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“How is your pain?”
The gown is rubbing his thighs. That's all he can think about. The way the gown rubs against the hair on his legs, the way the blanket is threadbare and wrinkles at his ankles. Pain is the last thing on his mind. He can't tell her that, though.
“It's okay,” he deadpans. She shakes her head and holds up the clipboard with the sad faces on it. He hates that thing. It doesn't make sense to him, they all just look sad and he really can't figure out which one is the sad that he is supposed to say. Which one conveys being sad while also being in pain while also feeling out of control and like you're one fraction of a moment away from total meltdown?
None of them look like that. And the worst part is that those faces are stressing him out because he would normally be able to figure this out but for some reason he just can't clear the swirling fog in his brain.
“Last hour you said you were here, have things changed?”
The blanket. The gown. The lights. He isn't thinking about the pain even though he feels it. “No.”
“Good.” She smiles and nods, initialing beside the little face for the second time and setting the clipboard down. After that its the poking and the prodding, she's adjusting wires and tubes, she's changing out bags of fluid and recording everything. She's untying the gown from behind his neck and pulling it down, letting it pool in his lap so she can peek behind his bandages. The tape pulls at his hairs and he feels his skin crawl, his fists tighten, his fingernails dig into his palms.
“We'll need to change those on the next round,” she says nonchalantly and he suppresses a shudder. In the corner Dave is reading a book, pretending not to watch, pretending to give him privacy. Emily will come next, in twenty two minutes he knows. Because routine has already been established. The nurses come in every hour, the doctors every two to three, and his team changes out every four. Shifts.
This routine makes him more anxious than not knowing, because he has no control over any aspect of it. No one asked him what he thought, they're all operating on righteousness. This is for his safety and well-being. The lights in the room are always on, there is always noise, and when Emily comes she turns on the television. When JJ comes she wants to talk. Dave is content to read a book, but every so often he wants to read some of it to Hotch just to make some attempt at filling the empty space. Penelope brings treats for the nurses and thinks she'll entice him to eat, but she doesn't understand how sick he feels and she gets that teary eyed look when he says no thank you.
Best behavior. He's on his best behavior even though that part is physically painful. But if he isn't, then they get upset and nervous, so he's focused hard on just getting through it without making things worse for them. He's had to answer questions in the hundreds about the attack, he's submitted to a rape kit because the parts of his memory that are nothing but a void come with scary bookends. Maybe this will change the way you profile...
He shivers and holds his breath while she leans in close and ties his gown up again. What happened to him has been turned into a spectacle and he can't be alone, they won't allow it, and it's all he wants. If he just had some time to himself he could refocus, settle himself. Make his head stop spinning.
“There is a new nurse filling in down here tonight. Her name is Norma, she'll round on you at 7. She's normally down in the ER but we're short-staffed.” She paused and put her hand on her hip, smiling at him. “She's a little rough around the edges. ER nurses, you know. They're different down there.”
He frowns, not sure how to take that, but he catalogs it anyway. Under normal circumstances he might have been able to pick out sarcasm or a joke hidden in there, but it all sounded simple and straight forward to his jumbled mind. So he just remembers it, and when Dave leaves and Emily comes in, he's still focused on the nurse change. Rough around the edges. Different. He's more than a little fixated on that, which is kind of nice because suddenly he's not thinking about the damn blanket or the gown or the fucking lights that make his head hurt.
“Hey,” Emily says, approaching the bed cautiously. She's already made him angry enough times to know she needs to tread lightly. Especially at night. He's been here two days and it feels like a lifetime. “How are things tonight?”
He doesn't look at her. “Fine.” He says it with a finality that makes her huff and shake her head. She's given up on trying to coax him out, he'll come around when he's ready. Or never. He knows she was in his apartment, looked through his things, and he's being really fussy about that because the part that really bothers him, that she saw the blood, that she knows...he can't even access that area of his mind yet. She can't relate to this kind of trauma, and she can't relate to how he processes things, so she just goes to her corner quietly and flips the television on. He doesn't make a sound but she knows it irritates him, he makes no attempt to hide it. He won't say anything about it though.
When Norma comes in, Emily is watching The Simpsons and Hotch is sleeping. It isn't a deep sleep, and it's been more than a little restless if the heart monitor is anything to go by, but he's still sleeping. “I haven't seen you before,” Emily says, jumping up to check out the new nurse. Remembering that she's not just here to babysit the patient, she's here to keep him safe and that means vetting each new person who enters his room.
“I'm Norma,” the woman says in her raspy sweet voice and flashes her badge. “I was the Charge Nurse on shift when he was brought in the other day.” Emily's eyes go wide, her lips parting only slightly in shock. Norma just smiles. “I'm glad he pulled through. It didn't look good for a while. We all thought...well, here I am babbling about something you don't want to hear about.”
“I'm glad too,” Emily repeats quietly, turning to look at him, remembering suddenly why he's in that bed. It's so easy to overlook when he's being insufferable, when he's snapping at you or frowning or refusing to acknowledge you entirely. It's easy because he wants you to forget. She knows that. And she lets him do it to her which just pisses her off to no end. Slowly she retreats to her corner and watches Norma work. There is something about the careful way she maneuvers, about the way she avoids getting in his space unlike the other nurses that gives Emily pause.
And when Hotch wakes up and begins watching her work, it gets more perplexing. “Are you comfortable?” she asks, instead of asking how his pain is. She doesn't even hold up the clipboard he hates. Hotch looks confused. “Can I do anything to make you more comfortable? Some patients complain that these gowns are too stiff, we have a bin of older ones that are more worn in down in the ER...they just don't look as sharp so they don't like to keep them up here.”
“It,” he starts, almost ashamed, like he's never spoken up about himself before. He can't seem to finish the sentence. Is he really about to sit here with multiple stab wounds after life-saving surgery and complain about a gown? He knows it sounds absurd and he'd love to be focused on literally anything else, but he also can't shake it. She just nods, like he'd said something she understands even though he said absolutely nothing. Emily is confused and suddenly isn't paying even a little attention to Bart Simpson.
“I get it. They're scratchy and over-starched. You look like a hairy beast, I bet that's miserable. I'll be right back honeypie. Don't you go anywhere.”
He stares after her as she leaves, his brows drawn together confused. Honeypie. Derek calls him honeypie, because they both like that song and Derek can't live without having a handful of pet names to throw around. He's never...it's making his heart beat a little too fast. She comes back to find he's still thinking about honeypie, which is good, because she really did think he was going to try and get up. He just has that look about him.
“Alright Agent, be a dear and turn around to give us a bit of privacy? I'm gonna change him into something a little more comfortable.”
Emily turns but she catches bits of wavy reflection in the window. Norma changes his bandages in silence, only a few words here and there when she decides to explain something or ask if he's comfortable. She never asks anything obtuse, she never asks him to assess his pain on the little face scale, she just asks if he's comfortable. Emily thinks there is some magic in that word she's not understanding, especially when Hotch answers her truthfully (if not a little too quietly) and says no, he's not. He's on the verge of tears. She never gets a chance to ask about the way she's assessing him though, not before Norma is called down to the ER with the code team and they're left alone in the room again.
Derek comes for his shift to find Emily nearly asleep in her corner. She's not supposed to doze but Hotch has been ignoring her again and there is only so much she can do to keep awake when he won't even talk to her.
“Have fun,” she snaps outside of the room, searching through her bag for her car keys. “He's really on one tonight. And he's got this new nurse...she's different. He seems to like her though.”
“Different how?” Derek asks, craning his neck so he can peek into the room. Hotch looks out of sorts. Emily just shrugs.
“I don't know. She'll be by in about fifteen minutes, you'll see.”
The minute he walks in, Hotch changes. And Derek knows its coming. It always comes. Because he has to control his every move around all of them, he has to mask even when it hurts him, but he doesn't have to do that with Derek. It's never been an expectation, and Derek is glad for it but it does get taxing. Exhausting. Sometimes it downright hurts.
Especially now in this setting. Hotch is so over-stimulated by the constant movement in and out of his room, in the hallway, the intercoms, the carts, the lights, the BAU security detail. He's miserable, Derek can see it in his eyes, and that barely registers over the chaos going on around him that's how bad it is. And there isn't anything Derek can seem to do but show up and hope it's getting better while knowing damn well it isn't. They haven't even had a moment to themselves to talk about what happened. To talk about any of it. Derek heard him profiling it with Emily and Dave, he's heard the statements to the police, but he doesn't want to hear all of that. He just wants Hotch to talk to him about how he feels.
It won't happen, not for a while yet. Not until the rest of this is gone. Which really only poses more problems in Derek's mind...where is he going to go? What sorts of lasting effects will this have? He suspects PTSD is going to play a large role in their lives, and then there's the fact that Foyet has been a sick man since he stabbed himself and it stands to reason Hotch will end up in the same boat. Nothing looks promising, but none of that is on the agenda to be talked about. Not now.
He kisses him. Right on top of the head, his sweaty messy hair. “Hey baby,” he whispers and Hotch hums. “How's it going?”
Hotch sighs and sucks in a deep breath. What comes out is a barrage of complaints that have been bottling up, building pressure, nearly exploding out of his chest. And they're just words, but Derek feels crushed by them. He's crushed for him. That this experience is already, at its root, the most awful thing he can imagine...and then on top of it he has no peace here.
“I got your carpet ripped up,” he says quietly, hoping it might bring him back, help him focus on something more important than the chaos in this room. It is temporary, he needs him to remember that he won't be here forever. “And the hole is patched. Things are looking good. I made it over there on my lunch break.”
“You didn't have to do that.”
“I know,” Derek says, offering a smile. “I wanted to.”
“That's the landlord's job.”
“Aaron,” Derek says, grabbing his hand, his thumb grazing the tape wrinkled and slick covering his skin where they'd placed an IV needle. “I wanted to do it because I don't want any other strangers in your home.”
“You don't have time for that.”
“Dammit Aaron. I just told you I did it on my lunch hour, I have the time. Let me do this one damn thing for you because otherwise I'm completely fucking helpless here...” It's a rare show of his own emotion and he regrets it instantly, the way it hangs over them. “I'm sorry. Just please let me help.”
Hotch hums and closes his eyes, sorting through everything Derek just said. It isn't that it doesn't make sense to him, he just really really hates it. This isn't Derek's problem. It isn't. And he confuses the way Derek loves him with the guilt he feels that Foyet left his credentials in the apartment, which only makes him feel worse and more indignant.
“This isn't your fault.” He knows he shouldn't have said it, but he said it anyway. It's still true. Derek huffs indignantly and turns his face toward the ceiling, counts to ten beneath his breath.
“I know that.” He pauses. Longer and longer he waits, his vision spotty and flared. “I know it isn't my fault. But I love you and I want to help. Can we just drop it?”
Norma comes in before Hotch can answer and approaches the bed cautiously with her clipboard and a pile of blankets in her arms. They don't look anything like the scratchy piece of fabric he's covered in now, and it draws his attention.
“I'm Norma...” she says, extending her hand to Derek. She's taking in the situation, the way Derek sits on the edge of the bed and has his hand on Hotch's leg, nothing like the woman earlier who sat in the corner and avoided all contact with him. “And you are?”
“Derek Morgan,” he says, shaking her hand briskly. Something flashes in her eyes, some vague recognition, and she looks a little stricken. “I'm...”
“I know who you are. I saw your FBI badge covered in his blood when they brought him in. Can we speak in the hallway?”
She's looking up at the heart monitor a little concerned and he realizes that the numbers do look high. A lot higher than they should. He's upsetting Hotch. Under normal circumstances he might not mind, but now he's probably going to kill him. So, without saying anything, he stands and leaves.
“I don't presume to know your relationship with him,” she begins, closing the door to Hotch's room. “But something you two are talking about is upsetting him and its my job to keep an eye on that. His heart cannot take this, not right now.”
“Yeah. I get it. He's just so...I was only trying to help...”
“Is he,” she starts quietly, stepping forward and speaking in a hushed voice. There isn't any shame in the way she talks, she just seems concerned with privacy. “Is he autistic?”
“I uh,” Derek mutters, disbelief painted over his features. It isn't that he's offended by the question or even bothered by it, it's just that people don't usually ask. They either assume or they don't, but they never ask. “Yes. He wasn't diagnosed too long ago, it's been kind of a challenge to get him to understand that he needs to speak up for himself. I mean he's never been good at that, but it seems like now he'd understand that it's more important...after what happened...”
“Yeah, and let me guess...he'll do it with you, but no one else? And you're feeling pretty drained right about now?”
He feels like shit admitting it, but he nods. She's a little too easy to open up to, and she pats him on the arm, squeezes his bicep with a little wink and laughs. “Look, hun. My big brother is autistic. I understand. Little sister isn't supposed to be the care taker, but I grew up in that role because he would talk to me when he wouldn't anyone else and I learned a thing or two. I'm gonna offer you a little unsolicited advice here, tiger.” She smiled at him, wide and bright and poked her head into the room just to make sure Hotch was still okay. His eyes were closed. “It's important to remember that sometimes people like him, people who have a public persona to maintain, spend so much time and energy masking that this incredible pressure builds up...and you're his comfort zone. He can be himself with you. So even if it's hard on you...and I know it is...it's important.”
The sentence runs around in his head, chasing its tail until he feels dizzy. “It's new to both of us.” He admits it quietly, reverently.
“But you've known him a long time, I can tell. He's not new.”
“No...he's not.”
She smiles sweetly and shakes her head. “Go get a coffee or some ice cream. I think they have some tomato bisque left in the caf. Let me have a few minutes with him. Maybe I can make him comfortable so you two can have a nice night.”
Derek nods and watches her walk into the room again, shutting the door behind her. He waits while she dims the lights...the first person who has done that...and approaches the bed with that arm full of blankets and a soft smile. He can see the way Hotch softens with her and feels comfortable enough to walk away, just for a bit. He knows damn well Foyet isn't coming back. And he suspects that if Foyet did decide to walk into this place, Norma would give him a run for his money.
So he walks. He shoves his hands into his pockets and walks and walks and walks. Finds himself in the cafeteria sitting at a table nursing a cup of steaming hot coffee and a headache. His fingers ache from tearing up carpet, scrubbing blood from the sub-floor, they smell like bleach where the skin is burnt and dry. His hands don't just ache, they hurt. His knuckles are stiff. There is drywall under his fingernails that hasn't come out the last four times he's washed his painfully dry hands. Used to having well moisturized and perfectly manicured hands, he's frustrated at this small yet enormous thing.
He loses track of time thinking about his hands and realizes how tired he is. Working through his lunch hour was important, but its catching up to him now. All he wants to do is get a little cup of cranberry juice and take it to Hotch as a peace offering. They can talk about the serious stuff later, he just wants to be close and the fact that he can't just sit in that room all day and all night is twisting his stomach in knots.
Foyet nearly denied him this life they've been working so hard to build and he's probably reacting to it worse than he should. He's angry, he wants Hotch to move in with him and Clooney, he had to say goodbye to Jack and to Haley and deal with Jessica shouting at him at the apartment while she cleaned up and gathered his things into a bag. She was going to bring them to the hospital but she hadn't gathered the nerve to walk in yet...he is pretty sure she'll show up in the morning with tears in her eyes and a bag of every single thing that makes him comfortable. She's good like that.
Even if she's mad as a hornet right now. She hasn't quite figured out what she's mad at and how to deal with it.
He pauses at the gift shop and sees an overly fuzzy teddy bear in the window. It's wearing scrubs, a teal top and scrunchy little hat, and on the top it says FEEL THE HEAL. He laughs and huffs quietly to himself, and try as he might to walk past it, to let it stay in that window, he goes in and buys the damn thing. It's softer even than he imagined, and he knows Hotch is going to hate it. He'll ask how much it cost, tell him to take it back or give it to someone else probably, he'll have a million reasons why buying him a teddy bear was ridiculous.
But it might also make him smile, and they both needed that win. He hadn't smiled in days. Not since before the case in Canada, the fucking pig farm that broke all of them so spectacularly. They both needed to FEEL THE HEAL.
Norma is at the door waiting when he walks up with his Styrofoam cup of cranberry juice from the fountain and the bear. She can't help but smile. “Feel better?”
“I do, thank you.”
“I think he does too. He's all cleaned up and gift wrapped for the night. Did say he was thirsty...”
“I figured,” he replied quietly, waving the cup. “Handled.”
“He sure does love you.” She doesn't say another word, just leaves him with that and walks down the hall toward the next room she has to round on. Derek feels a little sick for the way he'd behaved earlier and he grips the bear tighter when he walks in. He's almost strangling the damn fuzzy thing.
Everything feels calmer in there with the lights down, the television off, the curtains drawn. He closes the door behind him, doesn't let it latch but cuts them off from the outside and he's pleasantly surprised to find that the deep wrinkle between Hotch's brow is all but gone. Norma switched out his blankets while Derek was gone, he was now beneath a pile of heavy soft things she'd stolen from the Maternity floor, the uncomfortable one he'd hated now folded in the corner probably waiting for guests. Norma was the person who could get you things, Derek realized
“Here,” Derek says with a smile, tossing the bear right at him. “Figured if you were gonna act like a baby I might as well treat you like one.” He seats himself right on the edge of the bed again, nestling his hip against Hotch's thigh, and watches the way he reads the top on the bear curiously then smiles in spite of himself. And then the bear is tucked neatly against his side, comforting in its hilarity.
“Thank you,” he whispers, a little too serious. Derek can see the shine of tears in his eyes. No one has ever given him a gift in the hospital, let alone an overpriced gaudy teddy bear. It shouldn't, but it means the world to him. His head has cleared enough now to start really letting things settle into their places. “I'm sorry Derek.”
“Nah, don't worry about it. You didn't do anything wrong. We've got some things to work through but I'm not going anywhere even if you act like a shithead. You know that right?”
“I do.” There is a short pause, and then Hotch's hands are covering the little bear's ears. His lips have twitched up into an unmistakable smirk. He's about to be a shithead again. “Watch your language, please.”
“You're really pushin' it buddy.”