Hotch has one hard-and-fast rule while he's working a case: he never lets himself
think about Haley and Michael, never lets himself use them as an emotional crutch.
He knows Elle thinks he's got some secret he can just hand over, some magical way to
juggle family and the job, but mostly it's a lot of hard work. It's hard work, and
Hotch's own stubborn insistence to never, ever, let the job taint his family, even
if it's only in his mind. Especially if it's in his mind.
Maybe if he ever relaxed that rule a little, John Blackwolf wouldn't have slithered
under his skin like some mystical Native American wind.
He can't decide if Jason's noticed or not. They all have their blind spots, things
they willfully ignore. Hotch thinks this might be Jason's.
The rest of the team is too wrapped up in the case to notice what's going on in their
midst, but he knows just how each of them would react. Derek would shake his head,
saying not cool, man, concerned about objectivity and professionalism and getting
the job done. Elle would be surprised and worried about what it means for his family,
but once she got past that she'd have a knowing smile and little teasing jabs throughout
the day. And Reid would be curious, quoting facts about chemical attractors and
incidents of homosexuality in the wild.
Hotch is busy enough dissecting his own thoughts that he doesn't need anybody else's
in the mess. It'd be hyperbole to say that he felt it from the first moment he saw
Blackwolf. He'd been too focused on profiling (and keeping Reid from completely pissing
off Blackwolf) to make a personal assessment. Then they'd arrived on site and Blackwolf
fell into his smug, all-knowing-native routine, so superior that Hotch wanted to punch him.
He's not sure when that urge faded to simple masculine competitiveness. Or when Blackwolf
went from outsider to trusted co-worker to someone he could sense without looking. When
he started knowing the man without trying, and found himself being known in return.
Whenever it was, it was an asset he welcomed as they took down the cult. But now, as they
sit in front of the school, waiting for the others, Hotch feels like Blackwolf is tangled
up inside him, even though they're inches apart. Stupid things keep leaping to his lips,
things he fights to keep inside.
Come work for us, he wants to say, though he knows Blackwolf would never do it,
even if the FBI would ever let him in.
Maybe you can consult from time to time, he thinks about offering, but he's afraid
of the disbelieving stare he'd get in return. Yes, Hotch, you get so many incidents among
Native Americans that you need a consultant. He rolls his eyes at himself for that one.
The caravan rolls up. Hotch is grateful; the thing he really wants to ask, he can barely
keep inside. The words reverberate in his head as they banter back and forth, as they
bundle up the prisoners and the handle the other's questions. By they time he drives off,
Blackwolf beside him, the urge has settled. The question is only a distant wish, something
he'll never breathe aloud.
Do you feel it, too?