Retribution, A Spencer Reid/Criminal Minds Fanfic

Chapter 42. Lost and Found

Hotch felt Rossi’s strong grip wrapped around him, keeping him upright, pulling him along.

He closed his eyes and fought the vertigo. Deep inside, like a captive bird’s beating wings, panic was struggling upward…Get away from here! Get away! GET AWAY!

But things were spinning and he didn’t know in which direction safety might lie. Nor did he know what the danger was that had every fiber of his soul screaming for retreat. But there was one solid reference point to cling to. Or rather, the reference point was clinging to him.

“D-Dave...”

“I’m here. I’m here, Aaron. I’ve got you. Just hang on.”

Hotch wondered why Rossi’s voice sounded so strange, as though he were exerting tremendous effort to maintain control. He felt himself being supported and coaxed step by step until the frantic wings pounding in his chest calmed to a flutter.

“Sit.”

He did, bracing his elbows on his knees, leaning over until the feeling of being sucked into a vortex ebbed. Eyes closed, he could sense Rossi standing over him, one hand keeping its purchase on his back, rubbing a shoulder blade.

“Was it this bad last time?” Still that throaty, emotion-choked quality overlaying the older man’s voice.

“Not quite.” Hotch’s breathing was shaky, but he managed a facsimile of a chuckle. “Last time I wasn’t walking so fast. I started feeling weird and stopped. Still stumbled some trying to get back here.” He patted the surface of the stone bench; the same one he’d taken refuge on during the previous visit to this place of the dead.

Rossi dropped down beside him. Slipping his arm around Hotch’s waist, he pulled the younger man closer. He rested his chin on his friend’s bent shoulder. After a moment, Hotch felt a slight pressure against the back of his head and realized a kiss had been laid on his hair. When he felt Rossi’s body give a heave, like a single sob, he couldn’t hold back any longer.

“What’s going on? You have to tell me, Dave. Otherwise I’m gonna be seeing a doctor tomorrow and telling him there’s something wrong with me. Don’t make me go through that, okay?”

“I won’t. I won’t. Just give me a minute. Just let me hold you for a minute.”

Hotch felt the arm around his waist tighten. Rossi’s other arm reached in front of him, gripped his far shoulder and almost yanked him into one of the fiercest hugs he’d ever experienced. Something told him to let it happen, to respect the emotion it conveyed. After a while, Rossi’s words came out on a sigh.

“Oh, God, Aaron. You have to understand that I have no idea what to believe…what’s real anymore.”

Hotch remained silent, but chilly cat’s paws padded their way up his spine. Rossi waited a few more minutes before he eased his hold. But he couldn’t release Aaron completely. He needed physical contact while he tried to explain something he realized he’d never given serious credence before this moment. Spanning Hotch’s chest with one hand, he pressed, raising him to a more upright position. With gentle, rubbing motions, he tried to calm the rapid heartbeat under his palm. Rossi debated how to begin, and decided to reference feelings from Hotch’s past that could help him relate to the current situation.

“Aaron, remember how you felt when you found Jack alive and well? When you thought he might…just might…have been killed by Foyet, but then you found him?”

Hotch stiffened. The old doctor in upstate New York was the only person he’d ever told about what he still considered a shameful lapse…his greedy desire to keep Jack all to himself, to exclude even Haley. For a moment he wondered if the two older men had discussed him. He sincerely hoped not. If they had, it would put a damper on the freedom he felt around the elderly physician; the permission to drop his guard and be weakly, openly, completely human. Rossi’s next words dispelled that concern, substituting confusion instead.