Chapter Text
The apartment was quiet in the way only late nights could be.
Not silent—never silent with Spencer Reid around—but quiet enough that the ticking clock over the kitchen sink sounded louder than usual.
Aaron Hotchner stood at the counter, sleeves rolled up, tie abandoned somewhere on the couch. He stirred sugar into a mug of tea while rain tapped steadily against the windows of their apartment.
Behind him, pages flipped rapidly.
“Spencer,” Hotch said without turning around, “you’re supposed to be resting.”
“I am resting.”
Hotch glanced over his shoulder.
Spencer was curled sideways on the couch beneath a blanket, glasses sliding down his nose, three open books balanced dangerously around him. A heating pad rested across his stomach from where he’d been complaining about a migraine for the last hour.
“That,” Hotch said carefully, “looks a lot like research.”
“It’s recreational research.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“It absolutely is.”
Hotch hid a smile as he carried the tea over. Spencer immediately made room for him, tucking cold feet under Hotch’s leg the second he sat down.
“You’re freezing,” Hotch muttered.
“You generate enough body heat for both of us.”
“That sounds medically inaccurate.”
Spencer accepted the tea with both hands, shoulders relaxing almost instantly. For a few moments, neither of them spoke. Rain filled the apartment instead.
It had been a rough case. The kind that stayed with everyone longer than they admitted. Even now, Hotch could feel tension sitting heavily between his shoulders.
Spencer noticed, of course.
He always noticed.
“You’re doing the thing,” Spencer said softly.
Hotch frowned. “What thing?”
“The staring into space while pretending you’re not thinking about work thing.”
“I’m not pretending.”
“That somehow makes it worse.”
Hotch exhaled quietly through his nose, leaning back into the couch cushions.
Spencer reached over without looking and threaded their fingers together automatically, like muscle memory.
“You know,” Spencer said after a moment, “statistically speaking, married couples who maintain physical affection during stressful periods report significantly better emotional regulation.”
Hotch looked down at their joined hands. “Are you citing studies at me again?”
“Yes.”
“Is it working?”
Spencer tilted his head against Hotch’s shoulder. “Maybe a little.”
That earned him a small smile.
Jack’s laughter echoed faintly from down the hallway in his sleep, probably dreaming about the soccer game Hotch had taken him to earlier that week. Both men paused instinctively, listening until the apartment settled again.
Then Spencer spoke quietly.
“You’re a good dad.”
Hotch’s expression softened immediately. “Spence—”
“No, you are.” Spencer stared down into his tea. “Jack looks at you like you hung the moon. And honestly? So do I sometimes.”
Hotch went still.
Spencer rarely said things like that directly. He tended to hide affection inside facts, statistics, or rambling observations about obscure subjects. So when sincerity slipped through unexpectedly, it always hit harder.
Hotch lifted their joined hands and pressed a brief kiss against Spencer’s knuckles.
“You make this place feel like home,” he said.
Spencer blinked at him, visibly caught off guard.
“That was disgustingly romantic,” he informed him after a second.
“You started it.”
“I did not.”
“You literally compared me to the moon.”
“I said Jack looks at you that way.”
“And you.”
Spencer took a long sip of tea to avoid answering.
Hotch’s smile widened slightly.
Outside, thunder rumbled softly across the city. Inside, the couch creaked as Spencer slowly slid down until his head rested in Hotch’s lap instead.
“You know,” Spencer mumbled sleepily, “if you tell Morgan about any of this, I’ll deny everything.”
“He already assumes we’re like this.”
“That’s fair.”
Hotch brushed careful fingers through Spencer’s curls, slow and gentle. Within minutes, Spencer’s breathing evened out completely, one hand still loosely wrapped around Hotch’s wrist.
For the first time all day, Aaron Hotchner felt the tension leave his chest.
The rain continued outside.
The books remained open and forgotten.
And in the warm glow of the apartment lights, everything finally felt calm again.