Title: Triggers & Ties 8: Eggshells, Chapter 3
Author: Kuria Dalmatia
Rating/Warnings: FRM/R (profanity, adult content)
Characters/Pairing: Hotch/Reid, the BAU
Summary: It was an insight about victims that Aaron Hotchner never wanted to have: returning to the living space where one had been brutally attacked.
Word Count: ~9,700
ARCHIVING: my LJ... anyone else? Please ask first.
Feedback always welcome.
***/***
"Any dizziness? Nausea?"
"Yes," Hotch answered, trying his best not to snarl at Ginny as she scribbled in his chart. It wasn't her fault that he had been stabbed. It certainly wasn't her fault that the cabbie just wouldn't shut the fuck up on the way over here. It absolutely wasn't her fault that Doctor Reyes was running forty-minutes late.
It wasn't as if Hotch had to be anywhere that afternoon; he had fifteen more days of mandatory leave. He was on his fourth revision of how to respond to the psych evaluation.
She continued with the preliminary inquiry about his medications, appetite, pain levels… Her voice was full of pity and with a tone that was more suited when speaking to children than an adult. Her fingers lingered just a little too long taking his pulse. Her thumb brushed the edge of the bandage on his right forearm, her breath hitching a little.
He didn't appreciate the coy way she looked at him between writing the notes for Reyes.
She's on her second marriage. Two children judging by the dated bangles on her bracelet. A career in healthcare is an afterthought, the 'need to get a job because I'm getting a divorce' type. Ginny's a painter, landscapes more than likely, because of the various shades of green she hasn't quite been able to scrub off her fingertips and from under her nails. It's not taking care of people that gives Ginny job satisfaction; it's being able to read someone's charts and convince herself that her life is no where near as shitty as someone else's. It's why she's a technician, not a full RN or nurse practitioner. She doesn't have the patience or drive to accomplish more than that.
Ginny's itching to see his wounds because they aren't the typical ones that this office deals with. Reyes' patients aren't law enforcement officers; they're lawyers and stockbrokers and lobbyists and other white-collar workers who think that every crime is solved like on the procedural TV dramas.
Fucking idiots.
She can't wait to gossip to the other women in the office that yes, it's him, and she desperately wants to see him with the gown open. The glint in her eyes is completely unprofessional.
Ginny occasionally meets patients outside of the office. The way she holds his wrist while taking his pulse. The way she leans so that the neckline of her scrubs—which have been altered to be lower-cut than the standard because the stitching doesn't match the rest of the top—gapes, enabling him to take a peek if he wanted. The way she shifts her hips and glances over to him. She's probably wearing a red lace bra because that's what men see in porn films and she wants to be the Naughty Nurse.
"I need to listen to you heart." Ginny smiled in what she probably thought was a friendly-manner. But her mouth was set just a little too off-center, her lips tipped just a little too much. She held up the chrome chestpiece and then breathed on it. "To make it warmer," she explained, almost cooing. "We don't want that cold metal against your bare skin!"
Hotch hitched an eyebrow. He rolled his shoulders back and fixed her with a stare. He had intimidated the fuck out of the nursing staff in New York City last year, and they were used to dealing with stubborn jackasses. This woman was nowhere near as tough (or able) as the staff at that New York hospital.
Ginny took a step back.
Hotch's smile was anything but friendly. "First, you're only a technician, not a nurse practitioner. You do not have the training for auscultating a heart. You use this ploy as part of your seduction, to see how willing your target is to accept your advances. You have affairs with patients of this office to make up for the inadequacies of your home life, both socially and sexually.
"Secondly, the last 'cold metal against my bare skin' was a switchblade wielded by a psychopath, which you should have known given how familiar you are with my chart. You won't be fired outright; Doctor Reyes will dismiss my claims as part of the obvious PTSD that I'm experiencing. However, he will monitor your actions more closely. Once Reyes has proof of your indiscretions, you will be put on administrative probation. The words 'sexual harassment' will never be brought up, but certainly there are other patients besides me who find your behavior unacceptable."
Her gaze darted from side-to-side. "Mister Hotchner…"
"You're finished here, Ginny," he said flatly.
Her exit was anything but graceful.
Reyes appeared a few minutes later, shaking his head as he closed the door. "You're being a hard-ass on my staff again, Aaron."
"Your staff was being unprofessional, Claude," he retorted. "Ginny made a pass at me."
"You're a handsome man."
"It's inappropriate in the workplace, especially in a medical professional atmosphere." He met Claude's curious stare. "I'm not the first one she has offered 'out patient' services to." Claude's lips tightened slightly and he rocked a little back on his feet. Hotch shook his head. "Which you've known about, of course, and you keep hoping that she will turn her attentions to you. A woman like that, Claude, is no reason to ruin your marriage. She seduces men above her social status…"
"Aaron, that's enough."
He shrugged his shoulders and looked away. "Your choice."
The doctor raised an eyebrow and then read aloud, "Irritability, dizziness, nausea…" The change in subject was hardly unexpected and was as clumsy as the man's attempt to hide his desire for that technician. "Hyper-vigilance is expected after what you've been through. Have you found yourself more short-tempered with family…"
"The son of a bitch took my family away, Claude."
Reyes closed the folder and leaned against the counter. "Not all of them. You still have your team. When my dad worked…"
"Are you going to check the sutures or not?" he interrupted.
"Are you taking the medications that the hospitalist prescribed in addition to those that I had prescribed?"
Hotch glared. "Yes."
Reyes nodded thoughtfully. "Well, that at least explains some of your behavior. Given the condition that you were in when you were left at Saint Sebastian's, I'm not surprised that the staff weren't able to pull your medical history right away. Not with how protective your group is about personal information."
"We've had our personal information used against us, Claude."
"And the medications that the hospital physician prescribed don't mix well with the ones that you're already taking," he responded. "Now, I am going to check the sutures to see how they are healing. I'm also going to prescribe a new drug regime to hopefully alleviate the paranoia and agitation."
"I'm paranoid?" he challenged.
"You're sitting in an examination room wearing a hospital gown, boxers, socks, and an ankle holster with a loaded gun. I'm sure Ginny didn't see the—what is that? A Sig Sauer?—that you have hidden by the gown and the paper covering the exam table. In all the times I've seen you, Aaron, you've rarely carried your weapons in to the office and, when you do, you disarm yourself before the staff comes in for the pre-exam questions." Claude let out a slow breath. "You're also very hostile."
"Hostile?"
"Let's put it this way, Aaron. Two of your three emergency contacts called me on my unlisted number, one of whom gave me a laundry list of things to check for. He even had a printed copy hand-delivered to my condo plus a list of observed behaviors by different colleagues. The biggest concern was your hostility and that you were armed. I was also provided a timeline of the attack. Doctor Reid? Well, the man certainly knows his stuff."
His lips pulled back into a sneer. He surprised himself with his demand: "Where the hell was all this concern that morning?"
Reyes dropped his hands to his sides. "They estimate that Foyet attacked you near midnight. You were admitted to Saint Sebastian's at five the next morning. They didn't get the call for the case until seven. There was no way they could have helped you, Aaron, and no way that they could have known. It's not their fault. I know it's easier to blame…"
"We're done here," Hotch announced and slid off the table. "We're done."
***/***
Hotch wasn't sure why he opened the door. Maybe because he realized Reid would continue knocking like some OCD idiot until he answered it. He stood in the doorway for a moment, staring at the sight before him. Reid still looked like shit, hair a complete mess and greasier than last time. Hotch stepped aside but didn't gesture for him to come in. He watched in disdain as Reid slowly thumped inside and then quickly locked and bolted the door after him.
"Thank you," Reid said quietly as he turned to face him.
It was then he remembered what Reyes had said to him yesterday. "You called my personal physician and handed over sensitive information!" he snapped without preamble.
Reid straightened. His chin lifted. "I'm your lover," Reid countered flatly. "The good. The bad. And the ugly."
"You son of a bitch."
"You're acting irrationally, Aaron."
"You've never been stabbed by a goddamn psychopath!" he yelled.
"Technically, I have. Hankel stabbed me with a needle several times and injected me with Dilaudid when he did. It is a type of symbolic rape. Penetration: the needle. Ejaculation: the release of fluid in my bloodstream. Unlike you, I've actually been killed by one, but at least he had the courtesy of resuscitating me. Otherwise, we wouldn't be having this conversation, would we?"
Hotch's stomach picked that precise moment to protest the Campbell's Chunky Beef Stew. He barely made it to the sink in time. He could hear the thump of crutches over the roar of the garbage disposal. When he was finish cleaning up the mess, he whirled around, hand dropping to his hip, and glared at Reid.
"Are you going to shoot me, Aaron?" There was sharpness in his tone. His gaze flickered down.
Hotch's grip tightened on his Sig Sauer. He forced himself to pry his fingers away from the reassuring weight. He didn't drop his gaze from Reid's.
The younger man's eyes narrowed as he looked past Hotch to the kitchen counter. He hobbled forward, forcing Hotch to move when his crutch tip came too close to crushing his bare toes. Reid leaned down briefly before asking quietly, "Have you been taking all of these as prescribed?"
"You have no business…"
"I'm still listed as your emergency contact," Reid replied as he straightened. "So until you change that, this is my business."
Hotch glared.
Reid's chin lifted again. "Everything I saw last time and in the first three minutes tonight tells me that you're paranoid, agitated, and hyper-vigilant. Yes, those are to be expected, but you've taken it to an extreme. You've been sleeping on your couch, haven't you? Facing the door so you can react if someone entered."
"Stop."
"No."
"Reid."
"Aaron."
"Get out."
"No."
Hotch closed the distance between them, rolling his shoulders forward and glaring harshly. "Get out of my apartment now!"
"Foyet knows about us, Aaron. He knows," Reid said firmly, softly. "He was able to break into your apartment with no signs of forced entry. He picked the night that you were the most tired, the most vulnerable, and the most alone."
"Stop."
"Please, Aaron."
"Get out."
"I'm not the target. I will never be the target," Reid continued, "because Foyet doesn't see me as a threat. And that's his mistake and that's going to help us catch him."
"I said leave, Reid."
The man broke eye contact, glancing to the side and then to the floor. "I want us, Aaron."
"There is no 'us.'"
"Yes, there is. You just have to…"
"Leave."
Reid bit his lips together and then shook his head. "I'm sorry," whispered. "I'm so sorry this happened. So sorry—"
"Stop with the apologies. It's pathetic. Look at you! You're pathetic. You'll never replace Haley. You can never be like her or take her place. She's beautiful, loving and gracious. No matter what you think and no matter how hard you try, you can never be her. Not then. Not now. Not ever. It's over, Reid. It's over."
Reid's eyes widened. His mouth dropped open.
"It's over, Reid."
"Aaron!"
"It's. Over."
Reid's mouth clamped shut. His lips formed a thin line. His eyes narrowed. He straightened to his full height.
And Hotch watched as the younger man slowly turned and hobbled out of his apartment without a backward glance.
"It's over," Aaron repeated softly, and wondered why his cheeks were damp.
***/***