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“Hold still,” Reid whispered. He dabbed with the cotton ball, and Hotch flinched. When Hotch flinched, Reid winced and quickly pulled back. He paused for a second, took a deep breath, then tried once more. “Hold still,” Reid repeated more softly. But the same thing happened again. Hotch flinched, and Reid winced, and Reid pulled back.
Spencer sighed impatiently, lowered the cotton ball, and stared down into Hotch’s face, at the cut above his left eye. By morning, Aaron was going to have quite the shiner. Hotch withstood the harsh and critical scrutiny, but he was beginning to turn red.
“Sorry,” Hotch mumbled.
In reply, Reid leaned down and dotted a tiny kiss on Aaron’s eagle beak nose. Hotch cast doleful eyes at his partner, and looked down to the ground. Shame was creeping into him around the edges.
“You wanna tell me what happened?” Reid wondered.
“No,” Hotch pouted, walls going up again.
Reid had been across the station house common room at the whiteboard, going over their case with the local sheriff, hoping to hit upon an inspirational breakthrough. A commotion had erupted behind them. Both men had turned around in time to see Hotch exchanging left hook for right hook with one of the young local deputies, the particularly hotheaded one. (Weren’t they always young and hotheaded, it seemed?)
The sheriff had jumped up and grabbed his deputy, retreating into his office where he could bawl his subordinate out in private, instead of creating more of a scene than had already been created. Morgan and Rossi and Blake were standing around gawping, as were the rest of the LEOs and anyone else in the police station. No one knew what had caused the dispute, or why it had gotten so ugly so quickly.
Reid had taken Hotch by the elbow and hustled him into the interrogation box, setting him on the table in order to tend his bleeding brow. The receptionist had brought a first aid kit and a humble apology before retreating again to leave them alone. Perfectly aware that any number of people might be beyond the one-way mirror, Reid had kept his voice low and his movements simple. He didn’t want to embarrass Hotch by mothering him too much, but he did want to know what the hell had provoked Hotch to take a swing at someone.
“Did he shoot off his mouth about our profile?” Reid asked.
“No,” Hotch muttered sullenly. He was angry for a second before turning bashful and giving Reid a sad puppy stare not unlike Jack would when he was in trouble.
“Was he wise-cracking about our lack of results?”
“No,” Hotch pouted.
“Then what did he say, Aaron?” Spencer pressed, dabbing Hotch’s bruised brow once more.
“ ‘I can’t believe he’s wearing a wedding ring. I can’t believe any woman would marry him’,” Hotch rumbled, mouth an exaggerated downward arc. The voice he used was not his own, but a spot-on mimicry of the deputy’s twang. “ ‘Who in their right mind would ever touch that? Bet it’s like fucking Mr. Rogers’,” Hotch continued mocking the deputy, his anger returning along with indignant frustration.
Reid stopped dabbing Hotch’s wound, and glanced down at his own left hand, at his wedding ring, and at his humble attire. He was dressed very casually, wearing one of his favorite old sweaters. Maybe it was a bit tattered around the edges, but it was soft and warm, and necessary in the frigid-cold station house. Spencer loved this sweater, but he loved Hotch even more so, especially in moments like this.
"That's no reason to lose your temper," Reid scolded tenderly.
“I wasn’t going to let him talk bad about you, and not respond,” Hotch huffed.
Reid dabbed more gently. The blood was almost cleaned away. He debated putting a bandage on Hotch’s forehead, but decided against it. Aaron would probably prefer showing off the injury.
“I’m sorry if I embarrassed you,” Aaron offered.
Reid asked, “He didn’t notice your matching ring?”
“Not until I punched him in the face with it,” Aaron snarked. Reid shook his head, and bent close to whisper to his partner.
“Well, do you ever feel like you’re sleeping with Mr. Rogers?”
“I like Mr. Rogers,” Hotch defended, “and I love you. He had no right to say what he said.”
“Thank you,” Reid whispered.
“You’re not mad?” Hotch fretted, turning big eyes at Reid again.
“Oh, Aaron,” Spencer whispered. “I’m not going to lecture you. You know you shouldn’t let people like that get under your skin.”
“He had no right to say that, and I wasn’t going to stand by and do nothing,” Hotch insisted firmly.
“Mmm hmm. I know how you are,” Reid soothed, lifting Hotch’s chin and gazing down into his serious and stern face. “You’re sleeping with Mr. Rogers, but I’m married to Batman.”
Hotch’s expression changed dramatically. He purred with happiness as a big toothy grin broke through his grim visage.
“Batman? Really?” he rumbled sexily.
“I never should have told you that,” Reid sighed, shaking his head, closing his eyes. Hotch latched onto Reid’s hips to tug him closer to the table. He played teasingly with the wooden buttons on Reid’s sweater.
“What do you say later, when this case is done, I take you back to the Batcave and show you around?” Aaron rumbled.
Reid snorted discretely as he buried his head on Hotch’s broad shoulder. Spencer was blushing about as red as Hotch’s tie. Aaron nuzzled Reid’s cheek and purred in his ear.
“I’ll even wear the mask," Hotch cajoled.