REPOST: Ficlet: Comfort Levels (CM; Hotch/Reid)
Title: Comfort Levels
Author: madeofsequins
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Pairing: Hotch/Reid
Rating: PG
Word count: 1639
Disclaimer: Not my characters or my show. I play with them for fun, not for profit.
Notes: Takes place the day before 314 "Damaged." Early established relationship. First CM fic.
original posted here.
Reid flops on his back onto the bed closest to the door as soon as they enter the hotel room, twisting into a loose “S” as he stretches his long legs, stiff from being contained during the flight and cab ride. His shirt, predictably, clashes violently with the competing loud print of the cheap comforter, but he looks comfortable and happy. It’s good to see him like this, Hotch thinks, but keeps it to himself. He takes more time putting down his briefcase and overnight bag into something slightly more organized than “general pile of stuff.” Reid watches him, vaguely amused, and when Hotch walks by the bed, Reid reaches up and grabs his tie, pulling him down on the bed next to him.
Hotch makes a noise halfway between a laugh and a grunt of irritation, but doesn’t say anything or make an attempt to get up. He mentally takes note of Reid’s initiation of physical contact, appreciates it. They are silent for a minute, gazing at the ceiling, looking over at one another occasionally. “It’s nice, isn’t it?” Hotch asks.
“What, Connecticut? Sure, I guess. We haven’t seen much of it, and I’ve only ever been once before now, for about half a day when I visited Yale... fourteen years ago? It has the highest per capita and median household incomes in the US, you know. The 29th most populated state…”
“Reid, seriously?” Hotch laughs; he shouldn’t have expected anything else. “That’s not what I was talking about.”
“Oh. Well. Then I guess I don’t. Know if it’s nice - whatever it is.”
“I just meant traveling without really being on a case. Going somewhere where we’re not agents for a day or two. We’re just normal people on a business trip. Okay, well I’m a passably normal person on a business trip. You’re some other kind of person on a business trip.”
“Hey.” Reid wrinkles his face into a comical frown, but his eyes are still laughing.
They took a late flight, and it’s already dark outside the window of the hotel, practically night. Having taken a cab from the airport, they hadn’t stopped for dinner, and just then, Reid’s stomach gives a telltale growl.
“Come on, we’re going to get dinner,” Hotch says as he sits up. “I’m accused of working you all too hard in so many other ways that I really don’t need any allegations of starving anyone on top of that, especially you.” Reid hasn’t made any effort to move, and as an afterthought, Hotch pokes a sharp hipbone and gives him a pointed look, complete with a raised eyebrow. “We’re leaving now.”
--
They find a cozy tavern in town, settle into a small corner table, and order beers when the waitress swings by the second time. Hotch laughs when Reid gets carded. Reid makes a brief play at feigning offense but gives it up after a minute in favor of reading the menu. Even though he hardly cares what he orders, he reads every description at least twice in an attempt to mimic normal reading speed. He shouldn’t care about appearing normal; no one else is paying them any attention, and Hotch, of course, is more than familiar with his idiosyncrasies. This is hardly different than any other team, or partial team, meal on a case, though mercifully there are no chopsticks involved.
The waitress returns with their beers, winking at Reid. They order, then Reid excuses himself and gets up to use the restroom. Hotch lifts his hand and lets his fingers slide across the small of Reid’s back as he walks by. Reid leans into him very slightly, turning and ducking his head. He walks to the men’s room with his hands in his pockets and a small, goofy grin on his face.
Small talk between two FBI agents who work generally horrific cases together and have essentially no life outside of the job is relative, but Hotch and Reid manage to keep the conversation over dinner comfortable. There had been a time when Hotch would have dreaded trying to fill up awkward, endless silent minutes alone with the extremely intelligent but painfully awkward kid, and Reid would have been terrified of being expected to hold up his end of a lengthy two-person interaction, but that time has long since past. They have settled into their roles as close coworkers, as friends of sort, and now… and now. It makes no sense at all, or all the sense in the world, depending on how he considers it, but Reid’s not the only one he’s trying to break of an over-thinking habit. He cuts off another piece of steak and laughs as Reid launches into a detailed account of his last encounter with the eccentric lady who owns four cats and lives down the hall from him in his apartment complex.
--
In typical fashion, Reid has forgotten his shampoo, so they walk down the street to CVS before heading back to the hotel. Hotch reaches over from time to time to touch Reid on the shoulder, across the back. He enjoys the unmasked reactions that play across his face - surprise, accompanied by slight tensing of his shoulders, recognition, enjoyment. He doesn’t expect to desensitize Reid to casual physical contact overnight; it’s never been comfortable for him, and then something he’s had to work to even be able to handle after Georgia. Hotch knows that, has even adjusted his normal invasion of personal space for Reid, but he likes that Reid is developing a new comfort level with him, one in which he grabs Hotch by the tie when they’re alone, or smiles at the (very) discreet touches Hotch initiates once in a while when they’re not.
They have, in fact, reached the comfort level at which, back in their hotel room, Reid drapes his lanky body across Hotch, propping up on one elbow and holding the remote to flip through the meager channel selection with the other. “Any preference, boss-man?”
“It would make me feel a little better if you refrained from calling me that when we’re sharing a bed in a hotel room paid for by the FBI. And as long as it’s not a sitcom, no.”
“Family Guy it is, then. And before you ask, yes I’ve read Hardwick’s file and yes I’m ready for tomorrow.”
“I wasn’t going to ask. You’re always ready, more than I am anyway. As long as the alarm is set for 6:30-”
“Six what? There is no way we have to be up that early. Eight? It could be eight, right? It could definitely be eight. Please say I’m right.”
“Seven fifteen at the latest, and, hey, give me that clock. I don’t trust you with that for a minute.”
“Fine, here. Boss-man.” Reid hands over the hotel’s alarm clock and settles back down on the bed, leaning his head against Hotch’s chest. Hotch finishes fiddling with the alarm and sneaks a quick series of kisses trailing from Reid’s earlobe to his lips, then leans back against the cheap headboard, running an absent hand through Reid’s hair and sliding the other down his side to rest lightly on his hip. Levels of comfort, indeed.
--
The blaring of the alarm wakes Reid hours later, and as he loosens himself from the tangle of limbs and sheets, he squints to read the red numbers as his fingers search for the snooze button.
“6:45? Hotch, you lied to me. Lied! This is inhumane. You are a true slave driver and I will never tell anyone otherwise. Ever again. Also, I’m not getting up.” He finds the button, relishing in the silence as he throws the sheets back over his bare shoulders and curls into Hotch, only to hit a cold wall of air as Hotch throws off the covers and gets out of bed.
“I’m taking a shower. You can sleep until I’m out. I’ll even have the coffee ready for you if you promise to go over Hardwick’s file with me in the car.”
“Sleep? Coffee? Yes, good. Do that.”
“See, I’m hardly a slave driver. I’m a very nice man. Don’t you forget that.”
Hotch emerges from the shower after a while and pours the coffee into the two provided hotel mugs, dumping a liberal amount of sugar in one and bringing it to Reid.
“G’mornin,’” Reid slurs into his beverage. “I’m up.” He gives Hotch a bleary smile as he gets out of bed and fumbles for his glasses.
Twenty minutes later, they are both clean, dressed, caffeinated, and ready to check out. Hotch gives the room a last cursory check, eyes lingering a second too long on the bed, on the cheap coffeepot, on the television. They get one night of normalcy before heading back into their world of serial killers and constantly looming threats of any and all other varieties. Reid is by the door, unfocused gaze on the wall, and Hotch can tell he’s already lost in thought, either about the upcoming interview or something else equally as sobering. “Ready, kid?”
Reid snaps back into focus, nods his assent. Hotch brushes against him at the door, lets Reid lean into him for a slow minute before they regroup and leave the room. They walk down the hall to the front desk, quiet, close, but not touching.
They share a small smile as they exit the hotel, Reid already starting to share some of the more obscure details of Hardwick’s file before they reach the car. They won’t be back here, but it hardly matters. They are themselves wherever they go, bring their jobs with them everywhere. There will be other cases, other crimes, other killers, but there will also be other nights like this, other shared cups of stale coffee in the morning, other places to be comfortable.
Author: madeofsequins
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Pairing: Hotch/Reid
Rating: PG
Word count: 1639
Disclaimer: Not my characters or my show. I play with them for fun, not for profit.
Notes: Takes place the day before 314 "Damaged." Early established relationship. First CM fic.
original posted here.
Reid flops on his back onto the bed closest to the door as soon as they enter the hotel room, twisting into a loose “S” as he stretches his long legs, stiff from being contained during the flight and cab ride. His shirt, predictably, clashes violently with the competing loud print of the cheap comforter, but he looks comfortable and happy. It’s good to see him like this, Hotch thinks, but keeps it to himself. He takes more time putting down his briefcase and overnight bag into something slightly more organized than “general pile of stuff.” Reid watches him, vaguely amused, and when Hotch walks by the bed, Reid reaches up and grabs his tie, pulling him down on the bed next to him.
Hotch makes a noise halfway between a laugh and a grunt of irritation, but doesn’t say anything or make an attempt to get up. He mentally takes note of Reid’s initiation of physical contact, appreciates it. They are silent for a minute, gazing at the ceiling, looking over at one another occasionally. “It’s nice, isn’t it?” Hotch asks.
“What, Connecticut? Sure, I guess. We haven’t seen much of it, and I’ve only ever been once before now, for about half a day when I visited Yale... fourteen years ago? It has the highest per capita and median household incomes in the US, you know. The 29th most populated state…”
“Reid, seriously?” Hotch laughs; he shouldn’t have expected anything else. “That’s not what I was talking about.”
“Oh. Well. Then I guess I don’t. Know if it’s nice - whatever it is.”
“I just meant traveling without really being on a case. Going somewhere where we’re not agents for a day or two. We’re just normal people on a business trip. Okay, well I’m a passably normal person on a business trip. You’re some other kind of person on a business trip.”
“Hey.” Reid wrinkles his face into a comical frown, but his eyes are still laughing.
They took a late flight, and it’s already dark outside the window of the hotel, practically night. Having taken a cab from the airport, they hadn’t stopped for dinner, and just then, Reid’s stomach gives a telltale growl.
“Come on, we’re going to get dinner,” Hotch says as he sits up. “I’m accused of working you all too hard in so many other ways that I really don’t need any allegations of starving anyone on top of that, especially you.” Reid hasn’t made any effort to move, and as an afterthought, Hotch pokes a sharp hipbone and gives him a pointed look, complete with a raised eyebrow. “We’re leaving now.”
--
They find a cozy tavern in town, settle into a small corner table, and order beers when the waitress swings by the second time. Hotch laughs when Reid gets carded. Reid makes a brief play at feigning offense but gives it up after a minute in favor of reading the menu. Even though he hardly cares what he orders, he reads every description at least twice in an attempt to mimic normal reading speed. He shouldn’t care about appearing normal; no one else is paying them any attention, and Hotch, of course, is more than familiar with his idiosyncrasies. This is hardly different than any other team, or partial team, meal on a case, though mercifully there are no chopsticks involved.
The waitress returns with their beers, winking at Reid. They order, then Reid excuses himself and gets up to use the restroom. Hotch lifts his hand and lets his fingers slide across the small of Reid’s back as he walks by. Reid leans into him very slightly, turning and ducking his head. He walks to the men’s room with his hands in his pockets and a small, goofy grin on his face.
Small talk between two FBI agents who work generally horrific cases together and have essentially no life outside of the job is relative, but Hotch and Reid manage to keep the conversation over dinner comfortable. There had been a time when Hotch would have dreaded trying to fill up awkward, endless silent minutes alone with the extremely intelligent but painfully awkward kid, and Reid would have been terrified of being expected to hold up his end of a lengthy two-person interaction, but that time has long since past. They have settled into their roles as close coworkers, as friends of sort, and now… and now. It makes no sense at all, or all the sense in the world, depending on how he considers it, but Reid’s not the only one he’s trying to break of an over-thinking habit. He cuts off another piece of steak and laughs as Reid launches into a detailed account of his last encounter with the eccentric lady who owns four cats and lives down the hall from him in his apartment complex.
--
In typical fashion, Reid has forgotten his shampoo, so they walk down the street to CVS before heading back to the hotel. Hotch reaches over from time to time to touch Reid on the shoulder, across the back. He enjoys the unmasked reactions that play across his face - surprise, accompanied by slight tensing of his shoulders, recognition, enjoyment. He doesn’t expect to desensitize Reid to casual physical contact overnight; it’s never been comfortable for him, and then something he’s had to work to even be able to handle after Georgia. Hotch knows that, has even adjusted his normal invasion of personal space for Reid, but he likes that Reid is developing a new comfort level with him, one in which he grabs Hotch by the tie when they’re alone, or smiles at the (very) discreet touches Hotch initiates once in a while when they’re not.
They have, in fact, reached the comfort level at which, back in their hotel room, Reid drapes his lanky body across Hotch, propping up on one elbow and holding the remote to flip through the meager channel selection with the other. “Any preference, boss-man?”
“It would make me feel a little better if you refrained from calling me that when we’re sharing a bed in a hotel room paid for by the FBI. And as long as it’s not a sitcom, no.”
“Family Guy it is, then. And before you ask, yes I’ve read Hardwick’s file and yes I’m ready for tomorrow.”
“I wasn’t going to ask. You’re always ready, more than I am anyway. As long as the alarm is set for 6:30-”
“Six what? There is no way we have to be up that early. Eight? It could be eight, right? It could definitely be eight. Please say I’m right.”
“Seven fifteen at the latest, and, hey, give me that clock. I don’t trust you with that for a minute.”
“Fine, here. Boss-man.” Reid hands over the hotel’s alarm clock and settles back down on the bed, leaning his head against Hotch’s chest. Hotch finishes fiddling with the alarm and sneaks a quick series of kisses trailing from Reid’s earlobe to his lips, then leans back against the cheap headboard, running an absent hand through Reid’s hair and sliding the other down his side to rest lightly on his hip. Levels of comfort, indeed.
--
The blaring of the alarm wakes Reid hours later, and as he loosens himself from the tangle of limbs and sheets, he squints to read the red numbers as his fingers search for the snooze button.
“6:45? Hotch, you lied to me. Lied! This is inhumane. You are a true slave driver and I will never tell anyone otherwise. Ever again. Also, I’m not getting up.” He finds the button, relishing in the silence as he throws the sheets back over his bare shoulders and curls into Hotch, only to hit a cold wall of air as Hotch throws off the covers and gets out of bed.
“I’m taking a shower. You can sleep until I’m out. I’ll even have the coffee ready for you if you promise to go over Hardwick’s file with me in the car.”
“Sleep? Coffee? Yes, good. Do that.”
“See, I’m hardly a slave driver. I’m a very nice man. Don’t you forget that.”
Hotch emerges from the shower after a while and pours the coffee into the two provided hotel mugs, dumping a liberal amount of sugar in one and bringing it to Reid.
“G’mornin,’” Reid slurs into his beverage. “I’m up.” He gives Hotch a bleary smile as he gets out of bed and fumbles for his glasses.
Twenty minutes later, they are both clean, dressed, caffeinated, and ready to check out. Hotch gives the room a last cursory check, eyes lingering a second too long on the bed, on the cheap coffeepot, on the television. They get one night of normalcy before heading back into their world of serial killers and constantly looming threats of any and all other varieties. Reid is by the door, unfocused gaze on the wall, and Hotch can tell he’s already lost in thought, either about the upcoming interview or something else equally as sobering. “Ready, kid?”
Reid snaps back into focus, nods his assent. Hotch brushes against him at the door, lets Reid lean into him for a slow minute before they regroup and leave the room. They walk down the hall to the front desk, quiet, close, but not touching.
They share a small smile as they exit the hotel, Reid already starting to share some of the more obscure details of Hardwick’s file before they reach the car. They won’t be back here, but it hardly matters. They are themselves wherever they go, bring their jobs with them everywhere. There will be other cases, other crimes, other killers, but there will also be other nights like this, other shared cups of stale coffee in the morning, other places to be comfortable.