Hotch's 5 Stages...Part 1&2 of 5
The first two parts to "sequel" to my 5 Stages... fic focusing on Hotch. (When done may submit to criminal_prompt too.) The Denial Stage is the same as in 5 Stages... so, if you've read that, feel free to skip it, haha! The rest, though, will be totally new!
Denial:
Whenever asked Hotch would say he was fine. Even when he’d jumped, spilling his coffee over the counter, the time Reid approached him from behind while attempting to reach his mug in the mini-kitchen. Even when caught by JJ passed out on his desk as she came in the morning after everyone was to go home. Hotch even claimed he was fine when he’d actually lost his place in the midst of giving a profile, thinking he’d seen Foyet just outside the police station window.
Prentiss had asked him once or twice what happened, but he could only answer with the blank response, “He got the upper hand, he stabbed me, then I blacked out.” After all nothing else about that event really seemed real to Hotch, nothing else about it left the undeniable scars now scattered about his body. Rossi never asked, a fact Hotch first found odd but then grew to understand…Rossi didn’t have to ask, he’d been around victims long enough to read them like a book. Hotch supposed he should just be grateful Rossi hadn’t called him out on anything yet.
For the third week since being released from the hospital Hotch was planning to sleep in the office. He’d already made preparations to put his apartment up for sale but, in the current real estate market, he wasn’t ready to make it official until he had a new place, far from the old, set to move into. The lights in other offices were off, as were most in the bullpen, and Hotch found, as he prepared to leave his office and cross it to get to the mini-kitchen for his late night cup of coffee, he was nervous. Scared even. There were too many shadows, too many good places for a man with Foyet’s slender body to hide. Then he watched in shock as lights about the bullpen began to flicker back on, leaving a path of safe travel to the kitchen. “Hello?” He voice came out stern…except for that underlying shakiness of his nerves betraying him.
“Just me,” Morgan called out, raising his hand up so Hotch could pinpoint him in the vast field of desks and chairs, “I thought you could use the light.”
“I’m fine,” Hotch knee-jerked before looking down a little in slight embarrassment that those two words were the first he could even think of these days and recall a more suitable response. When he had one he looked back over to his fellow agent, “Thank you.”
Morgan smiled some and began to head closer to the stairs leading up to where Hotch stood, gripping the railings of the balcony, “Hey, uh, you need any help? You know with paperwork or something? I’m guessing you’re pretty backed up on that.” The days in the hospital, the days recovering at home, the days of distraction.
Hotch shook his head some, “No, that’s alright,” He knew the offer to help was a cover…Morgan didn’t even like doing his own paperwork! He wondered if Rossi put him to it somehow? Or did Morgan now think that little of him, so little of his boss that he suspected the man scared of his own shadow. Then again, he was, wasn’t he? “I can handle this,” he added, then froze, “it…the paperwork, I mean. It’s nothing I can’t handle on my own.”
“I always felt that way too,” Morgan replied as he began to almost cautiously head up the stairs. He was taking a big risk doing this, bringing up those things that never should be brought up. “I was wrong though and it took my getting arrested for a series of crimes I never could’ve even committed for me to see that.”
Hands slipped from the railing fast, as if the metal burned suddenly, and Hotch straightened up as his colleague climbed the steps towards him. “It’s not the same thing,” Hotch replied in an almost panic.
Morgan stopped at the top of the stairs, giving his boss more than enough room, “Look, I don’t know what happened with you and…” he paused as his boss and friend grew so tense he thought the guy might start shaking, “him and I’m not gonna pretend that I do. But the more you stuff that memory down the worse it’s gonna be when we have to dig it up to add to the guy’s profile.”
“The…the profile’s wrong,” Hotch stated with a resigned sadness, “My profile of him was wrong and that…” that’s why this happened to him, to his family, all this pain came because he’d been wrong.
Morgan shook his head, “No, Hotch, the profile changed, that’s all. It’s happened before and it’ll happen again. So we do what we always do, reexamine the crimes and adjust the profile.” He then slowly moved closer until he was caught in the light from Hotch’s office and his eyes showed him a man holding in way too much pain for anyone’s own good. “The only thing that gives him power now is you holding onto his little secret.”
“His?” Hotch questioned, legitimately confused.
“Right,” Morgan said firmly, “Because he’s the only one that should ever be ashamed by what happened.”
The agent, the team leader, the man who was always in charge of everything blinked a few times, then backed away into the shadow some. For a moment Morgan worried he’d pushed too hard and Hotch was going to slip away into his office, but he didn’t. Instead the senior agent hit the wall by the doorframe and slid down, tiny particles of his clothing rubbing the scars as if to remind Hotch what he could never forget. “I’m sure that’s easy for you to say, but -“
“No, it’s not,” Morgan cut the other man off as he went to settle against the railing on the other side of the lit office. Though facing each other both men’s faces, their body’s, stayed in the shadows and hidden from sight. While he hadn’t been in a church all those years from his childhood until Garcia was shot Morgan could feel a confessional atmosphere form between them. “From the moment Carl Buford came into my life, from the moment he, uh…he started…” even now, years later and in the darkness where his emotions on his face could be hidden, the man found it hard to speak of out loud, “I felt so…ashamed and…weak and…and…”
“Dirty,” Hotch finished the thought in nothing more than a breath before taking in so much air his lungs hurt, “Violated.” He let the air out and, even though he couldn’t make out Morgan’s face, he looked down some, focusing on his knees as they curled up towards his chest as if to protect him farther, “I can…remember every inch of that knife…and the…the weight of…him…on me. The, uh, the first two thrusts were fast, furious, brutal. The one’s that came after though…” the agent had to stop to remind himself to breath and leaned his head back against the wall to keep tears from escaping now watery eyes, “they were slow, purposeful…he spoke the whole time…”
Morgan sat silently, without judgment, as the light in Hotch’s office caught the water now spilling from the man’s eyes while words spilled from his mouth.
Anger:
He’d confessed all to Morgan, a man he figured might understand better than the others, and that was supposed to make things better…but it didn’t. It made things worse. Now that he allowed himself to think about the attack it just made him angry…simply infuriated him…but he hadn’t quite decided what, exactly, pissed him off the most. Shaunessy seemed a good candidate for taking that damned deal in the first place, the one that sent Hotch away and ten years behind the trail of Foyet. Naturally he was furious at Foyet, what he’d done and how much it pleased him to do it, and the nature of a world that could form such a creature into being. Though as he looked now in the mirror after his shower and saw the scars, black and red with stitches and rawness, he felt a rage build with himself. He’d been so easily fooled and blindsided by an UNSUB…again! He became a victim in his own home and allowed a killer to take those things that were most important to him - his family, his son, and his pride.
A near overwhelming urge to smash the bathroom mirror was cut short by a knock at the door. Emily no doubt coming to pick him up for work, as if he didn’t feel pathetic enough, he needed a chauffer to bring him around like he was some invalid. “Hold on!” He hollered as he headed out the bathroom to dress as quickly as his still healing body would allow, which wasn’t fast enough as the knocks continued, followed by Prentiss calling out his name. He began to curse under his breath as he secured his belt a little to tight, pinching scarred skin some in the process. “What?!” He barked out when finally reaching and throwing open the door.
Emily froze at her boss’s hostility, her cell still opened, half the digits dialed of Hotch’s new number, “I…I’m sorry, sir,” she shut the phone, “I didn’t hear a reply and was a little…concerned.” She was trying to regain her composure and choose her words carefully, reverting to safety in formalities - the use of sir.
“You’re early,” Hotch snipped, his displeasure still apparent in his tone.
“Yes, sir, I realize that but I got a call from JJ to come in early.” She explained, noting that while in his suit Hotch was disheveled, the tips of his hair still damp. “She said she called you but didn’t get an answer so left a message this morning.” Another reason she’d been worried, the last time Hotch hadn’t been answering his phone he was under attack.
The idea that he could’ve missed something as crucial as a phone call about a case caused Hotch to pause before he recalled the reason, “I was in the shower.” Something that now took him twice the time having to clean each scar carefully, making sure to change bandages before and after and not to rub the skin around the stitches.
“I didn’t know, sir.” Emily replied simply, before giving a polite smile, “Are you ready or do you need more time?”
Rather than answer Hotch simply gave her a glare and turned back from the door to get the rest of his things, leaving Emily to catch the door and step into his place to wait for him. His movements were quick, but without the smoothness or even confidence he normally had. He snatched files and pill bottles (filled with pain meds and antibiotics) to stuff in his briefcase, grabbed his phone to jam into his pocket, and then his keys last before setting his alarm and moving to the door leaving his subordinate to follow behind hurriedly, silently.
~~~~
Emily almost didn’t want to drive Hotch back home he’d been so surly. Over the case he’d snapped at Garcia once, Morgan twice, and ignored Reid, still hobbling about in his cast, almost entirely. When he’d grown agitated at the local lead detective for not making a connection between older crimes Rossi pulled him aside and the men argued quite a bit until Hotch stormed off. Even JJ had a run in with the unpleasant team leader when she went to remind him that while, yes, the press could be part of the problem, they can also be part of the solution and so playing nice with them would be beneficial…an opinion she shared at the price of a particularly nasty glare from Hotch and the order to “stick to your job”. …And yet here Emily was, escorting her tense, and intense, boss to his front door.
It wasn’t an overly hard case, but then maybe that’s what was so frustrating about it. All Hotch could think about was how his team was wasting their valuable time and resources on what should be a no-brainer of a case. The local police were just inept hillbillies; if any of them had half a brain in their head the BAU wouldn’t be solving their cases for them. There was also another great irritant throughout the day - his scars. They itched and almost burned at times but, of course, Hotch couldn’t very well scratch them while on the job. Though he did rub them as discreetly as possible whenever able, including as he first went to disarm the alarm and then set his briefcase on his table. “Thank you for the ride, Prentiss,” he said with utmost formality but a hint of edge to his words, “you may leave now.” The last words came sternly, almost forcefully.
The female agent didn’t move as she debated whether or not to risk her boss’s wrath in order to try and get through to him. The others hadn’t faired well at all but that was during the case, the case was over now; the others weren’t around for Hotch to worry about what they might think and the formalities of the office didn’t exist in the private home…at least that’s what Emily hoped for. “Hotch, are…”
“Dismissed!” Hotch barked at her with an almost seething rage. It wasn’t at her directly, he hadn’t even turned around to face her, but his subordinate just happened to be the last straw at a point and place where he felt he could let out all the building anger he felt he’d pent up on the case. He listened for her to leave but there was no sound at all behind him. Maybe she’d slipped out? He turned slowly and his heart sank some at the sight before him.
She’d jumped at the order, it was just so unlike Hotch. She’d seen him angry before, of course, and even yelling as they worked interrogations together but this was different and not just because it’d been directed at her. It was frightening because it was a chaotic darkness she never thought Hotch could have. She bowed her head some so when he turned she wouldn’t have to come face to face with the glare she knew had to come with that tone and, when he seemed to move towards her, she stepped back some. “I’m sorry, sir, I’ll leave you alone now.”
Hotch recognized that face from his childhood. Emily was scared. She was scared of him. He sighed and looked down, ashamed, “No, please, don’t,” he said softly, taking another step towards her before looking up, “I’m sorry, Emily,” he used her first name, spoke softly, “You don’t deserve to be treated with such hostility…neither does the rest of the team.”
“Do you, maybe, want to talk about it some?” Emily offered tentatively.
“No, not just now,” Hotch said with a slight shake of his head before keying in his eyes, now full of gentle concern, on hers, “But maybe later?” Again his hand slid down his side to rub a scar, but this time his muscles seized and his face twisted as fabric caught on a stitch and pulled painfully…so painfully he moved to grip the table nearby as he was doubled over by the sensation.
Emily moved swiftly to her superior’s side, taking his arm to help keep him somewhat upright “Are you okay?”
Hotch nodded some in silence before taking a deep breath, “I just caught a stitch, I think,” He slowly rose again, trying to smooth out his face some to lessen the worry of the woman beside him, “I’ll be fine.” He smiled a little as he found he wasn’t angry anymore, as he found Emily’s presence and concern comforting.
“May…may I make a suggestion, sir?” Emily asked, starting to step back, not wanting to crowd him.
“You may,” Hotch replied before his smile grew some as he was able to stand up straight once more, the once sharp pain now just a dull ache, “but only if you go back to calling me Hotch, please.”
“Aloe Vera,” Emily stated simply, then elaborated, “it’s natural, very soothing to irritated skin, helps prevent infection, and scientifically proven to help scars heal faster.”
Hotch stared blankly for a moment, not sure what to make of the information, then spoke, “You know you sound like Reid.” He gave the faintest hint of a smile to indicate he was joking.
Emily’s face flushed a bit as she smiled what she felt was way too much in reply, “Yeah, I’m a nerd.”
“You’re in good company,” he stated simply as he remembered his eternal childhood search for that 1958 nickel he never did find.
Part 3: Bargaining
Denial:
Whenever asked Hotch would say he was fine. Even when he’d jumped, spilling his coffee over the counter, the time Reid approached him from behind while attempting to reach his mug in the mini-kitchen. Even when caught by JJ passed out on his desk as she came in the morning after everyone was to go home. Hotch even claimed he was fine when he’d actually lost his place in the midst of giving a profile, thinking he’d seen Foyet just outside the police station window.
Prentiss had asked him once or twice what happened, but he could only answer with the blank response, “He got the upper hand, he stabbed me, then I blacked out.” After all nothing else about that event really seemed real to Hotch, nothing else about it left the undeniable scars now scattered about his body. Rossi never asked, a fact Hotch first found odd but then grew to understand…Rossi didn’t have to ask, he’d been around victims long enough to read them like a book. Hotch supposed he should just be grateful Rossi hadn’t called him out on anything yet.
For the third week since being released from the hospital Hotch was planning to sleep in the office. He’d already made preparations to put his apartment up for sale but, in the current real estate market, he wasn’t ready to make it official until he had a new place, far from the old, set to move into. The lights in other offices were off, as were most in the bullpen, and Hotch found, as he prepared to leave his office and cross it to get to the mini-kitchen for his late night cup of coffee, he was nervous. Scared even. There were too many shadows, too many good places for a man with Foyet’s slender body to hide. Then he watched in shock as lights about the bullpen began to flicker back on, leaving a path of safe travel to the kitchen. “Hello?” He voice came out stern…except for that underlying shakiness of his nerves betraying him.
“Just me,” Morgan called out, raising his hand up so Hotch could pinpoint him in the vast field of desks and chairs, “I thought you could use the light.”
“I’m fine,” Hotch knee-jerked before looking down a little in slight embarrassment that those two words were the first he could even think of these days and recall a more suitable response. When he had one he looked back over to his fellow agent, “Thank you.”
Morgan smiled some and began to head closer to the stairs leading up to where Hotch stood, gripping the railings of the balcony, “Hey, uh, you need any help? You know with paperwork or something? I’m guessing you’re pretty backed up on that.” The days in the hospital, the days recovering at home, the days of distraction.
Hotch shook his head some, “No, that’s alright,” He knew the offer to help was a cover…Morgan didn’t even like doing his own paperwork! He wondered if Rossi put him to it somehow? Or did Morgan now think that little of him, so little of his boss that he suspected the man scared of his own shadow. Then again, he was, wasn’t he? “I can handle this,” he added, then froze, “it…the paperwork, I mean. It’s nothing I can’t handle on my own.”
“I always felt that way too,” Morgan replied as he began to almost cautiously head up the stairs. He was taking a big risk doing this, bringing up those things that never should be brought up. “I was wrong though and it took my getting arrested for a series of crimes I never could’ve even committed for me to see that.”
Hands slipped from the railing fast, as if the metal burned suddenly, and Hotch straightened up as his colleague climbed the steps towards him. “It’s not the same thing,” Hotch replied in an almost panic.
Morgan stopped at the top of the stairs, giving his boss more than enough room, “Look, I don’t know what happened with you and…” he paused as his boss and friend grew so tense he thought the guy might start shaking, “him and I’m not gonna pretend that I do. But the more you stuff that memory down the worse it’s gonna be when we have to dig it up to add to the guy’s profile.”
“The…the profile’s wrong,” Hotch stated with a resigned sadness, “My profile of him was wrong and that…” that’s why this happened to him, to his family, all this pain came because he’d been wrong.
Morgan shook his head, “No, Hotch, the profile changed, that’s all. It’s happened before and it’ll happen again. So we do what we always do, reexamine the crimes and adjust the profile.” He then slowly moved closer until he was caught in the light from Hotch’s office and his eyes showed him a man holding in way too much pain for anyone’s own good. “The only thing that gives him power now is you holding onto his little secret.”
“His?” Hotch questioned, legitimately confused.
“Right,” Morgan said firmly, “Because he’s the only one that should ever be ashamed by what happened.”
The agent, the team leader, the man who was always in charge of everything blinked a few times, then backed away into the shadow some. For a moment Morgan worried he’d pushed too hard and Hotch was going to slip away into his office, but he didn’t. Instead the senior agent hit the wall by the doorframe and slid down, tiny particles of his clothing rubbing the scars as if to remind Hotch what he could never forget. “I’m sure that’s easy for you to say, but -“
“No, it’s not,” Morgan cut the other man off as he went to settle against the railing on the other side of the lit office. Though facing each other both men’s faces, their body’s, stayed in the shadows and hidden from sight. While he hadn’t been in a church all those years from his childhood until Garcia was shot Morgan could feel a confessional atmosphere form between them. “From the moment Carl Buford came into my life, from the moment he, uh…he started…” even now, years later and in the darkness where his emotions on his face could be hidden, the man found it hard to speak of out loud, “I felt so…ashamed and…weak and…and…”
“Dirty,” Hotch finished the thought in nothing more than a breath before taking in so much air his lungs hurt, “Violated.” He let the air out and, even though he couldn’t make out Morgan’s face, he looked down some, focusing on his knees as they curled up towards his chest as if to protect him farther, “I can…remember every inch of that knife…and the…the weight of…him…on me. The, uh, the first two thrusts were fast, furious, brutal. The one’s that came after though…” the agent had to stop to remind himself to breath and leaned his head back against the wall to keep tears from escaping now watery eyes, “they were slow, purposeful…he spoke the whole time…”
Morgan sat silently, without judgment, as the light in Hotch’s office caught the water now spilling from the man’s eyes while words spilled from his mouth.
Anger:
He’d confessed all to Morgan, a man he figured might understand better than the others, and that was supposed to make things better…but it didn’t. It made things worse. Now that he allowed himself to think about the attack it just made him angry…simply infuriated him…but he hadn’t quite decided what, exactly, pissed him off the most. Shaunessy seemed a good candidate for taking that damned deal in the first place, the one that sent Hotch away and ten years behind the trail of Foyet. Naturally he was furious at Foyet, what he’d done and how much it pleased him to do it, and the nature of a world that could form such a creature into being. Though as he looked now in the mirror after his shower and saw the scars, black and red with stitches and rawness, he felt a rage build with himself. He’d been so easily fooled and blindsided by an UNSUB…again! He became a victim in his own home and allowed a killer to take those things that were most important to him - his family, his son, and his pride.
A near overwhelming urge to smash the bathroom mirror was cut short by a knock at the door. Emily no doubt coming to pick him up for work, as if he didn’t feel pathetic enough, he needed a chauffer to bring him around like he was some invalid. “Hold on!” He hollered as he headed out the bathroom to dress as quickly as his still healing body would allow, which wasn’t fast enough as the knocks continued, followed by Prentiss calling out his name. He began to curse under his breath as he secured his belt a little to tight, pinching scarred skin some in the process. “What?!” He barked out when finally reaching and throwing open the door.
Emily froze at her boss’s hostility, her cell still opened, half the digits dialed of Hotch’s new number, “I…I’m sorry, sir,” she shut the phone, “I didn’t hear a reply and was a little…concerned.” She was trying to regain her composure and choose her words carefully, reverting to safety in formalities - the use of sir.
“You’re early,” Hotch snipped, his displeasure still apparent in his tone.
“Yes, sir, I realize that but I got a call from JJ to come in early.” She explained, noting that while in his suit Hotch was disheveled, the tips of his hair still damp. “She said she called you but didn’t get an answer so left a message this morning.” Another reason she’d been worried, the last time Hotch hadn’t been answering his phone he was under attack.
The idea that he could’ve missed something as crucial as a phone call about a case caused Hotch to pause before he recalled the reason, “I was in the shower.” Something that now took him twice the time having to clean each scar carefully, making sure to change bandages before and after and not to rub the skin around the stitches.
“I didn’t know, sir.” Emily replied simply, before giving a polite smile, “Are you ready or do you need more time?”
Rather than answer Hotch simply gave her a glare and turned back from the door to get the rest of his things, leaving Emily to catch the door and step into his place to wait for him. His movements were quick, but without the smoothness or even confidence he normally had. He snatched files and pill bottles (filled with pain meds and antibiotics) to stuff in his briefcase, grabbed his phone to jam into his pocket, and then his keys last before setting his alarm and moving to the door leaving his subordinate to follow behind hurriedly, silently.
~~~~
Emily almost didn’t want to drive Hotch back home he’d been so surly. Over the case he’d snapped at Garcia once, Morgan twice, and ignored Reid, still hobbling about in his cast, almost entirely. When he’d grown agitated at the local lead detective for not making a connection between older crimes Rossi pulled him aside and the men argued quite a bit until Hotch stormed off. Even JJ had a run in with the unpleasant team leader when she went to remind him that while, yes, the press could be part of the problem, they can also be part of the solution and so playing nice with them would be beneficial…an opinion she shared at the price of a particularly nasty glare from Hotch and the order to “stick to your job”. …And yet here Emily was, escorting her tense, and intense, boss to his front door.
It wasn’t an overly hard case, but then maybe that’s what was so frustrating about it. All Hotch could think about was how his team was wasting their valuable time and resources on what should be a no-brainer of a case. The local police were just inept hillbillies; if any of them had half a brain in their head the BAU wouldn’t be solving their cases for them. There was also another great irritant throughout the day - his scars. They itched and almost burned at times but, of course, Hotch couldn’t very well scratch them while on the job. Though he did rub them as discreetly as possible whenever able, including as he first went to disarm the alarm and then set his briefcase on his table. “Thank you for the ride, Prentiss,” he said with utmost formality but a hint of edge to his words, “you may leave now.” The last words came sternly, almost forcefully.
The female agent didn’t move as she debated whether or not to risk her boss’s wrath in order to try and get through to him. The others hadn’t faired well at all but that was during the case, the case was over now; the others weren’t around for Hotch to worry about what they might think and the formalities of the office didn’t exist in the private home…at least that’s what Emily hoped for. “Hotch, are…”
“Dismissed!” Hotch barked at her with an almost seething rage. It wasn’t at her directly, he hadn’t even turned around to face her, but his subordinate just happened to be the last straw at a point and place where he felt he could let out all the building anger he felt he’d pent up on the case. He listened for her to leave but there was no sound at all behind him. Maybe she’d slipped out? He turned slowly and his heart sank some at the sight before him.
She’d jumped at the order, it was just so unlike Hotch. She’d seen him angry before, of course, and even yelling as they worked interrogations together but this was different and not just because it’d been directed at her. It was frightening because it was a chaotic darkness she never thought Hotch could have. She bowed her head some so when he turned she wouldn’t have to come face to face with the glare she knew had to come with that tone and, when he seemed to move towards her, she stepped back some. “I’m sorry, sir, I’ll leave you alone now.”
Hotch recognized that face from his childhood. Emily was scared. She was scared of him. He sighed and looked down, ashamed, “No, please, don’t,” he said softly, taking another step towards her before looking up, “I’m sorry, Emily,” he used her first name, spoke softly, “You don’t deserve to be treated with such hostility…neither does the rest of the team.”
“Do you, maybe, want to talk about it some?” Emily offered tentatively.
“No, not just now,” Hotch said with a slight shake of his head before keying in his eyes, now full of gentle concern, on hers, “But maybe later?” Again his hand slid down his side to rub a scar, but this time his muscles seized and his face twisted as fabric caught on a stitch and pulled painfully…so painfully he moved to grip the table nearby as he was doubled over by the sensation.
Emily moved swiftly to her superior’s side, taking his arm to help keep him somewhat upright “Are you okay?”
Hotch nodded some in silence before taking a deep breath, “I just caught a stitch, I think,” He slowly rose again, trying to smooth out his face some to lessen the worry of the woman beside him, “I’ll be fine.” He smiled a little as he found he wasn’t angry anymore, as he found Emily’s presence and concern comforting.
“May…may I make a suggestion, sir?” Emily asked, starting to step back, not wanting to crowd him.
“You may,” Hotch replied before his smile grew some as he was able to stand up straight once more, the once sharp pain now just a dull ache, “but only if you go back to calling me Hotch, please.”
“Aloe Vera,” Emily stated simply, then elaborated, “it’s natural, very soothing to irritated skin, helps prevent infection, and scientifically proven to help scars heal faster.”
Hotch stared blankly for a moment, not sure what to make of the information, then spoke, “You know you sound like Reid.” He gave the faintest hint of a smile to indicate he was joking.
Emily’s face flushed a bit as she smiled what she felt was way too much in reply, “Yeah, I’m a nerd.”
“You’re in good company,” he stated simply as he remembered his eternal childhood search for that 1958 nickel he never did find.
Part 3: Bargaining