#god its so weird just calling rossi 'dave' but this is kinda supposedly in hotch's pov and he just Does That

[maschotch]

Criminally Negligent

day seven: “check that again, are you sure?”

derek’s getting a little worried about hotch’s self destructive tendencies. hotch hates emts almost as much as he hates hospitals. he’s quickly adding cyclists to the list. a little moment in between scenes in roadkill, inevitably turned into a hotch character study halfway through. i actually managed to post this on day seven. i had an hour to do it, so if it’s all over the place i’m gonna blame it on that. but hey one shitty fic is better than no fic at all

Getting hurt on the job isn’t exactly rare. It’s not unreasonable. They’re hunting murderers, after all, so it’s bound to get a little dangerous. The occasional bruise when an unsub puts up a fight, a sprain from chasing someone down, a cut every now and then, a graze from a bullet if things really go south. It wasn’t uncommon. You have to accept at least a little risk to get anything done before someone else gets hurt.

 But crashing the SUV into a literal killer-truck was pushing it.  

“I’m fine,” Hotch said through gritted teeth, more out of annoyance than actual pain.

The EMT struggled to grab his arms. If he would just stop moving. “Sir, sit down.” They had the patience of a saint.

“You cleaned it, you put a bandage on it, it’s fine.”

Lightheaded and thrumming with adrenaline, Hotch didn’t even notice Dave come up behind him until a hand clapped on his shoulder. “Atta boy,” he grinned a little too broadly to be encouraging. Hotch knew when he was being mocked. “Give ‘em hell.”

Hotch stilled briefly at the familiar touch, though it was unclear if he was relaxing or tensing. He turned to glower at the old man, Morgan laughing as he approached not two steps behind. “Don’t give them such a hard time. Let them do their job.”

Hotch fixed his glare at the younger agent. They were ganging up on him. Fan-fucking-tastic. “Like you always do?” he snapped more harshly than he normally would’ve.

Morgan took it in stride, not really expecting anything else. He grinned as Dave used the grip on his shoulder to push the unit chief down to sit on the back of the ambulance. “Exactly.” He didn’t bother to hide his mirth, but he turned serious when he spoke to the medic. “How is he?”

“Fine.”

The interruption went ignored. “Small cut near his temple. The bleeding’s stopped but he probably has a mild concussion.” They looked pointedly at Hotch. “He’s lucky, all things considered. The backside of the car got the brunt of the impact. Other than that, he’s fine,” they winced half a beat after the word and turned back to the others to avoid Hotch’s satisfied smirk, “but he’ll probably have some bruises in the morning.”

Hotch had a rather petty “I told you so” look on his face, but Morgan’s brows were still furrowed. “Can you check him again? Just to be sure? This isn’t the first time he’s been too reckless for his own good.”

“You’re one to talk,” Hotch muttered under his breath, but it’s not like Morgan was wrong. Hell, it wasn’t even the first time Hotch had crashed a car.

The EMT did another scan, double-checking areas Morgan pointed out where Hotch had been wounded previously with extra attention and taking a closer look at his ear upon request. Still agitated and now surrounded by prodding touches, Hotch bounced his leg and fiddled with his fingers, flinching every once and a while at the physical contact. Not really out of pain, but out of discomfort. It was bad enough it was a stranger, but he also had an audience. More than just Morgan and Dave: the group of cyclists still lingered and were giving statements while glancing occasionally at the smoldering car and the men around the ambulance. “Are we done?” Hotch growled, trying to sound threatening, but the hint of anxiety wasn’t lost on the other two agents.

They locked eyes and seemed to come to some silent agreement before refocusing on Hotch. If the injuries genuinely weren’t too severe, staying here was probably doing more harm than good. They got a final clearance from the medic along with an order to drink lots of water, then pulled the stubborn man over to the remaining SUV.

Hotch grabbed the handle of the driver’s seat. “You’re kidding, right?” Morgan snorted as he very nearly lifted him by the shoulders to pry him away from the door.

Hotch cast him a particularly withering scowl, which only deepened as Dave waved his fingers from the opposite side of the car. “Senior agent gets shotgun,” he announced with the attitude of a five-year-old.

“Senior citizen,” Hotch grumbled just to make himself feel better as he slid into the backseat.

When all three doors slammed shut, Morgan angled to rearview mirror to look at Hotch. “You’re really alright?”

“I’m f-“

“Fine, fine, we get it,” Dave finished his sentence for him. He turned in his chair to face Hotch. “You’re seriously good, kid?” Kid, Hotch scoffed internally. “Crashing into the truck like that…” he trailed off but his concern conveyed the point pretty well.

“It was the best thing I could think of,” Hotch knew it was a mistake as he said it, but the groans from the front seat affirmed their reactions. “We were a handful of feet behind the last bike, what was I supposed to do?”

“Risk your life by ramming into the death truck, obviously.” Dave rolled his eyes as if his statement wasn’t dripping with enough sarcasm. “You could’ve been seriously hurt, you know. What if something happened and you careened off the cliff?”

“I didn’t,” Hotch mumbled unwisely. He was being a little too candid today, but at least he could blame the head wound.

“You’ve gotta be more careful,” Morgan added, a heavier note sobering the conversation a little. “If not for yourself than for us. It’s been tough to see you out of sorts this year.”

Hotch didn’t exactly need reminding of the explosion he’d somehow survived. Images of the flesh of Kate’s back shredded down to the white of her spine flashed through his mind and he could practically smell the burning remains of the car. But thinking of the fear in Morgan’s eyes as he ran up to help him while everyone stood back and watched made his gut twist. He thought of a late night long ago when the younger man shared the memory of watching his dad die in front of him over a bottle of whiskey. The familiar weight of guilt pulled at his stomach.

He wasn’t conceited enough to think Morgan considered him as a replacement for his father, but he doubted having to stand idle while someone he cared about was hurt didn’t stir up some deeply rooted trauma. After everything Morgan had done for him, it was the least he could do to keep him from having to relive that moment again and again.

Hotch had never really bothered with prioritizing his own safety. He wasn’t actively looking for life-threatening moments, he just supposed he didn’t avoid them as much as he probably should. It was different once Jack was born: a new layer of anxiety blanketing his subconscious, not wanting to abandon his son. But now that Haley had left… well it wasn’t hard to slip back into old habits.

Dave kept looking at him, his gaze making Hotch’s skin itch. No, it certainly wasn’t the first time Hotch had gotten a little too reckless. Particularly as a newer addition to the BAU when he used to handle the chase-and-tackle stuff he usually left to Morgan nowadays. But Hotch later admitted to allowing himself to get roughed up a bit more than necessary, something Dave was well aware of. Whether it was the adrenaline rush that accompanied potentially fatal altercations or some sort of self-inflicted punishment for things Hotch tried not to let himself think about, as a young agent he returned to Quantico beaten and bloody more often than not.

Hotch broke eye contact and glared out the window. No matter how Hotch felt about it, it wasn’t fair of him to be so impulsive when he had so many people depending on him. Even with Jack and Haley gone, he could at least admit that his team looked up to him, maybe even cared about him. It wasn’t fair for him to be so casual flirting with danger like that when he had so many responsibilities. It had been particularly difficult recently to attribute any kind of value to his life, but it was easier (and harder, in a way) when Morgan looked at him like he was someone else, someone long gone and far away.

He really was lucky, wasn’t he?

He wanted to apologize for making Morgan worry so much. He wanted to promise that he would be more careful. He wanted to thank him for his constant support and loyalty, and for making him feel like he actually deserved it. He wanted to swear that he wouldn’t put Morgan through anything like that ever again.

There was so much he wanted to say, but he couldn’t think of a way to express the depth of his gratitude. Instead, he kept his eyes locked on some imaginary beacon outside the window, the pounding in his head matching the guilty pounding of his heart. “Yeah,” he said simply. “I’ll work on it.”

That would have to do for now.