Chapter Text
Hotch was on a first name basis with several area florists.
There was the older woman who worked the counter in the neighborhood grocery store on his route to and from work. Her name was Louise and she called him to check in and make sure he was okay more often than his own mother did. She made it a point to call him when she got in the first shipment of cut daffodils in March, knowing how much he loved their short-lived sunshine. He always stopped by the store that first morning and bought donuts and a couple of handfuls of the papery yellow flowers for the BAU kitchen - to his knowledge, no one knew this gift came from him. He was always into the building before everyone else, no one ever saw him leave the daffodils in a vase on the counter or the box of fresh bakery donuts there beside them. If people wondered, if they'd figured it out, they never said a word. They were probably too afraid that it would stop, that he wouldn't continue if anyone knew it was him. The daffodils always went so fast, they bloomed and wilted quickly, but they whispered sweetness to him in a way other flowers couldn't.
In fact, Hotch simply loved early spring flowers in a way that was difficult to articulate. Daffodils and crocuses and bluebells growing wild in yards and garden beds and even in the cracks of the pavement. Next up were the cherry blossoms and magnolias, throwing their heady scent on the breeze, dropping their luscious petals on the ground. When he was a little boy, he would stop and scoop up the petals, tossing them like confetti into the wind. Now he just admired them from his vantage point at a distance, wondering at their beauty and how quickly time moves. One day the flowers are bursting and juicy and full of the hope of spring, the next they're wilted and on the ground dying before the full heat of summer ever touches them.
The same could be said of many things.
Hotch bought flowers from Louise at the grocery store most often now that he was single, now that he was buying them only for the break room with any regularity. Louise worried about him and he found that almost comforting, especially in those first days after Haley left. She encouraged him to keep trying to win her back, but eventually she let it drop and just kept an eye on him. She worried that he wasn't eating enough, wasn't taking care of himself, and she wasn't wrong.
He was also fond of Gerard, the charming young man who ran a flower stand at the farmer's market a few blocks from his house, though he didn't get down there as often as he would like anymore. Saturday mornings were often for catching up on things he hadn't gotten to during the week now that he didn't have a family to come home to, no one expecting him to give them his time. He missed it, waking up on Saturdays and walking to the market with Haley and Jack in the stroller, that panicked attempt at real quality family time, hoping that his phone didn't ring. Now he woke to an empty bed and no real reason to walk to the market, no real reason to buy anything. Haley had liked the jars of local honey and the soaps and the vegetables that were a little funny looking but vibrant colored, while Hotch found himself drawn to the flowers every time.
In the winter Gerard sold beautiful, striking crimson poinsettias out of a church basement that aggravated Hotch's allergies worse than just about anything he'd been around in recent years - he still bought four of them for his mother every year right after Thanksgiving anyway, making the two hour drive home with them in the backseat of his car. By the time he got them to her house, he was a sneezy mess with a raging headache but her mantel would be the envy of all of her friends through the holiday season and she'd cut him some slack for not making it down to see her as often as she would like. It was worth the trouble to see those big velvety flowers demanding to be looked at from the center of the room.
But his favorite florist ran her own little brick and mortar shop only a short trek from the train station he frequented. That was where he found himself now, standing amid a sea of flowers in the humid little store situated in an old brick strip mall that had seen the height of its popularity in the 1970s, and his stomach was tied in knots. He hadn't been here since he was married, since the last time he bought flowers for Haley. They had done their wedding flowers here, he bought birthday and anniversary arrangements here, he kept Haley well supplied with flowers over the years from Candace's shop.
Candace was the daughter of a man named Sal, the original owner and namesake of the shop. He'd passed away several years prior, and for a while Hotch was certain he was their only customer. There was never anyone in the shop, and Candace always seemed to have time to make his orders top priority - to him that seemed like trouble. And if it was, then he might have gone overboard trying to keep the little shop in business until Candace found her footing. Everyone was getting floral arrangements: he bought flowers for employee holidays, sent them for anniversaries and birthdays and housewarming gifts. Any occasion he could think of, and then…he stopped abruptly. He couldn't bring himself to call or walk into the store after Haley left him. There were too many memories tied up in this shop, and to put it frankly, he was afraid of them.
There weren't many things in life that Hotch was afraid of, but memories always managed to hold him hostage. They were the only things he had no control over.
What came over him to bring him here now could all be chalked up to desperation. He needed a miracle.
"Aaron!" Candace said, emerging from the back of the shop with a grin on her face and dirt on her hands. And cheeks. And a little in her hair.
She was holding a pot of brightly colored carnations to add to her autumn window display. Reds and yellow-golds and bright, bright whites. "I thought maybe you'd moved away or forgotten me!" She set the pot down and approached him, inspecting him carefully. He looked like a wreck though she wouldn't say so out loud. His face was a mess of scabs, varying sizes and depths, and she wondered what had happened to him.
When he didn't speak right away, she came a little closer. "Is everything okay?"
"I - " he started, overwhelmed by the flood of memory evoked just by the smells of the shop. It wasn't even the flowers, necessarily. The sweet smell of wet dirt made his chest tight. The way the warm wet air stuck in his throat didn't help. The thickness of the air made him dizzy. "I'm sorry, yes. It's been a long week."
"Can I get something for you?"
"I need to send flowers to…" he paused, thinking about Kate. Send flowers to whom, exactly? Her family lived in England, that wouldn't do. The funeral home, perhaps. Or the hotel her family would be staying at. He stalled out, froze up, and she put her hand on his arm.
"You don't look well. Why don't you come sit down for a minute?"
"I'm sorry, I need to get going. This was a mistake."
He disappeared before she could ask him anything else, though he wasn't sure where he was going. Just out, he had to get out of the store before he went into a full on panic attack. He was desperately close already. It was so unexpected, so strange that he hurried to his car, locked the door and just stared out the front window while his body misfired in every imaginable way. His chest constricted, ribs tightening around his thundering heart, hands numb, lungs on fire. He gasped for breath and felt the hot sting of tears in his eyes, and somewhere in his mind he knew exactly what this was…it was awfully hard to remind himself of something so steeped in logic when the world was crumbling around him.
Candace tapped on his window and waited for him to open the door, he hadn't bothered to turn the key in the ignition. He wasn't going anywhere.
"Here," she said, handing him a small glass of water. "Take a sip."
With one trembling hand, he took the glass from her and set it to his lips. The first sip went down the wrong pipe and he coughed, but the motion of the cough shot him back into some kind of clarity and he blinked a few times before taking a real sip. A cooling sip. It eased the pain in his chest almost immediately.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I don't know what came over me."
"Would it surprise you to know I see panic attacks regularly in my line of work?"
He thought for a moment before shaking his head. "I suppose not."
"You haven't been in since your divorce. It's normal to have some feelings about that."
He turned his head and looked at her, really looked at her. She let out a small laugh that sounded like a wooden wind chime on an ocean breeze. It was as beautiful as it was unsettling.
"Haley has been in several times since. We talk, you know."
He nodded and hoped that she wouldn't say anything else. He didn't want to know why Haley was buying flowers, it would only make the feeling in his chest worse.
"Were you coming in to buy flowers for a new romantic partner? Haley told me you've been involved with someone for a few weeks."
"I have," he replied quietly, warmth spreading from his numb fingertips to his elbows. Feeling was coming back. He pictured Derek's smile and shifted in the seat. "It's still new."
"You want to buy him flowers?"
"I do," he said curiously. "Haley told you…"
"That girl likes to talk. For what it's worth, she's really happy you found someone. She gushes about him. She was just in here a couple days ago telling me about you two."
He hummed thoughtfully, wondering why Haley was spending so much time in the flower shop but he wouldn't bother asking. Maybe she was just lonely. Heaven knew he was. What he really wanted to ask was if she was surprised that he'd gone from being married to a woman to dating a man, but then she didn't look the least bit surprised. She probably saw plenty of that, too. She probably saw a lot of things he'd never considered.
"Tell me about him." She was still crouched beside his car, and he was still sitting stiff in the seat. He couldn't quite bring himself to move, his bones felt poured with concrete. He struggled through a couple of breaths, shaky and tentative, unable to make his lungs expand.
"We've been colleagues for years," he started quietly. His voice was hardly more than breath rushing over dry lips. "We're going through a rough patch. My fault. I'd like to get him flowers that tell him…"
"You're sorry? You're an idiot?" she asked. "But also that you really like him. Nothing mopey or sad. Something sweet and hopeful. Maybe a little romantic?"
"Not too forward," he whispered. "I don't want him to think I want to get married."
"So no orchids."
He laughed at that; it was a strained sound, not cheerful but it was soft. An orchid would send the wrong message entirely. "No. Nothing he has to care for." A potted flower was for later, when the relationship was on solid ground. When discussions of toothbrushes and a stay over drawer gave way to talks about moving in together. Given the way they'd argued in New York, the way they'd left things after the drive home, they were a long way out from those types of talks.
He was just hoping Derek would give him another shot at doing something right, because as far away from those talks as they were right now…he knew things could get worse. Those talks could be off the table entirely if he wasn't careful.
"Do you want to pick up the bouquet, or should I deliver it to him at work?"
"Work," he said quietly. She knew too much. Haley talked too much.
She beamed at him. "Great. I've been dying to see what he looks like. I was starting to think you'd found another florist, like Haley got me in the divorce."
"We didn't…"
"Aaron, it's a joke. Anything else I can do for you?"
For the time being, he decided to let the flowers for Kate go. Maybe he would come up with a solution, maybe not, but for now the thought of it was overwhelming enough to send him into a tailspin if he spent too long with it.
He could blame the concussion, blame the sorry state of his body a week after the SUV exploded in his face, blame the fact that he was still waiting to return to duty and he was losing his mind. He wasn't even close to being himself, to being on his game, and he just had to accept that.
"Are you going to be okay to drive?" Candace asked, finally standing up and arching the stiffness from her back. She wasn't nearly young enough to be crouching like that for so long - what the hell was she thinking?
"I'll be fine. Thank you." He handed her back her glass of water, half empty but grateful for what he'd had. "I appreciate you coming to check on me. I'm sorry for worrying you."
"Don't mention it. I hope Agent Morgan likes the flowers you're sending."
Haley really…really talked too much.
Derek sent him a text later that night with a photo of a gorgeous bouquet of flowers sitting on his desk at work. Crisp white tulips in a sea of green, set in a delicate clear glass vase. It was simple and elegant, and Hotch thought they were the perfect choice to convey how he felt. Trusting Candace had worked.
"This you?" Derek's text read. Hotch smiled and poked at the keys on his phone clumsily with his thumbs. He was lying in bed, attempting to sleep off the latest in a series of sickening concussion headaches, thinking about what sounded good for dinner, refusing to think about how Derek was going to react to the flowers. The text caught him off-guard and he hesitated for a minute before hitting send.
"Yes."
"Garcia wants all the details."
"None of her business."
"Can I come over tonight?"
"I was hoping you would."
They needed to talk, to set things right, and the flowers were the perfect jumping off point. Now Hotch just had to figure out how to get out of bed, and what to make for dinner. Buying flowers was easier.