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“Hotch!” His large dark figure jogs down the hall. Even aged, cheeks covered with a soft greying beard, and hair a little longer than what used to be typical, it takes Garcia only a glance to know that it’s him. A single glance to recognize the distinct way that he exists in space. She rises to her feet to meet him as he comes to a breathless halt. “What’re you doing here?”
He’s shaking, eyes scanning over the little crowd of them. “Where–” he recognizes them even if he doesn’t know them. Luke Alvez, Emily’s always going on about him. Hotch had hired the young man and Emily never stops reminding him of that. He’s surmised the younger man is to her what she used to be to him– a pain in the ass. Matt Simmons, tall, charming, and looks exactly the same as the first time Hotch met him years ago. Tara, whom he knows, and respects for her ability to work so flawlessly with Emily. Then JJ and Reid.
“Where is she,” he asks. A few years ago, he would never be putting on the show that he is right now. He certainly wouldn’t be standing here. He’d be off hidden somewhere, reeling with emotions and probably being an ass to anyone unfortunate enough to run into him. But not today. “Where’s Emily?”
They’ve been doing this little dance for ages. For longer than it even matters to count. He hadn’t been brave enough to say anything, never has been. So, even after thousands of letters back and forth from London, Emily coming home to help the team, and stopping Scratch… She’d found him, though.
Weekends started revolving around her schedule. She and Jack spending time together, to make up for how she left things after Doyle. Then… they didn’t even need Jack. They started texting again. She’d tell him about Luke and Reid getting into trouble. How Matt has the cutest kids. That Garcia is dragging them out for a girls’ night.
And, standing in the middle of this hospital corridor, he finally understands what it’s like to be on the other half. What it must have been like for Haley and Will and Luke’s wife. To not know if the other half of you is…
Dave appears from the hall, calm. He smiles when he spots Hotch. “Aaron,” he calls, with a small wave. For old friends, he hasn’t seen much of the man since his retirement. More than the team, Jack’s a very big fan of weekends spent up at Dave’s house but still. It’s been a while.
“Dave,” Hotch breaths. He steps up to the older man, twisting and anxiously pulling at his hands. Trying to work the stress out of his body. “Is she okay?”
Rossi looks the younger man over. In this state, he’s not going to be nearly as soothing as Dave needs him to be. Emily’s hurting and she’s asking for Hotch but they’re going to be like gas on a house fire if he lets them near one another right now. “Sit down,” he instructs, motioning to the chairs.
Hotch’s bottom lips trembles, his voice thick as he barely manages to form Rossi’s name. “Dave, please,” he rasp.
Rossi doesn’t budge.
Knees shaking under him, Hotch sinks heavily into the chair. He leans over himself, elbows on his knees. “I don’t have time for this,” he complains, working his fingers through his hair. He rubs at his face, sniffling as he roughly wipes the tears that fall against his will.
He glances up when a hand falls on his back, Tara offers him a smile. “She’s strong,” Tara informs him with a strength that he wished he had. “I was with her the entire time,” Tara inhales calmly, drawing her shoulders up with the breath. If she wants to reflect the calm that Hotch needs, she needs to look the part. With a nod of her head she adds, “she was aware the entire time. Trying to give orders and keep us calm.”
He nods his head, bottom lip still trembling and eyes rimmed with the tears that he refuses to let fall. “Sounds like Emily,” he manages, eyes shifting to the team as they nod agreeance. Her team. He’d left the BAU to her and she’d nestled and nurtured like she does everything. Looking at them, gathered around him and just as worried as he is, he can’t imagine why she’d ever been so afraid to take over.
“Alright,” Rossi sighs. He sits down beside Aaron, preparing himself. He’d seen her. Not her power of attorney but still trusted enough that his name was the second one she thought of when she woke up. She needed someone and Aaron hadn’t been here. “She’s sedated–” he holds up his hand when Hotch tries to cut in. “I know, I’ve already requested they pull her off the medication. I know she doesn’t like it.”
Pushing his hand through his own hair he sighs, “she’s… tired but she wants to see you.” Hotch nods. “You have to be calm.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Dave shakes his head but caves, “alright.”
She’d taken a hit straight to her vest. Laid out on her back struggling to breathe, she’d realized that she’s way too fucking old for this. She remembered all the times Aaron had tried to convince her back to bed in the early mornings. Practically begging her to just take the day off. To stay here with him.
When she wakes up in the hospital, stiff and in pain, all she wants is him. Someone to hold her hand and to pull her hair off of her back. It’s itchy and she hates it.
Seeing Dave, she could have cried. So certain he was going to deny her and tell her Aaron wasn’t coming.
“Aaron,” she whispers, a sob bubbling its way up out of her throat. She’s too weak and hurting to reach out for him but he doesn’t break stride when he sees her. “There you are,” she can’t remember what happened between taking that shot to the vest and now. There’s a faint, faint, memory of the feeling of her blood pooling around her. Fear. She’d been afraid. Now, face pressed into his shoulder and his arms wrapped tightly around her, she’s not afraid at all.
Pressing her face into his clothes she smiles, “you smell good.”
He laughs but it’s chocked and sounds more like a scoff. “Thanks,” he croaks. Sniffling, he pulls back from her hug. There’s a fleck of blood on her neck, leftover from the wound on her side. He’s already mapping out ways to keep her comfortable when he gets to take her home. The couch isn’t any good but their bedroom is on the second floor of their house. He’s a little too old to be carrying her but he already knows he’ll pull his back out before he makes her walk up the stairs.
“I like the beard,” she whispers dreamily, fingers scratching at his facial hair.
He places his hand over hers, cupping her hand there.
“Aaron–”
He covers his mouth, looking away as his breathing hitches his tears to fall.
“Honey,” she whispers, tugging his hand when he keeps himself turned from her. Trying to hide his tears. “You don’t have to hide,” she reminds him softly. He still keeps his head turned. “Well, if you’re going to hide your tears will you at least make yourself useful and come over here and cuddle me, huh? I’m tried and I’m in pain and I don’t sleep alone.”
He shakes his head, pulling his hand from hers, wiping at his face.
“I wasn’t playing,” she clarifies. “I need another blanket and your big dumb butt up here with me.”
Rubbing his tears away, Hotch forces himself to breathe. To calm down. Clearing his throat, he goes to the closet on the other side of the room. Retrieving her second blanket. “There’s not enough room on there for me,” he informs her, spreading the blanket and draping it over her delicately.
She frowns, sadly looking down at the room between her sides and the railing. She’s pouting. Very childishly so but he can’t stand to see her sad and she knows it. “Please,” she whispers. “Won’t you just try?”
He sighs and she knows she’s won.
He’s terrified he’ll hurt her but she’s completely okay with that.
“How,” he’s half on the edge, scratching at the side of his face as he tries to figure out how to lay on his side or–
“I don’t care,” she replies, head leaning on the pillow as she watches him. She’s always thought his thinking was rather hot. So analytic and logical. Funny thing is, both of those traits also annoy the hell out of her.
With a nod of his head, she can see he’s come up with his plan. He’s got his “business” face on, or, as she calls it, his “Agent Hotchner” face. It’s very distinct and cute.
“Oh careful with the hands mister,” she giggles, smiling when he places a hand on her stomach, carefully maneuvering himself around her. His thumb grazes her breast and she’s only in this hospital gown. He rolls his eyes but she knows he loves her little jokes.
When he stops moving, he’s successfully managed to get mostly behind her, allowing her to lean back against his chest. A favorite cuddling position of hers. He’s very content with himself. She’s happily moving herself to nestle as closely as she can.
“You’re very warm,” she informs him, wincing when she pulls on her sore side. He rubs her back and she can feel herself relaxing again. Everything is warm. Her head is on his chest, she can hear his heart beating, and his breath running down under her gown across her skin. She’s not going to be able to stay awake like this.
“Emily?”
His voice has thickened again and she can hear the tears in his voice. Without opening her eyes she finds his leg and pats it, trying her best sleepy and hurting to comfort him as best she can. “What is it, my love?” She doesn’t make a habit of using little monikers like that in their day-to-day life but occasionally it’s the best way to remind him she loves him.
“I love you,” he whispers, “you know that, right.”
She smirks, he’s always so anxious. Terrified one day she’ll wake up and doubt every minute of the last decade. “I know,” she assures him. “Most of the time,” she amends with a smile, “I doubt it a little when you wake me up snoring or leave the toilet seat up.”
He smiles and shakes his head.
Good, she thinks and sighs contently. They’re going to be okay.