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“Okay,” Derek says, zipping up his coat and grabbing a scarf. “Got everything?”
Despite Hotch’s quiet protestations, Derek wraps the scarf around his neck and starts to tie it in a loose knot. It’s snowing out, a bit of an early one, and if there’s one thing Hotch doesn’t like, it’s being cold. Derek has watched him frown and rub his hands together more than enough times to know that by now. He may never complain about it, but Hotch has never been one for complaining anyway.
“I think so,” Hotch replies when Derek is done. His dark eyes were sparkling a bit while he watched Derek work. “Keys, wallet, watch.”
“Hey, whoa, you forgot spectacles and—”
“Don’t,” Hotch warns, but there’s a smile on his face.
Derek laughs, and off they go.
The snow isn’t so bad, but their boots still crunch underfoot as they make their way to the SUV. Some of it gets into Hotch’s hair, and Derek can’t help but be a bit captivated by the way the little star-shapes melt into the strands. Should’ve gotten Hotch a hat too, probably, like the one on Derek’s head. Oh well. Hindsight and all that. When they slam the car doors shut behind them, Hotch shakes himself out a little bit and it sprays water just like a dog coming inside after a quick walk.
Something about that casual little motion makes Derek’s chest warm up faster than any heated seat or blasting car heater. Just the thought that Hotch would do something so… normal, and undignified. Derek still has trouble sometimes with the idea that he gets to see all of Hotch now, not just the parts of himself he brings to work, but it’s moments like this that make it real.
“Okay.” This time Hotch is the one to say it as he turns over the engine. “First stop?”
Derek considers that.
“Probably the mall,” he finally decides. “Lotta options.”
To his shock and delight, Hotch sighs wearily.
“The mall a week before Christmas,” he mutters, pulling the SUV into reverse as they leave the driveway. “That should be fun.”
The mall is indeed pretty crowded when they get there, and they have to circle around the parking lot about three times before Hotch finds a spot. There’s no mad rush for it, at least, though Derek privately wonders what Hotch would be like trying to battle for a parking spot. Probably as focused as a sniper, he decides, and manages not to laugh. Hotch gives him a curious look when he sees the smile on Derek’s face, but he doesn’t comment on it.
“I’m gonna get a coffee,” Derek announces the second they walk through the automatic doors. “I can’t deal with this without some caffeine in my system.”
Hotch chuckles.
“Yeah,” he agrees, once more lightly dusted with snowflakes in his dark hair and on his shoulders. “I think this is going to be a long one.”
They wait in line, which is six or seven people deep, and Derek can’t help but try his best to discreetly observe Hotch in an environment with so many people around him. He’s good about it at work, of course, but out in the wild it’s a little different. He doesn’t shift from foot to foot, nor does he look around anxiously, but there’s a slight bit of stiffness to his back. Derek just stands close and keeps their elbows touching, and Hotch throws him a grin more than once.
Finally, with Starbucks successfully in hand, they huddle together in an unassuming corner of the mall, scrolling through Derek’s list of recipients that he’d typed out before they left. It’s everyone in the office, obviously, but then Derek’s mother and sisters, and of course Jessica and Jack.
Hotch points at a few names, going through them quietly one by one.
“Nothing we’re going to get Spencer is going to be at the mall,” he says thoughtfully. “I was thinking we could make an appointment with that rare bookstore in Stafford, see if we can find something for him there. And I was planning on getting Jessica a weekend vacation to get away from all of the snow. I can do that on my own time when we get home.”
Derek blinks at him, but Hotch just keeps going on like he doesn’t notice.
“Dave will want either expensive wine or expensive scotch,” he mutters, half to himself. “We can find that at a liquor store nearby. Emily has been talking about wanting new boots, since her old pair is looking a bit worn. We can get her a pair that will last her a while—but not leather, she’s trying to avoid animal products lately. It’s probably because of Garcia. Speaking of whom, I’ll leave that up to you, though she’d probably love that new cookbook on vegetarian Dungeons and Dragons recipes I saw last time I was here. JJ and Will have been wanting to try bouldering, we could get them a guest pass for that gym in Manassas, and—”
“Whoa, whoa,” Derek says, holding up a hand. “Slow down, hot stuff.”
Hotch looks up, confused.
“What?”
Derek considers him thoughtfully for a moment, which seems to make Hotch a bit anxious. His eyebrows come together as he meets Derek’s gaze, but the red tint from the cold hasn’t totally faded from his cheeks. He looks a bit… unsure, like he’s waiting for criticism. It’s a look that Derek’s seen before, more than once. It means that Hotch has keyed in—as he usually does—to something he doesn’t quite understand, and he’s trying to put the pieces together with the information he has.
Derek finally shakes his head, a little bit in awe.
“You’re good at this,” he says fondly, tapping Hotch’s chest through his coat. “I don’t know why I’m so surprised by it. Guess I kinda thought I’d be the one picking out the presents, you know?”
The red in Hotch’s cheeks gets deeper.
“Oh,” he says, and doesn’t elaborate.
Sensing danger, Derek immediately moves his hand from Hotch’s chest to his arm, rubbing a thumb up and down comfortingly.
“No no, don’t you do that,” he soothes, and Hotch looks away. The pink in his cheeks climbs a bit higher to his ears. “You know I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean I wasn’t expecting it, that’s all. It makes total sense you’d be good at gift-giving. Look at you.”
Hotch’s eyes flick over to him.
“‘Look at me’?” he repeats, sounding confused and a little suspicious.
Derek bumps him with a shoulder.
“Best profiler I know,” he teases, and Hotch’s eyes widen in what looks suspiciously like embarrassment. “Stands to reason that you’d be damn good at figuring out presents.”
Rather than try to downplay the compliment the way he would have when their relationship first started, Hotch simply takes a sip of his coffee. The red’s still in his cheeks and ears. He doesn’t always do so well with compliments, fumbling them like he isn’t sure what he’s meant to do with them, but Derek’s been coaxing out more and more receptive responses lately.
They make their way through the throngs of people in the mall, one store after another while they sip their coffee and mull over which gift to get for who. Indeed, a thick volume of not just Dungeons and Dragons recipes but all sorts of fantasy recipes made for vegetarians (and even a few vegan ones) for Garcia; a classy pair of pleather boots for Emily that will nonetheless be comfortable for running down unsubs; some climbing chalk for JJ and Will to go with their guest passes.
Jack, of course, is Hotch’s priority, and Derek can’t help but smile watching Hotch walk through each aisle of every toy store, video game store, and bookstore that they pass. Soon enough Hotch has about four or five gifts for Jack that he consolidates into one bag for easy carrying. A new video game, a big box set of books, several copies of Jack’s favorite movies. An action figure, a bunch of chocolate, new shin guards for soccer, and when Hotch gets his eyes on a Star Wars Lego set, that joins the bag so quickly it almost makes Derek’s head spin.
Derek knows that Hotch worries whether or not he’s doing a good job as a father. It grates on him sometimes, brings him down visibly, but Derek can see all of the love and care that Hotch puts into raising his son. He doesn’t buy him a bunch of gifts because he’s trying to fill some kind of void that his job creates between them, but rather because he knows what his son likes and he wants to buy things they can do together. It makes him smile to himself while he watches Hotch beam at the cashier at the Lego store when she tells him he got the last set.
“How old?” she asks, and Hotch’s smile only grows wider, the way it always does when he talks about Jack.
“Nine.”
“Ooh, I get it,” she teases, handing him his receipt. “I bet he’s going to need some help from Dad to put it together, right?”
Hotch actually laughs at that.
“Oh, absolutely not,” he replies, folding the receipt into his wallet. “He’s the Lego genius. I just hand him the pieces he needs and let him have at it.”
Derek’s heart positively swells up.
Armed with everything they’ll need from the mall, they deposit their bags next to a table in the food court for a quick bite to eat—Derek will literally never say no to mall food, as bad as it is for you—and then they’re off to the races again. They pack the gifts into the trunk and make their way to their other destinations. An insultingly expensive bottle of scotch for Rossi at a local store; a swift call to the rare bookstore and an appointment scheduled for the next day for Spencer, and finally those passes for JJ and Will.
“Might have to try that myself,” Derek muses as they leave the gym. There had only been a couple of people there, given how close it is to Christmas, but what he’d seen had been interesting enough. Rock climbing without any belaying. Huh.
Hotch raises an eyebrow.
“I think I’ll pass,” he says flatly, and Derek busts out laughing.
Armed with their spoils of the day, they make their way to the drugstore for one last stop to purchase cards and wrapping paper. That ends up being way more Derek’s job than Hotch’s, because Derek has the eye for detail and design that far exceeds Hotch’s own. He chooses a bunch of brightly colored paper for Jack, and then some bags and tissue paper for the smaller gifts. They end up picking up some candy for themselves as well, as a reward for a job well done.
“Whew,” Derek says around a mouthful of chocolate, already tugging out a Twizzler to feed to Hotch while he drives. “I always forget how exhausting that shit is. I still have to get presents for my family, too.”
“Mmhmm,” Hotch says thickly around the Twizzler.
Jack’s staying with Jessica for the night so that Hotch can wrap presents and stash them away in his office until Christmas—it leaves the pair of them sitting at the kitchen table and making their way through each card and present until they have a decent stack sitting between them. It’s comfortable and warm in their apartment, and the atmosphere feels… Well, it feels like Derek’s been doing this all his life. It just feels normal, and correct, and something he can see himself doing for years to come.
Buying for Hotch had been the difficult part, though. Derek had pondered that one over for a while before deciding on a few things. He’d gotten him a new long coat, a new tie, and a new heating pad for his chest and stomach. There are more good days than bad ones lately, but Derek knows better than anyone that the bad days can be bad, and when those old stab wounds start to ache with a depth that medicine can’t reach, the heating pad will soothe Hotch right to sleep from where he always ends up posting up on the couch.
It’s only when Hotch finally falls asleep in their bed, knocked out by his nightly med dose, that Derek sits down and wraps those gifts himself. He keeps quiet, humming softly and working in the soft light of their kitchen. When he finally gets to the card, he ponders for a while before starting to write.
Aaron,
Not to be too corny, but I think this Christmas is going to be the best one yet. Couldn’t imagine it any different. Can’t wait to get my best present, if you know what I mean. ;)
But seriously, you’re the reason for the season. The life we’ve started building together is the greatest gift I can think of, and I can’t wait to see where it leads next. You and Jack are the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time.
Now this is the part where you try not to cry. Don’t worry, you’re still stoic and totally the coolest. I’ll probably cry too.
Merry Christmas. I love you.
-Derek
Yeah, it’s kind of cheesy. But it’s true, and that’s what matters. He’s not one for writing emotional letters, but rather saying emotional things instead, and no doubt that’ll be happening come Christmas. Hotch always acts like it’s physically painful to talk about his feelings, but once it comes out he says the kind of shit that would make the manliest action hero weep. He taps his pen a couple of times on the kitchen table, reading the card over a few more times before finally sticking it into the envelope and stashing it away in his own hiding space separate from Hotch’s.
When he finally gets undressed and slips into bed with only his pajama pants on, the sheets are warm. Hotch is on his side hugging his pillow to his face, and Derek studies him for a moment. The way his hair flops onto the pillow, the way his lips are parted, the look of peace that only comes when Hotch actually gets a good night’s sleep.
Derek reaches out and brushes some of the hair out of Hotch’s eyes, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, and settles in for the night.
They’re both ready for the text from Garcia in the morning about a new case, though. The problem with working in the FBI is that the holidays are rife with all sorts of crime, and like with healthcare and hospitality, life doesn’t stop just because it’s Christmas. Derek can’t remember the last time he actually had off for a holiday, and the biggest one of the year isn’t going to be any different.
Still, it doesn’t stop Derek from moaning when he barely lifts his head from his pillow to glance at his phone.
“Damn,” he mumbles, already exhausted before the day’s even begun. “Thought we’d get at least a few days.”
Hotch sighs, already sitting up and rubbing at all the sore spots on his belly. He winces here and there, and Derek watches him for any signs that the pain might be too much today, but after a few more moments Hotch simply gets up and makes his way to the bathroom for a shower. His hair’s sticking up in the back the way it always does in the morning. He looks back at Derek with raised eyebrows, though.
Derek takes the hint and skedaddles off the bed, moving with a quickness to join him.
He’s got a bit more pep in his step as he gets dressed, and he can’t help but watch Hotch out of the corner of his eye while they shave. There are slight bags under his eyes, but he looks awake and aware, and he dutifully shakes out his medication from his pillbox and throws them back without complaint. The rest of his doses for the week are already in his go-bag.
“At least we had a day to shop,” Derek tells him, while looping Hotch’s tie the same way he’d done with his scarf the day before. “You wanna do gifts now or when we get back?”
It’s a standing tradition at this point for most of them. They never know how long they’re going to be on a case, whether or not they’ll get back in time for proper gift giving on the actual day of Christmas itself, so they tend to decide to either wait or get it over with. The rest of the team tends to wait, but Derek and Hotch have their own separate thing going on, and he’s grateful for it.
Hotch’s eyes slowly slide to the floor, and Derek stops in the middle of tying to squint at him.
“You look guilty,” he says, and his tone is teasing. “Did you not get me anything yet?”
“No,” Hotch says quietly, but before Derek can continue to heckle him, he adds, “No, I did. I just didn’t realize I’d have to give it to you right now.”
A million thoughts start running through Derek’s head all at once, mostly because he’s half expecting Hotch to get down on one knee or something and half because he doesn’t know what he’d do if Hotch did. Sure, he thinks he’d say yes, but right now? When they’re about to go on a case? Can Derek even handle that right now? Why is he acting like a schoolgirl about this, anyway? What—
“It’s, um. It’s kind of presumptuous,” Hotch continues, and Derek’s thoughts screech to a halt.
“What?” he asks blankly, if only because he has no idea what the hell that’s supposed to mean.
Hotch swallows, carefully stepping back to make his way into his office. Derek watches him go, blinking in confusion and trying to figure out exactly what the hell is going on. Hotch isn’t usually so… so insecure, at least not in this way, and it’s weird to watch him pad uncertainly into the office and then out again, holding a plain white envelope.
“What’s that?”
Hotch won’t meet his eyes, and instead thrusts the envelope at him.
Derek takes it, turning it over in one hand with his brow furrowed. There’s nothing to suggest it’s mail, given that it has no address and no stamp, but it’s a bit on the thicker side. He slides the seal flap out from where it’d been tucked in, taking a few folded papers out. The seal of the FBI graces the top of the letter, along with From the desk of Erin Strauss.
Well, that can’t be a good sign.
Derek looks up at him, confused, and finds Hotch an absolutely hilarious shade of red. He looks almost sunburnt with how brightly he’s blushing, and Derek looks back down again at the letter.
“They’re, um…” Hotch swallows, and looks to the ceiling instead. “They’re approvals for time off. For vacation time, specifically.”
Derek flips through the papers, blinking. Sure enough, there’s an approval for a week of vacation time for the both of them, with Strauss’s signature at the bottom. It doesn’t seem like there are any restrictions or caveats. Just a week for both of them, paid time off without being on call. A whole week. Holy shit.
“I didn’t—” he starts, but Hotch cuts him off.
“I did. I called in a few favors.” His voice is a little stressed out now, like he’s not sure whether he crossed a line or not. “I figured that would be a good present. Time off. With me, I mean.”
Derek stares at him.
“As in…” he says slowly, tasting the question on his tongue as he works it over, “as in my present is… you?”
The blush has nearly reached Hotch’s hairline, as well as the collar of his shirt. He looks like he’s rethinking his strategy, but rather than find an exit he’s just going to barrel ahead and hope for the best. Well, running away has never been Hotch’s first, second, or even third choice. Derek’s not surprised it’s not going to happen here, either.
“You’d mentioned that we hadn’t had a lot of time to ourselves recently, because of the amount of cases we always get around this time of year once Thanksgiving starts. And obviously these aren’t going to be until January, but I thought that if the two of us could take a vacation—”
Whatever it is that Hotch was going to say next, Derek doesn’t really care. He just takes Hotch’s sharp jaw in his hands, envelope and approvals between his palm and Hotch’s cheek, and kisses him deep. Hotch freezes for that briefest moment, like he’s not even sure that’s happened. Then he’s kissing him right back, his hands coming up in a mirror of Derek’s. They’re warm and calloused where they pull him in to make the kiss deeper, and he almost laughs into it.
“So my present is you,” he repeats when they manage to part, though he still speaks the words against Hotch’s lips. “I get your time for a whole week? Like, I get you all to myself? I get your time?”
“I said it was presumptuous,” Hotch mumbles, and his face heats up against Derek’s skin.
“Nah,” Derek says, and kisses him again. “Maybe someone else would take that as an insult, but I’m about to break out the swim trunks on the spot, baby.”
Hotch makes an embarrassed sound at the endearment, but Derek cuts him off with yet another kiss. He could probably spend all day thanking Hotch for this incredibly thoughtful gift in every single way he knows how, but the case is still hanging over their heads. But now Derek knows what’s waiting for them when they get back.
“We should go,” Hotch says, like he’s read his mind. “We have to debrief.”
Derek does back up, but in a moment of pure adoration, he takes Hotch’s hand and presses his lips to his knuckles.
“And here I thought you were going to propose,” he teases, tugging on Hotch’s tie. “That would’ve been something.”
Instead of flushing more, though, Hotch actually smirks.
“Oh, I didn’t say that was off the table,” he replies smartly, and leaves Derek stunned while he goes to get his shoes on.
Derek finally unfreezes, and jogs after him. He feels like his heart's turning over in his chest.
“Aaron. Hey. Hey. You’re not serious, right? Aaron. C'mon. I’m not playing, Aaron! Get back here!”