Work Text:
“Really, I’m alright,” you assured your (very well-meaning) neighbor. She was dead-set on getting you checked in at the emergency room, even though you insisted you could stitch yourself up at home. You brought your medical packet with you – including all the intake forms, copies of your credentials, and your emergency contact information. Your go bag was at your side, packed and ready with three days’ worth of clothes.
Your neighbor stayed with you until she was sure you wouldn’t bolt, leaving you as soon as someone called you to the back.
Another Tuesday night, another kitchen accident. You’d sliced your hand open while cutting an avocado for a late-night snack. Fortunately, it was your non-dominant hand. Unfortunately, your neighbor caught you as you scuttled to your car for your first aid kit.
So here you were, sitting on the edge of a bed in one of the private emergency rooms while a nurse flushed the wound and prepared it for stitches.
+++
“Hotchner.” Aaron sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
“Am I speaking to Aaron Hotchner?”
“Yes. May I ask who’s calling?”
As he listened to the emergency room admin tell him about your incident, he threw on a pair of jeans and a black v-neck from the drawer. He called Jessica as soon as the nurse finished relaying the address to the ER closest to your home. Jess was in the neighborhood, coming from a girl’s night with friends, thank God.
With a kiss to his sister-in-law’s cheek and an earnest “Thank you,” he was in the car and on the way.
+++
There was some kind of commotion right outside your door, but you were busy watching the nurse as she applied local anesthetic to your hand and wrist. The bleeding had slowed enough for the nurse to maintain it with a few swipes every minute or so, and you could see the extent of the damage.
You’re a fucking moron, you know that?
You rolled your eyes at yourself and was only a little startled when the door flew open.
“Hotch?”
He checked in with the nurse, who smiled and nodded at him over your hand. Suddenly, he was sitting right next to you, looking over your intake paperwork. “They called me. I got here as fast as I could.”
Shit. “God, I’m so sorry. I forget you’re the first on my emergency contact list.” You bit your lip. “I really should make it Emily or Penelope or someone who doesn’t have kids.” You said it more to yourself than him.
To your surprise, he laughed. “No, it’s okay. Jess was in town, and Jack is still sleeping. I’m glad I can be here for you.”
+++
When they pulled out the suturing material, you paled and blindly reached for Hotch’s hand. Instead of just taking it, he tucked your head into his chest, holding you there with one hand while he rubbed soothing circles on the back of your free hand with his thumb.
You probably looked silly, tucked into your friend’s chest while your arm was fully extended to your side, under a blindingly bright light. You couldn’t feel the stitches, but it still squicked you out.
Hotch’s voice rumbled through you as he spoke close to your ear. “You’re okay. Breathe with me.”
“Hotch...” It came out as a bit of a panicked whine as you heard the doctor shuffle some tools around.
“Aaron.” He squeezed your hand. “Aaron’s just fine. It’ll be over soon. Just a little while longer.”
You took a few shaky breaths in time with his, but your hand was still a vice grip around his. He smelled really good. You knew that already, having sat next to him on the plane more than once, but it was different without the professional boundaries.
And without the suit.
“You’re doing great. Squeeze as hard as you can and keep breathing with me.” His voice was gentle and constant. It was sufficiently distracting.
Oh, right. He’s coached someone through literal childbirth before.
God, you’re such a baby.
“I’m sorry I’m such a baby.”
He laughed, taking care not to jostle you. “We’re all babies over something.”
“You’re not a baby over anything.” It came out as a grouchy gripe, your humor not strong enough to get past the tightness of your jaw.
After a moment, he shrugged around you. “Spiders. I hate them.”
You lifted your head, keeping your arm steady. The hand holding you to him dropped to your waist, where his protective grip kept you centered. “Really?”
Brown eyes smiled down at you. “Really. Jack takes after his mother and thinks it’s hilarious. ”
A shaky smile crossed your face, and you heard the telltale rasp of ripping gauze.
“All done,” the nurse said. “You’re good to go. Change the dressings daily and take care not to rip the stitches. They will dissolve on their own in about a week.”
+++
“Hotch, I can really manage on my own.”
“You have your go bag, and I know for a fact you’ll rip the stitches in your haste to grab something on your way out the door tomorrow morning.”
You couldn’t argue with him there. He pulled into his driveway and helped you out of the car.
When you were safely inside with Jessica headed home, you took your pain meds while Aaron locked his gun away.
“Oh shit,” you said, checking your bag. “I don’t have my gun. It’s in my safe at home.”
“You can use my second. I know you prefer the Glock 26, but my 17 is about the same weight in the trigger.” He handed you a mug of tea and plopped down on the couch. “I can have Anderson grab yours during the day tomorrow if we get called out on a case.”
“Thanks.” The gesture didn’t go unnoticed – offering his second gun was like offering his right arm. You settled down beside him, tucking your feet under you. “I can make up the couch, so you can head to bed. I’ve kept you up long enough.”
“You know where the linens are?” He asked, one eyebrow aloft.
“I have built many a fort with Jack, and I pay enough attention to get around.” At his dubious glance, you continued. “Second hall closet, third shelf. Blankets, sheets, and an extra pillow.” You smiled at him over your mug.
“You know...” he swallowed and seemed to struggle with his words. “You don’t have to make up the couch if you’d be more comfortable in my room.”
“Trying to get me in bed, Hotchner?”
He floundered for a moment, and you laughed softly.
“I’m kidding.” You set your mug on the coffee table and brushed his hair back with your good hand. “If you don’t mind, I’ll take you up on it.”
“I definitely don’t mind.” He leaned into your touch like a cat.
He’s adorable.
“Thank you for staying with me tonight.” Your hand fell to his jaw, where your thumb brushed back and forth on his cheekbone.
Careful, don’t want to cut your other hand on that.
His eyes closed as you took more of his weight into your hand. “Of course.” He turned his head and kissed your palm.
Your heart jumped into your throat. He gently picked up your injured hand in his and pressed a kiss to your gauze covered knuckles. That particular act didn’t do anything to lower your heart rate. He released your hands, soft and gentle, and led the way down the hallway toward his room.
Jack’s door was open, and you saw his little sleeping form by the glow of his nightlight, curled in a ball. You wondered if the Hotchner boys slept the same way.
You’ll find out soon enough, won’t you?
Jesus.
“You can borrow one of my shirts,” Hotch said, closing the door quietly behind you, “since yours is...” He gestured to your t-shirt, and you note the blood down the front of it.
“Damn. I liked this one.”
Hotch smiled with one side of his mouth. “I’ll soak it overnight. We’ll probably be able to save it.” He turned and shuffled through his drawer, pulling out what looked to be a worn-in FBI Academy shirt and some flannel pajama pants. “These should cinch enough for you.”
You took them from him with your good hand. “Thanks, Aaron.”
His hands lingered over yours under the soft fabric. “Bathroom’s through that door – take your time. There are extra toothbrushes in the cabinet to the left of the sink. Make yourself at home.”
You settled into the en suite bathroom as he padded down the hall. You changed quickly, brushed your teeth (twice), and draped your bloodied shirt and pants on the edge of the sink.
Hotch was pulling back the covers and checking his email when you walked back out. He looked up and smiled at you.
When he brushed past you to soak your clothes in the sink, your heart caught in your throat again.
You slipped into bed, your back to the bathroom door. You closed your eyes and tried in vain to fall asleep before he returned.
You failed.
The lights in the room went out, leaving the blue cast of moonlight in front of your eyelids. You felt the bed dip as Hotch tucked in beside you.
“You’re terrible at pretending to sleep,” he whispered.
You could tell he was close to you, but when you opened your eyes you saw how close. His face was peaceful in the dark, his mouth and brow relaxed (for once).
“I wasn’t pretending.”
“Mhmm. Sure.”
You rolled your eyes and shut them again, insistent this time. “I’m ignoring you, Hotch.”
“Oh, so it’s Hotch now?”
“It is when it's nearly two in the morning and we have to leave for work in six hours,” you grumbled.
He chuckled, and his minty breath fanned over your face. You could feel him sober, and you opened your eyes. His face was pensive, and you were caught off guard by how open and expressive he was at home. You could read everything on his face as if it was printed out and handed to you.
“I don’t-“ he stopped, and his mouth pressed into a thin line for a moment. “I know we’re both adults who can share a bed without anything going on.”
You raised an eyebrow at him, doing your best to hide your amusement.
“What I mean is, I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable or –“
You pressed a finger to his lips. “Aaron, shh.” You let your smile shine through for a moment. “I’m here because I want to be, and I’m next to you because I want to be, okay?”
He nodded, still watching you carefully. You removed your finger from his mouth, ignoring the thrill it sent through you.
Adults. Adults who can share a bed without anything going on.
You rolled over and got comfortable, smooshing the pillow underneath your head. With your good hand, you reached behind you and searched until you found Aaron’s shirt.
“C’mere.”
He huffed a laugh and curled up behind you, snug from shoulders to calves. His arm hovered over your waist for a moment. You squished it to you, lacing your fingers with his over your belly.
“Thank you for taking care of me.”
He hummed and tucked his face into your shoulder. “Anytime.”
“If you want...” you trailed off, your bravery evaporating when you actually processed what was about to come out of your mouth.
“If I want...” he echoed. You could hear the smile.
“You could – You could kiss me if you wanted to.”
Well, there it was.
You felt lips press to the soft fabric over your shoulder, trailing up to the sensitive skin near the collar.
“I thought you’d never ask,” he said, and you suddenly felt fully and pleasantly warm.
When you turned your head, he was waiting for you. Yes, the angle was awkward and it was dark, but maybe laughing into each other’s mouths wasn’t as embarrassing as it seemed.
He kissed you once, twice, three times. There was a sweetness, a chasteness about it. You’d both waited a long time, and it wasn’t like you didn’t want to jump his bones, but now was decidedly not the time.
You turned back around and pressed back against him as to not miss out on a single millimeter of contact.
Your sleep took you quickly, and you nearly forgot about the nine stitches in your palm.