Title: Paterfamilias
Author: copperchimes
Rating: PG for non-graphic violent imagery and brief mention of alcohol abuse.
Characters: Hotch, Gideon (gen). Cameo appearances by other members of the Hotchner family.
Summary: Hotch deals with the aftermath of the events in "L.D.S.K
Warnings: Spoilers for "L.D.S.K
Author's Note: I owe much gratitude to iscaris, without whom I could never have written this story. For endless discussion of the underlying ideas with me, encouragement to write my first fic, cheerleading, hand-holding, and an absolutely smashing beta-reading job -- Rhysenn, you're the best. Chocolate and alfalfa to you!
Disclaimer: If you recognize it, I don't own it. Many thanks to the creators, producers, cast, and crew of Criminal Minds for making a world that's such fun to play in.
***
He stepped over the threshold, his keys jingling in the lock, and Aaron Hotchner was finally home.
For a moment he slumped wearily against the door, his eyes closed, breathing in the comfortable scents of lemon oil and the cedar logs stacked by the fireplace and the roses he'd brought Haley the last time he'd worked late.
In the space of a few slow, deep breaths, the wall formed between work and family, between darkness and light, and he opened his eyes again.
He held off the shadows long enough to walk quietly upstairs. He passed the door to the guest room where his sister-in-law was staying and heard Jessica's deep, even breathing as she slept. Passed the next bedroom, where no one slept but pale blue walls he'd painted and a white crib he'd put together waited patiently. A slender beam of light spilled out through the half-open doorway to the third bedroom. Haley had left a small lamp burning in their room, the way she always did when he came home late, and the golden light glinted softly on her hair. She lay curled on her side, peaceful and beautiful, a sleeping angel.
He knelt by the bed and pressed a kiss to her forehead, then caressed her cheek, let his hand linger on the swell of her belly.
Haley's eyelids fluttered open, and she rewarded him with a sleepy smile. "How was your trip?"
Block out the darkness, don't let it past these walls. He forced a smile into his voice. "It was fine, seetheart. Go back to sleep, okay? I'm going downstairs to check the doors, I'll come to bed soon."
She murmured a sleepy assent as he brushed a strand of hair off her face and padded out of the bedroom. For a few moments he busied his mind and his hands with the duty of husbands and fathers since time immemorial: pacing the rooms of his home, checking the locks, testing the doors. All safe, all secure.
Only when he paused at the door to his study, satisfied that his home was locked tight, did Hotch realize that his hands were shaking and his legs were weak. A few steps into the room, and he sank into the yielding leather task chair, braced his hands on the warm wood of the desk. He fought to calm his breathing, to regain control. Buried his face in his hands, closed his eyes.
It was a mistake. The darkness brought the images in his mind to life with visceral clarity -- all of a sudden he was back in the hospital in
His own voice assaulted his ears: shouting, the words harsh and ugly. How smart are you now, smart guy!? It's front sight, trigger press, follow through! It's not that hard! And that wasn't all he heard, not even the worst of it.
Spencer Reid lay curled at his feet, his face tight with pain, crying out with each savage kick. Something tightened in Hotch's gut at each impact, each choked-off cry -- and suddenly the picture changed, and yet it remained eerily the same.
A tall man with dark hair and eyes, formidable and polished in a dark suit, stood over a small boy who cowered on the ground. Though his tear-filled eyes were dark brown, not hazel like Reid's, the boy's expression was beaten and his eyes held the same muted pain. The years had dulled Hotch's memory of the words the man had shouted, but the tone was filled with the same rage, the same contempt.
The force of it was enough to make Hotch flinch across the span of more than thirty years.
Michael Aaron Bradford had been perfection personified, at least outside the walls of his home. Holding the position of chief of mergers and acquisitions at a prestigious national bank was unheard-of at the age of thirty-five, and he had earned his reputation as a rainmaker by aggressively charting prospective takeover bids, working tirelessly until every detail was in place, every contingency anticipated. He played flawless golf and tennis at the local country club, danced gracefully at parties with his shy, lovely wife on his arm. And when he entertained his colleagues' families, everyone remarked that little Aaron, his only son, was the perfect gentleman.
Of course he was. Michael took pride in his possessions. His son was as perfectly polished as the shiny new Mercedes in the garage. If anyone noticed that Aaron's smile was a little too perfect for a six-year-old, a little too fixed, they didn't remark on that.
The expensive bottles of scotch, gin, and vodka were not only for entertaining guests. Michael Bradford made liberal use of his liquor cabinet at other times, too, and by the time his son was three the little boy had learned to stay out of Father's sight when his voice started to slur. Mrs. Bradford had learned that lesson years earlier.
It was the alcohol that made their lives hell, and the alcohol was what finally saved them: on a rainy night when his son was seven, Michael Bradford was a bit too sociable with a prospect who liked scotch, and on his way home he wrapped his shiny Mercedes around a tree. He left behind a wife and son who were more relieved than bereaved.
The Bradfords, mother and son, began slowly to rebuild their lives.
Aaron met the man he called Dad when he was nine. He was skittish around Jonathan Hotchner in the beginning. The first time his mother's lawyer boyfriend raised his hand to squeeze Aaron's shoulder, he flinched. The second time they met, Mr. Hotchner brought Aaron a shiny Indian Head penny for his collection. Aaron already had dozens of them, but he carried that penny around in his pocket for a long time afterwards.
Mr. Hotchner became Jonathan in a church filled with flowers on a Saturday evening in April. Jonathan became Dad in a dusty courtroom on a Tuesday morning in October. By the time baby Sean was born, Jonathan Hotchner had two sons, not one, de facto and de jure. From a foundation of gentle strength, Aaron Hotchner learned to build walls around his past, face forward, and live.
The problem with walls is: shake them at their foundation, and they fall.
The scene changed again, and once again Hotch was back in
A heavy, stifling remorse settled on his shoulders. With a terrible effort, Hotch forced Reid's image from his mind and wrenched himself from the darkness of his memory. He opened his eyes.
A silver-framed portrait of Haley stood at the corner of the desk, and he traced its smooth edge with one hand.
What would it take, he asked himself with a shudder, to make it happen for real?
A bright light flashed twice, through the window to his right, and Hotch jerked reflexively. He looked out the window, frowning. It was after midnight; nobody should be on the streets of his quiet neighborhood.
Backlit by the streetlamp, a familiar figure leaned against the driver's side of a black Ford Expedition parked on the street, one hand still inside the vehicle. The SUV's headlights flickered again.
Gideon. Hotch sighed. Of course Gideon knew. He always did.
He shrugged into his coat, stepped out his front door, and found Gideon waiting on the front porch. He closed the door behind him. Gideon didn't seem surprised not to be invited inside.
"So, let me guess," Hotch said by way of greeting. "You were in the neighborhood and thought you'd drop by?"
Gideon smiled, his penetrating eyes fixed on Hotch's. "Something like that."
A beat, and Hotch shifted uncomfortably, breaking the gaze. "Jason, I think we should talk to Reid about taking some vacation time. He took tonight harder than he let on."
Gideon nodded, his expression unfathomable. "Fine. I'll talk to him tomorrow." He folded his arms, as if waiting.
Hotch felt himself start to fidget, an urge he hadn't had since he was in high school. He pressed on. "And I think Reid might benefit from -"
"Hotch." Gideon's voice was quiet, but it cut through Hotch's words so completely that he actually felt his jaw snap shut. "Do you think I'm here because of Reid?"
Hotch turned his face away. "I kicked him, Jason. Repeatedly. I humiliated and degraded him. The look on his face when I -- "
Gideon cut in. "Hotch, I talked to Reid myself. You passed him your gun. You let him free himself and everyone else in that ER." He fixed Hotch with a level gaze. "You want to tell me what this is really about?"
"It was so easy. To - to slip into that role, let the anger take control. To start pushing buttons, the ones I knew would hurt most. And next time --" Hotch broke off, unable to finish his sentence. Saying it would make it too real.
Gideon waited.
Hotch raised his eyes to Gideon's, just for an instant, and continued in a strained, unhappy voice. "Next time, it could be someone else."
A moment's silence passed before Gideon finally spoke.
"Have a little faith, Hotch," Gideon said quietly. "You are nothing like him."
Hotch's mouth twisted. "You never knew him."
"I know you."
And the faith in those words, the sheer unshakable confidence, was enough to un-knot Hotch's shoulders and ease most of his tension away. "Thanks," he said softly, pensively.
Gideon smiled. "Go. Take care of your family." If the last word was a bit wistful, it was covered by the sound of the front door opening. Hotch turned to see Haley standing on the threshold, fully dressed, holding her belly with an expression of mingled pain and determination. Every light in the house was burning, and Jessica stood behind Haley with her sister's overnight bag slung over her shoulder.
Haley took an urgent step forward. "Aaron, it's time to go."
The shock hit him like a punch to the gut, but he caught his breath and wrapped one arm around his wife's shoulders. "Then let's go," he said. Walking Haley to the car parked in the driveway, he turned to Gideon. "Going to wish us luck?" he said with a lopsided grin.
Gideon turned and smiled. "You won't need it."
Hotch gently helped Haley into the back seat and fastened her seatbelt, then opened the passenger's-side door for Jessica. As he climbed into the driver's seat, Gideon's voice stopped him once again.
"Hotch," Gideon said quietly. "It's going to be fine."
Something in Gideon's eyes said that he wasn't just talking about the impending birth. And for the first time that night, Hotch believed it too.
"I know," he said. He shut the door and put the car in gear, no longer afraid of what lay ahead. ***
The End