joked.
"I honestly didn't know how that happened," Hotch said. He laid back in the tall grass. "Spencer's just a little bit older than my brother. I can't imagine Sean in his shoes."
"Yeah, he's dealing with a lot for such a little kid, huh?" James said. He straightened up. "Hey, Derek, you probably don't want to mess with that fence."
"Why?" he shouted back.
"It's an electric fence!"
"See, this is why he's on the baby squad," Hotch mumbled to himself.
Spencer had slid back into the water and was carefully balancing on a smooth flat rock. "I don't think it's activated," he said.
Derek picked up a long stick and edged closer. "Dude, I think that's a bad idea," Emily said. "Maybe don't-"
He poked the fence, and nothing happened. "Yeah, it's fine!" he said. "You think we should try to cross? I've heard there's all sorts of crazy things out in the woods."
"That's a bad idea," James said. "If the security team doesn't catch you, the groundskeeper will."
"The groundskeeper?" Penelope said. "Oh, great, another adult to be afraid of out here."
"He's not bad, he's just...kind of strange," Alex said. "You'll be fine as long as you don't walk through his flowerbeds or break tree branches." She shot Derek a knowing glance. "Or go out in the woods."
"Okay, okay, I get it, I get it," he said, grinning. "Hey, what time is it?"
James wrestled his phone out of his pocket. "Almost five," he said.
"Oh, shit!" Derek exclaimed. "I gotta get to the field by six. Let's go, baby girl!"
"Thank goodness," Penelope said. "I've had more than enough nature today, thank you very much."
saturday
"You're going to clean all of this up when you get back, right?" Alex asked.
"Yes! Absolutely! I promise!" Emily said, tearing through her dresser drawers. Clothes were piled up on the bed, three different pairs of shoes were tossed across the floor, and her makeup collection might never recover. "I'm just in a major hurry, Dave is threatening to leave without me."
Alex sat up, moving her pillows around. Her long hair had been braided and pinned neatly around her head, but a few wisps had escaped around her ears. "What are you looking for?" she asked.
"I had this lipstick!" Emily exclaimed.
"You have two in your hands."
"No, not these," she said. "I wanted something dark, but also kind of...red?"
"Burgundy?" Alex supplied. "I think you mean burgundy."
"Maybe? I don't know!" Emily said as she kept digging around through her possessions. She could picture the little black tube perfectly, on her dresser back home in Italy...but maybe that's where it still was.
Alex slipped off her bed and rummaged through her makeup organizer. "Stop throwing things around, come here," she said. "I think this is what you're looking for."
She held out the little black tube; Emily uncapped it eagerly. "It is!" she said. "Holy fuck, Miller, you're an angel." She leaned close to the mirror and applied it carefully. "I owe you one."
"Just clean up the disaster you're leaving behind, and we'll call it even," Alex said.
Emily capped the lipstick and handed it back. "You sure you don't want to come with me?" she asked.
"I appreciate the offer, but I'm in my pajamas, I have a new book, and as soon as you leave I'm going to play all the sad music you don't like on my record player," Alex said. "You have fun. Make good choices. Don't annoy Dave too much, he can be a pill when he's driving."
Emily kissed her on the cheek with a loud smack, leaving a perfect lip print behind. Alex rolled her eyes. "I'll be good, Mom, don't worry," she teased. "Enjoy listening to Death Cab for Cutie without me."
"It's Hozier this time," Alex said. "Go on, don't keep Dave waiting."
She ran out of Roosevelt House, her shoes clumping on the stairs. It was a bit of a trek to the parking lot in front of the main building, but she found Dave easily enough. "It's about time, Prentiss," he said.
"Sorry, lipstick emergency," she said, throwing herself into the passenger seat. "Floor it, Rossi!"
They chatted aimlessly on the car ride, but the longer he drove, the more anxious she started to get. Maybe not anxious. Apprehensive? She was apprehensive. Parties in a small town in Tennessee were bound to be different from parties in Rome. She just wasn't sure what the differences might be.
Dave pulled his car into a long winding driveway. Emily squinted in the darkness. "Is this...is this party in a barn?" she said.
"Yeah, welcome to the boonies," Dave said. He opened his door and frowned at the ground. "Shit. I hope it doesn't rain, I'm going to get mud on my tires."
"I think you'll live," Emily said.
She had already passed second-guessing her outfit. Triple-guessing? Quadruple-guessing? Whatever level she reached, she was nervous.
Maybe it wasn't the outfit, though, or the dust from the barnyard clinging to her ripped tights and her skirt. In Italy, she never went to parties alone. She was always there with Matthew and John. Everyone always knew that if one was there, the other two were never far behind.
She pushed the thought away as she walked into the barn with Dave. Inside was surprisingly crowded, loud music pulsing over speakers and string lights casting shadows. Dave checked his phone. "I'm gonna go find Hayden," he said. "You wanna come meet her?"
"I'm good for right now," she said. "You go have fun."
A bunch of public school kids clustered around a mismatched collection of coolers; she slipped in between them and grabbed the first bottle she could find. Some kind of beer, she guessed. She wasn't much of a beer person, but she could give it a go, just for the moment.
The cap wouldn't snap off. "Fuck," she said aloud, struggling to pull it off. This was a sign. She shouldn't have come here. She was an idiot in a dress that would have been cool in Italy but looked stupid and lame around all these Tennessee kids, and she couldn't get the top off a beer.
"It's not a screw top."
She looked up, the cold bottle nearly slipping from her grip. "What?" she said.
A boy in a Crievewood High shirt stood in front of her, a smile tugging at his mouth. "It's not a screw top," he said, gesturing towards her bottle as something glinted in his hand. "You need some help?"
"Please," she said, holding it out. He popped the top off easily, letting it fall in the sawdust ground, and handed it back. "Thanks."
"No problem," he said. She took a swig, wincing slightly at the taste, but it was cold and familiar all the same. "Nice dress. But you're not from Crievewood, are you?"
She pressed the back of her hand against her mouth to dab away the beer clinging to her lips. "Guilty as charged," she said. "St. Thaddeus. My friend got invited and he let me tag along."
He laughed. She couldn't see him very clearly in the dim lights, but he seemed nice enough. "Which house?" he asked.
"Roosevelt," she said. He nodded in approval and she switched her beer to her left hand so she could hold out her right. "I'm Emily, by the way."
He shook her hand, his thumb brushing the back of her thumb. "Nice to meet you, Emily," he said. "I'm Ian. Ian Doyle."
Author's Notes:
YIKES A LOT HAS HAPPENED IN THIS CHAPTER.
It's hard to respond to comments on here, but send me messages on my tumblr (themetaphorgirl) if you'd like to chat! I also have a lot of cute drabbles, amazing fanart, a FAQ, and even a fan video and fan drabbles if you'd like to see more about Patron Saint!
Special thanks to Faby and Maeve for their help and encouragement!
