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“Alright, hey, hey! Focus! FO-CUS GENTLEMEN!”
Derek's voice rang out, echoing through the small gymnasium. The school had two, one huge state of the art gym currently being used for basketball practice and one small underground gym that was primarily used as an overflow cafeteria. Derek more or less had free reign of the place outside of lunch hour and it had become known as Coach Morgan's Dungeon by most of the students. Most of the time, if he didn't have a class or a practice, you could find him running laps or lifting weights by himself in there. Tonight they'd slapped down the old duct-taped wrestling mats for the self-defense classes Derek held once a week.
Most of the kids stopped what they were doing when he shouted, a hush falling over the room in a staggered wave from one group to the next. There was still one group of boys in the back corner laughing and rough-housing, head-locking, slamming one another into the mats.
“GUYS!” He shouted again, and when that didn't quite reach them, he rolled his eyes and blew his whistle as loud as he could. The sound was an awful, shrill, ear-piercing scream that made Hotch cover his ears even from inside of the locker room while he laced up his sneakers. That startled them and they rushed over to where the group stood in a half-circle surrounding Derek, sheepish smiles on their faces. “Glad you could join us. Save your little game of grab-ass for after the class, huh?”
“Sorry, coach.”
“Yeah, yeah, sorry coach my ass. Okay, listen up guys. Coach Jackson couldn't be here tonight cos he's a scared little wussy baby, so I got a special treat for everyone. Some of you have met my partner at sporting events, but for those of you who haven't had the pleasure, you're about to. Don't piss him off. He's the retired Unit Chief for the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit, where we caught serial killers together. He's a SWAT-certified, sharp-shooting, hostage negotiating badass. This guy finished the FBI Academy Yellow Brick Road challenge without collapsing...I barely managed that and I'm in way better shape than he is. He used to scare the shit outta me.”
“Used to?” Hotch's voice, echoing deep through the old wood of the gym, drew everyone's attention as he stalked out of the men's locker room in his ratty old FBI sweats.
“Yeah. Used to. Got a problem with that old man?”
A snicker tripped through the crowd of young men as they parted for Hotch to walk through. He took his place beside Derek, standing a cautiously appropriate distance away, and folded his arms over his chest. The way they all looked at him made him uneasy. “What did you tell them?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow. He could only imagine the tall tales Derek had told to get these kids to look at him with this much awe.
“That you used to catch serial killers.”
Hotch, blushing, smiled and loosened up a little. “It was a team effort. I didn't do anything on my own.”
“Yeah right. Whatever you say. I think there are some guys rotting in their 8 by 8 cells that might say otherwise. Okay guys, here's how today goes! Last week I taught you all a few things I wanted you to practice on your own. Tonight, we're gonna see how you did. First, we'll go through it. Hotch here is gonna play our victim, I'm gonna be the first attacker, we're gonna practice a forward-facing attack. Easy stuff to defend, right? I mean, you have time to see this one coming. I'm gonna lumber at him like Frankenstein and see what he does. Think he did his homework?”
He had, it turned out.
Of course, he had plenty of years of hand-to-hand experience, much of it working with Derek, so to say he knew how this program would be set up was a vast understatement. He could probably teach the exact class Derek was putting on from memory alone. Squaring up with Derek, he smiled and indicated that he was ready with a tip of his head and suddenly Derek was lunging at him, hands grabbing right for Hotch's arms. Quickly, Hotch twisted his arms until he had the grip on Derek's wrists and was raising his knee directly to Derek's groin, stopping short only at the last second with a devilish grin. Derek's eyes were wide. He knew Hotch was fast, but it never ceased to amaze him. What he lacked in strength he more than made up for in speed and agility.
“Okay, yeah. Guess he did do his homework, huh?” Derek smiled, breathing hard. He might have been a little worried, some reptile brain moment of terror that his jewels might really be in danger even though he knew they were not. Hotch wouldn't do that to him. Still, that instinctual fear was awfully hard to fight against.
The room was silent. “Coach? We don't gotta do it that fast right? Cos I don't think these fools can stop themselves like your man did...I'm not about getting kneed in the balls today. My mom wants grandbabies...”
The class erupted in cheerful laughter, but the boy who asked, Darius...he looked serious. Derek felt for him. “Yeah, this is a slow-motion drill. I'm pretty sure all you guys know how to knee a dude in the junk. You know what? Let's skip it and practice the next one, yeah?”
The next one was similar in approach, but involved Hotch twisting in Derek's grip and sending his elbow right up into Derek's jaw. That move fast would knock him clean out, he'd seen Hotch pull it more than once in the field. Crack the unsub in the jaw, his gun drops only slightly faster than his body. They watched the boys maneuver through that move slowly, correcting where their elbows connected with jaws. “You want to connect right here,” Derek said, indicating a spot on Hotch's face. “You hit right here, it's lights out and sipping all their meals through a straw time.”
The class went fast, so few of the boys in there really needed to know any of that. “How long until the next class?” Hotch asked, bending over to get some icy water from the fountain. It dribbled down his chin and splashed against his gray sweatshirt, but he didn't care. It was sweltering in the gym after all those boys sweating and breathing for an hour. The room had terrible ventilation, part of the reason the school really didn't use it much anymore even though the space was adequate for plenty still.
“Fifteen minutes. The girls are more fun. I'm gonna let 'em beat you up.”
For the girls, they wiped down the wrestling mats and prepared for a little more violence. The principal, when she asked Derek to begin this program, was adamant that they focus hard on the girls' ability to protect themselves. It wasn't often they had an Athletic Director who came with a resume padded with police officer and FBI Agent, and she was willing to take full advantage of his unconventional knowledge base.
All of the boys who signed up were in football and wrestling, if anything they needed their violence homed in, they needed to adapt skills and learn when not to attack more than they needed to know how to fight. Derek could relate to the way these kids were growing up and knew damn well most of them carried weapons when they were outside of school (and he wasn't going to kid himself into thinking they weren't carrying some kind of weapon during school hours as well) so he figured his job was a lot more in line with refining character than fighting. Giving these boys a place to be after school that was safe, that helped them in ways he'd needed as a child. He was teaching these boys how to use their words just as much as their fists to defend themselves, because the one thing he needed as a young man and never got was for someone...anyone...to tell him that he could say no in a situation that made him uncomfortable, even with authority figures. Especially with authority figures. None of these boys would ever know Carl Buford, but Derek knew damn well there were more of them out there. The thought kept him up at night. It always had, to some degree, but now it was worse as he endeavored deeper into fatherhood with Hank and Jack.
The girls, on the other hand, he was teaching them how to be ruthless. He'd watched his mother be intimidated enough times in grocery stores, his sisters on the schoolyard being victimized by other girls and boys, feared for them in parking lots and on sidewalks at night...they needed to know that it was okay to be aggressive in threatening situations. And he didn't want them beating each other up during this time, he wanted them going after larger prey. To get a feel for something bigger than them, something that could easily overpower them if they didn't know what to do. Coach Jackson was his usual partner, a bear of a man who worked with the wrestlers, mostly because he knew if he asked Hotch to come on a regular basis it would become something of a distraction. As it was, the girls already seemed more interested in asking questions that bordered on too intimate for his taste about their relationship and he had to, on multiple occasions, redirect the conversation to something less personal until all the students had arrived and they could get to business.
So, he and Hotch each stood at the front of a line and let the girls run through them, drilling repeatedly the different defense tactics he'd taught them. Over and over, the girls elbowed them, kneed them, threw them to the mats. Barely holding back, he'd asked them to go as close to full strength as they felt comfortable. For some of them it wasn't much because they were timid, for others it was brutal. More than once, Hotch felt the wind knocked out of his lungs and found it a little difficult to get back to his feet. No wonder Coach Jackson didn't want to volunteer tonight. Poor guy probably hadn't healed from the last self-defense class.
Slam.
Smack.
BANG.
He was too old for this. Derek had said something about it keeping him young but he was fairly sure the exact opposite was true.
BAM.
The sound the mat made beneath him was deafening as his body hit. He was sweating by the time they reached their last drill, and he hadn't done much more than lean forward pretending to attack and allow himself to be tossed around like a rag doll. Twice in a row the students grabbed him at the wrong points, not using their own center of gravity but instead working with his much higher center and had to force him at odd angles around their hips as they tossed him to the ground. This resulted in awkward landing positions, to say the least. As he hit for the final time, he felt a strangely deep popping sensation in his lower back. He struck hard and winced, unable to move for a few seconds while electrical currents jolted and zapped from the base of his spine down to his knees. His toes twitched in his Adidas Sambas. He was more than a little concerned for a moment, but the panic subsided when he was able to move and breathe again, the shock of the impact having worn off quickly. The student who threw him offered her hand and, figuring he needed to make her feel better, he accepted it even if he thought he should probably not stand up just yet. She looked on the verge of tears. A terrified young girl who, while she threw, him felt like a giant and was now painfully young and innocent and he felt terrible for scaring her.
“Thank you,” he gasped once he was upright. He moved slowly, testing out his range of motion timidly at first, and once he was satisfied that it wasn't as bad as he'd originally thought he offered her a reassuring smile. “I'm okay. It's a pain, getting old.”
“I totally did that wrong,” she muttered shamefully when Derek approached, worried he was going to be upset with her. “I grabbed him too high and threw him over my back instead of my hip. I'm so sorry.”
Derek patted her on the shoulder reassuringly. “No worries, Tanya. Seriously, he's tougher than he looks. He's gonna be sore for a while, but you know what? If you were out on the street, you woulda hurt the guy pretty good huh? You did fine. It's not about following the steps to a T, kid. It's about the results and you fucked this guy up. He's not grabbing you again, right? Good job. Go take a water break, be back in five.”
The girls, with furtive glances at Derek as he moved in protective and close to Hotch, rushed off toward the locker room.
“You alright?” Derek asked once they were gone. He knew what Hotch would say, but that didn't mean he wasn't obligated to ask anyway.
“Yeah. I think so. Just lit up my back for a minute.”
“You looked a little freaked out at first, I got worried. I know you're gonna hate it but I think you should sit out the next drill. Just in case it's serious. We're on school property, I don't need any injuries or they'll make me stop the class.”
Hotch frowned and pressed his fingertips into the small of his back, kneading the sore muscles while he twisted at the waist, testing out his range of motion some more. It hurt, but there were no more electrical jolts so he reasoned he was probably fine. Hurt, maybe, but not injured.
“Derek, I'm okay. There are only two more drills. I'll be fine. It was more surprising than anything.”
When the students came back out, they were huddled close together in a group, each of them watching with a little fear while Derek worked through all of his sports medicine triage to make sure Hotch wasn't actually injured. The care he took with Hotch gave them pause. He still wasn't convinced by the time they were all back on the mat, but he didn't have much choice. He wouldn't embarrass Hotch by making him sit it out if he didn't want to. And he clearly didn't want to. Whether that came from a place of not wanting to let Derek down, or not wanting to make Tanya feel terrible, he wasn't sure, but he wouldn't push it.
“Is he okay?” Tanya asked apprehensively. Derek nodded.
“Yeah, kid. He's all good. Seriously, don't worry about it. You didn't do anything wrong. The whole point of this class is what you did.”
"I know, but I feel bad. He's nice."
"Nah. Don't let him fool you, he's not that nice." Derek smirked.
By the end of the class, Hotch was in misery but hiding it fairly well thanks to the help of adrenaline and a couple of dry swallowed Tylenol he kept in his wallet. At least until he got home, when he could scarcely pull himself up the stairs to the porch.
“You got messed up good,” Derek said, holding the door open for him while he made his way with all the agility and speed of an elderly sloth. Once he was to the doorway, Derek lay his hand at the small of Hotch's back and guided him slowly toward the couch. The car ride had, predictably, caused his back to seize right up and he couldn't pretend he was totally fine any longer.
“Good thing tomorrow is a no lecture day.” No lecture days usually saw him heading into the office anyway to get some grading done, work on future lesson plans, meet with students...but he would be doing no such thing. He had no students on his schedule, and all of the paperwork he needed to get done could wait. He had his laptop and he could respond to emails from home. This phase of life was pleasantly uncomplicated and unhurried. He had time to be unwell, to move slowly, to care for ailments. He still wasn't used to it, but he was getting there. Working on it. Instead of going in, he called Fran and said he'd be keeping Hank home with him and the two of them made plans to play and watch movies all day.
They had become quite close, and he was doing everything in his power to soak up these little years before they passed him by. Jack's had gone by in a blur, he wouldn't let that happen again.
All in all, he wasn't too bad off. They still fooled around after bedtime, still had some fun beneath the sheets before dropping off to sleep for the night. It couldn't be that bad if he could still manage that.
Probably just a pulled muscle. He popped a couple of anti-inflammatory pills and made the decision to have the best day with Hank he could manage. He could walk, at least. It was slow going, and picking Hank up was pretty much out of the question but ultimately things weren't looking too bad. He managed to hobble his way around the kitchen to make them breakfast and drink his coffee outside while Hank played on the swing set.
It helped that Hank was adamant about taking care of him. He would be a doctor just like mommy. He even insisted on calling Savannah, a quick facetime with her to get her professional recommendation for care plans.
"Well, kiddo," she said, leaning close to the phone. "Frozen peas and lots of rest, that would be my prescription. Maybe a band-aid if you think you have the right ones."
He did, and Hotch ended up with a bright green band-aid covered in basketballs on his lower back. It was itchy.
"Get those peas now, okay kiddo? Have daddy call me later and I'll help him with the night shift."
"Yes Mommy! Fanks!"
"Thank you Savannah," Hotch said, taking the phone from Hank while he scurried off to the kitchen.
"You're okay?"
"Yeah, just landed funny in Derek's class last night. Those girls are strong."
Savannah laughed and shook her head. "They are. Anti-inflammatory meds every 4 to 6 hours as needed and lots of rest. If it gets worse, I'll refer you out for some x-rays, okay? Have Derek call me later."
"Of course. Thank you, Savannah."
Their fridge had the freezer on the bottom, which meant Hank was running from the freezer to the couch with new bags of peas a little more frequently than Hotch would have preferred. Savannah wasn't specific about how many, so he was just guessing with his little toddler instincts. Hotch wasn't in any position to complain, though, and what were a few ruined bags of peas when he was being attended to by such a caring doctor?
“Thanks buddy,” he said when Hank handed him a new bag, taking the old mushy bag back to the freezer. He nestled the frozen peas at the base of his spine and kicked his feet up on the coffee table, his laptop perched on his thighs. He was ready to finish the last of the emails he had to answer while Hank built a castle out of wooden blocks and knocked it over repeatedly.
“Doctor Buddy!” Hank corrected him, carefully placing a block on top of a tower. "I doctor buddy."
“Ah. Yes, sorry sir. Thank you Doctor Buddy.”
There was no silence while he worked, just the sound of wood blocks clanking against one another and then crashing to the floor, followed by devilish giggles at the sound of the chaos and destruction. Doctor Buddy had also become quite the demolition master.
“Snack time!” Hank shouted, kicking over his final castle and rushing toward the kitchen. He couldn't tell time, but he did know what the clock looked like at preschool when it was snack time. Hotch groaned and pushed himself to standing slowly, the ache in his back singing loud and protesting the movement. He shuffled painfully toward the kitchen with one hand steadying himself against the wall while the other pressed into the small of his back, prepared to make the little guy a snack only to find that Hank was digging around in the fridge for fruit. There was a box of Cheerios already sitting on the floor next to a bowl. Hotch stood back and rested his hips against the counter, folding his arms over his chest, content just to watch the toddler show off how self-sufficient he already was. “I make'd food! For YOU! I bring it to you dada. Sit down.”
“Thanks, buddy.” He took that as his cue to begin his uncomfortable shuffle back to the living room. As it was, he barely made it back to the couch before the kid had finished fixing the snack and putting all of the mess away the best he could. That was about as much walking as Hotch had in him for the moment and he was glad for the relief of sitting back down on his bag of half-cold mushy peas.
“You share wif me?” Hank asked, crawling up and plopping himself down on the couch beside Hotch like a vulture who had spotted some nice fresh carrion. The bowl was full of strawberries with the greens haphazardly picked off, covered in Cheerios. Hank ate the greens and nibbled the strawberry tops because he wasn't allowed to use knives yet. Besides, for some reason, he liked to eat the green tops.
“Of course I'll share,” he replied, nudging the bowl at Hank. “Go ahead. You first. Thank you for taking such good care of me today.”
“You feels better?”
“Much better.”
Hank ate most of the snack, but Hotch had to admit he had been hungry and it was the perfect little mid-morning nibble to get him through to lunch time when he would definitely have to be the one to get up and make the food. Preschool teachers knew what they were doing, scheduling their day like this, breaking it up around food. He sat and watched Hank smash superheroes into Legos for a while, and then he managed to convince him that they should quietly put together a puzzle.
“DINOSAURS! RAWWWWWWWR!” Hank shouted when the puzzle was finished with a photo of all sorts of dinosaurs running from an asteroid and a volcano in the background, the kind of confused photo often seen in children's books when they couldn't decide exactly what disaster had done the dinos in. Hank rushed off toward his room to gather a new basket of toys to bash together and make a ruckus with while Hotch sat slightly bothered by the odd humanity in the eyes of the dinosaurs. He'd been silly to think the day would be quiet or relaxing, but he was having fun.
Hank was nothing like Jack at this age.
Without too much fuss, he managed to make them a pot of condensed tomato soup and ham sandwiches cut into triangles. Crusts on. Hank's favorite meal. “Carrots?!” Hank demanded sweetly, and Hotch obeyed. How could he forget the carrot sticks?
“You tired. Nap time!” Immediately, the minute they'd finished eating and placing their dishes into the sink, Hank was announcing their next activity on the itinerary.
Hotch looked up at the clock, amazed at how quickly the day was passing. Nap time didn't sound half-bad, he was spent after making lunch. If his day had to be regimented like preschool and Grandma Fran's house, he didn't mind much.
By the time Derek and Jack got home, he and Hank were lying on the couch with tears in their eyes finishing up “The Fox and the Hound” for the second time that day. Hotch hadn't quite been ready to get up when nap time was over, so a movie made a lovely compromise. He'd stuffed his Snoopy heating pad into the microwave, laid down, and let Hank choose the movie. A mistake, for sure, because once wasn't enough for Hank, not for his favorite movie. Once was more than enough for Hotch who felt things like this just a little too deeply, but he really couldn't see passing up this snuggle or the chance to just lie still in a somewhat comfortable position on top of his heating pad for another hour or so. He thought of the BAU, of the people he'd known and felt he'd always know and hadn't spoken to in too long. He thought of his wedding vows, thought of his parents and grandparents and childhood friends and Sean, and how forever really feels like forever until it's gone and then it felt like a split second. Hank cried because the fox and the dog were sad, Hotch cried because he knew all too well the lesson of the movie firsthand.
“Hey you,” Derek said quietly, leaning forward to press a kiss to Hotch's forehead. “How ya doing?” He crouched and rested his chin beside Hotch's head on the arm of the couch, fingers trailing through the soft hair at his temples that was notably damp with tears.
“Hank was very attentive today,” was his answer, his voice thick with tears. “He's a very good doctor.” It wasn't really an answer, but Derek knew him well enough to read between the lines. "Just like his mommy. And speaking of, Savannah wants you to call her tonight."
“Yeah, sure. Hey, you still up for dinner at my mom's place tonight? She's making pot roast.”
Hotch frowned; he'd forgotten all about their plans. Or what day of the week it was, by this point in the day all he was thinking about was bedtime. And how to get out of a third watch of the movie because his face hurt from crying and dredging up a past that he wanted to just let sleep.
“GRAMMA NIGHT!” Hank squealed, jumping up off of Hotch's chest and following Jack down the hall toward their bedrooms so he could get ready to go. He chattered along behind his big brother and Jack, thankfully, slowed his pace until Hank caught up with him so he could listen as if he really understood or even cared.
“Who could say no to that?” Hotch asked, sitting himself upright. After some time on the heating pad, his back felt better. He could bend a little easier...a few more Tylenol and he might be functional.
“You can stay here. I'm sure she'll just send me home with half the meal for you anyway.”
“No, I'd like to go. You think she's going to notice?” Hotch stood and took a few tentative steps toward the bedroom to get himself dressed. It was slightly improved from the shuffle he was working with earlier, at least now his feet were leaving the floor. He still wasn't sure stairs were in his best interest, but things were moving in the right direction.
“Nah. You always walk like a constipated elderly man, right? She won't even notice that a bunch of high school girls beat you up.” Derek paused, looking stricken for a moment like he'd forgotten something important and then rushed back toward the entry where he'd tossed his keys and the other varied mess of things he'd had in his hands. He'd discarded everything so fast in an effort to get to where Hotch was lying, just to find out how he was. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't been worried all day. “Speaking of!”
He came back with a bouquet of red foil wrapped chocolate flowers in a coffee mug sporting the school logo and a sympathy card signed by all of the students from the class. The girls had pooled their money and purchased it at the student store, bringing it to Derek before the end of the day with apologies for hurting his partner. Derek thought it was sad and sweet at the same time, but the girls seemed to genuinely feel terrible. He once again assured them that Hotch was okay, they hadn't done any real damage and he'd be back soon. To think, he was this lucky...he went from hunting humanity's worst to spending his days with some of humanity's best. Some days it still didn't feel real.
“The girls got you this. They really want you to come back and let them toss you around again so you gotta get better quick. Guess they liked you.”
Hotch, smirking, felt the damn sting of tears in his eyes again and couldn't shake it. “Can't wait.”