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Two months. It was the longest Hotch had gone without work in his adult life. To say he was losing his mind was an understatement. He spent a lot of time on the balcony fiddling with his plants, the first of them having been a small potted boxwood from his handler, Tim. They weren’t exactly friends, but Tim knew a thing or two about how this went and how idle hands lead to breaking rules, so a plant it was. Keeping Hotch busy would make Tim’s life easier. Giving him something to care for, something he could look at and watch grow. It had been unseasonably warm in September and October, but now that November was turning the page things had begun to frost and his plants needed to be moved inside. He’d started with the one, and now he had what amounted to a small army of green things with leaves and flowers and dirt to play in. He’d never figured himself for a gardener, but then, he’d never figured himself for a man who would have to be on the run either.
His chair, though, he kept that outside even once most of his plants were inside. It was just him and his arborvitae that he planned to decorate for Christmas. There was a little basket he kept beside the back sliding glass door full of big, warm blankets so he could still sit out on the balcony and read with his morning coffee or his afternoon tea. It was the little things, Tim said that to him too. Tim was proving to be a good ally at the very least, he’d seen enough of this to know how it went and how it would destroy a person if they didn’t find ways to adapt and maybe, given enough time, even thrive.
A body in motion stays in motion...and so on. He’d begun to feel an ache creep into his bones, age peeking in at the edges. The years of damage he’d done to his body catching up to him in ways he didn’t much care for. A stiff back one morning, sore knees the next, a three day stomach ache that had him wondering what he’d eaten that he could no longer tolerate. It never amounted to the same foods twice, it was just his body now. Taking morning walks seemed to help alleviate some of the moans and groans, the creaking joints and persistent headache but some of it was simply unavoidable.
And some days, he found it hard to even get out of bed. There really wasn’t much reason for him to. Jack was more than capable of getting himself up and out the door (and since they’d arrived in Chicago, he rarely allowed his father to involve himself in any of it) so some days he let it get the best of him and did his best not to feel guilty over it. Without a job or any schedule to adhere to, he had all the time in the world to sleep. He remembered Derek saying a desk job would kill him, and he wondered what he would have to say about his new sedentary lifestyle. Derek never hated to say he told you so.
If Jack didn’t hate him, he might be able to handle it with a little more grace than he was. But Jack wouldn’t say more than two words to him, and as he woke on his birthday he had little to no hope that he’d hear anything out of the boy except maybe “what’s for dinner?”, which was about the most words Jack ever said to him consecutively.
He could feel the gnawing pain in his lower back before he even moved and knew it was going to be a rough day. Another year older.
The forecast had predicted snow on his birthday, the first real flurries whispering the night before. Hotch watched it from his bedroom window while Jack slept and wondered what they would wake up to. Snow covering the rough edges of the city might make Jack smile and soften up a little. He’d always loved snow. The park nearby had a hill that neighbors swore was the best for sledding, and he found himself wondering if Jack was too old to find that fun. He kind of thought he’d still like it, to be honest. If his body could handle it.
Snow was still flying when he woke on the morning of his birthday, blanketing the city and drowning the sounds of cars and trains. Everything was quiet and serene, like living in a snow globe. When he finally managed the fortitude to get out of his bed, he pulled on two sweaters, buried his feet in wool socks and slippers, wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and shuffled out of his room. Jack was still fast asleep but he would be awake soon. Hotch went about making a small pot of coffee, his morning ritual, and headed out to the balcony with the steaming mug in his hand. The same as ever. He was a man of routine, and a little extra cold wouldn’t deter him. It wasn’t as cold as he’d expected, but still after about fifteen minutes he found himself getting chilled and needing a top off on his coffee. His breath floated in front of him in cloudy little plumes and he smiled watching the city come to life on the sidewalks below. Children skidding down icy shoveled stairs, plowing through mountains of snow, throwing snowballs against their parents wishes. Cars warming up a little longer than they had before, people with ice scrapers and big knit caps and warm gloves. The whole world had changed overnight.
His little arborvitae even had a little snow cap of its own.
Jack got himself up and ready for school while Hotch sat outside, and as anticipated, he didn’t stop to say anything more than “see ya later” before he was walking out the front door. Hotch watched him walk down the sidewalk toward the school a few blocks away, watched his footprints lead away from the apartment like a little trail of breadcrumbs. Nearby Tim’s car cruised slowly forward, trailing Jack as he went. Their security detail wasn’t around all of the time, but he insisted that Jack be watched during his trek to and from school. He didn’t worry about himself, he would go and take his walks and grocery shop without anyone keeping an eye on him but Jack was to be watched anytime he was on his own. It was a comfort, being here, able to watch. Knowing that Jack made it safely. (It occurred to him that it would be easy enough for Jack to disappear, to not stay at school, to slip out from his grip...he just trusted that he wouldn’t. He had to.)
With Jack at school, he contemplated the trajectory of his day. He could lay around with his heating pad on his back and think about getting older, how he missed everyone he loved and was entirely alone now. How he would have received text messages and cards by now, would be at work in his office hoping no one made a big deal of it being his birthday...and now he wished just to hear it from one person who remembered him. He could do that, or he could toss back a handful of whatever pain killers he had on hand, put on his hiking boots and wool pea coat and head out into the first snow of the year. Bundle himself up tight for a trip out to see this sledding hill for himself, a little birthday treat maybe. A brisk walk through the park to loosen up stiff joints, suck fresh air into his lungs, set his mind right.
The first option was tempting, but he went with the second option. He had to. If he ever hoped for Jack to come around, to come back to him, he would have to pull himself out of this hole. He would have to engage with Chicago and lead the way for his son to do the same. They could make a life here. It wasn’t ideal, and they would miss the people they loved, but they could do it.
Listening to the snow settle in tree branches, squirrels and birds little chirps echoing in their new surroundings, he felt a sense of belonging. Like this place wasn’t so alien. He’d been in this park before, years ago with the team. Derek’s family had invited them all out for a big picnic to celebrate his mother’s birthday. There was a little gazebo set near a playground with public use barbecue grills and they’d made good use of it. Looking around, he recognized the street that Derek grew up on and felt a little thrill of danger knowing that someone might recognize him. Danger or hope, whatever it was sparked heat in his chest and he smiled. The world had gotten brighter overnight, and more beautiful. Or maybe he was just opening his eyes again. Snow made him feel hopeful. The sledding hill was waiting patiently for the kids to get out of school, only a few people trudged up and flew down, it was mostly fluffy and untouched.
“Hey mister!” A little boy was calling to him, hailing him to where he stood at the base of the hill. Younger than Jack, the boy was either home schooled or skipping and Hotch didn’t much care either way. It wasn’t any of his business what the kid was doing, but he was waving him over and grinning like a mad man and something about it Hotch found irresistible. “You want a ride? I’ll rent you my sled for a buck!”
“Only a buck huh?” Hotch asked, plunging his hands into his pockets. There was a pill bottle, some coins, a few sticks of gum, cherry chapstick and finally a small bundle of bills. He came up with a five dollar bill and shrugged. It was worth five. “Here go you buddy.”
“Damn. Thanks mister!”
“Are you out here all day hustling?” Hotch asked, inspecting the sled while he spoke to the young salesman. He wasn’t keen on renting something that was going to kill him but it looked like it was in good shape, no cracks anyway. His body was in worse shape than the little plastic sled.
“A man’s gotta eat,” the kid replied with a cheeky grin. Hotch couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not, the kid was sending off enough mixed signals to confused his senses. All children profile as sociopaths, he remembered teaching plenty of people that, and the truth of it was here right now. He was well dressed but he had a street smartness about him that gave Hotch pause. He supposed growing up in a city like this would change a kid. It certainly had Derek. (He was thinking about Derek a lot the last few days, something about being here, living in the place he grew up maybe. He didn’t know.) “You look sad. Why you look so sad?”
Hotch glanced up at the boy and searched his features momentarily. “I’m not sad.”
“Yeah? Coulda fooled me. You look like someone pissed in your cheerios.”
That made Hotch chuckle and he stood with the sled in his hands. “Today is my birthday and I’m a little lonely I suppose. Maybe I’ll be able to get my son to come back later with me. You think he would?”
“He would if he knew what was what! I’d go sledding for my dad’s birthday if he asked. My dad ain’t got no time for sledding though. Your kid’s lucky. You gonna be okay mister? Not gonna break nothing? I ain’t got no insurance.”
“I’ll be fine. I’m not that old.”
The sled was light, easy to tuck beneath his arm and trudge up the hill. It was steep and fast, wide open, murder on his knees and back but once he got to the top the view was spectacular. It was taller than he’d thought from the bottom. No trees, no rocks, no real danger. Just Hotch and the snow, and his new friend Max at the bottom inspecting his crisp new $5 bill.
Sitting on the sled, he crossed his legs and tucked his jacket in before pushing off and letting his weight carry him down the hill. The wind whipped him in the face, his hair blowing all over the place. He could feel the shock of ice in his nose, snow spraying up in waves around him as he paved the way for other sledders later. More than once a spray of snow caught him in the mouth as he smiled. He skidded to a stop at the base of the hill with a sore lower back and a smile plastered on his face. Max, tucking that bill into his pocket, extended his hand and helped Hotch up like a little gentleman.
“Want another ride? You overpaid and I don’t got any change.”
“No, thank you, that was worth every penny. Keep the change. A man’s gotta eat.” Hotch smiled and brushed off the sled before setting it back down where Max had been keeping it during his sales pitch. The legs of his pants were soaking wet, coated in snow, and there were chunks of it melting inside of his boots. By all rights he should have been freezing and miserable, but he wasn’t in the least. He was happy. “Speaking of eating – where’s the best place to get something hot around here?”
“Lem’s. No way anyone’s better than Lem’s. They got the best ribs in the city. Tell ‘em Max sent ya.”
“Are they going to spit in my food?”
Max laughed and shook his head like Hotch was the most ridiculous man he’d ever met. “Nah! They’ll hook you up. Happy Birthday old man!”
Hotch shook Max’s hand and made his way down the street slowly, taking in his surroundings. He wished he had someone to share it with, someone who would call and quietly wish him a happy birthday. This was the first time since he was 16 that he didn’t have a card or a call from Jessica, the first time he wouldn’t get that obligatory birthday message from Sean, a long drawn out card from his mother reminding him how long it had been since he’d been home to visit. He ordered himself a hot chicken sandwich on white bread drenched in a spicy house sauce and a family sized meal of ribs and all of the side dishes he thought he could carry to share with Jack for dinner. As a quick afterthought, he bought another chicken sandwich and walked it back to Max.
“Mister Hotchner, you already overpaid for the sled. I don’t need your handouts.”
“Call me Hotch, and it isn’t a handout. It’s my birthday, and I wanted to thank you for giving me a special gift. I haven’t been sledding in years, and you’re right, I was a little sad earlier. Then you showed up. If you’re going to be out here all day, you should have something hot to warm you up. Make some money, kid.”
By the time he got home and shoved dinner into the fridge, he was ready for a nap. It was still a couple of hours until Jack would get home from school, he was freezing and sore. He draped his wet coat over the back of a kitchen chair, threw his snowy clothes into the wash, and slipped into his sweats ready to sleep. A hot shower would have been nice but he didn’t think he could stand long enough to enjoy it, not yet. For the first time in weeks his mind felt as tired as his body, and while he was sore from his adventure stomping and playing in the snow, he felt good. With his heated blanket on high and his heating pad tucked against the deep ache in his back, he fell fast asleep.
He missed Jack’s walk home. It was the first time since being in Chicago that he hadn’t watched Jack’ come walking down the street, hoping that he’d look up at the balcony and wave. He was out cold. Dead to the world.
The sun was sinking beyond the city skyline when he woke up to the sounds of Jack playing a video game a little too loud in the front room. Those first person shooter games were so noisy. Often Jack played with headphones on, but Hotch thought maybe he was trying to wake him up this time. He hoped so, anyway. With some considerable effort, he made his way out with a blanket wrapped tight around his shoulders, still working off the chill from earlier.
On the counter, beside the chair he’d draped his coat over, sat a cupcake with a fat yellow candle poking out of the top. Just a Hostess cupcake from the bodega on the corner, the little chocolate ones with the swirling white on top, the wrapper already discarded. “Happy Birthday,” Jack said, putting his controller down and turning around to actually look at his father. Hotch smiled, his cheeks warm, pillow crinkles still dancing in little lines over his flushed skin. He couldn’t help the tears that burned in his eyes and he tried to blink them away.
“Thanks buddy,” he whispered.
Hotch showed Jack the dinner he’d gotten for them and told him about his day, the adventure he’d had. Jack could hardly believe it and listened with a look of intense confusion at the idea of his dad out making friends with street smart kids and sledding in city parks. After they finished eating and Jack declared that they had to get food from Lem’s at least once a week from now on, Hotch cut the cupcake in half and shared with Jack.
“Dad,” Jack said. “I can’t believe you went out and did all of that without me.”
“There’s more snow in the forecast this weekend. Lets go buy some sleds and maybe we can make a day of it.”
“Only if we can eat lunch at Lem’s.”
“Absolutely.”
After they finished their cupcake and making their first official weekend plans since arriving in Chicago, Jack even consented to sitting at the rickety little card table Hotch found at an estate sale for a dollar and putting together a puzzle for an hour before resuming his video games. Hotch lay on the couch with his heating pad and a book, but mostly he just watched Jack play his game and didn’t even mind when the kid started explaining every detail to him. He listened intently, happy to finally be let back in.
All in all, it was the best birthday he’d had in a long time.