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1.
Not even six months in and the kid had got himself shot. Granted it was a graze but it was a graze on his neck for Christs sake.
Under his jaw to be more precise.
Gideon had launched forward as Hotch fell to one knee. He’d pushed Hotch’s own hands out the way, exhaling a loud breath of relief. It was bleeding sluggishly, but not arterially.
Once the unsub had been apprehended Rossi ran to them. “S’just a graze,” Hotch had reassured, as though Gideon didn’t have his blood seeping between his fingers.
“Still pretty deep,” Gideon scolded quietly.
“I got it,” Hotch replaced Jason’s hands with his own, doing a good job of not flinching when he applied pressure.
“You need the hospital, Aaron,” Rossi said plainly.
“It’s just a graze-”
“He wasn’t asking.” Gideon cut in, looking around for the paramedics that had been waiting on site. He jogged away, flagging down one of the few paramedics not hands deep in civilian blood.
Hotch seemed to accept it - as he tried to force himself to his feet. “Hey, hey, stop moving, will ya? You got an inch of your throat missing for Christ sakes,” Rossi put an arm around his shoulders, gently manoeuvring him into a sitting position. “You’re lucky I’m not pinching an artery right now.”
“Judging by the force of the bullet I’m not sure there’d be much artery left to pinch,” Hotch murmured plainly.
Rossi rose a brow. How the kid would just say things like that about himself - his own safety - it never ceased to anger him. Not angry at Hotch. No. It made him angry at whoever the hell it was that taught Hotch to not consider his own safety something of great importance.
He sighed and shook his head before pressing a gentle kiss into the younger man’s hair as they waited for the paramedics. It wasn’t until after that Rossi realised that Hotch didn’t react.
2.
It had been one of those rare quiet moments at the BAU. A short period where they could catch up on paperwork on somewhere beyond a hotel room or jet journey. He’d heard Hotch’s phone ring, barely noticing as he quietly excused himself from the office. Assuming it’d been Haley, Rossi barely spared in half a thought. Only after nearly 20 minutes passed did Rossi realise that Hotch was still gone.
Strange. Usually he’d say if he was heading out.
“Want a coffee?” Gideon murmured, hand reaching to his own mug.
Rossi got there first though. “I’ll get ‘em,” he ignored Gideon’s poignant look. “What? I get coffee.”
“You buy coffee.”
“Same difference.” He responded, ignoring Gideon’s harumph as he made his way to the kitchen. As suspected, Hotch wasn’t there either. It was only when he peered into the back hallway behind it that he found him.
The young man was tense; more so than usual (which, Rossi thought to himself, in itself was a feat). His chin was tucked slightly, that line between his brows thickening in a way it did when he was overworked, tired or just plain stressed. Rossi heard a clipped goodbye before Hotch hung up. He hung his head, pressing a hand against his forhead with a ragged exhale.
“You okay?”
He didn’t jump exactly. A quick half tense of his shoulders before he turned gave away that Hotch wasn’t aware if Rossi’s presence. “Yes, I, uh,” he cleared his throat. “I need to take twenty minutes.”
Rossi paused, waiting for the other man to elaborate. “Okay,” he said slowly when he didn’t. “Everything alright?”
“Yes.”
“Haley okay?”
“Yes, that wasn’t,” he shook his head, “Haley’s fine.” Rossi stayed quiet. Hotch sighed. “My brother, Sean he’s in a tight spot. I just need to, well, help him find a hotel or something.”
Sean. Rossi had only heard the name a few times. He knew he was Hotch’s only brother and that their relationship was… difficult, to say the least. “Sure. Is he alright?”
Hotch exhaled a short scoff. “He’s fine. He will be, anyway.”
“He can’t stay with you?”
Hotch’s eyebrow twitched. Rossi almost felt guilty for pushing that matter. “I offered but, he, well. We don’t see each other very often so,” he trailed off quietly.
Rossi saw the glassy look in the other man’s eye. He looked skittish and Rossi found himself feeling slightly guilty for invading the man’s privacy. He nodded calmly, taking a step forward and placing a hand on his shoulder, “take as long as you need kid,” he said quietly, kissing him lightly on the left cheek before making his way back to the kitchen.
3.
The case had been dragging longer than any of them expected. Gideon had been staring at the same board of photos for two and a half hours and Hotch - well, he’d been combing through half a decades worth of medical files for the better part of three hours.
When the break eventually came, the arrest made, it was too late to fly back. Still, none of them were in the mood for a sleepless night in the hotel so they boarded the jet anyway. The flight was calm and quiet. Rossi himself dozed off half a dozen times.
He’d woken to quiet thud. Half asleep himself Rossi turned to see Gideon was still asleep himself.
His eyes found Hotch. His eyes were sxrewed closed, skin pale and he gripped the chair to keep himself steady. His knees looked ready to buckle. Rossi rubbed his eyes. “Geez kid, you alright?” He grumbled.
Hotch clenched his jaw, nodding slowly. “Mmhmm.” He swallowed, clearly fighting something. “Just. Uh. Lightheaded.”
“I’ll say.” Rossi pushed himself up, blinking against sleep. “Need a hand?”
“No, it’ll, it’ll pass.” He said haltingly.
Rossi narrowed his eyes. He thought back to the last week, to the half drunken cups of coffee and the food the department so kindly provided them. “When’s the last time you ate?” He begun rifling through Gideon’s jacket. He was bound to have some kind of protein bar in there.
“No I’m not,” he cut himself off. The very thought of food seemed to make Hotch goes nauseous.
Rossi raised a brow. “Not what I asked,” he said lightly, taking a step towards him tentatively taking his arm. He was careful with his touch, Hotch was never all that fond of physical contact. Hotch allowed himself to be led though, sitting blearily onto the white leather Rossi placed him on.
He was so out of it that he didn’t notice the protein bar in his lap until Rossi cleared his throat. “Dave,” he exhaled.
“Cmon.” Rossi sat opposite him. “Humour me.” He kept his demeanor gentle, pretending Hotch’s firm aversion to eating didn’t take him off guard. It was more than just not being hungry. He eyed the food like it was a live bomb. He knew he didn’t eat well when they worked a case - hell, none of them did. Only, Hotch’s eating habits didn’t seem to swing back into the usual range once a case was closed. Rossi suddenly felt like an idiot for not noticing it sooner. “What’dya thinks gonna happen if you eat it?” He said quietly.
Hotch’s eyes flickered to his. “Nothing.” He said firmly.
“Then…” he indicated to the protein bar.
Hotch blinked once. Twice. Rossi knows the younger man has sussed his game now. He brushed his knees, getting to his feet. “I’m gonna get some water,” he leant over Hotch, pressing a kiss gentle onto the top of his head. “Have a few bites kid. For me.”
4.
He was hissing in pain. His hands clamped roughly against each ear, so hard Rossi was wincing at the pressure. At some point his arms had wrapped around Hotch’s shoulders, he’d pulled him away from the chaos. From the noise. Between his arms Aaron’s face was contorted in pain. Rossi hated the flood of helplessness he felt watching the younger agent in pain. Pain that didn’t seem to be subsiding.
“Aaron,” he said as quietly as possible. “Aaron, do you need a doctor?”
Hotch hummed a sound that sounding vaguely ‘no’ like. “It,” his voice cracked, “it’ll pass. It is.” His voice tight.
Rossi accepted it, unable to disagree with whatever Hotch wanted in that very moment. He pulled him more into his chest, unabashedly hugging him now. He pressed a firm kiss into his temple. He felt the younger man relax in his arms.
+ 1
Nine time. Nine times.
That bastards knife was inside Hotch nine god damned times.
It was horrific. Of course it was. The very thought of it made Rossi’s stomach twist. But it wasn’t just that. God. As if that wasn’t enough. Rossi knows Hotch. He knows Aaron and he knows the type of infatuation Foyet has developed with him.
The others had left. Reluctantly, yes; but Rossi had insisted they give Hotch some space.
As he layed in the hospital bed, drifting in and out of consciousness, pale and gaunt - Rossi saw the fresh faced agent who’d joined the BAU all those years ago. “You’re still here,” he murmured, eyes still closed. His dark eyelashes almost blended into the black circles beneath his eyes. “Thought,” he swallowed, voice dry from the pain killers being pumped through him. “Thought you left with the others.”
Rossi gave a soft smile. “Hoped, more like.” Hotch gave a single, throaty noise that resembled amusement. “I need to talk to you.” He added quietly. Hotch hummed again. “Hotch, I need to ask you something. While it’s still fresh. While no one else is here. You understand?”
“Hmm.”
“Aaron.” Hotch forced his eyes opened. Rossi could see the reservation in his gaze. “You lied. To Emily.” Hotch said nothing. “I know you remember more than you said.”
“Dave-”
“Aaron.” Rossi cut in gently, but firmly. “It’s important. You know it is.”
The silence stretched. “The profile,” Hotch eventually said blearily, as though agreeing. Rossi hoped it was the drugs that was slurring his voice, not the pain.
“Yeah.” He said quietly.
Hotch swallowed. “I didn’t lie. I just,” he cleared his throat weakly, “it’s blurry.”
Rossi watched the younger man’s hands twitch. Not clenching - involuntarily flinching against something unseen. “Tell me anyway.”
It was quiet for a long moment. Rossi let the silence lay. He could see Hotch’s mind turning. Whether it was from trying to find the right words or merely recall the haze of memory, Rossi couldn’t be sure. “The profile,” Hotch repeated, voice a little stronger. “We, I, got it wrong.”
Rossi blinked. A cold feeling flooded his stomach. “Which part?”
“Foyet isn’t impotent.”
The words were unflinching. He said it like reading a case file. Rossi forced himself to remain still as adrenaline flooded his entire body.
Stabbed him nine time. Nine times.
And he wasn’t impotent.
The rage was rippling through him but Rossi willed himself calm. “Do I need to get a SANE nurse?” He eventually asked, voice tight as his own eyes begun to blur.
The line between Hotch’s brow thickened. “No.”
“Aaron-”
“No.” He cut in, voice strong in a way it hadn’t been since he’d woken. “There was no penetration.” Again; Hotch was speaking in that detached tone.
“But he’s not impotent.” Rossi repeated darkly.
Hotch looked at the ceiling. “I felt it. Him. He was… aroused.” That purposeful detachment was faltering now.
“Okay.” Rossi said with a calm he didn’t feel. “What else?” Hotch met his eyes. They both knew Foyet’s infatuation, his obsession with dominating Aaron wouldn’t have stopped there. Not if they had the original profile wrong.
“Just touching.”
Just touching.
Fuck. Rossi felt bile in throat. “I don’t remember anymore, Dave. I remember the knife in my stomach, my arms - I remember his hands but; but everything else,” he swallowed again. Fuck. Rossi was going to kill Foyet.
“Okay. Okay, alright, I know.” Rossi wanted to reach out, to gently flatten the kid’s unruly black hair. He wanted to kiss him, to hug him, to tell him it was okay. But he didnt. God, Rossi wasn’t even sure if Aaron wanted him sat as close as he was. Not after Foyet. Not after that.
“You can,” Hotch’s voice broke off. He blinked roughly, eyes glassy. He exhaled shakily. “You don’t need to not,” he swallowed. “Cos of, that, Dave,” he was struggling to get his words out. “Please don’t act differently because,” a tear fell from his eye.
Jesus.
Rossi leant forward. He took Hotch’s hand gentle, careful of the bandages that bound his wrists. He gently kissed the top of his hand, before pressing his cheek into the cool skin. “I’m here, kid.” He murmured.