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“You don't have to come,” Hotch says, adjusting his tie in the mirror. It's a new tie, a pale minty green offset by all sorts of gaudy little pastel eggs and bunnies. A gift from Hank for the occasion, though Hotch has his doubts. He suspects it was Derek's idea the moment he saw it and was using his adorable son as a ruse to get him to wear it. Either that, or it was Fran behind the tie. Jessica thought it was delightful and showed him a picture of an Easter scarf she had that was more or less its twin except in bubblegum pink. The only times he managed to match Jessica for fashion was when someone decided he lacked any real flair. They called him boring.
Didn't matter, he dressed it up with a nice warm black suit and a cream-colored shirt. Fetching, he thought. Not bad for a guy who rarely had occasion to dress up anymore. (His unruly hair, on the other hand, would simply remain so. He could only win so many battles.)
“My mom threatened me,” Derek replies, pulling his sweater over his head. “I'm scared of her.”
“Me too,” Hotch admits quietly with a smirk. Fran is small but she is a little scary. “But be that as it may, I know how you feel about church. I am more than capable of taking the boys to the Easter service on my own.”
Derek turns around and watches Hotch putting in his cuff-links, delicate little compass roses that have working needles set against their shining silver plates. He can remember the look on his face, the look of pride he'd had when he wore them to the office for the first time. Told everyone about them. Jack had given them to him for Father's Day, Jessica helped pick them out. (Hotch, unsurprisingly, had a collection of cuff-links. He liked the way they dressed up a good suit without being garish.) Anyway, the compass rose. Hotch and boats. It's kind of his thing, in a weird way. The cuff-links make Derek think of their boat, sitting waiting for them in a busy little marina on Lake Michigan. Hotch would take it out now, rain or shine, but Derek prefers to keep it to the shine...so they'll wait a few more weeks for the Chicago winter to thaw entirely. To let their bones warm by the sunlight out on the crystalline water. To drop anchor far away from everyone and jump into the lake, to drink some beers and laugh and smile and say life is good.
It's all planned out, the first day back on the water. They'll make sandwiches and pack a cooler with beers and Capri Suns, they'll bring every little floatie Hank wants, and they'll both wear flip-flops so they can dunk their feet into the icy water of the late spring lake. Jack will make a fuss about what he wears in case any of the girls he likes are at the marina that day, but once he's out on the water he'll be a little kid again. Derek can almost taste it. The freedom and the open blue sky, the cityscape he loves so much bobbing in the distance.
But today, they have Easter service with Fran at the Baptist church down the block from her house. Today they will stand in the pews and listen to the same Pastor that Derek looked up to as a boy, the Pastor who went to school with his father and was a staple around the dinner table at least once a month, more after his father died, and he'll try to embrace it. He'd come to realize, years ago, that things like this? He didn't have to believe in any higher power to just come and be present with his family. Seeing them happy, filled with light, singing their lungs out...he didn't mind that part at all. It made him happy, believe it or not.
Pastor Reggie will pull him aside after the service and talk about hanging out with Derek's uncle Paul and his dad, talk about Big Hank playing baseball, delight in Little Hank's smile. Reggie will ask him if he wants to meet up for coffee and Derek will politely decline, because he does that now.
He's proud of his boundaries. They weren't easy to come by. He's proud to walk in beside his fiancé, with their children, and he's proud to leave with them after without the guilt. He can love the people, but the church turned a blind eye to the things that were happening right under its nose and he can't forgive that. He's just learned that it's okay, and those things can be separate as long as he makes them be. He comes and goes on his own terms, as much as he whines that his mother forces him. He wants to go. He wants to be where they're happy and singing and dancing and loving.
He may not love the church, but he does love his community. And since he opened up all those years ago, the church has come to walk beside him. They've made changes, spearheaded by Reggie, helped by Derek because his mom asked him nicely and he can see the changes happening. He can see that they want to set it right. He's still not able to say he supports any of it, but he'll help them do better. That's enough.
“I'll volunteer in the Sunday School room today,” Jack says with a smile. “Play with Hank and the little kids! Hey Anthony!” Jack calls out to his cousin who isn't really his cousin, but the kids don't really concern themselves with stuffy genealogical titles. If Cindi is Derek's cousin, then her son is Jack's cousin and that's really all they care about. They're about the same age, they go to the same school, and they have fun together. “Wanna come hang out with the little kids today? They've got candy in there.” He says that last part like it's a secret, like he's conspiring with Anthony. Brothers in arms. Anthony nods excitedly. What kid can say no to the promise of candy, even one on the precipice of his teen years?
“Yeah!”
And just like that, Jack takes off with Anthony and Hank toward the children's room leaving Derek and Hotch to hug their way through the fellowship hall toward the Sanctuary. Everyone wants to say hello, to ask them how they are, to make nice.
“You came!” Fran says, wrapping her son in a hug. Derek rolls his eyes about as dramatically as he can muster while Hotch chuckles to himself in the background.
“Like I had a choice.”
“You are a grown man, Derek Morgan. You make your own decisions.”
“Yeah...suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuure I do. Where we sittin', mama?”
“Down in the front. Yvonne saved us the best seats in the house.”
Derek glances at Hotch who just shrugs and follows his lead into the sea of women in Easter hats. He's been in his fair share of churches, none so loud and so enthusiastic as this one though. He actually kind of enjoys this particular church. They really only go on the major holidays, Christmas Eve and Easter being the big thrills, but sometimes they'll pop in for communion or family baptisms if they're asked. He's used to southern charm and Sunday best, shouting pastors and a quietly judgmental congregation. This church is a lot, he gets to feeling more than a little overwhelmed by the people and the energy easily, but it's fun. There is a group of old ladies who invite him to play bingo and bridge with them on Wednesday nights, and unlike Derek, he hasn't found it in him to say no just yet. He enjoys their company and the fact that they all come bearing gifts of cookies and pies and casseroles doesn't hurt, either. He'll be properly worn out when they get home, ready to ditch the suit and lay on the couch with his people for the rest of the day.
He can get through this for the promise of a quiet afternoon with his feet up.
Jack and Hank will devour their Easter sweets in record time, and at some point they'll all put on their nicest possible pajamas (“Jack, that shirt isn't appropriate for your grandmother's house,” Hotch will say when Jack wears a shirt with a crude joke splayed over his chest) and head over to Fran's for Easter dinner. It's a tradition, everyone has to wear pajamas. Derek never could explain why except that the tradition began on his father's side of the family, and extended further back than his mother had any recollection of. The only thing he could guess was that at some point, all of the kids probably destroyed their nice Easter dresses and slacks, and they had nothing else to wear to dinner but no one gets out of going to a Morgan family dinner. So if the kids come in pajamas, then maybe everyone does.
Thus, a tradition is born. Or at least that's how he sees it. The problem really for him is that he doesn't wear pajamas, so he borrows some of Hotch's. Which really just means they match a little too well, and it comes off looking a lot more cutesy than either of them would prefer in a crowd. The alternative though is Derek's entire family seeing what he really sleeps in...none of them want that. (They all know.)
“What are we in charge of bringing again?” Derek asks, peering into the fridge. It's jam-packed with all sorts of things after Hotch's recent shopping trip. He must have gone shopping when he was hungry, Derek figured. He always came home with half the store when he did that no matter how many times Derek told him to eat a snack before he went.
“Salad,” Hotch replies, his eyes heavily hooded and almost closed. “She didn't trust us to cook, remember?”
That part didn't matter. They don't mind not cooking. Fran's making a ham, Yvonne is in charge of the mac n' cheese, Derek's sisters and Cindi and who knows who else will be bringing side dishes and pies. No one will touch the salad, there's going to be too much else to fill their bellies with. No doubt there'll be plenty of neighborhood drop ins to boot.
“Why don't you bake something? Knock their socks off.” Derek asks, already pulling out the flour. Hotch bakes, it's what he does, especially when he's unable to sleep. No one really expects it. He'd brought homemade pastries into the BAU for two weeks during a particularly brutal bout of insomnia. Every morning the box of chocolate croissants and eclairs and scones would show up without a note or anything, and everyone thought they'd come from a bakery. It wasn't until Penelope actually caught him placing the box on the counter that she realized it. “I know! Hot cross buns. Come on. You got your mom's recipe in here somewhere right?”
“They take so long.”
“How about biscuits? Rolls? Or a pie? Or...”
Hotch, in a dreamy trance, half-asleep, nods. He'll do whatever Derek wants really. “You pick.”
“You taking a nap already?”
“Just...resting my eyes...'m awake...”
The speed with which resting his eyes turns into full on sleeping is alarming. Derek can hardly wrap his mind around it, but it doesn't matter. They have hours until dinner and if they end up bringing a salad that's fine...but he's going to try to badger Hotch into baking something delicious to impress his family anyway. Later.
“Boys!” Derek hollers, rounding up the kids and hauling them out into the backyard for some drizzly outdoor play while Hotch sleeps. Feet kicked up on the coffee table, arms folded, chin tucked into his chest. He's snoring by the time Derek covers him with a blanket and gets the kids outside.
Derek has a lot of work to do in the backyard, getting these garden beds ready. He'll put Jack and Hank to work weeding what they have, and he'll fix the rotting wood and create some new boxes and then it's all Hotch for the rest of the season. Planting and pruning and watering, this is his garden. Derek loves lounging in the hammock while Hotch buries his hands in the dirt all afternoon, visiting with earthworms and ladybugs like Derek can't hear him. He'll research fertilizers and bug repellents, eventually give up and let the snails have one of his tomato plants because they're cute and they're leaving the rest alone. Derek loves the smell of sweat on the back of Hotch's neck, and the way he washes up with the garden hose and falls asleep smashed together with Derek in the hammock as the sun crests the skyline, refusing to wake up or move until the mosquitoes come out to play.
But for now, at Easter, the garden just looks dead. But it also looks like hope. A blank slate ready to nourish them, ready to teach lessons, ready to take pleasure in. Derek can understand this hope. This garden, the long winter death and the rebirth, that's about as much Easter for him as anything ever has been.
They bring the hot cross buns anyway. (And a big salad, because even if no one else eats it, they will.) Hotch woke from his nap with just enough time to rise the dough and craft something beautiful before putting on his pajamas and heading out the door.
“Where did you get these?” Fran asks, eyeing the perfect little rolls with their frosted crosses dotted with jeweled currants and raisins. It's as much a work of art as it is food. And it's the biggest tray of them she's ever seen.
“He made them,” Derek announces proudly. Her eyes are wide and shimmering under the porch light while they all hug their hellos and enter the house.
“From scratch?”
“Yeah, mom. We can cook, you know.”
“Of course you can, sweetheart. Of course.” She winks at Hotch and closes the door behind them. The house is warm and loud, and everyone is bumping into tables and hugging and commenting on pajamas. Some people wore robes, some nightgowns, Hank was already running and skidding over the wood floors in his footed pajamas.
“Remember that time you didn't drain the water from the boxed mac n cheese?!” Sarah calls from the living room and Derek groans. He's never going to live that one down.
“That was one time!”
“He thought the water made the sauce...” Desiree adds, making everyone laugh. She can barely get the words out between her own laughs. The room is full of people and Derek, though he pretends to hate it, is eating it up. He's never going to mind being the center of attention. Hotch smiles and walks the food to the kitchen, not at all wanting to stick around for whatever Derek was going to do to raise the volume in that room. He would undoubtedly have a story to share about someone else, and really get people going. Hotch loved this family with every fiber of his being, but he still needed a lot more quiet than they ever produced.
“Uncle Aaron?”
Hotch turns and finds Anthony behind him, poking his head around to see the buns he was peering at. Their pajamas nearly match, both in green and blue flannel pants and gray sweatshirts. Anthony is a quiet boy, very reserved, and when he comes to their house he sometimes prefers to spend time playing cards with Hotch over video games with Derek and Jack.
“Could you teach me how to make those? My grandma loves hot cross buns. She was just talking this morning about how her mom used to make them and she can't find any around here that are like them. What are those red things?”
Hotch smiles and nods, pulling one out of the pan to share with him. He breaks it in half to admire the flaky interior with pride. “They're currants and raisins,” he says, popping one into his mouth. "My mom used to put chocolate chips in, but I find them too sweet." They both stand in the quiet of the kitchen, enjoying the only peaceful room in the house while licking sugary frosting from their fingers.
“You ever had Easter like this growing up?” Anthony asks, licking the frosting from his lips. He's been around for a few years now, longer than Hotch by a bit. It took him some adjusting just like Hotch, though...for different reasons, certainly, but they'd found some kinship in being relatively new additions. Being from places where this level of noise, this number of people, this much excitement simply wasn't the normal.
“Never,” Hotch replies with a dreamy smile. Sometimes he's not quite sure how he got here, but he's come to the realization that he doesn't need to question it. He chose it. “It's nice. Want another? I made enough for an army.”
“Sure!”