Chapter Text
Reid went home after the exhausting case of Chester Hardwick with a heavy weight upon his back.
The case was draining. Sweet-talking a serial killer in order to distract the man from killing him and Hotch for thirteen minutes was also not an easy feat. Reid tended to ramble, but it was different when the stakes were life and death. It was worth it though. He didn't know what to do if Hotch really went one on one with Hardwick. A fight had unpredictable outcomes and Reid didn't like unpredictability. It didn't matter that Reid thinks Hotch looked hot when he shrugged off his jacket while fuming with anger, nor that Reid actually won't mind seeing it a hundred times more.
Speaking of Hotch…
Their earlier conversation inside the SUV was the only thing Reid could think about for the last several hours. It was a surprise when Hotch mentioned the upcoming divorce between him and Haley unprompted. The divorce itself wasn't surprising. Reid had become witness to the deteriorating relationship between Mr and Mrs. Hotchner throughout the year. How, at the beginning of Jack's birth, Hotch seemed to be smitten (which in Aaron Hotchner's case of facial expression, just a slight upturned smile here and there).
Then, Hotch started to brood more. Haley's visit to the BAU started to decrease. Hotch's sour comment about missing many important events of Jack's growth, where Reid could hear the strain in his voice and tightness around his eyes. But Aaron Hotchner was nothing if not a professional, so Reid could only observe from afar; didn't have it in him to console nor confront the clearly troubled man.
So the divorce was unsurprising. An inevitable event, if Reid was entitled to an opinion. What was surprising was the fact that Hotch told Reid about it, rather than Rossi, which in Reid's mind was more sensible and logical. Rossi himself had gone through divorce(s), and he was the closest confidante of Hotch in the BAU. The fact that Hotch told Reid about his divorce left something not… pleasant in Reid's stomach.
'What I want I'm not going to get' was what Hotch said after delivering the news and Reid asked him whether he wanted to or not. Such a simple line. Something Reid shouldn't dwell at more than he should, if not for the way Hotch said it. He diverted his attention from the road beyond for a second, insisting on the most intense eye-contact with Reid for three seconds. It shouldn't be possible, but Hotch's eyes were on fire. For that split-second, Reid suddenly came to a dawning realization that Hotch said those words to him.
For him.
It's not about the divorce, Reid's mind helpfully supplied later on while he's in the claustrophobic-inducing space of the jet. The others were scattered in different seats with different positions and activities. Or, not entirely about it. It's about something else. Something that involved Reid. Something that Hotch wanted.
But what was it?
Reid and Hotch, they weren't exactly close. Not in the way Hotch and Rossi were. Reid didn't disclose his personal issues to the older man and nor did Hotch. They understood each other; Hotch was always patient with Reid's whim and clumsiness and Reid with Hotch's stiff demeanor. Their conversations though, were always regarding professional matters, except once or twice when they indulged in deep conversation about things that interested them both. Reid had interacted with Jack and Hotch clearly trusted him with his son, but never more than a few hours in a group setting.
The fact that Spencer Reid harboured an unprofessional feeling for his leader since that fateful day before the LDSK case surely didn't matter. It's not like he ever mentioned it or acted on it. Reid was sure no one in the teams ever noticed, because he behaved normally whatever normal meant. Even if Hotch's relationship was quite literally on the brink, Reid knew that he didn't stand a chance in so many different aspects. So he swallowed the thing like he usually did.
But what was it that Hotch implying in the SUV?
With head spinning and full of voices, Reid stumbled into his apartment. He didn't bother to eat, heading straight into the bedroom. He contemplated shower, but his fear of nodding off and slip in the bathroom beat his fear of germs. At lightning speed he managed to discard his clothes to change into a comfortable pyjamas before fell onto his bed. It creaked during the momentum, a familiar sound that soothed his anxiety a little bit. Reid barely managed to cover his body with his thin knitted blanket before unconsciousness started to take over.
*****
When he woke up on his side, Reid didn't sense anything amiss at first.
The first thing he noticed was how well-rested he was. Reid assumed that he managed to sleep for more than six hours; a luxury for an FBI agent. As he adjusted his eyes on the light that came through the window—which he forgot to close during the night—Reid realized his blanket felt heavier. He squinted towards the deep blue comforter that fell beyond the bed, which Reid was sure he did not have. Besides, the only blanket he owned and used was the ratty old thin knitted one with four different colors: dark brown, light brown, beige, and broken white.
Huh.
With a daze, Reid decided to ignore the admittedly alarming situation to observe anything in the line of his vision. He zoned out for a while—exhaustion took a toll in his body—staring at the deep burgundy wall. It's a second too late before his eyes widened, senses and consciousness slamming back towards him.
His bedroom colour was dark green.
Something was clearly, clearly wrong. The sight of a sofa that Reid never saw in his entire life certainly didn't help. He tried to turn around, thinking that if he ignored the strange occurrence around him and went back to sleep, it'd all go away. Except, there was an arm engulfing his waist rather strongly and hindering his movement.
Reid froze.
His movement and eyesight might be limited, but it didn't need a genius with an IQ of 187 to know that the arm with iron grip around his waist is a man's arm. Reid could feel a phantom of slow and steady breath near his neck, something that should be obvious the moment he opened his eyes. Their feet were tangled together under the comforter that once again he remembered clearly he did not have. It's bizarre, strange, peculiar, odd…
Yet screamed pattern in intimacy. Something that felt normal and grounding, which was insane because Reid never invited someone to his bed before (always, always some other place that he could forget after), let alone a man because Reid knew the statistics of chances that men he encountered could be a sexual predator or a killer, even though Reid would admit at the first ray of sunshine that he swing both ways—
With a surge of determination, Reid rolled slowly to the opposite side of where the mystery man slept—untangling his limbs and threw the arm from his waist in the process—and fetch an unfamiliar vase from the bedside table, the only weapon he could get hold into in a short amount of time. He faced the unfamiliar man head on, ready to throw the vase at the slightest movement before went still with arm half raised.
Because on that bed, the unfamiliar man was familiar after all.
It was Aaron Hotchner.
*****
Aaron Hotchner.
Unit Chief of the BAU.
Aaron Hotchner.
Hotch.
With trembling hands, Reid lowered the vase slowly to his side. He blinked a hundred times but the man that slept soundly on the bed was still Aaron Hotchner. A headache started to creep to the back of his head, drumming a persistent thump on his skull. He looked at the man closely; and no, it's still Hotch. He didn't turn into a monster like in horror movies, which won't surprise him given the whole bizarre morning.
It's odd to see Hotch without the frown that had permanently resided on his forehead in the past year. The consequence of separation and upcoming divorce. This Hotch looked peaceful, though his hair was sporting more gray. Despite the fact that Reid's mind still couldn't comprehend the whole situation, he was shocked when a tear started to roll down his right cheekbone.
On the bed, Aaron Hotchner began to stir. Reid clutched the vase in front of his body protectively. Hotch didn't immediately open his eyes, instead reaching out towards the spot where Reid previously slept. When he didn't find what he was looking for, a frown began to form on his face. "Spence?" he mumbled sleepily; eyes still closed.
Hearing his own name, his first name, being said by Hotch intimately made Reid's mind reeling he dropped the vase. The reaction was immediate; Hotch's eyes went wide in an instant. He immediately got off the bed and reached for his bedside table. His hands were halfway in completing the fingerprint code on the gun safe before he realized that Reid was standing near the other side of bed.
"Spencer? What's wrong?"
Reid's whole body was shaking now. He took a step backward, where a small fragment of glass from the vase pierced through the skin of his feet. He winced, yet he took another step. Hotch tried to move, but Reid shouted, "Don't!" and he dutifully stayed on the other side. It's clear that he's confused and angry and concerned. All bled into one expression that shattered Reid's heart.
"Okay, I will stay here but please don't take another step. You're hurt, darling. Please." Hotch said it so freely, so easily like he had said it a million times before. The term of endearment didn't escape Reid and it brought him into near hysteria. In their half-decade time of working together, there was no situation that would force Hotch into calling him with a first-name basis, let alone a love term. In the past, Reid never even heard the other man calling Haley that when they talked over the phone on the late nights Reid had to share a hotel room with his unit chief.
What the fuck was going on, really?
"I don't understand what's happening right now." Reid said with a sob, partly because of the overwhelming feeling that filled his body and partly because of the pain the glass had caused. He shut his eyes tightly; hands starting to paw upon his own hair. Everything reminded him of Georgia and the whole deal with Tobias Hankel. It's exactly how he felt when the dilaudid started working its way through his blood stream. Unsure, hazy, terrifying. "Please, it hurts."
Hotch didn't say anything for a while, nor did he move because the only thing Reid could hear was his own haggard breathing. This Hotch knew his sensitivity of touch very well, even when Reid knew his whole body language screamed 'please comfort me'. Curious, again, due to the situation, but he appreciated it.
"Spencer," Hotch's voice was soft and careful, after Reid slowly came back to his senses. "Can you tell me what year is it?"
Every response from Hotch that he anticipated, it's certainly not that. Reid opened his eyes, surprised to see that Hotch's demeanor was calmer than before. "Two thousand and eight," he answered in confusion. "We just finished the case with Hardwick, remember? But we went our separate ways and I immediately went to sleep because I'm very tired, only to wake up with you, on the bed, in this unfamiliar and strange bedroom— what is going on, Hotch?"
Reid's confusion only grew when Hotch nodded in resignation. "He said it will happen, I didn't realize today will be the day." he muttered, more to himself rather than to Reid.
"He? Who's he?"
Hotch smiled, something Reid didn't truly expect. His voice sounded fond, "You, actually. My Spencer."
Reid couldn't breathe. He thought about that one novel he read in passing when he was sixteen. It's not a known novel, the author won't ring any bell for most fiction readers. Reid accidentally stumbled upon it in an old bookstore he frequently went into; forgotten, crumpled in the back of the shelf full of science textbooks for some reason. He remembered the plot, even the lines. The protagonist had a dream, yet it's definitely a lost cause. One day, the protagonist was thrust into a situation where their dream actually came true. But due to its suddenness, the protagonist only felt sorrow rather than joy.
Reid didn't understand back then. He pondered for days, thinking about the protagonist's odd reaction. He still didn't understand completely, years later. Even when he already joined one of the elite team focusing on human behavior.
He understood everything now.
"Spencer," Hotch called again, distracting him from his reverie. His smile was knowing. "I understand that you feel very confused right now. I promise I will explain everything to you in a moment. Now, I want to walk to your bedside table because there is something I want to show you. It's harmless. Can I do that?"
Reid nodded, barely. It seemed to satisfy Hotch because he slowly walked towards Reid, open palm facing forward. A non-threatening gesture he usually did when facing an Unsub. Reid watched as he carefully side-stepped the fragments of glass that was scattered on the floor. Then, Hotch grabbed a calendar and flipped it towards the first page before handing it to him.
Reid blinked. He blinked again.
Because the calendar on the bedside table said the year was 2020.