Aaron Hotchner vs. the World

To: David Rossi ([email protected]), CC: Erin Strauss ([email protected]) 

From: Jason Gideon ([email protected]) 

RE: Your Plan for States (I have a player for you)

Dave,

I’ve heard about your States plan. Yes, it’s absolutely insane. Yes, I think you’re one of the few coaches in the country that have what it takes to do it. Yes, I know you hate Shattuck St. Mary’s and everything it stands for, but I have a peace offering for you.

You and I both know your current roster doesn’t have what it takes to make it past Sectionals, not in AAA and not after losing Elle Greenaway. Fortunately, we have a player loose in the system. Don’t worry, he wasn’t cut for talent or disciplinary reasons. He headed up our Prep team and has done the rounds at NYSAHA Districts and U18 Selects, but the Board of Directors wants him to take a break before moving on to his college commitment. I’m sure you’ve seen him play, or at least heard of him. 

Dave, I’m loaning you Aaron Hotchner. 

Email me back when you want to know more.

Best, 

Jason Gideon

Boys Prep Head Coach, Shattuck St. Mary’s Ice Hockey

To: Jason Gideon ([email protected]), CC: Erin Strauss ([email protected]) 

From: David Rossi ([email protected]) 

RE: RE: Your Plan for States (I have a player for you)

What’s the catch?

To: David Rossi ([email protected]), CC: Erin Strauss ([email protected]) 

From: Jason Gideon ([email protected]) 

RE: RE: RE: Your Plan for States (I have a player for you)

No catch. You have to pick him up at the airport and house him, but that’s hardly a catch. You’ll be compensated. 

To: Jason Gideon ([email protected]), CC: Erin Strauss ([email protected]) 

From: David Rossi ([email protected]) 

RE: RE: RE: RE: Your Plan for States (I have a player for you)

When and where do I pick him up?

“Come on, guys, I need to see more. Dig deep!” The wave of heat hits Dave mere moments after the team sprints by, accompanied by the tearing-paper noise of labored breathing and skates on ice. “Good job, Kevin. Will, I like that extension, but I need more back edge.”

Morning practices are always rough, so in the end, he does cut them a little slack. He lets them go like that for two more suicides, up and down and up and down and up and down again until Reid goes weak in the knees on the line. He blows the whistle and the team all but collapses, some bending forward and others arching back, fitting their sticks behind their necks in an attempt to open up their lungs. 

“How did that feel?” he asks, listening for any signs he’s pushed too hard. 

“Good,” Emily chirps, “but also awful.” 

“Second,” JJ says. 

“That’s how it’s supposed to feel,” he reminds them. “Who wants to tell me why we condition at the end of practice?” Spencer’s hand shoots up. “Go ahead, Reid.”

“To simulate the physical stress of the third period,” he gasps. “And also-” pant, pant, “-and also to emotionally break us, apparently.” 

Dave does his best to hold his stony expression as the rest of the team laughs. “Go get water, hard-heads. And come back here before you hit the locker rooms, because I’ve got some news for this weekend.”

An excited murmur makes its way through the team as they move toward the bench. Privately, Dave continues his internal debate over whether or not what he’s doing is the right thing. He’s picking the kid up tonight; it’s not as if he can back out of that part, but making him captain? They need a bold move, but is this the right one?

He spends a few more moments watching them before blowing the whistle to gather them up at center ice. God, there’s only a few of them. Aaron will bring their numbers to ten and a goalie, finally enough to put two full shifts on the ice again. Of course, there’s Kate and Luke and Matt and a few other bouncers, but after Elle, they need the consistency of a whole team again. They need to know who they’re bringing to Sectionals. 

Yes, he’s making the right decision. 

“As you all know, we have our second Q-game coming up this weekend.” A collective groan goes up from the team at large. “Yes, I know, and it’s the Junior Lakers.” More groans. “But despair not, for this is not the end! We have…” he pauses, hands up, relishing the looks of anticipation on their cage-covered faces. “A new team member.”

“ What?”

“No way! From where?”

“Is it a boy or a girl?”

“Did you just call our new member an ‘it?’”

“Alright, settle down, killers. We have a lot to talk about. The new kid’s name is Aaron Hotchner, and he’s a senior on break from Shattuck St. Mary’s,” Dave explains. “He’s flying in from Minnesota as we speak and I’m going to pick him up tonight. He’ll be at practice tomorrow and then he’s coming out to the Lakers game on Saturday. I want him to get started right away so he’s used to the team by the time Sectionals roll around.” 

“Wait, hold on,” Derek chimes in. “How will we know if he fits into the team’s dynamic? He’s from a prep school; things are different there.”

Penelope snorts, pushing up her mask with a netted hand. “Yeah, well, right now, our team dynamic is losing. I don’t really care who he is as long as he’s good and I can stop taking thirty-five shots a game.” 

Derek pushes her and she pushes back and Kevin tries to worm his way into the middle. All three are swearing at each other.

“No, no, Morgan brings up a good point,” Dave soothes. “Aaron might not fit in right away, especially because he does come from such a different skill level. But Garcia’s also right. Right now, we need to take whatever we can get, which brings me nicely to my next point. 

“We need to make some changes in the next month if we want to move on to States, the first of which happens now. As of this minute, Aaron Hotchner is your team captain. Morgan is the alternate.” Dave drops this on them sternly, brokering no quarrel. If he’s right, if he sees what he thinks he sees in Aaron’s tapes and Derek’s recent behavior, then this is going to be the next Miracle On Ice.

And if not, well. He doesn’t need Emily and Ashley’s creative swearing to know what the alternative is. 

Airports have never been Dave’s favorite place. They’re vacuous, transitional spaces, and not actually going anywhere just makes it worse. The cool white light beats down on him as he waits for the passengers to start deplaning. He knows what Aaron looks like, but Aaron doesn’t know him, so he’ll have to keep a sharp eye out. Dave wishes they’d gotten an earlier flight for the poor kid. It’s nearly nine thirty already, and it’s half an hour back to Dave’s house. As it turns out, Aaron is registered for public school, the same one most of his team goes to, so they’ll be up early in the morning. At least there’s no morning practice tomorrow. Dave thanks God for small mercies. 

The boarding door opens and Dave stands as passengers begin to pour out. Most of them are adults with children, groups of three or four. Lone passengers stand out, and among them few stand out more than the lanky, dark-haired kid with a Shattuck St. Mary’s jacket and a backpack he’s hanging on to for dear life. 

Dave waves. “Aaron! Over here!” Aaron whips around, nearly running into another passenger, eyes darting back and forth as he searches for Dave. “Aaron Hotchner? It’s Dave Rossi, I’m over here.”

Aaron makes eye contact and begins picking his way through the crowd. He fits through them strangely, like a puzzle piece, never touching the edges of the image around him. He comes to a stop a few feet away from Dave. “David Rossi?”

“That’s me. You can call me Dave. Have a good flight?” Aaron shrugs. There’s a moment where Dave waits for him to say something, but all Aaron does is maintain eye contact. “Okay. Is the rest of your stuff coming around to baggage claim? We can grab it and then head to the car, unless you’re hungry or something.”

“It’s in A-5. And I’m good, thanks.” Aaron’s voice is flat and rough and almost a challenge. What’s he waiting for? 

Daave has no idea what to say to this kid. He’s not at all what Dave expected. He’s met prep kids before. More than that, he’s seen Aaron play. Everything he’s ever seen or heard had him set up to deal with an arrogant, well-put-together young adult with lots to say and no room in him for disagreement. Not… whatever this kid is. Not an awkward, sad-looking child who can’t seem to stop looking around the airport. 

On the way to baggage claim, Aaron refuses to get within five feet of him. Dave tries to start a conversation three times before giving in to the stony silence Aaron seems to be hell-bent on perpetuating. It remains until a scratched, grey, hard-sided suitcase with a single Harvard sticker on the side comes trundling along the conveyor. 

“That’s mine,” Aaron murmurs as he reaches out to take it. 

“Is your hockey bag in there?” Rossi glances up the line, looking for the distinctive lumpy outline. “And your sticks?”

“Yeah.” Sure enough, they emerge from the plastic skirt soon enough, conveniently placed next to each other. Aaron grabs them and immediately runs his hands over the length of the stick bag, checking for damage. 

“They alright?” Dave grabs his hockey bag. 

Aaron nearly drops his stick in his haste to take the bag back from Dave. “I’ve got it.”

“You sure?” He nods. “Can I at least grab the suitcase?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Aaron hikes his bag up on his shoulder, taking the sticks in his other hand and setting off for the parking lot. 

“...Alright.”

Aaron lapses back into silence and remains that way for the first ten minutes of the car ride. Even when Dave asks if he’s alright with the current radio station, he only shrugs. He just sits hunches in on himself, backpack held to his chest, staring through the windshield. Finally, just when Dave’s resigned himself to the quiet, he speaks. 

“What’s your team like? I had trouble finding footage online.”

Rossi raises his eyebrows. “They’re small. You’ll be the eleventh player, including our goalie. We don’t win a lot. Not really triple-A material, to be honest.”

Aaron shifts, straightening up a bit. “You’re a co-ed team, right?”

“Yes. The only one playing in the Maryland boys league, at least at our level.” It wasn’t easy getting USA hockey to accept a deliberately co-ed team, especially one with a nearly 50-50 composition. The board members of Dave’s own league had thought it would be too risky, too high a likelihood of severe injury. 

He hums. “Interesting. Can you give me a rundown of the players?”

Dave sighs, collecting his thoughts and flicking on his turn signal. What to say about his team? They’re charismatic, that’s for sure. “Well, I’ll start with the goalie. Her name is Penelope Garcia; she’s sixteen. She’s been playing with me for two years, came my way after the local girls team dissolved. She’s good down low, but her upper nineties could use some work. Hell of a team player. I’d call her the emotional backbone of the team. 

“Next is our second line. On defense, I’ve got Kevin Lynch and Maeve Donovan. Lynch has a bit of a confidence problem, but once he gets out of his head, he’s a tank. He’s got good game sense and I don’t think I’ve ever once seen him back down from a challenge. Not the fastest, but a bulldog in the corners. Maeve hangs back a lot, but she does well when it comes to moving the puck forward. She has the passing sense to run a whole portion of the ice without moving from the lower dot. They work well with my forward line. Up there, I’ve got Ashley Seaver centering Will LaMontagne and Spencer Reid. Seaver’s got a bit of an attitude and a puck hogging problem, but I’m breaking her of that. Good thing, too, because she’s got the balls to make a second line a first-tier performance. She’s a goal-scorer with good hands, but she’s small. LaMontagne’s a quick little bastard, and he and Seaver make good in-zone plays. As far as Spencer Reid, well, he’s a whiz kid from a local college. I had to take him on as part of some enrichment program. He’s a liability, if I’m being honest.”

“No, he’s not,” Aaron cuts in.

“Hmm?”

Aaron glances at him before continuing. “He’s not a liability, or else you would have put him on your rec team. He has value, he must.”

Dave smiles. He’s made the right choice, after all. “You’re absolutely right, Aaron. Spencer Reid is the best strategist I’ve ever met. He’s not very strong, but he’s got great hands and quick feet. He thinks and he executes and I wouldn’t be able to run my second line without him. Good call, kid.” 

Aaron just nods. “What about the first line?” 

“The first line will be your people. You’ll be a defender, whichever side you prefer, and you’ll be working with Alex Blake. You’ll like her, I think. She used to play with Garcia on the girls’ team, and she’s almost as good a strategist as Reid. She’s got endurance to match a race horse. On the front, I’ve got Derek Morgan centering Emily Prentiss and Jennifer Jareau. Derek Morgan is… incredible.” Dave’s not lying. The kid’s a wonder to watch on the ice, all fluid lines and clean, brutal hits. “He was our team leader for most of the last year. He doesn’t really stick out in any way except his physicality, but he leads the line like nothing I’ve ever seen.” Until today, hopefully. “Emily Prentiss is my newest recruit. She replaced Elle Greenaway, and she’s spent most of her time playing with a different boys’ league. She’s a multitasker: fast, smart, and good with her hands. I trust her to cover the defense when Alex runs up or needs any help. JJ’s no slouch either. She’s the last of the players that came out of the girls’ league implosion, and she’s very reliable. The line pivots around her and her communication. All in all, a solid team, but we need more than solid if we want to get a foot in the door at States.”

Aaron frowns. “Who’s the team captain?”

“Why do you ask?” They’re pulling into the garage by now. 

“You said that Morgan used to lead the team. Who’s the captain now?”

“You are, kid. Morgan’s the AC.” 

“Alright,” Dave sighs, setting Aaron’s bag down in the front hallway. “You’re going to be staying in the guest bedroom upstairs. It’s the first door on the right of the hallway. I’ve got it all set up, you should be able to get settled in fairly easily.” 

Aaron doesn’t answer. He’s staring around the house, mouth slightly open and shoulders slack. His hockey stuff is on the floor next to him and his backpack is hanging from one arm. He’s not shocked like Dave thought he might be (he wouldn’t be the first to be taken aback by the sheer size and emptiness of Dave’s house), rather, he’s looking for something. Maybe taking stock. 

“Aaron?” he prompts. 

“Huh? Oh.” Aaron shakes himself, and Dave notices for the first time how tired he looks. It wasn’t the airport lighting, after all. “I’ll bring everything up now.”

“Hang on, I want to talk about tomorrow so you can just get to bed. Are you planning on going to school?” Dave has no idea how Aaron might feel about that. On the one hand, a new school after a day of travel would be a lot. On the other, he might want to get a head-start on getting comfortable in his new environment. Dave doesn’t fucking know how kids work, especially not strange, quiet, skinny kids with more hockey sense than an NHL coach. 

Aaron looks down, considering. “I… yeah, I might as well. What time should I get up? What do I need?” He fiddles with his backpack strap. 

“I’ll drive you, so I’d plan on leaving at around seven thirty. As far as school stuff, I’d bring some folders and notebooks and see what your teachers say when you get there. They’re expecting you, and the principal thinks Fridays are good start days, anyway.” Dave flicks the stair lights on and toes his shoes off. “I’m headed up to bed. We can talk more in the morning.”

“Alright,” Aaron says, voice faint and floaty and a bit lost. 

He’ll be alright, Dave thinks. He’s just got to have some time to adjust. He doesn’t seem like the kind of kid who appreciates being babied. 

“Gather up, midgets,” Dave calls, tapping his stick on the center-ice dot. The kids come flooding in from their little corners of the ice, coasting to stops of assorted quality and appropriateness around him. “As promised, you’ve got a new teammate on the ice with you tonight. Everyone say hello to Aaron Hotchner.” 

Dave points to Aaron, who’s standing in the background. He waves minutely and says, “You can call me Hotch.” 

“You can call him Hotch,” Dave amends. 

A chorus of hellos bounce around the circle. Aaron waves again, a bit more confident this time. It’s not that he’s shy, more that he sticks out and he knows it. Dave hasn’t been able to track down practice equipment for him yet, so he’s in a Shattuck St. Mary’s jersey, socks, and shell. At least his gloves and helmet are black. He’s even got a themed bag, which Dave is sure the team noticed on the way in. Technically, they’ve already met him since he got dressed in the same locker room, but word from Garcia says he was still all radio silence. 

“Like I said yesterday, Hotch is the new team captain, and he’ll be working with Derek as his Alternate. Morgan, Hotch, I want you two to have a conversation at some point tonight. I need you to have everything sorted out in time for Saturday’s game.” The conversation with Aaron about playing a game right away had not gone quite as planned. At first, he’d outright refused, saying the team wouldn’t be ready. Even after Dave had pointed out that there were only seven games before Sectionals, it had taken a bit of convincing to make Aaron believe it was alright. There was something about getting out on the ice that was bothering him. 

Derek and Aaron make eye contact and nod to each other. Dave’s glad Morgan’s been as calm about this as he has. He can be a bit competitive and hot-headed at times, and Dave wasn’t in the mood to fight with one of his best players. “How’s it going, man?” Derek greets. 

“Good, got that out of the way. Now, everyone on the line with pucks. I want two groups. We’re warming up with the three-station drill.”

“Aww, Coach!”

Warm-ups go surprisingly, encouragingly well. Aaron beats the ever-living shit out of poor Kevin in two-v-twos and nails Garcia in the shoulder twice (and on purpose), but he jibes well with the team overall. Dave runs them through some light power skating and then decides to take the first step towards running live-play drills. 

“Alright, push the net to the corner and get set for corner scrimmaging. I want five of you on each side keeping pucks in. Garcia, get in the net.” Corner scrimmages are one of the team’s favorite exercises, which is fortunate, because it’s a great skill drill. Corner scrimmages involve boxing in the corner of the ice between the lower circle and the end of the rink. Dave calls out a pair of players and throws a puck in, and the two have thirty to forty-five seconds to fight it out and try to score. No other rules. 

Penelope gets set and Dave surveys his options. “Alex and Will, go!” They dive into the zone, crashing together in a tangle of limbs and sticks and desperation. Will brings his arm up and goes to bar Alex in, lunging forward with his right knee to pin her legs. Alex ducks, grabbing the puck and tucking her stick close to her, spinning a tight turn out from underneath him. 

Will, ever-resourceful, cuts her corner and bats at her stick, driving her to the outside. “Good, Will. Keep control, don’t slash.” Alex pulls up short, but Will just keeps eating at her time, bringing her back to the wall. “Alex, you need to shoot. Don’t get caught up.” Dave turns to Spencer. “See, Reid, that’s what I see you doing. I need you to drive at the net and- shoot. Nice shot, Alex!” The puck clips the inside right post and sails past Garcia, who dives an instant too late. “Penelope, next time, watch for that space forming next to Will. Nice one, let’s clear out. Next, I want Spencer and Aaron. Head in as soon as you see the puck shot.” 

It’s not that Dave misses the incredulous look Derek throws him but rather that he ignores it. Spencer, on the other hand, looks as ready as ever, bouncing on the front of his blades. Aaron is still and tense, attention entirely focused on the area in front of him. Dave releases the puck. 

Aaron’s well on his way to beating Spencer to the puck when he pulls up, letting Spencer get there first. Dave almost says something, but decides to see if the behavior continues. Spencer gets his stick on the puck and Aaron goes in to make a classic, nonviolent pinch. That’s the problem with Spencer: he invites you to underestimate him. Spencer stalls and lets Aaron hit the wall in front of him before darting to the net. 

Aaron isn’t put off for long. Before Spencer can so much as scout a shot, Aaron comes back for more. This time, he isn’t playing around. He strips the puck from his stick with a quick twist and a wrist hit. Spencer’s momentum takes him around to the far side of the net and Garcia, already in a butterfly, follows. Aaron doubles back and buries the puck in the upper left corner. 

“Shoot quicker, Reid,” he admonishes. “That’s what I was talking about.” To Aaron, he says nothing, even though he can see the kid watching him from across the drill space. “Next up, Seaver versus Lynch.”

“JJ versus Donovan.”

“Lynch versus Prentiss.”

“Reid versus Seaver”

“Aaron versus Derek.” Both boys glance at him before setting up. Dave dumps the puck and prepares himself for the fallout. 

Aaron doesn’t hold back this time. He’s at the wall by the time Derek’s got two strides in, scooping up the puck and making a beeline for the net. Derek comes in for the hit, shoulder down and knees bent, and he delivers it. He slams Aaron into the wall and Aaron rises up to avoid the worst of it. He not only takes the hit well, but manages to hold onto the puck and turn around Derek back to the net. 

Dave hears Morgan growl under his breath as he charges back at him. “Keep your head, Morgan.” 

Aaron stalls at the last second, but Derek’s ready. He goes after the hips and stick and Dave takes a moment to be proud when it trips Aaron up. He stumbles and it gives Derek the opening he needs to grab the puck. Garcia’s eyes dart back and forth under her helmet, watching as the play changes directions once again. 

Aaron scrambles backwards, ducking low. Just before it happens, Dave knows what he’s planning. He tucks himself under Derek’s arm, made vulnerable by the backhand he’s going for, and drives straight up, throwing Derek off the puck. It takes him a fraction of a second to regain control and shoot to the lower far corner. 

Derek doubles over in the middle of the ice, panting. Aaron coasts up to him and claps him on the back. “Good job.”

Derek straightens and, for a moment, Dave is afraid they’ve both miscalculated. Then, Morgan bumps shoulders with him and says, “Ditto. Man, you’re gonna give me a hell of a workout today.”

Aaron huffs a laugh. “Yeah, I guess so. As long as you give it back.” 

“Oh, you got that comin’.” 

Dave blows his whistle. “Go grab some water. Then, I want my two lines set up for break out - break in cycles. Move!”

Aaron comes padding into the kitchen just as Dave is finishing dinner. They’re having pasta tonight; Aaron’ll need the carbs for tomorrow. Dave is well aware of the debate around the exact implementation of carbo-loading, especially for high schoolers, but he also knows that a little pasta never hurt anybody. 

Aaron sits down at the kitchen table, his tense posture at odds with his worn hoodie and flannel pajama pants. He sighs and pulls a book out of his hoodie pocket. 

Dave strains the pasta and opens the red sauce. “How was practice? Did you get along with the team?”

Aaron purses his lips. “Practice was good. The team is… different.” Dave snorts and Aaron quickly backtracks. “No, it’s not- I mean-, they’re nice, they’re just-”

“Not what you’re used to. It’s alright, kid, I understand.” Dave scoops some pasta and meatballs onto a plate and sets it in front of Aaron. “No books at the table. I want to get to know you.”

The book’s gone so fast Dave might’ve missed it had he blinked. “Sorry,” Aaron murmurs, eyes down. 

Dave frowns, but says nothing, opting instead to sit down across from the kid with his own, much smaller pasta bowl. “So you felt good on the ice with them?”

“Yeah, I did,” Aaron says, sprinkling cheese onto his pasta. “They’ve got a good dynamic. I think we should capitalize on the way having female players disrupts the typical flow of boys’ games. Other teams won’t be expecting us to play to a different tune.”

Dave’s been thinking the exact same thing. “The girls from the old team have been a real help in teaching the boys to break some of their older habits. I’ve never been a fan of the contact-heavy, minimal-strategy take on boys’ games, and they’re adding a new dimension to the team.” Aaron nods. “Did you and Derek get a chance to talk?”

“We did,” Aaron says, swallowing his first bite. “This is good, by the way. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome. What did he tell you?”

Aaron pauses, gathering his thoughts. “He told me about the year so far, how you’ve struggled to win the higher-level games you need to get the recognition you want. He told me about his concerns with having new blood step into a leadership position. We also talked a bit about the social dynamics of the team.” Aaron makes eye contact for the first time since coming downstairs. “He told me about the routine Alex and Spencer like to follow before games and how I should work it into what I was planning for a pregame strategy on Saturday. He’s a good leader. I see why you trust him so much.”

“Who says I trust him?” Dave asks. Aaron just eyes him and shoves another bite of pasta in his mouth. “Fine. How was school?”

Aaron doesn’t answer.

“Aaron?”

“It was alright.” He’s looking down again, seemingly engrossed in his meal. “Nothing special.” 

Dave’s heard about the academics at Shattuck St. Mary’s. He’s also seen bits and pieces of Aaron’s transcript. Mid-eighties in most classes, but off-the-charts standardized testing scores. He’s behind compared to other kids his age, taking the same classes but at a much slower pace. AP Calculus is likely not being kind to him in an environment where no one else has spent that last two years playing hockey fifty hours a week. He also knows that, between Aaron’s sunny disposition and the radical social change, he’s probably not set up to win any popularity contests. He drops it.

“Do you have classes with anyone else on the team?” Dave knows Alex is in the same grade and taking a lot of the same advanced classes as him.

“Alex is in my math class and I have the same lunch period as Garcia and Emily,” he admits. God, why is talking to this kid like pulling teeth? 

“That’s nice. Did you get to know them before practice?” Likely not, if the way he’s acting now is the way he acts around his peers. 

“No.” Aaron’s quiet then, all the way until he clears his plate. Dave lets him be. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, “What do you know about me?”

“What do you mean?” Dave actually knows shockingly little about this kid. He knows his playing inside and out, but off the ice, all he has is a basic medical record, a transcript, and what he’s seen from glancing in the door to his room. Aaron Hotchner is a mystery wrapped in an enigma wrapped in a too-big Harvard sweatshirt. “I know you’ve been committed to Harvard since ninth grade.”

“Not like that,” he says, shaking his head. “What do you know about me off the ice?”

Aaron’s watching him intently, searching just like he was when he arrived at the house. “Almost nothing, kid,” Dave admits. “I’m just the one they chose to take you in until the end of the season. Why? There something you gotta tell me?”

Aaron frowns, and the look on his face is one of a hunted man. “No, nothing. Just wondering.” He stands and grabs his plate. “Should I put this in the sink? I’m going to bed.”

“Sure. Don’t forget, we’re leaving for the game at six thirty tomorrow morning.” Dave watches him disappear up the stairs before checking his phone. He’s got another email from Jason Fucking Gideon.

To: David Rossi ([email protected])

From: Jason Gideon ([email protected]) 

RE: More info on Aaron Hotchner

Dave, there’s something I forgot to tell you about Aaron Hotchner. He didn’t get let go just to take a break. He had a nervous breakdown.

It’s just after four thirty in the morning when Dave startles awake to a scream. It’s raw, desperate, the kind that breaks and sounds almost like laughter at the edges. It’s followed by another, this one tainted with sobs, and Dave bolts out of bed, running down the hall to Aaron’s room. 

He throws the door open to find the kid sitting up, tangled in his sheets and panting. He jerks at the noise and gives Dave a look that can best be described as feral. 

“You okay?” Dave ventures.

Aaron takes a deep, shuddering breath, running his hands through his hair. “Yeah. Um, nightmare. Sorry.”

Dave takes a step into the room and Aaron tenses. He stops and says, “Don’t apologize. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” Nightmare? One hell of a nightmare, then. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I’m fine,” Aaron hedges, pushing the sheets off his legs. “What time is it?”

“Uh,” Dave glances at the alarm clock. “Four thirty-seven.”

Aaron sighs. “Might as well just get up, then. Sorry for waking you.”

“Kid-”

Aaron pushes past him and locks himself in the bathroom. The sound of running water covers whatever might happen next. 

Horrifying wake-up calls aside, the morning goes smoothly and they’re ready to get in the car by twenty after six. Aaron’s checking his bag, counting off equipment pieces and muttering to himself when Dave comes up behind him. 

“Hey.” Aaron jumps, nearly falling into his own bag. He spins around and backs up, facing Dave and frowning. “Sorry. Won’t do that again.” Dave files that little tidbit away for further examination at a later date. “I have something for you.” He holds up a plain black hockey bag.

Aaron raises an eyebrow. “I already have a bag.” 

Dave sighs. “Just open it, kid.”

Aaro takes it from him like a live bomb, setting on the ground and unzipping it. When he pulls the first jersey out, disbelief blows his eyes wide. He holds it up to Dave and says, “Really?”

“Yeah, well, you can’t exactly play in another team’s jersey, can you? Look at the rest of it.” Aaron pulls the stuff out one piece at a time. He’s got blue and gold game socks, a black shell with a number printed on the leg, an away jersey to go with the home one, and a team jacket. “I hope you like the number 95. I’m getting your name put on all of it this week.”

Aaron stares at him. “Thank you.” Then, he squints at the front of the home jersey. “Why are you guys ‘Baltimore Angels United?’ Isn’t the ‘United’ redundant?”

Dave shrugs. “We tagged it on after we went co-ed.” He puts a hand on Aaron’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “Stick your stuff in the new bag and get in the car. We’ll stop and grab some snacks on the way.”

Aaron nods and hops in the car. 

“Kid, what the fuck.”

“What?” Aaron asks, all stony-faced innocence. 

Dave blinks. “Is that really what you’re going to eat before the game?” Aaron’s got his arms full of snacks, which is great, that’s what Dave told him to get. The only problem is what he’s got. Chocolate milk, Gatorade, pickles, a peanut butter bagel, and two power bars. “You’re going to get sick.”

Aaron frowns. “No, I’m not. This is what I eat before every game. The pickles, milk, and bagel are for now and the power bars and Gatorade are for the game.” 

Why? Why him? Why did he agree to take this kid? He wasn’t right in the head. “If you’re sure, kid.” 

Aaron does indeed start with the bagel and milk when they get back in the car. Dave leaves him to eat in peace, mulling over what to say next as he chews. 

They have to talk about the nightmare. They have to talk about a lot of things, but Dave wants to start with the nightmare. Normal, psychologically healthy teenagers don’t have nightmares bad enough to wake them up screaming. Dave considers night terrors. Yes, they usually go away by the teenage years, but Dave has heard of them sticking around for longer. 

Well, if it’s night terrors or some other medical condition, Aaron can just tell him and that’ll be that. If not, well… If not, they can deal with that, too.

Dave waits for Aaron to open the pickles to start. “So, about last night-”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” The response is immediate and sharp. Aaron is looking into his pickles with a glare fit to set them ablaze. 

“Hang on, listen to me for a second.” Aaron opens his mouth and Dave shakes his head. “No, listen. I know I’m not your parent. I know we’ve only known each other for a day and a half, and I know you don’t want to open up to me, but I just want to say this: you can tell me anything. I’m here to take care of you, and that includes listening to your problems and helping you deal with them. It also means that I won’t invade your privacy or do anything without your consent unless I feel that you’re in danger. All that being said, you can talk to me. I won’t judge you. Are we clear?”

Aaron doesn’t answer for a long moment. He sits perfectly still, eyes out the window and brow furrowed, and thinks. Then, he speaks. “Okay.”

“Yeah?” Dave hopes he understands. 

“Yeah. Um, I have nightmares sometimes. They’re usually not that bad, but it might happen again.” Aaron twists part of his sleeve in his hands, bouncing his leg as much as he can in the confined space. “And Dave?”

“Hmm?”

“Thanks.”

“Any time, kiddo. Any time.”

They make good time, reaching the rink at ten after eight. Even so, some of the team’s beat them there. As Dave puts the car in park, Penelope and Derek are already running up to the car, bags forgotten by their parents’ vehicles. Aaron shoots him a panicked look as Penelope plasters herself to the passenger side window and Dave laughs. 

“Come on, you didn’t see that one coming?” he says.

Penelope backs up and gestures for Aaron to open the door. He does, only to be just short of tackle-hugged by a very enthusiastic goalie. 

“Ohmygod, it’s your first game,” she squeals. “I’m so excited!”

Derek’s a little more restrained, smiling and waving at him as Dave opens the back and Aaron starts gathering his equipment. “Hey, Hotch.”

“Good morning,” he replies, hiking his bag onto his shoulder and gathering his sticks. “How long have you guys been here?”

“Just a few minutes,” Derek answers as they head in. The rink they’re at is big and state-of-the-art, two ice sheets sandwiching a warming room and concession stand. “Alex drove Spencer; they’re already inside.”

Sure enough, as soon as they step in the door, they’re jumped by an overcaffienatied, excited Spencer Reid.

“Hi, guys,” he greets. Alex and their equipment are nowhere to be found. They must have gotten into the locker room. “This rink was built in 1982, but it’s been renovated four times since then. Four leagues comprising roughly twenty teams total play here. The chiller is a Carrier, but the zamboni is Zamboni brand. Speaking of, what do zambonis and bandaids have in common?”

To his credit, Aaron only spends a fraction of a second looking shell-shocked. Then, he replies, “I don’t know, what?”

“They’re both proprietary eponyms,” Spencer says, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “They’re generic terms that originated as brand names.”

Aaron nods. “Cool. Where are the locker rooms?”

“Oh, they’re this way.” The four kids traipse off in the direction of the left-hand rink, talking and laughing. Aaron’s quiet, but not left out. 

This’ll be okay.

“Okay, so let’s go over what we know about the Junior Lakers.” Dave props his whiteboard up on an unoccupied shelf and faces the team. This locker room’s big, a space meant to hold teams of twenty and all of their accompanying entourage. The eleven of them look so lonely and young and spaced out in here. They’re not weak, though. Each and every one of them has their own game face, and they’re all on. 

When he walked in, Aaron was sandwiched between Emily and JJ, who were talking to each other over his head while Alex tried to explain to him the origin of one of the team’s many inside jokes from across the room. He looked happy, happier than he’d seen him in the past thirty six hours. Relaxed. 

Spencer’s hand shoots up. “The Lakers are a triple-A team from Frederick, Maryland dating back to 2005. They’re an all-boys team with an 11-3-5 record and nineteen players.” Derek clears his throat and Spencer blinks. “Oh. Right. Um, the Lakers beat us 7-3 last month and outshot us 37-22. Their top players are #27 and #92, Carl Rayman and Jimmy Lee. They outmaneuvered us and repeatedly showed themselves to be more efficient passers than us. When we had the upper hand, it was because we showed an ability to play a safe game and hold down the ice we took.”

“Thank you, Reid, that was good.” Dave nods to Spencer and turns to the board. “I assume you’ve all reviewed the footage I sent you. Keeping that in mind, I want today to be all about movement in the offensive zone. The addition of Aaron to our front line means it might take us a little while to settle in, but I don’t want that to be discouraging. Expect setbacks, but I in turn will expect adaptation. Now, yesterday we discussed in-zone cycling. What I want to see is…”

The referee blows his whistle, short and sharp. The linesmen head for the blue lines and the Lakers splinter off into their lines. In front of the BAU bench, Derek’s got his arms around as many team members as he can, holding them down in a huddle formation. 

“Alright, guys, we’ve got this. Don’t let them intimidate you. I want you to come out of this gate fucking flying,” Derek hisses, face split with an adrenaline-fueled grin. Aaron, who was just moments ago giving his final words of advice, has completely retreated into himself. He’s staring at the patch of ice in the middle of the huddle, entirely checked out. “Okay, BAU on three. One, two, three-”

“BAU!” the team hollers, hands flying up. The first line heads out to the faceoff dot, exchanging last words with each other before lining up. Derek nods to the opposite center. JJ and Emily tap their sticks at each other and crouch on the edge of the circle. Alex and Aaron settle into ready positions, sticks held in one hand and eyes forward. Aaron’s on the left to take advantage of his forehand for the first shift, but he and Alex have agreed to switch sides when it comes to offensive maneuvers. Opposite-hand defenders are a rare blessing, and Dave wants to get some good shots off. 

If all goes well, Derek will win the faceoff and flick the puck back to Aaron. That should let them set the momentum right off the bat and put them in a position to make a zone-entering pass. Emily and Derek will break in low and JJ will hang out on top, waiting for the right passing lane to take them to the net. If all goes well. 

Dave’s nervous in a way he shouldn’t be for a mid-season game. Sure, they need this qualifier in their pockets if they want to keep moving forward, but it’s not that important. Something about having Aaron here makes this feel like starting over and, in a way, it is. Aaron gives them a full two shifts, a chance at real recognition. He’s here to realize the talent already locked up in a beaten-down, uninspired team. He’s here to save them.

Maybe the anxiety comes from another place, though. In the car, Aaron had gotten more and more anxious the closer they got to the rink. He shook his leg, he picked at his lip, he hummed under his breath, anything to relieve the nervous energy obviously mounting within. In the rink, he’d been even worse. He’d gone way too hard during warm-ups, repeating certain stretches and exercises over and over again. Then, Derek had come to him a half hour before the game to tell him that Aaron had just… disappeared. Gone for ten minutes before JJ had found him standing outside the emergency exit with half his gear on. No explanation was offered. 

In the locker room, it had gotten even worse. Dave had tried to write it off as a pregame routine, but it wasn’t sitting right with him. Five minutes before, he’d put his head in his hands and started bouncing his leg so hard it shook his entire body. Every minute or so, he’d switch to hitting his gloved hand against his leg, then go back to the bouncing. He’d said he was okay, so Dave had let it be. 

He tries to shake the feeling, focusing instead on the referee poised to drop the puck. Derek pulls his stick back just as it’s released and strikes. 

Their sticks clash together and both boys surge forward. Dave holds his breath and lets it out all at once when the puck makes itself known again on the blade of Aaron’s stick. The plan worked. 

“I got, I got,” he calls, cutting a diagonal to the red line. JJ and Emily scatter and Derek pulls himself free of the faceoff scramble. Alex shifts to the center, and good thing, too, because the Lakers have adapted. They’re cutting off the easy zone entrances. Aaron’s head snaps up and Dave can see the wheels turning in there. He makes a move like he might try to pick his way through the whole team. The Lakers fall for it and Aaron dumps it back to Alex. 

“Nice, kid,” Dave cheers under his breath. On the bench, the second line is leaning out over the ice, faces screwed up and bodies twitching with second-hand game instincts. 

Alex curls on her backhand, heading for the right-hand boards. JJ calls out a number and they swing into motion. Alex to JJ, who takes it just inside the line and drops it deep. Emily meets it there, picking it up and swinging back around to the entrance side of the zone. Derek’s waiting in the far corner, but the pass never makes it to him. The Lakers center grabs the puck and they’re in no position to stop him as he breaks back up the ice, landing a stretch pass that puts him-

Right next to Aaron. Bam! The poor kid hits the wall and crumples, standing no chance against that famous Hotchner shoulder. Aaron takes it and must be going to head up the middle, but that’s not what happens. Emily’s trying to make a lane for him, but she acts like he’s Alex instead of Aaron and moves like he’s going up the boards. They don’t collide, but it’s a near thing and Aaron loses the puck. Shit. 

The team turns on a dime and sprints back into the zone. It only takes Alex and Derek a moment to regain control and set up a dump and change, but it’s long enough.

“Change, change, change,” Dave hollers, and the forwards come flooding in. Once they’re set up in the zone, Alex and Aaron jump the boards and switch out with Kevin and Maeve. Now it’s up to the second line to fix what the first line started. 

“Sorry,” is the first thing out of Aaron’s mouth. 

“Don’t be sorry, kid,” Dave reassures. “None of you should be sorry. Come here.” He gathers them up around the board. “I told you to expect setbacks and confusion, and that’s exactly what happened. Emily, I know you weren’t ready for a new pattern and Aaron, I know you weren’t ready for Emily, but you know now. Pay attention. Feel where the other is going. And Aaron?” The kid looks at him. “If you see a chance, take it.”

He nods, but their heart-to-heart is interrupted by a whistle and a cheer that sounds distinctly un-BAU-like. Dave whips around in time to see the motherfucking Lakers celebrating their first goal and Spencer trying to comfort a wilted Garcia. “Change,” he growls. “Get ‘em out of there.”

The rough play continues through the first ten minutes of the period. In that time, the Lakers manage to put another one in the net and absolutely dominate their offensive zone. The team’s hitting mid-game burnout, and the Lakers aren’t even breaking a sweat. 

Dave taps Aaron on the shoulder. “Aaron, listen. I need you out there. Not local-team, barely-in-the-papers, hiding-in-the-background you, you you. The you that’s been on TV. Come on, kid. I know you’re in there. Show me. Show them.” 

Aaron doesn’t respond or even look up, but Dave can feel a new wave of tension running through him at Dave’s words. Let’s go, Aaron. 

Aaron turns and mumbles something to Alex, who nods. Let’s go, Aaron.

They jump the boards and set up for an offensive zone face-off. Let’s go, kids.

The puck drops. This time, Derek doesn’t win. It flies back into the boards and JJ gives chase, trapping a Lakers kid behind the net. She calls for help and Derek gives it, delivering a hit from behind that breaks the congestion and gives JJ the space she needs to rifle it up the boards to Alex. 

Alex rides the inside of the line and slides it over to Aaron. He’s heading her way already, stick pulled back and hips square to the net. As soon as the puck’s within striking range, he moves.

There are three noises. First comes the contact of the stick with the ice and the puck, which Spencer would tell him is really two noises registering as one. Next comes the dull thwack of the puck hitting the back of the net. Then, a short, ringing silence separates the goal from the referee’s whistle and the deafening screams of the BAU. 

The whole first line swamps Aaron. Derek tackles him nearly to the ground, only letting him up when they both go to pat Alex on the back at the same time. They skate back to the faceoff dot in a happy, laughing cluster, leaving behind the shell shocked faces of the Lakers. Dave doesn’t blame them. That shot was damn near untrackable. 

The scoring doesn’t stop there. Before they’ve even changed lines, they’ve scored again, bringing the game to a 2-2 tie. The second line, emboldened by the success of the first, holds their ground and runs the clock down for another forty-five seconds. 

By the end of the first period, they’re tied and tired and happier than Dave’s ever seen them in this rink. 

“Oh, my God, did you see that shot?”

“Everyone saw that shot, Kevin. Did you see my dangles?”

“I saw your dangles, Em-dog.”

“Please don’t ever say the words ‘Em-dog’ again.” 

“Alright, alright, everybody settle down for a second,” Dave says. “I know that was exciting, but there are still two periods left, and we all know how dangerous ties are. Keep your heads in the game and keep up the good work. Count ‘em off, Derek.”

Derek grins, wiping the sweat off his face and pulling his helmet back down. “BAU on three. One, two, three-”

“BAU!”

Turns out, Dave needn’t have been worried. Within the first three minutes, Derek, JJ, and Emily run the offensive zone, Garcia makes a save for the history books, and Spencer and Maeve pull off a dizzyingly complex play they’ve had in the works for a while now, ending in a neat backdoor goal. 

They’re up one. 

The first line heads out again. Aaron takes the puck end to end in the shock following Spencer and Maeve’s goal. They’re up two.

Derek and Emily pass and pass and pass and get the goalie running until JJ sneaks in and fires a top-shelf shot seven minutes into the period. Three. 

Then it happens. Looking back, Dave can’t remember if they got too cocky, were a little too tired, or if it was just the natural consequence of not having played together very long. Whatever happens, it ends in Aaron tripping backwards over Alex’s stick and distracting Garcia just long enough for the Lakers to put a slapper in. 

Dave shakes it off, as does the rest of the team. It’s not a big deal, and after all, they’re still up by two. All signs point to this being a one-off thing, so he says nothing. 

When Will gets his attention and points down the bench, Dave’s first thought is that Aaron had been hurt in the fall. He’s hunched in on himself just like in the locker room, head in his hands and stick pressed to his forehead. This time, though, instead of the shaking leg, it’s his shoulders that are trembling. He’s either crying or hyperventilating. 

“Morgan, run the door for a minute, will you?” he calls over his shoulder. He makes his way down the bench and crouches in front of Aaron, putting his hands on Aaron’s knees. “Kid, are you hurt?”

This close, Dave can hear the ragged edge to his breaths. There aren’t any tears, not yet, at least, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t significant distress. Aaron’s eyes are squeezed closed and his fists are opening and closing convulsively. “No,” he stammers out. 

“Do you need help?”

“N-no. ‘S an asthma attack.” Dave doesn’t say that Aaron doesn’t have asthma. He doesn’t say that this doesn’t look anything like an asthma attack. He doesn’t say that asthma attacks aren’t usually triggered by perceived on-ice failures. All he does is move to stand on the bench just behind Aaron and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Take as much time as you need, kid. Just breathe.” And if Aaron leans into him a little as his breathing slows down, well, that’s not Dave’s place to judge. 

In the end, they win. The final buzzer sounds and they’re up seven to three and it’s exactly the reversal they needed. Dave sends the kids back to the locker room with a smile and a hand wave and a promise to talk more at the next practice. He has an email to send. 

To: Jason Gideon ([email protected])

From: David Rossi ([email protected]) 

RE: What the fuck?

What the fuck did you do to this kid, Gideon?

Answer me.

Dave

Aaron comes out of the locker room with Seaver, JJ, and Maeve. They’re all chattering happily, but Aaron looks awful, pale and tired and dead in a way that can’t be explained away by an adrenaline crash. He’s silent when he comes to stand next to Dave, setting his bag down and leaning against the wall. He closes his eyes.

“You alright, Aaron?” Dave raises an eyebrow at him when he opens his eyes again. They’re bloodshot and ever so slightly puffy and Dave would bet his bottom dollar he’s been crying. Something happened out there, something to do with the email he got from Jason Gideon. 

Aaron shrugs and picks his stuff up. “Are we going back to the house?”

“Yeah, unless you want to stop somewhere on the way.”  Aaron shakes his head and that’s that. They walk back to the car in silence. 

“So, thoughts on the game?” Aaron hasn’t so much as made a peep in the half an hour they’ve been on the road, and Dave figures it’s time to break the silence once again.

It doesn’t work. The kid just shrugs. 

“I think the team did really well. It was touch and go there for a while, but you all adapted to each other’s presence on the ice and made yourselves into something new.” Another shrug. “I did notice, though, you tend to be a bit hesitant with your backhand when you go into the corners. I know you have the skill to do it, all you need is a bit more practice. I think it’ll be the next big thing for you.” Dave looks over to see what Aaron thinks and shuts his mouth when he realizes the kid’s crying. You wouldn’t know it just to listen to him, but there are definitely tears running down his flushed cheeks. 

“Oh, kid,” he breathes. “Is this about-”

“Please don’t,” Aaron chokes out. “I can- I can’t… Not right now.”

“Okay, kid. That’s okay.” Dave stops talking, even though he’s not sure if that’s the right thing to do. 

Twenty minutes later, Aaron’s asleep with his head on his rolled up jacket. 

“Do I really have to do this kind of conditioning? I’m a goalie,” Penelope moans, dropping down from the pull-up bar.

“It’s not conditioning, it’s strength training,” Aaron points out. “And yes. Just because you don’t use the same muscles as the rest of us doesn’t mean you don’t have to get in and maintain a specific sort of shape.” He grabs a box from the corner and moves it under the bar. “And you are in really good shape, I just think having this kind of arm strength will make you more comfortable up top. Here, use this box and I’ll spot you until you get comfortable.” 

Around the gym, the rest of the team is split up into pairs or threes making their rounds of the stations Dave’s set up for them today. They do off-ice training twice a week, and its popularity varies between team members. Derek, for example, loves it. Penelope does not. 

Aaron’s been working with Penelope for the better part of an hour now and they both look comfortable and happy with the arrangement. She’s drawing him out of his shell a bit, keeping up a steady stream of chatter as he runs through his reps and asking him to tell her about his day while she works. 

It’s Wednesday, which means tomorrow they’ll reach the one-week mark of Aaron’s stay with him. Dave will admit, he’s forgotten how loud it is to have someone else in the house with you. Now, that’s not to say Aaron’s loud, because he’s not. In fact, he’s remarkably quiet. Up until yesterday, he spent most of his time in his room doing God-only-knows-what. Yesterday, though, he came home from school and did his homework on the living room floor while Dave worked in the kitchen. 

It was nice, just being aware of having someone else in the house. From his computer, he could hear Aaron’s soft huffs of frustration, the rustle of pages turning, the scratch of his pencil, little noises that made the house feel occupied again. They’d eaten dinner together and Aaron had willingly volunteered information about his day. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better. 

At school and hockey, he was doing well, too. Derek had sent him a picture a few days ago featuring Ashley putting a Burger King crown on a very disgruntled Aaron’s head, seemingly taken in the school lunchroom. Before practice, he would sometimes join Emily and JJ on their pre practice walk-around-the-rink-and-gossip session. Dave tried to pretend like he wasn’t watching, but he knew that Aaron knew. 

Since Saturday, there had been no more nightmares or panic attacks, at least that Dave knew of. He didn’t spend much time with the kid, though, so who was he to say? All he could do was react to what he knew. 

Recently, what he knew had been expanded upon in the form of a return email from Jason Gideon. 

To: David Rossi ([email protected])

From: Jason Gideon ([email protected]) 

RE: RE: What the fuck?

I told you, he had a nervous breakdown. He wasn’t performing the same on the ice and he was having these… episodes. I couldn’t have that on my team so close to Nationals, and I wanted him to have some time to recover before going D1. As for what I did, how should I know? Kids are weird sometimes. I pushed him, yes, but I push all of my kids. Not all of them react like this. 

His stats tanked overnight and I didn’t know what to do. I talked to him and he said it was nothing, but then he started having… trouble during games. He wasn’t getting any better, and his teachers and friends started reporting odd behavior outside of ice time, so I pulled the plug. It was my hope that you would have him straightened out in time to turn him over to Harvard for pre-season. 

Don’t worry too much about it, I’m sure it’s nothing. 

Jason

Dave’s more than willing to bet that the “trouble” and “odd behavior” Gideon talked about is exactly what Dave’s been seeing. The sudden drop in skill, the nightmares, the panic attacks, the aggression and closed off-demeanor, it’s all symptomatic of major stress and mental illness. As for whether or not Dave can help, well, he’s certainly going to do his best, but his goal has nothing to do with getting Aaron ready for Harvard. 

“Alright, everyone finish the stations you’re at and circle up! Chop chop, let’s go!” 

Aaron’s been smiling at his phone and typing intermittently for the last ten minutes. Dave lets him go on thinking he’s being slick until he actually giggles and Dave breaks.

“So, who is she?”

“Huh?” Aaron looks up from his phone, blinking. 

Dave smiles. “Who is she? Teenage boys don’t smile at their phones like that for just anyone.” They’re in the car on the way home from strength training, which Dave has learned is the best time to strike. After workouts, when Aaron’s tired and relaxed and too preoccupied with drinking as much water as possible in the shortest amount of time to care what he’s saying, that’s when Dave gets information out of him. 

Even so, Aaron hesitates. “She’s… um, she’s my girlfriend.” He glances back down at his phone and taps out a quick answer. “She lives in Virginia.”

“Yeah? When was the last time you saw her?” Dave can’t imagine it’s easy for young kids to do long distance, especially when one of them is so invested in a time-consuming sport. 

Aaron deflates, eyes sad and distant. “A year and a half.”

“Jesus, kid.”

Aaron just shrugs. “That’s just the way it is. I talk to her every day.” 

In the end, Dave’s not sure what tips him off to the fact that Aaron’s gone. Maybe he hears something but it doesn’t register in his conscious mind. Maybe he feels the vibration of the door shutting. Maybe, it’s just one of those feelings. A sixth sense. Parental. 

However he knows it, he’s not surprised when he opens Aaron’s door at eleven thirty pm to find him gone. He doesn’t usually check on the kid at night. In fact, he hasn’t since the first night. Nearly a week in with no disciplinary problems, why would he? Dave takes a moment to consider he may have done this before. The next thought to cross his mind is God, why does this kid keep his room to military standards? He made his bed perfectly before sneaking out. Dave sighs, pulling his phone out on the way down the stairs. 

He gives a few cursory calls of, “Aaron!” but doesn’t expect them to be answered. Yup, he’s gone. He dials Aaron’s number and it goes straight to voicemail. “ Hello, you’ve reached Aaron Hotchner. I can’t come to the phone right now, so please leave a message and I’ll call you back.” 

Second try. “ Hello, you’ve reached Aaron Hotchner. I can’t come to the phone right now, so please-”

Third time’s the charm. “ Hello, you’ve-”

“Fuck!” Dave throws his phone at the couch, giving himself a moment to be angry. Breathe in the positivity, out the negativity. It’s not the kid’s fault he’s a teenager. There’s nothing Dave can do about it now other than make sure he’s okay. He picks up the phone again. 

[8:07 AM]

Dave: did you forget your lunch? There’s stuff on the table.

Aaron: No i have other stuff. Meant to leave the cheese sticks, forgot to put them away.

Dave: Okay have a good day. :) 

[11:41 PM]

Dave: Kid, where are you?

Dave: I’m not mad, I just want to know if you’re alright. 

[12:14 AM]

Dave: Aaaaaaaaaron………

Dave: Aaron, just send me one stupid emoji or something and I’ll see you in the morning.

Aaron does not send him an emoji. Dave makes a pot of coffee, turns on the television, and gets ready for a long night. 

Aaron gets in just after four in the morning. He comes through the front door and he freezes like a trapped animal when he sees Dave in the kitchen.

For a moment, they just stand there, Dave sipping his coffee and Aaron dripping water on the floor. 

“It must be raining pretty hard out there.” Aaron’s soaking wet. “Where did you go?”

Silence. Sometimes, Dave wonders if the quiet is a power or fear thing or if he genuinely doesn’t have anything to say. 

“Why didn’t you answer my texts?” Aaron shrugs. “If you saw them, you must have known I was going to be waiting for you.” Another shrug. Then, Dave notices something. “Are you wearing… eyeliner?”

Aaron flinches, rubbing at his eye almost like a tic. Black makeup smears from the corner of his eye, following his palm to his temple. “Haley likes it,” he mumbles. 

“I do, too,” Dave comments. “So you went to see Haley. I thought she lived in Virginia.”

Aaron chews at his lip. “I told her I would come out tonight. She drove to the end of the street and picked me up. We went to the coast.” His leg starts bouncing again. 

“Did you have fun?”

“Is that a trick question?”

Dave sighs. “No, it’s a truth question. Did you have fun? No wrong answers.” This isn’t the type of thing that kids learn under too-strict coaching; this is something else entirely. 

“I- yeah. I had a good time. I missed her.” Aaron scuffs his shoe against the floor. He’s wearing Converse, which isn’t something Dave’s seen him in before. Come to think of it, he’s never even seen the kid in short sleeves, and he’s wearing a tee shirt despite the cold. 

“Good. Alright, go upstairs and get changed into something dry. We’ll talk when you come back down.” Dave’s doing his best to project calm vibes. If he can keep a lid on this until they can have an informative conversation, maybe this won’t be a total loss. 

Aaron eyes him warily, going still again. Dave slumps, putting a hand to his forehead. “It’s not a trick, kid. Get changed and have some coffee, and we’ll talk. For real talk. Man to man.”

Aaron turns and goes upstairs. 

He comes down maybe five minutes later in sweatpants and a huge hoodie. He pours himself a cup of coffee and takes a sip before sitting down at the kitchen table across from Dave. Dave’s got his arms crossed on the table in what he hopes is a casual, open manner and he’s looking at Aaron with a calm half-smile. 

“So,” he starts once Aaron gets situated. “You snuck out to hang out with your girlfriend.”

Aaron nods. “I did.” Right away, Dave can tell something’s changed. He couldn’t see it in his posture, but now that he’s looking at his face, it’s obvious. He’s cold, closed off, putting out a defense so hard it’s become offensive. “So?”

Dave tries not to let it throw him off. He has something to say and a point to get across. “So why did you do it? You could have just asked; I would have let you go. Hell, kid, I would have driven you.” 

Aaron huffs a sigh. “Yeah, well, I didn’t.” He rolls his eyes and looks down at the table, picking at his nails. 

Dave has never seen someone fake being angry so determinedly in his life. “Yeah, I got that. I asked why.” 

Aaron just shrugs, and it occurs to Dave that he might not actually know himself. Dave remembers being seventeen, and the memories are rife with angst and uncertainty and the pervasive feeling that his actions were not his own. Finally, the kid says, “I wanted to see her.”

“And you could have, much more easily and with far less water involved. That’s why it’s important that you talk to me. Communication is important, especially when we’re just getting to know each other.” Dave puts his hands flat on the table and Aaron moves back. It’s the first indication of the amount of tension coming from his side of the conversation. “Relax, kid. I’m just trying to talk to you.”

That turns out to be the wrong thing to say. Aaron shoots to his feet, nearly knocking the chair over. “Stop telling me to relax! Stop treating me like a ticking fucking time bomb, and stop acting like you know me. You don’t. You’ve only known me for a week, so just leave me the fuck alone, please!” His voice breaks and he turns away, throwing his hands in the air. 

Dave winces, almost standing but then deciding it would be better to stay put. This is not a conversation he wants to be having before the sun’s even up. “Aaron, listen. I know I’m not your father-”

“No, you’re not,” Aaron shouts, spinning around and pushing a pile of papers off the end of the table. He’s crying again. “No, you’re not, and you won’t be. I don’t need your help and I don’t need your pity. I just need you to put up with me until we’re done with this whole fucking ordeal and I can just move on already!” He kicks the floor and storms up the stairs. Dave hears the door slam and wonders if he’ll see the kid again before school starts. 

Dave gets a text at twenty after seven. It’s from Emily, letting him know that she’s picking Aaron up and bringing him to school.  He comes down at seven forty, just as she’s pulling into the driveway. He’s wearing the huge hoodie from hours before and those torn-up black jeans he seems to love. He’s out the door before Dave can so much as say hello. 

He doesn’t get any texts that day, and Aaron goes to Penelope’s house after school. Dave honestly can’t tell whether or not he should feel bad. He does, of course, but that doesn’t mean anything. Yes, Aaron had been in the wrong, but he was just doing what kids do. Maybe Dave could have handled it better.

He keeps replaying the conversation in his head, over and over, picking it apart to try and figure out where it all went wrong. Aaron had come down the stairs tense, but it had been Dave moving his hands that set him off. He wants so badly to act as though nothing’s wrong, both on and off the ice, but it’s only making things worse. He’s mad at Dave, too, for trying to help. If Dave were to guess, he’d say it’s because he doesn’t know what to do with him. 

Whatever happened, it’s a Thursday and they have practice tonight, and all Dave can do is hope things will have blown over by then. They’ll have to talk about it at some point, but apparently it won’t be today. 

At four, twelve hours after the disaster, he gets a text. 

Garcia (Hockey): Hotch en route to your place. He looks sad :/ can I bring cookies to practice?

Dave: Okay, thank you. And go ahead. Just make sure it isn’t a disruption. 

Garcia (Hockey): Can and will do, bossman. Peace out. 

Aaron comes in through the garage door this time, placing his bag on the floor and padding into Dave’s study. Dave spins around in his chair and looks at him. He’s clearly exhausted, shoulders low and eyes lower. He takes a deep breath and twists his hands together. 

“I’m sorry I ran off last night, and I’m sorry I yelled at you,” he says. His eyes dart all over the place as he talks, floor, window, Dave, computer, back to the floor again. 

Dave keeps his gaze steady and fixed on Aaron. This time, he makes no unexpected moves when he says, “I’m sorry I made you upset and that we miscommunicated so badly.” Aaron’s eyes snap up to meet Dave’s. His brow is furrowed, lips twitching around a question. “Thank you for coming and talking to me. Do you want to talk about anything else?”

Aaron hesitates, worrying his lip between his teeth. “Uh, thank you for being cool about the- the eyeliner.”

Dave blinks. “The eyeliner? Kid, it’s going to take a lot more than that to phase me. Have you seen Prentiss and Garcia?”

Aaron laughs. “True. They do have some, ah, interesting styles.”

“That’s one word for it.”

Aaron wakes up late on Sunday. Well, Dave’s not actually sure when he wakes up, but he doesn’t make his way down to the kitchen until ten and even then, he looks tired. Not exactly what you want to see from your start player when you have a game at one thirty.

“You feel okay, kid?” Dave ventures as Aaron stares into the depths of the cabinet, presumably looking for cereal. “Cereal’s on your right, by the way.”

“Huh? Oh.” Aaron’s almost slurring his words, and if Dave didn’t know better, he’d think he was high. A full five-count after Dave’s spoken to him, he turns around, almost running into the counter as he does. “What? Oh, I’m fine. Just tired. Who are we playing later?” 

Dave frowns, looking Aaron up and down as he pours a bowl of cereal. “The Golden Rams. They belong to the Navy Youth Hockey Association. We’ve played them a few times before with mixed results. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just give me a minute, I’ll be ready for the game.”

“I can’t go out on the ice.”

“What?” This is so not a conversation Dave wants to be having in the equipment room of their home rink, especially not with a distraught teenager in half of his hockey gear. “Is this about earlier?”

Aaron shakes his head. He’s been doing that all day, shaking his head, hitting his leg, bouncing up and down, everything. Maybe he and Reid have switched bodies. “I can’t explain it, I just don’t think I’m ready to go out on the ice today. Something’s wrong. I’m going to be a detriment to the team.”

“Kid, if you really don’t want to play today, I’m certainly not going to force you, but I can assure you that you won’t be a detriment to anyone on this team.” Dave puts a hand on his shoulder, something they’ve worked their way up to as a pretty casual gesture by this point. “What’s going on, Aaron?” 

His leg starts bouncing faster. “I feel numb.” Seeing Dave’s confusion, he presses on. “You know when you’ve been in the car for too long and you can’t feel your legs? It’s like that, but my whole body. And… and whenever I feel like this before a game, I always mess up and freak out and I don’t want to do that today.” Aaron presses his hand to his forehead like he’s got a headache. 

“However badly you think you might play, I guarantee you’ll still be an asset to this team. Even so, my offer still stands. You can back out at any time, even though I would advise against it.” Dave pauses, looking Aaron up and down for any indication of what might be the problem. “Are you getting sick?”

Aaron shakes his head. “No, it’s something else. It’s… it’s in my head.” He sags like a balloon faced with a particularly malignant pin. 

Oh. Oh, this poor kid. “Hey,” Dave says, voice soft. “It’s alright. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone burns out sometimes.” Aaron shakes his head again and Dave presses on. “No, no, they do, kid, I’m not lying to you. This isn’t your fault, okay? As for today, you can sit bench or go home if you want to, but I’d like you to try going out on the ice. When you do, though, I want the focus to be different. Stop thinking about how well you can play and start thinking about why you play in the first place. Have fun, alright?”

Aaron looks up and his eyes almost break Dave. The kid is pleading with him to make this stop, and Dave’s the first one to listen. “Dave-” His voice falters and breaks and a tears slips down his face. 

“Okay, it’s alright. It’s alright. Can I hug you?” Dave asks, taking a step forward. Aaron nods and Dave- carefully, gently- wraps his arms around him. Aaron stiffens, but then falls forward, reciprocating the hug and putting his chin on Dave’s shoulder. “There you go, kid. Just relax. Stop thinking so much.” 

Aaron takes a shuddering breath and releases it slowly. “I want to play today,” he says, drawing back. 

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“I am going to kill a bitch-ass with a Rams jersey,” Derek says, throwing himself over the boards and shooting some pucks over into the corners. 

“Haven’t they been extremely good sports in past games?” Aaron asks, opening the door and joining Derek on the ice. 

“That’s so not what matters,” Emily cuts in, skating over from where she’d been roughing up Penelope’s crease. “It’s about the vibes, and the vibes are atrocious.” 

“The ‘vibes?’” Aaron laughs, crossing over and accelerating into a warm up lap. The three of them keep talking, but Dave can’t hear them over the general noise of warm ups. During the pregame talk, Aaron had been fidgeting distinctly less, and Dave had heard him talking with the other kids while they were getting ready. 

Out on the ice, Derek and Aaron are organizing the team into a McDonalds-style warm up drill. Five skaters in each corner, Garcia in the goal. From the far corner, JJ takes off at a reasonable clip and, at the pinnacle of her arc, receives a pass from Will in the near corner. As she shoots, Will starts skating the same arc and gets a pass from Kevin. Thus it continues, a self-perpetuating cycle. 

As the clock ticks down, Aaron yells something and the team switches to an umbrella formation shooting drill. Garcia’s in good form today. Aaron was right about upper body workouts being good for her top corner saves; Dave’s never seen her look this confident with high shots before. 

Dave glances over to the Rams’ side of the ice, mentally noting their goalie’s strengths and weaknesses as the clock ticks down to zero. The buzzer sounds, and the team gathers up in front of the bench. This time, it’s Aaron who puts his arms around them and delivers the pregame pep talk.

“You’ve won against this team before. You’ve won with less than two full shifts on the bench, which means you can do it today.” He looks up at Dave and makes eye contact before turning back to the team. “Try to relax into the game. Make it yours by having fun. If you can show them you’re not afraid, you establish control of the game and of yourselves. 

“In addition to that, I want you to focus on your defensive game. In our zone, cover all your bases. Wings, I want you on those points like glue. Centers, I want you in deep helping the defenders. In the offensive zone, defenders need to constantly be on the lookout for cherry pickers. Communicate with each other and the forwards. Be a unit out there, not just individual actors. Trust each other; trust yourselves.” 

Penelope wolf-whistles. “Preach, baby!”

Aaron rolls his eyes. “Alright, count us off, Derek.”

“BAU on three. One, two, three-”

“BAU!”

Dave doesn’t really have words to describe the way in which this game is just different than last week’s. It’s the whole team, but especially Aaron. He’s flowing, moving through the game in a way that’s almost slack, effortless. Just like in the airport, he picks through the opposition like they’re drawn stills and he’s the only live animation there. 

Dave watches as he picks the puck up just below the circles and takes it around the back of the net. JJ breaks up the far side and Aaron hits her with a pass that takes them into the neutral zone with speed. He uses the forward momentum to jump the boards and change. Alex follows him moments later and Maeve and Kevin take their places. 

“Change, change,” Spencer calls to the forwards, drawing Emily back to the bench. “One!” Will jumps the boards as she comes in the door, Derek hot on her heels. “Two, two, two!” 

Dave walks down the back of the bench to see Aaron and Alex pointing out at the ice and talking quietly. “How’s it going down here?”

Aaron and Alex look up at him. Aaron’s fish-hooking his mouthguard and Alex has hers jammed in the corner of her cage. “It’s going good. I think we have a good chance of keeping this lead,” Aaron says. 

“The new flow drills are working,” Alex comments. “We have more plays to draw on in our own zone.”

“That’s good. Are you having fun?” Both nod and Dave nods back before leaving them to their own devices. 

“Go, go, go,” Kevin and Seaver scream from the bench as JJ dives deep into the zone. She’s got the puck, but she’s trapped. There’s no way in Hell she’ll get a good shot off from down there, and Derek and Emily are pinned down up high. The Rams have wised up to some of their in-zone tactics, but all hope is not lost. 

“Hotch!” JJ’s voice rings through the chaos, clear and high and focused. Aaron steps into a crossover and accelerates across the blue line as JJ comes up the boards. 

“Got,” he calls. JJ’s got a man tailing her, reaching desperately for her stick. He’ll be on top of her in a moment, but that won’t be a problem. She and Aaron pass so close to each other on the boards that their shoulders brush and JJ drops a pass for him. In his desperation to catch JJ, the Rams player doesn’t notice the exchange until Aaron’s in the slot. 

He winds up for a shot, but at the last second, turns it into a pass. The second misdirection does the trick, and Emily’s got half the net to herself when she flicks the puck in. 

“Yes! Yes, good job, Angels,” Dave cheers. They group up and skate back to the face off circle together, sparing the Rams the humiliation of any celebration beyond some quick shoulder pats. They’re up 5-1 and it’s only now the middle of the second period. 

“Have you ever read Ender’s Game by Orson Scott Card ?” Spencer asks as he grabs his water bottle.

Dave shakes his head. “No, why?”

“In Ender’s Game, one of the catchphrases Ender Wiggin uses to train his team is ‘The enemy’s gate is down.’ It’s a way for the team to orient themselves in the zero-gravity conditions the games are played in.” Spencer takes a sip of water. “I just find it interesting that ice hockey developed, presumably analogously, the same terminology. Despite the horizontal, almost two-dimensional nature of a hockey rink, the opposition’s goal is always down.” 

They get five minutes into the third period before things start to go south. This time, there’s no obvious trigger. Aaron’s in the middle of a shift, running the neutral zone and establishing a passing pattern with Derek when he just… shuts down. He sort of drifts out of the play as it moves past him before jerking like he’s been shocked and sprinting to catch up. 

For the next two shifts, he’s the same way. Spaced out, just a moment behind each play. He stops making smart, decisive plays, instead falling back on textbook stuff. Every few plays, though, he does something downright stupid before jerking like that again and fixing it. 

Finally, Dave takes pity on him and pulls him out. “Maeve, I want you and Kevin to establish a double-shift cycle for a couple of minutes. Aaron needs a break.”

“Sure,” she says, tapping Kevin with her stick to get him to pay attention. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah, he just needs a minute.” He might need more than a minute. Dave’s starting to think this kid needs intensive psychotherapy. He’s sitting at the end of the bench staring off into space, whole body still and slack. He squats down in front of him and gets absolutely no response. “Kid?”

Nada. He’s on the verge of hyperventilating again, breathing so hard Dave can see him shaking.

“Alright, Aaron, I’m not sure what’s going on, but I want to help you. Can you at least look at me?”

Aaron glances up and Dave sucks in a breath. His eyes are red, but instead of tears, there’s this awful emptiness, like the kid isn’t even there. “I don’t feel good,” he manages. 

“I know, kiddo. Do you want to go back to the locker room?” Aaron shakes his head. “You sure?”

“I’ll be alright in a minute,” Aaron reassures him. “I’m- it’ll pass, I promise.”

Dave puts his hands on Aaron’s knees. “I don’t care about the game, kid. You do what you need to and you come find me when you’re alright or you need something, okay?” Aaron nods. “Good. Get some water.”

Dave heads back up the bench to check in with the front line. Spencer steps up next to him again, looking down the bench at Aaron. “Did you know that, in some patients with the right combination of anxiety and depression, symptoms can manifest in a manner similar to those seen in autism? It’s especially prevalent in people with above-average IQs. That’s why it took Alex so long to get diagnosed.”

“I didn’t know that, Reid,” he admits. “It does almost look like a shutdown, doesn’t it?”

“I wonder if he would like noise-cancelling headphones.” Spencer turns and goes back to the conversation he was having with Will and Seaver, leaving Dave to watch his kids and wonder. 

“-so then I said-”

“No, that’s totally not how it went!”

“Really? Then how did it go, Boy Genius?”

“Children, settle down. We still have five hours to go,” Dave chides, glancing in the rearview mirror. Spencer, Emily, and Aaron all insisted on sitting in the back seat together, even though it was cramped and the trip would be five and a half hours total. 

Three weeks into Aaron’s stay comes their first tournament weekend. They’re headed north to the top of the state for five of the last six Sectionals games. As it stands right now, they only have to win three to make it to States, but Dave would rather it was four, just to play it safe. 

Emily and Spencer are riding down with them and sharing hotel rooms with JJ and Derek. Right now, all Dave can do is be thankful they won’t be staying with him the whole weekend, because this is something like Hell. 

“Coach, I don’t know what kind of game you think this is. Spencer is spreading lies and deceit,” Emily protests. 

“What?” Spencer squeaks. “I would never. Just because you don’t want to admit that you were wrong doesn’t make me the villain of the story.” Being the smallest and youngest, Spencer’s in the middle seat. On one side of him, Emily is continuing to protest while on the other, Aaron leans against the window and laughs quietly. 

“Wait, wait, wait.” Emily says. “I have a story where you were definitely the villain. Aaron, has anyone told you the Maeve story yet?”

Oh, Lord, not the Maeve story. Dave still gets second-hand embarrassment from the Maeve story. “Don’t torture the kid, Prentiss.”

“No, wait, I want to hear the Maeve story,” Aaron cuts in. There’s a noise like Spencer tries to hit Emily, but it’s quickly dealt with.

“Hush, Spencer. Your shame needs to be made known.” Emily takes a moment to compose herself before beginning. “So, way back in October of last year, Spencer and Maeve were dating.”

“Hold on, I thought Spencer’s-”

“Just bear with me, Hotch. Anyway, Spencer and Maeve had been dating for about a week and a half and so far, all they’d done was, like, hold hands and hug. So one weekend, we win a big game and we’re all in the entryway of the rink celebrating and hugging each other and all that shit, so Maeve grabs Spencer’s face-” Spencer groans and Dave can see him bury his face in his hands in the mirror. “She grabs his face and kisses him. So, understandably, we’re all staring like, ‘What’s gonna happen?’ But what happens is… what happens is…” Emily breaks off, laughing too hard to continue. She takes a deep breath and goes on. “Spencer pulls back and Maeve’s looking at him like it’s the best thing that ever happened to her and all Spencer says is, ‘Oh, I’m definitely gay.’”

Aaron and Emily start laughing so hard one of them snorts. Dave can’t hold back a little chuckle as Spencer keeps repeating, “I didn’t know, I didn’t know, I didn’t know, I felt so bad, guys, stop, really.”

“Spenc- Spen- Spencer, holy shit, that’s the best thing I’ve heard in a long time,” Aaron manages. “How did Maeve react?”

“Not good,” Spencer says, and Dave can hear the pout in his voice. “But we’re on good terms now, so please don’t bring it up to here?”

“Swear on my life,” Aaron promises. “But it’s still really funny.”

Emily finally finishes laughing and sighs. “So, Hotch, do you have any funny stories? About yourself or other people, it doesn’t really matter.”

Dave glances up in the mirror again. “I’d like to take this opportunity to remind everyone in the car that your coach is present and would not like to hear anything gross, potentially incriminating, or otherwise inappropriate.”

“Yes, coach,” the kids chorus. 

“You were saying?” Spencer prompts. 

“Uh, give me a second,” Aaron says. “I’m thinking. Wait, there was this one time with a party we had on the senior floor…”

An hour and a half later, all three kids are asleep. Aaron’s slumped against the door, Spencer’s leaning against him, and Emily’s got her legs over both of their laps. When he stops for gas, Dave snaps a picture. It’ll make for a good surprise in the end-of-year slideshow, he thinks. 

The tension in the lobby of the main rink is palpable. Under banners and between tables and concession stands and raffle baskets, teams run together and bounce apart, powered by shared glares and cold shoulders. No one wants to interact with anyone who isn’t wearing the right jacket, and even familiar faces are greeted with animosity. 

Out of all of Dave’s players, he certainly knows who to watch in high-tension times like this: Derek, Emily, and now, Hotch. All three spend their time circling the edges of the team death staring anyone who comes too close. Every once in a while, when one of them gets a little too growly, he’ll raise an eyebrow from across the room or swat a shoulder. 

“Have you all found the locker room yet?” Dave walks up behind Kevin and the kid jumps about a mile in the air. 

“Holy- yes, Coach, we’ve got our stuff in the locker room. Why did you do that?” Kevin rubs the back of his neck anxiously. For some reason, this kid is terrified of him. He’s never done anything except catch him and Penelope in the locker room that one time, but Hell, he’s seen the rest of the team do worse. Contrary to Kevin’s belief, making out is not the worst thing your coach can catch you doing.

“Good. We’ve got an hour and fifteen minutes until game time, so I want you all to start getting warmed up.” Derek and Aaron nod. “Okay, I’ll see you all in an hour. Chop chop!”

The team disperses and Dave takes a look around the rink. It’s a single sheet of ice, part of a larger compound including an indoor soccer field and a gym. The middle hub is where most of the activity takes place. On the far wall, almost obscured by the crowd, is a game schedule and point counter. Over to Dave’s right is a hockey shop with a sign advertising skate sharpening. Good, they don’t need any last minute panic over dull edges (ahem, Reid ). Conversation, mostly shouts and laughter, bounces off the high ceiling and concrete walls, just shy of overwhelming. For a moment, Dave wishes he had an assistant coach. 

Rather than dwell on what could have been, he picks his way through the crowd and taes a look at the game schedule. They’re the second game of the tournament; the first game’s score hasn’t been recorded yet. It’s their only game tonight, against the Ashton Xtreme, meaning they’ll get to turn in early. Good, because they have a seven thirty tomorrow morning, followed by a ten a.m. and a later game that depends on their seeding at that time. Monday’s schedule will be entirely determined by their standing, but won’t be more than one game. It’ll be a rough few days, but they can do it. Dave’s been going a bit heavy on the conditioning lately, he has to, and he’s hoping it’ll pay off now. 

It’s easy to get bitter showing up to game after game with less than the opposition in every regard, but it’s Dave’s job to rise above that. He has to be the one to show them that there’s always a reason to play, and that they don’t play to win (As much as he says that, it’s still easier to show up to the rink now that they’ve started winning again). He has to be the one to show kids like Aaron that coaches like Gideon don’t have as much power as they think they do and that, at the end of the day, the game is still a game, a reflection of the insides of the players’ heads. 

Sometimes, Dave does get nervous when he sees what goes on in those kids’ heads. Too much violence in some of them. Too much dark. 

Dave breathes in the smell of cool, chlorinated ice and releases some of the tension from his shoulders. Tournaments like this are always different. So many people, so much noise, it overwhelms parts of the mind that are already shut off by the game itself. Animal instincts reign in crowded rinks. 

The referee blows the starting whistle and the stands quiet. Despite the chaos, Dave has a good feeling about this game. Aaron was calm in the car; having people his own age there took him out of his own head a bit. Even through warmups, he stayed steady, focused but not high-strung. The rest of the team is feeding off his vibe, passing energy around and gaining confidence as they go. Now, crouched at the start of the biggest tournament of the season thus far, they’re smiling. Cruel, primal things, closer to grimaces, but still. 

The puck drops and both teams snap into action. Derek had made a spinning gesture to Emily just before the faceoff, signalling her to crash the faceoff dot and get the puck while he ties up the opposing center. They execute it perfectly, and Emily’s off to the races. She dumps it in deep and Derek chases, JJ hot on his heels for support. He digs it out of the corner, but miscalculates the backhand. 

The Xtreme grabs the puck and breaks up the ice. Alex and Aaron turn and give chase. Alex calls, “I got, I got,” and Aaron drops back, turning around and facing the oncoming wave. Alex goes to head the kid off, but he’s got too much speed built up. “Help, help, help,” she yells. 

“Got!” Aaron’s on his way across the ice, cutting the kid off as he comes into the zone and hitting him on the boards. 

“Yes, Aaron,” Dave cheers. This is what he’s been looking for. This confidence, this smoothness, this control. He’s finally coming out of his shell.

Derek drops back to cover Aaron’s spot and Alex heads to the slot. Meanwhile, Aaron wraps around the back of the net, faking around an Xtreme winger and breaking into clear ice. 

“Dump and change, kid!”

Aaron passes the puck off to Emily and skates to the boards. He tumbles in the door, panting, and grins at Dave. “Woah,” he breathes, collapsing onto the bench. 

“That what you remember, kid?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s the game I remember.” He pushes his helmet back and reaches for his water. 

Dave opens his mouth to say something more, but there’s a crash and a noise from the crowd and the buzzer goes off. He and Aaron look up to see Garcia flat on her back in the crease with Maeve and Spencer leaning over here and a point on the board for the Xtreme. “Shit. Well, I hope you feel as ready as you look, kid. It’s your time to shine. Get out there and bring it.”

Well, bring it he certainly does. Aaron takes control of the ice near instantaneously. Every move is a small explosion driving the larger engine of his intent. The enemy’s gate is down. 

This is the Aaron Hotchner USA Hockey Magazine wrote an article about. This is the Aaron Hotchner that plays for audiences of thousands all across the hemisphere. This is the Aaron Hotchner that Jason Gideon felt strongly enough about to try to “save” in his own roundabout way. 

This kid could make history. 

Aaron’s feet hardly touch the ice. The animation image is applicable now more than ever as he flits through the plays, stick there and gone before the other players can even register his presence. 

Once, he’s pinned against the wall by a boy twice his size. Dave thinks for sure he’s been made, but he turns his stick almost completely vertical and turns out of the hold, flicking the puck down to Alex. 

His shots are dynamic, energetic things, particles in the theoretical sense. He scores twice in ten minutes, not counting the goal he set up with Derek. The Xtreme keep trying to double-team him, but nothing’s working. When Aaron’s on one side of the ice, the Xtreme move their play to the other. When he shifts, they shift with him. Totally control. 

The first period flies by and they end up 3-1. At the opening of the second, though, something happens. 

Leads by two are always dangerous, and this is no exception. The team gets sloppy, overconfident, and they let one by. Aaron comes back to the bench with a look like thunder and sits, silent and brooding, at Alex’s side until their next shift. If Dave didn’t know better, he’d say he could smell ozone in the air. 

Aaron jumps the boards as Maeve comes in and races out to catch up with the play. The Xtreme just gained the puck in their own zone and their center is coming hard up the boards. Ashley isn’t having any luck catching him, and Spencer and Will are busy trying to cover the passing lanes. Aaron breaks out across the neutral zone and makes to meet the kid at the blue line. 

Dave can see it happening before the contact. It’s written in the way Aaron drops his shoulder, in the slight change in step as he gets close. “Aaron, don’t-”

BANG!

“Shit.”

The hit’s not even close to clean, all shoulder and raised elbow making contact with the kid’s back, Jesus Christ . The poor kid hits the ice and scrambles to get up, but it’s too late. Aaron’s already gone. He gets three strides in before the referee blows the whistle. 

Aaron coasts to a stop, head thrown back in exasperation. He doesn’t argue with the referee, though, and Dave thanks God for small mercies. 

“Number 95 blue, Hotchner, two minutes for roughing,” the referee says, opening the door to the  penalty box. Dave lets out a breath. Again, small mercies. They could have gotten him for checking from behind and thrown him in for ten. 

Dave starts down the bench towards the box. “Morgan, gimme our penalty kill line. I have to talk to our captain.”

Aaron’s very deliberately not looking at him when he gets to the box. There’s no glass between the two of them, just another piece of the boards. He’s leaning back, legs spread out as much as the box lets him, but Dave can see the flush on his face. His arms are crossed over his chest. 

“Aaron, what was that?” No response. “That kind of behavior is not allowed on this team, you know that,” Dave says, trying not to let too much of his anger bleed through into his voice. “You’re no use to your team on this bench and that’s not the example I need you to be setting for the rest of this team. You’re a leader, Aaron. I trusted you with that position, and that? That wasn’t the behavior of a leader.” Aaron rolls his eyes and scoffs. “No, listen to me. That was the behavior of a bully, and I don’t have room for bullies on this team. Do you understand me?” Another scoff. Aaron kicks one foot out and hits the side of the boards. “Hey! Do you understand me?”

“Yes, coach,” Aaron spits. 

“Good.” Dave claps him on the shoulder. “And Aaron?”

“Yeah?” Finally, he gets a look. Just a little glance, but still. 

“I need you back out there as soon as that timer runs out. Do your thing, just don’t hurt anybody.” Aaron nods, and Dave smiles. “You’re doing good, kid. Keep it up.” 

Aaron comes out of the box flying, and it resets the tone of the game. This is the first time Dave’s really gotten a chance to see the connection he’s been fostering between Aaron and Derek. They tie the front and back of the line together, moving fluidly back and forth. Derek ducks down to help Hotch in the zone and Hotch runs into the Xtreme’s zone to take shots from the high slot. It’s gorgeous, the communication they have. It’s almost wordless. 

Not only are they winning, but Aaron is coming back from each shift smiling and relaxed. He talks to Alex, he jokes with Emily, and he banters with Derek. There are some rough hits, but no more penalties. He’s learning to balance the letting go with the restraining of the anger, reentering that meditative game state of mind that was taken from him when he burnt out. 

He’s getting better, and Dave can’t help but be a little bit proud. 

“That was awesome,” Spencer enthuses as they get back in the car. This time, Spencer’s sitting up front and Emily and Hotch are in the back. He’s a little prone to meltdowns in the adrenaline crashes following games, so he likes to have his own space. 

From the back, Emily says, “God, I just want a shower and some food. Hotch, you were a holy fucking terror out there today.”

“Thanks,” he says. “You guys did really well, too.” 

Dave smiles. “I think the Garcias were saying something about going out to dinner at that wing place down the road from the hotel. I think JJ and her parents are going, too. Do you guys want to go?”

“Derek’s going, too,” Spencer cuts in. 

“Sounds fun,” Emily agrees. “As long as I can shower first.”

“How about you, Aaron?” Dave asks. He turns around to face him and Emily. Aaron frowns, biting his lip. He shrugs. “Do you want to go?”

Aaron looks confused now. “Uh, yeah, I guess.”

Emily pumps her fist in the air. “Yes! It’s wing time, baby!”

There’s something distinctly warm and comfortable about after-game team dinners. Having everyone gathered around the table, eating and talking and laughing, settles something deep inside Dave’s chest, the same thing he feels when Aaron sits down next to him to read while he watches television at night. Family. It’s nice. 

Down at the end of the table closest to Dave, Spencer is demonstrating his newest magic trick for an audience of Penelope, Kevin, and Maeve. Ashley and JJ are leaning together, talking and giggling in a hushed, blushy manner that can only mean boys. Will and Emily are bent over Emily’s phone, scrolling through some social media feed and occasionally reaching over to show JJ. Alex is talking with Derek’s mother, one hand drumming a complex rhythm on the table while the other gestures wildly, nearly hitting Mrs. Garcia. 

Derek and Aaron are situated at the far end of the table under a shadow cast by some faulty lighting. They’re leaning forward, elbows on the table and eyes down. Derek’s talking and Aaron’s listening intently, nodding every now and then. They don’t look happy, but there’s a certain acceptance and peace to them. From hardship, kinship. 

Aaron says something that makes Derek laugh. He points to where Dave’s sitting and says something back. Aaron shrugs and glances up at Dave. He looks away, but he knows he’s been caught in the act. Derek’s mother must see it, too, because she looks between them and smiles. 

“Hey, Derek! Bring Hotch down here, I want to show you something!”

“I’m coming, Pretty Boy. Come one, Hotch, before Spencer blows a gasket.”

The hotel room’s peaceful, but in a different way tan the restaurant. This peace is quiet, blue and grey instead of orange-yellow. From his place atop the cool, smooth sheets, Dave can hear the sink running in the bathroom. Out the window, the moon is making its first appearance around the cottony, thin-threaded clouds. It’s nice this time of year, a brief, solid cold snap before the wet, wishy-washy runny warm of spring. 

Dave breathes in and breathes out and closes his notebook. They’re set for tomorrow. All that’s left now is sleep and preparation for the coming three-game day.

Aaron comes out of the bathroom and sits down on his bed, legs crossed. He plugs his phone in and grabs a book from the nightstand.

“How was the day, kid?” Dave asks, turning the television on. 

Aaron sighs, stretching. “Good. Tiring, but good.”

“You can say that again.” A near-six hour drive plus a game plus getting settled into the hotel? Dave would be sleeping well tonight. “Hey, you know what I noticed today?”

Aaron frowns. “What?”

“Not one single panic attack or freak-out of any sort. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you might be enjoying yourself out there.” He smiles, raising his eyebrows at Aaron.

Aaron smiles back, tentative. “Yeah. Um, I felt good out there. If I’m being honest, I haven’t had fun like that on the ice in a long time.”

“That’s good, kid. That’s really good. I’m proud of you.” Aaron smiles for real this time, pulling the covers back and getting underneath. He puts his book on his knees and settles in, so Dave does the same, flicking through the channels until he finds something mind-numbing enough to put him to sleep.

“Have we ever played this team before?” Aaron’s tying his skates when Dave walks in.

Alex frowns. “Who, the Breezy City Reapers? No, I don’t think so.”

“We haven’t,” Dave confirms. He drops his bag by the door and walks to the whiteboard at the end of the room. “And from everything I’ve heard, they’re good.”

“And aggressive,” Spencer cuts in. “Last year, they averaged ten penalty minutes a game, with their highest totalling thirty-six minutes in a single game.”

“Spencer’s absolutely right, which brings me to why I’m coming in so early. I’ll leave you all be in a minute, but I want everyone to spend the next half hour thinking and talking about how we can be safe and smart on the ice. I want heads up, I want smart plays, and I want cool heads.” He looks pointedly at Derek, Emily, and Hotch, who all look away smirking. JJ giggles. Dave rolls his eyes. “I’m serious, guys. This game is important. It sets the tone for the rest of the day. I don’t want anyone getting hurt and I don’t want any stupid penalties. That being said, save your energy. Today’s going to be long.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Garcia says. “Wait, no. We have a captain. Sorry, Hotch. Aye, aye, Coach.” 

“Thank you, Garcia. See you all in thirty minutes.” 

“Holy shit, that guy has got to chill,” Derek grouses from the door. 

“Who, number fifty-nine?” Dave asks. 

“Yeah. Dude’s full-on psycho, I swear.” Derek flops down on the bench and turns to Prentiss. “Did you see what he did to me back there?”

“What, that hook? Oh, I saw it, alright. What does he think he’s playing at?” Emily gestures out towards the blue line. “I thought he was gonna take your head off.”

Aaron comes tumbling over the bench as Maeve sprints off. “I’m going to kill-”

“Number fifty-nine?” they all chorus.

“Yeah.”

“Join the club,” Alex says, reaching around Aaron to grab her water. “He’s going to get someone hurt acting like that.” 

They’re right, all of them. Since the beginning of the game, fifty-nine has been tearing around the ice, repeatedly abandoning his position as left wing to crash into other plays, making dirty hits just shy of getting him thrown in the box. It wouldn’t be much of a stretch to call him the reason they’re still tied 0-0 nearing the end of the third period. He gathers his first line up around the board. 

“Okay, listen up. I know this team is starting to wear on us, but we need to keep our heads up. Now, the key thing right now is to take momentum back. We need a goal, and we need one quick. I think we can do that by… stirring the pot a bit. I want JJ to drop back to defense. Aaron, I want you to take her place. Emily, Derek, Aaron, I need you three to put on a strong offense. Alex and JJ will have your backs, so don’t hesitate to push hard and play to score. The change in pace could be what we need to get past that goalie.” The whistle blows and Dave pats JJ’s helmet. “Alright, get them off and get a change. Full steam ahead, guys.”

True to Dave’s prediction, the reshuffling gives them the kick they need. It’s only seconds before they’re in the offensive zone, circling menacingly around the center of the ice. The Reapers can’t seem to figure out how to fend off this new formation. JJ’s a more conservative player, which is why Dave didn’t mind putting her back to defense, and Aaron’s brazen plays are disconcerting to an overconfident team. 

Aaron darts across the goal line, pushing the puck between some kid’s feet and passing it up to Alex. She slides it to JJ, who cycles with Emily to get deep in the zone. Derek and Aaron move to accommodate them and Derek gets ready in the high slot. Derek’s opening up for a shot and JJ’s sending the pass and Dave’s sure the puck’s going to go in when fifty-nine comes out of nowhere and flattens Derek. 

Emily shouts and Aaron comes surging out of the corner to meet the kid as the whistle blows. JJ grabs his jersey as he skates by, pulling him back and saying something that makes him slow down, redirecting from the kid, who’s being taken to the penalty box, to where Derek’s still laid out on the ice. 

Emily’s dropped on one knee next to him and Dave makes for the door, but before he can get out there, Derek takes Hotch’s hand and pulls himself up. Emily helps him back to the bench while the rest of the line gets set up for the faceoff. 

The penalty comes over the loudspeaker: “Number 59, George Foyet of the Breezy City Reapers, two minutes for interference!”

Dave opens the door and helps Derek onto the bench, sending Spencer out to complete their power play line. Spencer and Emily skate back to the faceoff after ensuring that Derek’s alright. 

Dave takes Derek’s arms and walks him over to sit on the end of the bench. Will and Ashley come to see what’s happening. 

Derek’s face is screwed up with pain, but he looks alright. “Are you hurt?” Dave asks. 

Derek frowns, taking mental stock of his body. “I don’t think so, just stunned. Knocked the wind out of me, that’s all.” 

“Good, we’ll need you ready to go in another few minutes.”

“Can do, Bossman,” Derek assures him. He pulls his stick back behind his head and coughs a few times, getting his diaphragm back with the program. 

On the ice, the power play line is doing their job and turning the attack back on the Reapers. Spencer does his thing, running the zone from his little spot at the corner, just below the goal line. He darts back and forth, fielding passes, creating distractions, and generally just being a nuisance. Soon enough, he causes enough of an upset to slide a pass through the middle to Aaron, who slams it home. 

Derek leaps to his feet. “Yes, Pretty Boy! That’s how it’s done! Nice shot, Hotch!”

The door to the penalty box opens with a bang and George Foyet steps out. He’s angry, that much is clear just from his body language. He turns to his coach on the bench and says something Dave can’t quite make out, then goes to the faceoff dot. At the edge of the circle, he taps Aaron on the shoulder and says something that makes Aaron frown and turn away. Then, the puck drops and Dave forgets about it.

Minutes later, the game turns again. Fifty-nine gets a hold of the puck during a line change. The second line’s up front, but Aaron and Alex are still on defense. Foyet rushes down the ice. 

Here’s the thing: Most players, no matter how cocky, go out of their way to avoid Aaron’s side of the ice. This guy, though, he comes right for him. If Dave was in Aaron’s place, he’s sure he would be making eye contact with the kid right now. 

He crosses the blue line and Aaron closes the gap, stick braced at his hip and shoulders lined up for the defense. Foyet heads for the center of the ice and Aaron follows, moving to make contact with Foyet’s inside shoulder. Foyet, though, spins backwards, dragging the puck on his backhand and cutting close to the boards. He makes a circle around Aaron and drives straight for the net. 

Aaron turns and sprints backwards, but it’s too late. Foyet shoots and hits the far top corner, right at Garcia’s weakest point. She doesn’t stand a chance. 

Dave sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as the whistle blows. Out on the ice, Aaron’s slumped in defeat. He waves Alex off when she tries to comfort him, heading back towards the bench. On the way back, though, Foyet intercepts him. He puts his hand on Aaron’s shoulder and mutters something. This time, Aaron pushes him away and skates faster. 

Foyet’s laughing when he heads back to his own bench. 

Whatever happened out there that led to the first goal wrecked Aaron. Any and all progress is lost. He’s a ghost out there, drifting around without his spark. In the next fifteen minutes, Foyet gets him again and again, faking and pushing and passing and making Aaron look like so many practice cones. It’s only a matter of time before he breaks. 

Sure enough, Aaron comes to the bench early in the third period in tears. They’re down by two and nothing he’s tried is helping. That blankness is back again when Dave crouches down in front of him.

“Hey, kiddo. How are you holding up?”

Aaron takes a shuddering breath and does his best to look Dave in the eye. “I-I told you. I ruin everything. It was only a matter of time before this happened again.” 

Oh, shit. This is not good. “Aaron, you haven’t ruined anything, you’re just not having your best game.” This, like so many things Dave has said in the last three weeks, was not the right thing to say. Aaron makes a soft, distressed noise and tears start falling down his cheeks. “Woah, no, I didn’t mean that in a bad way. No one can be at their best every day, and you’ve had a good few days. This was bound to happen, but now you know that it’ll pass. Remember that, kid, this will pass.” 

Aaron chokes on his own tears trying to answer. “No, no, I can’t. It won’t. I can’t go back out there, Dave.” 

“You can. You can, but you don’t have to. Take a few deep breaths. I know 59’s giving you trouble, but that doesn’t make you any less of a good player. You’ll adapt to him just like you do to everything. Trust me, kid.” He puts his hands on Aaron’s knees. “Come on, breathe.”

Aaron sucks in one breath, then another, then another. He keeps it up for another dozen or so breathes before they start coming easier. Finally, he lets his last sob out and relaxes. “Okay, I’m ready. I’m ready, I can do it.”

“Okay, kid. Get out there and do your thing.”

In the end, it doesn’t matter. The poor kid fights tooth and nail, but it doesn’t matter. The spark is gone again. The BAU loses their first game with Aaron on the ice. 

They lose the next game. Tonight, they’ll be playing for a chance to be in the consolation game tomorrow. 

Dave’s not concerned about tonight, though. Dave is completely and totally preoccupied with the sounds of retching coming from the otherwise empty locker room. Everyone else is accounted for, everyone except…

“Aaron?” Dave knocks on the open door, glancing inside. “Kid, you in here?”

“Be right out,” comes the muffled reply from the attached bathroom, followed by a gag. Dave winces. There’s the sound of running water, then the paper towel dispenser, and then Aaron comes out. He looks awful, pale and red-eyed and shaky. 

“God, Aaron,” he breathes. “Are you getting sick?”

He shakes his head. “‘M fine. Just got a bit nauseous, that’s all.” His voice sounds terrible. “Are we going back to the- to the hotel before the next game?”

“Can you play in the next game?” Aaron’s quiet. “We are, but I want to talk to you first. Come sit down.” He gestures to the nearest bench, taking a seat. It’s not the best place for a talk (locker rooms have the unfortunate tendency to be damp and smell like urine and vomit), but it’ll have to do. Dave wants to get this over with. Aaron sits and he takes a breath. “What happened today?”

Aaron shrugs. “I wasn’t having a good day.”

That’s an understatement. “Kid, you know that when we lose it’s not your fault, right?”

Aaron frowns. “How?”

“Aaron, this is a team effort. We win together, we lose together. Nothing is ever all on your shoulders. I know you’ve been feeling this way for a long time, but I’m hoping talking about it will do you some good. What happened today that made you so upset that you threw up?”

Aaron curls in on himself. “I wasn’t playing well.”

Now it’s Dave’s turn to frown. “I think that getting upset is what made you not play well, not vice versa. Am I wrong?”

Aaron hesitates. “It’s- It’s like… I do one thing wrong and my whole brain just shuts down. I can barely move. It’s like I’m not connected to my own body. I’m trying to help, to do what you brought me here for, but it’s just so- it’s just…” He takes a moment to breathe through a sob and wipe tears from his eyes. “I’m scared, Dave. All the time. I’m scared to get out on the ice, because I’m scared that I’ll… that I’ll… fuck.” He breaks off into a real sob this time, and Dave takes a risk. 

“Kid, come here.” He wraps his arms around Aaron’s shoulders and pulls him close. Aaron falls into him immediately, burying his face in Dave’s shoulder and crying. Dave rubs his back, shushing Aaron as he grabs at Dave’s jacket, looking for anything to hold onto in his own personal storm. “Okay. It’s okay. You don’t have to be scared. I’ve got you, you’re okay. Shh, shh, shh. Just keep breathing.” He rocks them back and forth a bit.

Aaron keeps crying, the desperate edge fading as he gives in and lets his emotions fight their way out. It’s exhausting just to listen to, and Dave suddenly has the psychic powers necessary to predict food and a nap in Aaron’s near future. And water, too. He doesn’t need to be dehydrated on top of the rest of this shit. 

After maybe ten minutes, the worst of it has petered out and Aaron’s slumped against his shoulder, eyes half-closed and breathing ragged. He blinks, then sits up quickly, rubbing his eyes and stretching his legs. “Can we go get food?”

“Yeah, kid, of course we can. Come on, we’ll get Panera.”

An hour or two before they have to be at the rink for the next game, Derek comes knocking at his door. 

“What’s up, Morgan?” The kid’s standing in the hallway wringing his hands at his waist. He’s in sweats and a tee shirt, looking like he just woke up from his own post-game nap. 

“Hi, Coach. Sorry to bother you, but I wanted to check in on Hotch. We’re all worried about him, but I told the team not to bother him right after the game. He looked pretty upset. Can I talk to him?” Derek tries to look around Dave into the room. 

Dave glances back to where Aaron’s buried under his covers. He’s been asleep for nearly an hour now, curled up with his book next to him where he’d been reading it before he fell asleep. Dave just hopes he wakes up for the game, because he’s not sure he’ll have the heart to do it. “He’s asleep right now. I don’t want to say much because, well, you know how he is, but I can tell you that he’s alright now, and he’ll be alright for the game. Thank you for coming, though. I’ll let him know the team’s asking about him.”

“Thanks, Rossi,” Derek says, giving him a half-smile. “And, Coach?”

“Hmm?”

“Tell him that we’re still his team off the ice, okay?” Derek turns around and walks back towards his room. 

When Dave turns around, Aaron’s stirring. He flips onto his back and sits up, rubbing a clumsy hand against his eye. “‘zat?”

“Run that one by me again?”

Aaron sighs, stretching his arms over his head. “Said, ‘Who’s that?’”

“Sure you did, kiddo,” Dave laughs. “It was Morgan; he wanted to come by and check on you.” Dave grabs his shoes from the far side of the bed. Aaron gives him a quizzical look. “You looked pretty rough after that game. He wants you to know that the team’s got your back, and that they’re still your team, even off the ice.”

Aaron pushes the covers off his legs and swings around to sit on the edge of the bed. “I know that.” 

“He’s just checking in, Aaron,” Dave soothes. “How are you feeling?” Dave hands him a water bottle and a container of ibuprofen. He’s never met a hockey player that didn’t have a headache after a mid-tournament-day nap. 

Aaron accepts both and downs two pills before answering. “Fine.”

“Really?”

This time, the kid hesitates. “I don’t know. I want to go to the rink and just get it over with.” Aaron pushes to his feet and walks to the dresser, rifling through his drawer. He’s not wearing socks. 

“Woah, hang on, there, Speedy. ‘Just get it over with’ is not going to do anyone any good. Not me, not you, not the team. If you keep pushing, you’re just going to walk further into this thing.” Dave comes up next to him and he closes the drawer. “I want to talk about our strategy going into this. If you want to go on the ice-”

“I do.”

“Okay, when you go out onto the ice, I want you to try something different. We already tried just having fun. That didn’t work, right?” Aaron shakes his head. “The bubble popped as soon as someone went poking at it. I’m thinking we try anger next.”

Aaron frowns. “You didn’t like it when I got mad last time.”

Dave nods. “No, but you did. I’m not saying I’m going to let you do whatever you want to whoever you want. I want you to stay in control, but I want you to try your best to convert that upset into anger. I want you to get mad. I want you to see red until the game is over. Just drive through until the end.” 

Aaron looks over at him, socks in hand and bottom lip between his teeth. He blinks, contemplating. Then, “Alright. I can do angry.”

In the minutes before the game, Aaron’s whole body stills. The only thing Dave can think to compare it to is that footage they play on the news or sci-fi movies, the ones of things being put into those supercooling vats. Dave imagines steam coming off of him in billowing waves. 

The rest of the team notices it, too. It puts an edge on them, quiets and centers them. Even Garcia’s relatively subdued, satisfying herself with a single back-breaking hug for Aaron and a kiss on the helmet from Derek. The team leans in for the final pregame speech. 

“I know we’re not where we want to be right now,” Aaron says, looking them all in the eye in turn. “I know earlier was rough, and I know we’re all tired and outnumbered. But they-” he points to the other team’s bench “-are not any better than you. In fact, they’re the enemy. They’re worse. They want to get in your head and make you think they have the upper hand, but they don’t. You have all the power. You can play in that consolation game tomorrow, you just have to prove it. Go take what’s yours. Derek?”

“BAU on three. One, two, three-”

“BAU!”

Aaron’s dead silent except for when he’s yelling. The yelling happens anywhere and at any time. He yells at the opposing team when they take the puck. He yells at the BAU when they make a mistake or miss an opportunity or connect a good pass. He yells to Penelope that she’s doing a great job, that she’s got a shot coming from the high slot. He yells at Kevin to change the line and Kevin cries a little bit. He yells on the ice, at no one, at himself, at the world and the air to part around him, to make way for his blinding wrath. 

Aaron crackles through the ice, tearing paths open the way one might envision a portal to another dimension. His plays are feeling, not the cleanest but certainly the meanest Dave’s ever seen. It’s hard for the other kids to work with him; he’s not communicating anything but anger. Dave thinks about pulling him once or twice, but two things are stopping him: the good he’s doing and the bad it would do him to make him stop. 

Even through the haze of rage Aaron’s working in right now, he’s scored four goals already. He’s playing well, and the other kids, though a bit freaked out, are going along with it. If Dave were to tell him to stop now, he would not only be making a liar of himself, but further convincing Aaron that he’s doing something wrong every time he steps out on the ice. The poor kid’s got a Pavolovian response to hockey equipment, and it’s not a good one. 

Right now, he’s doing a good job of ignoring that response. As Dave watches, he pries the puck loose from the corner and hooks around the net, building speed and breaking out of the defensive zone. He pulls a neat backhand dodge and crosses quickly through the neutral zone, dropping deep into the far zone and passing back up to Alex. He cycles back to his position, head tracking the play through the lower circle and behind the net. 

The buzzer sounds to signal the end of the second period and the kids descend on the bench. Aaron drags himself to the edge of the circle and drops to one knee, panting and shaking. He’s killing himself out there just trying to outrun his own head. Dave watches a drop of sweat fall from his face and freeze on the ice. 

Derek drops next to him and murmurs something. He’s been shooting Dave concerned looks all game, alternating between cheering Aaron on and telling him to “chill the hell out, man, seriously.” Aaron shakes his head and Derek puts a hand on his shoulder, knocking their helmets together and smiling. Aaron’s expression lifts a bit. 

“Coach? Got anything to say?” Emily’s staring up at him, mouthguard hanging through the front of her cage. 

Dave startles, glancing back to the team. They’re tired, but excited to be on top again. Aaron’s mood isn’t affecting them too terribly. They’re choosing instead to feed on the energy he’s leaving on the ice. They’re good kids that way. “Sorry. You guys are doing well. The energy is good, the score is good, what else can I say?” Spencer smiles. “I want the momentum to stay up in the third, though. It’s really important that we don’t slip. Don’t get too excited yet. Leave it all out there. Anyone got anything else?” Aaron opens his mouth, looks around and closes it again. Dave leaves it be. “Alright, Derek, count ‘em off.”

“BAU on three. One, two, three-”

“BAU!”

Aaron races across the zone, crossing into Alex’s territory and making a hit. The puck flies loose and he gives chase again, pursuing it into the corner and flicking it up to JJ. Together, the line heads down the ice, tearing past the red line just in time for the buzzer to sound. 

On the bench, cheers erupt around Dave. It’s not the biggest win, but it’s 5-2 at the end of a losing day and they’re playing for a chance at bronze tomorrow, and that’s enough to have Spencer launching his tiny body over the boards into Derek’s arms and Emily grabbing Maeve and spinning her around. 

All ten of them descend on Penelope in her crease. Well, all nine. Aaron’s trailing a little ways behind, limping slightly and breathing hard. He coasts to the crease and disappears into the tangle of bodies, where his inability to support his own weight is lost in the scrum of arms and hugs and joy and exhaustion. Dave steps out onto the ice and gets ready to shake the other coaches’ hands. 

Aaron manages to get himself undressed and in the car and fed and showered before he collapses. It’s only just before five in the afternoon, but the way Aaron’s curled up on the bed says sleep is imminent. 

“How are you, kid?” Dave sits down at the end of the bed.

“Tired.” That’s an understatement. The kid’s pale as a ghost, bleary-eyed and shaky and confused. Apparently, anger works, but at a steep cost. 

“Yeah, I can see that. You played a hell of a game, though. I’m so proud of you.” He is. Dave is so fucking proud it’s not funny. Aaron got back on the ice after two hard losses and kept going. Not only that, he led the team to a win. “The team’s happy.”

Aaron shrugs, an awkward movement hampered by his pillow. “I wasn’t the best leader today.” 

“Leading doesn’t always take words, kid. Sometimes, when your own struggle to survive is visible to the people around you, that’s all they need. And please don’t forget, you have to put yourself first. It took everything you had to get on the ice tonight, I know that, so if you couldn’t be there for everyone else, that’s more than okay.” Aaron gives him a skeptical look, but says nothing. 

There’s a knock at the door, the same rhythm as earlier. Aaron sits up, rubbing his eyes and glaring at the door. Dave takes pity on him and goes to answer it. “It’s Morgan, you know.” The glare turns to confusion as Dave opens the door. As it turns out, it’s not only Morgan, but also Garcia, Reid, and JJ. “How can I help you, my intrepid explorers?”

Of course, it’s Penelope who speaks first, stretching to see around Dave for a glance at Hotch. “Is Hotch in there? We’re going swimming, me and Derek and JJ and Spencer and Emily and… well, everyone. The pool’s open, and there’s a hot tub, so if you have a swimsuit-”

“I don’t have a suit,” Aaron cuts in. Dave startles. The kid had snuck up next to him, looking over his shoulder at the crowd. “I mean, I have a suit, but not with me.”

“That’s okay, you can wear shorts!” 

“I already took a shower.”

Reid shrugs. “So did I. Take another one.”

“We need another competitor in the Endless Chicken Wars,” Emily adds. 

“Chicken as in the water-based fighting game, not the avian poultry.”

Aaron looks up at Dave. “What are you looking at me for, kid? Go have fun.” 

He gets another hesitant look, but then JJ says, “Please, Hotch?” and he relents. Dave backs out of the doorway as Aaron returns to his bed and grabs flip flops, leaving his hoodie behind. He heads out the door, checking over his shoulder one more time. 

“Go,” Dave laughs. 

Then, the door shuts on the sounds of light laughter and rambling conversation. That night, Aaron still goes to sleep early, but it’s with the heavy, happy exhaustion that hockey should bring and not the crushing fog of before. Dave sleeps, too, resting in the knowledge that he’s not the only one watching his kid’s back.  

An hour into their drive home, Aaron’s phone rings for the first time in Dave’s memory. It’s just the two of them this time; Emily and Spencer have both secured other rides home. Dave’s glad for the quiet time. Even after winning this morning’s game, Aaron’s clearly unsatisfied with the weekend. Dave knows from his own experience in prep hockey that this weekend would have resulted in sprints and screaming and blame (and tears, but those would have been later, in private). 

“Hello? Hey, buddy!” Dave glances over to the passenger seat at the change in tone. “I know, I miss you, too. Did Mom tell you we’re only one state apart now?” Aaron pauses to listen and laugh. “No way! A Saint Patrick’s Day party? What was your favorite part?”

Dave taps Aaron’s leg to get his attention, raising an eyebrow when he looks over. Brother, he mouths. Six. Dave nods. Interesting. Also concerning, if Dave’s right about some other things. 

“Hey, Sean, can I ask you something? How’s Mom doing? That’s good, that’s good. Has Haley been over to see you? I know, she’s nice, isn’t she? Oh, yeah? She sent me pictures, it looked very cool.” Aaron nods along with whatever Sean is saying, but he’s drumming anxious fingers against his knee. “Haley says Dad’s been busy lately.” Dave stills, trying not to be obvious as he listens. “Yeah? Okay. Well, you just keep talking to Haley, all right? Remember what I said when I left, Haley’s there to be your big sister when I can’t be there to be your big brother. What?” Aaron laughs. “Maybe someday. That would be nice, wouldn’t it? Alright, buddy, I have to go.” He glances at Dave. “I love you, too. Talk to you later.” 

Aaron presses two fingers to the cut on his bottom lip, savoring the sweet, sharp rush of pain. He bites at it, chews it viciously, anything to make it hurt more, to bring back the fading adrenaline. 

He’s so fucked. 

Dave’s going to be pissed. Dave’s going to be pissed, and then Aaron’s going to be pissed again, and then Dave’s going to get all weird and try to talk to him about his feelings because he thinks Aaron’s a charity case and tool to be used all at once. It’s fucking infuriating, but it’s not like Aaron can stop it (‘I couldn’t stop it’ will probably be written on his tombstone). 

He opens the door to the garage, stepping into the heavy, hot smell of motor oil and sawdust. He doesn’t even get halfway to the door to the house before it opens and Dave steps out. 

He’s leaning against the doorframe in a parody of casual coincidence. “How was your day at school?” Aaron doesn’t dignify this with an answer, just pushes past and toes his shoes off in the closet. Dave follows him to the kitchen. “I got a call from Principal Matthews today.”

“Yeah?” Aaron hangs his jacket on the back of a chair and opens the refrigerator. 

“Yup. He said you got in a fight.” Ooh, that apple looks kind of good. He puts it in his backpack. “Are you going to answer me?”

Nope.

“You’re not suspended, but you have detention for the rest of the week. He said you didn’t start it.”

“I finished it,” Aaron says, closing the fridge. Dave’s leaning on the counter now. Apparently, one can’t have a serious talk with one’s quasi-adopted not-really-son if one is standing upright. 

“So I heard. You finished it even though there were two of them.” Aaron’s not sure where he’s going with this. He’s never really sure where Dave is going at all. Everything seems to be out of left field with him. Aaron’s cheeks suddenly burn with the shame of knowing how many times this man has seen him fall apart. How did this happen? He bites his lip again. “You can’t be getting into fights like that at school. You could have seriously hurt someone.” Aaron shrugs and Dave sighs. “Can we talk about it?”

“What’s there to talk about? I got in a fight. I shouldn’t have. End of story.” He starts towards the door. 

“Hang on,” Dave says, catching his shoulder and pulling him back. Aaron wonders if he knows the way every muscle in his body tenses at that, if he knows how close he comes to being attacked every time he touches Aaron. Aaron would stop it if he could. He’s like an animal these days. “I’m not mad at you-” you always say that “- I just want to understand. You’re obviously angry, so let’s talk about it.”

No, let’s not talk about it. Let’s not sit here and rehash the same old bullshit because Aaron’s obviously broken and he’s not going to get any better with some crying and talking and pity. He doesn’t need it. End of story. 

“Aaron?”

You’re on thin fucking ice, old man. 

“Come on, kid, give me something. I just want to talk.”

“You always want to talk! I don’t. There’s nothing to talk about, and talking doesn’t make the anger go away. You know what does? Hitting people. So I think I’ll keep doing that, thanks. Sorry for being a disappointment, or whatever. Bye.” This time, Aaron muscles through Dave’s arm when he tries to stop him. What’s he going to do about it, hit him?

Aaron’s feet hit the pavement and he takes off, feet pounding against the slick, wet pavement until Dave’s house fades from sight and he’s in another development entirely. The anger leaves all at once, and Aaron stops, nearly falling to his knees with the sudden weakness the new feeling brings. 

The after-anger sensation doesn’t have a name, at least not one Aaron’s ever heard. It doesn’t hurt, not like the anger does. There’s no pressure on the inside of his ribs, just a numb sadness that takes him by the psyche and chains him up somewhere behind his eyes. His knees are weak. His head spins. He’s a bit nauseous. 

Unsure of what to do next, stripped of the blind purpose adrenaline brought, he keeps walking. It’s not too cold to be out, at least. 

See, Maryland doesn’t do winter very well. Up in Wisconsin, winter is a long, dark, multi-stage affair involving bitter cold and ice and snow that buries cars and keeps falling. Virginia has the dignity to omit the thing entirely. Maryland, though, oh, Maryland wants to try. Maryland can’t acknowledge that it just doesn’t get cold enough for a proper winter and instead goes to the trouble of dragging everyone through four miserable, cloudy, wet months of slush and dirt and seasonal depression. Aaron hates it. 

There are advantages to being at a lower latitude, though, one of which is the stream in the woods just off of Jill Street, the one that runs nearly year-round. Aaron sits on a rock in the middle of it and pulls out his phone. 

Aaron: you up?

Haley: what’s up, trouble?

Aaron: Funny you should say that…

Haley: oh boy

Haley: what did you do?

Aaron: Got in another fight

Aaron: The other kid started it

Aaron: Dave’s pissed

Haley: are you okay?

Aaron: Yeah I’m fine lmao

Aaron: It’s just annoying, you know?

Haley: I know

Haley: keep your head up, alright? Things will get better. Things are already getting better.

Aaron: yeah

Aaron: how’s Sean?

Before Haley can answer, Aaron’s phone chimes with another notification. 

Derek: yo you wanna go for a run?

Derek knows better than to say that Penelope told him that Aaron got in a fight. He knows Aaron doesn’t want to talk about it or hear stupid platitudes (Haley’s the only one who’s allowed to tell him it’s alright). He knows what makes it better.

Aaron: Hadley Hill?

Derek: is there anywhere else?

Cross, cross, pivot, cross stride hop. Cross, cross, pivot, cross stride hop. Cross, cross, pivot, cross stride hop. Cross, cross, pivot, cross stride hop. 

A bead of sweat rolls down from under his helmet and slips past his eye, stinging a bit as it goes. It drips down his cheek and slips into his mouth, flooding it with a taste not unlike blood. Aaron exhales, inhales, exhales again, timing each breath to push him further into the Iron Cross rhythm. His legs burn. It feels good. His mind burns. It feels better. 

He reaches the starting point of the drill and pushes himself back in for another round, racing to the middle cone and pivoting around it. 

Cross, cross, pivot, cross stride hop. Cross, cross, pivot, cross stride hop. 

The whistle blows and he releases the puck, coasting out of the side of the drill. Spencer smiles around his mouthguard as they switch places. 

“Remember to keep those elbows in on the transitions; it’ll really clean up your hands,” Aaron says as they pass. 

“Can do, Hotch,” Spencer chirps, throwing himself into the drill with the sort of single-minded intensity that Aaron misses when they’re not on the power play line together.

Derek skates up next to him, pushing his helmet back and wiping his face. “Hey, Hotch.”

“Someday, your helmet is going to come off in a game and you’re going to die.”

Derek laughs. “Gotta happen some time, right?” Aaron elbows him and Derek shoves him back and they both put their hands on their knees, catching their breath and giggling. Aaron doesn’t know if he even giggled on the ice with the Sabres. Huh. “In all seriousness, though, Coach wants us to run the next drill at the concession end. He’s giving us the whole zone to do puck protection.”

Aaron glances over to where Dave’s overseeing a stickhandling station. They haven’t really talked about earlier other than for Dave to reassure Aaron that he wasn’t angry and tell him not to do it again. After a run with Derek and some dinner, Aaron found it a bit harder to be mad about it. They’ve come to a careful consensus, something Aaron’s getting more and more used to. Maybe some things are fixable. “Who do we have?”

“Who do you think?” 

Second line, then. Good, they need some work together, especially on puck protection. Aaron doesn’t think he’s ever seen so many good players suffer from such bad puck phobia in his life. They get pressure, they dump it. Every time, like clockwork. “Want to run Safehouse?”

“Hell yeah, Safehouse is the shit.”

Safehouse is the shit, Aaron can certainly agree. It’s another thing he never really got to do at St. Mary’s, and it’s been so long he didn’t even miss it until now. It’s just fun. It’s ridiculous and mentally challenging and, when you play with friends, you can’t help but fall down laughing every now and then. It’s relaxing, and Aaron doesn’t really have to think about it too much. 

He dumps the puck in and dives into the zone, giving Maeve some gentle pressure to get her on the run before cutting her passing lane to Kevin. 

“Kevin, don’t telegraph like that! Maeve already knows what you’re going to do,” Derek admonishes from the sidelines. Kevin swears back at him and Aaron and Maeve laugh quietly. 

Aaron cuts a neat line through the center of the zone, getting Garcia’s attention before passing off to Spencer and cycling with Will. Will slides into the high slot, Penelope’s eyes follow Spencer, Spencer fakes a shot and passes to Will, and Will drives it home.

“Yes,” Spencer cries, skating over to fist bump Will. Will knocks him playfully on the head and comes over to tap sticks with Aaron. Aaron smiles at Penelope’s mock distress and pretends he can’t feel Dave’s eyes on him. Family. Yeah. 

Dave picks Aaron up from school at one on Friday. It’s only a three hour ride to Sectionals, and their first game isn’t until seven thirty, but the leaving early is a bit of a treat. A combination of what Aaron assumes is guilt over the quasi-fight on Wednesday and a chance to stretch his legs before hitting the ice. Nothing worse than road legs at a big game. 

Principal Matthews, of course, is furious. Aaron’s on thin fucking ice already, being a new kid and a problem kid, and now he’s missing the last day of his detention. There’s nothing he can do, though, because Dave signs him out under the guise of an “important doctor’s appointment.” Aaron leaves with the vindictive glow of authority flouted warring with the Catholic guilt. Gotta love the Church. 

“Looking forward to the game?” Dave asks.

Aaron glances at him before looking back to the road, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. Dave’s been letting him drive every now and then as of late, just to make the long dries a bit easier to manage. It’s nice. 

As for hockey, well, there are things that take longer than a month to undo. There’s a certain anxiety that sprouts every time Aaron puts his bag in the car and grows bigger and bigger the closer to the ice he gets, but more and more, he’s been able to trim the vines before they have the chance to choke him. Doesn’t make it pleasant, though. 

Instead of the coming game (the stakes, the pressure, the crowd, the weakness in his legs the wheeze in his lungs the painthefailurefearohgodmakeit stop ), Aaron focuses on what he knows he’ll find in the locker room beforehand. 

“I’m excited,” he decides. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. You should be. I’m excited for you.” 

Aaron bites the inside of his lip and chews his way around a smile. 

“Spencer, that’s so gay.” Emily levels a deadpan glare across the locker room to where Spencer’s sitting on the floor letting Derek braid his hair. He hates the feeling of hair in his face and under his helmet, but refuses to cut it, so this is the only solution. Even so, Emily’s relentless. 

“Listen,” Spencer squeaks, protest somewhat diminished by the crack in his voice. “It’s to be comfortable under my helmet!”

“I don’t know, that’s pretty fucking homosexual if I do say so myself,” Emily continues, voice shaking with the effort of not laughing. 

Spencer’s starting to turn red, and the rest of the team is on the verge of hysterical tears, so Aaron steps in. “Emily, aren’t you literally a lesbian?”

“You know what, your girlfriend brings the backpack to-”

“Guys, Coach is coming,” Penelope warns, and the locker room quiets as the door opens. Aaron shoves his helmet on and tries to ignore the burning in his cheeks. 

“Oh, my God, she totally does,” Emily hisses, kicking him in the shin. 

“Shut up. ” 

“Children,” Dave chides, sending an amused glance their way. “Are we ready to begin?” A round of nods and assent bounces around the locker room and Aaron fastens his helmet, tucking his hands into his gloves and settling in to listen and prepare. 

This is the biggest game you’ve ever played. Nothing before this matters, and there is no after. There is only now, and you choose the route the next forty five minutes take. 

“This is the opening game of the biggest tournament many of you have ever played in. Sectionals is the stepping stone to a larger field of play, but it in itself is an honor to be involved in.”

Breathe in, breathe out. Feel your muscles, feel your whole body. You know hockey. You’ve been playing it since you could walk. Forget everything else, let go of all the bad. It’s just you and the game. 

“Don’t psych yourselves out. Nobody in that other locker room is any better than you in any way that matters. You all want that puck, you want this game bad. Go out there and take it!”

Keep your head. Keep your head. You impose your will on the game; the game does not impose itself on you. Hockey’s just a flow game. All you have to do is let the person you’ve got locked up in there out. 

“Now, having said all of that, let’s talk strategy. I need an aggressive offense out there, but what we need more than anything is a solid, unshakeable defense. Aaron, Alex, Kevin, Maeve, I want you in control of your ice. Nothing gets past you and no one runs your zone around you.” 

Let’s go, Aaron, let’s go. You’re not going to panic, and you’re not going to mess up. You’re going to go out there, and you’re going to help your team (your team will help you if you need it). 

“Up front, I need you guys to be inspired. I want to see the passing we’ve been working on, and I want to see the contact on the boards. Do not get outmuscled.”

The air blowing in your face as you come around the net. The light, effortless transcendence of hitting your stride mid-game. It’s like flying, it’s like falling, it’s like nothing and everything and a thousand more things words can’t capture. It’s a feeling, base and instinctual. 

“Hockey is a family thing. You’re a family. I know all of you, and I know the lengths you would go to for each other. Tonight, when your feet hit the ice, you’re fighting for each other, not just for the glory. Now, go. Make me proud, kiddos.”

You are Aaron Hotchner, and this is the BAU, and you would die for them. Now go out there and fucking prove it. 

Aaron stretches the last of the tension out of his legs and crouches on the line, bringing his feet apart and coasting up to the edge of the circle. Next to him, Alex does the same, sending him a glance and tapping her stick once on the ground. He responds in kind. 

Derek looks over his shoulder and Aaron nods. If he wins the drop, he’ll send it back to Aaron and they’ll start a neutral zone cycle. A shout of encouragement drifts down from the stands. The ref’s strides rip through the silence, echoing up towards the ceiling. 

The whistle sounds and Aaron tenses, inside edges digging into the ice and bottom hand sliding into place on his stick. This is it. Aaron can do this. They can all do this. 

The puck drops. 

Aaron’s heart starts. 

Aaron comes crashing onto the bench, slamming the door and collapsing into a pile of limbs and shortness of breath beside Alex. 

“Hey,” she breathes between sips of water. “Doing alright?”

“Yeah,” he manages, and he really is. He’s doing more than alright, actually. He’s soaring over the top of the ice, dangling and passing and shooting and scoring. He’s scoring, and they’re winning. Holy shit. 

He takes the bottle Alex passes him and spits his mouthguard out, holding it to the side as he chugs water. Vaguely, he can feel anxiety poking at the back of his head, but it’s muted. Nothing he can’t play over. Certainly not stronger than the euphoria of doing what he’s been missing for so long. 

Out on the ice, Kevin throws his hand up and heads for the door. “One, one, one,” Derek calls from up front. 

He glances at Alex, who nods. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

As soon as Kevin gets close enough, Aaron leaps over the boards. 

The play’s down at the other end of the ice, in the offensive zone, and it looks to be pretty settled in. Aaron races to his spot on the line just as Will sends the puck around behind the net and the play shifts away from his side. Maeve presses to the boards to keep the play in and Aaron encroaches on the slot, moving into position for a shot should he get the chance. 

“High, high,” he calls as Ashley collects the puck. She glances up and makes as if to pass to him, but at the last second, the center from the opposing team steps between them. “No, no, no,” he amends.

“Got me low!” Spencer comes speeding through the circle and catches Seaver’s pass just in time to pivot on his back foot and take a shot at the upper left corner. The goalie anticipates it, though, and blocks it. The opposition gains control and Aaron shifts into a backwards scramble. 

Number 56 is setting up a line to skate right through him. He’s a big kid, but that won’t matter once Aaron gets in contact with him. He can just try to get through him, he’ll see what good that does. Aaron lines them up inside to outside shoulder and starts taking the kid to the boards. 

They make contact just before passing the BAU bench, and Aaron can hear the cheers of his team as he drives 56 into the wall. He doesn’t fall, but his hands stutter and Aaron strips him of the puck, turning on his backhand and darting away before the kid can react. Perfect. 

He looks up the ice and picks a line, driving across the neutral zone and crossing the blue line just to the right of the middle of the ice. A defender makes a move at him, but he fakes him out and heads for the net. The goalie’s similarly helpless, and Aaron’s got the puck in the back of the net in no time at all. Like skating on a cloud. 

He heads back to the bench amidst cheers and pats on the back. See, that wasn’t so bad. How long do you have left, a period and change? You can keep it together. He loves having fun on the ice, but he wishes it didn’t feel so fragile. He wishes he didn’t feel so alone. 

“Hey, Aaron, come here a minute, will you?” Dave calls when he gets back on the bench. Aaron nods at him and throws his water bottle back on the shelf, fish hooking his mouthguard and stepping over to Dave. “First of all, nice goal,” he says, patting Aaron’s shoulder. 

“Thanks,” he mutters around the mouthguard. 

“But,” Dave continues. “I want you to keep in mind your support system. Derek was calling for a pass over there by the dots when you went into the zone. Did you hear him?” 

Oh, God. Aaron hadn’t heard him at all. He’d been too busy trying to get the shot off, trying to ride the wave of emotion he’d so carefully built up-

“I just need you to stay on the lookout for that kind of thing. Passing to him would have been the safer, quicker option, and you should have taken it.” Dave’s absolutely right. He should have seen that. He should have passed. Derek’s going to hate him now. They’re all going to hate him and they should because he’s an arrogant puck hog who thinks he’s better than everyone- “Aaron?”

“Huh?”

“Do you understand?”

“Yeah.” Aaron nods distantly, walking back to his end of the bench and sitting down heavily. He shouldn’t have scored that goal. It was just a chance thing, him trying to make himself look better. That’s what he gets for getting caught up in his head and playing emotionally. He’s just got to refocus. Alright, refocus. Breathe. Watch the game. Listen to the sounds of the rink.

Oh, no. 

Oh, this is not good. 

Even sitting down, he can feel his feet start to tingle. His breathing’s speeding up and his vision is tunneling. He knows what happens next: he gets out on the ice and skates around like a zombie. He acts like an 8U player who’s never seen a puck in his life god damnit, Aaron, why aren’t you even trying? If you worked out more, this wouldn’t happen. If you were less dramatic, this wouldn’t happen. 

Breathe in, breathe out. Dave doesn’t need this sort of thing happening on the bench while he’s got a game to win. 

Kevin’s calling to get off the ice. Aaron wants to go back on the ice (no he doesn’t, he wants to crawl in a hole and die), but his body’s not responding. Come on, legs, jump the boards. 

Finally, with some aggressive prompting, his body responds and he hits the ice. The play’s already moving past him this time, down the ice and towards Penelope. Oh, he’s got to help Penelope. Why is everything so slow? This is Aaron’s fault somehow, he’s sure of it. 

He’s trying to catch up to the play, but it’s like he’s a floating head in a sea of bodies. What’s he supposed to do? 

He gets the puck on his stick, but his hands won’t cooperate and the pass goes wide. Why is everyone staring at him?

“Aaron! Hotchner, get over here! Change, change, change!” That’s Dave. Go to Dave. Get off the ice now, Aaron, you’ve done your part. Aaron skates to the bench in the wake of the forward-moving play. Dave closes the door behind him. 

He sits on the bench and there’s this ludicrous, laughable, long moment where he can feel himself hyperventilating and hear the panic in his head, but he’s also perfectly calm, just sitting on the bench, nothing to see here. Then, it catches up with him oh, he can’t breathe. He can’t breathe at all. The team’s going to see him break down again and he has the urge to take his gloves off and dig his fingernails into his palms to make himself stop crying, but Dave gets there first, crouching down in front of him with firm hands on his shoulders. 

“Aaron? Are you hurt?” Aaron shakes his head. The floating’s back, and he thinks he’s lost the ability to talk. “Is there anything I can get you?” No. “Okay. You’re doing great. You’re doing such a good job out there. Keep breathing and give me a heads up when you’re ready to go back out, okay?” Aaron will never be ready to go back out again, but he nods. Dave smiles and pats him on the head. “Keep it up, kid.” 

Miraculously, it does pass. Not only does it pass, but Aaron finishes the game with flying colors. He finishes it happy, and they’ve moved on to round two of Sectionals, so the team is jumping on him and knocking into one another and laughing and he’s not faking it or far away when he does the same. 

He came back from an on-ice breakdown and had fun. He doesn’t think he’s ever done that before. 

He goes to bed that night and doesn’t dream at all.

Dave wakes up with not one, but two awkward, quiet teenagers with cups of coffee and resting bitch faces leaning over him. 

“Aaron?” he questions, not even bothering to sit up. “Why is Alex in our room at…”

“Five forty-three,” he supplies. 

“Five forty-three in the morning?” Alex cracks a smile and Dave sighs. 

Aaron shrugs. “I just wanted to let you know that we’re going down to get breakfast.” 

Dave sighs, rolling over and burying his face in his pillow. “Alright. Thank you for letting me know. Please don’t let me know about anything else until at least seven.”

Aaron and Alex snicker. “Yes, Coach,” Alex says, voice dripping with poorly suppressed humor. “See you when it’s a bit lighter outside.” 

As it turns out, the next time Dave sees them, it’s not really any lighter outside, despite being almost eight. Outside the breakfast room window, storm clouds gather, stirring low and dark over the parking lot and the throughway. A lone piece of paper skitters across the pavement and Dave shivers as though he could actually feel the wind. 

In the window, Alex and Aaron are sitting at a table for two, deep in conversation. At the next table over, JJ, Emily, Spencer, and Derek are doing much the same, albeit with a bit more visible emotion. Flat affect and all that. 

Alex sees him first. “Hey, Coach. Ready for Day Two?”

“I think I’m supposed to be asking you that, aren’t I?” Dave says, resting his hands on the table. Aaron glances up at him and gives him a half-smile. “How are you two feeling after last night?”

“Good,” Alex says. 

“Ready to win again,” Aaron adds. “We play the Junior Thunderbirds this morning, right?”

“Yes,” Alex supplies. “Then, in the afternoon, we play the Chargers. Depending on our standing at the end of the day, we’ll either be in the semi-finals or some other round, I’m not really sure. Either way, we play another game later tonight.” 

Dave nods. “Right.” He claps his hands together and sighs. “Well, we should probably head to the rink in about twenty minutes or so. You all ready?”

Aaron nods. “My stuff’s in the car, I just need to grab my jacket and my water bottle.”

“Perfect. Alex, are you driving over?”

“Of course. I think James might be meeting us there. He was going to try and make it today.” She smiles, and Dave smiles back. James is a good kid. It’ll be nice to have some support in the stands going into an anxious second day.

If Dave’s being one hundred percent honest, he’s never taken his own team to Sectionals before. He and his ragtag band of co-ed kids are wildly and obviously out of place under the expensive, extensive banners and among the tee shirt booths. He knows the other coaches, just like the kids know the other players, but no one wants them there, least of all since they started winning. 

He watches Aaron and Derek herd the team out the back door and into warmups and reflects on the upcoming game. They’ve actually never played the Thunderbirds before, but Aaron was watching a lot of footage last night and seems secure in the team’s ability to come out on top. They’ve got a rehearsed, prep-school style that won’t last long against the chaotic, passionate onslaught of the BAU. Aaron’s got them just organized enough now to weaponize the energy, turn it at the enemy of choice and overwhelm them with unpredictability. Meanwhile, players like Emily and Spencer keep the opposition on their toes, and Garcia’s unusual playing style throws shooters off their marks. It’s a good set up if Dave does say so himself. 

Really, the only issue will be getting Aaron through the weekend. 

Dave’s not stupid. He saw what happened yesterday. He saw the way the kid collapsed in on himself, completely shutting down with the first big mistake. Dave’s been in touch with Jason Gideon a bit more in the intervening weeks, and he’s picked up enough of a background to begin to understand where the kid’s coming from. 

Aaron came into Shattuck St. Mary’s halfway through his sophomore year, transferring from a middle-of-nowhere public school and a big-name private league. He took to the coaching style like a duck to water, throwing himself headfirst into the prep atmosphere. Within a year, there wasn’t a soul in the state of Minnesota that didn’t know his name. Then, he made it to U18s at the tender age of sixteen. Then, he got recruited to play with the Junior USA Team, an offer which ultimately fell through thanks to scheduling issues. Then, he led the team to a national championship. In the classroom, he was best described as “hard to control.” His teachers could tell he was smart, but getting him to focus was another matter entirely. Gideon wrote it off as boredom. Dave felt a bit more inclined to call it mental illness. The kid’s transcript read like a cry for help. 

Then, it happened. According to Gideon, Aaron started to get spacy around October of his senior year. He couldn’t track plays on the ice. He would slow down in the middle of a lap. He suffered from persistent, apparently psychosomatic light-headedness. He tried to stop it, or so Dave gathered. He threw himself headlong into whatever activities he could find, including, according to Gideon, several late-night and early-morning classes and workout sessions. By Dave’s estimates, the kid couldn’t have been sleeping more than four or five hours a night before he came to him, which would explain the week and a half of constant mid-afternoon naps and under-eye bags when he first arrived. Poor kid. 

All of that still didn’t quite add up to what Dave was seeing, though. There was a piece he was missing, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to find it. 

Sighing, he stands up and heads to the locker room to get ready for Game Number 2. 

“Alright, so.” He claps his hands, regarding the team watching him anxiously from the benches. They’re all dressed, with the exception of helmets and gloves, and Spencer even has his neck guard. Across the room, legs are bouncing, mouth guards are being chewed, and eyes are darting side to side and meeting with ferocious intensity. Good. The high stakes are focusing them better than Dave’s words ever could. “What did we learn yesterday?”

Spencer’s hand shoots up. “In this tournament, we can’t afford to give any space. People are so desperate to win that they’ll do whatever it takes, and we can’t leave room for conventional sportsmanship.” A series of nods makes its way around the room. Faces grow grim, preparing to leave the kind camaraderie of the pregame behind and enter a game mentality. “We have to be prepared to either deliver or take a beatdown, regardless of how we feel about it.”

Derek nods. “Spencer’s right. Even though we’ve played some of these teams before, it’s not the same game. Yesterday, I noticed we got taken off guard a few times before we realized how fast they would be coming into our zone. I especially saw it in the wingers. You guys have to be ready to help out the defenders, even if you think it’s not the same kind of help as the center gives.”

“Thank you, Derek, that’s absolutely right. Our wings always need to be ready,” Dave affirms. “Anyone else?”

Aaron doesn’t bother raising his hand. “Don’t be intimidated,” he says. “No one out there is any better than you. There’s no magical thing you’re missing. Go out there and fuck shit up. Show them that they’re not as special as they think they are.” He looks around at each of them in turn. “I know this is the first time doing something like this for a lot of you. Show them that it doesn’t take any special training or hundred-thousand dollar school to be that good. Show them that it’s all in their heads.” He closes his eyes and starts bouncing his leg again. “That’s all.”

Well, Dave can’t top that. 

“High, high, high,” Derek calls, cycling around to the top of the zone. JJ throws him a pass and he moves into the high slot, lining his hands up for a shot. 

“Shot,” someone calls. 

“No, no, don’t do that, Derek,” Dave murmurs. 

“It’s alright,” Spencer says. “He’s just going to-” Derek swings hard into what looks like a slapshot, but just before he makes contact, he turns and passes to Aaron, who steps around the winger on him and drives the puck home over the goalie’s shoulder. “That,” he finishes, kicking the boards and breaking off into a cheer. 

Dave nods, giving his own support in the form of a wave and a nod to the line as they come back to the face-off. Five minutes into the first and they’ve got a goal. The Thunderbirds don’t seem to realize what they’re in for. 

The Thunderbirds’ captain turns and gestures to his line. “Don’t worry about it, guys,” he yells. “Come back strong.” 

Meanwhile, Alex glances to Aaron, who nods. “Morgan!” He turns to face her. “Thirty and down?”

He taps his stick in confirmation. “Thirty and down,” he barks as the referee prepares to drop the puck. 

Thirty and down is the brainchild of Spencer, Aaron, and Penelope. It’s a quick play involving swapping Aaron for Emily and starting the play with a reverse into the defensive zone. Emily takes it around back and passes it to JJ, who passes it to Aaron up at the red line. By the time the Thunderbirds realize he’s cherry-picking, it’s far too late to do anything about it. 

Aaron steps across the blue line with vicious intent, making quick work of the  defender who’d busted his ass trying to get back in time. 

“One on,” JJ calls, following him in as a trailer while Derek provides weak-side support. Aaron glances at number twenty three, who’s angling to push him into the boards, and turns on a dime, snapping the puck back to Emily. 

Just as Spencer had predicted, the Thunderbirds were totally unprepared for the change of pace. By the time they’ve realized what happened, Emily’s backhand is already in the net. 

“Yes!” Dave pumps his fist, throwing the door open as Alex and Aaron come coasting in. Alex gives Kevin a fist bump on his way out and Aaron taps Maeve’s stick with his own, then they both turn to Dave, faces flushed and split with mouthguard-filled grins. 

“It worked,” Aaron says between breaths. 

“Worked? It was like a drill,” Dave says, pointing to where the Thunderbirds’ coach is scribbling on his whiteboard in a desperate attempt to fill his team in on the happenings of the game. “Their head coach has no idea what to do next.” 

Out on the ice, Spencer is taking control of the ice with a confidence Dave has only begun to see in the last month or so. He grabs a pass from Maeve high in the defensive zone and curls up into the neutral zone. Aaron and Alex cheer as he passes to Ashley and they break into the zone together. Ashley takes it deep and sets the BAU up for what turns out to be a good thirty-second run of  the offensive zone. 

“Change, change, change,” Derek yells, and Spencer and Will curl off and head to the bench. 

Aaron turns to Dave. “We’re going to leave Kevin and Maeve out for a bit longer to give them a chance to settle in,” he says. 

“Alright,” Dave affirms, and turns his gaze back to the ice as Kevin takes a breakaway to the boards. “Body, Lynch, body!” 

Kevin drives the guy to the wall and pins him, using his center of gravity to his advantage and picking the puck from him. He dumps it behind the net and Aaron groans, but Maeve picks it up and loops back, making enough space to slide a pass up to JJ. 

“Change, Kevin,” Alex calls. Kevin and Maeve come sprinting to the wall as the play moves up ice and Aaron and Alex go rocketing out. 

This is going to be good. 

“Oh, my god, did you see that pass I made in the second period? The saucer one?”

“That was fucking epic, no cap.”

“Morgan, what does that even mean?” Dave asks, taking a sip of his Coke. He’s sitting in a supermarket cafe with Aaron, Derek, Spencer, and Penelope. The kids are ecstatic after this morning’s win, and the food is only getting them more hyped up for the afternoon. 

Spencer answers. “‘No cap’ means ‘it’s the truth,’ or ‘no lie.’ I don’t get it either.” He takes a bite of his pizza and leans against Derek. “I’m tired. I’m going to take a nap now.”

Aaron snorts. “You skated hard this morning,” he says. “I’d be tired, too.” 

Derek nods. “I was not expecting you to check that guy so hard.”

“Who, number thirty-seven?”

“Yes, number thirty-seven,” Penelope squeaks. “I thought he was going to break you! You’re so small.” She ruffles Spencer’s hair and the kids all laugh. 

“Alright, alright, that’s enough bullying Spencer,” Dave chides. “Is everyone heading back to the hotel after this?” 

Aaron nods. “I’m tired,” he admits. “I want a nap before we go back for the one p.m. game.” 

“Same,” Derek and Penelope respond simultaneously. Spencer is still pretending to sleep on Derek’s shoulder, so he abstains. 

“That can be arranged,” Dave agrees. “Derek, are you driving the heathens back, or are they riding with me?”

“Derek,” Spencer mumbles. Penelope nods. 

“Well, I guess they’re riding with me,” Derek laughs. Of course, Dave should have known better than to try and separate his dynamic trio. Having Penelope on the team was actually part of what made Derek push so hard for the BAU to be co-ed in the first place and, since Spencer joined, the three had become joined at the hips. “Ready to go?”

Everyone nods. “Alright, I’ll see you all at the rink at noon. Aaron?”

“I’m coming.” 

“Everyone ready?” Derek questions, leaning low over the huddle. “If we win, it’s straight to the semifinals. If we lose, well, that’s not happening.” 

Aaron nods. “Remember the spark that got us to where we are right now. Us being here isn’t a coincidence, it’s the result of a lot of hard work and talent. Let’s get to it. Derek?”

“BAU on three! One, two, three-”

“BAU!” 

The team scatters, the front line heading out to the face-off and the second going back to the bench. Penelope hugs Derek and Aaron and smiles at Dave, then goes off to her crease, touching her stick to either side of the net and settling into a ready position. 

“Come on, kids,” Dave mutters, leaning against the glass and crossing his arms. The team they’re playing right now, the Chargers, are notorious for their organized, aggressive playing. Fortunately, the BAU is known for their ability to throw off and surprise highly organized teams. Dave doesn’t make a habit of teaching hive minds like some other coaches (ahem, Gideon). It seems like a detriment to some people, especially when he tells them that they only have a handful of preplanned plays, but it means that, no matter what happens, he can trust his kids to adjust intelligently and cohesively. They know how to work together and think alone, and he’s so proud of that. 

Out on the ice, the referee blows the whistle and Dave’s heart rate picks up. Derek crouches down, stick poised to strike, and JJ and Emily lean into the circle. Before the puck drops, Emily exchanges shoves with the opposing winger, each trying to establish their dominance. Before they can get very far, though, one of the linemen puts a stop to it. 

Someone in the stands shouts. 

The puck drops, and the ice explodes into motion. The Chargers win the drop and their far defender curls into the zone. Mistake. Derek pursues, chasing after him while Emily and JJ cut off the passing options. In the neutral zone, Aaron and Alex cover any remaining opportunities for escape. 

“Yes,” Dave cheers as the second line kicks the boards in support. The BAU’s got them completely trapped. Game on, kids, game on. 

“Trapped” turns out to be an apt term to describe the flow (or lack thereof) of the rest of the game. It’s certainly not the easy win of earlier in the day, and control repeatedly bounces back and forth through the first and second period. Right now, they’re up by one, but that doesn’t mean much about what’s going on on the ice. 

The BAU’s pinned down in their own zone, cycling around and around as the Chargers look for an opening. They’ve been down there for going on a minute and a half, and Derek and Aaron are anxious to get a change. 

“Come on, let’s get out of there, guys,” Aaron calls. As he does, Dave notices something he’s seen exactly three times in the last game and never before in the month or so Aaron’s been with them. Down the bench, Derek shoots him a dirty look, lips pursed like he wants to say something. Then, the Chargers take a shot and Derek’s eyes snap out to the ice and the moment passes. 

Dave frowns.

“Time! Winning five to four over the Adelphi Chargers, the Baltimore Angels United will go on to play in the semifinals later tonight! Congrats, BAU. We’ll see you again at seven.” The announcer turns the music on and the kids flood to the doors in a cacophony of cheers and hugs. Dave smiles even as he watches Derek and Aaron skip their post-game conversation.

In the locker room, Derek and Aaron seem fine, delivering their post-game notes and congratulating the team as one, but Dave still brings it up in the car. 

“You and Derek seemed a little tense out there today. Any idea what happened?”

Aaron frowns. “I actually don’t know. We were just a little annoyed at each other, you know? It happens sometimes. I don’t think it was anyone’s fault. We’ll be over it soon.” He shrugs, toeing his shoes off and tucking his feet up onto the seat. 

“Good. You two work well together. I’d hate to see something come between that.” Dave smiles across the seat and Aaron smiles back. There’s something alive in it, something Aaron had been missing when he’d first come to Dave. 

Of course, Dave knows all good things must come to an end. It would be too much to ask to win every game and have the team happy and have Aaron not hyperventilate (not even once). It would just be too much. There must be balance in the universe. Maybe that’s why he’s really not that surprised when Derek and Aaron refuse to look at each other as they shake the officials’ hands and stand in line as the announcer congratulates them on moving on to the finals and the crowd cheers. It’s fine. It happens sometimes, and Aaron doesn’t even really look that upset about it. It’s fine, and he’s not surprised. 

He is surprised, though, when Penelope comes running up to him in the warming room, workout shirt still on and hair a mess, and gestures for him to come quickly to the locker room. He’s surprised at what he finds there. 

“... Weren’t so concerned about that when we were out on the ice!” The voice belongs to Derek, and he’s angry, so angry that Dave can hear him even before he opens the door.

“Listen to me.” Oh, lord, that’s Aaron. Dave opens the door. Aaron and Derek are on their feet in the middle of the locker room, gear off and faces red. Aaron throws his hands in the air. “We almost lost today, and if it wasn’t for you and your ego, your obsession with-”

“ My ego? Oh, that’s funny,” Derek says, a mean laugh unlike anything Dave had heard from him coloring his voice. “I thought it was you that came in with your ego and your prep school skills and ran over everything and you think you’re better than everyone else and-”

“Hey!” Dave steps between the two and all eyes in the locker room turn to him. Both of the boys’ eyes are shining, and Spencer’s actively crying. “That’s enough. Aaron, go take a walk. I’ll get your stuff. Meet me at the car. Derek, I don’t want to hear another word from you. Pack your things and get back to the hotel. We’ll talk about this in the morning.” He shakes his head as the two just keep staring. “I can’t believe I have to deal with this sort of behavior on an eighteen and under team. You’re like children.” They keep looking. “What are you staring at? Get going!” 

Aaron all but sprints out of the room and Derek gets down to the business of gathering his things. 

Dave walks out to the car with trepidation, with his heart in his throat and Aaron’s bag heavy on his shoulder. A fight like that won’t come without repercussions. 

He sets the bag down next to the car and leans the sticks on it. Knocking on the window, he calls quietly, “Aaron? You around?” Nothing. He opens the door and is hit with the worst choking, sobbing sound he;s ever heard come out of a physically healthy person. “Kid?”

He’s in the back seat, feet up and head between his knees. His hands are on his head, scratching his face and pulling his hair and flapping aimlessly in the air. The poor kid’s shoulders are heaving, shuddering up and down with the force of his sobs. “Okay, okay,” Dave says. “Breathe, kid. I’ll be right there.”

Dave ducks back out of the car and crams the equipment in the back of the car as quickly as he can, then opens the back door and taps the seat next to Aaron. “Can I sit down?”

Aaron’s head jerks up, giving Dave a view of the scratch marks and tear tracks and red eyes that make up his wrecked face. “No,” he croaks. “No, I don’t- go away.” 

“Can’t do that, kiddo. You’ve got to calm down.” Dave comes a bit closer, not sitting down but leaning near him. Aaron flinches away and Dave backs up. “Sorry, shouldn’t have done that.” 

“S’okay,” Aaron manages. “You can sit.” 

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright.” Dave sits gingerly, careful not to touch Aaron’s arm. Even from here, he can feel the heat radiating off the kid, feel the fear. 

The closeness seems to open some kind of damn within Aaron. A hoarse scream of sorts tears out of his throat and Dave closes the car door, giving Aaron privacy as he dissolves completely into the attack. He kicks, he cries, he twists and screams as the emotions rip through him. Dave wishes there was something he could do, but he doesn’t think there is. 

“Hurts,” Aaron chokes. “Hurts, Dave, I can’t do it. I’m dying.” 

“Oh, kiddo,” he breathes. “You can do it, I promise. This will pass.”

“No-” he breaks off into a particularly painful sob “-no it won’t.” Then, pathetically weak, “I don’t feel good.” 

“I know, Aaron.” 

“I really don’t feel good.” Something happens and the attack intensifies, pushing Aaron back into the seat and driving him to push the sleeve of his hoodie up and make a move to scratch at his arm. 

“Hey, no,” Dave says, lunging forward and grabbing his wrist. Aaron chokes and jerks back, but Dave holds strong. “Hey, hey, I’m not going to hurt you, but you can’t hurt yourself.” Aaron relaxes a bit and Dave looks down at his arm. It’s covered in older nail marks: red lines and skipping, jagged scabs. Dave inhales. “Aaron, what is this?” As if he doesn’t know. Doesn’t know what he’s been missing. Aaron hasn’t been getting any better, he’s just been collapsing. 

Aaron yanks his arm away. “No, no, no,” he murmurs. “I really don’t feel good.”

“Aaron, do I need to take you to the hospital?” It’s not something he wants to ask, but he has to. If he can’t calm him down, stop this, he’ll have no choice. “Hey, talk to me.” 

Aaron takes a deep, shuddering breath and looks up at him, making eye contact for the first time since the game. “It’s getting better,” he says. “It’ll stop, I promise.” 

Dave sighs, releasing his hand. Aaron tucks it close to his body, pulling his sleeve back down. “Can I give you a hug, kid?” 

Aaron nods and Dave reaches forward. Aaron leans into him, not so much reciprocating the hug as just sagging against him, forehead pressed to his chest and arms by his side, leaving Dave with an armful of distraught teenager. Dave wraps his arms around him and they sit like that for a few long minutes, the silence of the car broken only by Aaron’s ragged breathing and slowly dissipating sobs. At last, he grows quiet and pulls back from Dave. 

“I want to go back to the hotel,” he murmurs. 

“Alright,” Dave says for what feels like the millionth time that day. He gets out and moves to the front of the car. 

They get back to the hotel. Aaron rides the elevator silently and puts his bag on the table silently and takes a shower silently and Dave does his best to not say anything until the kid comes out, wrapped in his favorite comfort hoodie and staring down at the floor. He sits on the edge of his bed and looks up at Dave the way one looks down the barrel of a gun. 

“So, do you want to talk about what happened?” Dave asks.

Aaron shrugs. “I guess.” 

“Alright.” Dave leaves his hands by his sides as he talks, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible in the face of Aaron’s obvious tension. “Let’s start at the beginning. Was that meltdown in the car because of the argument with Derek, or was the argument with Derek because of the meltdown?”

Aaron considers this for a moment, then mutters, “The second one, I guess.”

“Okay, that makes sense. Do you know why you were so upset?” Dave can think of a few reasons, ranging from typical teenage mood swings to an unexpected trigger to stress at school, but he doesn’t want to mention any of them until Aaron comes to his own conclusions. 

Aaron frowns, picking at the sheets. “I don’t know. It just happens sometimes.”

“Can we maybe talk about why it happens?” Another shrug. “Kid, I can tell there’s something you’re not telling me.” 

Aaron scrubs a hand across his eyes. “No.”

“Yeah.” Another swipe. Then a sniffle. Tears are welling up. If Dave pushes now, he’ll crack. “Aaron, what’s going on?”

He shoots to his feet. “Everything! Everything’s always going on, and I’m always tired and everything hurts and this is all pointless anyway and- and I just give up!” He punctuates the last sentence with a sob. Dave doesn’t react. He’s pretty sure that the crying is just an outlet for the emotion behind the conversation, and that Aaron’s still ready to talk to him. 

“What do you mean, ‘you give up?’ What’s too much?”

Aaron huffs angrily. “What, like that’s an ambiguous statement? I give up. I’m done. I’m throwing in the towel. I hate hockey and I hate school and I hate everything and I’m tired and it’s never going to get any better and I’m not doing it anymore.” 

Dave feels a bit sick. It’s good they’re having this conversation, because these are the kinds of thoughts parents’ nightmares are made of. “You’re tired of the way your life’s going?”

Aaron sits back down, head in his hands. He sniffs. “Yeah.”

“Well, if you really don’t want to play hockey anymore, you can stop. The game’s supposed to be something for you to enjoy.” 

Aaron shakes his head. “I can’t quit.”

“Why? Something’s gotta give, kid.” Dave leans forward, hands clasped together on his knees. 

“I can’t stop,” he repeats. “I’m stuck.”

“What are you stuck in. Come one, kid, talk to me. With the way you’re acting, I’m going to take you to the E.R. if you don’t give me something.” Dave’s not lying. He’s fully aware that there are things he’s not equipped to deal with, just like he’s fully prepared to do whatever he has to to help Aaron, even if that means the kid’ll hate him. 

Aaron glares at him from beneath his bangs. “That’s not fair.”

“It’s the truth.” 

Another disgruntled sigh. Aaron runs his hands through his hair a few times, trying to get his breathing under control again. “Okay, I give. You want to know, well, here it is. I can’t quit hockey, just like I can’t stop going to school or going to college or any of the shit that I do. If I lose hockey, I lose everything.”

“Why?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Are you kidding me? Scholarships. My entire future hinges on me playing hockey at Harvard. It’s not like I can back out.” He blinks a few times as he starts to spiral again. “I can’t back out and I can’t do it anymore. I’m so sick of going home and going to school and being scared all the time and this hurts so much. I don’t want to, I just want it to stop.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Dave interrupts, putting a hand on Aaron’s knee. “Breathe, kid. It can stop. I’ll help you; let’s figure this out together. You don’t want to play college hockey because it’s too much pressure, right?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Deep breathes, there you go. Alright, so let’s say you don’t play college hockey.” Aaron interrupts him with a desperate sob. “No, no, it’s alright. Let’s say you don’t. Then what? You pay for Harvard outright minus whatever academic shit they give you?” 

Aaron shakes his head. “I can’t. I have no money.”

“So your parents won’t help?” Aaron just laughs. “Okay, do you have anything saved up? You said you worked for a while, right?”

Aaron nods, then shakes his head. “None of it’s in my account.” Dave closes his eyes against the rage that comes with looking down that particular wormhole. Poor kid’s boxed in on all sides, then. 

“So no money and a college education to pay for. Kid, you know I’ve got money, right? I live in a fucking mansion.” 

Aaron’s head snaps up. “What?”

Dave laughs, nodding. “Yeah. I’d be glad to give you some help, something to make sure you’re not drowning in debt by the time you finish four years. You’re prelaw, right? You’ll pay it back.”

Aaron goggles at him. “You’d do that?”

“Yeah, kid, I would.” 

Aaron breathes out slowly. “I… thank you.” His face drops, though. “I can’t. It won’t work.” 

“Why?” Dave questions.

“He would… he would never let me. I have to go home and he’d never let me go back without hockey.” Aaron looks down again, hiding behind his bangs. 

Dave proceeds oh-so-carefully. This is the time. This is when he gets what he needs to email Gideon and save this poor fucking kid. “Who, Aaron?”

Aaron chokes down a sob. “My-my dad. He’s not very- not very nice, and he’s sick and it makes him desperate, that’s all. He wants me to play hockey and be a lawyer, but I don’t think I can.” 

Dave squeezes Aaron’s knee. “Aaron, if I let you go home after States, are you going to be in danger?”

Aaron looks up at him, looks right into his eyes for a very long, quiet moment. Then, slowly, cautiously, he nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.” He blinks and huffs out something almost like a laugh. “Yeah.” 

“Is Sean or your mother?”

Aaron shakes his head. “No. It was never about them. He was always good about that.” Another bitter laugh.

Dave’s stomach turns, but he soldiers on. “Okay. Thank you for telling me. I know that was hard for you to do.” Aaron nods. “I won’t do anything you don’t want me to, but is it alright with you if I get in touch with some people at Shattuck St. Mary’s about this?” Dave’s got a couple of ideas for some colorful emails to one Jason Gideon. 

Aaron shrugs. “It won’t do much. Gideon already knows. He says there’s nothing he can do about it.” Dave raises a questioning eyebrow and Aaron elaborates. “You know how I came in mid-year? Well, my dad and I had an… altercation, and my mom called the police and we both had to go to the E.R. and it turned into a sort of thing, so my dad shipped me off to keep people quiet. Gideon knew because of my medical records and because of some paperwork my dad pushed through. I don’t really know the details, but Gideon brought me into his office and asked me to tell him what was going on at home. I did, and now he doesn’t force me to go home for breaks and shit. Except during the summer, but I’m mostly overseas then, anyways.”

Dave takes a moment to process this. “Well, I’m telling you right now that I’m going to force Gideon’s hand on this one. That or go over his head. Either way, if you want to, I can set it up so that you stay with me over the summer.”

Aaron stares at him again. “Really?”

“Uh huh. Swear on my life. You can stay with me, and we’ll get everything else sorted out as it happens. As for hockey, I want you to keep talking to me about how you feel. I’ll never make you play if you don’t want to, but I’d love for you to be able to enjoy the sport. As for further steps towards making sure tonight doesn’t repeat itself, we can talk about that when we’re not both falling asleep,” he laughs. “Are we good?”

Aaron nods. “We’re good.” He’s obviously still upset, but it seems to be mostly left over from the earlier attack. 

“Alright. Try and get some rest, kid.” 

“I will.”

“So, you’re going to apologize to him?”

“Yes, Dave, I’m going to apologize,” Aaron groans. “It’s not that big a deal.” He shrugs his jacket on and turns towards the door. 

“Whatever you say, killer. Just making sure.” Dave follows Aaron out the door and does one last check of the room over his shoulder. Nothing left behind, so he closes the door and they start towards the elevator. “How are you feeling about the game?”

Aaron glances up at him. “Nervous, I guess. It’s a big game.” 

Dave nods. In all honesty, he’s nervous, too. All the preparation in the world can’t get you ready for the gut-wrenching anticipation of a championship game. They’re going to States whether or not they win, but winning is still a big focus, of course. “Do you think they’re ready?”

“Of course,” Aaron says as the elevator doors close. “Whether they know it or not, they have what it takes to win this game. I’m glad we’ve never played them before, though. I don’t want any preconceptions going in.” 

“Hmm. Are you feeling ready?”

“Me? Absolutely.” 

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the 2020 Boys 18 and Under Triple A Section Four Championship! Playing this morning we have, in the number one seed, the Baltimore Angels United!”

In the crowd and on the ice, cheers erupt. Derek stops what he’s doing to do a little wave-salute and Penelope blows a kiss to her mother and father. Aaron grins and punches Alex in the shoulder. She shoves him back. 

“And in the second seed, we have the Lochearn City Legends! Let’s hear it for today’s contestants,” the announcer finishes amid cheers for the opposition. 

Dave takes a deep breath and glances over to the opposite bench. The assistant coach looks back at him and they nod to each other. Whatever happens next isn’t personal. 

Out on the ice, Derek and Aaron are finishing up the warmups and bringing the team together around the net. They’d talked earlier, and whatever had been said had healed the rift between the two of them. Despite his confidence in front of Aaron, Dave had actually been quite worried about what might happen if they weren’t able to reconcile it. Derek and Aaron make up much of the emotional and technical backbone of the team. A fractured first line wouldn’t do on a day like today. 

The referee blows the whistle and the BAU draws closer. Derek’s voice rings loud and clear through the rink. “BAU on three! One, two, three-”

“BAU!” 

The Legends do a similar, albeit weaker cheer and the two first lines head to the face-off. 

“Let’s go, Angels. Give it all you’ve got,” Dave shouts. Derek turns to him and makes brief eye contact, just enough for Dave to nod reassuringly before he ducks down over the dot. The referee gestures to the Legends goalie and then to Penelope, who waves in response. 

The last gesture goes up to the score booth. “Time?” The referee nods at whatever acknowledgement he’s gotten from above and blows the whistle one last time. Aaron and Alex crouch. The linemen get set. JJ and Emily lean in and put their sticks to the ice. Dave’s heart squeezes. 

The puck drops and the ice snaps into motion. Derek shovels the puck back to Alex, who curls to the boards. She diffuses the pressure from the Legends by dropping a pass to Aaron, who sets up a complex little up-ice run with JJ. They make it to the red line before meeting hard pressure. A Legends winger brings JJ to the boards and she loses the battle. Dave groans as the play moves back into their own zone. 

“Box out, box out,” he calls as Aaron and Alex retreat to the net. Alex makes a run at the Legends player just outside the circles and Aaron stays goalside, pushing against the player trying to screen Penelope. 

Despite Emily’s best efforts, the Legends defender evades her and snaps a shot from the point. Dave sucks in a nervous breath, but Penelope drops quickly and covers the shot before the rebound can get out. The whistle blows and Alex and Aaron both tap her on the pads as they skate to the new faceoff. 

“Good, Garcia,” Dave calls. “Keep it up. Let’s get out of here, BAU.” 

And get out of here they do. Derek takes the puck right off the faceoff and breaks around the back of the net. “High, high, high,” Emily calls, and picks up a pass on the run. She’s through the first defender and in the zone before the Legends manage to so much as register the attack. “Trailer!”

JJ drops in behind her. “Here.” 

“Far corner,” Aaron adds. 

Emily makes one last move at the last defender, but he drives her to the wall. Before he can gain control, though, she dumps to JJ. JJ’s got the net all to herself when she shoots and, if there’s one person on this team who can find gaps in a goalie, it’s JJ. The puck soars in and the ice explodes into cheers. Emily jumps on JJ and they’re both taken down by Derek. 

“Alright, change ‘em up, change ‘em up,” Dave grumbles, feigning frustration as he taps Ashley on the shoulder. “Knock ‘em dead out there, kid.” 

“Can do, coach,” she chirps, fist-bumping the front line as she passes them. 

The first line crashes down onto the bench panting and smiling. “JJ, that was amazing,” Alex says, grabbing her water bottle. 

“Are you kidding me? I couldn’t have done it without you  annihilating  that kid in the corner!” JJ grins out at the ice as Kevin and Maeve fend off a Legends run at the goal and Spencer breaks out of the zone. “This is going to be awesome.” 

“I can’t watch, I can’t watch,” Spencer squeaks, covering his cage with his gloves. 

“I’ll tell you when it’s over,” Will assures him. 

Dave kind of wishes he could cover his eyes, too. Despite their early lead, the second period had gotten a bit dicey and now, at the beginning of the third, they’re holding onto their lead by the skin of their teeth. He gasps aloud as a Legends player steps around Alex and gets another shot off. Penelope blocks it, though, and Aaron races behind the line to beat the next Legends player to the rebound. He gains control and looks up to pass. 

“Aaron, go! Go, take it and go,” Dave shouts. Aaron knows he has permission to do what he needs to do, but he needs a bit of a reminder sometimes. Aaron doesn’t look up, but his head twitches and his grip shifts and Dave knows he’s made up his mind. “Go, kid!”

“You can look now,” Will says to Spencer. Then, as Aaron makes it past the blue line and starts making short work of the defense, “You might want to look now. Come on, Hotch!”

Aaron slips through the defenders like a hot knife through butter and holy shit, he’s got half the offensive zone to himself. The Legends coach is screaming, the goalie looks panicked, and really, it’s inevitable when Aaron comes crashing down the the net, driving the shot home and curling around to celebrate with the rest of the team. 

“Hell yes, kid!” Now they’re up by two. Eleven more minutes and they’ve made it. 

“Five, four, three, two, one, HOLY FUCKING SHIT!” Emily launches herself over the bench and the rest of the kids quickly follow. Dave thinks his face might break from smiling so hard as he steps out onto the ice. The team’s fallen into one big puppy pile in front of the net, Penelope, Aaron, and Derek on the bottom and Maeve and Spencer on the top to avoid getting crushed. At the other end of the ice, the Legends are looking a bit like someone stole Christmas, and Dave is a big enough person to admit that it makes him even prouder. 

He has eleven kids and a prayer. They have twenty boys and all the resources they could ever hope for. What was that quote from the song on Aaron’s warm up playlist? ‘It’s not the size of the dog in the fight; it’s the size of the fight in the dog.’

Something like that.

In the locker room, Dave can hardly get a speech out for how loudly the kids are still cheering. There are more than a few tears falling down more than a few cheeks, but that’s quite alright. They did just win the biggest game of their lives after all. 

“Who’s ready for States?” Derek cheers.

A chorus of “me’s” is interrupted by Emily looking up from her phone and clearing her throat. “You guys aren’t gonna believe this,” she warns. 

“What?”

“The Breezy City Reapers won their section.” 

Oh, Lord.

Aaron wakes up tired, sore, and pissed off. That’s not very unusual, but what is is the sheer number of notifications on his phone. He’s gotten used to having more ever since the team added him to their group chat, but this is just excessive. He groans, propping himself up on one elbow and scrolling through the list. 

56 new snaps from Group Chat: ✨Big Ass Unit✨

3 new messages from Haley Brooks ❤️

15 missed calls from Emily Prentiss (Hockey) 

22 new messages from Emily Prentiss (Hockey) 

What the fuck? He swipes away the group chat and clicks on Haley’s icon. 

Haley: ilpove you Aaron your the bestest big brotherty

Haley: If you didn’t notice, Sean says hi 

Haley: Also, Penelope posted some very cute pictures of you on her insta from sectionals. You look like a dork.

Me: :/

Me: why are you mean to me? (also hi Sean)

Bracing himself, he swipes away and clicks on Emily’s texts. 

Emily: Hotch

Emily: Hotch

Emily: Hotchner pick up your fucking phone we have a problem

(Missed call from Emily)

Emily: HOTCH

Emily: H

Emily: O

Emily: T

Emily: C

Emily: H

Emily: Mayday mayday you really need to hear about this

Me: What?

Me: wtf is going on are you okay?

Then he looks at the time and sees he’s going to be late for homeroom and promptly forgets about the whole affair for two hours. 

Emily corners him just outside of third block study hall. “Hotch, we need to talk,” she says just as he’s opening his mouth to speak.

“Yeah, no kidding. What happened last night?” He’s worried again, stomach twisting in knots at the thought of all the trouble Emily could have gotten into. “Are you okay?”

“Physically, yes,” she assures him. “It’s a long story. Ask to go to the bathroom or something and meet me above the auditorium, okay?” He nods and she runs off, disappearing around the corner just as the bell rings. He makes his excuses quickly and heads down to the auditorium under the guise of a meeting with his math teacher. 

The attic space above the auditorium is something of a little secret between him, Emily, and a few other members of the BAU (not everyone goes to the same school, so not everyone needs to know). They go up there for meetings, naps, and all manner of nonsense, and they haven’t been caught yet. They’re not the only ones who know about it, but they’re generally the only ones up there. 

To access the cramped, secret little space, Aaron jimmies the backstage door and closes it quietly behind him, feeling his way around the looming shadows of set pieces and the scatter of smaller props at his feet. Theaters always remind him of Haley, of the kiss she pressed to his hair backstage on that fateful night, the night he swears he’ll remember until the day he dies. He smiles and heads to the far corner, starting up the ladder towards the trap door in the ceiling. 

The scaling of the ladder is undoubtedly the riskiest part of the whole undertaking. He’s ten feet in the air; if someone comes in, he has no plausible explanation for what he’s doing and no way to hide. He pulls himself up as fast as he can and knocks on the trapdoor. 

It lifts away and a pale hand emerges from the dusty orange-dark to pull him up into the attic. “Took you long enough,” Emily grouses as he gets settled among the spare chairs and old costumes. Her phone sits face-up in the middle of the room, flashlight on in a parody of a lamp. She’s facing him over the phone, cheekbones thrown into harsh relief by the contrast of white light and deep shadow. “You would not believe the shit my mom pulled.”

“Do I ever?” Emily’s mom is notoriously fickle in her moods, secretive and prone to change on a dime should she find something that might be beneficial to either her or her daughter. Aaron has no problem with her, even finds her amusing, but Emily has to live with her, and finds her tiring. 

Emily laughs bitterly. “Yeah, well, you’re really going to like this one.” Aaron raises an eyebrow as she leans closer. “She submitted an application to NAHA. For me. In September. And I got accepted.” 

Aaron blinks. “Emily, that’s great. Why are you upset about that?”

“With the way my admission processed, I have to play in a showcase tournament. It starts on Saturday and it’s a week and a half long.” 

Aaron’s heart drops right through the floor. 

“-Dave, you don’t get it. Everything we’ve planned for, all the drills we’ve won, we need Emily! How are we going to get anywhere without a full shift?” Aaron’s pacing the length of the kitchen over and over and over again, hands waving and heart pumping so hard he can feel it in his fingers. He was so excited for States. He was so excited to go to States with a full team and do well because he had a team he could trust to be the same every time behind him. 

The same every time. 

Oh, God, this is going to destroy their whole dynamic. What about the front line? What about Emily and JJ’s plays and Derek’s drops back to defense so he and Alex could make runs? He sucks in a desperate breath and winces at the catch in his throat. He doesn’t want to have a panic attack right now. 

Dave closes his laptop. “Alright, we’re not having a panic attack about something that hasn’t even happened yet on a random Wednesday afternoon.”

Aaron stops and looks over to the man who’s quickly become something of a surrogate father to him. “No, we’re not, but I am. This is a big deal. If Emily won’t be here for States, we have a serious problem.” 

Dave purses his lips, considering this. “You’re right, but we still have this weekend’s games to get ready. She’s leaving on Friday, right?” Aaron nods. “So we’ll do some test formations on Saturday and see how they work. It’ll be fine.” 

“We’re so fucked.” 

“Derek, can we not announce that in front of the children, please?” Aaron hops over the boards and hits the ice, shooting some pucks over to the corners as the rest of the team comes out. 

Derek follows him and they skates over towards the opposite bench to shake hands with the coaches. “Seriously, though. I don’t want this to get everyone down right before States.”

Aaron sighs, shaking hands and turning back towards their own end of the ice. He waits for Derek to catch up before responding. “I know. Unfortunately, there’s not much either of us can do about that.” 

Derek shakes his head as they gesture for the team to set up for the McDonald’s drill. “I know. I just don’t like it.” 

They’re playing the Grangerville Rangers today, which is one of the most spectacularly unimaginative names Aaron has ever heard of. Their jerseys are even forest green, which is awful. They won their own section in Delaware, though, so they’ll make for a good challenge and an accurate gauge of their standing leading into States weekend. 

Considering they’ve lost a winger, he’s moved Spencer up to the front line. Aaron and Derek will take turns double-shifting to fill the spot. Should they get too tired, JJ and Alex have also been briefed on how to rotate in. They should be alright for this morning. It’s the afternoon he’s worried about. 

“Come on, Spencer, you can do it. Take a deep breath and get back out there.”

“I can’t, Coach, I can’t, I’m not ready for first line, it’s too much-”

Ashley comes to the bench and Dave gently pushes Spencer towards the door. “Don’t really have a choice, do you?”

“No.” Spencer steps out onto the ice and glances up to Aaron. 

“You’re alright, Reid,” Aaron says. “Just play your game.” He gestures up ice to the face off and Spencer follows him to the lineup. 

Privately, behind his helmet and his eyes, Aaron takes a moment to despair. It’s only been six and a half minutes and it’s all going to shit. Yes, they’re still at 0-0 and yes, they’re in the offensive zone, but Spencer’s nerves are not unique. More than that, six minutes of skating is always more tiring than one remembers and Aaron’s already wanting a break. Derek’s taking over for a few minutes after this, but Aaron can’t leave him out there for too long. They need Derek fresh and ready. 

Pulling his mouthguard back into his mouth, Aaron crouches at the edge of the circle, glancing over at Alex. She taps her stick once and nods. Derek glances over his shoulder and does the same. They’re ready. 

The puck drops and Derek snaps a pass back to Alex. They’re on the right side, so he and Aelx have switched in order to give her the forehand shot. She backs up and curls to the center, firing off a pass before the Rangers winger has a chance to rush her. The shot hits the goalie’s shoulder and ricochets off and the BAU breaks into motion, Spencer and JJ going deep and Derek staying high. 

Right now, Aaron’s job mostly consists of watching and waiting, shifting along the blue line in tandem with Alex in order to keep the play contained. In the interim, his mind drifts. 

The puck scrapes along the boards and a Rangers player makes a break for Alex’s side of the line. Aaron’s a bit more tired than he thinks he should be. His legs hurt. They hurt earlier, too, even when he was just sitting in class. Maybe it’s psychosomatic. He shakes his head. 

Derek calls his name and a pass comes his way. He fields it and sends it to Alex over on the far side of the ice. Dave made him go see a counselor a few days back as a follow-up to the Sectionals breakdown-slash-conversation. She told him that a lot of the things he’s experiencing are concerning, but overall unsurprising considering his rather unique situation. She wants to start him on a routine of therapy appointments and medication. He has a hard time in therapy. 

The Rangers make a break for the neutral zone, slipping past Spencer and Alex. Aaron turns and starts damage control, driving a far-side winger to the boards and cutting off the passing opportunity. Aaron shouldn’t need therapy, he just needs to try harder. He’s being dramatic, that’s all, and he should be better at hockey by now. A pass flies by him and he misses it. 

He takes himself to the boards. 

Dave shoots him a concerned look as he puts his head between his knees and starts a deep breathing routine. If he can catch this now, shut the thoughts down, he’ll be okay. He’ll be able to go back on the ice. He waves Dave off.

He’s alright. Nothing’s happening right now and hockey is a safe, enjoyable place.

His teammates probably talk about how weird he is behind his back.

He has friends here. He’s loved.

Emily won’t be here and he needs to find a way to get them through States. He’s not good enough for this. 

He’s not alone. If they lose States, then they’re victims of circumstance, not victims of Aaron’s incompetence. 

Not everything’s about you. 

Shit. Not that one. Nope nope nope nope nope not thinking about that. Aaron breathes and hits his clenched hand against his leg and tries to block the thought out, but the more he focuses on not thinking it, the louder it gets. 

Not everything’s about you. Not everything’s about you. Not everything’s about you. You’re self-centered. Narcissist. Everyone hates you. You should just-

A soft impact against his shoulder grabs his attention. He lifts his head and opens his eyes to find JJ leaning against his shoulder. She elbows him and says, “Stop thinking so hard, dork.” Then, softer, “You okay?” 

Aaron straightens, nudging her off him and stretching. “Yeah, I’m okay. What shift is up?” 

Ultimately, it’s good that Aaron has the little mental win, because it’s only the goal he manages to slip in during the third period that keeps them from losing entirely. The team walks to the locker room quietly, with all the moody tension of a dodged bullet. Everyone’s tired and no one wants to hear it, so Dave makes his post-game speech short and leaves.

Aaron takes his helmet and gloves off, wiping his face on a spare jersey and toweling his hair off. Sweat drips down his back, slimy and warm against the chill of his chest protector. The rink was hot and it’s not helping his energy levels. Across the locker room, Spencer twitches uncomfortably, trying to get out of his sweaty equipment as fast as possible.

He takes his jersey off and realizes his hands are shaking. He shows this to Penelope, who winces. 

“You play hard enough out there, Hotch?” she jokes. He laughs, pulls his hands back and pulling his jersey off. He’s got two and a half hours to eat and drink and rest and get himself mentally and emotionally ready for another game without Emily. He can do this. 

He has to do this. 

The best way to visualize the change in control going into the second game is to imagine the BAU and the Rangers as wrestlers. The BAU grabs the Rangers in a headlock, but instead of going down, the Rangers take the BAU by the arm and flip them over their shoulder and into the ground.

Aaron certainly feels like he’s been thrown at the ground right now. 

Swallowing back the hot burn of bile creeping up the back of his throat, he shakes his head and heads out to the second period face off. His legs are the things shaking now, trembling underneath him and threatening to give out at any minute. Even with help taking the double shifts, he’s been playing the majority of the game, and it’s starting to catch up to him. They’re down by one and they can’t afford to lose. 

Come on, Aaron. You’ve got to be there for them. You’ve got to hold the team up and give them everything you’ve got. 

The voice in his head is getting a little kinder these days, a little more constructive, and it makes it easier for Aaron to translate its requests into real action. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for just a moment as he searches his mind for that little door. He doesn’t open it often, because it can go catastrophically wrong and makes him unimaginably tired in the aftermath. 

There. It’s right there. Just get angry, Hotchner. Come on, let’s go let’s go let’s go. A wave of heat washes over him, from his head all the way down to his feet. He shivers, crouching down at the blue line, stick down in the ready position. The game is the only thing he has to worry about right now. He lets the anger from the most primal parts of his brain engulf him, lighting all his nerves and priming him for whatever comes his way. 

The puck drops. 

Ashley pushes forward.

Sticks collide. Bodies collide. The puck comes loose and Aaron moves. 

Aaron throws himself into the second period with single-minded intensity, jumping on every opportunity, chasing every puck. He skates, he shoots, he defends, and finally, finally, he scores. Then again. They’re up by one now and Derek comes up to give him a hug as they skate back to the bench. 

“Hey, dude, two in like, seven minutes? You’re on a roll!” Derek pats him on the shoulder and skates back to the bench. Aaron waves off Alex’s offer of a change. He can’t stop now. 

The puck drops on the next face off. Aaron’s on wing now, and he takes the opportunity to grab the puck and head up ice. 

Now, he would like to make it very clear that he would have scored again had it not been for the actions of the defender that apparently was not enamored with his behavior. It’s not Aaron’s fault he likes to play it rough, and it’s not his fault the others can’t keep up. Regardless, number five, who has about three inches and a hundred pounds on Aaron, takes it upon himself to drive Aaron into the boards. Aaron, of course, has been around this block before, and rises over the worst of the hit. This just makes Five angrier, though, and he comes back with a dirty hit to Aaron’s side that leaves his ribs aching and the puck nowhere to be seen. 

“What the fuck, man?” he spits. 

“Stay in your lane, fag. Watch your back,” Five snarls as he skates away. 

Aaron shakes his head, ignoring Dave’s call to the bench. In his head, he says something along the lines of, “Oh, you just wait, you piece-of-shit cunt-sucker.” According to Ashley and Will, what comes out is actually more like, “Aauuuggghhh.”

Either way, his vision tunnels and his heart skips a beat and he completely forgets everything else except Five has the puck he hit me he’s skating around the net get him get him GET HIM.

By the time Five manages to stand, Aaron’s already in the box.

“Number ninety-five blue, two minutes for Unnecessary Roughness.” The referee shuts the door with a deadpan face. 

Dave’s face when he comes down the bench is not so deadpan. He’s angry. Fuck, Aaron’s angry, too. He’s so angry it hurts and he has nothing to take it out on, so he kicks the wall. That doesn’t help, so he punches it and sags to the bench with hot, furious tears dripping down his cheeks and mingling with the sweat. 

“What the fuck, ” he growls. “What the fuck. You saw what he did to me, Coach; you should have heard what he said. Stupid motherfucker thinks he can get the best of me, I’ll show him what unnecessary roughness looks like-”

“ Aaron.” Dave thumps his fist against the plexiglass divider, leaning toward the gap so there can be no mistaking his words. “Calm down. I’ve already warned you about playing like that.”

“But Dave-”

“No. You sit in that box and cool down. You’ve put your team at a disadvantage.” Dave points at the scoreboard where his penalty has just started counting down. “Don’t hurt people, Aaron. It doesn’t help anything.”

It would, he thinks viciously. It would if they had any idea what I could do to them. It would if this were a real fight, if they couldn’t throw me in here whenever I get to be too much. 

He feels eyes on him: his teammates, the scorekeepers, the other team, the crowd. He leans back, spreading his legs and putting his hands behind his head. The tears keep falling, angrier and angrier, not enough to keep up with the lump in his throat. 

He’s at a crossroads. He can either give in to the knowledge that he’s done something wrong and lose the anger, lose the pain, lose the game, or he can stay this way and dominate the ice. His choice. 

Maeve fumbles a pass and Penelope slides the wrong way. They’re tied again. He’s not good enough. 

It’s not his choice. 

They lose. Of course they lose. Losing is inevitable, especially without two full lines. 

He misses Emily. He misses Haley. He wants to go home.

Where is that?