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“Peter Lewis is dead.”
Those four words should have felt more comforting than they were. They should have filled him with relief, knowing that he could have his life back. He could walk confidently back into his suits and into his office.
Except, now faced with those words, he found he wasn't that naive. He could have his name back, and he could have his freedom back, but that life was forever dead to him.
A month or two and maybe it would have been possible, but a lot happens in a year and that was no longer his department, no longer his team. And maybe he didn't want it anymore, maybe that was the real truth of it. Maybe the last year was hell, was torture, was nightly arguments with Jack about missing family and ruined lives, I hate yous and I'm sorry's spread thick and sour over everything they touched. Maybe it was hell, but they'd seen their way through it, and were emerging on the other side.
Not unchanged. His heart no longer beat for the BAU. If he went back, Jack would surely never forgive him.
But they had Chicago. Of all the places on the map they were offered, Chicago called to him with her endless towering gray structures, a bone kingdom to wander through and hide within. No one stood out here, no one was looking here. He liked it. The anonymity was ripe and comforting. More than that, the opportunity to knock on a familiar door after all this time, to be right near someone who could look into his face and recognize him for who he really was...that was the hope he'd held onto. Some days it was firm, others like water through his fingers.
“Did you hear me, Hotch?”
“Yes, I'm sorry,” he muttered, dragging himself back to Emily's voice on the other end of the line. He'd gone somewhere else. “I heard you. Peter Lewis is dead. How did it happen?”
“Oh, don't you dare start questioning ethics here, mister. It was justified, I've already signed off on the reports. You're missing the important point here with your pigheadedness...you're free, Hotch. No more hiding. You can do whatever you want. So...speaking of...do you want your job back?”
He blinked owlishly and watched as the room turned to taffy, the walls stretching tall and thin and long and wiggly. Quickly he sat, fell with a plop onto his too hard couch in his display room decorated apartment and tried to find words. Any words.
“Hotch?” She was getting impatient. He could be incredibly frustrating, but this was a new low even for him.
“I'm sorry. I - “
“Okay, you don't have to make a decision now. You can think about it for a few days. I know this must be a shock, you need some time.”
“No. I've given it plenty of thought. Time is not something I've lacked recently. I won't be returning to the BAU.”
“Okay that's fair. But what about the Bureau? There's a spot for a Section Chief, you'd be working with Andi Swann's unit. I know you and she are good friends.”
“My time with the Bureau...” he paused, licking his dry lips. It was a thought he'd had many times over, rehearsed, knew inside and out. But saying it outloud and thinking it were two very different things. “I'm retiring from the Bureau, effective immediately.”
Emily nodded, biting her lip. This wasn't entirely unexpected, but it did hurt to hear it. She couldn't prepare herself for this reality. Classic Emily, using her favorite tactic for self-preservation: avoidance. How many times would it take before she learned it didn't actually save her anything? “I was really hoping you wouldn't say that...but I get it.”
“There's no place for me there anymore. And things with Jack are strained, at best...I suspect he might never forgive me if I went back after this.”
She nodded. “Yeah. That makes sense. Sure.” She was hurt, offended a little if she was being honest with herself. The office felt a lot less lively now, surrounded by his books that she would have to pack up. All this time she'd refused to put down any roots, to change a thing. His nameplate was still in the top drawer, his photos of Haley and Jack neatly stashed...everything else as it was. She came in every day and sat beneath his law volumes and his binders, kept his handwriting all over the files, she lived in his shadow because this was his space. No roots for her, she was just a placeholder. And now that lie was exposed. A lie she should have accepted months ago. “So, what will you do? Who even are you without serial killers to catch and victims to save?” She tried to laugh, a forced little squeaking sound that came out more like a gag. She choked on her shame.
To his credit, he ignored it. “I'm lecturing at Northwestern Law currently. They've offered me a position, but with the stipulations of protective custody being what they are, I couldn't very well accept. I may ask them if that offer still stands.” Thinking aloud more than anything. His mind still hadn't really caught up to his mouth, to the way he'd officially told Emily he wouldn't be back. That Unit Chief was no longer his title, hadn't been for long enough that he felt entirely separate from it.
“Isn't that where Morgan went to school?”
The smile, just barely ticking up at the corners of his mouth, was involuntary. “It is. I walk by a trophy case every morning with a photo of him on the football team. Isn't that funny? The world is so big, yet so incredibly small.”
“Will you see him? Before you come back to Virginia I mean?”
He paused, quietly contemplating that assumption...would he move back? He supposed he had to make a choice about that as well. Jessica would expect it, certainly. And he did miss her. He'd walked away from Jessica and Roy, away from his mother, away from Sean.
He'd continued dumping money into Sean's account while he served his sentence, untraceable funds. Cash from his pocket to a US Marshal who handed it off a number of times until it entered Jessica's bank account, after which it was divided among she and Sean. Every month, when that deposit was made, the two of them could at least be comforted that somewhere he was alive. Still alive.
Of course if Lewis really wanted to, he could have found a way to trace them...but he didn't seem to be that motivated. Or clever. He hadn't counted on Hotch leaving the BAU behind, cutting all ties. By his calculations, Hotch should have dug in harder, turned to hunting him exclusively, the way he had Foyet. He anticipated having the full attention of Hotch and the BAU turned to him and when that hadn't happened...he was more than a little distraught. Did Hotch feel guilty that the BAU found themselves targeted on his behalf? Certainly. Many times over he would hear news through official channels, the Marshals, letting him know and each time he was more and more convinced that he had done the right thing but also that he should be there to stop innocent people being attacked.
The problem was, he understood why Foyet targeted him. It made sense. But this? Peter Lewis didn't make sense to him. Nothing he did made sense. Hotch didn't fit his profile. It didn't matter anyway...Lewis thought he could be Hotch's focus in the same way Foyet could, but he failed to consider Jack. When Foyet attacked, he had hardly seen Jack. He was nothing more than an absent father with nothing to lose. Now he was a full-time father with everything to lose. Playing the same game with a different man would yield different results.
Anyway, the cash was the best option and his only way of communicating with the people he loved. Lewis could have watched their accounts, hacked the banks, figured out who was making the deposits, track them all the way back to the Marshals and Chicago...but he didn't. He tried to lure Hotch out in other ways and now he was dead. That part didn't sit well with him.
“I'm not sure if we'll be returning to Virginia. I'll keep you posted.” There were some things, very important things, that he needed to do first. Things he promised he would do if protective custody ended while he was still in The Windy City. He was not in the habit of breaking promises.
- - - - -
“Agent Hotchner!” Fran exclaimed in her breathy smiling voice, opening the door wide to him. “It's so nice to see you!”
“Aaron,” he corrected with a smile. “It's just Aaron now.”
“Oh, right, silly me...Derek told me about your situation...but I assume that since you're here on my stoop, your situation has improved?”
She ushered him inside, nearly tugging him out of his pea coat and hanging it up in the hallway. He nodded, rubbing his sweatered arms briskly in the warmth of her home. He'd almost forgotten how inviting and warm she kept this place...he'd almost forgotten a lot of things, it seemed.
“It has. Jack and I were released this morning, the man who was threatening us has been...dispatched.” He couldn't use the uglier words with her. Silly, considering her son was an FBI Agent and former police officer, and she'd been married to a police officer. She knew all of the ugly words. But he could save her having to hear them now. “I had heard that Derek and Savannah moved to Chicago and was wondering whether you might have some way for me to contact them?”
He could have just asked Emily or called Penelope. He could have gone any number of ways, but the first thing he promised himself upon release was a friendly face. Not a phone call, a face. Fran's face. She'd always been a beacon.
“OTZ! OTZ!” A small, chirpy voice followed by the thunder of little feet slapping on hard wood floors snapped him to attention. He furrowed his brow, stared in confusion as a toddler came rushing straight at his knees. “OTZ!”
Fran laughed. “He's saying Hotch. He knows you.”
For a moment, he was so stunned he couldn't breathe. His lungs were pure fire. How Hank knew who he was by sight hadn't even registered through the immense pressure that came with simply knowing this was Hank. This walking, talking little human who he had last seen when he was brand new. “This can't be Hank...” he muttered, closing his eyes, picturing his large hand in that bassinet, Hank's tiny hand wrapped around his finger.
“He's growing so fast.”
Speechless, he stared down at the little boy who was wrapped around his knees. How could this much time have passed? Sure, he'd seen the way time had darkened Jack's hair and eyes, until the parts of him that resembled Haley were fewer...until he looked like a Hotchner. Time did that, but so slowly it felt like a crawl. “Hank?”
“ANK! ANK!” he squealed, backing up. “OTZ!” He pointed at Hotch and grinned, clapping. “OTZ HEEEE!”
“Yeah, baby, Hotch is here...” Fran cooed, lifting him into her arms. “Your daddy is gonna be so surprised. But aren't you supposed to be napping, mister?” Hank pressed his face into her shoulder and hid there for a moment. “Naughty naughty.”
“ANK SEEP.”
“Yes. Hank sleep or daddy is gonna be madddddddddd at Grandma.” She turned to Hotch with an apologetic smile. “I'll be right back. Please, have a seat. I'll get you some coffee.”
She didn't need to be gone long, but Hank never stopped babbling. At least he was planning to stay in bed for the time being, she lamented. He was a good boy, easy to put down for naps, not easy to keep there.
“Is your son excited?” she asked, handing him a mug of coffee. He breathed it in deep.
“He doesn't know yet. I didn't want to disrupt his day at school, so I'll tell him after basketball tonight.”
“Will he be excited to go home?”
Hotch, for the second time that day, contemplated his answer. “I haven't decided what we'll do. I'm on contract through the end of the year at Northwestern, and I'd like for him to finish the year where he's at.” That answer came out of nowhere. Apparently somewhere on his walk from his apartment to Fran's house he'd come to some sort of temporary decision, though he hadn't realized it until now. Some clarity was beginning to descend on him. “Jack likes his school; he likes this city.”
Fran's face lit up. “Derek will be glad to hear that. He should be here in about an hour to pick Hank up, would you stay for supper?”
“Jack has basketball practice until 6,” he started, not really sure how that factored into his answer. “I'll need to be home by then or he'll worry. We've developed a fairly rigid schedule this last year.”
To absolutely no one's surprise, Hank didn't stay in his bed. The excitement of someone new in his surroundings, someone from what Hotch could only infer were some sort of fables told about him...well that was simply too much to sleep through. “OTZ!” He came toddling out in nothing but a diaper, rubbing his sleepy eyes, holding a book to his chest. “Otz yeed?”
Hotch frowned, glancing at Fran confused. “Does he want me to read to him?”
“A dad knows...” she whispered with a soft smile. “That's his favorite book. It's called The Gruffalo, and you'd better do the voices. He's very particular.”
The book was an easy read, but there were a lot of voices and he had to dig deep, drawing on the days that Jack used to beg to be read to. One story after another, Jack sometimes wanted to drag bedtime all the way to sunrise if you'd let him. Hotch's voice went high in places, scraping and breaking as he became the mouse, and then dug low and deep when he became the Gruffalo. Hank was enthralled.
None of them noticed Derek standing in the entryway to the room behind them, his arms folded over his chest, silently taking in the view. “You do a better Gruffalo than I do,” he said when the book was closed. “But your snake could use a little work.”
Hank, with all his might, leaped off of Hotch's lap using his legs as a jumping off point. A younger man might not even flinch, but he was acutely aware in that moment how much those bony little hands and feet hurt when they dug into his thighs. Still, he turned and took a full look at Derek standing there in athletic shorts and what looked like a worn-out high school p.e. t-shirt and couldn't help smiling. “It's nice to see you too.”
“What are you doing here?” Derek, with his son now in his arms, entered the room. The closer he got, the more nervous he seemed to be.
“Peter Lewis is,” he began, but Derek nodded dismissively, not wanting him to say more in front of the kid. Hotch could appreciate that.
“Yeah, Penelope called me to let me know. So you're out of custody then? No more government babysitters?”
“We are. I haven't had an opportunity to tell Jack yet.”
“And you uh...you just...”
“Came here? Yes. I started walking to clear my head and ended up here. I hope you don't mind.”
“Mind?” Derek asked, breathless before letting Hank down. The little boy waddled off toward the toys in the corner, content now that his dad was home. Now that he'd heard his story and wasn't in trouble for not napping. Slowly, Hotch pushed up off of the couch, his knees creaking and groaning after being seated for so long. He extended his hand for a shake, quick and formal, but Derek wasn't having any of that...with both hands, he tapped Hotch's shoulders and pulled him in for a hug. A huge hug, wrapping him up tight, and Hotch couldn't help but hug back. He circled his arms around Derek's waist and tightened his grip. “I'm so damn happy to see you. I was worried sick. No one would tell me anything. I thought I saw you once...but what could I do about it?”
Standing and wiping the tears from her eyes with the tip of her shawl, Fran cleared her throat. “I'm going to go put on more coffee and start supper. Leave you boys alone...I think you have some catching up to do.”
Catching up. Hotch just wanted to look at Derek. He was ripped backward through the fabric of time to the memory of those first few weeks after Derek left the BAU, those days that seemed so long and so slow. He couldn't remember a time without him being there. Good days, bad days, always there.
Until he wasn't. “I missed you,” Hotch admitted quietly. Like it was a sacred secret, like Derek didn't know it already. “I was happy for you, when you made the decision to leave. To be with your family. And I knew that it would be difficult to adjust after working together so long, but it never occurred to me just how much I would miss you.”
Derek laughed at the admission and how inadvertently sweet it was, if not a little silly given the situation. “Of course you missed me. Why didn't you just call me ya dork?”
Hotch couldn't seem to fathom an answer to that question. Such a simple thought that had never really occurred to him. But Derek understood, even still. They'd always understood one another plainly with few words. It was more or less a miracle that Hotch is even here now, except that Derek could see something had changed in him. There was a lightness now that he hadn't seen in years, a burden that seemed to have been lifted.
“I've decided not to return to the BAU.”
“No?”
“That part of my life has reached its conclusion. I can't do that anymore. I've been lecturing at Northwestern Law, it's a good fit. I'll stick around until the end of the school year and make decisions as it gets closer.”
“Are you saying you might stay here in Chicago?”
“It's on the table.”
Derek beamed, he couldn't hide it and saw no reason to try. This was a new life they were both living. “That's great news.”
Hotch, realizing suddenly how long he'd been hogging the conversation, abruptly changed course.
“I've been so rude, enough about me, how are you? How is Savannah? And fatherhood?”
Derek didn't hesitate. He didn't feel inclined to beat around any bushes, not today. Not now. “Savannah and I split. It's all good though. Funny, we got into it over my job over and over...it took so many tries before I could meet her parents, you know? But we made it, we did it, and then her job is the nail in the coffin, man. She was given the opportunity to go into the field with Doctors Without Borders, and we were like okay, cool, we'll try it. She grew up dreaming about it, I can't say no to her dream even if it's bad timing.”
Hotch nodded, thinking briefly about Beth and New York first, then Hong Kong. He knew all too well about timing and letting something you love go.
“Anyway,” Derek continued, “to absolutely no one's surprise, she fell in love with it. After a lot of debate about what was best for Hank, we decided it was probably best if we split so there wasn't so much to discuss or figure out, not so much pressure. Don't give me that look, man, it's all good. We go visit her every couple of weeks wherever she is, Hank's a world class traveler. We talk to her every day. It's really good. I love the shit outta that woman.”
Hotch hadn't taken a breath it at least thirty seconds, trying to parse the information given with what he knew about Derek and his ability to put a positive spin on any situation. He was searching for the lie in his smile.
“Seriously, Hotch. It's good. We're goin' down to Brazil on Thursday for a few days to see her. She's finishing up a 6-month assignment there, then she'll be here for about two weeks, and it looks like she's off to Uganda for a few weeks before she gets her next long-term assignment. We're not sure if we'll be able to go visit her while she's there, her job is going to be working with patients with Ebola.”
“Does that worry you?”
“A little, not gonna lie. But she's a hell of a doctor, and it's a really solid program. They don't mess around.”
Fran poked her head into the room during a momentary lull to ask Hotch, once again, if he'd like to stay for supper.
“I would love to,” he started, smiling, “but I really should be getting home. Jack will be back soon. Another time I hope.”
“Yes! Of course, another time. Derek, will you be staying?”
“I uh...well I was gonna offer to give Hotch a ride home. If he wants. You good with that moms?”
“Go, go. I suppose I'll just invite the neighbors over. Someone has to want to have dinner with me.”
- - - - -
It went a little too easily from a short car ride through the streets, Derek shocked to find how close they'd been this whole time, to Derek and Hank setting up camp in Hotch's apartment so they could continue catching up. The place was small and tidy, not really very decorated but there were a few paintings of boats hanging around and at least that reminded him of Hotch in some small way while the rest of the place looked cold and lifeless. Boats.
Hank rushed around the place with Derek hot on his heels, pulling dangerous things out of his hands, sliding furniture to quickly cover up outlets and ultimately trying to carry on a conversation while stopping his child from constant suicide attempts. “I'm sorry,” Hotch said quietly, trying to help where he could while making dinner. “I suppose it's been a long time since my home has been baby proof. I'd forgotten.”
“No worries. Maybe we can have dinner at my place next time though...”
Next time. Hotch smiled at that and nodded. Before he had a chance to formulate an adequate response around the thunder of his heartbeat in his throat, Jack's key was in the lock. Tap tap tap, they key turned, then another click click sound. Their little secret code. It wasn't necessary, probably, but Jack had been pretty scared at first and Hotch was willing to do whatever it took to ease his mind. Besides, it had become something kind of fun, a highlight in the doldrums of their days when they could act like secret undercover spies entering their lair.
“That's cute,” Derek said, noticing right away. “Remember when we went undercover in Texas?”
“How could I forget?”
Jack was inside before they could extrapolate, before they wandered down memory lane. This was a dangerous peace here between them, without the looming BAU rules and regulations, without wives and jobs and all of the other reasons they'd used to tamp down this strange electricity between them.
“Dad?” Jack asked, confused as he dropped his backpack on the ground just inside the doorway. There was a hook on the wall for it, but that more or less remained empty. Hotch had long since given up enforcing that one, it had only caused trouble and he was very much of the mind lately that the less friction he needlessly caused, the better. There were more important things to dig in on, like keeping Jack's identity a secret while he was trying to live as normal a life as he could. “What's going on? Do we have to leave again?”
Derek, not one to shy away, walked straight up to Jack and wrapped him in a hug. Something he was sure, at one point, might never happen again. The boy seemed to have grown a full foot since he'd last seen him and god did he ever look like Hotch all of a sudden. His features were far too serious for a boy his age.
“No, buddy. We're out. Peter Lewis is dead.”
“Really? He's really dead? We can go home?”
Hotch nodded soberly. “I figure we'll finish the school year here and make some plans. Does that sound alright?”
Without answering the question, Jack kicked out of his shoes and a look of pure excitement flashed over his features. “Can I call my friends and tell them my real name?!”
“Sure buddy. Dinner will be ready in about a half hour.”
Dinner went late, all of them enjoying the company a little too much as it dragged from afternoon to evening. Dessert was punctuated with Hank's wide yawns and sleepy eyes while Jack worked on his homework in his bedroom, albeit a little distractedly while he called every one of his friends to explain to them his situation. By morning the kid would be a legend in the hallways. Hotch would have preferred a little more discretion, but at Jack's age that was a lot to ask.
“I've kept you too long,” Hotch said, staring at the incredible little toddler in Derek's lap. The reminder that time hadn't stopped. A beautiful and tragic understanding. “This is the first time I've actually talked with anyone but Jack in nearly a year, I've been greedy. You need to get Hank to bed.”
“No, man, I'm...I don't wanna go. You workin at the college tomorrow?”
“I have a full day of lectures.”
“Can I pick you up for lunch? I'm working at the high school, my schedule's not too rough these days...”
That was all it took to set regular lunch dates. Every day that passed made it harder for him to consider that leaving Chicago was an option.
The week that Derek and Hank were traveling made it abundantly clear just how badly Hotch wanted Derek in his life with something akin to permanence. He'd forced himself to live without him once out of respect for duty, but that wasn't an issue anymore. He simply wanted this.
They resumed lunch dates immediately upon Derek's arrival back home. He had stories to tell, some funny and some sad, some too incredible to be believed. "You should come with us next time," Derek said before he really considered what he meant by an offer like that. He couldn't take it back, and didn't want to, but it came with some heavy realization that he was getting in pretty deep here already.
"Yeah," Hotch replied without any fanfare. "It might be nice to get out for a while. It has been too long since I've traveled for anything other than work."
Some days Hotch packed them lunches, leftovers from dinner the night before or simple sandwiches like schoolboys. Spring had begun to take root, tiny little green buds opening to flowers and leaves, the sky turning blue, clouds spun like cotton candy and everything felt new.
Even Hotch. Derek would show up at the university in his P.E clothes, a little sweaty, ready for a walk through the campus or winding through the endless streets before heading back. Hotch hadn't bothered to clock his miles; he knew very well that the effort Derek was putting in to get there and back every day was more than him simply showing up at the door to his classroom. It was the reason he insisted on making lunch, it was the least he could do.
At the Ohio Street Beach, a favorite spot on the warmer days, Hotch felt a buzzing in his chest like a beehive overflowing with honeyed sweetness. He stopped, his feet sinking into the grainy sand, and grabbed Derek by the hand, pulling him close. Around them the city swirled, children screamed and played in the sand and splashed in the water while mothers and fathers called out to them to be careful, not to go too far. There was eye contact, charged and heavy, as they stood in the shadow of the lifeguard post and before he even realized what he was doing, Hotch was leaning forward ready to kiss Derek. Right there in public. Absolutely certain it was the right thing to do, the only thing to do. His body craved that closeness, felt wrong and naked without it.
Their lips met briefly, and Hotch closed his eyes, letting instinct lead where his head couldn't fathom. When Derek broke the kiss, sucked in a small breath, he couldn't bear to open his eyes, afraid he'd done something very very wrong. The apology danced on the tip of his tongue.
“I can't do this,” Derek whispered against Hotch's lips. “I can't get attached if you're gonna pack up and move back to Virginia.” Hotch felt his chest constrict, his breathing shallow and pained. “I know I'm already in too deep, but I can still...”
He was being so vulnerable that speaking above a whisper would surely destroy it all. Hotch didn't say anything, just stood there frozen in the moment, waiting. “We're doing pretty good since Savannah left, you know? We're good, Hank and I, but we can't...I can't get attached to this and say goodbye. And I really can't do another long-distance thing, man. It's hard enough with her and the travel that comes with it...”
“Derek,” Hotch whispered, smirking, fully understanding the panic in Derek's voice. He took a deep breath and finally struck up the bravery to open his eyes, to meet Derek's frenzied stare. “Could you stop talking for a moment?”
Derek laughed nervously and nodded, his turn to hold frozen in the moment. Waiting for the answer he hadn't dared to let himself hope for. Not at his age, not at this point in his life. “Jack and I decided to stay. We like Chicago, and it isn't much of a flight to visit Virginia. We're looking for a new apartment right now.”
He found, before another word was spoken, that Derek was plunging into a kiss with all his might. No more waiting, no more timid steps or whispers. Hotch and Jack were staying, and he could have this.
“You asshole," Derek whispered, pressing their foreheads together. "You could have told me sooner."
"And miss this moment of panic?"
"Jerk." Derek grinned and kissed him again, softer this time. He found himself unable to stop. "I've got plenty of room in my house,” Derek said between kisses, gasping for breath when all he wanted was to dive back in. “Move in with me and Hank.”