Title: Correspondence

Author: Kuria Dalmatia

Rating: FRT, PG

Pairing: Reid, Hotch (Gideon). Yes, you can read Hotch/Reid into this is you want.

Summary: There must have been another letter.

Word Count: ~900

ARCHIVING: my LJ... anyone else? Please ask first.

SERIES: Criminal Minds

Feedback always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: The Mark Gordon Company, ABC Studios and CBS Paramount Network Television own Criminal Minds. Salut! I just took them out to play and I promise put them back when I'm done. I'm not making any profit just trying to get these images out of my head.

TIMELINE/SPOILERS: late 3rd season. Companion piece to "Vellum".

COMMENTS: Part of the "Letters" series. Sequel to "Struggle" and "Vellum"

I plagiarized myself. Heh.

Thanks to Pabzi for the encouragement.

April 2009.

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One thing that Spencer Reid really hates about being in the hospital is that he is constantly on display. Especially when he's hooked up to the heart monitors that conveniently broadcast just how panicked he gets when someone approaches with a needle. The only good thing is that it's never completely dark.

Reid feels guilty because it is a Saturday night and surely his boss has much, much better things to do than go to his apartment. However, he reminds himself that Hotch would have done this for any member of the team. He thinks of the case with Max Ryan, and Elle's comment about how they were all available at a moment's notice, even if it was the weekend.

He's annoyed because the room is completely blurry and has been for over six hours. "Better broken glasses than a broken face," the EMT on the scene had said, which hadn't been and still isn't much consolation. Being told for the fifteenth time that he's very, very lucky is even more grating.

He knows why the hospital insisted on keeping him overnight. While some of it has to do with the injuries, Reid also recognizes just how the hospital staff addresses him. The marks on his inner arm aren't completely gone, he has a medical alert tag declaring his "allergy" to a certain classification of drugs, he's skinny and he has dark eye syndrome.

Reid's been clean for months, but still… Yeah. He gets it. He doesn't like it, but he gets it. He also doesn't argue. Funny, the little bits of wisdom passed on during those NA meetings.

The knock at the door startles him. He knows immediately that it's Hotch because his boss always seeks permission before entering someone's hospital room. It's a nice change.

"Thank you," Reid says sincerely, wondering just how dopey his smile is and knowing that he can't blame the painkillers. The strongest medication he's been given is extra-strength Tylenol.

The Hotch-shaped blob murmurs a "you're welcome" as he enters the room and immediately hands over the eyeglass case. Reid quickly slides his glasses on and everything comes – thankfully – back into focus. He winces as the pads settle on the bridge of his nose but still he offers another "Thank you". Then, he registers Hotch's casual attire: faded jeans, partially zipped hoodie that's seen better days and – Reid does blink twice because impossible! – a shabby t-shirt.

Hotch in a shabby t-shirt.

Hotch in a shabby t-shirt and there's a slight quirk to his lips, as if debating on whether to share the joke. He probably won't. He rarely does.

"How's the Volvo?" Hotch finally asks and there is genuine sympathy in his voice. He and Garcia are the only ones who realize that Reid does, in fact, drive a classic car. It just needs a bit more repair to make it look more respectable.

"Actually, it was a rental," Reid corrects with a smile and a shrug, but the attempted nonchalant move sends searing pain through his shoulder and lungs. He gasps and winces before clarifying, "A Toyota with a very aggressive seatbelt and unforgiving driver's side airbag."

Hotch snorts as he holds up the go bag. "Which would you like first? Magazines, mail, or stationary?"

"Mail?" he echoes, confused.

"There was a stack on your desk," Hotch replies with just enough neutrality to make Reid tense up.

The heart monitors dutifully report his increased heart rate and blood pressure. Reid glares at it as he calls up the image of his desk and the explosion of paper on top of it. Mail. Why would Hotch bring mail when he didn't ask for it? A quick glance at the envelopes peeking out of the bag answers that question easily.

"I'm not going anywhere," Reid replies, knowing he sounds defensive but, seriously, where else would he go? Lecture at Brown? Teach classes at Yale? Fight for tenure at Cornell? Research at Cal-Tech? Maybe, maybe those possibilities on the day the job stops gnawing at his soul and his hands stop feeling cold…

Reid's mind screeches to a halt. Those words. Those exact words spoken in New Orleans, followed by his own vow of never missing another plane again.

There must have been another letter.

How could he have missed it this morning? Well, he had been in a hurry and he had just tossed the mail on his desk without sorting it. He realizes just how Hotch interpreted things and what the man is offering now.

Then, there's that moment of silence. That long, painful internalized What the fuck do I say now? Because even though Reid doesn't normally swear, this is a very appropriate time.

"I know," Hotch says simply.

Hello, my name is "Loaded Statement", Reid thinks.

He's expecting anger. Resentment. A lecture on not sharing with the team because everyone – everyone (okay, not Rossi) – has wondered just where Gideon is now and here Reid is, withholding information. Gideon could be dying and these are his final missives…

Regardless, Reid's not expecting Hotch's effortless offer of, If you want to talk, I'll listen. If not, okay. It's one Reid knows he can never emulate no matter how hard he tries.

Maybe Hotch believes that this is the first one, that Reid hasn't had time to read it.

Maybe.

But Reid doesn't want to lie to Hotch.

The solution is simple: he just doesn't elaborate.

Hotch holds his gaze. It makes Reid uncomfortable, but there is no way Reid is going to back down. He can't. Reid is stunned when Hotch looks away first.

"Sometimes, the most we can do is trust." Hotch's voice is soft, gentle almost. "And sometimes, the hardest part is remembering how."

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