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masterwords · 2 years ago

Text

high & dry

Summary: Hotch & Jack's arrival in Chicago and the beginning of their WITSEC journey.

Pairings: none (future hotchgan)

Words: 1.6k

Warnings: none

AO3: high & dry

Notes: For Comfortember Day One: Safe. I am going to do as many of the prompts for this month as I can and I plan to set them all within the Chicago Times universe. A whole month of retired softies! I can't promise all fluff, some will be sad (like this one), but it's going to be as much comfort as I can possibly bestow on them. I am going to try and keep each story short and simple, divulging little bits and details in each instead of a huge word dump. Pray for me. LOL

Chicago. He’d been plenty of times, mostly for cases but a few times for pleasure. The city looked different looming on the horizon from the backseat of a vehicle with dark tinted windows. He was nodding off in a Dramamine fog, Jack had been asleep for hours. It was a ten hour drive without stops, and the US Marshals in charge of their trip were making it a point to stop as few times as possible. Once to fuel up at a station that they deemed safe enough to let their appointees out for bathroom breaks and snacks and once at a designated time check in. Hotch didn’t handle riding in the backseat well and they’d drugged him up nicely after the fueling stop, enough that he didn’t feel awake enough to be sick but not tired enough to sleep either.

His mind was racing, even with the drugs dulling his responses. Did he make the right call? (Did he even have a choice?) Were they really safe? He had so little faith in this system anymore. At one point it was all he believed in, and now it had been so eroded that it was barely recognizable.

The city skyline loomed in the distance, glowing under the new dawn. He saw the tendrils of pink and orange and purple light touching skyscrapers and he thought about Jessica – they didn’t get a chance to say goodbye. He’d written her a note, scrawled in his quick angular chicken scratch and smudged through tears. The worst way to say goodbye to a best friend and the only way to keep her safe from his mistakes. Dave promised to get it to her in the same breath that he promised he wouldn’t call Derek Morgan and ask him to return to the FBI, a preposterous suggestion made by out of touch higher ups who were desperately trying to fill a gaping hole the easiest way they could. Hotch knew Derek would come back, at least temporarily, just to not see the team suffer and he couldn’t abide it. Dave promised the answer was no. “Call Emily,” Hotch had said quietly. “She’ll do it for the team.” He hoped he made the right call there, that he wasn’t dooming her to his fate.

“Here we are, fellas. Home.” One of the Marshals was poking away at his phone while the other drove, giving directions to the safe house. Safe apartment. Hotch asked specifically for a small home, two bedrooms, outside entry, not on the ground floor. He wanted a balcony, he wanted a view, he wanted to feel as free as he could while under constant surveillance. If they were going to force him into the program, they were going to bend to his will as much as he could manage. He wouldn’t be a prisoner.

The first week after their arrival was spent within the confines of the apartment almost entirely. The Director wanted them to ensure that Peter Lewis was not following them, worried more about his decision to trust the system than the safety of Hotch and his son. It had already failed Hotch once and he had no faith in it now.

The apartment was bland, flavorless. Depressing neutrals, less personality than a hotel room. “This sucks,” Jack muttered, opening and slamming kitchen cupboards packed with groceries Hotch had given them a list for before even leaving Quantico. Everything was fully stocked and ready for them to spend a week together in these walls. “When can we leave?”

“A week.” Hotch was tired of the constant barrage of questions meant to irritate him into changing his mind. As if it were that easy. “We’ll manage.”

“Did you bring my PlayStation?”

“Jack, we’ve been through this. I didn’t go back to the apartment. Dave is going over there with a crime scene unit and some movers, they’ll box up everything on my list and get it to us when it’s safe.”

“So he’s the serial killer but it’s us in prison. Great.”

“Jack, we’re not in prison. Please stop with the dramatics.”

Jack’s eye rolls were the stuff of legend, and right now he was at the top of his game. Hotch’s headache was legendary. The Dramamine he’d taken just to get through the overnight drive was leaving him feeling dried out and hungover.

“So what is there to do?”

“The Marshals put a box in your bedroom of things they had for kids your age. There has to be something decent in there.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Jack, please. I have a headache. This is a lot for both of us, I’m no happier than you are. We just have to make the best of a bad situation.”

“A bad situation that’s your fault!” Jack shouted, storming down the hallway. Hotch knew better than to try and follow him. He had paperwork stacked up on the kitchen bar to complete, signatures required to get him his new identification, get Jack enrolled in the local school, jobs on a pre-approved list to look through. Their security detail would drop off to a minimum after the first week, after which his small salary would kick in and he’d have to hope that Jess understood the instructions in his note for disbursement of some of his money, including the fact that he was essentially leaving his entire estate in her care until further notice. He’d been doing so much to support she and Roy over the last couple of years that he couldn’t see any other way around it – everything that belonged to him now belonged to her.

She was going to get a call from his lawyer, and she was going to be furious. But he also knew she would do what he needed her to. Everything was in his estate plan, he’d known this was always a possibility and had prepared for it.

Jack hated his bedroom and he made sure Hotch knew it. He hated everything about it, but he still managed to sulk in there for almost the entire first week. Windows closed, curtains drawn, Marshals in the parking lot watching. Jack ate with Hotch on the couch with the television on, neither of them really watching it. Each just lost in their own world, sulking or planning.

“Why’d you bring me here?”

“To be safe.”

“This isn’t safe. This is a prison.”

“This part is temporary. It’s a settling in week, Jack. We have two more days, and then the security detail goes away and we begin our new life. You’re all registered to start school next week and I’ll find a job.”

Jack laughed and it didn’t sound at all happy. It was a horrible sound that made Hotch’s chest ache. “Yeah. Of course. You’ll work all the time and I’ll be trapped here all by myself doing homework.”

“Then I won’t get a job. I don’t need to, not yet. Aunt Jess will make sure we have money.”

“I miss mom. She at least made this part fun.”

He’d seen that coming. Haley would have already had them building forts or playing hide and seek, doing fun little things inside the house that would make it bearable but she got Jack when he was little and easily amused. Jack who was small and sweet and innocent. Of course that was mostly an excuse, he was sure that if he’d spent more time with Jack he’d know how to keep this older version amused too...but regrets were a thing he couldn’t afford. They had only now, and only each other. This could be over in a week or it could take years.

“What would you like to do? I’m sure I can ask Tim to get us a puzzle or a board game, a deck of cards maybe to pass the time until we can go out.”

“Whatever.”

Jack scraped his plate of half-eaten food into the garbage and tossed his dish into the sink like a frisbee. It clattered against a ceramic pot and broke as he stalked back toward his bedroom. He didn’t even turn to look.

Safe, Hotch thought sadly. This is safe.

As he cleaned up the broken dish, slicing his finger on small shards of porcelain, he fought back the burn of tears. It was silent in the apartment, save for the hum of the refrigerator and the purring of cars passing beneath them. In fifteen minutes the place would rattle with the force of a train, a sound that Hotch was already getting used to. It hurt his ears but it made him feel like he was part of something. Maybe next week they’d ride the train, take it wherever, explore. Make the city theirs. He didn’t like being trapped any more than Jack did, it made him feel antsy and anxious. He’d had a migraine all week, the kind that makes living pure hell but there wasn’t anything he could do for it but wait it out. Try to sleep it off, shower it away.

When Tim dropped in for the nightly check-in, before lights out, Hotch handed him a small piece of paper with some provision he’d need to finish out the last couple days.

Milk. Eggs. Oatmeal. 300 piece puzzle. Deck of cards.

Tim looked at him curiously but shrugged, completely uninterested in anything but getting back to his car where it was warm. This cold snap was chilling him to the bone, he hated Chicago and assignments like this. He looked at Hotch and felt a little hopeless for the man, these two weren't going to adjust. They weren't going to settle in and accept things easily, they were going to be trouble. Tim hated being a handler for trouble. “You guys okay for the night?” Customary question.

Customary answer. “Yes, thank you.”

Safe. This is safe.

#aaron hotchner #jack hotchner #criminal minds #fanfiction #comfortember 2023 #day one: safe

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inkskinned · 18 days ago

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i'm still trying to piece together the truth of it. when you left, you said: feel free to spin this narrative however you want. i have no idea if you were being cruel or if you just genuinely don't remember what you've done to me.

it's hard because i'd done so much of the work for you. i had seen the parts that flaked off, the rust underneath. i started separating you into two people - the one i loved, and the one who hurt me. i had this fantasy version of you - my partner - and then i had this stranger, a third person who would show up randomly to shatter me. i am deliriously glad i'm no longer with "the stranger". i miss the gentle (unreal?) "other" you terribly.

at first, i was so strict about my boundaries. i remember telling you to get the fuck out of my house if you were going to talk to me like that. by the end: i would justify your behavior for you, accepting even your mistreatment as "my fault" in the grand scheme. i look back on the person i was before you - smart, independent, confident - and i feel a strange sense of detachment. i don't even recognize me.

even in one of our last conversations, you said: if you want a partner that always talks warmly to you, find someone else. there was a time that a comment like that would have made me leave. and instead, somehow, i just placidly accepted that kind of thing. you were literally telling me that i wasn't allowed to have a reaction to your cruelty - and i just took it, because you'd so fully turned things around on me.

when people are faced with irrationality, a rational brain tries to make sense of it. this is the trap. they're lovely in the morning, gentle and blue-eyed and sweet. like nothing even happened, they breeze around the house and kiss you on the mouth. but at night; who is that? they snap almost randomly; flying into an impotent rage about just-about-anything. it just doesn't make sense. so the problem must be me, and my brain, and how i think.

the traumatized brain just wants peace. so maybe i'm misremembering. maybe you were just having a bad day. maybe it's actually me.

you eventually would fully turn on me and start implying that i am the bad actor in our relationship. that's what happens, right? that's literally in the playbook. you went to therapy for all of a month, told her a half-truth, co-opted therapyspeak. you figured out how to reframe your actions as "seeking peace." any time i stood my ground, i was "gaslighting." when i asked you to be more gentle, you said i was "tone policing." you said, randomly, i had emotionally manipulated you - i still have no idea what that's even specifically referring to. maybe my consistent requests for calmness and empathy?

and while i literally know better, and i'm sitting here, trained by you, thinking: wait, fuck. was i actually the person you made me out to be?

and the thing that scares me is that i literally do not know if you ever actually saw what you were doing to me. when you'd tell me how you remember arguments, you'd always summarize them in a way where you come off as gentle and easy: "i was trying to set an important boundary." what had actually happened was 15 minutes of you shouting at me i know you did something shady, just admit it already. eventually you'd say my reaction to your shouting (when i finally reacted, which usually happened around hour three) was inevitably "disappointing" and "another way i'm silencing your feelings."

how many times did i ask you - beg you - to just take accountability? looking back, i don't think i ever heard you say: you're right. the way i talked to you was wrong of me.

i am trying to tie together the two people into a full version of you in my head. yes, you made my coffee and made me laugh and spent hours on the phone with me. and yes - you would scream at me until i had to run away and hide behind something.

i wish i did have a narrative i could pull out and shape to my whim. i wish i did have some semblance of reality. instead i just stand here, strange and vibrating, wondering: what the fuck just happened?

#spilled ink #warm up #tbh more of a diary than a poem #i need to write this stuff down bc my ptsd likes to forget trauma pretty much WHILE it's happening #and any time i find myself making it ''my fault'' again i have to walk myself through the grounding steps #it's so hard to describe emotional abuse. bc it's so fucking easy to get sucked into #like. you're an empathetic person. so when ur partner comes to you after a nasty fight and is like #“i really was trying to get my feelings heard and you didn't hear me last night” you're like - okay you know what #i'll do the right thing. this is my fault. let me take accountability and try to empathize and talk things out.#with the assumption that later - it'll be ''your turn'' right. you'll be able to bring up the screaming and talk about how #you BOTH need to make a safe space for each other. that you can't listen if your partner is literally shouting at you.#since YOU reflect and grow and try to be a better partner. you assume SHE will be doing the same thing.#but it is never your turn. she will never bring up the screaming. you cannot tell if she LEGIT just doesn't feel culpable.#and when u bring it up. she says ''so i deserved you talking to me badly? <- this doesn't go well.#she says you're blaming her. she doesn't understand that arguments are ''two sides and the truth''. it's that 1 person is right and 1 isn't #so u try to talk it out. get both perspectives heard. but over time it just becomes easier to let her get her rant out and shut up about u #until one day you wake up and despite months of treating you terribly - and admitting it 3 weeks ago!!! - she's now saying...#you were always terrible . you were always the issue. she never got her feelings heard.#meanwhile you remember literally MONTHS of supporting her and listening to her and silencing yourself.#and bc she TRAINED you to accept fault ... you just say sorry. you feel insane. you feel incredibly unhinged.#meanwhile. i fully am the kind of person that will reflect. come back after a fight. apologize before you ask. say things like #“i see your side now and i was wrong about this/that/the other thing.” ...... this is EMOTIONAL MATURITY.#she literally started calling it ''mindgames'' and ''flip flopping." ........#AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH #<- girl who def was emotionally abused but also doesn't really understand that yet #anyway love u get OUT OF THERE IF YOU RELATE BYE!!!!

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