A/N – Just a little short burst today.

"One often calms one's grief by recounting it." ~Pierre Courneille

Chapter 3 – Fathers

Hotch woke up slowly. He was very relaxed—something which hadn't occurred in an extremely long time. He was laying on his right side, with Jack curled up comfortably against his chest. And Dave—he looked and realized that his old friend was just behind him, left arm draped protectively over both him and Jack. It was certainly an odd position to find himself in, closely sandwiched in-between his child and his friend, his male friend no less. He supposed that if it been anyone other than Dave, it likely would have triggered a flashback of some kind, if not something worse. But his fear was mysteriously absent, which was also unusual.

He was glad that Dave was clothed though; otherwise, flashbacks of feeling Michael's furry chest tickling his back the first morning after would surely have been unavoidable.

He looked down at his son again and lightly touched his soft hair with his left hand. His son turned over, but didn't wake up, instead seeming to curl up even tighter into his embrace. He was glad his child felt secure with him. He certainly would have never dared to ask to sleep in his parent's bed, let alone feel the desire to begin with.

"He looks almost angelic, don't you think?" Dave rumbled quietly in his ear, making him start a bit as he hadn't realized the other man was awake. "Sorry," his old friend quickly apologized, patting him on the shoulder and removing his arm. Then the bed creaked as the other man rolled over and got out. Hotch felt the chill touch his back from where Dave had been moments before. For an instance, he felt an inane urge to tell him to come back, but he kept his mouth shut and it slowly passed.

. . .

"Did you ever find that your emotions towards Tobias were conflicted?" Hotch asked Reid in a conversation later that week.

Jack had gone back home with Jessica, and he was spending the evening with Spencer. Dave would have been there with him, but Hotch had demanded he spend a night out for once. In exchange, Dave had coerced the younger man into coming over and staying with him. As much as Hotch enjoyed the boy's company, he wasn't exactly thrilled at the idea of being forced to sit through any more marathons, Star Trek or not.

In order to avoid the inevitable, he had instead started in on a conversation with him about a subject that he was sure Reid would understand.

"Conflicted how?" Spencer was looking warily at him, and he didn't blame him for it. Tobias Henkel was still very much a tender topic for the young doctor, but not nearly as much as his own recent trauma was for him.

"Did you ever feel both angry with him and sad for him?" Michael's father had been very much on his mind since his visit with Jack.

"Sure. Of course I did, Hotch," Spencer answered openly, looking brightly at him. "He was both the object of his fear and the result of it," he dropped his eyes and chewed his lip thoughtfully for a moment. "Did you experience something like that with Michael?"

"At one point, Michael revealed to me that his father had raped him for as long as he could remember," he answered slowly, his eyes narrowed as he carefully remembered the conversation.

Spencer nodded at him. "That makes a lot of sense, especially if one takes into account that 93% of juvenile sexual assault victims know their attackers. More importantly, studies have shown that more that 34% of attackers are family members of one kind or another."

34%? More than a third? Hotch had read the reports before, but it was different than actually seeing and speaking to a recipient of such abuse. Especially such a twisted one like Michael, he added quietly.

"I—I could never do that to Jack," Hotch wasn't sure why he was saying this, just that he needed to. He ran a hand through his hair, slumping a bit in his chair as he did so. What my father did to me was bad enough, but at least he never fucked me.

The thought made him more than a little ill. Looking up, he realized that Spencer was looking at him worriedly.

"I know you would never do that Hotch," the young doctor said in a hesitant voice. "Are you worried that you might try to?"

"No, I don't think so. I just can't get the idea out of my mind that someone could hurt a child, a child like Jack in such a heinous way." He shook his head morosely. "I feel bad for Michael, but at the same time, I hate him too."

Initially, upon becoming a father, he had been worried—more than worried—that he would turn into his own father and end up hurting the people whom he loved the most in the world just like his old man had. Yet, for all of that fear and all of his uncertainties, he had managed to do what his own dad had not, and found a way to keep his anger under control. He knew, had known for a long time in fact, that he had anger issues, but with a childhood like his, that was to be expected, right?

"For becoming so much like his father?" Spencer prompted, looking at him in a calculating way.

"Maybe it could be argued that he was simply a product of his environment," he answered somewhat helplessly. "But if that were true . . ." He trailed off, uncertain of how much to actually confirm for the intelligent young man sitting in front of him.

"If that were true, then why didn't you do so as well?" Spencer finished slowly, watching him carefully.

"My father," Hotch whispered, dropping his gaze from the patient brown eyes still on him. "He was . . . not a nice man. I don't pretend to be all sunshine and roses either," he took a steadying breath and made himself look back up. "But I swore to myself that Jack wouldn't have to grow up like that, like I did."

"Always afraid," Spencer added in a low voice when he didn't continue.

He nodded quickly, turning his head away.

"It's okay to hate Michael, you know that, right Hotch?"

It wasn't so much that he hated him. It was far worse than that. He reviled him for everything that he had forced him to experience. He despised him for every nightmare he had; for every time he doubted himself now; every flashback, every fear laden breath that he felt ratchet through him.

"I know," he answered in a low voice, his eyes distant.

"Just so long as you don't let it consume you. Because it will, if you let it, Hotch," Spencer warned him.

"I know," he refocused his eyes on the young man before him, adding a small upturn of his lips as he did so. "I remember."

. . .

Spencer didn't leave until Dave got back; meaning Hotch's thoughts had no time to cool off from their insistent tugging on his brain. As soon the other man walked in the door, Hotch knew that they would be talking that night.

"Looking pretty serious there Aaron, even for you," Dave said, sitting down beside him on the sofa.

"Haley always said that I only had two moods," he answered, trying to smile, but having a feeling that it had come across more as a grimace.

"They would be?"

"Moody and asleep."

Dave cocked his head to the side, pretending to think. "Yeah, that sounds pretty familiar," he answered, giving him a real smile. "Of course, if that were true, then we'd have to count pissed off and serious as one thing, and that would just be wrong."

"Why's that?" He asked, feeling the sudden desire to play along.

"Because there's clearly a difference between the two; your eyebrows go down more when you're pissed off." A broader smile and he couldn't help himself. Hotch laughed aloud. It was a completely ridiculous conversation.

"And you spend time studying my eyebrows as part of your daily routine because—?"

"Otherwise I'd never know when to duck. If they go all the way down, I'm gettin' out," another smile graced his friend's lips, and once more he found himself grinning back, if only ever so briefly.

Dave made him feel warm inside, but not uncomfortably so, by helping to drive away the chill that seemed to have settled in his limbs following his rescue from Michael. He was lucky to have a friend like him.