For: Wingstar
Words: 1,364
Genre: Drama
Characters/ships: Hotch/Garcia
Summary: The headline "Explosion at Delaware Bank" accompanied a live feed of a building that looked more like a giant black cloud of smoke and flames than a bank.
Author's Notes: This was the first one of the seven that I wrote! The consequence is extreme word limit!fail. Also, since this request was the only one that starred Garcia, I took the liberty of writing it from her perspective. She's funtastic!
03.
Knowing that an entire bomb squad has been called in to aid in the arrest of the UnSub at the corner street bank was bad enough. It was just another horrible coincidence that their cell phones had all gone straight to voicemail for the past hour. And then, when Penelope clicked on CNN to ease her frazzled nerves, the headline "Explosion at Delaware Bank" accompanied a live feed of a building that looked more like a giant black cloud of smoke and flames than a bank.
"Oh God—oh my God."
She nearly tripped when she leaped up from her chair, getting as close as she could to the flatscreen without actually pressing her nose up against it. Three ambulances, about a dozen SWAT cars and police cruisers, even two black vans that she recognizes as those of the FBI. But no agents. Not even JJ, who can usually be found right in the middle of the media swarm. This looks far less organized than normal (as if the giant billowing smoke cloud wasn't enough of an indication).
When someone finally answered her frantic calls, Penelope dissolved into hysterics and shouted at Emily for no less than thirty seconds before even letting her try to explain what had caused the communication break. They were all okay, she assured Penelope (who at this point had taken to walking in nervous circles around the room). Not great, as they'd barely managed to get out of the bank before the UnSub pulled the switch on his homemade bomb vest, but not beyond the reach of rest and ibuprofen. She told her to sit tight until they could get back in just a few hours, at which point they would debrief before separating for the night.
Sit tight. Oh please.
Penelope's back was in knots since the moment she tried to get Hotch on his cell phone and got his stern-toned voicemail recording instead. For the love of all things bright and cheerful in this world, she just wanted them to be home now. She just wanted him to be home now, before she could melt down completely. UnSub or no UnSub.
Penelope played Tetris online to soothe her bewildered brain until she heard the door open behind her, at which point she nearly had another heart attack.
A faint smell of smoke preceded Hotch into the room. As he closed the door quietly behind him, she somehow managed to keep herself from reacting to his disheveled appearance. She could be sure, certainly, that he had held back any sort of discomfort while dealing with the press and public—and possibly even the rest of the team—but he didn't bother to hide the definite limp in his step now, while shuffling away toward where she stood with a hand over her mouth. Dark ash stained his otherwise impeccably white suit shirt. A small cut just above his left brow caught her eye and wouldn't let it go.
"I'm fine, I swear," came the long-awaited response. "We just got bumped around a little when the building went up. We probably should have known better than to try to talk him down."
Hesitant to let relief wash over just yet, Penelope said, "How are your ears?"
"They'll be fine in a few days."
"Good. I'm—I'm glad you're all right."
They stood there for a few moments, just staring at one another. She felt distinctly out of place all of a sudden, as if she were standing in front of an expectant crowd rather than one wounded man who seemed more exhausted than anything else. It was this sense of lingering unease that kept her from marching over and hugging him. Instead, she took a few steps forward and raised a hand to straighten his singed red tie. It was her favorite one, too, she thought. She'd hate to see it go. Maybe get him a new one for his birthday…
"I'd like to make it up to you," said Hotch quietly, calmly, looking down at her as she ran a hand across his shoulder.
"If by 'make up to you' you actually mean 'let Penelope fuss over you tonight without resisting', then I'm game."
"Will you at least let me cook for you? Or buy dinner? I'm a little desperate here."
She looked up to find him almost smirking, which in itself was enough to earn a tiny smile on her part.
"How are the others?" she asked, smile fading before it had the chance to really establish itself.
"They'll be fine. Reid strained his bad knee from running and Emily was the last one out when the bomb went off, so she has—"
Suddenly he did a quarter turn away from her as he erupted into a coughing fit, and Penelope let out a surprised gasp. It was one of those awful pneumonia-like coughs, the kind that could wake you up from across the house. And coming from Hotch, it felt more surreal and scary than it probably should have.
"Aaron!" Her fists clenched at her sides to keep from reaching out and grabbing him while he coughed into the sleeved crook of his elbow. "Are you sure you're okay? Do you want me to get someone? Aaron—"
She stepped forward to help and he flung his arm out in an odd sort of flapping motion to keep her from going for the door. "—Emily has some broken glass lodged in her scalp," he finished in a wheeze, wincing. He straightened up, putting one hand over his chest like it might make the searing in his lungs fade. "I'm sorry, it's—you might hear a lot of coughing like this from the whole team, for a few days. The smoke was—"
"Shh," Penelope interjected. "I understand. While I may be one extremely pissed off techie for being left out of the loop while you guys were getting blown up, I understand. I get it. I really do."
"What can I do to make you feel better?"
"You mean besides never, ever do that to me again?"
The straight-faced look he gave her in response said "yes" in a way that words could not have properly emphasized. Penelope, heartened by this gaze, rose to her tip-toes to kiss him on the cheek and pull him into a hug so tight that he couldn't keep a feeble cough from escaping.
"You could stay at my place tonight. I'm going to dote and you're not going to object. I don't want you on your feet for even five minutes when we get out of here," she detailed, ruffling the soft hair at the base of his neck and massaging his scalp with her well-trained fingers.
"I guess that's a fair exchange," he replied, tone considerably lighter than before.
"I would not object, however, if we decided to enjoy some desert later in the evening. If you're, you know. Up to it."
"…that does sound nice, now that you mention it."
Penelope chuckled, happy to feel the deep rumble from within his chest when he spoke, even if it was penetrated by a slight rasp. It was a reassurance that they've made it every time before, that they made it this time, and that next time it'd be just the same. Hotch sighed and, finally, after a tense day of profiling and nearly being blown to smithereens, eased up under the comfort of her embrace.
Then came a loud knock at the door, and they had never jumped apart as quickly as they did at that moment. It was JJ, who seemed surprised to see Hotch in this particular office but didn't have a chance to consider the implications because a second later, Penelope assaulted her via super-worried mama hug.
The latter began to fuss over the former, tugging at the burned strands of her hair and reassuring JJ that she knew a really good hairdresser who could even out all the damaged ends. Still, Penelope caught the small smile that Hotch shot her as he took this opportunity to leave without interrogation. That one look said enough for them both.
x
Fin.