Work Text:
Breathing hurt.
Hotch tugged his hat down over his ears and pressed his gloved hands over his mouth and nose, sucking in one, two, three deep breaths through the filter of warm knit wool. It didn't sting his lungs the way the air did. Derek's aunt made them for him, and a hat to match, and they were holding up better than anything he'd ever purchased at the store. She had made some crack about how he was always cold and made him two pair...his indoor gloves and his outdoor gloves. It was meant as a joke, poking fun at the way he wrapped himself in blankets or seated himself as close to a fire as he could, but he'd never minded a good joke at his expense. Especially not when that joke came with the warmest gloves he'd ever put on his hands.
“WOOOOOOOOOOO! GET EM!” Derek shouted from beside him, startling him by jumping up and waving his arms in the air wildly. “YEAH BABY!” Hotch glanced up at Derek and smiled cold and dreamy. He had no idea what had just happened on the field, but it mattered little. He had sixty quizzes to grade and Derek had a game to watch, that was the deal.
“You see that? DID YOU SEE THAT?!”
Hotch blinked up at him and Derek knew what that meant. He hadn't. It was okay, too. He would explain that it was one of the boys Derek had mentored at the youth center, one of the many he'd helped get scholarships to Northwestern. He was in his last year and he was a stud. NFL quality, Derek said, and he was working his tail off to get scouts out, get him noticed. He had connections.
That was how games went with them. Hotch went along dutifully, sometimes watching the game, others absorbed by the work he had to do. Since retiring from the FBI, since choosing that his family had to come first, he'd been teaching part time at Northwestern Law. It made sense, taking on a class or two at Derek's alma mater in order to prove to Derek that yes, moving to Chicago was a good thing for all of them. Being closer to Fran, to Derek's sisters and the rest of the Morgans was important. He'd spent so many years away from all of them. At a certain point they both realized what it cost them to remain in the D.C area and it wasn't worth it. Once Roy passed, the decision was even easier because Jessica wanted to go too.
“Let's get away from all of this,” she'd said, sealing the deal when Hotch had his doubts, most of which involved leaving her. “There's nothing left for us here.”
She was right. But in Chicago, they had the Morgans, and it was a quick trip from there to New York to visit Sean once he was released from prison. They were doing better at that whole visiting thing, too. Better at being brothers. Sean sent birthday gifts and cards; he even came to Chicago to visit. Hotch couldn't remember a time in his life when family looked like this, and it was overwhelming at times, but it was always good.
Except the temperatures in Chicago when winter hit. If he had to come up with one complaint to file for the record, that would be it. Right now, they were sitting in temperatures that were in the single digits, and the windchill took them down below zero. His nose hurt, his lungs hurt, his joints ached, his nose ran. In his pockets he kept plenty of packets of Hot Hands, and his collection of wool undergarments had grown exponentially, but there was really only so much you could do to combat this kind of chill. It settled deep in his bones.
“What quarter is it?” he asked, blinking his frosted eyelashes as he tried to focus his eyes on the scoreboard. It was a blur of purple and yellow, bright lights and nothing else. His glasses had fogged up enough times he'd given up on them...he could see his papers just fine without them, everything else would be up to Derek.
“Third. One left baby. Hang in there.”
Hotch scrunched his frozen nose but he smiled and went back to his papers. He only had a few left to go, and they would occupy his mind until the frostbite set in at least. At that point...well, at least he knew Derek could carry him if his feet no longer worked.
“Hey,” Derek said quietly, nudging Hotch with his elbow. “That one of your students?” Hotch glanced up and squinted, focusing on a young woman a few rows up who kept turning back to look at him. He smiled at the vague shape of her and she lifted her arm in a nervous wave.
“Yes,” he replied, returning the wave with one thick gloved hand. Her eyes darted from him to Derek and back, the vague flicker of realization in them, and blushing she turned back around and turned her attention back to the game. He scrunched his nose; it was really about the only expression he had left available that his frozen face could manage and watched her for a moment longer. He had some misgivings about what she saw or thought she saw, some horror at the thought she might feel it was inappropriate in some way that he waved at her, or perhaps that he was here with his husband. Whatever it was made her turn in an instant, and all he could do was turn back to his papers and begin scribbling furiously in the margins with frozen stiff fingers. He was going to be a human popsicle by the time this game was over.
“Professor Hotchner?” came a voice from beside him, and he glanced up, sniffling a little. His nose was running it was so damn cold. The student he'd waved at was now standing above him with an expectant smile.
“Monica,” he answered quietly, nodding and pushing up to standing as fast at his locked and painful joints would allow. He steadied himself against the seat when it flipped up behind him and smiled. “How can I help you?”
“I um...” she started a little nervous. “This is probably really out of line and I'm sorry to bother you, but is that Derek Morgan beside you?”
Hotch glanced over at Derek who was so intently locked on what was going on in the game that he hadn't noticed what was happening beside him. He nodded.
“It is,” he replied. He left it open, just hanging there, doing his best not to make any assumptions about her intention. The stadium erupted around them, and Derek leapt out of his seat again, hollering. Without wasting a moment, hHe wrapped Hotch in a hug, arms tight around his shoulders and kissed his cheek. Not a care in the world.
“TOUCHDOWN!”
“Derek,” Hotch whispered, nodding his head in Monica's direction. “This is Monica Jordan, one of my students.”
“Oh, hey! Pleasure to meet you!” Derek released Hotch quickly, with only one arm, and extended his hand to her. The other arm stayed hooked around Hotch's shoulders, fingers digging into his puffy coat protectively. “He's nice to you, yeah?”
“Yes,” she said quickly, taking his hand. “Yeah, his class is great. It's my favorite.”
“Nahhh...that can't be true,” Derek said, shaking his head. “He's so boring. I've been forced to sit through this man's lectures. Come on, what's your real favorite class?”
“No, really,” she began, squaring up her shoulders as if she needed to defend him. “The way he presents topics is so engaging. You can tell he's got a lot of lived experience, it's not just something he read in a textbook and regurgitated for us. Did you guys work together?”
“Yeah, we did. For a long time.”
“I'm supposed to do an interview with someone I admire for my sociology class, and I was wondering if um...if I could interview you, Mr. Morgan?”
“If it's all good with the ol' ball and chain...”
Hotch rolled his eyes and sighed. Sometimes he just had to question his own sanity. “Derek.” He said nothing more, and Derek let out a soft chuckle.
“Yeah, sure. Let me know when and where, I'll be there. OH HELL YEAH! WILDCATS WIN BABY! WOOOOOO!”
Hotch couldn't blame Derek for his enthusiasm, the way he was easily distracted by what was happening on the field. It was the team's first win of the season. Likely to be their only win, too. The team seemed to be permanently ailing, it was kind of their thing, but Derek never wavered in his support. No one could accuse him of being a fair-weather fan, and Hotch followed him dutifully to every game. His support of Derek was unwavering, too.
“I um,” Monica started, stepping a little closer to Hotch. “He's a legend in my neighborhood. I grew up hearing stories about him from everyone. You're really lucky.”
Hotch, frozen as he was, beamed at that. His eyes shone bright with tears that froze before they could do much more than appear. “I am.”
Breathing hurt, but the celebratory kiss Derek gave him, and the warm air pushed into his lungs didn't. He hoped Monica had walked away, hoped she wasn't staring at them, but he wasn't going to let it stop him from wrapping his arms around Derek beneath his open coat and hugging him close. Sucking up all of the warmth he had to offer in the glow of the stadium erupting in loud cheers. “I love you,” Derek whispered between kisses, and Hotch smiled against his lips and muttered his reciprocation breathless and happy.