A.N.- Poor Hotch, it only gets worse before it'll eventually get better, though here's an interlude with rookie!Hotch in the meantime. Also, Here's the first chapter with uh… like 25% of an actual, formal spanking in it (we'll get to the 100% soon enough, don't worry!), so if you don't like reading it and for some reason ignored previous warnings, don't be shocked. Finally, thank you all who reviewed, I do read all of them excitedly despite being too awkward to respond! Okay, onto the story!

Warnings: disciplinary spanking of a young adult by a mentor figure in addition to flashacks to, and discussions of, child abuse.

Disclaimer: I'm still a broke grad student who owns nothing.

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Over the sofa arm?" he surmised, staring at the ground, again betraying his feelings of guilt to the older profiler.

"Not this time kiddo," Rossi responded, trying to keep his voice gentle in deference to Hotch's known hatred of what those words implied. Sure enough, he watched as Hotch's head flew up to give him pleading eyes, and the younger man took a few steps back, to Rossi's slight- very slight- amusement. The younger man opened his mouth, presumably to argue, but Dave held his hand up in a 'stop' gesture, effectively cutting off any protest. He almost felt bad, knowing how much Hotch detested being put over his knee, but he needed Hotch to feel like this was personal; he needed to know, in no uncertain terms, that Rossi still cared about him as family, not just as a colleague. Plus, earlier experience had told him that despite how Hotch might feel about the childish position…

"After earlier this evening? Not a chance in hell kid." Dave knew his protege would know exactly what he meant by that. Sure enough, Hotch flushed, looking like he was about to start arguing with Rossi. No doubt the younger man was still embarrassed from any number of moments previously that evening that Dave knew his words would have elicited.

…

Hotch could hear his mentor's sigh. "This isn't about that, and you damn well know it," he said, sounding tired. At least he seemed to not be truly angry at Hotch's balking, though both men knew he wasn't pleased, either.

And Hotch did know. He really, really knew. And was acutely reminded of why as his mind pulled him into another memory- albeit a less traumatic one.

-o-o-o-o-o-

He was pissed- royally pissed. He hadn't been having the best day, and then to be sent to the corner like a naughty child made him want to scream. He wouldn't, of course, seeing as Dave would take that as 'throwing a tantrum.' Staring at the bland walls, he couldn't help but think about what led him to his current predicament, unable to do much more than that which, he supposed, was the purpose of the exercise.

He hadn't had a good day, at all. In fact, everything that could go wrong, seemed to. He had spilled his very hot coffee on his hand while he was trying to leave his house that morning. He was rushing, because he had overslept, because his alarm didn't go off (or if it did, it didn't wake him,) and had tripped on his shoelace because of course his shoe would become untied without him noticing. Fortunately, he managed to catch himself before he made even more of a spectacle, but his hand still suffered from freshly-brewed coffee sloshing out of a travel mug.

All of that made him late to work, which Rossi wasn't thrilled about. The older man didn't say anything about it beyond quietly scolding Hotch for a moment when they were alone in the bullpen. Hotch's nerves were already frayed after his objectively awful morning, and his anxiety over his mentor's rejection ramped up Rossi's response in his mind. He had felt mildly dejected after the dressing down he received, which he wished he could owe to feelings associated with normal workplace rebukes and not possible-rejection-from-a-father-figure.

Though Rossi said nothing about his tardiness after that, his slight irritation over it meant that he was willing to tolerate even less misbehavior from his protege. Really, Hotch mused, the universe was conspiring against him that day. He had found himself in trouble after trouble; his hands forming tight fists when he reflected on that in the corner when, in reality, his mounting frustration over the day made him want to send one of those fists through the wall of the corner. It had been a bad day. A really bad day.

To top it off, his mother had called over his lunch break. Turns out, it was the anniversary of his father's death. Hotch didn't really keep track of that anniversary, but his mother over the phone lamented about how much she missed the man, and how lonely she was now. He knew that her pining for her late husband was more a reaction of loneliness, he really did- he wasn't the only one on the other side of his father's fists. Still, it pissed him off.

Then he had made yet another mistake, and then another, and by the end of the day he wanted nothing more than to go home, pour a scotch, and immediately try to forget everything that had happened that day.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Rossi, however, had no such plans of letting Hotch do that.

Instead, he gave the younger man a pile of paperwork, trying to keep him in the office until everyone else left. He didn't really need an audience for this, and Hotch sure didn't either. Looking out the window of his office over the bullpen, he was satisfied to see Hotch's head bent over a file, his hand flying over a page of notes as he continued to jot down observations. The kid was always thorough with his paperwork; Rossi was beyond thankful for that, since he would feel too hypocritical for chewing out the rookie BAU agent over the same paperwork that he claimed he himself was allergic to.

The only one left in the office was Jason Gideon; while Rossi knew that Gideon at least had a suspicion that his relationship with his protege was at times more paternal than it was professional, he still didn't want to subject Aaron to an audience. He was hoping Jason would leave soon, since he had only ever had this sort of conversations with Hotch in the office or, once after Hotch had nearly been killed from one of his reckless stunts, in a hotel room. But the other boss of the BAU looked like his plans did not involve leaving any time soon.

He could wait it out, and hope Hotch didn't run out of paperwork before then. But Gideon had a tendency to work unreasonably late hours; Rossi suspected it was because the other SSA was haunted by… Well, he didn't know quite what, but the haunted look Jason sometimes had betrayed him.

He could go talk to Gideon, to try and get the man to leave already. But he didn't really want to have that conversation. He was tired, and Jason was nosey. He wouldn't just accept the question at face value, he'd want to know why. And when Jason wanted to know something, he was relentless. The other man could be a little bit of a hippie, Dave doubted he'd condone spanking one's subordinates, though he too looked terrified once they pieced together where Hotch had disappeared off to.

With asking Gideon about his continued work plans off the table, that left bringing the kid home with him. Truth be told, it was something that he had thought about more than once. However, the kid was barely okay with Rossi showing him the amount of paternal affection he quietly did in the sanctuary of his office or standing away from other agents, and bringing the kid home with him might be too much for Hotch. The risk of spooking the younger man was, of course, still present, but Dave couldn't think of a better option. Sighing, he settled on that option, packing some files in his briefcase for later if he felt so inspired- he doubted he would, but just in case. Then he straightened up his desk. Then he tried to think of any other task to stall before he realized what he was doing, rolling his eyes at himself. He was an adult, he could damn well act like one, even if he was dreading the impending conversation with Hotch.

He picked up his briefcase, left his office, locked his office, and then went to Aaron's desk. The rookie agent was diligently working on the paperwork Rossi had given him, concentrating so deeply that he jumped when Rossi's hand landed on his shoulder.

-o-o-o-o-o-

He thought the older man was saying something, but the hand on his shoulder was too present, and he couldn't think of a polite way to duck it. But right now his nerves were shot, and he'd hate every touch. That day was no exception, but it was worse- after the conversation he had with his mother, his father had unfortunately been on his mind. So the hand on his shoulder felt even worse because it came from an older man who showed a good deal of paternal affection towards his protege.

Eventually, Rossi's hand lifted from Hotch's shoulder, and Aaron felt his world become clearer. He had missed most of what Rossi was saying, but caught enough at the very end. He was going to stay at Dave's place that night? He knew why he would be going to Dave's, because they had yet to have the conversation Rossi had promised about his earlier actions, but so far all of those discussions had been held at the office. It didn't take long for him to notice Gideon's office light still on, and that made a little more sense at least. Still, going to his mentor's home, especially staying the night… It felt too intimate somehow. He had sort of picked up on the fact that Rossi was more than just his boss, but he wasn't willing to admit it to himself just yet. Besides, he knew it was likely to come to a screeching halt; Hotch didn't have the best track record with fathers.

He wasn't going to disagree with his boss, though, especially when he was already in trouble. As per Rossi's instructions, he packed away a few files and made sure everything at his desk was in order before he stood up and quietly followed his mentor out of the building, into the garage, and then finally into the car. The ride wasn't all that long, and Rossi had sent him to the corner as soon as they entered the house.

Rossi's living room was far larger than his office, but a corner was a corner, and Hotch hated this corner just as much as the one in Rossi's office. Glaring at the walls, he tried to keep his emotions at bay, but it was hard. Everything felt like a mountain of messy emotions, which he could really do without. He knew Rossi was about to take a belt to his ass too, a distinctly unappealing prospect. Fortunately, he didn't have time to get worked up over that before Rossi's voice sounded from somewhere behind him.

"Alright, Aaron," Rossi broke the silence, "Come here."

Hotch didn't really want to fight, even if he was upset. He figured he was just tired, conveniently ignoring that his earlier conversation with his mother still weighed on him; the ghost of his father hovered over him, making him more compliant- he knew not to argue with his father unless he wanted to take another trip to the ER and tell the nurses he fell down stairs accidentally. With that mindset, he walked towards where Rossi was standing near the arm of the sofa.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Dave's gut was uneasy, something was off, but he couldn't put his finger on what. Nothing was different from all the other times he had sent Aaron to wait in the corner before he punished him; the only minute difference was that the kid was following instructions more easily. The irony of feeling like something was wrong because the kid was behaving wasn't lost on him. Yet there were many different, benign explanations for the easy compliance- they were still wiped from the last case or, miracle of miracles, Hotch had actually figured out why Rossi was upset with him and wasn't going to resist the consequences.

Still, something was wrong.

Dave didn't want to take an excess of time trying to dissect everything, given that the kid already looked like he was heading towards his execution, but his gut wouldn't allow him to proceed just yet. Usually his gut instincts were spot on, so it was likely worth taking a few seconds to inventory the situation; being in control of the environment, and all that jazz.

He found nothing. Nothing out of place, at all. A slightly fidgety Aaron stood before him; he could tell the kid was trying to stay still, but his nerves had him weighing on his feet regardless. He wasn't physically injured, he wasn't disproportionately upset- if anything, he was less upset than Rossi thought the situation called for. Nothing was out of the ordinary (ordinary given the circumstances, he mentally amended.) So why was there a klaxon going off in his head, telling him that something was terribly wrong?

He didn't want to proceed with that feeling, but he could see no reason not to, and it was unfair to prolong Hotch's wait. He gave the kid another critical look and was startled when Hotch dragged his eyes from the floor to squarely meet Dave's gaze. That was new, and surprising- Hotch seemed to be a master of avoiding eye contact when he was in trouble and feeling ashamed. The look in the kid's eyes troubled Dave a little, Hotch looked like he was only partially present, with glassy eyes. But then again, exhaustion could easily explain his compliance and the look in his eyes. Then he noticed that Hotch's shifting had turned to him standing still, back ramrod straight. The kid never did that well with his own thoughts, and Rossi knew that his thoughtful interlude had to come to an end. It was more than likely Hotch's mind had started down the path of self-loathing while the kid waited for Rossi to give him any instruction.

Sighing, he gestured to the arm of the sofa before unbuckling his belt and sliding it from his waist. He was still perplexed by the unsettled feeling in his gut, but he was exhausted and Aaron certainly looked hit, and he couldn't tell anything that was particularly wrong or concerning. So reluctantly, he prepared to start the kid's punishment.

-o-o-o-o-o-

This wasn't the first time Aaron had found himself in trouble with Rossi; this wasn't new, so why did he feel so nervous? Still, he knew to do as he was told, halfway still stuck in the memories of his childhood. So, without arguing, he leaned over the arm of the couch and let Rossi adjust his position. He could sense the man's slight surprise with Hotch's easy compliance, but he thought it was a pleased surprise, unable to see Dave's worried expression without craning his head behind him. Besides, his father always hated it when he turned his head around to see the man's thunderous expression during one of the sessions with his belt.

He could do this. He had been belted before and lived, he could do this. That mantra repeated in his mind as his mind dove deeper into the past, the same words he repeated to himself as a kid before his father's belt came down.

He felt a hand on his back, and puzzled over it for a moment; being drawn further into the past, all he could think was that his father only rarely felt the need to help him stay in position, expecting Hotch to control his reactions with stoicism. On the rare occasions he did help Hotch stay in position, well… Those were the bad times. The really, really bad times.

Lost on Hotch was the fact that Rossi always put a hand on his back, moreso to comfort than to restrain, but he was too lost in the past. So when Hotch felt Rossi's hand on his back, he didn't register it as belonging to his mentor. All he knew was that a hand on his back meant he was about to be whipped within an inch of his life. He could handle it, he had before. He took as deep a breath as possible without moving a muscle, and prepared to let it out slowly. That breathing pattern helped him maintain his composure so that his father couldn't get angry at him for being bad about that, in addition to all the other ways he had been bad- because only bad boys get punished like this, his father always reminded him.

So when the belt came down on his ass, he didn't make a sound, preparing to "be a man and take it" as his father frequently reminded him. The next few strokes of the belt followed in suit, with Hotch struggling, but succeeding, to stay perfectly still and not react to any of the blows. It was a true testament to how lost in the past he was that, when a stroke of the belt caught him off guard and he let out a strangled yelp, Hotch completely fell apart. Making noise was bad, really bad. Panic attacks were bad too, he wasn't allowed to have those where his father could see, but he couldn't stop it, as much as he tried to pull himself together completely or, at least, stop himself from making any further sounds. He took huge gulps of air and still the panic wouldn't recede, and he embarrassingly heard his own whimper. That, in turn, made him panic more, since he knew his father would beat him even harder for it.

-o-o-o-o-o-

With a grimace, fully hating his current task, Rossi had drawn his arm up yet again, about to bring another stroke of the belt to the younger man's behind. At least the last stroke had made Hotch react; sometimes the man's reserved reactions made it hard to see if he was having any effect on the younger man. Hotch was normally extremely stoic, so his reaction to that strike of the belt totally and completely caught him off-guard. He watched, helpless, as Hotch struggled to breathe. Quickly reminding himself of how to help people having panic attacks, he snapped himself out of his daze and removed his hand from his protege's back, knowing that some people could be extremely touch averse while they were in a panic. Given Hotch's normal disdain of physical contact, he was pretty sure the younger man would think it excruciating while in his present state.

Without Rossi's hand holding him over the sofa arm, Hotch slumped to the floor and immediately hid his face. For a moment, Rossi thought it odd; the action was that of a child, surely Hotch knew that hiding Rossi from his sight didn't mean Rossi was unable to see him… Then it dawned on him- this action was childlike, and Dave realized that Hotch was stuck in a full-scale dissociative flashback. It confirmed his suspicions about his protege's youth; he never pressed for details, but his underling's behavior frequently profiled as someone who had been severely abused for most of their childhood, if not longer.

Still giving the younger agent some space, he sat on the floor near Hotch's slumped form, and started talking. It was meaningless talk, meant to give Aaron a lifeline to the present to grip onto. He was rewarded when only a couple of minutes later, Hotch looked up seeming disoriented, but no longer stuck in the past. He gave the younger man another minute to collect himself, but then couldn't stand to watch the pathetic kid's form any longer.

"Hey kid," he asked with a gentleness that surprised even himself, "do you mind if, well, could I hug you about now? You seem like you could use it." He wasn't sure how truthful Aaron was when he gave a timid nod, and worried that the younger man might have felt coerced into the action. Still, he wrapped his arms around Hotch's form cautiously, watching carefully for any sign of panic. Hotch initially stiffened in response to the hug, before he seemed to lose it again. This time, however, Rossi could tell that his protege was still mentally in the present and not some far-off horrifying memory. He prepared to release Hotch from the hug to give him some space, surprised when he felt Hotch cling to his receding form.

Adapting quickly, he propped himself up against the side of the sofa to more comfortably continue his now-fierce hug. Hotch often denied himself tactile forms of affection; Rossi had learned to grip the other man's shoulder rather than hug him, as that was what Hotch seemed to prefer, though not Dave's own preference. The one time he ever saw the younger man ever let himself draw comfort from physical touch was during Rossi's traditional post-spanking hug, and even then he pulled away far sooner than Rossi would have preferred. So Dave took advantage of the moment to pull Hotch close and comfort him, while he was still open to receiving comfort, still keeping up his stream of softly spoken words.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Hotch slowly pulled himself together, firmly orienting himself in the present and he concentrated on slowing his tears. Finally, he pieced together what had happened and groaned, pulling away from his mentor's embrace. Rossi let him, fixing him with a concerned look, and Hotch realized that his mentor was trying to profile his behavior. Ordinarily, he'd make some comment about how inter-team profiling wasn't allowed, but he sensed that response wouldn't help the situation any. He knew he owed Rossi an explanation, but this so was not the conversation he needed to have that day, but he knew there was no getting out of it.

Fuck.

Deciding he should bite the bullet, Hotch grimaced and tried to discreetly rub the salt from his eyes as he pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. When he finally forced himself to look back up at his mentor, he was sure the look on his face was pained. Rossi wore a sympathetic expression, and while that look made Hotch squirm uncomfortably, it was worlds better than pity eyes.

"Uh," he tried to start, lamely. "I suppose you have questions."

For a moment, Rossi's expression pivoted to something resembling fond amusement as he snorted. "Damn right I have questions," he said, his face sobering but never losing the fond expression that made Aaron feel weirdly warm inside.

"That's… justified."

"Who?" Rossi asked, and Hotch knew what the question pertained to. He considered playing dumb for a moment, and he'd be lying if he said the idea wasn't extraordinarily tempting, but the way his mentor was looking at him, with genuine concern for Hotch written all over his features, made him rethink his instinct reaction to use his lawyer training to talk himself out of the uncomfortable topic. He wasn't going to flat-out lie; Rossi deserved better than that.

Deserved better than Aaron, really, but he doubted that answer would garner any favor from his mentor. Sighing, he shrugged a little- after all these years, it was still a habit to downplay it. He hated looks of pity, or soft words, or really any conventionally "nice" response to hearing about childhood abuse. Those things all accomplished nothing except making Aaron feel exceedingly uncomfortable, and so he didn't like to waste his time engaged in such conversations.

He groaned, unthinkingly, before managing to collect his voice enough that it didn't waver, "fine, but before I tell you, you need to promise me that you won't react, okay?"

The look of shock on his mentor's face suggested that those hopes were futile. "Aaron!" Rossi said, sounding scandalized, before continuing, "How the hell do you expect me to not react?!" His voice rose with each word, making Aaron want to flinch, but he knew that wouldn't help his case. Still, despite Hotch's certainty that he didn't outwardly respond to the increased volume, halfway through the sentence Rossi seemed to catch himself and the second half of the sentence was spoken in a much softer, even tone.

Aaron hated that he felt relieved at Rossi's change in tone, and hated himself even more for even requiring such actions on his mentor's part.

He wanted to get the conversation over with, already, but still he wasn't ready to let it go. "Really, Dave, please," he said, trying to ignore the fact that his voice was coming off somewhere between whining and begging, "I just… I don't want you to see me as a victim," he said quietly, but truthfully.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Dave could understand that; he'd seen the same reaction plenty of times from, well, victims in cases that he'd worked. And, like the people he met through cases, he was willing to do whatever he could to ensure Hotch's comfort during difficult conversations.

"Let's talk about this over coffee," he said, effectively cutting off any protest Hotch's expression suggested he was about to make by raising his hand. He tried to ignore Hotch's slight flinch as he rebuked himself for being careless, saying "I'm not saying you aren't still in trouble, I'm just saying I want to talk first." Then, he watched as his protege seemed to think that over before giving a single, determined nod.

Ignoring any protests his knees were making, because he was too young for his knees to be making any protests anyways, Dave stood and offered a hand to Hotch, who took it and allowed Dave to help him to his feet, with a grimace that Dave knew wasn't at all related to protesting knees. The kid hated accepting friendly gestures even as simple as that if it meant that he was accepting "help" in any way, which is part of why Rossi knew that he had to tread carefully in the upcoming conversation.

"The kitchen is this way," he said, leading the way and assuming his underling would follow. He set about fixing the coffee to brew. It was only when he left it to percolate that he realized Hotch had paused in the threshold to the room, looking painfully young and unsure of himself in the doorway.

He knew that Hotch wanted nothing to change in response to the revelation that his childhood was worse than Rossi had previously imagined, and despite his own desire to be more gentle, he didn't want to drive Hotch away. Somewhat uncomfortable with the way he was speaking to the kid, he tried for the usual.

"You gonna come in, or are you waiting for a separate invitation?" He said as he turned to Hotch with an eyebrow raised. He supposed the kid was feeling off-balance from the topic of conversation, but also from being in an unfamiliar house, and he sighed as he watched Hotch shift on his feet again as he looked around the room for some cue for what to do.

"Is there anything I could be doing…?" the younger agent asked cautiously, and Rossi shook his head with a smile; the kid was polite to a fault, and always tried to find something helpful he could be doing. Despite it likely being a byproduct of Hotch's formative years as well, Rossi couldn't help but find it endearing.

"Nah, come have a seat at the table though," he said, angling his head towards the small square table in the kitchen before he turned back to the coffee, pouring it into two mugs and carrying them over to the table before doubling back for a tray of cookies and setting that down in the center of the table before taking the seat opposite Hotch.

"So, again," he began conversationally, "who?" He kept his tone light, but he knew Hotch would register that this was the second time Dave was asking something, and everyone knew how much Rossi disliked repeating himself when he was either asking something or giving some sort of vital instructions.

Hotch looked down at his mug, unable to meet Rossi's eyes as he mumbled something that sounded like "my father."

Dave stayed quiet for a moment, seeing if the silence would prompt Hotch into saying more. Sure enough, after a moment, Hotch spoke up again. "It wasn't so bad, you know? I certainly came through it okay." After Hotch's impressive panic attack not even a half hour previously, Dave thought the statement was a little brazen, but Hotch spoke it with such a conviction as to suggest that he himself believed it.

"How old were you when it started?" Dave asked, curiously.

"I don't remember," Hotch admitted quietly, his race rapidly reddening as he continued to stare at the table. "It was happening for as long as I can remember, from kindergarten or elementary school up until… well, up until he died." After a moment's pause, Hotch clarified that date, "I was in high school."

Noticing that Hotch seemed to be more forthcoming in answering questions than in generating a narrative himself, Rossi continued the same tactic. "Your mother? Sean?" he asked, though he wasn't quite sure what he was asking- where were they, were they involved too, were they also being hurt by Hotch's father?

"Both on the same side of Dad's belt that I was," Hotch said without thinking, before looking up with a look of alarm on his face.

Dave was feeling the same sort of alarm, truth be told- he had disciplined the kid how many times now with his belt, completely oblivious to the fact that that was how Hotch's abusive father used to treat him? Guilt lapped at the edges of his consciousness, but he'd deal with that later. Preferably with a glass of good scotch and someone to talk to who wouldn't make him feel like such a tool. Right now he needed to focus on Hotch.

"A belt?" Rossi asked, eyebrow raised, and the kid had the decency to look a little ashamed. "You didn't think that tidbit was relative any of the times I thought to take my belt to you?" He didn't know if he came off sounding angry, but the kid flinched regardless.

"I thought… well, I thought I was past this," Hotch defended almost frantically, "I swear!"

Dave could see that the kid was being genuine, and knew that pressing the matter any further could send the rookie agent back into a panic.

"I believe you, kid," he said, taking a sip of coffee and watching Hotch mirror the action. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Hotch looked up incredulously, "Seriously, Dave?" He asked, before dropping his gaze once more.

"Fair enough," Rossi conceded, he wouldn't have wanted to divulge the information either. "Were you ever going to tell me?"

Again, Hotch's eyes flew upwards. "No!" he said, before catching himself giving the wrong answer, "Uh, I mean yes? If it were ever relevant?"

"If it were relevant? "Hotch! It's always relevant!" He paused for a second to collect himself, taking a breath to level his head.

"Aaron…" he started slowly, "How many times have I disciplined you this way without you thinking that your personal history was irrelevant to the proceedings?" He certainly couldn't put a number to how many times he had, in some form, spanked the kid.

Hotch's long silence was his only response, and he was about to tell the kid off for not cooperating when he spoke up again. "Involving the use of your belt?" He said, "Six times. Including any times you've swatted me for things including being 'mouthy,' he said it like a bad word, and Rossi bit the inside of his cheek from smiling at the slightly sulky tone despite the gravity of the situation, "I lost track," he concluded sheepishly. Rossi wasn't expecting a serious answer, though he shouldn't have been surprised that Hotch provided one- his boy had a tendency to be serious about everything.

"Six times," Rossi repeated, "Six times that I spanked you with my belt, without you thinking it was relevant to tell me that your father used to use a belt to abuse you?" He noticed that Hotch flinched at the word abuse, though he didn't look up from the table.

"I thought I was past it," he said with a sulky note in his voice.

Rossi slowly shook his head, nearly disbelievingly. He didn't know what to say; any idea for words he immediately pushed away as sounding too harsh. Aaron was sensitive on a normal day, Dave only imagined that would be heightened during conversations involving emotional vulnerability.

This, however, left Dave with a conundrum- how was he supposed to proceed? He had told Hotch he would still be punished, but he didn't particularly want to follow through on that. Kids need consistency, the voice of a friend sounded in his ear (the same friend who suggested this particular way of disciplining his subordinate-bordering-on-son… it wasn't like Dave had just thought of this out of the blue!) Still, how was he supposed to spank Hotch after that? Wouldn't he just traumatize the kid further? How would he avoid another flashback?

"Aaron, listen," he said, "I know I told you that you weren't off the hook, but I think you've been punished enough today. So, let's just leave it there, okay?"

Dave was expecting relief, perhaps, from the news of being spared further punishment.

Instead, he experienced a different flavor of panic from Hotch as he stood up clumsily and made a number of incoherent excuses for having to leave, forgetting that he didn't drive himself to Dave's house and thus, had no true means by which to leave.

Still, Dave told him to stop and was rewarded with Hotch's expression, filled with fear, hope, longing, and embarrassment. It bought him a few moments to try to figure out what was going on, at least.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Hotch was thoroughly and completely over that day; he wanted nothing more for it to end. Well, to end correctly. And Dave deciding that he was too broken for the man's particular brand of discipline was not that. It was a lot of things, more than Hotch could name, even.

Mortifying, because he could, and should, take it like a man.

Disheartening, because did Dave still see him as being worthwhile of the legendary profiler's time?

Terrifying, because would this end the seemingly paternal feelings Rossi felt towards Hotch? Because Aaron had terrible experiences with fathers, but he sort of liked the way Rossi treated him. Even if it involved consequences.

Guilty, because he knew he had fucked up, and would there be no way to repair the trust of Rossi's that he had broken?

That wasn't even half of the emotions simmering beneath Hotch's skin, and it was all a lot. Hotch had never done well with too many emotions, and Dave's clear dismissal immediately generated more than Hotch knew how to handle. So he tried to leave, but Rossi stopped him as he made excuses to head towards the door.

…maybe Dave hadn't given up on him?

"Aaron, you still with me here?" Rossi's voice broke through his thoughts.

Impulsively, Hotch said, "Don't give up on me, please," in a voice that was embarrassingly hoarse. He regretted what he said as soon as he realized it left his mouth, leaving him painfully vulnerable and open to the older man's rejection.

Rossi looked surprised, though he recovered his composure quickly. "Ah, hell, kid," he said, looking at Hotch too closely for the younger man to be comfortable. Apparently, however Hotch looked was enough to prompt Dave to walk around the table and encircle his arms around his protege in a very snug hug that Hotch reluctantly admitted felt good.

"Do I look like someone who looks like he likes to hear himself talk?" He asked, and Hotch couldn't help the small snicker that escaped him, causing Dave to backtrack, "Okay, never mind, don't answer that. Still," he pressed on, "What did I tell you?"

Aaron knew the answer to this; despite hiding the extent of the abuse he had suffered as a child, he was ordinarily very good at hiding his fear of being cast aside if he messed up, but sometimes those insecurities escaped him. Rossi, however, seemed to take it in stride, never hesitating to remind Hotch that he was "never giving up on me." His words were a mumble, but he looked up at Dave hopefully.

"That's right kid, I'm never giving up on you." He sighed then, pushing a hand through his hair as he contemplated something, Hotch didn't know what, for a moment. It wasn't long before he declared, "corner," and Hotch was too relieved to protest.

-o-o-o-o-o-

A.N.- Yeah, I truly cannot believe I thought I would get through something in only one chapter. That's funny.

I've alluded to Rossi having a friend who suggested this particular flavor of discipline in both this chapter and in "Sibling Rivalry." I'm forever inspired by authors who wrote before me, and the universe Thistle of Liberty created I find fascinating. The friend I'm thinking of, however, is NOT the same friend from that universe of stories. I do, however, have half a mind to flesh out this friend for the universe I seem to be slowly assembling. This is partially my way of asking for thoughts, and partially my way of saying that I very well may throw in an OC regardless. Rossi needs a sounding board, and since this chapter is set during the days of young!Hotch, Spencer and Gideon can't have the same relationship as I'm going to assume, for the purposes of this universe, that they had just yet. I could, I guess, make the OC someone who Gideon mentors, but I'd rather write someone responding to trouble rather than someone causing trouble, if that makes any sense? Let me know what you think, I guess?

I do generally really always love feedback of the not-flame-y variety!

Anyways, until next time…

~ lms