Archive of Our Own ^beta

"Repent means 'the pain again'" - Anne Carson

The case briefing should have started a few minutes ago, but Reid is running late. Normally he would have called by now, but everyone is entitled to a rough start every now and then. Garcia looks to Hotch for silent permission to start and he gives her a polite nod of approval.

“We’ll catch Reid up on the plane,” he says, seeing the apprehensive looks of the team members. They nod at his reassurance and focus on the screen that Garcia has just pulled up crime scene photos on.

“Okay, so last month, Abby Clayton was found in McAllister Park, or...Well, most of her, anyway. Um- She was found by a teen who was babysitting a little boy at the time. She was dismembered and spread out around the park, but so far her left foot and left hand have not been recovered.” Garcia makes a disgusted expression at that, her face scrunching up.

“Any chance wildlife carried it away?” Rossi asks. Garcia nods.

“Definitely. They’re still out there looking, just in case it’s there and they just missed it somehow.”

“Let’s operate on the assumption that those have significance to the unsub. Trophies of some sort.” Emily says, and JJ nods.

“Is this the only victim?” JJ asks, looking a bit perplexed.

“Oh, sorry. No. Last week, Cheryl Burns was found in the same manner in a different local park, and yesterday Layla Mitchell, our third victim now, was found scattered around a third park. Gee, that is a lot of parks for a small town to have. I’m talking like, barely any fast food chains, everyone knows everyone, population of less than 3,000 small.” Garcia says.

“Wait, so what was the COD?” Morgan asks, leaning forward.

“Well, because they were dismembered it’s pretty hard to tell.” Hotch replies. “It looks like we’re going to have to wait for the ME to get back to us to-” His phone rings, and he reaches for it, standing up. 

“Excuse me,” he says, leaving the room. The rest of the team continues discussing possibilities as he shuts the door. 

“Hello?” he says, and a voice on the other line takes a deep breath before responding.

“Agent Hotchner?”

“Speaking,” he replies.

“We’ve got a body. Found it behind the Blue Basket Diner. Got called in by a couple of truckers who stopped by for a quick bite.”

“Is this the first victim?”

“Um, yeah. Hey, listen- This victim…” Hotch’s chest constricts, jaw clenches. No. 

“We searched for some kind of identification on him. Found his wallet, all the money’s there, but- He’s an FBI agent, sir.” Hotch feels like he’s falling through the floor. It doesn’t feel real, any of it.

“What’s his name?” he asks, teeth slicing into his lip as he waits for the reply. Don’t say it. 

“Spencer Reid, member of the Behavioral Analysis Unit.” And just like when he heard that gunshot on that horrible day years ago, he wants to throw the phone, distance himself from the truth.

“I’ll be right there.” 

“Sure thing. And sir?”

“Yes?”

“Just be prepared for what you’re going to see.” Fuck, he wants to claw his own face off. How does he tell the team? Does he tell the team? 

“Change of plans,” he says, rushing into the round table room, grabbing a file. He’s barely holding it together.

“What’s going on?” Morgan asks, noticing Hotch’s frantic movements. “Something wrong with Reid?” And Hotch makes a decision that could destroy the team forever. He lies.

“No, everything’s fine. He did give me a call, though. He’s sitting this one out. So am I. I need to work on something back here. You guys go ahead. Call me if you need me. Rossi, can you-?” Rossi nods.

“I’ve got them, Aaron. You take care of business. Tell the kid we miss him,” Oh, Hotch thinks. I wish I could. 

They board the plane and Hotch gets in his car, breaking every traffic law there is in his haste to arrive at the crime scene. He probably should have told them. It would have been the right thing to do. They’d find out eventually, of course they would, and then they’d be angry with him. You just can’t hide something like that, especially not from profilers.

It doesn’t matter, Hotch thinks. The team is going to fall apart anyway now. It’s over. They’re better off working one last case before everything goes to shit.

He runs out of his car, the sympathetic LEO pointing him in the direction of the body, Spencer’s body, all blocked off with police tape and officers and photographers. They shouldn’t be allowed to see him like this. They don’t even know him. 

“Hotchner?” A man asks, the one he talked to on the phone. “I’m so sorry,” he says, reading it in his eyes, and Hotch just pushes past him, too devastated to exchange pleasantries.

Reid’s torso is entirely torn open. Hotch can see inside of him, his bruised up neck, the contusion the size of a grown man’s hands. He’s covered in his own blood, and worst of all are his open eyes, not particularly scared or pained but open all the same, staring blankly ahead where they used to move back and forth, reading a page of dense text within seconds.

How could something like this happen?

Hotch’s breath stutters in his chest, too shallow. 

“Can you get him to the Medical Examiner? I need everything I can on this. When was he found?”

“About 40 minutes ago now. I’m no expert but, it looks like he hasn’t been dead for too long.” Hotch nods. He agrees. He has to pretend this isn’t Spencer, or he’s going to lose his mind. This is something different from any other case, different from being called in for help or emailed for a consultation. It’s something beyond even just getting justice for a victim or a victim’s family.

This is revenge.

The ME can only work so fast, and in the meantime Hotch asks around for information. The sheriff, a couple feet away, says something about informing his next of kin, but Hotch almost trips in his haste to shut down that train of thought.

“Let me do it,” he says, slightly out of breath. He can’t tell the sheriff that he’s trying to hide this from everyone, that there’s absolutely no way his mother can ever know. The sheriff nods in understanding and Hotch thanks him.

Nobody in the diner saw anything. The truckers who called it in describe how they found him, said their elevated seating gave them a better view of the diner. They saw what looked like a pretty gory scene, got out just to check and sure enough, a body around the side of the building. 

“Did you see anyone else? Anyone leaving in a hurry? You might not even know that you-”

“I’m sorry, man. He was completely by himself when we saw him. I saw other customers but none of them looked like they were trying to get away before the cops showed up if you know what I mean. I really hope you find who did this, but that’s all I got. I’m sorry.” he says, and genuinely looks it despite his gruff way of speaking.

“God,” the other one says. “He looked so young. I couldn’t look for too long but...He couldn’t have been much older than 22.”

“29.” Hotch says, pained and small. “Everyone always said he looked much younger, though.”

“Oh, fuck.” The first one said, the one who did most of the talking. “That’s- You knew him? That’s your friend?” Hotch nods, and the guy curses under his breath.

“Ah shit, man. I’m sorry. You’ll get the bastard who did this.” He claps Hotch on the shoulder, and then they’re gone.

Along with all of Hotch’s possible leads.

The ME won’t get back with her findings until tomorrow. Meanwhile in Maine, the team has a new victim to add to their current victimology. They tell Hotch what they’ve found, that the dismemberment was postmortem, but the decapitation was the cause of the death. Ultimately, the left foot and hand of every victim never turned up, so the unsub is definitely keeping them as trophies. Hotch listens and adds in what he hopes is helpful information when he can, and then lets them go.

In bed, finally out of his suit, a strange part of him wishes he could keep Reid’s body here with him, just so he doesn’t have to be alone with all those strangers. He puts his face in his hands, wants to get the crying over with, but it just doesn’t come. That just makes him feel worse, all this pressure in his heart and mind that can’t be released. 

He must fall into an emotionally exhausted sleep at some point, because his body feels strange. He moves sluggishly, feels halfway between sleep and consciousness, too tired to really move and feel his body but not tired enough to be soundly asleep, less aware of himself.

“Hotch?” A voice asks as Hotch bleeds into blinding whiteness, his body leaving his bed, leaving this plane of existence. Hotch can’t see anything, his eyes adjusting to the unforgiving brightness.

“Hotch?” It asks again, the choked way they pronounce the vowel is so familiar. It gets stuck in their throat, and he knows that sound. 

“Reid?” he cries out, trying to find him. He looks around, but his eyes sparkle with phosphenes. Hotch hadn’t known what they were called, but Reid had informed him one day in an unprompted tangent, told him that pressure on the eyes, such as from a hand rubbing them or blinking too hard, causes stimulation of the retinal cells which confuses the brain into thinking it’s seeing light.

“Hotch,” Reid’s voice says this time, sure of itself, sure of who’s in front of him. It sounds relieved, fond. 

“Reid,” Hotch says, overwhelmed. He can see him now. He’s standing, equal with Hotch, and Hotch has to touch him, has to feel him.

“I wasn’t expecting you.”

“You’re dead,” Hotch says sadly, softly and reverently touching Reid’s blazer. Reid exhales.

“Yeah...I- Yeah. How are you here?”

“I don’t know. I was in my bed and then...Here I am. Am I dead, too?” He asks suddenly. Reid shakes his head quickly.

“Oh, no. I would know. Um, I don’t really know where we are. It seems like a very stereotypical Heaven, as depicted in Western media. I haven’t seen any of the unsubs yet, and there’s been a lot of them over the years, so I don’t think that’s a coincidence. Let’s assume that we’re in Heaven.”

“You get introduced to each other?’ Hotch asks, always able to get to the heart of what Reid’s saying, pull out the most important parts. Reid nods.

“It’s-” Reid stops, laughs to himself. “Heaven is a lot like an NA meeting. You stand there, say your name. Hi, I’m Spencer Reid. I’m here because- And then I didn’t know how I died, so a voice like, stage whispered to me? Like they do in plays? And they told me I was murdered, which was news to me. So I told everyone I was murdered, and they sort of hummed, said hello to me. Maybe we’re in the Beltway Clean Cops,” Reid muses. Hotch tries to laugh politely at that, but finds that he can’t. He breathes out shakily and his eyes feel wet.

“I’m so sorry,” he says. “I’m so sorry. I couldn’t keep you safe.” Reid looks at him warmly.

“It’s not your fault,” he says. “Hey, come with me. I want to show you something.” Hotch follows him. A part of him wants to smile. Of course Reid already knows his way around. It’s never taken him long to learn the lay of the land. He’s probably constructing a mental map as they speak.

They walk in silence and Hotch still feels that pressure in his chest, the urge to just sob and sob for hours, but it feels stupid to do that when Reid is right here. His brain can’t comprehend this and neither can his heart. Why mourn someone you’re currently talking to? And yeah, he’s dead, but Hotch isn’t experiencing life with him dead yet and it’s screwing everything up even as he’s grateful for this incredibly strange and unique opportunity.

The endless whiteness transforms into a scenic area, a park with flowers and trees and healthy grass, a water fountain and a bunny eating nearby. It’s beautiful, and birds chirp lightly in the background, like music. 

Suddenly, Reid puts a blanket over the grass, and Hotch knows for a fact he hadn’t had that before, and gestures for Hotch to sit down. The land is soft and forgiving as he sits, legs crossed. 

“It’s nice, I guess. I need to find some books to read to pass the time, and there will be so much time.” Reid says. He leans back with his hands on the blanket, the bulk of his weight resting on his wrists, and frowns when he sees that Hotch isn’t paying attention to him. He sits up.

“You need to eat something, you know.” Reid says, and Hotch looks up, as if drawn out of reverie. “I know you have a tendency to be self sacrificial in times like this and think that by suffering you’re somehow repenting for a...a sin you’ve committed, but you’ve done nothing wrong here. You don’t need to repent.” His voice is soft and gentle. It should be soothing, but it just breaks Hotch’s heart more. He’s never gonna hear that again.

“I wasn’t fast enough,” he says. Reid gives him a look.

“I imagine it’s pretty difficult to be somewhere on time if you don’t know the event is going to occur in the first place. How could you save me, Hotch? You didn’t know someone was killing me. Don’t hold yourself to unattainable standards.”

“I should’ve just known, I should have felt it.”

“So what? You’re psychic now?” Reid jokes amicably. “Hey, I’m safe here. That’s worth something, isn’t it?” 

“I think I can save you,” Hotch says. He doesn’t know where that comes from. He says it before he can think.

“How?” Reid asks, eyebrows furrowing. “I’m...I died, Hotch. I’m sorry. I don’t think I’m coming back. Though I do admit it feels sort of...temporary here.”

“Is this Purgatory?” Reid shakes his head.

“No,” he says. “I just don’t feel settled here, but when you go to Heaven you’re supposed to just feel like...like you’re finally home. And I don’t feel that way. Am I a ghost, do you think? My soul can’t rest?”

“Mine wouldn’t be able to, if the man who killed me was walking around a free man.” Reid nods at that.

“Yeah...Yeah, I don’t like that. It makes me feel restless.”

“I think I can bring you back.”

“Hotch,” Reid scoffs. “That defies all the laws of- Of everything, really. That’s highly improbable, and-”

“Reid,” Hotch says firmly. “I astral projected into Heaven in my sleep to talk to you.”

“That’s...true…” he says, still seeming unconvinced, biting his lip.

“Will you let me try? Can I try to bring you back?” He’s got his heart set on this now.

“I guess…” Reid trails off. “I guess the worst thing that can happen is I stay dead, which is really just...nothing changing. Why not?” Hotch hugs him, something he’s only done a handful of times during Reid’s life but now thinks he should have done more.

“I’m gonna find who did this. I’m never going to give up.” Reid looks at him with something like pity.

“Hotch, I need to say this. If you ever do give up…” He stops when he sees Hotch opening his mouth to argue.

“I know you say you’re not going to, but listen to me, please. If you do...it’s okay. I’m not going to be upset with you, or resent you or the others. You’re attempting to do something that, by all constraints of the universe, shouldn’t be possible. I can’t expect you to be able to pull it off, even if I know you’re a man who is...extremely capable and true to his word. I need you to know that.” 

Hotch’s mouth is set in a firm line. He’s always had trouble with the words, never the action, but the words that don’t come easily. Not words that pass along information or procedure but words that describe feelings, and Haley had tried to coax them out of him his entire life, and she made so much progress with him, but then everything fell apart and he lost his words again. 

To give a name to a feeling means you’re admitting to having it, it means admitting you were weak enough to feel something, anything. That you were, despite your best attempts to stave them off, overtaken by forces beyond your control, and you did the worst thing a human can ever do, which is to give in. You should have fought harder, should have gone down kicking and screaming, but instead you let them knock you over and possess you. And it is so embarrassing to admit to feeling those things, shameful to the point of physical pain to say the words. 

But Reid gets that, because he’s the very same way. Hotch has never been able to get a clear answer from him, a good read of his emotional barometer in years and years of knowing him, because when Reid gets overwhelmed by those tidal waves of feeling he does things like stay up all night and obsessively pour over texts like maybe he can finally figure out the cure to feelings, so he can remain untouchable and pristine, a perfect little robot.

When Reid gets overwhelmed, he develops a life shattering drug addiction and keeps it all to himself, just to avoid that horrible moment of…

Vulnerability. It sounds pathetic when he thinks of it this way, that they tear themselves apart the way they do just to avoid that.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Reid says, words which couldn’t be more perfect. Reid and Hotch have this in common, too. They’re willing to venture out to talk about feelings, as long as they’re not their own. It’s the one exception they make. 

“Hotch,” Reid says suddenly, like a thought has just occurred to him. “Have they told my mom?” Hotch twists guiltily on the blanket.

“I wouldn’t let them. I...Nobody knows but me, and a few of the local LEOs.”

“You didn’t tell the team?” Reid says, frowning. “Why?”

“They’re working another case, and they need to focus all their attention-”

“Hotch. Be honest with me. I literally can’t tell another soul.”

“I don’t want it to be real,” Hotch says, stubborn. “And if you give me a chance...If you just let me do this one thing, they never have to know.”

“My mom...If she gets notified...I don’t think they’ll ever be able to get her back.” Hotch nods sadly. The dead should have the luxury of freedom from the guilt of leaving the living behind, but even now Reid frowns, guilt washing over him like the tide. 

“That’s why I need to do this. So she never has to know. Maybe we can save her, too.” Reid nods at that, lips pressed together.

“Yeah, Hotch.” he says. “Find who did this to me.” And that’s something he can work with, a mission, a goal, an objective. He nods firmly and the blanket is gone. Reid is gone.

He’s awake in bed. The conversation didn’t feel like more than half an hour long but in the strange way time passes in sleep and in dreams, Hotch finds it’s been 7 hours. 

He answers a quick text from Rossi asking how things are going on his end, reads the case updates Rossi gives him. They’re closing in on a few possibles, and even though Hotch never hopes for new victims, he’s scared for them to come back. An easy case is always a good thing but the moment they come back, this all ends.

The ME meets with Hotch in the cold, blue room and pulls Reid out of a drawer like he’s a pair of socks. His eyes are shut now, a small service to the dead, a show of respect. You’ve seen your horror, now move on. Hotch had wanted to shut his eyes at the crime scene, but knew better. 

Hotch stares sadly down at Reid’s body and the ME stares at Hotch with sad eyes as well, his sadness spreading to her like a disease. 

“You knew him.” she says. It’s not a question. Hotch nods.

“Yes, I did. He was a good friend of mine.” He shakes his head, as if to clear it, and looks at her, alert this time.

“I’m sorry. Did we find out the official COD?” She nods.

“Despite extensive damage to the trachea and bruising on his neck, strangulation wasn’t the COD. Actual COD was blood loss from this...Well, I don’t know if I should call it several stab wounds or one big wound, but that was the source of the blood loss.” She is, of course, referring to the crater in Reid’s stomach where things like skin and intestines and organs used to be before they were turned into a bloody heap of loose tissue. Hotch was afraid of that. Strangulation would have been the more merciful act.

“So he suffered?” Hotch asks. It’s a stupid question, the answer so obvious the ME doesn’t even answer, nor does she scold him. She looks at him sympathetically for a moment until he breaks the silence again.

“Were there any signs of sexual assault?” She shakes her head, and Hotch exhales in relief.

“Tox screen came back negative?” She nods.

“Yup. Although I did see track marks consistent with intravenous drug use on the inside of his left elbow-” No, please let him have his pride . Even now, Hotch is struck with a ridiculous fear that Reid will lose his job if word gets out. Then he remembers Reid can’t get fired, because he’s dead, and he’s back in that dark place.

“He had a bad nurse once when he had a hospital stay. Kept missing the veins,” he interrupts. It’s a flimsy excuse but he hopes she’ll buy it. She won’t, but as long as she pretends until he’s out of the door, he’ll be satisfied.

Hotch tries to do victimology on Reid. Does being a federal agent make you high risk or low risk? Because it sure as hell puts a huge target on your back. And did the unsub know he was one? Does being a former drug addict while holding that same federal position make you high risk? What about being autistic in a world that doesn’t wait for explanations? Being skinny, young, and relatively nonthreatening?

What about being Spencer Reid? Hotch wishes he could say no but he looks at Reid’s life, going back one year, five years, going back an entire lifetime and it seems like it’s always put him in harm’s way. High risk, indeed. He could spread out his trauma across a hundred people and it would still seem like too much for anyone to deal with. 

Hotch falls asleep in his bed, emotionally exhausted, still in his suit. He’s going to get up in a few hours and get back to work, but he’s no good like this, depression making him sluggish and lethargic, unable to focus.

“Oh, Hotch,” Reid says, sitting on the blanket. The grass seems a little greener today, or maybe memories of Heaven just fade quickly, because Hotch really isn’t supposed to have any. Reid seems surprised to see him.

“I didn’t think you’d be able to make it today, working a case and all. My...case...Um-” Reid tries to change the subject. “I was writing you a letter but since you’re here, I’ll just read it to you. I wasn’t finished yet.” 

Hotch doesn’t ask Reid how he planned on even sending it to him in the first place. If anyone could find a way it was him, anyway. Reid straightens the paper and clears his throat, stops.

“This is the same stationary I write my mother on,” he says happily. Hotch tries not to read into that, fails horribly.

“It’s very nice stationary,” he says, trying to hold it together. Reid smiles at him, touched, puts a hand over his. Reid hates touching people’s hands, but maybe Hotch isn’t “people” to him anymore. Not after all these years.

“Dear Agent Hotchner,” Reid begins, and Hotch snorts weakly.

“You’re dead, Reid. I don’t think protocol matters anymore.”

“Shh,” Reid says gently. “Let me read.”

“Dear Agent Hotchner,

Today isn’t so bad, all things considered. I mean, I’m dead now, which is strange, considering I wasn’t just a few days ago. I find myself missing my creature comforts, my apartment, a love note to literature, and all the books it contains. I expected that much, but oddly I find myself missing even the...unsavory BAU coffee.” He pauses, makes a face when he remembers the taste of it. Bitter. He continues.

“Haley says that I’m really good at being dead for a newbie-” Hotch’s breath catches.

“You spoke with Haley?” Reid nods emphatically, clearly excited by this topic. He sets the letter down to turn towards Hotch, makes eye contact.

“A lot. We’re friends now. You know some people are- are bad at being dead? Haley says I’m doing a really good job, better than most people, especially for my first couple days.” Hotch breathes deeply, blinking back tears. Oh, this is... Oh. 

“How can someone be bad at being dead?” he asks. Reid smiles. He’s missed these sudden outbursts of knowledge. Infodumping. He’s done his research. 

“You know it’s kind of funny?” Reid says, laughing to himself. “They hate that they’re dead so they try to- they try to kill themselves. It makes no sense,” His laughter is off putting to Hotch, but he doesn’t feel he has the right to judge.

“They jump off of the top of a building and wake up tomorrow with everyone else, like nothing ever happened. I think I’d feel embarrassed. It just seems a bit redundant and dramatic to me.” Hotch considers that quietly.

“Does Haley ever mention me?” he says, after a moment of silence.

“Oh, you’re all we talk about. She’s really funny. I can see why you married her. I mean, I could always see why, but I get it even more now than before, which really-”

“Is she mad at me?” Hotch interjects, already used to this. His amicable way of cutting Reid off before he gets too lost in one train of thought. 

He always thought Gideon did it too harshly, abrupt in a way that felt much like a slap. Hotch saw that brief moment of hurt flashing in Reid’s eyes, that dejected lowering of his head. The words were still there, waiting to be spoken, stuck in his throat like a punishment. It was a young look that Hotch could place because he’d worn it before, when his dad ignored him in spite of all his best efforts. Gideon did not consider this. 

Most of the time, it wasn’t about the material itself, but the timing. Hotch did his best to make him understand this, and that furthermore, it wasn’t a rejection of Reid himself. That was the most important takeaway of all.

Years of quiet redirection. You have a brilliant mind so use it, but use it where we need it. We can come back to the wing flapping speeds of hummingbirds later, but I need you here now. Stern and clear instructions, Reid nodding. This was what worked. On the occasion that Hotch, stressed and impatient, cut off Reid using the Gideon method, he found he stayed up, guilty, wishing he could suck the words back into the cruel mouth they were spat out of. 

He remembered a time earlier this year, when Reid took it upon himself to stop, seeming to pick up on a pattern and carry out the next logical steps himself. 

“I’m rambling, aren’t I?” He recognized, looking at Hotch.

“Yes,” Hotch said, as kindly as possible.

“I should probably get to the point,” and he directed himself, the way Hotch had so many times, the way that was comfortable. 

Hotch had put a lot of work into understanding Reid. Reid and his mind, because though he was often reduced to the latter he was still a person with complexities and good qualities beyond his intelligence. That’s why he was such a valuable addition to the team. That’s why Hotch didn’t cut him loose the second he missed a plane intentionally during a case. 

That was why Hotch, with all of his self taught alpha maleness, developed as a way to protect himself, was the first one to elbow his way to the front and advocate for Reid. It’s why even when Reid was 22 and nobody thought he knew a damn thing, Hotch immediately silenced them with the glare of a superior and said Reid, what do you see? And pushed when Reid tried to self consciously disregard his own thoughts.

“Nope!” Reid says cheerily, and then freezes. “Well, actually…” Hotch braces for impact.

“She said she’s upset that you let Jack eat so many sugary breakfast cereals. For Christ’s sake, the boy only gets one set of adult teeth!” Reid repeats, mimicking Haley’s idiolect. That was another word Reid had taught him, explained it to him so many years ago in Memphis when he was working on a linguistic profile. Things were better then. Reid was still alive and so was Haley, and Hotch could protect them.

“Those were, um...Haley’s words, by the way.” Reid says sheepishly, as though that weren’t obvious, and Hotch lets himself laugh.

“The people that jump off the buildings…” Hotch says. “Is there blood? I mean, when they land.”

“Squeaky clean. Not a single drop of blood.” Reid says. Hotch nods. Interesting.

“Um, there was something else Haley said.” Reid’s eyebrows furrow when he says this, which makes Hotch almost afraid to ask.

“What’d she say?”

“She said...She said that she’s sorry this keeps happening to you,” Reid says, and looks Hotch right in the eyes as he says it, which makes the words feel like a punch. 

“She said she knows how hard you try and that you always beat yourself up about these things but it’s really not always up to you to save everyone. You’re just one man.” 

“I know that,” Hotch says gently, like Haley is right there. Reid puts a hand over his, and to Hotch’s surprise it’s very warm.

“She said you’d say that,” Reid says softly. Hotch swallows roughly.

“I’m gonna find who did this, Reid.” Hotch says. Reid pats Hotch’s hand with his own, and then pulls away. His eyes are big and kind.

“I know you will,” he says, but it sounds like it’s more for Hotch’s benefit than his own.

Hotch wakes up to a phone call, the ringtone that means Work feeling like a jackhammer on his skull. He groans, still too exhausted to get back to work, and answers without looking.

“Hotchner,” he says, and then clears the roughness away from his voice.

“Aaron,” Rossi says. “We think the unsub is Cameron Lewis. We’re on our way to pursue right now. We’ll let you know how it goes.”

“Does he profile as dangerous?”

“Nah,” Rossi says. “We don’t even have reason to believe he’s armed, but he might try to run. I’ll call you in a few, okay? Get some sleep. You sound awful.” 

“Okay, Dave.” he says, rubbing a hand over his tired face. “Be safe. Keep me updated.”

“Sure thing,” Rossi says, and then hangs up. 

Almost before Hotch can process what just happened, he’s asleep again.

Reid’s hand is pressing hard against his eye, the way it always does when he has a bad migraine. He rubs hard, hands pulling flesh as they slide down his face, exaggerating his dark circles. The whole thing seems counterproductive, but Hotch has always tried not to disrupt his self soothing methods

“What is it?” Hotch asks urgently.

“Probably caffeine withdrawal,” Reid grimaces, squeezing his eyes shut. They flutter open and he shuts them again, unable to look at Hotch. 

“I asked around for coffee the other day, and then some old man was like ‘ What do you need coffee for? You got somewhere to be?’ I guess he had a point. My head still hurts though.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Hotch asks. Reid’s eyes screw shut against a new wave of pain.

“I don’t know,” he says, starting to pant. “I- I feel weird.”

“Weird?”

“Something’s…” Reid makes a sound like the air is being knocked out of him and doubles over, holding his abdomen.  

“My stomach hurts, Hotch. Oh, god. Like stabbing pains.” Hotch grimaces, goosebumps rising everywhere. That feeling that something is deeply wrong. More wrong than one of your agents, your friend, dying because you couldn’t keep him safe? 

“Do you hurt anywhere else?” he asks, preparing himself. Reid rubs a hand over his neck.

“My neck feels sore, like it’s bruised on the outside and inside. This isn’t right. Caffeine withdrawal doesn’t cause this. A headache, yes, but not this.”

“Where are you?” Hotch tries to ask. He’s never given a cognitive to a dead person before, isn’t even sure it’ll work, but he has to try. Right now there’s nobody else who can give him the answers he needs. Nobody except the son of a bitch that did this in the first place, and if Hotch wants to find him, he needs to look inside Reid’s mind.

“Reid, close your eyes.” Reid nods, diligently keeping them shut. He already knows where this is going.

“Where are you? What do you see?”

“It’s...damp. It smells like mildew and- and metal. I taste blood. There’s a man...he’s taller than me I think, but I’m on the ground so I can’t really tell. It’s just a guess. He has dark hair. It’s dark where I am. A- a basement, maybe? It could be anywhere, but I don’t think I’m underground. There’s rotting wood. That’s the wet smell. Pipes and...drops of water.”

“Where did he take you from?” Reid frowns, shakes his head.

“I don’t know that part.”

“Well someone found you behind a diner. The Blue Basket?”

“Oh,” Reid says softly. “They have good pancakes there.”

“Reid,” he says firmly.

“I wasn’t near there. I was closer to work. Oh! The parking lot. I walked to the subway station.”

“Blitz attack?” Reid closes his eyes harder, like he can squeeze the memory out of his brain.

“I don’t know,” he says. “He-” He inhales sharply. 

“Yes, yes,” he nods. “Blitz attack. I think he hit me in the head...It reminded me of Tobias.” That name stirs a thought in Hotch, shoves the part of him that wants to remain levelheaded and professional to the ground like a middle school bully. 

“When was the last time you used?” Hotch asks. He won’t say shot up. He uses euphemism to sanitize it for Reid because he won’t do it for himself. If Reid were still alive, he’d balk at the question, but instead he just presses his lips together like he’s trying not to cry. That’s something Hotch knows just as well as he does. Shame. 

“I slipped up a few times,” Reid says guiltily. “I’d shoot up once, throw it away when I was clear minded enough. I had to do it fast, before I could think about it too long, or I knew I’d keep it. The urge is always there. Um...When Gideon left, and I thought you and Emily were leaving too. When...When Emily died.” He almost whimpers. 

“I even...when Haley…” he’s whispering at this point. “I almost just gave into it again that time, but I thought, Hotch needs us right now. You needed us at the top of our game to...to give our statements, and protect our- our family . So I deleted the dealer’s number…” He laughs tearfully. 

“Funny thing about having an eidetic memory, that’s more symbolic than anything else.”

“You used as recently as a few months ago?” That hurts, the not knowing. Reid always being on the cliff’s edge and never telling anyone. The knowledge that Reid could have fallen and he never would have seen it coming. 

“Oh, Reid. You could have told someone.”

“I was mad at you,” Reid sniffs helplessly, looking everywhere but at Hotch, and sounding very young. “For lying. I always trusted you not to- to never lie. And then that lie was like...the biggest lie of all, really. And you let me believe it.” Hotch doesn’t have a good answer to that, because he did hurt Reid, and he was dishonest. 

“I was mad at myself, too. But even if you had come into my office cursing me out, I still would’ve...I would’ve helped you, Reid.”

“I know,” Reid says, wipes a tear. “That’s why I couldn’t stay mad at you. Because I know how you are.” He exhales, calming himself down.

“I’m really sorry.” Hotch says.

“It’s okay. Addiction is like...a ghost that haunts you for your entire life. It doesn’t go away, but you get used to it being there. I just try to tell it to keep quiet most nights. It can stay as long as it doesn’t make any noise...Oh. I’m using present tense.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“Hey,” he says. “Thanks for not firing me- Are you crying?” he asks, turning his head to observe Hotch like a lab specimen, like he can’t comprehend what he’s seeing.

“Hotch,” he says, more gentle now. “Why are you crying?” That startles an incredulous laugh out of Hotch, the sound hurting his throat.

“You died, Reid.”

“Well, yeah,” he says, still confused, like that’s not an adequate explanation. He’s quiet for a second, watching as tears fall from Hotch’s eyes, slide down his face. He can’t seem to understand.

“Is losing me that bad?” Hotch’s face is pained and desperate, eyebrows drawing together.

“Well, I love you, Reid,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I- We- The team loves you. This is the end of the world.” Reid looks so sad, suddenly. He takes Hotch’s hand and nuzzles into it, holding it to his cheek. 

“I’m so sorry I died,” he whispers. Hotch gives him a watery smile, hand stroking over his hair once. He learned that from someone. Someone who always knew how to make him feel better.

“It’s not exactly your fault.”

‘“I don’t know,” Reid says, shrugging. “I could have bled out slower, given you more time to find me.”

“That’s not funny,” Hotch says, firm and with no room for argument. Reid shrinks, nuzzling his hand again in apology.

“He had green eyes,” Reid says suddenly. “Caucasian male, average build. I’m thinking...early 30s. He never said anything to me, so I can’t place him based on regional accent variations.”

“I don’t suppose you can fax a composite sketch to my office.” Hotch jokes, exasperated. Reid smiles, pats him on the back.

“Did you get enough rest?” he asks, and Hotch remembers he’s been napping when he could have been getting work done this whole time. Reid sees the guilt on his face because he shushes him before he can speak.

“You’re sitting with an insomniac who would obsessively read over case files instead of sleeping. I know how you feel right now, but all those times you told me I needed to get some sleep if I wanted to solve the case? You were right, and that’s still true. You did the right thing. Now, get up. I don’t know why, but I feel like Rossi needs you.”

Reid is right, like always, and Hotch wakes up just in time to answer a call from Rossi, suddenly wide awake and nervous to hear how the takedown went.

“Dave, is everyone okay?” he asks, which seems to stun Rossi into a beat of surprised silence.

“Oh, yeah. It went smoothly.” Rossi laughs. “Morgan tackled the guy before he could even step foot out of the house. It was over before it started. We’re taking him in for questioning right now, but his house is like a shrine to being a freaky hand collector, so he’s getting locked up for sure. How are things on your end?”

Oh, they’re going great, Dave. I astral projected into Heaven again to talk to our dead colleague who you don’t even know is dead yet, and he gave me clues to solving his murder.

“They’re fine,” Hotch says.

“You know, Aaron. I don’t like secrets, and you’re being awfully secretive about this- this- I don’t even know what it is. That’s how secretive you’re being. Now, either something’s wrong or the CIA has you working double time on a covert mission. If that’s the case, can you at least let me know so I can back off before I get sniped on my way into the coffee shop tomorrow? I’m not a rat, despite what my ex wives will tell you.”

“I’m really not at liberty to discuss it, Dave. It’s a sensitive case. I’ll fill you in when you guys get back, but over the phone just isn’t the way to do it.” Rossi groans.

“Okay, Aaron. But the second this plane lands I’m going to descend upon your office demanding answers.”

“It’s understood,” he replies.

“Aha!” Rossi says. “You’ve started to talk like CIA. We’ve already lost you- Oh, gotta go. I’ll speak with you later.”

“Goodbye, Dave.” Hotch says, and puts his phone down. It won’t be long before he loses that friendship, too. 

Hotch belatedly realizes that he forgot to do something that should have been the obvious first order of business. He forgot to look for other murders with the same MO to see if Reid’s murderer was serial or not. It’s basic victimology, and it slips his mind completely. He should have known exactly what to do and yet he hadn’t. Grief makes him useless.

It’s hard to make the call to Garcia seem casual but she’s always ready with her fingers poised on the keyboard and so when Hotch asks her to work her magic she’s got the answers before he even gets the chance to have a breakdown over the phone.

He writes the locations down where Garcia has found five murders occurring over the course of five months and crossing state lines. Five murders and four states. The MO differs slightly on victim number 1, a strangulation being the COD, but seeing the consistency in victim type, undeniably the same killer. All male, skinny, young looking boys with hair on the longer side.

And the victim Garcia can’t know about, victim number 6. 

Hotch finds that, as he looks over the list, the only person he trusts to be able to do a proper geographic profile is...Reid.

Hotch doesn’t normally sleep so much, but in these extenuating circumstances, sleeping is just part of working the case, because it takes him back to a victim that needs extensive interviewing. This time, however, he’s trying to recruit the victim, which is not exactly standard procedure. Hotch finishes a whiskey on the rocks and falls asleep, this time in proper bedclothes.

“You want me to solve my own murder?” Reid laughs, stretched out next to Hotch on that blanket again. Hotch opens his mouth to explain himself, but Reid is already sitting up, ready to get to work.

“Okay, give me the locations.” He has a pen and a paper suddenly, and Hotch panics. He didn’t bring his list with him when he came and he isn’t sure he can remember all of the details. 

And then he’s speaking and the words come out without him having to think too hard, easily accessible, and Reid is nodding along as he jots them down. He has a map now, and is marking it with different colored dots.

“Interesting,” he says, pulling back. He’s using the voice he uses when he’s only talking to himself, and Hotch has snuck up behind him. 

“He used a forensic countermeasure by crossing state lines so the murders wouldn’t happen in the same jurisdiction and he could escape detection, but still struck twice in Maryland. That’s a big risk. I mean, why take that chance? It must be significant to him. My question is how Maryland didn’t realize they had a serial on their hands.”

“MO changed slightly from first to second victim,” Hotch supplies. “He got carried away with strangulation on the first and never made it to the cutting part. He gained confidence on the second kill and escalated. It made the two murders seem like drastically different crimes.” 

Reid nods at that, taking it in. He shakes the marker in his hand and hears it rattle, and Hotch remembers seeing that so many times before in police precincts all over the country. He marks something on the map and then pulls back.

“He struck close to the same area in Maryland twice, and then in every state...Do you see it?” Hotch squints, scanning the map.

“It’s always near a junkyard.” Reid nods.

“Every time,” he says. “They must have significance to him, and based on the fact that the first murder happened in Maryland…” He circles the dot he put there.

“And he risked getting caught by killing there a second time...I’d say our unsub lives in Maryland, somewhere within 25 miles of the first crime scene.” Hotch nods.

“Thank you, Reid.”

He doesn’t discuss the more gruesome parts of the crime with Reid, doesn’t say what Reid already knows, that he must have been a surrogate for a source of rage in the unsub’s life. He pulls out his cell phone and sighs deeply.

“Garcia, can you look up something oddly specific for me?” 

“Oh, I do that everyday. Whatcha got for me, captain?” He hears the brush of her hands as they discard some stray crumbs.

“I need you to look for crimes in Maryland going back 35 years involving a junkyard and strangulations.”

“That is oddly specific. Give me a minute, and...I’m not finding anything.”

“Okay,” Hotch says, thinking. He’s not entirely out of options yet. “Try stabbing murders in Maryland involving junkyards. See if any arrests were made.”

There’s a pause as Garcia types, and then she exhales, as if overcome by emotion.

“What is it, Garcia?”

“Oh, sir. A 43 year old Nancy Adams was found stabbed to death in a local junkyard in Maryland in 1994. She was found by her son Kyle, who told police he went looking for her. According to the report, Nancy had told Kyle earlier that day that she was going to get an estimate for some old car parts she had laying around, but she never came back.”

“After a few hours, Kyle went looking for her and found her dead, but claimed he saw a teenage boy running away from the junkyard with blood on his clothes. Maryland PD later arrested a Justin Kilpatrick for the murder but he was 16 at the time and tried as a minor. He got 20 years in prison and is set to get out in...Oh. Five months ago.”

“So that was the stressor. What happened to Kyle after that?” Hotch asks, already knowing they’ve got their unsub.

“His mother was his only family in the area so he was sent to live in a foster home and...This poor baby. Oh, things just never get any better for him. So he lived in a foster home but was taken out of it after the social worker noticed he had extensive bruising on his neck. The foster parents had tried to dress him in turtlenecks and high collared shirts, so the social worker got suspicious and checked his neck. Apparently, the foster dad had been repeatedly choking him over the course of several months. They got arrested for child abuse and put away but the next foster home wasn’t much better so Kyle ran away.”

“Can I get a picture and address?”

“Already on its way, sir. Are you- Don’t tell me you’re going in alone?”

“Thank you, Garcia,” Hotch says, about to hang up without answering when Garcia calls out “Be safe!” and he lifts it back up to his ear.

“Thank you,” he says again, and disconnects the call.

All in all, the actual takedown leaves Hotch feeling hollow. Going in alone could get him fired, but that’s the least of his worries, and this isn’t the first time he’s failed to follow procedure. 

Adams behaves oddly when Hotch kicks in the door, startling like he’s going to run for it but ultimately staying still, a husk of a man, defeated and almost thankful to be caught. He’s not particularly muscular, and Hotch thinks if his victims had been any bigger or stronger then he wouldn’t have been able to get away with it. No wonder he blitzed Reid, he was too much of a coward and too weak to do anything else. 

He smashes Kyle’s face into the side of the van completely unnecessarily, just to watch his nose bleed. He brings him in and doesn’t feel any better, doesn’t feel like anything has changed. Reid has been avenged but he isn’t coming back and that’s all that matters. It’s the only thing that matters in the entire world.

He’s failed him again.

Hotch falls into what he’s sure will be a restless sleep. The team is going to be back in the morning and Reid is still dead. Dead and gone and sitting in a fridge because Hotch begged the ME despite her space limitations to please just house his body for a few more days until he makes the proper arrangements. It’s denial is what it is. He needs to bury him already, let him rest. 

The team is going to shatter at the news and Hotch almost hopes one of them shoots him just so he doesn’t have to see the aftermath of what was once one of the best teams the FBI had to offer.

He doesn’t expect to be back in the endless white, with Reid nowhere to be found. It makes him panic. Maybe he’s dead now too.

“Reid?” he calls. “Reid?” He runs, runs and searches. Some part of his body tells him this is Georgia. This is Georgia and they’re running through the dark and looking for Reid all over again, trying to find him on the farmland while Reid bleeds and digs and waits. He calls and there’s no reply, never any reply.

And then they hear the gunshot. He panics.

“Reid?” he calls one last time, and stops running. There’s nothing Reid could be hiding behind. There’s nothing here but whiteness and more whiteness, no edges, no exits, no solid shapes.

The grass comes back, the fountain and the birds, the sunny day. Still no Reid, but the blanket is back, with someone new sitting on it.

It’s Haley.

She pats the spot beside her, ignoring Hotch’s bewildered and pained expression. She looks beautiful and carefree, her hair the longer blonde he’s used to, the hair she had when they got married, and the short, dark hair of her days hiding from Foyet long gone.

“Haley,” he says breathlessly, walking to her as if possessed. He falls to his knees beside her and hugs her tight. 

“Hello, Aaron,” she says warmly, shutting her eyes and hugging him back.

“It’s good to see you,” she smiles.

“Haley, I thought I’d never get to see you again. I- Have you seen Reid anywhere?” he asks, suddenly remembering why he’s here. Haley shakes her head.

“He left earlier. He had to get going. He said he had somewhere to be.”

“What?” Hotch asks, trying not to panic. “Well, where did he go?” Haley smiles, doesn’t speak.

“Is he okay?” he tries, when he realizes she isn’t going to answer. Haley nods.

“He’s fine, Aaron,” she says, patting his hand. “Forget about that for a second. Just sit with me, let me get a look at you.” She places one hand on each of his cheeks, turning his head to directly face hers, look into his eyes.

“Oh, look at you,” She traces a wrinkle near his mouth.

“You know why you have this?” she says. “Because you’re always frowning so much.” He looks at her, eyes softening. He doesn’t say a word. She knows everything, absolutely everything about him.

“Haley,” he begins to say, but she shushes him.

“I know,” she says, and the phrase is heavy. “I know that you try to get up and go about your day, and it’s like gravity is just crushing you to the ground. It’s hard to live like that, Aaron. Life doesn’t have to be so hard. I’m not sure if you know that. It’s okay for it to be easy sometimes. That doesn’t mean...It doesn’t mean that you’re not doing enough. Suffering isn’t an indicator of success.” Hotch’s lower lip trembles at that, at being known. 

“I just try to get out of bed each day,” he says, and it’s labored. “And do the right thing.” She holds his hand, kisses the back of it.

“And what’s the right thing, honey?”

“Well that- It changes, depending on the situation.”

“Well, whatever it is. The right thing is definitely not to hurt, and it’s definitely not to struggle. That’s not your life’s purpose. And it’s not Jack’s either.”

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you,” he says, but Haley shakes her head.

“None of that. You saved Jack,”

“Jack saved himself,” he says, dismissive. The words are full of self loathing. 

“Because of what you taught him. I got to hug him goodbye and say my last words to you. I got to have a final wish. That’s more than most people get. It’s everything I could have asked for. And because I know you need to hear it, I want you to know something else.”

“What?” Hotch says, holding her hand unbearably tighter. If she were alive, it would hurt, but she just lets him. She leans forward to whisper in his ear.

“It didn’t hurt.” That makes Hotch crumble, a sound escaping despite all his attempts to keep it in. It’s a garbled sound, anguished and pained and ripped right from his soul against his will. 

“Foyet wasn’t trying to hurt me, remember? He was trying to hurt you, he just used me to do it, so he made it quick. I didn’t feel a thing. I was just...gone.” Hotch starts to cry, grabs for Haley and buries his face in her chest as she strokes his hair. Everyone always thought Hotch was the pillar, but it had always been Haley.

They’d been like this before, years back when Hotch’s father was still alive, was still mean and brutal and Hotch would crawl into Haley’s window with a black eye or a cracked rib and she would just hold him like this.

(“I’m sorry,” he had said, disgusted by himself. She tucked his hair behind his ear. It had been longer back then, and then kissed his forehead.

“What are you sorry for?”

“You seeing me cry like this,” he said, like it was self explanatory. “It must be repulsive.”

“Oh, yeah,” she joked. “Because seeing the guy I’m in love with actually be human and have feelings is soo unattractive.” She adjusted her arms around him to hold him closer.

“People have cried over much less Aaron, and been justified in doing it. Can I ask you something?” Aaron nodded. She pushed her fingers through his hair as he listened to her heartbeat. Everything about her made him feel calm.

“Do you think your father is a monster?” Hotch lifted his head up at that suddenly, surprised by such a question.

“What? No, I-” His mouth set in a firm line. It would be stuck like that for the next 30 years. 

“Do you think you’re a monster?”

“I don’t know if monsters make a habit of crying into their girlfriend’s arms…” he said. His tone was flat, but it was meant to be a joke. One of the many reasons he loved Haley was because she understood that about him.

“No, I don’t believe they do,” she said gently, smiling. “You know, it’s okay to cry. It’s nothing to...to hate yourself over. Whenever you feel like it. Whenever it hurts. That’s when it’s okay. That’s when it’s…” She looked at Hotch, meeting his eyes. “Acceptable.” Because Hotch put his own behavior into two categories. That was how he made his life make sense.

“You and I, Aaron. We’re going to cry, and it’s never going to make us stop loving each other.”)

“It’s okay,” Haley soothes. “You lost a friend. You just lost someone you really care about, someone close to you. Someone...Someone who you vowed to protect, and you lost him in a really horrible way. It didn’t hurt when I died, but it did for him. It’s hard to reconcile that with yourself.”

“He told me he didn’t remember it,” Hotch says, voice raw and torn apart and hard to listen to.

“Of course he remembers. The memories come back to you after a few days. They get lost in transit, sort of. When you first get here, you’re not sure what led to your arrival, but then you slowly remember.”

“How horrible was it?” Haley shakes her head.

“There are some things we don’t gain anything from talking about,” she says, and Hotch feels sick, because that just means it was that horrible.

“Go ahead, Aaron. Mourn for him. It’s okay. You love that boy. You’ve watched him grow up. You helped train him and you’ve seen him become the amazing person he is now. How could you not be sad? He’s family, and you don’t have a lot of that left these days.”

“I just wish I could bring him back,” he says uselessly. Haley rubs his back.

“You know, I got the guy who did it? He was so pathetic, he didn’t even- He just let me arrest him, and it’s- You’d think the person who killed one of your agents is going to be some...some formidable creature but instead he was just this absolute lowlife , laying there in his own filth.”

“Right,” Haley says. “At least the Reaper was cool.”

“That’s not what I’m trying to say,” Hotch says seriously, frowning, and Haley laughs.

“Oh, come on, Aaron. Don’t be so serious. I’m already dead. So is he. Can’t we laugh now? Oh,” she says, something dawning on her. 

“Hey, Aaron. I have to get going, and I don’t think...I don’t think we’re going to see each other for a while. At least I hope not.” she says, kissing Hotch’s cheek. He turns his face so that when she does it a second time, she catches his lips. She hums contentedly, holding his hands at the wrists, and then starts to get up.

“People in the real world still need you. It’s good that you got something you needed, but I think it’s time to get back to them, don’t you think?” Hotch nods, cheeks wet.

“You have to know something. I was...upset that you weren’t home enough, but I could never get mad at- at the reason you weren’t home. I knew that at the end of the day, even when I was upset, that you were doing something good, something important. I divorced you so that we could both do what made us happy.”

“You made me happy, Haley.”

“You made me happy, too. I’ve never doubted that, Aaron. I forgive you for everything anyways. I still love you, you know. I never stopped. Get back to your friends, okay? They love you, too.”

“I love you,” he says softly. Haley gives him a look in acknowledgement and then pats his cheek. He isn’t naive enough to believe he’ll ever be ready to see her go, but then she’s gone. 

He exhales roughly and wakes up.

He wakes up to a world where Reid is dead and nothing is going to ever be the same, but at least Kyle Adams is behind bars now. 

He’s behind bars and it doesn’t make any of it okay.

Hotch comes to the office early because he can’t get back to sleep after that and he has end of case paperwork to do for the team, not to mention the mountain of paperwork he’s going to have to do to try and justify him going in alone to take down Kyle Adams. There’s a good chance he’ll be let go. His only hope is that Kyle being a serial is seen as a good enough reason to go rogue without telling anybody.

He’s sitting in his office fearing the inevitable, pressing down so hard with the pen as he writes that his hand is getting sore. He’s a bundle of nerves and tense muscles and when he hears the team arrive, he tries to just let himself remain hidden a little while longer.

Of course he has to tell them, he just doesn’t know how.

He’s halfway through a complicated, bureaucratic nightmare of a form when Morgan’s voice rings out happily though the bullpen, disrupting his thoughts.

“Pretty boy!” he says. “What’s up, man? We missed you out there,” Hotch is running out of his office and down the stairs before he can even fully process what he’s heard. 

And then he sees him.

Reid, with his messenger back, looking very much alive. Rossi kisses each of his cheeks and everyone is gathered around him the way children welcome someone back to school after they’ve been sick. Young children, before they grow up and become jaded. He can’t believe his eyes.

“Uh, Hotch? You okay?” JJ asks, noticing his heaving chest and disheveled appearance. He clears his throat, standing up straight.

“I’m fine. Reid, welcome back,” he says. He extends a hand that turns into an arm that pulls Reid into his chest and holds him tightly.

“It’s good to have you back,” he breathes, and feels Reid relax into his hold. The others are giving him strange, shocked looks, but he can’t find it in himself to care.

“My office?” he asks, and Reid nods, following him briskly up the stairs to his door that he left open when he ran out of his office moments ago. He sees Emily shoot the others an incredulous look and knows he will be the topic of gossip for quite some time, but finds himself entirely unbothered.

“Sit,” he says, gesturing to a chair. He closes the door behind him.

“Hello, sir,” Reid says. And oh, he looks just like he did in Heaven but even better, because now he’s real. “What’s this about?” Reid asks, and it occurs to Hotch that Reid might genuinely not know what happened to them. Perhaps he’s just as confused as the rest of the team, and Hotch is making him uncomfortable. He decides to change the subject.

“I just...was wondering how your time off was? If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to let me know.”

“Oh, it was great,” Reid answers easily. “It was very relaxing. I met up with an old friend,” he says, and then he leans forward, reaching for Hotch’s hand. Hotch gives it easily, finds that he needs the reassurance of Reid’s solid existence. Proof of life. 

“Thank you,” he says, staring into Hotch’s eyes, and Hotch nods. Reid couldn’t look him in the eyes back when he first started at the BAU, but now it’s Hotch who struggles to hold his gaze.

“You never gave up on me,” Reid says.

“I told you I’d be able to do it,” Hotch says softly, hoping he and Reid are still on the same page.

“I know,” Reid says, lips pushed together in sincerity. His eyes shift to a half-opened file on the desk, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips. “Could I- Could I see who did it?”

“Reid,” Hotch tries.

“Please?” he says, and Hotch sighs. He pulls the picture of Adams out of his phone and shows him. Reid’s expression is unreadable as he stares at Adams’ face, taking it in like a fact.

“Are you okay?” Hotch asks. Reid nods, freezes, considers it. He takes a deep breath, nods again.

“Yeah, I- I just couldn’t remember what- and then seeing his face after all of that…”

“Well, you’re safe now,” Hotch says, hand over Reid’s again. “He’s been put away for life, several times over. He’ll never see the light of day again. He’s been linked to-”

“Those other five murders, yeah,” Reid finishes breathily. He stares at Hotch’s desk, as if in a daze.

“Haley told me you left earlier.”

“Yeah,” Reid says, smiling at the thought. “She, um. She said congratulations, and then she laughed, because we were talking about you again, and she was saying how you’re so stubborn that you literally brought me back from the…” His eyebrows furrow, confusion coming over his features.

“From the…” He tries again, looking up at Hotch, though for emotional support or an answer he can’t be sure.

“The-” Hotch holds up a hand to stop him.

“We don’t have to say it out loud,” Reid looks at him, dissatisfied but relenting.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay, yeah.”

“I have some things I need from you,” Hotch says.

“Anything,” Reid says eagerly. “Anything.”

“I need...I need you to call me a couple times a day, so I know you’re okay.” Reid nods. That’s easy enough.

“And I’m sorry but I just- I can’t let you be alone, at least for a little while. If you need to be driven somewhere, can you please have me come with you? If you need company...If you’re up and you can’t sleep…”

“What about Jack?” Reid asks.

“Jess is off for a few weeks and she’s made it a personal goal to go out and have some fun with Jack. She’s missing Haley a lot lately and she sees her in him, so it’s really no problem. I- I need this from you, Reid.”

“Okay,” Reid says. “Yeah. I- Anything. But we have to talk about this because...Because this job isn’t a safe one, and I need you to trust that I’ll do my best to protect myself in the field. I can’t hang back for every single takedown. You know that.” Hotch nods.

“I understand that. I’ll try really hard. In the meantime, though…”

“You don’t want to be my roommate,” Reid smiles. “I’m exceptionally boring. You get enough of that at work, and honestly, I know I was...gone. But we spent so much time together it’s like I never left. Come get dinner with me tonight. But please, sleep in your own bed. We’re going to heal from this. We have to.” 

“Dinner it is,” he agrees, and Reid smiles at him.

“I think the others are starting to...theorize about us,” Reid says conspiratorially. “Do we let them? It’s not like we can tell them the truth.”

“I think I’d rather we just tell them what really happened,” Hotch deadpans, and it draws a surprised laugh out of Reid.

“Haley’s right. You can be funny.”