Team cuddle nights are by no means a regular occurrence, and they almost never happen when they’re on a case. Tonight, however, is a different matter.
Technically, Emily muses, they’re not on a case. The case ended four hours ago, but it’s the middle of the night and no one felt like getting back on the jet just then. No one felt like doing much in the way of anything, actually.
Tonight has all the makings of a Bad Night. The case was a long, hard one, a brutal week and a half of child abuse, murders, and kidnappings, and it didn’t end well. Just to top it off, before he blew his brains out, their unsub knocked Morgan in the head hard enough to have him seeing stars for the next few days, and Hotch is sick. Hotch is not admitting he’s sick, but most healthy people don’t make a habit of sneezing every five minutes and blanching every time they stand up.
Emily doesn’t particularly want to hear Spencer wake up screaming tonight, nor does she want to see the awful, haunted look in Hotch’s eyes tomorrow morning. She doesn’t want to know that Derek spent the night wondering how many Tylenol he could take without poisoning himself, and she doesn’t want to hold JJ while she cries after a tense phone call with Will. Hell, she doesn’t even know what Rossi gets up to on nights like this, and she still feels bad for him.
As for her, well, Emily fares about as well as the rest of them. She doesn’t have any triggers related to this case like Derek or Hotch do, but it was still really fucking horrible, and she doesn’t want to be alone. She won’t have to be, though. Bad Nights have their own special protocol, a ritual that begins when Rossi puts a hand to Hotch’s flushed forehead, cringes, and declares, “It’s movie night tonight.”
They go to their rooms to shower and change, then come trickling into Hotch and Rossi’s room one by one, trailing their hurts and insecurities and broken pieces behind them like blankets.
By the time Emily’s finished drying her hair (what does JJ do with the hair dryer that takes ten minutes?), the beds are pushed together and Derek, Spencer, and Rossi have already gotten settled in. Derek and Spencer are curled up under a comforter at the top of the far mattress, Spencer reading and Derek already engrossed in whatever movie Rossi’s put on. She’s pretty sure it’s Iron Man. Rossi himself is settled in the office chair, feet up on the coffee table and robe on. He’s not super big on the cuddling aspect of team cuddling nights, which Emily can respect. She wasn’t so sure of it herself until she woke up the first morning after feeling better than she had in years. Maybe there was something to the whole “touch-starved” thing.
In the bathroom, she can hear water running, so she assumes Hotch is in the shower. God, he looked awful today. He doesn’t get sick much, but when he does, he doesn’t do it in halves. It’s as if the illness builds up inside, waiting for the perfect moment to come out in force and ruin Hotch’s week. Vividly, she remembers the Jack-Hotch-Spencer-Penelope pneumonia disaster that had brought the unit to a crashing halt two winters ago. This is almost as bad. Hotch had nearly fallen asleep every time he’d sat down for the past two days, and he was coughing so much her own lungs burned in sympathy. She wanted nothing more than to hold him and run her hands through his hair and tell him that it was alright, that he could rest now, but she wasn’t sure if she was allowed.
JJ comes in behind her, and Spencer pats the open space next to him. Emily crawls into bed, leaning against the headboard and letting JJ squeeze between her and Spencer. Derek murmurs something like, “Hello,” but it comes out so slurred and muffled it very well could have been something else.
“What are you reading, Spence?” JJ inquires.
“Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance,” Spencer answers, holding the book aloft for a moment to show them the title. The paperback looks like it’s seen significantly better days, and there’s a spot on the front she’s pretty sure is coffee. It’s got the same kind of worn-in, well-loved feeling she’s come to expect from anything Spencer draws close to him. If he’s not intimately familiar with it, it doesn’t make the cut. She doesn’t bother asking him how many times he’s read it by now.
Emily settles, arranging the pillows and crossing one leg over JJ’s, pleased at the soft noise she gets in return. Then, she turns her attention to the movie. They’re in some sort of cave, and Iron Man is building his first suit. She was neer a huge action movie fan, but this is actually sort of cool.
Just as she starts to get bored again, the bathroom door opens and Hotch emerges. It never gets any less strange to see him like this, in pyjama pants and an old sweatshirt, dark hair sticking up like a little kid. He looks so fucking vulnerable she wants to cry.
Hotch was not an original proponent of team cuddle night. He had no problem with the rest of them getting together and working through the Bad Nights however they saw fit, but he didn’t want to participate. Come to find out, he didn’t think that they wanted him to participate, or that his presence would weird them out, or some equally Hotch-like self-deprecating bullshit.
Now, she waves him over before he has time to get that lost, deer in the headlights look. As soon as he gets close to the bed, she takes his hand and pulls him close. Even after the shower and some fever reducers, he’s warm and shaky and exhausted, and she wastes no time in coaxing him to cuddle with her.
“Lay down, Hotch,” she commands, tugging at his shoulder. “Come on, time for bed.”
“Prentiss, I don’t think-”
“Boss, you’re dead on your feet. I know you want those stupid-ass files, but you’re not getting them. Head. Lap. Lay down. Sleep.” Emily gestures to her legs, and he finally relents. “There you go. Relax, Hotch.”
She puts a hand in his damp hair and starts combing and scratching at his scalp, using her thumb to massage his forehead. He wraps his arms around her waist and lets his eyes slip closed, wheezy breaths coming a little easier.
He sniffles, then coughs, and she gets an idea. Smirking, she takes her index finger and drags her nail up the bridge of his nose from the tip all the way to the brow. His mouth twitches, and then he sneezes, quick and harsh.
Hazel eyes crack open to glower up at her. “What was that for?”
“Payback.”
“For what?” He’s already drifting off again.
“Being a little bitch,” she says, resuming her hair-combing.
His next words are sleepy, distant. “‘M not a bitch.”
“Hmm. Maybe just a little bit.” Emily feels her own eyes start to close.
“Yeah…”