Remedy 1/1
Title: Remedy 1/1
Author: buffyaddict13
Rating: PG
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Pairing/Characters: Gen, Reid, Hotch, Jack
Summary: Reid worries.
A/N 1: Tiny little tag for 5x09, 100. This is what happens after the ep ends.
A/N 2: Thank you to luckinfovely for the beta. You're clearly addled for liking this but I ♥ you just the same.
He that conceals his grief finds no remedy for it.
~Turkish Proverb
Reid stands outside Hotch's front door, finger poised above the doorbell. He has a long box tucked under one arm, messenger bag slung over his shoulder. He's leaning on his cane. Before, he thought about getting a top hat and wearing it around the office. And a monocle, just to make Garcia laugh. He would look like something out of vaudeville, or maybe Sherlock Holmes. Now, his thoughts are filled with worry, with loss.
He should have come earlier. Rossi's been here every day, overseeing the new carpet installation. JJ and Prentiss bring towels and throw rugs and casseroles. Morgan brings updates from Strauss, Garcia brings presents, books for Hotch, toys for Jack. There's a kind of ritual that comes with mourning, and Reid doesn't understand the calculations of sorrow, how proximity to loved ones or the amount of food brought by well-wishers can fill the void left by loss. Reid understands the concept, he knows the stages of grief, the importance of talking, sharing memories. Like most things, Reid simply finds it easier to do in theory than practicality.
Still, this isn't about him. This visit has nothing to do with whether Hotch is coming back to the BAU. This visit is a show of support, solidarity, and friendship. They had rallied around Garcia when she'd been shot. And, to a lesser degree, his friends had rallied around him after...everything. They'd been there as much as he'd let them. Reid owes Hotch. Hotch had understood, Hotch had found him. Hotch doesn't need saving, but he needs friends, and Spencer is awkward and off-putting, he knows this. But he's also loyal and caring. He should have come sooner, but he's here now.
Reid rings the doorbell.
Hotch answers the door right away. Reid wonders if Hotch knew he was here, if he's been waiting for the doorbell. Maybe that's all Hotch does now, wait for the doorbell. Reid puts that thought away, Hotch is better than that, stronger than that. Aaron stands in the doorway. He looks tired, the dark shadows that circle his eyes rivel Reid's. The cuts on his face are healed; it's everything inside that's still broken.
Hotch blinks at him. He looks a little surprised, a little pleased. Reid watches carefully for signs of annoyance, discomfit, but there are none. Maybe Hotch really is glad he came.
"Hi," Reid says, almost timid. "I, um, I'm sorry I didn't call first. I know etiquette prescribes that that's the polite thing to do. But I was afraid if I called first you'd say you didn't want any company." Reid glances at the box and his bag. "And then I didn't know what I'd do with all this stuff."
A hint of a smile touches Hotch's lips. He opens the door wider to reveal Jack attached to his leg. Reid smiles. "Hi Jack."
Jack smiles back, ducks his head, bashful. "Hi Reid." His name comes out sounding like "weed."
Hotch gestures the younger agent inside. "Come in. Haley's sister is coming over later, but I've got some time."
They move to the living room. The carpet is thick and plush, it still smells new. Faint Jack-size footprints are everywhere. A cartoon with a wooly mammoth and a sabertooth tiger is paused on the TV screen. Reid sets the box and his bag on the coffee table. Reid thinks about how he's sitting on the same couch Foyet sat on. They are in the same room where Haley was shot. He keeps his expression pleasant; he does not shudder. It takes immense effort.
Hotch looks at the box. It's a chess set. "Reid, I'm sorry, I'm not really--I don't really feel like playing chess."
Reid purses his lips, nods. "Oh, I didn't think you wanted to. This is for Jack."
Jack's lounging over the edge of the table, a little like Superman, arms out, feet off the ground. "What's chess?"
Aaron's eyebrows inch upwards. "I'm sorry Reid, but I think Jack might be a little young."
Reid smiles thinly. Just because he knows the current incarnation of chess was born in late 15th century Europe and the first official World Chess Champion was Wilhlem Steinitz doesn't mean he'll tell Jack. Although he kind of wants to. "I just thought I'd show him the pieces," Reid reassures Hotch.
"Wanna see the picture I drew?" Jack asks, sliding off the table. He vibrates with excitement, doing a sort of side-shuffle toward the stairs.
Reid nods. "I'd love to see your picture."
"Be right back!" Jack takes off running.
Hotch and Reid sit side by side on the couch. Hotch looks at his hands, then at Reid. "Do you, ah, want something to drink?"
Reid shakes his head. "No, that's okay. Look, Hotch, I'm sorry to, uh, barge in on you and Jack. I just wanted you to know I'm here if you need anything. Or just want to talk." He pauses. "About anything." Oh God. He's terrible at this.
At least Hotch doesn't look upset or further traumatized. "I do have a question, Reid."
Spencer leans forward, elbows on his knees, fingers clasped together. "Of course."
"When you shot Tobias, were you sorry? Did you feel guilty?"
Reid slides his gaze away from Hotch and onto the TV. There's a photo of Haley and Aaron on top. It's not safe there, either. He finally settles on the carpet, two of Jack's footprints look like a giant comma. Reid is used to lying. Not maliciously, not purposely, just to make things easier for everyone else. But this isn't about what's easy for Reid, this is about helping Hotch. Reid exhales slowly, bites at his lower lip, collects himself. "I'm...still sorry," Reid admits. "I still feel guilty. I think--I think I always will."
Hotch nods. "And I understand exactly while you feel that way. I know the kind of person you are, Reid. You're a good person."
"So are you," Reid blurts. His face flushes, he can feel the heat settle into his hairline, but he manages eye contact at least.
Hotch smiles, he look wistful. "I can't say if I'm a good person, Reid. Not anymore. But I can tell you I'm a man who loves his son more than anything. I'm a man who was willing--is willing--to protect Jack from monsters, real or imagined. I'm sorry Haley is dead, but I'm not sorry Foyet is dead. I'm not sorry I killed him. You don't have to worry about me."
Reid leans back into the cushions. Now it's his turn to nod. "I know. But I probably will anyway." Reid knows Hankel and Foyet are not the same man. There was no part of Foyet who wanted to spare Hotch pain or fear, no part of Foyet that felt sorry about anything but being caught.
"So I thank you for your concern, but I'm okay," Hotch continues. "I'll get through this. Jack and I both will." He pauses. "But it's...it's nice to have help."
Jack comes trundling back down the stairs. He's got a sheet of paper and a box of crayons. "Lookit, I made Mommy!" There's a smiling face on the paper, a bundle of yellow and brown stripes over the round head. "Mommy had blond and brown hair so I gave her both."
Reid concentrates on the boy's smiling face, not the pain in his throat, behind his eyes. In his chest. Spencer smiles back. "Jack, I think it's beautiful."
Jack beams. "I know! And!" He shoves the box at Reid. "Pelapee gave me sparkly crayons! They gots glitter!"
Reid's eyebrows knit and Hotch chuckles. "Oh, Penelope," Reid says, understanding. "Hey, can I draw you a picture? I brought a few things with me."
He opens his bag and pulls out a sketchpad, some colored pencils, an ancient box of Legos, a bag of Tootsie-Pops, and two cans of neon Play-doh. Jack's eyes go straight to the candy. "Can I have one?"
"I hope so," Reid tells him, reaching for the bag. "I'll feel all lonely eating a lollipop by myself." He tears the bag open and holds it out to Hotch. "You pick first."
Hotch rolls his eyes, but he pulls out a grape Tootsie-Pop. Jack takes a cherry one. "You don't have to do this," Hotch says softly.
Reid brushes the hair out of his face. He'd always wanted a little brother or sister. Someone to take care of, some one to parent who wasn't an actual parent. He has Henry, and he adores him, but Jack's a little older. Jack is someone he can draw with, build blue and green skyscrapers with. He can show Jack what a knight looks like, tell him how is father is just as brave.
"I know." Reid slides off the couch to sit cross-legged on the floor. He pushes his cane under the table. "But I like to draw." He unwraps a lollipop for himself, tucks it into his cheek. "So, what do you think?" Reid asks Jack. "Iron Man or Spider-Man?"
Jack considers, a look of deep concentration on his face. "Iron Man. He can fly."
"Good answer," Hotch says.
Reid agrees. "Definitely." He points to the sparkly crayons. "Can I borrow the red one?"
Jack nods, content, and pushes the box toward Reid.
Author: buffyaddict13
Rating: PG
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Pairing/Characters: Gen, Reid, Hotch, Jack
Summary: Reid worries.
A/N 1: Tiny little tag for 5x09, 100. This is what happens after the ep ends.
A/N 2: Thank you to luckinfovely for the beta. You're clearly addled for liking this but I ♥ you just the same.
He that conceals his grief finds no remedy for it.
~Turkish Proverb
Reid stands outside Hotch's front door, finger poised above the doorbell. He has a long box tucked under one arm, messenger bag slung over his shoulder. He's leaning on his cane. Before, he thought about getting a top hat and wearing it around the office. And a monocle, just to make Garcia laugh. He would look like something out of vaudeville, or maybe Sherlock Holmes. Now, his thoughts are filled with worry, with loss.
He should have come earlier. Rossi's been here every day, overseeing the new carpet installation. JJ and Prentiss bring towels and throw rugs and casseroles. Morgan brings updates from Strauss, Garcia brings presents, books for Hotch, toys for Jack. There's a kind of ritual that comes with mourning, and Reid doesn't understand the calculations of sorrow, how proximity to loved ones or the amount of food brought by well-wishers can fill the void left by loss. Reid understands the concept, he knows the stages of grief, the importance of talking, sharing memories. Like most things, Reid simply finds it easier to do in theory than practicality.
Still, this isn't about him. This visit has nothing to do with whether Hotch is coming back to the BAU. This visit is a show of support, solidarity, and friendship. They had rallied around Garcia when she'd been shot. And, to a lesser degree, his friends had rallied around him after...everything. They'd been there as much as he'd let them. Reid owes Hotch. Hotch had understood, Hotch had found him. Hotch doesn't need saving, but he needs friends, and Spencer is awkward and off-putting, he knows this. But he's also loyal and caring. He should have come sooner, but he's here now.
Reid rings the doorbell.
Hotch answers the door right away. Reid wonders if Hotch knew he was here, if he's been waiting for the doorbell. Maybe that's all Hotch does now, wait for the doorbell. Reid puts that thought away, Hotch is better than that, stronger than that. Aaron stands in the doorway. He looks tired, the dark shadows that circle his eyes rivel Reid's. The cuts on his face are healed; it's everything inside that's still broken.
Hotch blinks at him. He looks a little surprised, a little pleased. Reid watches carefully for signs of annoyance, discomfit, but there are none. Maybe Hotch really is glad he came.
"Hi," Reid says, almost timid. "I, um, I'm sorry I didn't call first. I know etiquette prescribes that that's the polite thing to do. But I was afraid if I called first you'd say you didn't want any company." Reid glances at the box and his bag. "And then I didn't know what I'd do with all this stuff."
A hint of a smile touches Hotch's lips. He opens the door wider to reveal Jack attached to his leg. Reid smiles. "Hi Jack."
Jack smiles back, ducks his head, bashful. "Hi Reid." His name comes out sounding like "weed."
Hotch gestures the younger agent inside. "Come in. Haley's sister is coming over later, but I've got some time."
They move to the living room. The carpet is thick and plush, it still smells new. Faint Jack-size footprints are everywhere. A cartoon with a wooly mammoth and a sabertooth tiger is paused on the TV screen. Reid sets the box and his bag on the coffee table. Reid thinks about how he's sitting on the same couch Foyet sat on. They are in the same room where Haley was shot. He keeps his expression pleasant; he does not shudder. It takes immense effort.
Hotch looks at the box. It's a chess set. "Reid, I'm sorry, I'm not really--I don't really feel like playing chess."
Reid purses his lips, nods. "Oh, I didn't think you wanted to. This is for Jack."
Jack's lounging over the edge of the table, a little like Superman, arms out, feet off the ground. "What's chess?"
Aaron's eyebrows inch upwards. "I'm sorry Reid, but I think Jack might be a little young."
Reid smiles thinly. Just because he knows the current incarnation of chess was born in late 15th century Europe and the first official World Chess Champion was Wilhlem Steinitz doesn't mean he'll tell Jack. Although he kind of wants to. "I just thought I'd show him the pieces," Reid reassures Hotch.
"Wanna see the picture I drew?" Jack asks, sliding off the table. He vibrates with excitement, doing a sort of side-shuffle toward the stairs.
Reid nods. "I'd love to see your picture."
"Be right back!" Jack takes off running.
Hotch and Reid sit side by side on the couch. Hotch looks at his hands, then at Reid. "Do you, ah, want something to drink?"
Reid shakes his head. "No, that's okay. Look, Hotch, I'm sorry to, uh, barge in on you and Jack. I just wanted you to know I'm here if you need anything. Or just want to talk." He pauses. "About anything." Oh God. He's terrible at this.
At least Hotch doesn't look upset or further traumatized. "I do have a question, Reid."
Spencer leans forward, elbows on his knees, fingers clasped together. "Of course."
"When you shot Tobias, were you sorry? Did you feel guilty?"
Reid slides his gaze away from Hotch and onto the TV. There's a photo of Haley and Aaron on top. It's not safe there, either. He finally settles on the carpet, two of Jack's footprints look like a giant comma. Reid is used to lying. Not maliciously, not purposely, just to make things easier for everyone else. But this isn't about what's easy for Reid, this is about helping Hotch. Reid exhales slowly, bites at his lower lip, collects himself. "I'm...still sorry," Reid admits. "I still feel guilty. I think--I think I always will."
Hotch nods. "And I understand exactly while you feel that way. I know the kind of person you are, Reid. You're a good person."
"So are you," Reid blurts. His face flushes, he can feel the heat settle into his hairline, but he manages eye contact at least.
Hotch smiles, he look wistful. "I can't say if I'm a good person, Reid. Not anymore. But I can tell you I'm a man who loves his son more than anything. I'm a man who was willing--is willing--to protect Jack from monsters, real or imagined. I'm sorry Haley is dead, but I'm not sorry Foyet is dead. I'm not sorry I killed him. You don't have to worry about me."
Reid leans back into the cushions. Now it's his turn to nod. "I know. But I probably will anyway." Reid knows Hankel and Foyet are not the same man. There was no part of Foyet who wanted to spare Hotch pain or fear, no part of Foyet that felt sorry about anything but being caught.
"So I thank you for your concern, but I'm okay," Hotch continues. "I'll get through this. Jack and I both will." He pauses. "But it's...it's nice to have help."
Jack comes trundling back down the stairs. He's got a sheet of paper and a box of crayons. "Lookit, I made Mommy!" There's a smiling face on the paper, a bundle of yellow and brown stripes over the round head. "Mommy had blond and brown hair so I gave her both."
Reid concentrates on the boy's smiling face, not the pain in his throat, behind his eyes. In his chest. Spencer smiles back. "Jack, I think it's beautiful."
Jack beams. "I know! And!" He shoves the box at Reid. "Pelapee gave me sparkly crayons! They gots glitter!"
Reid's eyebrows knit and Hotch chuckles. "Oh, Penelope," Reid says, understanding. "Hey, can I draw you a picture? I brought a few things with me."
He opens his bag and pulls out a sketchpad, some colored pencils, an ancient box of Legos, a bag of Tootsie-Pops, and two cans of neon Play-doh. Jack's eyes go straight to the candy. "Can I have one?"
"I hope so," Reid tells him, reaching for the bag. "I'll feel all lonely eating a lollipop by myself." He tears the bag open and holds it out to Hotch. "You pick first."
Hotch rolls his eyes, but he pulls out a grape Tootsie-Pop. Jack takes a cherry one. "You don't have to do this," Hotch says softly.
Reid brushes the hair out of his face. He'd always wanted a little brother or sister. Someone to take care of, some one to parent who wasn't an actual parent. He has Henry, and he adores him, but Jack's a little older. Jack is someone he can draw with, build blue and green skyscrapers with. He can show Jack what a knight looks like, tell him how is father is just as brave.
"I know." Reid slides off the couch to sit cross-legged on the floor. He pushes his cane under the table. "But I like to draw." He unwraps a lollipop for himself, tucks it into his cheek. "So, what do you think?" Reid asks Jack. "Iron Man or Spider-Man?"
Jack considers, a look of deep concentration on his face. "Iron Man. He can fly."
"Good answer," Hotch says.
Reid agrees. "Definitely." He points to the sparkly crayons. "Can I borrow the red one?"
Jack nods, content, and pushes the box toward Reid.