Author's Note: Well, to quote one anonymous reviewer . . . nothing ruins a story like the author not updating!

Excuses, excuses . . . Sorry about the long wait. I've been in the middle of nowhere, sealed away by the snow with my parentals, baby siblings, hours' worth of DVDs and SO MUCH CHEESE. They might not be here for Chrsitmas, but I squeezed in every second of awesomeness I could with those lunatics . . . *Sighs* And now I have another week to go before family-time.

. . . Ignore me, I'm hungry.

Anyhoo . . . Thanks a million squillion bajillion for all of your AWESOME reviews! Seriously, I've never had this many so early on, and I can't believe how much people seem to be enjoying the story. Seriously, you guys, you're really amazing and all. It makes every day that isn't Christmas feel a heck of a lot more like it. I love ya dearly for that.

Enough babbling, I know that's not what you came here for. *Smiles*

Warnings: This fic contains no relevant spoilers that I can see. However, there is going to be some mild violence, much language, and angst as far as the eye can see. And, for that matter, prepare yourselves for a little OOC-ness. I guess.

Disclaimer: The amount of stuff I own grows ever larger and more terrifying. But anything resembling Criminal Minds as a whole has yet to be found. Stupid CBS with their 'rights' and 'contracts.' Grr.

I love reading reviews, but I know people hate writing them. The decision, my lovelies, is yours.

Do enjoy!

Chapter Six:

Not Now

In the bullpen, Hotch kept a wary eye on the figure of Derek Morgan as he stalked through, hostility radiating off of every pore, and a very serious "don't fuck with me" expression on his face.

No one did. However, he did catch quite a bit of attention from other BAU members – the entire floor was profilers, after all – as he stormed into the break room. As soon as the door slammed behind him, whispers were flitting about, everyone wondering what had the resident bad-ass in such a temper.

Hotch, unfortunately, had his suspicions. And they were bad, every single one of them. He glanced towards the anteroom that lead to the outer hallway, waiting to see if Reid would make an appearance, his concern growing exponentially when the young genius was nowhere to be found.

Hearing a small cough behind him, Aaron glanced over his shoulders to see one David Rossi, who was watching him with something akin to a fatherly expression on his face. Hotch raised his eyebrows, and the older profiler stepped forward.

"Leave 'em be, Aaron."

Hotch shook his head. "Dave, I don't know what you're getting at – "

The other man gave a wry smile. "Oh, really? Let me clarify, then; Morgan and Reid have been together for years, and they love and trust one another. Let them work it out."

Hotch snarled, "He had bruises on his hands and face, David."

"Did he ask for help?"

"That doesn't matter – !"

"Yes, it does." Rossi spoke with a calm that came easily to a man of his years. "I know exactly how you feel, Aaron; I've been in this situation before." He paused. "Well, a similar one, at least."

Hotch gritted his teeth, and Rossi continued speaking, trying to calm him. "Reid's a genius, Aaron. And a profiler; he's smart, strong, and quick as a whip. You trust him?"

"I do," Hotch said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Rossi nodded. "And Derek Morgan is capable, deductive, and caring. He's kind. And the first person you chose to lead this team when you thought you had to step down. You trust him." It wasn't a question.

"Yes," came the antagonized answer.

"They're both BAU members, Hotch. And adults. Your friends. And you only have to look at them to see how much they care for one another." He waited a moment for his coworker to agree, and then finished, "So let them handle this. They're more than capable. And, more than that, it's none of your business."

Hotch was gripping the handrail so hard his knuckles were turning white. "If he's hurting Spencer – "

"Then the kid will come to us, and we'll help handle it from there. But not a moment before." Rossi chided, a moment later placing a hand on Aaron's shoulder in a comforting manner. "In the meantime, do your job and let it go. It's nothing to be concerned about until one of them tells us it is, and you can't be objective right now."

He glanced significantly at Hotch with those words, clapped him once more on the shoulder, and turned, walking back towards his office.

Hotch barely heard him; Morgan had emerged from the breakroom, a cup of coffee in hand, and was sitting at his desk, flipping through files with such ferocity that Hotch wouldn't be at all surprised if they showed up with bruises next.

He shook his head, and forced himself to turn around, and walk away from the situation. Into his office, where there was his own pile of notes from this latest case.

Hotch sat down, and, trying to do as the older and wiser profiler had suggested, put his feelings on the backburner, and got to work, waiting out the clock.

It was nearly an hour later that Spencer Reid found his way back into the bullpen, walking quickly and nervously, with his head down the entire time. Even so, it wasn't hard to spot the dried tear tracks cutting through his cheeks, to see how reluctant his form was from the way he curled in on himself, long pianists' fingers picking at the fabric on his shirt.

From inside of his office, Hotch watched as his subordinate took a seat and, instead of flourishing through his work as he normally would have, stared at the computer screen on his desk with deadened eyes, his form pale and looking utterly drained.

Picking up the office phone that lay slightly to his right, Hotch dialed Reid's extension, and simply said "My office, please. Now."

He took a moment to look at the bewildered and slightly fearful tensing of Reid's shoulders through the blinds, and then focused very hard on his work, pretending he was too absorbed to see, out of the corner of his eye, the young genius making his way up the stairs. Only when his office door opened with a slight creak and then closed with a whisper did Hotch finally look up.

The change was unbelievable. Reid stood before him, quite obviously uncomfortable in the office – maybe even in his own skin – his hands wrapped protectively around his midsection and his eyes flashing darkly beneath the more obvious shiner he was still sporting. Hotch had to force back a growl when he saw the disarray of Reid's shirt, which showed more bruising on his neck, and –

Wait. Were those handprints?

His hackles immediately raised, and before him, Reid tensed, obviously thinking he was the one whom the sudden display of aggression was directed towards.

Seeing his flinch, Hotch forced himself to calm down, and sat back fully in the chair, not breaking eye contact with the young man before him. It took a few moments, and the silence stretched out uncomfortably, unbearably, before someone spoke.

"S-sir? You needed to see me."

I needed to make sure you were okay. Oh, but he couldn't say that. That wouldn't fly over in any office setting, especially not one with Reid.

Hotch paused. "I . . . I had to ask whether or not there's an issue between you and Agent Morgan."

Reid raised his eyebrows slightly, perplexed but calculating, and Hotch was quick to cover, "He came back from his talk with you in a mood; he's secluded himself, won't speak with anyone, and gives that death glare to every person to come even close to him. He seems quite . . . aggressive. Overly so."

Reid shrugged, but there was nothing easy about his posture. "I'm not really sure what to say, Hotch."

"The truth would be an excellent place to start."

A slight flash of anger across those delicate features, and then, "We just talked."

"About what?"

"Things that in no way involve the BAU, and are therefore none of your concern . . . sir."

Hotch fought not to rise from his seat, seeing that the man before him, though angry, was still very much in distress-mode. "It is my concern if it's going to affect the team dynamic when I want us to work together."

Reid's shoulder's stiffened. "It's not going to be an issue, sir."

Hotch raised his eyebrow. "Really?"

"Really." The reply was as stiff as Reid's body.

"So, later today, when I send you and Morgan in to interview Mason Randall, you're both going to be able to handle it professionally? As good as you usually are? On top of things?"

Reid's teeth were clenched. "Yes."

"Because I don't – "

"Hotch," Reid suddenly cut in, a veritable snarl in his voice as he looked at his superior, a level of contempt in his soft features. "What Morgan as I discussed is in no way any of your business. It was personal, and very much so. As sorry as I am that it had to take place on work property, it couldn't be avoided. In the future, it will be, and you have my personal guarantee that this business – our private business – will in no way affect our separate performances on the job."

Slightly stunned, Hotch's inner profiler still managed to catch onto one of the words.

"Separate?"

Reid froze.

"I can't just be asking as your friend, Reid, I have to ask as your boss as well. Can you and Morgan work together, in the same room, as a team, in a functional manner? Because you're the two I want to interview our unsub. And either you're both in there, or neither of you is."

Unconsciously, Reid's eyes flitted out the window, into the bullpen, towards the break room, landing on the form of one Derek Morgan.

This case had gotten so . . . personal for the man. It meant a lot to him, because of the subject matter, because of what was in those files he was going over right now. He had to work on the case, had to talk to the victims, had to be there when Randall was brought in.

And now, even as the thought made him a bit morose, Reid knew that Derek had to be on the interview with their unsub. It was more personal for him than anyone else, and if he wasn't part of the ending for this case, then he wasn't going to get his closure.

And he had to get it. For his sake, for the team's sake . . . for the sake of their relationship, even.

At the sound of a throat clearing, Reid turned, embarrassed by how lost he got in his thoughts sometimes. Hotch was watching him, taking in every detail of his movement, his figure, the way his eyes had slightly glazed over . . .

Reid shook himself out of it, and nodded, as if confirming something to himself.

"No," he said, his voice sounding slightly choked – something Hotch took note of and filed away for later. "No, there won't be any issues, Hotch. We'll be fine."

At his words, the older man stood, and walked over to Reid, placing his hands on his shoulders and waiting until the genius looked up and met his eyes.

"Reid," he said, his voice softer than anyone would have ever guessed possible for the notoriously stern Unit Chief, "I'm not asking as a team member, or as your supervisor anymore. Now I am asking as your friend."

Reid's eyes searched his face, trembling lips the only sign of his inner turmoil, and for a moment, Hotch thought he had broken through.

But then, the younger man lifted Hotch's hands away from his neck, and crossed his arms protectively, shaking his head.

"This doesn't concern you, Hotch. I'm grateful for your help, and I know who to call, but . . . Derek and I will sort this out for myself."

And there it was. Derek.

The first time Reid had ever slipped up in the office and called Morgan something other than . . . well, Morgan.

Hotch did his best not to let his surprise show, and Reid, also noticing the screw-up, paled instantly, his eyes widening to impossible sizes. He watched his boss, whole body suddenly tensed and on-edge again, as if he expected Hotch to leap over the desk and attack him for saying the wrong thing.

But Aaron wasn't focusing on Reid's loose tongue; he was focusing on the reaction of his youngest agent. Not just the surprise, the fatigue . . . but the fear. A fear that he had never seen present in the office before, one of being harmed in a way that went far beyond reprimands or stern looks.

The fear of pain.

Hotch's eyes again narrowed in on the slight bruising he could see on Reid's wrists, the blackened eye that was somewhat better covered, and – what he just now noticed in the somewhat softer light of his own office – the shadows that looked suspiciously like marks wrapped around the younger man's throat.

Inside, his hackles bared. Outside, not a flicker of emotion crossed his face.

Hotch raised his hand. "You may go, Agent Reid," he said, a clipped tone making the words sound harsher than he meant to.

Reid flinched at the tone, and scurried away, his inner turmoil clearly written across his face for anyone to see. He swept quickly across the room, and then out of the BAU doors, destination unknown.

This didn't go unnoticed, and both Morgan and Prentiss glanced up at Hotch's office, wondering what the hell he had said to their resident genius to gain a reaction like that.

But it was Morgan's eyes who held Hotch's, each mustering the other and sending out their own messages of alpha-authority.

Each one thinking, I'll kill you for hurting him.

Author's Endnote: You know, proof-reading this, it's kinda coming off like one of those Hotch-jealousy fics . . . hmm. Not exactly my intention ( I do enjoy the Hotch/Reid slash, but I don't write it) but I think I'll leave it in there for now. Just for funzies.