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They're on the second or third episode of Octonauts in a row when Derek finally comes rushing into the hospital room like his heels are being licked by flame.
"My mom…" he manages to gasp out, stopping in the doorway to catch his breath. He doesn't finish the sentence, there's no reason to. He'd broken several laws driving from work, and he probably owed a few hospital employees apologies for being rude, but he made it. Hotch is sleeping, or he looks like he is anyway, and Hank is lying cradled in the crook of his arm watching the television with such childlike rapture that he doesn't even notice his dad walk in. "Aaron?"
"Shhh…" Hank hisses, putting one chubby finger to his lips. "Heem's seeping."
"Right," Derek whispers, tiptoeing into the room. Hotch's finger is cradled inside a pulse ox clip and Derek can't help letting his eyes scan the monitors for numbers. His blood pressure is low, his pulse is low, his oxygen is low. Derek has no idea what happened but Hank doesn't look concerned by any of it. There's the remnants of a popsicle, a little puddle of orange and a stick with a bad joke printed on the side, and a little cup of jello without a trace of the sweet treat inside. The little plastic cup is licked clean. "Were those for you?" Derek asks, pointing at the mess. Hank nods without actually looking at his father.
"Yeah!"
"Not for him?" he asks a little suspiciously. He's been known to steal people's jell-o, too. Like father like son. But Hank insists he didn't and it's hard not to believe him when he turns those big brown eyes up at you. They're going to be in trouble with this one.
"Heem no food," he says. "Ony me."
"Only you. Got it."
"Hafta pee," Hank announces, slithering out of place and practically oozing down the side of the bed. His diaper, a pull-up covered in his favorite cartoon characgters, makes a papery crinkling sound as he slides down the side of the bed. He's been in pull-ups for months now, sometimes drenching them, other times keeping them dry as a bone. There is no consistency, he either wants to use the bathroom or he wants to pee in his pants and so far they can't seem to get him to want anything else. Derek has been worried, Hotch has been…well, uncharacteristically relaxed about it. "He'll do it when he's ready," Hotch had insisted during one particularly awful evening that involved cleaning pee out of the carpet in Hotch's living room. Derek watches as he makes his way toward the door and heads right out into the hallway like this is his own damn house, like he's a grown up.
"Hank," Derek says, stopping the toddler in his tracks. "Wait up bud."
"I got it."
Derek has to laugh at that, but he doesn't accept it. He won't let his kid run all over him, especially not in a busy hospital while Hotch is…whatever he is. Asleep? Passed out? Derek doesn't even know, and he isn't moving a muscle or responding to their talking. "No sir. You'll take me with you. Besides, I kinda gotta pee myself…show me where to go."
The bathroom is empty when they walk in, and it's clear to him that Hank has in fact been in there before. He tries to use the toilet but needing to go was a lie, and Hank calls him on it when he stops at the sinks and waits. "You go potty," Hank points to a stall. Derek is barely able to eek out a few droplets but it's enough to satisfy the mini drill sergeant.
"What happened to Aaron?" Derek asks as they walk back to the triage room. There are two other patients in the room, each of them invested in their own reason for being there. One of them is moaning and Derek can see that his ankle is dislocated, it's lying against the bed at an odd angle. He wonders how long the poor guy has been sitting like that and how much morphine they're pumping into his system in order to leave him sitting there. The other patient is a woman who, at first glance, doesn't look like anything is wrong. She's sitting on the bed knitting something bright red, paying no attention to the little kid or his sleeping father.
"He falled."
Aaron is still sleeping when they get back, and Hank crawls back up and into place like he'd never left. That's his spot.
"Fell, Hank. It's fell. And what do you mean he fell?"
Hank's eyes are glued to the TV. Derek gets nothing else out of him.
"…didn't fall…" comes Hotch's voice, soft and breathy. Derek's attention snaps immediately to him, and he waits to see the honey gold glow of Hotch's eyes from beneath heavy lashes. He doesn't crack them open right away though.
"What happened? My mom called me at work and said you guys were at her place and she had to call 911?"
"Vertigo," Hotch replies, finally opening his eyes for just a moment. He's squinting, nothing but slits of pure gold. "Couldn't walk."
"How long?" Derek asks, trying to mask the accusation that lingers beneath the surface. Hotch shakes his head and swallows down the nausea that fights its way through the medication they're pumping into him.
"A few days, off and on. Nothing like this. It's my ears." Hotch finally opens his eyes all the way and meet's Derek's gaze, softening him some with the gesture. "Hank wouldn't stay with your mom. He cried. I hope you don't mind."
"Mind? That my kid loves you so much?"
Hotch smiles. It's weak but sweet. "I just meant…I'm not doing a very good job watching him…" He means he can't keep his eyes open because the world is spinning violently around him and when he looks at it for any length of time he gets sick. He means he's useless and Hank has mostly been on his own since they arrived. That isn't entirely true, the nursing staff have been very attentive, bringing Hank treats and taking him on walks. He doesn't have that many words available right now, he can't tell Derek all of that.
"Well, that's because he's the one watching you. Right kiddo?"
"Right." Hank still hasn't let his focus shift away from the cartoons on the television, but at least he's listening.
"How long are they gonna keep you?"
"Waiting on test results. Couple of hours, maybe."
"Hours. Okay. Jack's gonna be done with school soon…I think I'll head over there and grab him early, maybe take him out. I'll pick you up later?"
He waits for Hank to clamber down from the bed again but he makes no such move. Hank is settled firmly in place.
"Hankster, let's go."
"Can't."
"You can't?"
"Nope. Otz sick."
Derek shifts his weight from foot to foot and groans impatiently. He and Savannah really should have considered this a little better - the idea of a kid having both of their strongest traits, their stubborn will, it should have deterred them. Scared them a little.
"He can stay," Hotch whispers, his eyes closing again. It only took a moment before the room began spinning again and he's going to be sick if he keeps watching it. "If that's okay with you."
Derek doesn't even know what to say, so he just huffs out an agreement and contemplates the next move. This relationship is new. Brand new. They don't really live together yet, but Hotch and Jack stay over so often that Derek wonders why they haven't just moved all the way in. Their lease was up a month prior and they're just kind of hanging onto the place for reasons Derek can't fathom. Things like this would be a hell of a lot easier to navigate if they lived together, but now is definitely not the time to bring that up. He's brought it up before, and it's always met with a warm and soft maybe. Hotch is scared,he's worried he's going to screw it up, he's worried he's going to get Jack in too deep and have to break his heart again.
But Derek can't see any of that happening. The kissing and the sex are new, sure, but the rest isn't. They've practically been married for twenty years if you really want to dig into every aspect of their working relationship.
"I uh," Derek starts, ready to leave but not really wanting to. He's just not sure what he's supposed to do.
"My phone is at your mom's place," Hotch says, swallowing hard. It looks painful. "I can't call you. Just…come back."
"Just come back. Got it."
Before Derek is all the way out the door, he hears Hotch's voice again. "I'm sorry," he says and it's the saddest damn thing Derek thinks he's ever heard. Apologizing for what - the inconvenience? Probably.
"Don't do that," Derek says with his back still turned. Certainly he's not happy - he's not happy that Hotch is sick, first and foremost, and he's not happy to leave Hank in his care. He's not happy that he can't really trust that Hotch is okay to be alone with Hank. He's not happy that he's got to tell Jack that his dad is once again in the hospital and he doesn't even know why. But even given all of that, he doesn't want Hotch's apology. "Just get some rest."
Hotch knows Derek is mad, that he's somehow managed to upset the delicate balance of their new relationship. He's taken it back to the old days when Derek feels like he's responsible for taking care of Hotch because he won't do it himself except he has been. He's been seeing his doctors regularly, he's been eating, he's even been sleeping. This came out of nowhere and he couldn't have predicted it. There were no symptoms aside from random and very short lived spells of vertigo, something he's dealt with intermittently since the SUV exploded in his face.
Derek knows that. He's seen it firsthand for well over a decade - the hearing loss, the vertigo, the ringing and pain. It's been a long road and Hotch has suffered it silently, he's managed not to let it affect his life too much, but it's catching up to him now that he's slowed down. Derek always said that would happen, he always said a desk job would kill Hotch…he just didn't think it was going to be on his watch.
"Go seeps," Hank says, his huge brown eyes turning up at Hotch. "Anky here."
"Thank you Hankster." In truth, he's finding it hard to stay awake, though he hasn't really slept since coming. He's just floating in some sedated quiet place where his head is rocking on stormy ocean waves and his stomach rolls along with it. If he doesn't move it isn't so bad, so he keeps his eyes closed and holds perfectly still and Hank thinks he's asleep but he's not.
It's two hours before Derek and Jack return. Two hours and Hotch still feels like curbside garbage on a sweltering day but they've ruled out anything serious, now they're just observing him. All of his vitals are still on the low side, and he can't stand without the dizziness bringing him to his knees. In spite of this, they're going to cut him loose with instructions to see his primary doctor and stay off his feet until he does, there's nothing else they can do for him. Whatever he's experiencing might be a pain in the ass, but it isn't a medical emergency and they need the bed.
To add insult to injury, to make things even more strained with Derek, they insist on pushing him out the door in the wheelchair. It's up to Derek afterward, and for a moment while the nurse wheels him out Derek wonders what he would have done if he was on his own. What if this had happened while he was in protective custody? Jack would have been picked up from school by US Marshals, brought to the hospital where he'd be met with more Marshals and more fear. Derek is glad he's here, he's happy to take care of Hotch forever, but the fear makes him angry anyway. Hotch's apartment is on the top floor, there's no way he's riding in an elevator in this shape so Derek doesn't bother even asking where he's headed, he just takes him to his own house. It's where they should all be living anyway.
It doesn't make sense to take things slow, it's not like they haven't already saved themselves the trouble of the first few years of a relationship just by virtue of being in the BAU. Traveling together, seeing each other at their lowest, living through all of that just to get here and pretend like they have to follow the normal steps of a relationship seems silly to Derek. There isn't any getting to know you, no first date jitters, no questions about home habits. They've got all of that locked in.
Hotch doesn't say a word during the car ride. Jack and Hank are giggling in the backseat like best friends while he lays reclined all the way in the front and Derek drives silently, listening only to the hum of the engine.
Jack and Hank rush inside as soon as the car is off. Hank's been living on sugary single serve hospital snacks all afternoon and he's all riled up, and neither of them really wants to watch as Derek gets Hotch out of the car. Jack doesn't want to see his dad like that, and Hank can only think about the allure of his toys after a whole afternoon away from them.
"How much help do you need?" Derek asks, not wanting to overstep. Hotch makes a pathetic sound that almost breaks Derek's heart, and that's all the invitation he needs. He reaches into the car and hooks Hotch beneath the arms, waiting until he's rested his cheek against the mound of his chest before he lifts him out. They stand there a minute, Derek holding him upright, while Derek decides what to do next. "Can you walk?"
"Slow," Hotch says. It's kind of a lie but he really doesn't want Derek to carry him inside. That's an indignity he can't suffer after everything else today, at least not without trying to save face.
It's also one he has no choice but to accept when his legs give out halfway up the sidewalk, when the ground beneath him jerks so violently and he hits the bricks. His knees take the brunt of it and he grunts, holding still for a moment while he gets his bearings. "Give me a minute," he whispers when Derek crouches beside him, ready to hoist him back to his feet.
"Okay."
Derek stands beside him, and when Hotch finally looks up at him it's with a resignation that doesn't often come so quickly. His eyes are dark, his lips are thin, he looks serious in a way that Derek hasn't seen much of lately.
"I don't think I can walk."
"No shit," Derek says with a smile. It isn't hard for Derek to lift him, first to his feet and then into his arms. Hotch leans into him, helping as much as he can so it isn't just lifting dead weight. Hotch buries his face in the warmth of Derek's neck, thanking him quietly, apologizing silently. Derek holds him there a minute, adjusting to the sudden change in the way his body responds to gravity, and then it's all long legs being maneuvered through doorways not meant for a man that size to be horizontal. Hotch isn't heavy, Derek bench presses more than Hotch weighs regularly, but he isn't small. He's actually pretty damn big, and Derek teeters a little as he walks up the stairs. It's a sight to behold.
The hallway is narrow, the doorways are narrow and Hotch pulls his feet in each time Derek turns them to the side to try and help. He bites his tongue to keep from saying something stupid like "I can walk, put me down" which would go over like a lead balloon at this point.
At least he knows he could carry Derek, too. Derek whose muscles make him look bigger than he is, Hotch knows if the tables were turned he'd be able to do the same and that gives him some comfort in the moment. Some part of him knows he'll see the day if they can get over this hump, if Derek can forgive him for this moment, this setback. He'll take care of Derek, too.
Derek lays him as gently as he can on the bed and heads immediately back out to close and lock the front door. While he's gone Hotch manages to kick his shoes off and wriggle himself beneath the blankets, curling up on his side so his face is buried in the darkness of Derek's pillow. This is about as humiliating an experience as he's ever had, and he wants nothing more than to forget it happened.
The worst part is there is nothing he can do to make it go away, no pushing through that he can do right now. His entire life has been comprised of various time's he's pushed through but he's got to surrender to this one. At least for now. He'll have to find his sea legs, perhaps, but not in front of Derek and definitely not in front of the kids. He'd scared enough people for one day.
"You're not gonna want dinner, I bet?"
"No," Hotch whispers miserably. Eating sounds like the worst possible decision right now. Derek nods sympathetically and folds his arms over his chest. He's been trying to figure out how to bring some semblance of normalcy to their evening, how to save the day, running from his own feelings of fear and anxiety.
"Alright. I'm gonna run down the street and grab some burgers for the kids. You gonna be okay for a few while I'm gone?"
"Yes," Hotch whispers.
"I'm taking the kids with me." It's an afterthought, but he figures Hotch expected him to leave them home with him. He's relieved to know he'll be alone for a half hour, maybe longer. He just wants to sleep, he just wants the world to stop spinning. He's bone tired.
When Derek brings the boys back later, Hotch only knows they're home because Hank comes in and checks on him right away. Even before Jack who is understandably standoffish. Jack who has been put through so much in such a short life. Jack whose idea of being okay is avoidance, just like his father.
"Otz seep?" Hank asks, perching himself right on top of Hotch's chest. Hotch, to his credit, has managed to get out of bed and to the bathroom once without falling and he's considering that a win. The dizziness is still there and still bad but it's somehow quieter now that he's home. Or, at least, in a place that feels like home. He can move around here, he knows where everything is and if his legs are unsteady well…they just are. He'll fall onto the wood floor and he'll get back up again like a baby learning how to walk.
"Yes," he says with a smile. It's not a lie, he managed at least thirty uninterrupted minutes of sleep before the need to use the bathroom woke him up and forced him out of bed with some urgency. "How was dinner?"
"Yum!" Hank's vocabulary primarily consists of exclamations, and Hotch can't help smiling. Jack was never quite so animated, he's always been a very reserved boy. In all of the ways Hank is like Derek, Jack takes after Hotch. It makes them easy friends. Jack's subtlety gives Hank's enthusiasm space, and Hank's perpetual squeals remind Jack that life is actually pretty damn fun when you let go a little. It reminds Hotch of he and Sean growing up.
"Let me guess," Hotch starts quietly, folding his hands behind Hank's back while the boy perches on his chest. "You had a big salad. With lots of tomatoes and cucumbers."
The disgusted face Hank makes is precious enough to make Hotch laugh, but he's trying his best to keep a straight face. To look serious while Hank explodes. He purses his lips hard and holds onto the laugh the best he can.
"Nooo!"
"No? Okay. Did you have tomato soup?"
"BWEHHHHH!" Hank sputters, shaking his head, squeezing his eyes closed. Hank hates tomato soup and Hotch knows that. It's all fun and games while Hotch continues to try and keep his features neutral but it's getting harder and harder. Hank is so damn cute. He figures he has one more try in him before he can't control it.
"Oh," he says with a serious look on his face that's barely holding. "You had a burger, right?"
"Yeah!"
"With lots of mushrooms and onions?"
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" he cries out dramatically, flopping backward, his head knocking into Hotch's knees. Hotch can't help laughing now.
"Well what did you have then?" he asks, and Hank sits himself upright quickly. It's his turn to look serious.
"Burger 'if etsup! On'ee etsup."
"Yum," Hotch says reverently. He and Hank share an affinity for ketchup - any meal can be made palatable with enough ketchup. Derek has accused him more than once of having a toddler's tastebuds and he doesn't have much of an argument against it except that he's not picky. Does he love ketchup and fries and oatmeal and yogurt and bananas? Does he prefer simple flavors, even to the point of loving things that are bland? Certainly, but he'll eat anything. He'll try anything and the list of things he doesn't like is relatively short. It's just a simple fact that ketchup is good and improves most meals no matter how vehemently Derek disagrees.
Out of the corner of his eye he catches a glimpse of Jack trying to slip down the hallway undetected. "Jack?"
"I'm busy," he grunts without stopping. It hurts Hotch's feelings, the cruelty of the teenage years. He supposes he's earned some of the scorn, even deserves it. The room spins dangerously on its side and he closes his eyes to try and stop the motion from making him sick.
"Ack mad."
"That's alright," Hotch replies. Hank doesn't pay it attention very long, instead he jumps up and off of Hotch's chest, rushing down the hallway after Jack. He can hear Derek puttering around in the kitchen, more than likely still upset and avoiding him so that he can skip the inevitable argument, but Hotch is feeling particularly vulnerable and lonely. Like he's done something to wrong to his entire family. He understands why they're upset, but he's been over and over it in his head and he can't find a way to make it something he could have avoided.
It simply hit out of nowhere, and so far has no answer. Maybe if they can tell him why, then he'll connect some dots but right now it's all one big question. They have ideas, things they're suspecting, but nothing concrete and both he and Derek cling to concrete.
Derek comes in with a homemade banana milkshake (probably made with a scoop of some protein powder that tastes gritty and chalky) and an apology on the tip of his tongue. "I'm sorry I got upset earlier," he says and Hotch nods.
It's never been hard to accept Derek's apologies, sincerity is one of his most endearing traits.
"I had no warning," Hotch says, filling in the gaps. "I was sitting and visiting with your mom while Hank played. I realized we needed to get going if we were going to have time to walk to Jack's school instead of driving. It's been so nice out that I wanted to walk and maybe stop off at the park on the way home. Your mom picked Hank up to start their goodbye ritual, and I stood up to start collecting our things. You know how he scatters everything all over."
"And you were fine sitting down?"
"I was fine until I stood up, and I couldn't take a step. My legs nearly gave out, my head started spinning, I sat back down and your mom was alarmed immediately. I couldn't get to my feet again, my eyes wouldn't focus, it was scary for me but it must have been terrifying for her. She thought I was having a stroke, I heard her on the phone with the emergency dispatcher. I couldn't say much to change her mind, I was fighting so hard not to throw up everywhere. I'm sure it was a sight."
Derek laughs at that and sits on the edge of the bed, handing the milkshake to Hotch who takes it and doesn't drink it right away. His stomach is still iffy and he can smell the protein powder. He'll drink it, he just needs a second.
"The EMTs told her they didn't think I was having a stroke, that it looked like a sudden onset of severe vertigo due to an inner ear problem, but because my vital signs were all low they took me in."
"Do they know why?"
"Not really. They ruled out stroke and heart attack. Whatever it is, they don't think it's an emergency so they cut me loose. I'll see my primary doctor tomorrow, the nurse set up an appointment for me."
"I'll go with you."
"Derek you don't need to do that."
"Do you not want me there?"
Hotch blinks a few times. He's not sure how to answer this. "I'm not trying to hide anything from you. I'm being honest. I promised you that I would be up front about things and I am." That old familiar feeling of not being trusted settles between them like a coiled sleeping snake waiting to strike.
"So that's a no, you don't want me there."
"It isn't that I don't want you there, but I do want you to trust me without having to be at the appointment. You're welcome to come if you like, but I wish you didn't feel like you need to be there."
It's Derek's turn to be stunned into silence. He's not sure how to respond. They haven't actually argued yet since Hotch decided to stay in Chicago and give this a chance. They haven't argued, but they're dangerously close now. The room feels electric.
"You still don't trust me," Hotch says sadly and Derek can't argue with that statement. He wishes like hell that he could, but he can't.
"What happened today…" he starts quietly, resigned to brutal honesty. He speaks slowly and carefully. "It brought back a lot of that old fear, man. Watching you standing there in that conference room, one second you're giving us a briefing and the next you're unconscious on the floor and…you said excuse me. You were gonna leave. And do what? Were we just supposed to find you dead in your office?"
"We've already -"
"No, I know. I know we've talked about this but I'm still not over it. I'm still not past that fear. It ate me up, man. I thought you were dead. I flew out on that jet and I thought I wasn't ever gonna see you again. Every time I talked to Garcia I asked her how you were and there was never any news and it killed me. Now I've got you, and I'm scared every single day that it's gonna happen again. Well, today it did."
"I'm sorry," Hotch whispers. "I don't mean to be so much trouble."
"You're not any damn trouble. That's not what I'm saying."
Derek shakes his head and presses his palms against his eyes, squeezing the tears away.
"I'm just saying maybe…I might never be able to move on. I'm not ever gonna be over that.."
"If it helps, I'm not either." Hotch lives in fear every day of that happening again. He's not doing anything different, not really. He's not working so his stress is slightly reduced, but he's still the same man he always was and he stuffs all of his anxiety down into his stomach. "I'll never be free of Foyet."
He doesn't talk about Foyet, he doesn't say that name, but it's what Derek needs.
"Just like you'll never…"
Derek touches his own chest, touches the scar that he's gone to great lengths to have reduced. Hotch has never had scar reduction procedures, the damaged tissue runs too deep, but Derek's was all surface. He's had plastic surgery. It's still there and it always will be, but it's different. It's not Montolo's anymore. It's not the result of what he went through, he's reclaimed it. That doesn't mean he likes it, in fact he's self-conscious in a way that Hotch never thought he'd see from Derek, but they're getting through it.
Hotch never will be able to reclaim his scars from Foyet, not really. He can't because like an iceberg, what sits beneath the surface is far deeper than what's visible. Foyet's scars live inside of him and they operate almost like a cancer.
"I'm sorry," Derek says, scooting until he's leaning against Hotch, until he can wrap his arms around him and pull him in tight. "I can't make you pay for that forever."
"You wouldn't be the only one."
"What, you mean Jack? He's gonna get over it. He's sensitive right now because he's scared. He's afraid to lose you. We all are."
"You're not losing me. It looked scary but it wasn't an emergency. They think it's just an inner ear problem. Maybe viral. Some swelling in there. They'll do an MRI tomorrow morning."
"How do you feel?"
At that, Hotch lets a small almost pathetic smile slip. "Terrible." It's the whole truth. He feels awful, but he's glad to be home. Because Derek's house is home, even if he still has his own place. Derek and Hank don't stay over, there isn't really the space for them, so when they want to be together as a family they stay here. The apartment, for the most part, acts as a storage unit or an office.
Jack comes in while Hotch attempts to sip his banana milkshake, small bits slipping over his tongue. He almost doesn't mind the hateful protein powder…almost.
"Hey dad?" Jack asks, and Derek immediately excuses himself to go and check on Hank to give them some privacy. It's time for his bath and bed, and he needs to make sure the guest room bed has sheets on it so Jack has somewhere to sleep.
"Yeah?" Hotch asks, trying to be cool and casual. Trying not to let on how hurt he was by Jack's dismissal earlier.
"Are you…okay?"
Hotch pats the bed and waits for Jack to sit beside him. "I am. It's not like last time." He wants to say he promises, but he can't bring himself to do it. Promises are impossible to keep and he's spent a lot of time lying. "I just got dizzy, it's my ears." Damn, he really hopes it is. If it's not then he doesn't know how to…he can't even think of it. Simply put, he won't entertain it. This is just his ears, end of story.
"Are you sure?"
"I was in the hospital all afternoon so they could rule out a heart attack and a stroke and other dangerous things. I still don't feel good, but I'm not dying. I sure scared Grandma Fran though."
"When will they know what's wrong?"
"Hopefully tomorrow when I go see my doctor."
Jack sighs. "Okay. Well I hafta finish my homework…Mr. Jenner gave me three pages of proofs to do." Jack is good at math, but he simply doesn't see the point in proofs. He can do everything in his head, he knows everything he's supposed to know and then some. Three pages of proofs feels like a punishment.
"Okay. Come say goodnight at bed time, please?"
"You won't come tuck me in?" Jack hasn't asked his dad to tuck him in for years now. Not that Hotch hasn't, but Jack hasn't asked, and Hotch thinks right now it's more of a challenge than a desire. He wants to see if Hotch is lying about being okay.
"Of course I will," Hotch says, as if he'd just been waiting for the invitation. "If you want me to." Derek may have to carry him down the hallway but if his preteen wants to be tucked in, no matter what the driving force behind it is, he's going to damn well do it. Doesn't matter how he has to get there. "If you need help with your homework bring it here, okay? I'm a lawyer, proofs are the language I speak best."
"Sure dad." It wasn't whatever, and that felt pretty amazing. Hotch settles into Derek's sheets and relishes the small victory with another sip of the chalky milkshake. The victory, he supposes, will be short-lived but he'll enjoy it while he can.