Work Text:
Attention
Spencer enters his apartment, sighing as he sets down his messenger bag that is violently decorated with small tears and fraying edges from years of use. A silence fills his apartment, the stiff air awaiting any sense of life. The moment ends quickly as he reaches inside the bag, only to grab his current read. The book weighs his hand down while his fingers wrap around its spine in familiarity. The discomfort that constantly fills his body dissipates. In one sly movement, he turns his body into the couch and relaxes into the cushions. His bookmark falls from inside as he returns to his place. Time passes slowly as he turns the pages quickly, letting each word move through him and into his memory. His personal safe haven.
An alerting sound disrupts him, and he groans slightly at the sound. He hesitantly moves from his spot, shuffling to the rotary phone on the wall.
“This is Dr. Spencer Reid.” he supplies to the caller.
“Reid,” replies Hotch at the other end of the line. Spencer doesn’t mean to, but he stands a bit taller, even in his solitude. “It’s Hotch.” the caller continues.
In a manner too quick for casual conversation Reid replies with, “Oh, hello Sir. Is there a case?” He frowns at the idea of leaving right after he just got home.
Hotch, all so composed, answers briefly, “It’s not. It’s a personal matter.”
A wave of relief passes over him, he knows his body physically couldn’t handle another case right now.
“Is it an emergency? I could be over at yours soon.” He proposes and Hotch stammers in reply, before sighing loudly.
“Reid. I’m sorry I called actually. Please have a good night.” With that, the line goes flat. Spencer pulls the phone away from his ear, and stares at it in awe. He dials the number again quickly, and is met with Hotch’s answering machine.
Reid stands there after, unknowing what to do and now the cryptic phone call affects his ability to think straight. His body leads him to the kitchen, and out of sheer habit, he brews an iced coffee. As he’s pouring the coffee into the milk he scoffs at himself, then at the audacity of his bosses call. He moves across the apartment and on his way there he picks up his unfinished book and sits at the table on his balcony. The chill of the night breeze engulfs him when he sits down. With that, time begins to pass once again.
This time Spencer is brought to reality by a drop of water trailing down the page of his book. He looks to the sky, dumbly trying to find the source of the raindrop. He curses to himself, a hushed sentence that he repeats while being forced inside his apartment. As if on cue, there’s a knock at his door.
“Can I please just read?” He says to the empty apartment.
In his annoyance he doesn't even check to see who is behind the door. He is decidedly surprised when he sees his boss on his doorstep.
“Hotch?” He questions.
“Reid. Sorry to barge in.” He states, standing in the doorway.
Spencer stands there, he frankly doesn’t know what to do. Hotch twiddles with his thumbs, a nervous tick he picked up after years of stress.
“It’s okay,” Spencer finally responds, “does this have anything to do with what you called me about earlier?”
A painful look strikes Hotch’s face and Reid is suddenly filled with guilt, it’s clear that whatever it might be he’s not ready to address it yet. So, Spencer opens the door wider, and puts on his best warm smile.
“Come in, I just made coffee.” He walks to the kitchen, certain Aaron will lock and close the door behind him.
He pours the milk into the dark brown coffee and mixes it slowly with a spoon, Hotch is still, very much, out of it, he’s watching Spencer with furrowed brows as he moves about the kitchen, zoned in on each motion. Reid scavenges for the best mug he can find, unconsciously still wanting to impress him. The dishes haven’t been run through yet so the England mug Garcia gifted him will have to suffice.
He moves the mixture into the mug, Hotch finally speaks, “Is that the best mug you could find?”
A smile appears on Reid's face when he finally hears his voice. “All my mugs are in the dishwasher, in fact I have a collection of Betty Woodman mugs. Did you know that she was one of the most influential artists in post World War II America, while also incorporating ancient techniques in her glaze work? While I’ve tried to donate them to a museum,” He trails off and turns to look at Hotch at the table.
Instead, he's met with a view of Hotch’s chest. In shock, he takes a step back, only to trip on a kink in the kitchen rug. Ungraciously, he falls back nearing his kitchen floor. Aaron reaches a hand around his waist and holds him firmly in place. Reid finds his hands gripping onto his boss’ polo shirt, pulling on the fabric for stability. He breathes heavily, looking worriedly into the eyes of the man above him. Hotch stares at him too, face fully content and relieved. The two stay in their embrace, while silence fills the surrounding air.
“Hotch,” Reid whispers, slightly grabbing on tighter to his shirt. He feels Hotch pull him closer, though he’s safe and standing up right. Neither of them move away, fearing that if they move the moment will cease. In the event of the vulnerable state, Hotch finally begins to profess his reason for arrival.
“I needed to see you.” He whispers. “Jack is with his aunt and I couldn’t stand to be alone. I tried to sleep but in my dream I saw you. You were still in that shed with Hankel.” Reid’s breath hitches at the mention of the incident, it's been more than enough time for him to recover, but it still haunts him. The memory follows and attacks him at any time it sees fit, and he aches because it does the same to Hotch. “My conscience was showing me how to get you but this time I couldn’t understand the hints and…” He trails off, Spencer is able to guess the aftermath even if he’ll never hear the words.
“I’m safe.” He replies, looking up at a sniffling Hotch. “I’m right here Aaron,” Spencer reaches behind himself and grabs one of Hotch’s arms, guiding it away from his waist. He moves it to his face, letting Aaron caress each and every inch. His thumb moves to Reid's lips, pulling down on the bottom lip slightly. He moves his face down, his lips greeting Reid's. Spencer’s hands are still holding onto Hotch’s shirt, he fiddles with the fabric while they kiss, grabbing onto something material to tell him this is happening. He thinks to himself that this is the safest he’s ever felt, surrounded by warmth and care. The thought furthers into the idea that this moment will cease to exist, and the sheer sadness he feels from it urges him to grab at the back of Aaron's neck. He pulls their mouths together even more, he can't breathe, but he feels as before this he never even knew how to do it correctly.
Spencer awakes to the familiar sound of silence around him, the sheets are tangled in his limbs. The ones that were placed almost too neatly the night before create a mess between him and the floor. He opens his eyes and looks around his bedroom, he frowns when he realizes Aaron isn’t there. He exits his bed and walks around looking for any indicator that something had actually happened last night, and it wasn’t his imagination. As he wandered, his eyes caught on a book slightly out of place on the table, a subtle but undeniable reminder of Hotch’s presence. He smiled to himself and picked the book up in his hands, analyzing it and moving it on its side. He sees a page that has the top of its corner folded. The first sentence reads, ‘You dance inside my chest where no-one sees you, but sometimes I do, and that sight becomes this art,’ the quote from the poet Rumi warms his heart. Spencer turns around to look at the bed where the two of them made art.
The floorboard creaks under his feet as he moves from the bedroom to the kitchen. As he walks through more and more memories resurface through his grogginess. He sees hands entangled in hair, lips only parting for small breaths and legs stumbling towards the bedroom. He hears moans, paired with ‘I love you’s and ‘Don’t leave me’s whispered to at a frequency only the other could hear. The kitchen is occupied by Hotch who’s making eggs, sunny side up, Spencer’s favourite.
Hotch looks up from his cooking and smiles lightly at Reid, “Forgive me if I’m wrong but your favourites are sunny side up, correct?”
That’s when Spencer knows this could be an addiction he could keep.