A.N.- I am working on the likely final chapter of 'If you get lost' but I managed to hit writer's block there that I haven't hit for this story. I write because I enjoy it, and as a way to relieve stress- I'm currently in grad school hell. Anyways, I wanted to feel like I could succeed at something (it sure as hell wasn't my past rotation, I can tell you that!) and the words of this story seemed less elusive- I didn't forget about my other active story!

Warnings- as per usual, there is spanking and corner time

-o-o-o-o-o-

"I don't know," Hotch reiterated, "Am I too much work? I'm emotions-sick plus normal-sick, and now you have two kids to take care of, and one of them is normal-sick too and I don't know about emotions-sick," the words came tumbling out all at once, and Dave wrapped an arm around Aaron's shoulders in a way the younger man typically found comforting.

He couldn't say he was surprised by this rush of insecurity from Aaron, but the kid had a tendency to try and blame himself for anything and everything, regardless of how rational the argument for his involvement was.

"You're fine," he said, rubbing his protege's back gently, "It's alright. It's not a problem, you're not a problem. You're never a problem, Aaron, understand?" The small snort Hotch gave was an indication that the man wanted to give a smartass response, and before the younger man could say anything, Dave firmly reiterated, "I don't know what incident you're no doubt thinking of. I don't want to know what incidence you're no doubt thinking of. It doesn't matter, Aaron. No matter how hard you try, I'm staying around, and you're not a problem."

In retrospect, he probably should have expected the tears in response to such a forceful declaration of his care.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Dave, feeling slightly helpless, simply held his surrogate son through the worst of his emotions. This was going to be a very different weekend than he had anticipated- less batting cages and picnics, more soup and movie nights. He couldn't find himself upset about it, though; it was still time he got to spend with his surrogate son and the cadet who was rapidly becoming a daughter to him. Still, like any parent, he wished that his kids were feeling better- even if his kids were adults and FBI agents, to boot. Hotch's tears tapered off into hitched breaths that inspired a coughing fit. Dave sat next to his protege, patiently rubbing his back and waited for the hacking to stop. Eventually, Hotch's breaths, while still ragged, were coming at more even intervals and weren't constantly interrupted by a cough.

"You want something to drink?" Dave asked, knowing full well that he'd be getting Aaron something soothing for his throat regardless of the younger profiler's answer. Aaron too seemed to know this, as he gave a quiet snort of disbelief in response.

"Like you're actually giving me the option," he scoffed slightly, "but for what it's worth, no more tea. Please," he looked up at Rossi, a mock-stricken expression on his face (not that he was blaming his protege's expression of horror- it did work incredibly well to soothe an inflamed throat but he agreed with Hotch's assessment of the taste.) Dave couldn't help but notice that Aaron, sick and in an environment where he didn't have to be the boss, looked far younger than the Hotch he had grown accustomed to seeing around the office. He wondered when he had started to see that version of Aaron as the 'alright' version- the tense unit chief was anything but alright, his breakdown the previous day providing more than sufficient evidence. Dave knew Aaron as a son, but also as a profiler- Hotch punching a wall was a relatively rare occurrence, and spoke to how deeply overwhelmed by emotions he was feeling. The psychology said that it was a way to express emotions in a way he verbally was unable to, or to have a tangible demonstration of his feelings. Dave would bet on the first explanation, given Hotch's 'emotions allergy' that the team sometimes teased him about. How long have I been ignoring his feelings, Rossi wondered, though his self-recrimination was interrupted by his protege.

"Stop, Dave, I know what you're thinking," Aaron said, "it's not your fault I'm a mess." Then, he mumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like 'I'm lucky you still put up with me,' but continued speaking before Dave could debate that point further, "you didn't 'neglect my needs,'" he added air quotes, "or whatever you're beating yourself up over. I'm fine," he concluded, glaring at Dave when the older man raised an eyebrow at his declaration.

"Ah," he said casually, "yes, you're fine. How could I not have noticed? Maybe it was the literal physical illness plaguing you. How 'bout your hand?" he continued before Aaron cut him off.

"Okay," he grumbled, "okay, I get it. I'm not fine. Happy now?" Dave's eyebrow climbed even higher- Aaron's attitude had seemingly come out of nowhere. Was he really that bad at reading his son, he wondered, but adopted the adage of 'fake it 'till you make it' and pushed his own worries aside; Dave questioning himself, blaming himself, would do Aaron no good. Aaron, who seemed to be 'pushing' with an intensity Dave hadn't seen for over a decade; this was more reminiscent of a rookie Hotch, who alternated between being desperate to please his mentor and trying to distance himself before Rossi could hurt him like every male role model before.

"Not with that attitude I'm not," he said, filing away his thoughts to analyze later- he didn't want Hotch to be hurt by thinking that Dave was ignoring him. In response, Aaron just narrowed his eyes in a glare, and Dave sighed internally, bracing for a fight. "You've been pushing all day kid, and I really don't want to have to spank you when you're sick," he watched his protege's face turn a shade of pink at the matter-of-fact statement.

"You wouldn't, not when I'm sick," Hotch's answer sounded like a challenge, and Dave resigned himself to the fact that this discussion would most likely end with Hotch over his lap.

"I would, and you know that," he countered, "want to try again?" Dave hoped his protege would apologize, but he also knew Aaron, and knew his hopes would go unfounded. He could nearly see the gears in Hotch's head turning, trying to generate a response that would only serve to land him in deeper trouble.

"You're being unfair," he decided to protest, "I'm sick."

"When has that stopped me in the past?" he asked his protege. The answer seemed to pull the younger profiler up short, and Dave watched as Aaron tried to come up with some clever, smartass response before faltering.

"Never," Aaron mumbled, averting his eyes.

"That's right, and now's no different. I told you kid, I don't like the attitude, so we're gonna deal with that now," his announcement was met by Hotch dropping his head as it seemed to dawn on him that he had actually pushed Dave far enough into responding. Typically, Dave would just handle the kid's discipline there, in the living room. However, he realized that Ashley could wake up and come downstairs at any moment, and he didn't want to embarrass Hotch like that; using his bedroom increased the risk of Seaver hearing, but mitigated the risk of her seeing, which Dave thought would be worse. "Your room," he decided, "corner, I'll be there in a moment." Aaron had apparently come to his senses enough to comply, and without argument stood up and made his way towards the stairs.

Dave needed a minute to think through how he was going to punish Hotch. He didn't love the idea of spanking him for a few reasons- Hotch's torso would be horizontal, which would stop gravity from clearing his nose and throat, and as Rossi had just witnessed, crying set off coughing fits in his protege. He didn't want to have his protege write lines- he had just assigned Hotch that particular task only a day prior, and writing lines was better suited to other types of trouble. He didn't want to wash the kid's mouth out, as appropriate a punishment that was, since that typically ended with the penitent miscreant coughing from the taste, even without a previous illness. He supposed he could have Hotch stay in the corner for a longer duration and call that a day, but he also knew that Hotch wouldn't think it was severe enough for his earlier attitude; when that happened, his protege had a tendency to try to get in trouble as rapidly- and largely- as possible. Dave was having trouble doling out this punishment, inevitably having to punish Aaron again later that day wasn't on his agenda.

Briefly, Dave entertained the idea of calling Ness again, but decided against it; he had known Hotch for well over a decade, and had loved him as a son nearly as long- he could figure it out, and he owed it to his surrogate son to do just that. Grimly, he came up with a tentative plan before climbing the stairs; on his way to Hotch's room, he also checked in on Ashley, who was fortunately still sleeping. She stirred a little and Dave held his breath, but fortunately she seemed to remain asleep.

Pushing the door to Hotch's bedroom open, Dave was glad to see Aaron standing in the corner as instructed. He glanced around the room, looking for something that Hotch could lean over, maintaining a mostly vertical posture. Dave had threatened a spanking earlier, and that's exactly what the kid would get- he couldn't figure out an alternative that would be as effective as he hoped the mild punishment he planned would be. Eyeing the dresser, he decided that it was of an appropriate height for Hotch to brace himself on, and stood next to the piece of furniture.

"Come here," he instructed, catching the brief look of surprise on Hotch's face before he slipped his impassive boss mask on; that was mildly concerning, in and of itself. He assumed that it was just Hotch's default, an expression he slipped on unconsciously at this point, as much of his FBI agent persona as his suit was.

Long ago, he had learned never to assume things when it came to Hotch, and this was no exception.

"Okay, bend over the dresser," Rossi said, "not all the way just… brace yourself with your hands," he explained as he helped correct Aaron's position- was his protege more tense than normal? He stepped to the left of Hotch, settling a hand on the younger man's lower back, as comforting as it was restraining. "Why are we here, Aaron?" he asked his protege, half expecting another fight. To his surprise, the kid complied immediately.

"I had an attitude," he responded dutifully, if not dully, "I'm sorry, Dave, truly." Rossi's eyebrows nearly met his hairline- it was never that easy with Hotch, and Dave began to feel slightly uneasy. He couldn't put his finger on what was wrong, but he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something wrong.

"Right," he said, trying to shake his feeling of unease; he didn't want to leave Hotch waiting for so long, and he felt no need to draw out the discussion or the discipline. "I don't mind you disagreeing with me," he said, having learned a long time ago to always reinforce that before he punished Aaron for having an attitude problem, "but I don't like rudeness. You know that," he admonished before bringing the first swat down.

Hotch grew more tense, and after a few more swats, Rossi realized that his protege was standing as still as a statue- he couldn't even detect the rise and fall of the younger man's back as he breathed. With one hand still on his protege's back, Dave realized that Hotch was standing so still that he had to be holding his breath; that couldn't be good for a respiratory infection.

"Aaron, hey," he said gently, "you gotta breathe, kid. C'mon," he coaxed, and Hotch exhaled before another coughing fit hit him. It was then that Dave began to piece together at least part of what was wrong- Aaron, despite a terrible sounding cough, had only brought up his left arm to cough into; otherwise, he hadn't moved an inch, still following his mentor's original instructions.

-o-o-o-o-o-

He could be good, could behave, could show his mentor that he was capable of learning, that he shouldn't be left behind. Coughing was bad, coughing made him break position, but he could still show he was trying, right? Maybe if his arm was the only thing he moved, Dave would think that Aaron was good. He had dutifully confessed his misdeeds earlier, without fighting- that had to have shown his mentor that he could be good, at least a little bit. Right?

He forced himself to stop coughing as quickly as possible, body jerking minutely with each swallowed cough, but he had to be good. He placed his hand back on the desk, resuming his original posture and trying valiantly to hide the suppressed coughs from the other man in the room, and waited for the blows to come.

They never did.

Instead, a gentle hand settled on his shoulder, pulling him upwards. He knew that it was Dave, knew Dave was standing close to him, but he felt so far away. He had trouble focusing his eyes on his mentor's face, nearly seeing two of the older man. He straddled two worlds- one in which he was a competent, assertive FBI unit chief, and the other where Aaron was just a scared kid who wanted love but never received it.

He found himself on the bed, Dave's hand on his back, though he couldn't remember moving. Everything still seemed off, somehow, and he belatedly realized that he had just had another panic attack. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, refusing to slow its tempo no matter Aaron's effort to castigate the organ. His breathing was still interrupted by coughs, though less frequently, though they were now audible- he was too tired to try and hide his illness.

"Sorry about that," he mumbled, a hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck in a sheepish gesture.

"It's okay," Rossi said, as if he didn't just derail the older profiler's afternoon even more. In truth, Hotch was glad that his mentor acknowledged his apology- early in their partnership, Dave had preferred to just ignore what he felt to be a useless gesture. However, Hotch was raised in an environment where none of his apologies were ever acknowledged, or if they were, it certainly hadn't made a difference. So, when Dave just brushed the words off, Hotch was constantly on edge, waiting for the repercussions. Eventually, Dave sat him down and forced him to tell him why he got so squirrely about apologies, either overcompensating or giving none at all. Still, Dave wouldn't dwell on the gesture, and instead asked "What happened?" in a genuinely curious tone.

Hotch just shrugged, not really wanting to delve into his childhood trauma, especially when he already felt so sick.

"A shrug isn't an answer, Aaron," he admonished gently, and all Aaron could do in response was shrug again. Dave, seeming to realize that Hotch was incapable of answering, started his own rendition of 20 questions. "Was it your childhood?" he asked, first- it was typically the cause of his panic attacks, particularly where punishment was concerned. Hotch nodded quietly in response.

"Flashback?" Dave asked, and Hotch just shrugged because, truthfully, he didn't know exactly what had happened. It wasn't a flashback in the traditional sense, at least- the emotions were there, but he didn't feel like he was once again at the mercy of his father, and through the entire ordeal, he retained the knowledge that the only other person in the room was Dave. Dave looked at him curiously, head tilted slightly to the side, looking for answers that Aaron simply didn't have. However, time away from the situation seemed to restore both a normal heartbeat and his cognitive abilities; he swallowed, trying to work up the nerve to talk about a topic that he preferred to keep locked away in a section of his brain that he never visited.

"Not exactly?" he hazarded, and at Dave's nod he continued, "I wasn't back there… I knew it wasn't then, and I knew that my father was nowhere close to me," he fidgeted, wanting nothing more than to abandon this topic of conversation but knowing Dave wouldn't drop it.

"So you knew you were here, then?" Dave prompted.

"Yeah," Hotch sighed, before he suddenly realized that he was implying Dave was the cause of his panic attack. "It wasn't you, I swear," he pleaded with the older man, who set a gentle hand atop Aaron's shoulder.

"Then what was it?" Dave pressed, and Aaron wracked his brain for the moment when it all went so horribly wrong. He was okay in the corner, he could remember- sure, it wasn't his favorite location to inhabit, but it didn't send him into pure terror like he had felt when Dave instructed him to… Oh.

"The dresser," he mumbled, red creeping up his neck- it sounded so stupid, so weird.

"The dresser?" Rossi asked, without a hint of condemnation in his voice, "can you explain?" he asked, then added, "I'm sure you would like to avoid a repeat of that just as much as I do." Probably more, Aaron thought, but refrained from saying- he knew how emotionally draining doling out a spanking was for his mentor, and new guilt washed over him as he realized that he had forced his mentor to do just that multiple times within the last few days.

"Sorry," Hotch murmured, ignoring his mentor's question for the moment, "I know this is hard for you too and I've been forcing your hand, and I'm sorry," his voice was genuine though still a murmur. He continued to stare at the floor as self-recrimination occupied his thoughts.

"Hey," Dave said, "look at me." While he didn't phrase it as an order, Aaron knew it to be one, and dragged his eyes from the floor to his mentor's. Once the older profiler was sure he was listening, he started talking. "I knew what I was getting into when I took on a mouthy rookie as my protege," he donned a small smile for a moment as he said that, almost teasing Aaron, before resuming his earlier somber tone. "Really, though, Aaron- I chose this, I wanted this. Do I like punishing you?" he snorted, "hell no, but it's what you need, and I promised you long ago that I'd always at least try to meet your needs."

"I don't need a spanking," Aaron quickly inserted, needing to deviate from the heavy atmosphere in the room.

"I think you do," Dave pushed back, and paused for a moment in thought. Aaron wished he could read his mentor's mind in those moments as he shifted his weight and picked at his fingernails. "I think," Rossi started, and Aaron knew that tone- that was the tone that said his mentor was going to profile him, team rules aside. That tone was also frequently associated with truths Aaron didn't particularly want to acknowledge, "that you've been pushing me today, trying to get a reaction. I'd prefer if you talked to me instead of doing stupid shit, but I understand it's hard for you." The gentleness of the message delivery in addition to the words of the message itself made Hotch's face heat; he really didn't like it when his mentor pointed out some of his more… childish moments.

"I also think," Dave started, and Aaron nearly groaned, knowing he wasn't going to like whatever truth his mentor was about to illuminate him to, "that you dodged my question, earlier. So, I'll ask again- what was it about the dresser?"

"I don't know, Dave," he pleaded, though he did have an inkling as to what caused his rather dramatic response.

"Try again," his mentor said, then added, "stop scowling." Instead, Hotch pivoted to pouting, embarrassed that his mentor was hell bent on dragging the truth from him.

"It…" Aaron tried, but his voice faltered; besides, he sort of knew what had caused his reaction, but he didn't know how to put it into words in a way that didn't make him seem pathetic. Rossi's understanding eyes met his, though, and the older man nodded in a way that reassured Aaron that it was okay to struggle with expressing his thoughts, so long as he still tried. "I…" he trailed off again, before deciding to rip off the band-aid, mumbling, "it wasn't your lap, okay?" Then, Hotch waited for a rebuke, because the tone he had just used was typically not tolerated by Rossi. However, the older profiler seemed to make an exception, looking curiously at his protege before realization dawned on him.

"Can you explain?" the patient voice of his mentor prompted with the phrase Aaron could go a lifetime without hearing again and it would still be too soon. He swallowed down his instinctual response of 'you know damn well what I meant, Dave' after having seen understanding light up the older profiler's eyes. He just wanted the ordeal to be over, sickness making him more tired than he would ordinarily be, and he didn't want to put his mentor through more, either. So, he behaved, complying without complaint; a move that seemed to surprise his mentor.

"I don't know," he began hesitantly, "it just… felt like you were mad at me?"

"I increased the distance between us when you needed to be close?" Dave asked cautiously, as if he were unsure of the profile, and Aaron nodded.

"Yeah."

"Aw hell, kid," Dave said, rubbing circles onto the back of his protege, "That… was not my intention."

"I know," Aaron reassured Dave, because it was true. "Out of curiosity, why did you go for the dresser? You normally don't do that anymore," he said.

"No, I guess I don't…" Rossi trailed off, thinking; for a moment, the veteran profiler's mind seemed to wander to another place and time, before he gave Hotch a small smile, "I was worried that you'd choke if you were more horizontal." Choke? Hotch wondered for a moment, before a particularly wet cough reminded him of the fact that one, he was sick, and two, congestion is worse when lying down- it's why he had slept more upright than usual, propped up against pillows, so that he could breathe.

"Oh," he said, suddenly feeling even more embarrassed about his overreaction.

"It's alright, Aaron," his mentor said with a genuine smile, "I should have explained why I was deviating from what you were expecting."

"You don't owe me that," he pointed out, and it was true (to him, at least.) He had learned as a child that whoever was in charge dictated the punishment, and, as an extension, didn't have to explain to Hotch his motivations.

"I kinda do," Dave said, before giving Aaron another long look, seemingly coming to the conclusion that he still disagreed with his mentor's stance, "we'll work on that." A small smile tugged at Aaron's lips, that phrase always evoked a sense of nostalgia. "Wanna finish this up, now?" Dave asked, and Aaron couldn't tell if he was relieved that Dave wasn't again deviating from normal or if he was disappointed that he didn't get out of a spanking. Regardless, he nodded- he was tired and overemotional, which only served to further his feelings of exhaustion.

-o-o-o-o-o-

The irony of it, Dave thought, was in the fact that he had been planning to give Hotch a mild punishment to begin with. He was rude, which normally called for corner time and maybe a few swats, but the kid had been pushing the entire day and Rossi would rather deal with it in the present than to ignore it and wait for it to explode later; Hotch had a habit of using particularly large and creative ways to piss Dave off when the older man didn't respond to smaller acts of misbehavior, desperately begging for acknowledgement from his mentor.

This, then, put Dave in an unfortunate spot- would Hotch find his earlier planned punishment too mild? Rossi knew that if that were the case, it would spark Aaron's anxiety that his mentor was treating him with 'kid gloves' because of the dresser incident. Still, the kid had only been minorly naughty, and he seemed to be flagging from exhaustion. Not to mention he still couldn't figure out what to do about position, his earlier ideas of bending the younger man over a piece of furniture now off the table (and, truthfully, he wouldn't be trying that again for a long while, if ever.)

He didn't typically explain every decision he made about disciplining Aaron with the younger man himself, but in this case, he thought it could get them through this with the least amount of strife.

"Alright," he said, repressing a sigh, "here's the plan." Aaron looked up from the floor, then, trying poorly to hide his anxiety- he had never been good about waiting for unknowns, especially when it related to punishment. Not that Dave could blame him, and truthfully, Aaron was far more stoic about it than Dave ever could be.

"You were mouthy," he continued, watching as Aaron's face turned a light pink at the wording, "but that doesn't really call for much of a punishment." The look of relief on his surrogate son's face told him that he was on the right track. He stood up and gently tugged Aaron up with him before resting a foot against the bedframe and indicating that Aaron should lean over his thigh- it was the closest he could come to laying the younger man over his lap while still retaining a mostly upright position. It was a weird position to balance, no doubt made more difficult by Hotch's illness, and he was thankful that he had decided on a short punishment.

A dozen smacks later and Dave pulled Aaron up into a hug; while the younger man wasn't outright crying, his eyes were suspiciously bright in a way that belied how poorly Hotch was feeling. Only a few moments later, though, Hotch pulled away and surreptitiously sniffled.

"C'mon," Rossi said gently, putting an arm around the younger profiler, suspecting he needed the closeness- sure enough, Hotch leaned into the embrace, swaying a little on his feet. It was the unsteadiness that worried Rossi; Hotch had a tendency to try and hide sickness, or, if he couldn't hide it entirely, at least obfuscate the severity. Dave gave the kid an evaluating glance, Hotch looked a little pale and shaky, but not like he needed to lay down immediately before passing out. Still, Dave wanted his protege to rest.

"Alright," he said, gently, inadvertently startling Aaron (though the younger man tried to hide it,) "let's get you settled back on the couch with more tea."

"No more tea," Aaron groaned, giving Dave his best pathetic puppy dog eyes. Dave would admit the facial expression was successful, but he refused to budge despite feeling a little bit like an ass for not doing so.

"I told you no more of the slippery elm stuff," Dave said, "unless you want more because it works well?" He said it mildly, as if he were seriously suggesting it, and chuckled softly at the look of total horror on Hotch's face. "I am gonna get you more tea, though- you got a kind you want in particular?"

"Coffee?" Aaron asked with a hopeful expression, and Dave shook his head fondly as he led them out of Hotch's bedroom and back into the living room.

"Coffee isn't exactly known for its soothing effect on the throat," he pointed out, "besides, you don't need the caffeine, you need to rest. So, we have chamomile, peppermint, hot water with lemon and honey…?" he suggested to the younger profiler, "licorice? Ginger?" Hotch didn't look all that impressed at any offered beverage, but was either too tired to fight it or he had suddenly learned when to pick his battles (Dave suspected it was the illness ailing the man, and not a sudden shift in personality.)

"Lemon and honey?" he finally asked, making like he was about to stand up and head to get his own tea. Dave was hardly surprised, Aaron had a tendency to forget that he could ask others for help; he figured it was the byproduct of his protege's childhood where Aaron had no choice but to do everything on his own.

"No, you're still gonna rest," he instructed, helping Aaron get settled with a warm blanket covering him; he suspected that the younger man had begun to spike a fever based on his slight shivering, but he said nothing about it and resolved to go find the thermometer once he got his protege his beverage. It was also telling that Hotch didn't fight him to insist that he could do it by himself, and he worried Aaron was feeling worse than he was letting on.

He filled the kettle with water and set it to boil; it would take a few minutes, he knew, and he wanted to check on Ashley. He quietly pushed open the door to her bedroom and found her studying- when he cleared his throat, she looked up with a sheepish look.

"Neither of you know what resting is, apparently," he said, decidedly unamused.

"Sorry," she mumbled, looking nervous. He wondered if she had planned to hide that she was doing work from him all along given her slight startle when he entered the room and her nervousness now. He wouldn't press, though he was planning on keeping an eye out on her for signs of 'pushing' or if she genuinely was worried she wasn't studying enough- were her grades okay? He realized he had never asked.

"I want you to actually rest this weekend. Trust me, your books won't run away." He paused for a moment, wondering if he should try to get her to go back to laying down in bed before deciding she'd likely be better off on the other, unoccupied couch in his living room. "C'mon," he said after deciding, "Hotch is in the living room- you're welcome to come join us if you want company, or you can stay in here if you want. Regardless, you're going to rest." Seaver didn't even take a moment to think about the offer, responding right away.

"Company would be nice," she said, a little too quickly and desperately. He made a mental note to keep an eye on that, wondering if she was like Hotch in not liking to be alone. Aaron didn't do well with being left alone for extended periods of time, especially when he wasn't feeling well- hence the lack of surprise when Hotch showed up in his living room shortly after Dave had left him in his bedroom to rest. He wouldn't be surprised if Ashley felt similarly; he'd ask her about that later, when he was less concerned with trying to get her to fall back asleep. She swung her feet out of bed and stood up, wobbling slightly but regaining most of her balance quickly.

Once she had made it to where Rossi was standing in the doorway, he turned her around and gave her half a dozen swats, bending her under an arm, against his hip. He realized then just how small she truly was, slight in stature and he thought she could use several home-cooked meals. One battle at a time, though.

"You need to rest," he emphasized, then pulled her into a gentle embrace. He discreetly checked her temperature with a hand on the back of her neck; fortunately, unlike Hotch, she had yet to develop a fever. She was more open to tactile displays of affection than Hotch was, he noticed (not that it was a difficult feat, Hotch had a tendency to shy away from any and all shows of physical affection; Dave had seen him shake hands as an odd substitute more than once.) Keeping an arm wrapped around her shoulder, he guided her to the living room.

"What flavor of tea do you want?" he asked as they walked.

"Not the flavor from earlier," she replied immediately, apparently as disgusted by it as Hotch was.

"Not the flavor from earlier," he agreed, chuckling softly before rattling off the same options he had given Aaron.

"Peppermint," Seaver replied after a moment of thought, and Dave nodded as they reached the kitchen where the kettle was finally boiling. Quickly, he fixed a mug of boiling water with a peppermint tea bag for Ashley and another mug of boiling water with a generous amount of honey poured in, and then added some lemon. He handed Seaver her mug and grabbed Hotch's himself as they made their way into the living room where Hotch was, fortunately, not appearing to be doing anything he wasn't supposed to do- the younger man wasn't quite dozing, but he looked lethargic. Grabbing another blanket, he got Seaver settled on the other couch, before disappearing back into the kitchen.

He knew it was likely a futile effort, but regardless he poured a mug of green tea for himself, hoping the vitamin C content would scare away whatever bug the agents in his living room had picked up. Taking his mug into the living room, he took the empty armchair.

"Movie?" he suggested, to murmurs of 'sure' and 'fine' of both agents on the brink of sleep. He flicked on the TV and found a random movie playing, knowing that the kids were too close to sleeping to care about the plot, and he was sure the soft volume of the TV would lull them both completely to sleep. He was proven right only a few minutes later as he looked away from the TV- it was a surprisingly decent movie- and noticed both Ashley and Aaron sleeping, chests steadily rising and falling, indicating a deep sleep. Both were also wearing Dave's old, too large clothing, making them seem even younger in sleep, but further causing Dave's heart to swell with fondness. As miserable as they both looked, sick, the domesticity of the scene brought a smile to his face.

It would be a soft, quiet day, and he decided he was very okay with that as he settled back in the comfortable chair and watched the movie play.

-o-o-o-o-o-

When Aaron woke up, it was to the scent of pastina soup; despite the stuffy feeling in his head, he couldn't help but smile at the familiar scent. It was one of Dave's culinary cures for illness- he wasn't sure if the soup actually had any of the health benefits his mentor claimed, or if those were merely old wives tales, but the homemade soup was delicious regardless.

He stood up, intending to look for his mentor, before pausing and deciding that he'd like to still take the blanket with him. He knew he looked pathetic with the large sheet of fabric draped over his shoulders, but at least he was warm, and at the moment that was all he could bother to care about. He hated being sick, though at least he had company this time- there was nothing worse than being home alone and sick, it was miserable and lonely, a lesson he had learned many times over as a child.

Sure enough, Dave was in the kitchen, dicing some green vegetables and humming softly to himself. Aaron, feeling slightly awkward, didn't try to mask the sound of his footsteps, not wanting to startle Rossi- especially not when the man was cutting something with a rather large knife. His plan worked as, only a few steps into the room, Dave seemed to notice Hotch's presence and looked up, a warm smile on his face that brought a crinkle to the corner of his eyes. He seemed happier than Aaron had seen in a long while, though he couldn't for the life of him figure out why the older man would be happy about having to spend a weekend with a sick and troublesome FBI agent, and Ashley, who was apparently better behaved than he was. He turned the thought over in his head, resolving that he too could be on his best behavior. Agreeability was often hard for him, but he was going to try.

He was broken from his thoughts when a mug of something hot was placed in front of him- he eyed the beverage warily and heard his mentor chuckle.

"Don't worry," his mentor said, "it's hot milk with honey." Aaron decided he liked the idea of that beverage very much as he realized his throat hurt intensely every time he swallowed. Reaching out, he appreciated the warmth of the mug in his hands as well, and stopped to adjust the blanket, pulling it tighter around his shoulders, before taking a tentative sip. It was better than he had expected it to be, and he took a larger sip, relishing in the feeling of his throat not hurting quite as much. He didn't say anything, just sipping at the drink and watching Dave cook. Dave, for his part, merely resumed humming under his breath but didn't force conversation that Aaron was, quite frankly, too tired to have. Despite sleeping more in the last day than he had in probably the entire last week combined, he was still impossibly exhausted and his eyelids drooped even as he was sitting on one of the barstools.

"C'mon, kid," he vaguely heard the voice of his mentor and gentle hands as they guided him to stand, "come lay down again, I'll wake you up when dinner's ready." Aaron decided he liked that idea as well, making his way back to the living room and let his mentor drape his blanket and another one over Hotch's slightly shivering figure. He felt the hand of his mentor ghost over his hair, then fell asleep effortlessly.

-o-o-o-o-o-

When Ashley stirred awake, she noticed that Hotch was still asleep on the other couch, and Agent Rossi wasn't in the room- though, by the smell of it, he was likely in the kitchen. She had felt vaguely queasy earlier (though she partially blamed the gross tea for that,) but now found her stomach grumbling and set out in search of Dave and whatever smelled so delicious.

Sure enough, Rossi was in the kitchen, humming softly as he stirred something on the stove. Still a little bleary eyed, she made her way to the counter and pulled herself up onto one of the barstools. She sort of wanted to lay her head down on her arms and fall asleep there, but she had just woken up and she was still hungry. The veteran profiler turned around with a smile, covering the pot and making his way towards the rookie agent.

"How're you feeling," he asked as he felt her forehead and cheek for fever, frowning; based on the fact that she found herself leaning into Rossi's cool touch, she suspected that she was feverish. She couldn't find the energy to answer his question, and merely shrugged in response. She propped her head up with an arm as she watched Dave approach the stove again, ladle something into a mug, and come back, setting the mug by her elbow.

"It's warm milk with honey," he explained, "should help your throat." She hadn't told him her symptoms, but he was correct in his assumption that her throat hurt, like, a lot. She picked up the mug and took a sip, sighing in relief when it didn't anger her throat and instead actually soothed it.

"Dinner's nearly ready," he said as he grabbed plates to set the table.

"I can help," Ashley suggested, the feeling of being a burden starting to creep into her mind the longer she was awake to remember how much comfort she had accepted from Rossi earlier. Dave turned to stare at her, unimpressed.

"You stay there," he said, "I'm fine, and you're not steady on your feet. Drink the milk, okay?" he said, but his voice was still gentle and she found herself too tired and achy to argue. Instead, she did as he suggested, rapidly downing the rest of the milk as she realized it didn't hurt her throat to drink it. She guessed she must have fallen asleep again for a moment, head propped up by an arm, because Rossi's gentle chuckle was the next thing she remembered.

"Go take a seat at the table," he instructed, helping her stand and making sure that, while unsteady, she wasn't in any particular danger of falling. "I'm going to go wake up Aaron," he said before disappearing from the room; moments later he was back, an exhausted looking Hotch in tow. Dave directed Hotch towards the table before he himself went over to the stove and ladeled soup into two bowls.

It smelled even more delicious than before, and her stomach reminded her once again that she was hungry. No one talked as they all sipped at their soup, but it wasn't an awkward silence, and even if it was, Ashley didn't have the energy to come up with a conversation topic to break it. Fortunately, Hotch also seemed too tired to engage in conversation, and Rossi didn't seem to mind the quiet either. As she took the last bite of soup, no longer hungry, she realized she was still very tired.

"May I be excused?" she mumbled, trying to politely break the silence, "I want to lay down again." Rossi nodded his approval, watching her stand and making sure she didn't fall again. She returned to the couch and laid down, though she couldn't help but pine for before when Rossi had helped settle a warm blanket over her, demonstrating his care. She hated being sick, it always made her too emotional and weepy, and she blinked back tears as she settled the blanket over herself. She didn't need to spend much time trying to control her pining, though, finding herself asleep before she even hit the pillow.

-o-o-o-o-o-

A.N.- I don't love how this chapter turned out, but I wanted to publish something, and I was going to lose my mind if I just kept editing what I had written. I'm not quite sure where I'm taking this story, other than being convinced I will somehow manage to fit a scene of Hotch, Rossi, and Seaver all baking cookies together. I'm thinking I might have Seaver end up being the one who gets the most ill, with lots of concerned father Rossi and big brother Hotch. On the bright side, I'm starting to feel more human again now that I've turned everything in and my last rotation ended (my new one began today, and it's better!) so hopefully I'll be more productive at writing. Until next time…

-lms