Chapter Text
Hotch blinked blearily at the paperwork in front of him.
It had been a hard case. He had barely managed to stay awake during the duration. Even as they chased the unsub-- white male in his thirties, again– through the streets, he had felt the insistent tug of exhaustion behind his adrenaline. In the end, they still hadn’t managed to save the last victim.
Guilt tugged at his gut, the way it always did after cases.
You should have been faster. You should have been faster, but you weren’t and now she’s dead. She’s dead, and you killed her just like you killed Hayley.
He dug his fingers into his temples.
Too slow. Always too slow.
Hotch shut the file with a decisive snap. He wasn’t getting anywhere. He needed sleep and a new perspective.
So-- coffee.
He stood and walked briskly out of his office, heading down the walkway to the breakroom, but he paused only a few strides from his office door. He swayed a little where he stood, and his vision faded into static bursts. He steadied his breathing and blinked hard to clear his vision until it passed, fighting the urge to clutch his head or grab the wall.
Hotch sent a cursory glance around the bullpen to gather if anyone had seen his dizzy fit. He was met with five pairs of eyes staring his way. The whole team, save for Rossi in his own office, was gathered around their desks, and had all looked up when he left his workspace.
Hotch nodded at them, hoping futilely to play off what he knew they had all seen.
JJ and Garcia looked to be on their way to the break room too, already halfway out of their seat at JJ’s desk, and JJ cocked a brow when he returned her searching look. She made a gesture for him to follow her, and began to make her way through the coalescence of desks and wires and computers to the break room, Garcia trailing behind her. Hotch blinked, but walked briskly after the two.
JJ turned to him as soon as they were both in the relative privacy of the “Coffee Cove”, as Garcia liked to call it.
“You okay?” she demanded.
Hotch fought a sigh. “Yeah.”
JJ looked completely nonplussed. “Now why don’t I believe that?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.
“Oh! That is probably because he clearly isn’t!” Garcia piped up from behind her. She was hard at work pouring sugar into her tea.
“I’m fine.”
“Are you, sir?” Garcia said. It wasn’t a question.
Hotch felt decidedly cornered.
JJ set her mug down in the sink, turned the tap on, and turned to him. “Look. Hotch, all of us are here for you. We’ve all gone through something similar, you can rely on us. If you want me to take your work for the rest of the day, or even week, I will. Just talk to somebody.”
“I already got this talk from Morgan.”
JJ shut the water off and dumped the remaining out of her mug. “Please.” she added. “If not for us, for Jack.”
That made him pause. Should he? He knew he couldn’t talk to the team, despite how much they offered; he was the leader. He was the rock, and it would upset the team’s balance if everyone started to see him as weak.
As how you really are.
But-- he could talk to someone else. A therapist. Maybe he didn’t deserve to get better, but Jack deserved a father who was there. Who could handle him. Who wouldn’t constantly be flinching away from the voices in his head. Jack deserved better, and Hotch couldn’t give that to him.
“I will.” he said quietly, then nodded to JJ and Garcia’s relieved smiles, and headed back up to the privacy of his office.
It was only after he had finished the end-of-case paperwork and stared blankly for a good while at the phone number Garcia had left on his desk that he realized he had completely forgotten his coffee.
Hotch slung his suit jacket back onto his shoulders and stood from his chair. Usually he wouldn’t leave work so early, but he’d finished everything he needed to and he missed Jack with an ache.
He paused in the doorway, hesitating, but at last snatched the sparkly pink piece of paper that Garcia had left him and shoved it in his pocket.
The commute was as long as it always was. He was stopped in traffic more often than he wasn’t. At one of the longer stop lights, Hotch sent Jess a quick text warning her of his early return.
Jess stood in the front doorway when he arrived, Jack perched on her hip. At the sight of Hotch, Jack lit up like a christmas tree. “DADDY!” he yelled, squirming free from his aunt’s hold, launching himself down the steps and into his father’s arms.
“Hey buddy!” Aaron laughed, catching him with ease.
“Where have you been?” Jack pouted, wrapping his legs around Aaron’s waist. “You missed my last soccer game and you didn’t tell me!”
Hotch’s smile slipped. “Yeah. I’m sorry, Jack. I’ve been really busy with a lot of things. I promise I’ll do better, though.”
When Jack just crossed his arms and stubbornly stuck out his lip, Hotch forced his own grin back into place. He pinched both Jack’s cheeks in quick succession. “What do you say to some ice cream, huh? I heard there’s a new place down the street that has your favorite flavor!”
Jack didn’t lighten up like Hotch expected, though. He just leaned back so he could see his father’s eyes better, nearly unbalancing Hotch as he did so. Then, without any warning or preamble, he started to cry.
Alarmed, Aaron shifted Jack’s weight into one arm so he could use the other to wipe away Jack’s tears. “Woah, buddy, what’s wrong?” he asked gently, and shot Jess a questioning look. She appeared just as baffled.
Jack sniffled and buried his face in Aaron’s shoulder, who took to rubbing comforting circles on his back as he awaited an answer. At last, Jack piped up. “Are you mad at me?” he questioned tentatively, quivering voice muffled by Aaron’s shirt.
Aaron’s chest seized. He knelt quickly, sitting Jack down on the steps in front of him so he could look him in the eyes. “No, buddy. Never.” he said firmly.
Jack’s disbelieving, teary-eyed look shattered what was left of Aaron’s poor heart.
“Jack, look at me. I swear. I swear I’m not mad. What made you think that?”
“You’re never home anymore. You don’t come pick me up from school.” Jack cried, slowly dissolving to sobs. “What did I do, Daddy? I sw- I swear I’ll fix it!”
“Dad, stop! Dad, I’ll be better, I swear! I promise I’ll fix it! Stop, please, please--”
Aaron drew in a sharp breath. “You didn’t do anything wrong, buddy. I would tell you if you did, I promise.” His voice was painfully soft.
Jess caught his attention with a hesitant look, and he subtly shook his head at her. He had to handle this on his own.
God, how could he do this to his own son?
You’ve become your father. You’ve become just like him.
“You pr-promise?” Pleaded Jack.
Hotch wiped Jack’s tears off his cheeks with gentle fingers. “Of course I promise.”
“Pinky promise?”
Aaron stuck out his pinky. Jack solemnly reached out and wrapped his own, slightly wet, finger around it, then gave a firm shake. A fresh wave of tears cascaded down his face, but he didn’t look miserable anymore. He sniffled again, wiping his face with his sleeve.
“Okay,” Jack mumbled, drawing in a deep, calming breath and reaching his hands back up towards his father in a silent request to be picked up. Aaron complied. When did Jack get mature enough to calm himself like that?
Once safely in Aaron’s arms, Jack let out a sigh. It was too full of leftover tears to be a content one, but it was close. “Okay,” he repeated. “I want ice cream. Do you have a tissue?”