Hotch has worked himself into a frenzy again. Dave swears he hasn’t seen the kid leave his desk except to pace the area or get another cup of coffee in a solid eight and a half hours, never mind what he’d been up to before Dave got in. Being diligent, proving your worth on a team, that’s all well and fine, but this? This was something else. This was some sort of escapism or overcompensation.
Dave was well-aware of Aaron’s childhood. Well, maybe not the exact details, but he wore his abuse on his sleeve in the shields he put up. It was written in the way he never got closer than an arm’s length away from anyone if he could avoid it. It was etched into the hard stare he used to drive people away. It was there in the aggression he employed to put strangers and superiors on the defensive, but also in the way he rolled over and showed his belly whenever Dave so much as looked his way. He was young, and that made his actions a storybook of everything that had ever happened to him.
Maybe that’s why, when they get in the car to head to New York, Dave insists on riding with Aaron. Certainly not because he has a soft spot for the kid, because he doesn’t do that. He doesn’t get soft spots.
Hotch insists on reading in the car. Dave tries to tell him that he’ll get nauseous, tries to remind him that resting his mind might actually give him a fresh look at the case, even tries staying quiet for a whole hour to see if he’ll fall asleep or start talking, but nothing works until he pulls over and tells Hotch it’s his turn to drive. The kid’s got a hell of a mind, and Dave needs him fresh if they stand a chance of catching this psycho.
Hotch is a stern, paranoid driver who checks his mirrors more than anyone Dave’s ever met. It’s possibly the safest Dave’s ever felt in a car. That is, until they’ve been on the freeway for about an hour and a half.
It starts with a glazed look in Hotch’s eye that Dave initially dismisses as focus. Then, he has to say Aaron’s name twice to get his attention. When hitting the rumble strip makes Hotch jump and blink hard, Dave tells him to pull the car over.
This time, Aaron gives up reading the case information and just stares out the windshield, a spooked, shameful look on his face.
“Kid, when was the last time you slept?” Dave asks, glancing over at him.
Aaron frowns. “I don’t know,” he hedges. “Why?” His eyes dart all over the place; it would give him away even if Dave couldn’t hear the discomfort in his tone.
“Just asking.” Then, “Kid, you know everyone has limits, right? You, me, Strauss, everyone.”
Hotch nods. “Of course. Why are you bringing this up?”
“Because I want you to remember that part of being good at what you do is knowing and respecting your limits. It’s not just important for your own health, it’s important for the safety of everyone around you and the fate of the case.” He flicks on his signal and follows the lead care onto the exit ramp for the lower Catskills. “I want you to remember that everyone on this team has your back, and that if you ever need anything, you can come to me. Do you understand?”
Dave takes the red light as an opportunity to watch Aaron’s face carefully. He bristles, that familiar look of fearful defiance creeping into his expression. “I’m not pushing my limits.”
“Did I say you were? I’m just reminding you of what you should keep in mind as you get used to working for this team.”
Hotch is silent for the rest of the car ride.
That night, a car chase starts at ten thirty, and the adrenaline makes Dave forget about how long Aaron’s been up for.
The next morning, though, he receives a not-so-gentle reminder in the form of the bruise-like circles under Hotch’s eyes. The receptionist at a hotel they search actually asks him if he got punched in the face, much to Callaghan’s amusement and Hotch’s icy chagrin.
Dave makes his next move as Hotch pours his fourth cup of coffee. “God, last night really took it out of me. How about you?”
Aaron shrugs, which could mean anything. He’s not always the best at picking up unspoken cues or suggestions, that is, unless he’s actively profiling someone. The finer aspects of conversation seem to go flying right over Aaron Hotchner’s head like stealth fighters, so Dave takes a bit more of a blunt approach.
“Kid, did you sleep at all last night?” He puts a hand on Hotch’s shoulder, trying to keep him from leaving the conversation without making him feel too trapped.
“Yes, I slept, Dave. Please get off my back about this.” Hotch rolls his eyes and sips at his coffee.
“For how long?”
“Three hours forty minutes,” Hotch replies immediately.
Dave sighs, taking his hand off Hotch’s shoulder and using it to pinch the bridge of his nose. “That’s not enough, Aaron. You’re going to pass out, you know that, right?”
Hotch stiffens, eyes hardening and expression closing off. “Agent Rossi, I appreciate your concern, but it’s really none of your business. I’m fine, I can do my job, and that’s all you need to concern yourself with. Now, if you have nothing case-relevant to tell me, I’m going to go try and catch a murderer.” He storms off, scattering frightened-looking interns in his wake.
Well, that went over like a lead balloon.
Aaron’s moodiness only gets worse as the day goes on, and it’s a long one. They end up on the street for most of it, canvassing and interviewing and knocking on a seemingly endless string of doors in the blazing July sun. Hotch snaps at anything that moves, and quite a few things that don’t, and the local sheriff is reaching the end of his rope. If it weren’t for the fact that Aaron is terrifyingly good at his job, even exhausted, Dave thinks he just might be the next murder victim.
“Dave, I think I’ve got something.”
Aaron’s voice breaks him from his AC-induced reverie. The local bullpen’s climate control is a welcome respite from the heat outside, which spiked into the upper nineties a few hours ago. Even Callaghan, who likes to consider herself heat-tolerant as a Florida native, is sweating through her shirt.
Dave picks his way through the packed maze of desks to where Hotch is staring at the evidence board. “What is it?”
“Bill Jameson’s daughter went to the same school as Hugh Kramer’s sons and Gracie Mulligan’s children. In fact, most of them all had the same second-grade teacher, only in different years. Which means-”
“The unsub works in the education system, probably as said second-grade teacher, and he’s taking advantage of summer vacation to get revenge. Good call, Aaron.” He grabs his radio and barks, “I need a location on Jake O’Connor, now!”
Jake O’Connor, as it turns out, has a victim in the house with him, and he’s not going without a fight. They manage to separate the victim and O’Connor, but that doesn’t help much when O’Connor comes sprinting out of the house, guns blazing.
Dave calls out his location, and Aaron takes off with the SWAT team, chasing him across the road and into a neighbor’s yard. Dave runs into the house with the medical team, looking to find the victim and preserve the crime scene.
At some point, the team brings O’Connor back, albeit with a bullet in his brain. Aaron gets lost in the shuffle as they try to wrap up the scene, and Dave forgets his concerns until nightfall, when they’re already in the van and going back to the hotel. There won’t be any driving home tonight, not until they’ve all had some rest.
Aaron’s been quite so far, leaning against the window looking miserable. Dave is keeping a close eye on him, because at some point, the exhaustion has become pale, clammy skin and shivers and glazed-over eyes. He’s really worrying Dave, now, more than before.
Five minutes into the trip, Aaron sits bolt upright. “Pull over.”
“What?”
“Pull-” he gags, covering his mouth with his hand- “Pull over, Dave.”
Jesus. “Alright, kid, I’m going, I’m going. Hang on.” He hits the breaks and guides the car over to the curb. Before they even come to a full stop, Aaron’s throwing the door open and running into the bushes, gagging.
Dave gets out after him and jogs over to meet him. Aaron’s doubled over, heaving and sobbing into the grass. He’s got a hand braced on his leg, but he still looks like he’s going to topple over, so Dave puts a hand on his back and helps hold him up.
“Easy, kid. You’re alright. Just get it all out, it’ll feel better when you’re done.” He rubs Aaron’s back and pushes his hair off his forehead as he finishes throwing up and starts dry-heaving, coughing and spitting bile. “Oh, kiddo. I told you to take it easy, didn’t I?”
Aaron sobs again, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. His knees buckle and Dave grabs him, guiding him away from the mess and sitting him down on the ground, holding him to his chest.
“I don’t feel good,” he manages.
“I know, Aaron, I know.” He puts a hand on Aaron’s forehead and frowns at the heat there. “I think you’ve got heat exhaustion. You’ll be alright, we’ve just gotta get you cooled down.” He wraps an arm around Aaron’s front and helps him out of his jacket, tossing it to the side. “Do you think you can make it back to the hotel?”
Aaron’s voice is weak, distant almost, and Dave wonders if he might pass out. “Yeah.”
“Okay. I’m going to help you up and get you cleaned up a bit, and then we’re going to drive back to the hotel and get you some ice water and a night of sleep. That is not up for debate.”
Aaron nods. “Alright.”
“Okay, kid, drink up.” He presses a glass of water into Aaron’s hand. The kid’s curled up against the headboard of his bed, looking miserable and wilted. He took a cool shower, brushed his teeth, and changed into sweats, and he looks better, but that doesn’t negate the days of exhaustion and heat and physical and mental exertion that brought them to this point.
“Thank you,” Aaron rasps. He sips the water like it might poison him, clutching it in both hands like a little kid.
Dave sits on the edge of his own bed, opening a book in an attempt to give Aaron some privacy. When he hears the clink of the glass being set on the bedside table, he looks up.
“Feel any better?” He raises his eyebrows, doing his best to look open and sympathetic.
Aaron sighs, closing his eyes and leaning back. “Yes? I don’t know. My head hurts.”
“Heat exhaustion will do that to you. So will not sleeping. I’m worried about you, kid. You need to start taking care of yourself.”
“I’m fine, Dave, I already told you that. I can take care of myself,” Aaron huffs, opening his eyes to glare at him.
“No, Aaron, evidently, you’re not fine! You threw up on the way here, and I swear you’ve nearly passed out three times today. That’s not fine,” Dave exclaims, throwing his hands in the air.
Aaron blinks, but it’s more of a flinch. “Sorry,” he mutters, pulling back to the far side of the bed. He rolls over and deliberately shows Dave his back, whether in defiance or deference Dave wasn’t sure.
Dave sighs, running a hand down his face. Great. Now he felt horrible. What was it about this kid that let him turn arguments or even calm discussions right back at the person talking to him? How did Dave always end up feeling guilty? Was it guilt, or just protectiveness that was making him feel this way?
“Hey, Aaron, I didn’t mean to get upset. I’m not mad at you, I just want you to take care of yourself, that’s all.” He nudges the edge of the bed with his foot, a tap on the shoulder without the startling contact. “I don’t want you to get hurt. I don’t like seeing you get sick like you did today. Running yourself into the ground doesn’t do anyone any good, and I wish you wouldn’t do it, but I’m also going to be there for you when you inevitably do,” Dave chuckles. When did he get like this? He has a reputation, for Christ’s sake!
Aaron flips back over, staring at him from under the edge of his hoodie. “Alright. I’ll try to be more careful. No promises, though.” His lips curl up into the ghost of a smile, and Dave knows he’s gotten through to him. He smiles back, and Aaron relaxes into his pillow.
“Get some rest, kid. I mean it.” He tries to glare at him, but it’s somewhat mitigated by the fact that Aaron is laughing. Good. The kid should be laughing, just maybe not at him.
Dave almost wants to give him a hug, but he’s not sure that would be entirely welcome, especially with all the unwanted physical contact Aaron had already gotten today as he was puking his guts out. That’s okay, though. They could work their way up to hugs. Dave would teach this kid how to be part of a family, even if it took him the next thirty years.