Chapter Text
~*~
And I know that we just met and maybe this is dumb
But it feels like there was something from the moment that we touched
'Cause, uh, it's alright, it's alright
I wanna make you mine
The way you're lighting up the room
Caught the corner of my eye
We can both sneak out the back door, we don’t have to say goodbye
'Cause, uh, it's alright, it's alright
To waste time tonight
~*~
- July 2025, Washington, D.C. -
Sitting in the park almost all by himself, watching Michael chase a ball from one side of the field to the other, had not been on Henry’s priority list of the day. It was the middle of summer break, the sun shining down on them, and all his friends had places to be. Camping by the lake, hanging out at the pool or in the mall. Plans he had to put on hold for the last three days, ever since a case had taken his mom to another state and a local one kept his dad occupied from morning until the late evening hours. It was nothing they had any control over, and he was no one to blame them for doing their jobs, but sometimes it was exhausting.
He kept his eyes on the kids, the years of hearing his parent’s hushed voices talking about their works had sharpened his senses; had made him more observant, more cautious than other boys his age.
Michael ran around carefree, still young enough to not hear their parents talking, to miss the haunted look on their mother’s face when she came back from a case, or how their dad sometimes held them a little tighter as if they were a lifeline. He knew they were sometime, the one good thing that kept their heads above water. He shook his head, trying to concentrate on his brother and his friends, their mothers on the other side of the field, all of them standing together. Henry knew some of them from soccer practice and school festivals, they were nice enough to him, but he had become tired of their praise, of the carefully disguised jabs against his parents. Which was why he kept his distance now, one eye on the kids, the other on his phone checking for incoming texts from his friends or really anything moderately interesting.
Movement caught his attention, the ball kicked out of reach, landing right next to a group of teenage boys. The kids froze, uncertain what to do, the mothers’ keeping a keen eye on the older boys. Like vultures. Like vipers, ready to tear them down. One of the boys stepped forward, kicking the ball back to the kids with surprising precision. There was something almost eerily familiar about him. The groups approached each other, still under the watchful eyes of the mothers and Henry, taking in every movement the older boys made. They seemed older than Henry himself, all tall and athletic. The one in front crouched down to be on eye level with the kids, and the moment turned into something one would later find on Instagram and TikTok, backed by some emotional music. From his spot he couldn’t hear the words spoken, but he didn’t have to, to feel the shift in the atmosphere. In the blink of an eye the two groups mingled, kids and teenagers chasing a ball across the field, the older ones showing the younger ones little tricks, patiently explaining how to balance a ball on their foot. Henry watched them, eyes always drawn to that one boy. The apparent leader of the group. There was something in his features, in the way he held himself. Maybe, if he just got a good look at the other’s face, he could remember where he knew him from. If he knew him at all, or if the familiarity he felt was a product of his imagination.
Their game lasted about half an hour, until the kids were called back by their parents for a break. Michael ran towards him, a bright smile on his face.
“Did you see us?” He asked, climbing onto the bench and taking the water bottle from his backpack.
“Sure did, you balanced that ball like a pro.” Not that Henry knew much about soccer, the sport had lost its appeal some good years ago. He came to Michael’s games, watched some on TV with him even, but there was no real fascination. His brother grinned at him, obviously proud of his achievement. Right now, there was nothing Michael loved more than soccer, there was a D.C. United poster on his wall and a goal wall strapped under his bunkbed, a slim mattress keeping the ball from hitting the wall and driving Henry next door insane.
“Did we bring snacks? I want snacks.”
“I brought some cookies, but don’t eat too much of ‘em. We want to have dinner with Dad later.” At least that had been the plan in the morning, and as of yet his father hadn’t texted him about any changes. Rummaging through his bag he found a box full of cookies, handing it over to Michael. On the other side of the park, mothers gave fruit slices and sandwiches to their sons, but his brother currently was a picky eater and the chances were high he’d dislike whatever he had chosen on his sandwich in the morning by noon. So his favorite cookies were the safest option available.
“When’s mom coming home?” Michael asked between two bites, crumbs sticking to his face and landing on his shirt. It was an almost daily question every time their mother left for a case, especially long ones. When they talked in the evening, or whatever time of day it was where she was, Michael never asked, pretending like he wasn’t too bothered by her absence.
“I don’t know. Yesterday she said it might take some more days.” Which was the exact same thing she had said before and would probably say again. Keeping it vague but hopeful enough. “I’m sure she’ll be home soon.”
“Then I can show her and dad the tricks we learned today.” Henry looked over to the group of teenagers, the first kids already having rejoined them. “Can I play with them again?”
“Sure, just finish your cookie first.”
“Can you play with us too?” There was a hopefulness in his voice that made it hard to say no, no matter how much Henry wanted to. With a deep sigh he took the box from Michael, sealing it shut and putting it away.
“Yes, sure… I’ll just get our bags over to Dylan’s mom, okay?”
“Okay!” Michael as much as jumped from the bench, running towards his friends, his own backpack completely forgotten. Looking over to the group his eye caught one of the boys again, the feeling of familiarity settling in once again. Broad shoulders, short dark hair, an athletic build, pretty much his type if he was being honest.
Joining the group he felt the boy’s eyes on himself, as if he watched his every move. It felt hard then, keeping his head up, not feeling intimidated by him and his friends, no matter how good and friendly they were with the kids. Looking up their eyes met, and for just a second Henry could have sworn time stopped, or reverted backwards. For just a heartbeat he was a kid again, in the park with another little boy with dark hair and dark eyes.
“That’s my brother Henry,” Michael exclaimed, “Henry that’s-”
“Jack.” He finished for him, the name foreign and familiar at the same time. He must be wrong, it couldn’t be him. There was no explanation, no good reason for him to be here. Or for Henry to recognize him after nine years that felt like a whole lifetime. He saw Jack’s jaw tighten, chest rising and falling as the same recognition settled in, hands curling into fists, then relaxing.
“Hi, Henry.” Whatever passed between them in those seconds went unnoticed by Jack’s friends and the kids. There was nothing more spoken, Michael and his friends demanding their attention. Yet, Henry found it hard to concentrate on the game, eyes always searching for Jack on the field, finding him without fault. Their game of soccer continued, but somehow it felt like they were playing tag as well, Jack always out of reach, always one of his friends ending up between them. It wasn’t intentional, yet a little unnerving.
After another thirty minutes, mothers started calling their children back so they could pack up and leave. He retrieved their backpacks, as Michael said his goodbyes to his friends. Old and new ones. Handing over the backpack to his brother, Henry caught Jack looking at them, something unreadable in his eyes.
“How do you know Jack?” Michael asked as they turned towards the park entrance. Of course he wouldn’t remember the Hotchners, he had just been a baby back then.
“We were friends when we were kids.” Best friends, inseparable for the first seven years of his life. And now they were nothing but strangers. “But he moved away and we lost contact.” Michael nodded along, satisfied with the answer for now.
“Henry, wait!” Jack’s voice cut through the air, making him stop and turn around. He was jogging towards them, ball cap on his head, face halfway hidden underneath the brim. “Can I walk with you?” There was a hint of uncertainty in his voice, eyes lowered to the ground, only occasionally glancing up at him. There was a second of hesitation, a brief moment of wondering, then again there was no reason to say no.
“Sure, tag along.” Jack exhaled almost audibly, as if he had held his breath waiting for the answer. Then his lips spread into a smile, not quite a grin, but it was one that reached his eyes, making him appear softer somehow. They took off together, Michael between them, a tiny barrier. Silence stretched out between them, not quite tense but not quite relaxed.
“How did you get so good at soccer?” Michael broke the silence, blissfully oblivious to the turmoil brewing inside his older brother.
“I’ve been training for years,” Jack answered, “started when I was five. I’m playing for my university team now.”
“That’s why you’re back?” Henry asked before he could think about it.
“Yes… I got an athletic scholarship. Never thought I’d be good enough to qualify for that, if I’m being honest,” a short break, a breath as if he had to mentally prepare for his next words, “I study Criminal Justice.” Questions were spinning in his head, a hundred things he wanted to ask Jack. About the last years, his life now, but all of them died on his tongue, that connection between them too fragile for anything too personal.
“That’s cool,” he said instead.
“Yeah…” The silence was back, weighing down on them like a living, breathing thing. “I’m living with aunt Jessica now.”
“So your dad’s still….” Wherever they had gone back then. All Henry had learned with time was that they had gone into the witness protection programme and his dad had later decided for them to not return.
“He stayed in San Francisco, he got his job there and Claire, she’s his girlfriend… but I wanted to get back to D.C. and Jessica offered to let me stay with her.” Henry nodded along, part of him wondering why anyone would give up San Francisco for Washington D.C., even if they were born here. He was well aware that his father longed to return to New Orleans one day, maybe once he and his mom were retired.
“How’s living with your aunt?” His family had lost contact with her as well, with Jack the only link to her gone as well.
“It’s different,” was the first thing Jack said, “but nice. It’s just her and me now, uncle Phil couldn’t put up with my grandpa anymore and left her a year before he had to move into a retirement home… he’s got dementia and she couldn’t take care of him anymore.” Henry had never met Jack’s grandfather before, and only faintly did he remember his friend mentioning him sometimes.
“Sorry to hear that.”
“Haven’t seen him in years, he doesn’t remember me anymore, only aunt Jessica, my grandma and mom.” There was a flash of sorrow in his eyes, just for a second, still mostly obscured by the brim of his cap. “She’s forever sixteen in his mind… at least now he doesn’t hate my dad anymore.” Henry wanted to reach out, take Jack’s hand, but didn’t know if the gesture was welcomed or not.
“What is dementia?” Michael asked, having listened to their conversation more silent than ever before.
“It’s an illness,” Jack explained, “it sometimes makes old people forget things. Sometimes just small things, and other times very important things or even people.”
“That sounds scary… I don’t want to get so old that I forget things.”
“Don’t worry, you won’t,” Henry assured him. At least for now it was nothing Michael should worry about.
“Will grandma get ill too?”
“No, she won’t.” At least he hoped so, but Grandma Sandy was younger than Jack’s grandpa and she was as healthy as could be. Michael nodded, calmed down for now, still at an age where he believed almost every word his brother said.
“Sorry.” Jack mouthed. “Should think more about what I say.”
“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” What else was there to say? He was just as guilty, almost having forgotten Michael’s presence between them, even though he was holding his hand, making sure his brother would not wander off.
They walked the rest of the way in silence, their home not too far away from the small park. His dad’s car was parked on the driveway, prompting Michael to storm towards the front door, ringing their doorbell faster than Henry could get out his key. When their dad opened the door he looked tired, a fond smile gracing his lips as he lifted up Michael and pulled Henry into a hug.
“I’ll be with you in a minute,” Henry said, once his father released them from his hold, then returned to Jack who had been watching them from the sidewalk. “Thank you for walking us home.” Only now did he realise he had no idea where exactly Jessica lived and how much of a detour this had been for him. Jack smiled at him, and something about that smile made his heart flutter in his chest.
“Don’t mention it… maybe we can meet again?” Now he was sure his heart was beating faster, probably loud enough Jack could hear it.
“Yes, sure… I’ll give you my number.” Grinning Jack pulled out his phone, handing it over to Henry so he could enter his number. Just seconds later his own phone rang, Jack’s number appearing on his display. The first real step to rekindling what they had lost.
Entering their home, he found his dad in the living room, Michael having headed off to his own room. Henry leaned in the doorway for a moment, just looking at his father. He seemed tired, the hug they had shared earlier just a little tighter than usual. That he was home meant they had wrapped up the case, the way he looked it hadn’t ended in the best way.
“Who was that boy with you?” His dad’s voice drew him out of his thoughts, finally making him step into the living room.
“Jack…”, he answered, adding “Hotchner” after a short moment of consideration.
“I didn’t know they were back in D.C.” Henry sat down on the couch, rather looking at his own hands than his dad.
“Only Jack is,” he replied, “he attends university here. His dad’s still living in San Francisco… did you know he moved there?” All these years he had never asked his parents about the Hotchner’s whereabouts, always thinking they would’ve told them if they did.
“I had no idea. When they went into witsec, we didn’t know where they were relocated to and Aaron didn’t tell anyone when he handed in his resignation.” He nodded along, no reason not to believe him.
“Jack was in the park with some friends, they played soccer with the kids… but… how was your day? Did you finally get the guy?” There was not much his parents shared of their work, but sometimes Henry got his father to talk, both of them sitting at the dining table, Will sharing the teenage-friendly details. Sometimes that was enough to give him a new perspective and Henry was filled with a certain sense of pride. As much as his parents didn’t want their kids to end up in law enforcement, growing up with their jobs, surrounded by their colleagues and the stories of his grandpa, it was probably in his blood.
“We did… kind of. We had all the evidence and he knew it. He chose the easy way out.” The easy way out, Henry had learned fast what that meant. The wrong end of his own gun, a passing truck or train, the edge of a building.
He reached out for his dad, wrapping his arm around him and pulling himself close. Head resting on his father’s chest he took a deep breath, closing his eyes.
“Do you know when mom will be back?” His father took a moment to reply, a low hum rumbling in his chest.
“She called before you got home, seems like it will take some more days.” He hadn’t expected anything else, if he was being honest.
“She’s alright?”
“Yes, she is. You can talk to her later.” He just nodded along, not quite sure if he even wanted to. Then again, every time they talked could be the last time and he didn’t want to take a chance on that. “Tell me about your day.” And so he did; telling him all about the morning, their outing to the park, the meeting with Jack, and his father listened with the quiet interest he had always shown. He only stopped once Michael joined them, loudly proclaiming he was hungry, prompting them to get up and start cooking.
~*~
Being in his room alone later, headphones on, music blasting on a volume his parents would claim was bad for his ears, Henry sat on his bed, sketchbook in his lap. He had started drawing absentmindedly, the lines slowly taking the shape of a face. Jack’s face. The strong lines of his jaw, the friendly eyes, the short hair. He always had a good eye for faces, oftentimes remembering them better than names. Looking at the drawing now it was almost scary how clearly his face was imprinted into his brain, from the bow of his brows to the small mole on the side of his neck. If he allowed himself to think more about it, he’d most likely remember even more details. He wasn’t sure if this was normal. Probably not, but at least he had not started googling him. Not that he hadn’t thought about it, though. He had just held back. At least for now, because every time he grabbed his phone to change the song, his fingers hovered over the screen a little too long.
It would be easy finding him on the internet, almost nobody didn’t leave any kind of digital footprint, that much he knew.
He tapped the side of his headphones, pausing the current song before taking them off and putting his sketchbook to the side. Now his room felt silent, the only sounds coming from the living room where Michael watched one of his favorite shows that sometimes made Henry wonder if he grew up on a better TV programme, or if he just remembered it differently.
Getting up he left his phone lying on the bed, as he joined his brother downstairs. Their dad sat on his usual spot on the couch, novel in hand, shaking his head about whatever happened on TV. Michael was glued to the screen and Henry regretted coming down after approximately 5 minutes. Then again, Michael had forsaken his spot on the floor to cuddle up against him and that alone was worth something.
Their mother called ten minutes after Michael’s bedtime, something Henry blamed on the time zones between them. He stood leaning in the doorframe as Michael sat in his bed, phone pressed to his ear, telling her about everything they did that day, asking when she’d come back, looking disappointed when she told him she didn’t know. Henry could imagine how he was feeling, remembering his own disappointment as a kid, when he didn’t understand why his mother was away all the time.
He took the phone from Michael, kissed him on the forehead and told him to go to sleep.
“Hey, mom,” he greeted her the moment he closed Michael’s bedroom door behind himself, “how are you?”
“I’m fine,” she said, though she did sound tired, making him wonder how much sleep she got, if any. “We have much to do. But how are you? Michael told me you went to the park together?”
“We did, he played soccer with the other kids and some teens. They showed him tricks.”
“He said you knew one of them?” There was a moment of hesitation in his answer, unsure if he wanted to tell. Then again he didn’t have any reason not to tell his mother about Jack, he wasn’t a secret to keep.
“Yes… we met Jack.” Silence on the other end, the name sinking in, making him continue talking. “He goes to university here now.”
“That must’ve been a surprise.”
“Sure was, nice one, though. He lives with his aunt now.”
“I see. You’ll stay in contact?”
“Probably. We exchanged numbers at least.” Though neither of them had contacted the other yet. Henry, because he didn’t want to seem pushy or desperate and Jack… only he knew why.
“That’s good…I need to go now, baby. I love you.”
“I love you too, stay safe, okay.”
“As safe as possible. I promise.” Then she hung up. Just a short conversation, most likely cut short by a new lead in their case. At least he was sure he had heard Emily’s voice in the background, calling for his mom. He brought the phone back to his dad, then returned to his room, checking his phone for the first time in hours. There were a few messages, pictures his friends had sent him from the pool or their vacations, but nothing from Jack. What else did he expect? They had said their goodbyes only a few hours ago.
Sitting down on his bed, he put on his headphones, starting his playlist again. His sketchbook lay open next to him, Jack staring at him from the page. This time he gave into the urge, opening the browser typing Jack’s name into the search bar. The first things were a few pictures from different local San Francisco websites showing him in his Highschool’s soccer uniform and his team, the second were links to his social media accounts. He clicked on the pictures first, reading through the articles and his old school’s website. Jack seemed to be something like a star back home, hailed for his performance on the field and as the team’s captain. He looked good, one of the tallest boys of his team, focused and serious on the field, but always smiling in other pictures. He looked happy, carefree, like he was doing exactly what he was supposed to do.
He opened Instagram next, not for the first time glad his friend Samantha had badgered him into creating his own account a year ago. One he kept hidden from his parents, knowing their stand on Social Media and its dangers. He mostly used it to stay in contact with his friends and to not fall behind on trends, sometimes posting some of his art or pictures he took. If his parents ever found out they’d most likely be furious, or at least a little disappointed. Then again, looking at their jobs, they should not be too surprised about it.
Jack’s profile was full of pictures of himself, his team, nature, matches he attended. His whole life, the past years all put together in one place. He could probably get lost in those pictures for hours, trying to paint a mental picture of the person Jack was today, of the life he had lived in San Francisco. He swiped through pictures of the San Francisco skyline, Jack with his friends in a park, on trips; silly selfies of him and his father, some of them and another woman, most likely Claire, together with a girl. He read through captions and comments, listening to songs Jack had used as sounds in reels. There was a slide of pictures from a concert last year; the same one Henry had gone to with friends after weeks of discussions with his parents. They could’ve met there. For some time they had been in the same space, the same crowd. Maybe they had passed each other without noticing.
Outside the sun was setting as he closed the app, putting his phone away. The door to his room opened, prompting him to take off his headphones.
“I knocked,” his dad said, leaning in the doorway.
“Sorry, didn’t hear you…”
“Noticed as much.” There was a soft smile on his lips, no accusation in his voice. “I’m going to bed, do you want me to wake you before I head to work?”
“Only if Michael’s already awake?”
His father crossed the small distance between the door and the bed, sitting down next to him. There was a seriousness to his face, the light of his nightstand lamp painting dark shadows on it.
“I know this ain’t how you imagined your holidays, I can always get a sitter for Michael if you rather hang out with your friends.”
“I know, Dad. I don’t mind watching him,” he replied, hoping the truth was audible in his words, “he’s a cool kid to be around.”
“As cool as ten year olds can be?” A chuckle escaped him, as he nodded along.
“Yes, as cool as ten year olds can be. Really, don’t worry ‘bout it, it’s fine.” This time it was his dad pulling him in for a hug, pressing a kiss onto his temple. Sometimes he got the feeling there was a certain kind of guilt his parents carried with them, a somehow living thing eating away at them until it broke free for some short moments each month. Sometimes he caught himself wondering how it would be if they lived closer to his grandmother, or if his dad’s parents were still around. If they knew their kids safe and cared for by family, would the guilt they carried be a bit lighter?
“I love you, Dad,” he muttered, because he didn’t know anything else to say in situations like this. Because sometimes he felt like the words needed to be said out loud, to remind his parents whatever happened, nothing would change the simple fact he loved them.
“I love you too, Henry.” His dad let go of him, the shadows gone. “Don’t stay up too long, you know your brother.” What he wanted to say with that as there was no chance he could sleep in tomorrow. Another thing he was used to ever since he had become old enough to care for himself and Michael.
“One day I’ll buy him a human sized hamster wheel, so he can get rid of all that energy.” Another chuckle from his dad.
“I like that idea.” A pause, a moment of hesitation. “Maybe, if I get home on time tomorrow we could continue where we left off on the weekend.” Now he couldn’t hold back his own smile breaking free, some sort of anticipation nesting in his gut.
“I’d love that.”
He stayed awake a while longer after his father left, scrolling through his phone. He thought about texting Samantha, hearing her thoughts on everything, but then he’d had to explain the whole past situation to her and he didn’t feel up to that right now. When he finally put his phone away and went to sleep it was long past midnight.
~*~
The next morning came way too soon, his father softly shaking him awake. Downstairs in the living room he heard the TV running.
“Sorry I have to wake you…”
“‘t’s fine…” He blinked awake, trying to keep his eyes open. “You gotta go?”
“In half an hour, thought I’d give you some time to wake up.”
“Thanks…” He suppressed a yawn, propping himself up on one arm, his hair falling into his face. Fishing for his phone he checked the time, everything in him screaming to just go back to sleep. His eyes fell onto his sketchbook, still lying open on his nightstand, Jack smiling at him from the page.
“That’s a good one,” his father said.
“Thank you.” He couldn’t help but smile, yet he was glad his father didn’t ask any more questions, knowing Henry was not the most talkative in the morning. His father kissed him on the forehead, then left his room.
Henry grabbed his phone, turning the screen on. There were a few notifications from different apps, but no messages from any friends. Not that he was surprised by it, most of his friends were still asleep, none of them getting up before noon.
He rolled out of bed, the chances he’d fall back asleep if he stayed in bed a minute longer way too high. Leaving his room he heard Michael and his dad talk downstairs, his brother already wide awake and excited for the day ahead. He took a quick shower, slightly too cold for his liking but perfect to wake him up further, then quickly got dressed to join his family. Grabbing his phone he took another look on the screen, his heart jumping a little when he saw Jack’s name on it. A text message, about 5 minutes old. His thumb hovered above the message, two heartbeats passing before he opened it.
Jack: Good morning. Any chances you’ll be at the park again today?
Henry: Good morning. Most likely, yes. Got to watch Michael again, that kinda always leads us to the park in the end.
Just seconds after sending the text, Jack was writing again. Maybe he just had his phone on hand. There was no way he had actually been waiting for his reply. Not like Henry, who watched the small dots vanish and reappear while Jack typed.
Jack: Cool. Write me when you leave? I’ll meet you there.
For a moment he just stared at the screen, his brain catching up to the words. Jack really wanted to meet them.
Henry: Will your friends be there as well?
He sent the message before he could even think about it. Would it matter if Jack’s friends were there? If he was honest, yes, to him it mattered. It would change everything about the meeting.
Jack: No, just me. Don’t worry.
He didn’t worry. Why would Jack think he did? Letting out a deep sigh, Henry shook his head. He was already overthinking, reading too much between the few lines.
Henry: I don’t… I’ll text you later.
Putting his phone away he finally joined his family downstairs, his father preparing some pancakes for them just before heading out. He gave his kids one final hug, then left for work.
Michael sat at the table finishing off his last pancake sprinkled with chocolate chips, the melted chocolate smeared all around his mouth.
“What are you? Three?” Henry commented with a soft smile, wiping away the chocolate, only earning a wide, toothy grin from his brother.
“Can we go to the park again today?” Henry almost couldn’t hide his own grin now. It had only taken Michael ten minutes after their dad left to ask the question Henry had known would come.
“Sure. When do you want to leave?”
“Now?” Of course. What else had he expected? The hamster wheel started to sound better and better in his head.
“Let me just prepare some snacks.” Should he pack something for Jack as well? Should he tell Michael they’d meet him there? Was it wrong that he’d rather meet him all by himself? The questions swirled through his head as he prepared sandwiches, some fruit and cookies. Enough for three people, but not obviously too much for two. It felt a bit like playing it safe. Once finished he took out his phone again, opening the chat with Jack.
Henry: We’ll leave in about 15 minutes.
Again the answer came within seconds
Jack: Meet me at the same spot as yesterday?
Henry: Okay
His heart beat a little faster, anticipation building up inside him. Michael was off to his room, filling his backpack with everything he thought he might need. A soccer ball, a jumping rope, a frisbee. Everything he could use to get rid of all that energy. Henry himself packed his sketchbook, just in case, and fifteen minutes later they left for the park.