Title: Curiouser and Curiouser
Author: nebula99
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Rating: FRM
Type: Slash
Word Count: 5426
Pairing: Hotch/Reid
Summary/prompt: Hotch does not have a crush on Spencer Reid and of course nobody has noticed because it doesn't exist. Prompt: Hotch discovering that maybe he is not as straight as he thougth and how he starts developing an interest/attractions/crush toward Reid.
A/N: Many thanks to the ever lovely slash_girl for the beta.

***

It wasn't a sudden change.


Aaron Hotchner hadn't woken up with a crush on a co-worker. He hadn't heard birds singing, or seen fireworks when he looked at him. There had been no precise moment that he could pinpoint as the time.

Rather, the feelings had grown more subtly than that. Starting from an imperceptible kernel and multiplying, spreading and growing until there was no doubt that Aaron Hotchner had a crush on Doctor Spencer Reid.

No doubt at all.

But crushes were the domain of teenage girls and Hotch was not one of those. He was the Unit Chief of the BAU and supervisors did not develop crushes on subordinates. Perturbed, Hotch opted for the only possible response - denial.

Not just a river in Africa.

He thought he was hiding it rather well. Hotch was not known for emotional displays and although the description of him as a "drill sergeant" was one that he professed to dispute, he actually secretly agreed. Hotch did not lose control - ever.

It wasn't the fact that Reid was male that disconcerted him. There had been same sex partners in college and Hotch had never doubted his bisexuality. It was more that he had never considered finding another partner.

He had married Haley because he had fallen in love with her and although the marriage had ended, he had never wanted to leave her. As far as he was concerned, that was the end of the romantic part of his life. One failed relationship was one too many and although he could tell himself that he had no desire for another partner, in reality he couldn't take that risk. Hotch was satisfied that he had replaced the emotional defences that Haley's betrayal had smashed and he was confident that others could see that too. He would acknowledge a moment of weakness when his marriage had crumbled, but any lingering concerns that he was vulnerable were promptly denied.

Besides, Unit Chiefs did not develop crushes on younger subordinates and so this could not possibly be a crush. It was more a matter of aesthetics. Spencer Reid was beautiful and Hotch could appreciate beautiful things.

The denial really was working for him. Nobody had any idea how he felt.


It all started to unravel in Barstow. The case was gruelling - all cases were gruelling but this was particularly hideous. One mutilated body was one too many and after the fifth body dump, it was all any of them could do to not just quit there and then and get the hell out of there.

JJ was telling the murdered woman's fiancé that they had found another body, but they would have to wait for dental records to identify it properly. She had volunteered for this after watching Hotch slump into a chair with his head in his hands and stay there for over an hour after telling the last family the same news. Hotch had broken the news to every victim's family so far and JJ wanted to share the burden.

Rossi and Morgan were at the morgue and Emily and Reid were sifting through witness statements. Hotch stood at the back of the room for a moment, watching.

Hotch could see the outline of Reid's shoulder blades through his thin shirt and clenched his fists in an effort not to want to touch him. With his head dipped and his brow furrowed in concentration, the harsh office lighting contrasted with the delicate beauty of the young man's face. Hotch wanted so much to touch him, to stroke his fingers across his jaw and up to his lips. He wanted to push the straggling hair away, take Reid's face in both hands and then kiss him.

He wanted this.

Hotch shook his head slightly, as if trying to bring himself back from where his thoughts had taken him. Reid was a colleague and nothing more. This "interest" Hotch was having in him had to be a reaction to the events of the past year - undoubtedly a normal response to abnormal circumstances.


He wondered for a moment if he was old enough to be having a midlife crisis? He guessed Rossi would know more about those than he would, but somehow he didn't feel he could tell him about these particular feelings. Anyway, despite this inexplicable reaction he was having, he was not going to take it any further. Ignoring it would make it pass quicker, Hotch was sure of it.

Emily looked up and then called him over to where they were sitting. She pointed out a salient detail, common to several of the statements and Hotch was soon drawn deeply into a discussion with her and Reid about how it might affect the profile, all inappropriate thoughts having been quickly banished.

Several hours later, after a long discussion between the whole team, they were a little closer to producing a profile and, judging by the fatigue on everyone's faces, they were also ready to sleep. Figuring that a good night's rest was as valid a weapon in the fight against evil as an accurate profile and a Glock, Hotch called it a night and sent the team back to the hotel.

In his room, he yanked off his tie and unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt, rolling up his sleeves and kicking off his shoes in an effort to shed the stresses of his job along with his "uniform". Wandering into the bathroom, Hotch caught sight of himself in the mirror, noting the dark circles around his eyes and the five o'clock shadow darkening his jaw. Despite removing the formal aspect of his clothing, and despite locking the files and photographs in his briefcase and placing it in the closet, Hotch still felt as though the horrors of the day were clinging to him. He couldn't shake the images of the torn and bloody bodies, nor could he forget the way that the parents of one victim had clung to each other, howling with grief as he stood there, helpless to do anything other than whisper his condolences.

Sometimes Aaron Hotchner hated his job.

Shoulders dropping, Hotch decided to take a shower. Even if the cleansing was only symbolic, at least he could feel as though he had done something to scrub away the remnants of the day's horrors. He turned on the water and then headed back into the bedroom to undress.

Hotch had just undone the first few buttons on his shirt when there came a knock on his door. It was quiet, but surprisingly firm; a gentle instruction to open the door.

Hotch was surprised to see Reid standing outside his room. He would have expected Reid's knock to be more tentative, as if the young man's perceived fragility would manifest in every action he undertook.

"Reid," said Hotch, pointlessly. "What do you want?"

In reply, Reid stepped past him and into the room. "To talk to you," he said softly. "And because I don't want to drink this on my own." He placed a bottle of brandy on the table, along with two plastic cups from the water cooler in the lobby. Then he unscrewed the lid, poured a measure into each cup and sat down on the bed, swinging his legs up onto the covers.

Hotch stared at him, confused. "I was about to take a shower," he said.

Reid shrugged. "Go ahead, I'll wait." He picked up a cup and took a sip. "Don't be too long, or you won't get your share. This is a bottle of Hennessy and it's my favourite."

Hotch narrowed his eyes. "I thought you said you didn't want to drink it on your own."

"Touche," replied Reid with a smirk, raising his cup in a toast. "A votre sante."

Hotch hesitated and then hurried into the bathroom to turn off the shower. He had no idea why Reid had come to talk and drink with him, but he wasn't going to ask him to leave. He walked back into the room and sat down at the table, taking a sip of the brandy Reid had poured for him.

He looked over at Reid resting back against the headboard and smiling at him. "What do you want to talk about?" he asked, feeling ridiculously unsure of himself and nervous. Aaron Hotchner didn't get nervous, especially not in a hotel room with a colleague and a bottle of brandy.

Reid stared at him, a slightly quizzical look on his face as though he was studying him. "The time has come," he smiled, "The Walrus said, to talk of many things. Of shoes, and ships and sealing wax, of cabbages and kings. And why the sea is boiling hot - and whether pigs have wings." He grinned broadly at Hotch and drained his cup. "Alice in Wonderland."

"Yes," nodded Hotch. "The Walrus and the Carpenter. But, to quote Alice, this conversation is getting curiouser and curiouser." He smiled at Reid, feeling more relaxed now the brandy was inside him, and refilled their cups.

Reid pressed his lips together, as though stifling a laugh, and nodded. "Sorry," he said, "I didn't mean to be flippant. I guess it's a response to the unending awful that is this case." He pushed himself up into a sitting position and took another sip of brandy. "I came to talk to you about the way that you've been watching me."

Startled, Hotch's first instinct was denial. "I have no idea what you are talking about," he said, forcing his face to remain impassive.

The look Reid gave him was of faint amusement more than anything else. "I think you do," he replied and he took another drink, looking at Hotch under his eyelashes the whole time. "Emily told me you were staring at me in the cop shop today, and JJ's told me she's seen it before. And I'm not blind - did you think I wouldn't notice?"

Hotch's mouth was suddenly dry and he swallowed another mouthful of brandy, feeling the burn in his throat as it trickled down. "Why do you think I've been watching you?" he asked, surprised at how faint his voice was.

"Because you have," replied Reid, who then leant forwards and cupped both hands around his drink. "You can pretend I'm talking uncommon nonsense if you like, but I've known you long enough to notice when you are watching someone - and you've been watching me. Either you're convinced I'm using again, and you're waiting to catch me out, or you fancy me. I hope it's the latter."

Reid's voice was gentle and unthreatening, as was his demeanour, but Hotch couldn't help feeling defensive. He couldn't even admit the crush to himself, let alone the object of all his, frankly unwanted, desires. "I don't know what you think you've seen, but you're wrong. I don't feel that way about you."

"It's okay, Hotch," replied Reid, "You can make a pass at me if you like - it wouldn't be unwelcome." He paused and laid a hand on Hotch's arm. "In fact, it would be very welcome indeed. I find you a very attractive man - and not just physically."

Hotch stared at the copper coloured drink in his hand and then drank it down in one gulp. He placed the cup on the table, noticing with horror that his hands were trembling. Reid's touch was burning into his skin and although he could hardly bear to do so, he pulled his arm away. "I'm flattered, Reid, but there is nothing going on here." He spoke without looking up, not confident that his poker face wouldn't slip and let his real feelings show.

Hotch sat in silence for a moment, his heart banging against his ribcage. Then Reid's hand cupped his jaw and turned his face towards him.

"I like you," said Reid softly, "And I think you like me too. Isn't it better to seize a chance than to deny it?"

Before Hotch could reply, Reid leaned towards him and kissed him on the lips. Hotch was passive as Reid placed his mouth over his, kissing him with a gentleness Hotch would never have expected from another man. Reid's lips were so soft - Hotch could feel the blood rushing straight to his groin and he stifled the groan that rose up in his throat.

Then, as Reid's tongue began to slide into his mouth, Hotch pulled away abruptly. "This . . . this is inappropriate," he said, clasping his hands over his crotch to hide his arousal.

Reid huffed a laugh. "Inappropriate?" he said. "Hotch - if you don't want this, then look me in the eyes and tell me you don't want me. Because I think that you do."

Hotch took a deep breath and fixed his eyes on Reid. "I don't want you," he said sharply, ignoring the flush that was creeping over his face. "Now I think you should go."

Reid's shoulders dropped and he twisted his body away from Hotch, getting up off the bed and picking the bottle of Hennessy up with one hand. "Fine," he muttered, his head down. "At least I tried."

He took a step towards the door, and then turned back to look intently at Hotch. "Lie to me if you like, pretend you don't have any feelings for me if you're embarrassed. But don't lie to yourself - I think you deserve better than that." Then he opened the door and walked out of the room, leaving Hotch staring at the corridor outside.

Hotch got up with a sigh and closed the bedroom door, locking it and then resting his forehead against the hard wooden surface. He had just been offered the thing that he desired and he'd turned it down - which was absolutely the right thing to do.

If only he could be sure of that.

---------------------------

Hotch spent a restless night trying not to think about Spencer Reid and the crush that he most definitely didn't have on him. In the morning, he was tired, bad-tempered and frustrated and to make matters worse, there wasn't any hot water so his shower had been cold.

The whole team were up early to start work and Hotch allocated duties quickly, trying not to look at Reid at all as he spoke to them. He paired Reid with Emily, and decided to take Morgan with him to re-interview the list of witnesses whose statements had caused such interest the night before.

They were just leaving the station to head to the SUVs when Morgan got a call on his cell. He turned quickly away to take it and spoke briefly before snapping his phone shut and hurrying over to Hotch.

"Just got a call from the M.E.'s office," he said, "They did an autopsy on a Jane Doe they had brought in yesterday who'd been buried for about six months. There's enough similarities for her to be our unsub's first kill. I should head over there now."

Hotch nodded and then sighed. Now his arrangements had all been messed up and he had to reassign partners. He was about to send Reid with Morgan when Emily spoke up.

"I'll come with you," she said quickly, "There's a few things I'd like to talk to the M.E about. Why doesn't Reid go with Hotch?"

Hotch couldn't miss the look Reid shot Emily, but there was nothing he could say to either of them. Instead he took a moment to check that his face said nothing about how he really felt and then beckoned Reid to follow him to the SUV.

The conversation in the vehicle was stilted to say the least. Reid tried his best, but Hotch was determined not to give him any opportunity to bring up the events of the previous evening and so kept any chat to case-specific concerns only.

It was tantalising to have Reid so close to him; to watch his mouth as he spoke, knowing how those lips felt when pressed against his own. He shouldn't have let Reid kiss him at all - it had only reinforced all those feelings that he wasn't supposed to be having and Hotch berated himself for his moment of weakness.

The day went quickly and most of the interviews went smoothly enough, even if nothing that would crack the case came out of them. Hotch could feel that they were missing a piece of the puzzle, but it was proving pretty elusive so far.

Trying not to think about how beautiful Reid looked when he was concentrating on the geographical profile on his lap, Hotch asked him if there was anyone else they needed to speak to. Reid was about to shake his head, when Garcia called him.

"Hey Garcia," replied Reid, before quickly informing her she was on speakerphone.

"Batman and Robin," came the merry voice over the phone, "I have some information for you. I've found a dealer for vehicles similar to the one you are looking for in the Barstow area. A guy named John Sanderson. The address of his shop is coming to you now."

Reid checked the map quickly and then nodded at Hotch and the two of them set off to speak to Sanderson.

As Hotch eased the SUV into the parking lot, an elderly man approached him. There was a brief exchange and then he pointed towards a Chevy pulling out of the lot. "That's John there," he said, "He's going out to work on some parts he bought. You could follow him if you want to talk to him - he doesn't believe in cell phones."

Hotch gave a sigh and then nodded, turning the SUV round to follow the battered looking Chevy with a new key witness in it.

The events that followed seemed to happen so quickly at the time, but when Hotch came to write his report he was surprised by how many details he could remember. Sanderson had driven erratically out into the desert and with the sunlight in his eyes and the road barely more than a track, Hotch had focused only on the vehicle in front and not on where they were.

When the SUV had spluttered and jerked and then rolled into a tree, Hotch had known that this was a major engine failure. This had given them even more incentive to talk to a mechanic and they had both hurried down the road to Sanderson's building.

Neither Hotch nor Reid was expecting to find a room full of photographs of the mutilated victims and Sanderson with a knife. Reid had been ahead of him and Hotch hadn't even had time to draw his gun when Sanderson grabbed hold of Reid's hair and plunged the knife into his stomach.

As Reid doubled over and slumped to the floor, Hotch tore after Sanderson with a roar. He caught up with him outside the shack as Sanderson still clutched the bloody knife, gesticulating and screaming obscenities at him. Hotch gave him a warning and then fired once to the killer's head, kicking the knife from his lifeless hand with disgust.


Then he ran back into the room to find Reid shivering and whimpering on the floor, his hands slippery with his own blood. His eyes were open for a moment, but closed as Hotch pulled off his shirt and bundled it up to use as a bandage.


"Reid," hissed Hotch, tapping him firmly on the cheek. "Reid - stay with me."


Reid's eyelids fluttered open and he nodded at Hotch.

Hotch felt a shudder of relief go through him. "We need to get you out of here," he said, "And get you to a hospital." He took Reid's hand and moved it to press the blood soaked cloth closer to his stomach. "Hold this tight, okay?"

Reid did as Hotch told him, wincing as he pushed his fingers into the cloth. "I don't think I can walk," he gasped. "'m cold."

"S'okay," said Hotch, moving up from his knees onto the balls of his feet, and purposefully ignoring Reid's comment about being cold. "I'm going to carry you. Ready?"

At Reid's brief nod, Hotch moved one arm under the young man's knees and slid the other around his shoulders. Then he braced himself and lifted, stepping back with one foot to keep his balance as he raised Reid's body. "Put your arm around me," he grunted, lifting the young man slightly higher to move some of the weight onto his hip.

With his burden settled as much as possible, Hotch staggered out of the cabin towards the battered Chevy that Sanderson had been driving, praying that he'd at least be able to get it started. If he could get along the road a little, get some cell service, then Reid might at least stand a chance of not bleeding to death.

The doors of the Chevy weren't locked, thankfully, and Hotch managed to open the back of the car and slide Reid onto the backseat. "Keep the pressure on," he told him, "And stay awake." Reid's face was ashen and Hotch reached out to caress his cheek. "It's going to be okay - just stay with me, Spencer." He gulped as he smoothed Reid's hair away from his forehead. "It's okay."

Reid managed a slight nod. "I'm fine," he gasped, before biting on his lip and wincing as he kept the makeshift bandage in place. "Just cold." He reached out and squeezed Hotch's hand briefly, before letting his arm drop back down across his stomach.

There wasn't time to pursue this. Hotch wanted to tell him that he was right, that he'd always been right, that there being a mutual attraction between them was the truth and not Hotch's transparent lies of denial, but there was no time. He needed to get to a highway and get Reid to a doctor. Ironically, the fact that he was falling for him was the last thing they needed to talk about right now. There was no room for tenderness when a life was a stake.

So Hotch gave Reid a cursory nod and then hurried around to the driver's side. He felt under the seat for a spare key, cursed when he didn't find one, and then hoped he could remember how to hotwire a car.

Fortunately he could.

The Chevy choked and spluttered and then jolted into life. Hotch allowed himself a momentary sigh of relief and then eased the car across the rock strewn yard and onto the bumpy track. He allowed himself a moment to glare at the useless SUV, resting lifelessly against the twisted trunk of a Joshua tree, and then concentrated on moving the Chevy along the track. There had to be either cell service or a highway soon.

As he drove, Hotch kept up an alternating rhythm of either checking the signal strength on his phone, or calling "Reid, are you okay?" over his shoulder to the back seat. Every time he got an answer, he felt as if he had just escaped. Reid was conscious - for now.

The track seemed to go on forever, far longer than when they had pursued the Chevy here barely two hours ago. Hotch thought wistfully of the GPS system in the SUV and wished he had had the forethought to bring it - but then removing it could have wasted valuable time. Instead of self recrimination, he focused on keeping the car moving, keeping Reid awake and getting to somewhere he could call for some help.

It was so dark and still out here in the Mojave. The only sound was the drone of the engine as they bumped along the track and Reid's regular faint reassurances that he was still there. Hotch was so wrapped in the velvety darkness that the sudden noise from the phone on the front seat startled him. He snatched it up and saw, with relief, that he could at last get a signal. Immediately he called Garcia.

"Boss Man!" She answered with delight. "I was getting awful worried about Batman and the Boy Wonder. Tell me you have good news for Gotham City."

"I don't, Garcia, I'm sorry," replied Hotch, trying to keep the rising despair out of his voice. "Sanderson is dead - we followed him out to a remote shack in the desert and found the evidence there - he's our Unsub." He wiped a hand across his brow, wondering how long it had been since Reid had answered him. "The engine failed on the SUV as we got here and we had to continue the pursuit on foot. Sanderson realised who we were and attacked us - Reid's been stabbed in the stomach." He paused, turning his head slightly and calling out, "Spencer - are you with me?"

"Oh my God," said Garcia, her voice thick with emotion. "Is he okay?"

Hotch waited for an answer from Reid and then his shoulders dropped with relief as it came, a feeble-voiced "Fine."

"He's bleeding heavily and I have no idea where we are," continued Hotch. "I'm in Sanderson's Chevy and I'm just driving, hoping to find a highway, or some kind of landmark." He paused; he needed to keep Reid awake but he also needed to keep the car moving. "Can you talk to him, help keep him conscious?"

"Sure, I mean of course I can," replied Garcia. "I can get your location now that your phone is on and I can arrange a Med Evac for you. Park up and keep an eye out."

Hotch nodded. "Okay," he said, trying to feel optimistic. "I'm going to put you on speaker and put the phone in the back. You need to keep him talking while I make us more visible from the air."

He pulled the Chevy over and placed the phone next to Reid, brushing his hair gently away from his face which was pale - far too pale.

Garcia's voice rang out. "Hey there Boy Wonder - want to play chess?"

Reid mumbled in response and gave a faint nod.

"C'mon," said Garcia, "You'll have to be louder than that. Now, I've got a guy in Uzbekistan who's just started a game with you. He's moved his pawn, um, d two to d four it says."

Hotch left the car door open as he looked around for anything he could light a fire with.

He could hear Garcia's voice coming confidently over the speaker and Reid's fainter responses. As he gathered together a pile of twigs and branches, Hotch reached into his pocket for a lighter.

"Oooh, you got his horse!" squealed Garcia. "Now he's moving his - what is that? It says Be5."

"Knight," corrected Reid, speaking slowly and with great effort. "Not a horse, it's a knight. And he's moved his bishop." He paused and Hotch stiffened at the silence from the backseat, ready to race over and do . . . do something.

"Qxe5," said Reid eventually and Hotch could hear Garcia clapping.

"Bravo, brave Sir Knight," she said, "You've opened a can o'whupass now. Go on, Mr White Pieces, beat that."

Despite the gravity of the situation, Hotch managed a smile at Garcia's enthusiasm. How Reid was managing to play chess in his head, he had no idea, but he was grateful for it keeping him talking.

When the fire was lit, Hotch scouted around for something else to burn. He opened the trunk of the Chevy and breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of planks of wood in there. Grunting aloud with effort, he managed to break a couple in half over his knee and then add them to the fire. Hopefully it would be enough.

He returned to the car, feeling suddenly cold at the sight of Reid lying there with his eyes closed. There was so much blood now; despite the makeshift bandage, the young man's clothes were soaked red and there was an ominous pool on the grimy back seat.

Garcia was calling out, her voice full of anxiety. "Reid - it's your go. Reid. C'mon, Reid."

"Reid!" shouted Hotch, clambering into the Chevy and kneeling next to him. "REID!" He slapped him hard across the cheek, his eyes closing briefly with relief when Reid stirred and blinked at him.

"Qd2," he murmured and Hotch could hear the emotion in Garcia's voice as she repeated the move aloud to him.

Hotch gripped Reid's hand tightly, hoping the discomfort would keep him awake - just for a little while longer. He wasn't going to lose him - not now, not when he had finally acknowledged how he felt about him.

Suddenly the air was full of the whirring blades of a helicopter and Hotch stumbled out of the Chevy, waving his arms and shouting, "We're here, we're here." It was a pointless exercise as nobody on board would have been able to hear him, but he had to do it.

The medics worked quickly and efficiently, and in no time at all, Reid was being carried to the helicopter on a stretcher and Hotch was jogging alongside him, trying to project an image of calmness that was completely at odds with how he felt. But Reid was in the best hands now and he was going to be fine.

He had to be.


Hours later, it seemed, Hotch was sitting in a hospital room, clutching Reid's hand and waiting for him to open his eyes. The rest of the team were drinking endless cups of horrible coffee in the waiting room, having all come to the same conclusion; that Hotch would be the person Reid wanted to see when he woke up.

Eventually Reid's eyelids fluttered and after a couple of failed attempts, he managed to keep them open.

"Hey," he whispered, giving Hotch a small smile.

"Hey yourself," replied Hotch, brushing Reid's hair off his face before gently stroking his cheek. "How're you feeling?"

"Like I got stabbed," said Reid with a wince. "It's sore and sort of, um, stabby." He squeezed Hotch's hand. "You saved my life - thank you."

Hotch shrugged. "You should thank Garcia really," he said, "She kept you conscious and sent the helicopter."

"Oh yeah," said Reid, with a drowsy smile. "Did I win?"

Hotch couldn't help himself from smiling at this. "She said the other guy conceded. Does that make sense?"

Reid nodded. "I thought he would."

He closed his eyes again and Hotch wondered if he was slipping back into sleep. He looked so vulnerable - and so very beautiful. Reid's breathing slowed and Hotch found himself bending over and planting a gentle kiss on his forehead.

As he pulled back, a sleepy voice said, "You missed."

"What do you mean?"

Reid opened his eyes and smiled mischievously at Hotch. "My lips are here," he said and pouted at Hotch.

Hotch let out a surprised laugh. "You don't give up, do you?" he said, "You're impossible."

"Sometimes I've believed at least six impossible things before breakfast," replied Reid, his eyes twinkling. "The thought of you kissing me, however, is entirely and utterly possible." He closed his eyes and licked his lips. "I'm waiting," he added.

Hotch smiled and shook his head, amused at Reid's persistance but also grateful for it. If Reid hadn't made the first move, he would probably still be denying his feelings. He just wished it hadn't taken a near death experience for him to act on them.

Hotch cupped Reid's cheek with his palm and then kissed him. It began chastely, but as Reid opened his mouth and made a faint whimper at the back of his throat, the kiss deepened and Hotch gave himself up to the moment. When he eventually pulled back, Reid was grinning broadly and Hotch felt sure his face looked the same.

"You're smiling like the Cheshire Cat," said Hotch, stroking Reid's face again.

"So are you," replied Reid. "So, now you've kissed me, when are you going to take me to dinner?"

"When you're better!" said Hotch with a laugh. "At the moment, it'll have to be candlelit Jello for two, I'm afraid."

"Sounds good to me," murmured Reid, before closing his eyes again and stroking Hotch's hand. "Stay with me?" he asked.

"Always," whispered Hotch and he settled to watch him sleep.

***