Title: Another Day
By: nancy
Pairing: Gideon/Hotch
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Ride the Lightening
Summary: Gideon's having a rough time after the execution and Hotch gives him some comfort.

It had been a long time since he’d been hit so hard by a case; longer still since his beliefs had been converted from guilty as sin, to innocent. The ride to the airport was silent, each agent lost in his or her own thoughts, and Jason felt every unspoken word like an accusation. Even the worst of cases held a chatter when all was said and done, the necessary venting of emotion, whether good or bad. Hotch drove, concentrating on the road with far more attention than was necessary at almost one in the morning. Elle and JJ were quiet in the backseat, leaning on each other as they recovered from the emotional rollercoaster of the case.

The plane ride back to DC wasn’t quite as much of an ordeal, given that the rest of the team slept the whole trip. Alone with his thoughts, Jason couldn’t find comfort in any of the philosophers or great thinkers as he usually did. There was no simple resolution to this one, not that there ever truly was, but even less so than usual. For the first time in a long time, he wished that a picture of his son adorned the inside of his wallet. The few pictures of the children he’d saved over the years didn’t bring the same kind of comfort. Then again, it was only an image on paper, held together by chemicals. What sort of comfort could that bring against the ache of guilt?

Shortly after they landed, Jason brushed off Hotch’s attempt to drive him home by snagging a cab outside the main terminal. He didn’t want to face those sad, dark eyes when he could barely face his own. Knowing how much he’d let everyone down with his inaction, all Jason truly wanted was to be alone with the grief.

How strange to have such a loss of innocence at my age, he mused, staring at the glass of scotch in his hand.

It wasn’t quite dawn, the house dark and cold, a suitable companion to his mood. It seemed surreal that he’d seen a woman executed not six hours previous. A woman that he could have saved. An innocent woman whose only crime had been falling in love with the wrong man. She’d protected her son to her dying breath, the deep surety and sadness in her eyes calling to Jason to let her die. The demands of truth just hadn’t been loud enough to drown her out and so he had lied. His personal creed and beliefs had fallen by the wayside, cast there like so many paper tigers by the protective nature of a mother.

Jason took a small sip of the scotch, barely tasting the expensive liquor. How can such a bond form so quickly? It can’t just be because we’re both parents.

It hadn’t been that, he knew, and his mind searched relentlessly for the real reason why, looking desperately for the logic to explain the path he’d taken. Or, not taken in this case. Letting Sarah Jean’s execution go forth had served no one and nothing, except perhaps, her own sense of justice. Would her son truly have been harmed by her continued existence and his knowledge of it?

The bitter thought, We’ll never know, will we? rose viciously in his mind and his eyes closed, pained.

A knock at the door startled him. Glancing at it, Jason paused and then sighed, knowing who would be on the other side. He didn’t have the strength to be Father Confessor to Hotch’s demons just then, teetering on the edge of his own form of a breakdown. Despite that, he stood and set the glass on the coffee table before walking over to the door to open it.

Dressed casually in jeans, sweater, and warm leather jacket, Hotch looked every bit the sober, classic hero returned from a deadly quest. There was no smile to relieve his serious expression, but then, there so seldom was, his eyes perpetually dark and sad.

Sighing to himself, Jason stepped back and silently let the other man inside. Closing the door and locking it on habit, he slowly followed Hotch into the living room, then went passed to pour another drink. A very small one, as Hotch never overindulged, constantly on guard against anything that could impair his infamous control. Giving the glass over, Jason returned to his place on the leather recliner, sinking into its soft depths and ignoring his own promised oblivion that sat on the coffee table.

For several minutes, neither of them spoke. It wasn’t like a staring contest, but neither was it a comfortable silence. He knew it was only a matter of time before Hotch started to talk and could afford to be patient. He also knew that once he did, nothing would stop the words until the younger man had talked out all the pain that lurked so deep in his heart.

“You did the right thing.”

The words came as a surprise to Jason, though he was too wrung-out to show it. He merely lifted his eyebrows at Hotch and countered, “Did I?”

“Yes.”

Faced with such absolute certainty, Jason had to wonder where it came from. The situation seemed a bit much for blind faith, even from Hotch. Leaning forward, he questioned, “How do you know?”

Hotch met his gaze and answered, “Because that boy will grow up to live a life that is free of hate, and stigma, and violence. Because Sarah Jean went to her grave knowing that there was someone in the world who knew the truth. Because she had peace in the end, and those girls got justice, and their families got closure. Because one of the many physical manifestations of evil in this world is gone and won’t be here to cause any more pain.”

Which was what it always came down to, with Hotch. Pain versus the lack of it was how he lived his life. There were those who thought him cold and unfeeling, an automaton whose life was dictated by logic. Jason knew better. Hotch remained locked down because he felt too much, had too much empathy for their victims...too much rage.

Offering a wry twist of the lips that no one could call a smile, Jason replied, “I let an innocent woman be executed, Hotch, and nothing about that is right. I might as well have murdered her.”

Hotch looked at him intently for a few moments, then stood and walked over to him. “Stand up for me.”

“Why?”

“Please, Gideon.”

And of course Jason had never been able to deny Hotch, so he stood. They were toe-to-toe and Hotch was close enough that Jason could distinguish between black pupil and brown iris. He drew back instinctively as Hotch put his arms around Jason’s shoulders and pulled firmly, bringing him in close. Standing stiffly in the other man’s arms, Jason couldn’t move or decide how to break the embrace without offending his friend or causing the pain that rejection would bring. Hotch didn’t deserve pain in any form, but especially not from an overture of this magnitude that stemmed from nothing but kindness.

“The proper thing to do, is hug me back,” Hotch murmured.

Jason huffed a bit in dark amusement, his hands awkwardly landing on Hotch’s hips. “For how long?”

The arms tightened a bit before Hotch informed him, “Until you take the comfort that I’m offering.”

It was a standoff of sorts, though a stranger and more tender one Jason couldn’t remember being involved in. Hotch’s arms around him, the scent of the man’s cologne and shampoo strong evidence of a recent shower and shave. It was so tempting to sink into the comfort the other man offered, to believe his words, but Jason couldn’t let go of the image in his mind; the convulsing of Sarah Jean’s body as thousands of amps of electricity surged through it.

“You don’t always have to be the strong one, Jason,” Hotch said softly. “Let me hold you up this time. Let me in.”

Jason’s throat closed, hot and tight, but he shook his head. “I can’t.”

“You can.”

“Hotch, don’t do this.”

“I’m doing this.”

The man was pernicious and immovable, like a bulldog once its jaw clamped down on something. Jason didn’t even realize he was crying until he tasted the salt on his lips and wondered from where it had come. It was only moments later that his strength finally gave out, the toll of the last forty-eight hours digging into the very heart and soul of him.

Hotch held him up, literally, and brought him over to the sofa. For the first time in a very long time, Jason held on to someone else, relying on them to provide one of the essentials: the comfort of human contact. The tears were grudging, leaking miserly from his eyes, to soak slowly into Hotch’s sweater. Soft, meaningless noises were murmured against his ear, the light pressure of lips touching his forehead and temple over and over, strong arms holding him through the grief that, by all rights, he shouldn’t be feeling.

And yet, Jason knew that it wasn’t solely grief over Sarah Jean that brought him low. It was the recognition of his own frailty and all the mistakes he’d made as a father. It was similar in depth to the feelings he got when gazing at Hotch sometimes. No matter desperately he wanted to turn back time and prevent the horrors through which Hotch had lived, he simply didn’t have the power.

Even more exhausted when his body finally stopped its demands and he drowsed in Hotch’s arms on the sofa, Jason noticed that at some point in time, the sun had begun another day.

“You ready to get some sleep?”

Jason nodded and observed, “It never ends.”

Like so many times before, Hotch knew exactly what he was talking about when he answered, “Things always comes full circle, Gideon. The sun will always rise.”

Thinking about the death of Jacob Dawes and the abuse-free life of his son, Riley, Jason murmured, “Maybe not this time.”

One of Hotch’s hands ghosted over his head and soft lips touched his forehead. “Come on. Let’s go to bed.”

And maybe it was inevitable, another turn of that relentless circle, that when Hotch did enter his bed, it was as a lover, not a friend.