Title: Time Heals What Reason Cannot
Author: nebula99
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Rating: FRM
Type: Slash
Word Count: 1377
Pairing: Hotch/Reid
Author's note: Happy Birthday to slash_girl !!!!!!!!!! You rock. I was intending to write something fluffy or porny but this turned out to be neither. Hope you like it anyway ;-).

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We are healed from suffering only by experiencing it to the full

Marcel Proust

He has been spiralling downwards for days. He thinks he hides it well, but even his poker face cracks eventually and the real emotion shows through. This isn't new, he's hit these depths before, but it seems that each time he sinks down into the despair and the circles of self-recrimination, the climb back out is a little bit harder. He can see why people give up; why they stay down there rather than put themselves through the struggle to get out.

But he has to come back. Jack needs him, his team need him and his lover needs him.

He knows they all need him and right now, that expectation just adds to to the pile of guilt that is pinning him at the bottom of huge well. He's so deep now that he can barely see the circle of light at the top. The footholds and handholds are gone - he's going to need help to haul himself out.

He wants to shut them all out for a little while; close the door and silence the concerns and just be. There's so much noise and chatter when they are working, and then when he goes someplace quiet, and so for now, in this non-descript hotel room in the Mid-West, all he wants is to close the curtains, switch off the light and lie on the bed in darkness. He can do this for hours, wishing for the umpteenth time that he could have driven faster, could have tried harder, could have made a deal . . .

The click of the door lock startles him and he's reaching for his gun, mouth dry and heart pounding. The triangle of pale light in the doorway illuminates a familiar figure slipping into the room with a flashlight in his hand. "Spencer?" he asks, voice hoarse.

"I'm here." Reid closes the door behind him but doesn't turn on the lights. Hotch opens his mouth to speak, but Reid already has his finger across his lips. "Shhhh."

He walks over to the bed and sits down, reaching out to switch on the lamp on the nightstand. The glow is warm, tinging the bed with a yellowish light. When he speaks, his voice is barely more than a whisper but it's enough. "Don't say it."

But still Hotch does. "I appreciate the gesture, Spencer, but really, I need to be alone right now."

Reid's response is a mild shake of the head. He barely moves it from side to side but it's a firm enough disagreement. "You've been alone," he says softly. "You are alone. You don't need to do this by yourself."

Hotch leans forward and scrubs his hand over his face. "I know you mean well but-"

A gentle finger placed against his lips silences him for a moment. "Stop." Then Reid moves onto his knees and straddles him, pushing firmly against his chest until Hotch is lying back on the pillows.

Hotch looks up at his lover, his hair falling over his face and his expression almost unreadable. "Spencer," he starts, but then he stops, closing his eyes and turning his face away. He doesn't even have the energy to fight off this most loving of attacks.

Hotch lets his body go limp and makes no move to resist as Reid takes hold of his wrists and brings them up above his head. He feels a gentle stroking of his palms, caressing his skin and and allowing his fingers to uncurl and relax at last.

The weight on top of him shifts and he feels Reid's hair brush against his face. Then a low voice whispers in his ear. "If you really don't want this, use your safe word."

Hotch doesn't really want to stop, but he doesn't really want to carry on either. They have had sex since the time George Foyet ripped his family apart, but it's been more of a case of his body taking over than any real feelings of desire. Right now, he can't bring himself to want the body straddling his; he can't rouse himself enough from his own damn despondency to want anything other than to be somewhere, someone else.

He can feel Reid's lips on his neck, kissing him and licking at the sensitive spots and despite the black cloud smothering him, his cock twitches at the touch. Hotch feels a strange sense of detachment as his cock responds where he cannot. He can't kiss Reid back, he can't touch him - the guilt he carries around has paralysed him even as his lover touches him.

Hotch lies passive as Reid loosens and removes his tie, and then unbuttons his shirt. He barely registers as Reid smooths the cloth away from his skin, opening his cuffs and then, finally, tugging on his hands to pull him into a sitting position and take the shirt off. He lets his head drop, feeling unworthy of such care and attention. No doubt his body will respond, but there's too much darkness in his head to let his mind participate.

The embrace surprises him.

He didn't expect Reid to take him in his arms and pull his body close and he almost pushes Reid away. His immediate reaction would have been an automatic one of shock more than real rejection - but instead he lets the young man hold him.

Hotch doesn't lean into the embrace as he might usually have done, but neither does he hold his body stiff and unyielding. He simply softens into Reid's warm arms.

He knows Reid is removing his other clothes, but he just lets him do it. The sense memory of the embrace is strong enough to drown out the other thoughts for now and Hotch is so focused on it that when he falls back onto the bed in just his underwear it surprises him.

He rolls obediently onto his stomach when pushed but instead of the lips or fingers he might have expected, there are warm, oiled hands caressing his back. Hotch lets out a soft groan as Reid straddles him again, but then he frowns as the stroking continues, from his shoulders to his lower back and then up again.

Reid's hands swoop and slide across his back, now firm - and now softer again. The caresses are continuous and soon Hotch has no idea where one touch ends and another begins. Now it feels as though the hands have always been there, have always been holding and loving him.

He has stopped thinking about the darkness, about the case, about Aaron Hotchner. He isn't even thinking about Spencer Reid. The hands on his back have focused him like nothing else and right now, all he can think about is that someone loves him.

And then, when the relaxation is so deep that he can barely open his eyes, there is a brief rustle and then the mattress dips as another body joins him on the bed. The covers are pulled over and Reid presses a gentle kiss to his forehead.

"You don't have to speak, it's okay," says Reid in a gentle voice. "I know that nothing I can do will fix it and I know that nothing heals like time does." He paused and strokes a finger down Hotch's cheek. "I just wanted to be with you."

Hotch murmurs and nods. "Thank you," he whispers. He knows Reid will understand - he's always been able to understand - and for that he is always thankful.

In everyone's life, at some time, our inner fire goes out. It is then burst into flame by an encounter with another human being. We should all be thankful for those people who rekindle the inner spirit.

Albert Schweitzer

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