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What kind of parent wants to see that level of fear in their child’s eyes.
Hotch stares into his tea, watching the swirls chase each other around his spoon as he stirs it.
”He didn’t ask to be the outlet for your anger!“
“I didn’t ask to have a child like him!”
Morgan stares at him, horrified and shocked and furious.
“You asked for everything because you chose to be a parent. You took on the responsibility that comes with having any child the moment you decided to bring another life into this world. It’s no more Jack’s fault that he has anger issues and anxiety than it would be if he’d been deprived oxygen at birth.”
Hotch stares into his tea, stares into the brown swirls chasing each other as he stirs his spoon through the liquid.
“I have had it up to here with him and his behaviour. After everything I’ve done for him, everything I’ve-“
“After everything you’ve done for him? You mean being a parent? You don’t get to feel any kind of heroism for being a dad. That’s your job.”
Hotch stares into his cup, into the tea that’s swirling around, chasing his spoon as he stirs it.
“He does nothing to help around here! He doesn’t work, he doesn’t help with the house, he does nothing that he doesn’t want to.”
“Because you’ve never made any different happen!”
“Never made? I tried to make it happen! I tried everything and he still refuses to do anything that doesn’t suit him!”
“Then you accept that, or you change your approach once and for all. But you do not get to accept him as he is ninety-eight percent of the time, lulling him into a security that you yourself don’t even know the lines of, and then shoot it all to shit whenever you feel like it.”
“Whenever I feel like it?! I have had it up to here, Derek. Do you know how much I’ve had to put up with from him? From before he was even born?”
“And that is not his fault. You chose to have a child. You chose to bring him into this world, and you chose to keep him. Maybe he’s not the kid you imagined yourself having, but guess what, he’s the one you got. He’s the one you signed up to love unconditionally.”
Hotch stares into his tea, watches the swirls of brown circle around his spoon as he stirs, chasing each other into infinity.
“Do you ever even stop to think how hard it must be for him to exist like this? How unbearable it must be to be so anxious and so afraid and so angry all the time?”
“Of course I do! I think about it all the time! I think about his future, about what he’s going to do when I’m not here. I worry about-“
“You worry about that and yet you make it worse for him whilst he still has you? You take away the only thing he has every right to feel safe in?”
“I didn’t mean-“
“No, you never do, Aaron. But you always threaten it. You always wield the one thing you have over him to give you the upper hand, because you’re right, he would be out on the streets if you kicked him out. And each time you threaten it, you go a little bit further in destroying what little safety Jack feels he has in this world.”
Hotch stares into his tea, into the brown swirling liquid chasing the silver of the spoon in endless circles.
“And you know the worst of it? Jack feels bad for you. He doesn’t pity you, like I would argue he should, he feels genuine remorse for how his actions as a child have impacted your life. How many other kids do you know who feel that it was their fault that their parents feel like they were wronged by the world? Who think that they were truly responsible for managing their parents' emotional wellbeing when they were little more than infants in diapers.”
Hotch stares into his cup, unfocused gaze not even registering the brown swirls that rise too high in the mug, spilling out over the edge and onto the table.
“None, Aaron. Fucking none. And neither would I expect you to, because kids who don’t come from fucked up homes don’t feel like they were at fault from the moment they were born.”
Hotch stares into the lapping brown swirls, the silver spoon clattering off the side of the ceramic going unheard.
“And you know what the worst part is? That I got to witness first hand what that shift was like for him, to realise that he wasn’t responsible for his actions at that time.”
“Yeah well, you would appeal to his tortured soul, wouldn’t you? You’d tell him what he wanted to hear, that he’s not responsible for any of his actions like he’s not a fucking adult now!”
“I didn’t say he isn’t responsible for his actions now. I said he wasn’t responsible for his actions as a baby. He wasn’t responsible for carrying the burden of your happiness when he couldn’t even feed himself. And you know what the actual worst part is? It’s that he didn’t want to hear that. He didn’t want to be told that it wasn’t his fault for being a ‘difficult’ baby, as if there even is such a thing as an an easy baby. He didn’t want to know that he wasn’t to blame for being a child with more emotions than another, or a teenager who couldn’t step out into the world like the rest of his peers. He didn’t want to know that some of the responsibility that you’ve been laying at his feet his entire life is actually yours to carry.”
Hotch stares into his half empty tea, into the pools of brown liquid, no longer swirling, on the kitchen table.
“This is a blip for you. Tomorrow, you’ll go back to feeling like the worst parent ever, no longer fuelled by some righteousness that you’ve been slighted by the world and the son you were given, the son you were gifted. You’ll go back to your same old self hating ways, and you’ll try to make amends with Jack. You’ll text him and tell him you both need to talk, to ‘consider your words’ as if anything he’s done wasn’t a retaliation to having his safety net pulled out from under his feet again, when he’s already been on edge for weeks. You’ll lament to him that you’re just trying your best and that you still get it wrong, that you wish your parents had been as open with you about their struggles as you are with him, and then you’ll try to make up. You’ll ask him for a hug, tell him you’re sorry, probably stick a knife in his heart by saying something along the lines of ‘you just xyz’ and leave him feeling every shred of self confidence and self esteem torn to literal shreds. And then you’ll go on with your life, and Jack will… what? Jack will what, Aaron?”
Hotch stares into his cold, half empty tea.
“Jack will rebuild his walls just a little bit higher, with a few more reinforcements than last time, and he’ll remember that you’re not safe. Not in the way a dad should be. He’ll remember that he needs to keep up the smiley façade with you as well, because you can’t cope with anything else, and the last thing he wants is to trigger you into feeling unhappy. Because it’s his fault, right? It’s his fault that you’re upset, it’s his fault that you didn’t get the child you dreamed of. It’s his fault that you can’t control your own emotions like a fucking grown adult, that you leave him to be the parent, that he’s still at fault no matter what he does. It always was his fault, wasn’t it, Aaron? Even from being born. He was always a difficult baby. He was always an intense and emotional and angry child. He was always a teenager with too much anxiety and too little self confidence. He was always wrong, wasn’t he, Aaron?”
Hotch stares into his tea, watches the silver spoon clatter unheard off the sides of the ceramic, sees with unfocused eyes the pools of brown liquid soaking into the wood of the table.
“The next time you wonder why he doesn’t trust you, the next time you have to ask him why he won’t be honest with you, just remember this, won’t you, Aaron.”