Chapter Text
In his defence, most of Derek’s evaluation was the truth: he was coping.
The mandatory two weeks he and Reid (and Hotch, though he suspected he’d end up being off longer despite suffering the most for it) were forced to wait for the bureau’s evaluations of the situation to go through had absolutely dragged. They had splintered apart into their distinctly different ways of dealing with it.
He and Reid hadn’t talked much; they were far too aware how easily phone logs could be accessed and were hesitant to mention anything about the photos or videos where there’d be a record afterwards. As far as he knew, Reid was leaning towards asking Penelope to get involved to speed things up, hopefully track it down, but their agreement of collective silence still stood. The conversations they had about other things tended to veer towards that day or trail off into awkward nothingness. It hadn’t been like that for years, since Reid first joined the team and they were working on the unsteady ground of meeting a new colleague. At least then, there was a good reason for the awkwardness. Now it hung over their heads like a storm cloud every time one of them ran out of things to talk about, because they were fully aware they were grasping at straws just so it wouldn’t be that. And without access to their cases, they lacked much common ground to distract themselves with.
He’d gone over to Reid’s apartment before Hotch’s to see how he was faring and Reid’s coping mechanism had been to bury himself in literature. There were bookmarked textbooks scattered across the place. It was a quick visit. Looking at Reid reminded Derek of what had happened, and though he could tolerate that, the way Reid steadfastly avoided looking him in the eye at all suggested it was more unpleasant for him.
So he’d seen Hotch. In hindsight, Derek really wasn’t sure why he was expecting that to go any better. That was what they did when things got tense: they fought. And if he’d thought the situation in New York had been bad, this was something else entirely. But whereas Reid at least responded to his texts – and it had become their main method of communication over the last fortnight – Hotch gave no indication he’d received, read or cared about them.
It might’ve been how he coped with things, by shutting down and pretending they weren’t affecting him, that they didn’t matter, but Hotch wasn’t alone in this. Derek had himself and Reid to consider too. This wasn’t going to work out if Hotch just refused point-blank to talk to either of them; the three of them were all they had when they couldn’t turn to the team. Hotch didn’t seem to understand, didn’t want to understand: it wasn’t about talking, really, it was the teamwork.
They needed him. Derek needed him.
So Derek’s anger – at Trenford, at every man in that room, at the case, at himself – ended up channelled into his properties, because he had nowhere else to put it. Every voicemail gone unrecognised, every question from Reid about what they should do, every time a dream ended in steel grey eyes staring at him. He worked until he was barely standing, showered, slept, and did it all again the next day. And if the exhaustion chased away the nightmares, well, he could say it wasn’t deliberate.
Because it was all right for Hotch to sit there and refuse to be a part of this, except everyone around them treated Derek like he could read the man’s mind. They’d been doing it to some degree for years, though he didn’t mind so much when they could just as easily ask Hotch his thoughts about something. When he could actually talk to him.
Derek suspected that was why Hotch was avoiding him: they both knew he could read him the easiest out of the team. It wasn’t even deliberate half the time but somehow their secrets seemed to end up spilling to each other before the rest of the team. Hotch didn’t want to talk because he didn’t need to talk for Derek to figure out what was on his mind.
He couldn’t get away from it: Rossi asking if he’d heard from Hotch, Reid wanting to know what Hotch wanted to do, the entire team’s conversations progressing onto Hotch once they’d shared their sympathies for Derek. Jessica telling him the story they’d crafted on the jet and asking if that was really what had happened. It was all a reminder of Hotch. How the dynamic between them was suddenly cold and closed off.
All Derek wanted was normalcy.
(And maybe, just maybe, it’d be nice to talk to the one person who knew exactly what he was going through. That same anger. The sickening sinking feeling of being powerless. Reid knew, but not like Hotch did.)
When he’d gone to see the therapist the bureau told him to, it was a relief to be back in the damn building. Even if it was to answer questions not even attempting to hide that they were screening for PTSD. He wasn’t entirely telling the truth but he wasn’t lying – no, he wasn’t having nightmares, because he was but they were manageable so it didn’t count. Same with the flashbacks. It wasn’t that they weren’t there, it was that he could cope. He’d been coping.
He hadn’t seen Reid or Hotch the day he went in – probably deliberate – but his phone buzzed on the Saturday that week.
Have you had your assessment to go back to work? from Reid. A minute later: Check your email, they cleared me.
Derek wiped the screen where he’d left plaster dust fingerprints and pulled the right browser up. There was no way they were going to deny him. Right? The three of them said the same thing and the therapist hadn’t seemed too concerned about him. Reid’s being cleared was a good sign too.
And there it was. Tension he hadn’t known he was holding drained from his shoulders as he sighed. Monday morning, 8AM, the same as ever.
See you Monday, Derek sent back, and found himself contemplating Hotch’s contact.
His photo for him was the same as his FBI badge; Hotch hated it and he found it hilarious how much of a smile his badge had when he didn’t. Now Derek saw the lines around his eyes he hadn’t had, the bags under his eyes which didn’t exist then. He saw him happy and it hurt.
But he couldn’t say nothing.
Have you had the PTSD eval? [17:42]
Blunt, but with Hotch that was rarely a bad thing. And until he had any real idea about how he was feeling, Derek figured going on as if things were normal was his best bet. And if Hotch was pissed at him, a yes/no question would work well enough. No need for detail.
Derek’s screen faded to black. He waited nonetheless.
Why? [17:46]
Or he could ask why. Despite his frustration, Derek’s lips twitched upwards. Trust Hotch to complicate it. Should he mention the outcome? If Hotch wanted to know, maybe it was because he’d received his too. And if it was negative, Derek didn’t want to be the one to have to add salt to the wound – he knew how badly Hotch was missing the BAU, because he was going through the same withdrawal.
Me and Reid have. [17:47]
Was wondering about you. [17:47]
There was nothing for so long after that, he regretted the second impulsive message. He wished Hotch would be angry, because at least that was something. Derek could work with mad; he could do nothing with silence.
Yes. [18:00]
What did they say? [18:01]
I won’t be in the field until I clear my physical [18:04]
Derek hoped it meant that was the only obstacle to Hotch returning, rather than him avoiding the question. Doing the evaluation on Hotch was a joke, not worth the time it took. He’d never let himself be honest. Derek was throwing stones from a glass house, admittedly, but he wasn’t wrong.
About the eval [18:04]
Nothing yet. Should be fine. [18:12]
You, or it, Derek was tempted to ask. Not that Hotch would ever answer that, because they both know he meant the latter and the answer to the former was evidently no.
Good. Are they letting you back to the office before the cast comes off? [18:14]
You and Reid are back in the field. [18:15]
They told you? [18:15]
No. [18:16]
It was obvious Hotch wasn’t going to be allowed back into the field for a good month or two, not until he’d re-certified with firearms and gone through PT for his arm, but Derek was hoping they’d let him at least be around. If he wasn’t getting the news through work, he wasn’t back yet in any capacity.
Are you? [18:20]
In the office. [18:22]
And Hotch’s silence was answer enough.
Fourteen days. Fourteen days since they’d returned and with every day that passed without the video resurfacing, Derek’s paranoia grew.
Someone had it – the number the burner phone sent it to. They must’ve had their plans for it and even if that was, as Reid had suggested, keeping it for their own pleasure, he didn’t like the uncertainty. Didn’t want it to exist at all.
The idea there might be someone out there watching it, uploaded on some shady website and leered over by the kind of unsubs they most despised, was too much to think about but it was difficult not to.
The team’s inquisition didn’t make it any easier. Though the psychiatrist signing his and Reid’s return to duty gave him a leg up on proving he was fine, it didn’t stop the questions from rolling in. Emily, at least, had let him know she was there if he wanted to talk and backed off; JJ and Rossi were more insistent about it. Derek had evaded the questions Rossi asked, hoping if he kept him talking the man might let something about Hotch slip in return.
But Rossi knew less than Derek did: apparently the perfunctory answers Hotch had been giving him were far more than anyone else was receiving. The thought was a strange one, considering Hotch’s sudden silence indicated he was annoyed with Derek, and he thought he might’ve at least spoken to Rossi if only to confirm he and Reid were returning to the field.
Derek suspected if the doctor didn’t have a soft spot for the pitiable look Hotch could muster up if needed, all warm gentle eyes, his authorisation wouldn’t be happening for a lot longer. He hoped it really was his arm holding up the proceedings and not interference from Strauss or the higher-ups.
“Morning, kid,” Derek said, leaning against his desk after the initial burst of greetings and welcome-back hugs had died down.
A case file lay splayed open across Reid’s desk but he was concentrating on the computer he usually despised. Derek peered at the monitor.
“Morning,” Reid said. He was scrolling past old cases listed on the national database, a finger guiding his reading down the middle of the screen. That speed reading thing he did.
“What’s the deal with those?” Derek asked. His coffee was warm in his hands.
“Behaviours of voyeuristic sexual offenders,” Reid said.
Derek glanced over his shoulder surreptitiously at the rest of the bullpen. He wasn’t sure when he and Reid having conversations alone was going to count as part of work rather than something suspicious but he thought the words ‘voyeuristic sexual offenders’ might be pushing things for now.
“Nothing like light reading,” Derek said. “You’re trying to figure out what they’re gonna do with it.”
“It doesn’t fit,” Reid said. He leant in closer. “Sharing the video does but not leaving it on the device – even if they didn’t have time before they were arrested, there should’ve been some sign they attempted to reset it. So they wanted to keep it but they didn’t care enough to hide that they wanted it.”
“Well, we knew Trenford didn’t care about leaving evidence,” Derek said, and regretted it when his mind plastered the image of the evidence right across his memory.
“If I’m going down I’m gonna make it worth it,” Reid quoted.
A shiver ran down Derek’s spine. He couldn’t tell if the words themselves or hearing them come out of Reid’s mouth was more unnerving. “Yeah. And he doesn’t care about the others, they’re collateral, they’re followers.”
That they knew from the initial profile.
“We don’t know which of them sent it,” Reid said. “Or even if he wanted them to. He might not have discouraged it but there’s nothing to say he necessarily encouraged it either.”
“What order were they arrested in?” Derek said. “I don’t know when it was sent but if it was still when the cops showed up, it could give us some idea which ones were still free.”
Reid spun in his chair, catching himself from swivelling too far round with a foot each side of his desk. “The report’s still with Strauss, I think. Or they’re waiting on the report from Hotch.”
“He hasn’t sent it in yet?” Derek said.
Reid shrugged, then scooted forwards in his chair. “Speaking of Hotch—”
“No, he hasn’t told me anything,” Derek said, a touch more irritably than it warranted. “Sorry. I’ve heard it about ten times today already.”
“Are you worried about him?” Reid asked. “I know he’s Hotch, but…”
“Yeah,” Derek said. More worried than he could put into words. “There’s not much we can do about it ‘til he gets back. You know what he’s like when someone tries to make him do something.”
“I just feel…” Reid trailed off. “If I can’t help Hotch then maybe I could help with the videos but I can’t help with either.”
“You’re not useless, kid,” Derek said. “And you’ve been back, what, an hour? OF course you’re not gonna have it solved already.”
Reid sighed.
“If we asked the others about the arrests…” Derek said, but asking the others would make them wonder why the order mattered, and the less the rest of the team were thinking of the case the better. Reid seemed to have the same thought.
“I know you’ve got a theory or two,” Derek said, gesturing at the screen. “Spill. I’d say they’d keep it, that’s what stalkers do but that’s not their game. Groups, I can see it going either way.”
“I think it’s most likely someone still has it,” Reid said. “It might have the others’ faces in it so I doubt they’d upload it. At least without doctoring.”
“Yeah, but that wouldn’t get rid of the metadata.”
“If they’re smart,” Reid said, “they wouldn’t post it or sent it to anyone else. At the very least they should be using VPNs to mask their locations.”
Derek sighed. Unsubs working in groups like this relied on brute strength and the brains from one or two individuals – certainly none that the guy behind the camera possessed. “Let’s hope they aren’t.”
He didn’t want the video posted, but passing it between individual scumbags enough to get caught was the ideal, he supposed. Fewer people seeing it.
That, of course, still left them with the problem: telling Hotch.
Given it was his idea not to let him know just yet, it’d fall on Derek when the time came and he would accept that. But the actual moment when he’d have to do it? He’d fully admit he was not prepared for that.
For one, Hotch hated publicity in any form. He’d tolerate the level which came with his job, being known throughout the Bureau, and though he found his own appearances on television awkward and uncomfortable the few times the BAU had caught themselves on local area news wherever their cases were based, the understanding it was for the profile, advancing the case, was more than worth it. But then Foyet had broken into his apartment, his notoriety dragging reporters behind him, and all of a sudden the stabbing was everyone’s business. A photo of him in the news with a report about being attacked in his own home was the last thing Hotch would ever want.
And secondly, reporters might be vultures at the best of times, but even their invasion on his privacy hadn’t stooped as low as the grainy cellphone footage Derek was worried about. Anyone would hate that but for Hotch, it must’ve been almost as much a violation as the incident itself. More, even, the voyeuristic ability to capture his suffering like that. It was going to kill him. What ramifications that’d have for his career were going to be severe, Derek figured: in the eyes of the bureau, who would trust an agent they’d seen brutalised like that? Who could respect him? And not to mention, Derek being in that video, Hotch as an unwilling (Derek would shout that from the fucking rooftops if it ever got out, because he knew that would be an angle they’d be concerned about the appearances of) perpetrator, that significantly complicated things.
It was bullshit, of course, implying the rape meant less respect, but it was bullshit their employers and the media would buy into. Derek had been in the fucking room and he respected Hotch more for it. Anyone who saw it and thought it made him weak was wrong. And as much as he dreaded the video being released, people got over things remarkably quickly. How long before Hotch’s face faded from their memory? Hell, Derek hadn’t even really seen the videos – for all he knew it might only be the back of his head.
As for his own appearance in the video, the photos, Derek was really trying not to think about it. He’d been lucky – though it didn’t feel like he was by any definition of the word – in hindsight that Buford didn’t collect souvenirs. Just memories. It had happened, and more people than Derek would have ever liked to knew about it, but he’d found a tiny bit of solace knowing there wasn’t pornography of him floating around somewhere. Until now. It had first occurred to him when he’d slipped back to join JJ in the precinct and he’d disappeared again to find somewhere quiet and breathe through a panic attack stronger than he’d had in years.
It was easier to worry about the repercussions for Hotch, so he did. And if he could think about how they’d stop them getting out in the first place, there was no need to worry about how he’d react if they did.
(If he told himself that enough times, the tightness in his chest might start to ease a little.)
His last concern was unabashedly selfish. Hotch realising there were explicit, graphic, horrible evidence of what happened to them – to him – was one thing. But the realisation Derek hadn’t told him? He’d be angrier than Derek had ever seen him, and it wouldn’t entirely be underserved. Hotch had told him in New York that he’d trust him with his life, and this was almost certainly violating the trust it took him years to work up. In his position, Derek would be absolutely furious too. It was hypocritical but he really didn’t want Hotch to have to concern himself with more than he already was. Hoped he could protect him just a little bit from the realities of it all. He’d been through so much in the last couple of years alone, losing Haley and nearly Jack, recovering from a stab wound in that drab, lonely apartment; he’d thrown himself into his work until there was hardly anything left of him.
Derek missed the look in his eyes when he connected the vital details in a case. He missed the assurance of busting into an unsub’s house with Hotch at his side. He missed the easy conversation between them, the dry humour which managed to take him by surprise still, the way he could read Hotch and Hotch him. And Hotch knowing about the photos, about Derek keeping them from him…
That’d be gone. Forever. Even if they were allowed to carry on working exactly as they were now – and he doubted it, because the FBI operated in little tick-boxes and boss/perpetrator and superior/victim did not look good on the same page – Hotch would resent him.
And that time was approaching unless Derek made it all disappear before they had to tell Hotch.
“I know you don’t want her to know,” Reid began, “but maybe we should ask Garcia.”
“It’s not I don’t want her to know,” Derek said, though there was a not insignificant part of him which didn’t. “We’ve told them our side of things and we’ll have to stick to them.”
“Garcia wouldn’t tell anyone,” Reid said. “And I can keep looking but this is only going to give me a generalised overview of what they might be doing. I’ve got no way to really track them.”
“She wouldn’t,” Derek agreed, “but she’s using FBI resources. I trust her but things just… get out. And then we’re screwed.”
“If she did it off the books?” Reid suggested.
“How far is a single burner phone gonna take her?” Derek said. “If nobody has accessed it since, and we’ve got nothing else to go off of, I don’t know.”
“And we’re not going to unless you ask her.”
“Look, I know,” Derek said. “I still haven’t heard from Hotch about what he wants to do.”
“Probably the same as you,” Reid shrugged.
“Hey, what’s that meant to mean?”
“It’s not,” Reid said. “But you know him best. And you don’t want to, so I doubt he does either.”
If pushed, Derek would say Rossi knew Hotch better. But did he? Well, regardless, Derek definitely had the edge on this particular situation.
“We’re not doing it without him,” Derek said.
Reid sighed, sinking lower in his chair, but didn’t argue. Derek could only hope that meant he’d honour the agreement.
Derek rolled the challenge coin in his hand, a comforting and familiar weight, when JJ knocked on his door. He slid it back into his pocket. He’d had it on him when they were taken and mercifully they’d passed it off as just a weird coin rather than getting too suspicious. He had others, but he’d hate to lose it. Especially right then.
Though Rossi was acting chief in Derek’s absence, Derek was in charge in Hotch’s. It didn’t feel much different from last time he was running the unit, although Strauss had warned him it was still a probationary thing. Supposed she had to, considering he was coming in off the back of a traumatic incident. All it meant to him was to be a little careful with who he sent where.
He did like running it, not least because it stopped everyone looking at him with quite so much pity when he was the one to tell them what to do, but sitting around the table with everyone except Hotch felt weird. There was a member of their family missing and they felt it. The two weeks off were painful, but he imagined it could’ve been almost worst for the others to come up here and have nearly half the team gone.
“So, we have,” Garcia said, pointing the remote at the screen and displaying images of each woman, “Katherine Glover, Bryn Santiago, Robin Poole and Abbie Kirkby. Each found in a park in Topeka, and we’re still waiting on the autopsy results for Abbie and Robin, but the cause of death looks…”
“Overkill much?” Rossi said. “I bet you’re real glad to be back now.”
The photos of the women’s deaths were graphic, to say the least. It wasn’t normally so easy to identify brain matter in photos but their killer had cracked their skulls rather vigorously.
“Similar M.O.s,” Derek said. “The dumping sites look similar too.”
“They are,” Garcia confirmed. “They’re both fairly busy parks, the girls were put in quieter areas but they weren’t hidden.”
“No sign of remorse,” Prentiss said. “He didn’t want to get caught, but he wanted them seen.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Reid’s knuckles blanche as he grasped the case file tighter. A moment later and he forced himself to relax. Derek filed it away for later.
“So we know he’s able to lure them away to more secluded areas,” JJ said. “Assuming they died at night, they’d have had to trust him to go with him alone.”
“The tox screens we do have show they had nothing in their systems they shouldn’t,” Garcia said. “Katherine did have traces of diazepam but it was from prescription by her doctor. And you know how much I hate to have to tell you, but there were signs of sexual assault for all of them.”
Derek found eyes on him as if they expected a different reaction after what had happened. It was unfortunate, and he didn’t want to downplay what they had been through, but it had nothing to do with him. These women were part of a case. There was no reason for it to affect him more.
“What?” he said, returning the eye contact; they broke away when he looked back at them. He thought back to what he’d told Rossi in his initial statement, what he’d told Strauss. “C’mon. So a guy tries to get a little handsy and you don’t think I can handle a case?”
“It’s not that—” JJ said.
“Nobody’s said that—” Rossi protested.
Reid was blushing beside him. Derek slid the papers back into his case file and stood. “Good,” he said. “Let’s go. Half an hour.”
The interim between then and the jet left him a strange combination of bored and wired. In the privacy of his office Derek scrolled back through his messages with Hotch and tried to figure out what he’d want to hear. Something about the case? He wasn’t technically supposed to, but they couldn’t prove what he said over a call. And as long as he kept any identifying details out…
They’d had a lot of practice, between them, at consulting each other for cases when they technically weren’t meant to be. So Derek had thrown Hotch a bone thirty-one days into his thirty-four after Foyet, sue him. The man was going a little crazy for it.
Got a case. Might need your help later. Sound OK? [09:01]
No [09:06]
Against regulations [09:06]
There were many responses Derek anticipated and Hotch giving a shit about regulations was not one of them.
??? [09:07]
No [09:07]
Was it Hotch’s attempt at keeping them out of trouble? If someone was going to pull them up on it, they’d have done it before. Hell, the amount of case files Hotch had taken home in the past should’ve raised security issues if there hadn’t been someone with faith in his ability to keep that information secure, so Derek always assumed there was someone over their shoulders who didn’t disapprove.
Since when do you care about that? [09:07]
No reply. Mainly because he imagined Hotch’s response to be much the same as when he’d turned up at his apartment: since their most recent black marks on their records meant one slip-up could be it.
When are you coming back? [09:08]
Rossi’s asking about you. [09:12]
He didn’t think invoking Rossi would work but it was worth a shot. Derek sighed. There were fifteen minutes until he was supposed to be on the jet, and they were still finishing the last checks… he hit call and let his phone ring.
Being rejected was preferable to what he got, which was straight to voicemail. If he kept talking at Hotch when he was mad, he’d hit a sore spot sooner or later. This nothingness, this was what Hotch excelled in. He’d seen him put up a solid defence against serial killers deliberately trying to get under his skin, go through insult after insult with only a faint amusement in his eyes, but never had Derek anticipated that being turned against him for as long as it had.
Derek dialled again. “Fine,” he said, after the tone. “You don’t want to talk? I get it. Just let me know when they approve the psych eval, I need to know when you’re back. It’s…” He ran his hand over his head, frustrated. “It’s weird without you, man. Everyone’s acting different. And if you’re talking to him, maybe tell Rossi to back off, ‘cause he seems to think I know any more than he does about how you’re doing. It’s, uh, intense. Anyway. I – we miss you. Gonna be heading out to Topeka in a minute, so if you decide you do want in on the case, just… let me know.”
He'd devolved slightly into awkward rambling at the end there, mostly to mask the embarrassment from we miss you. It sounded cheesy even to his own ears but Derek wasn’t lying. They did. He did, enough that he’d almost slipped up and said I. Truth be told, nothing about the case looked complicated enough yet to rope Hotch in for help, but if it got him talking, Derek would work the blandest case they’d ever had.
It was a relief to be back at work. Even if there were moments he stumbled – expecting to hear Hotch’s voice splitting them up to go to the M.E., the crime scene, the station; a brief flash of concern when he’d look around at the crowded precinct and think they were missing Hotch before the realisation oh, yeah hit – Derek’s head felt clear for the first time in weeks, jumping back into the swing of things.
(We’re looking for a white male, mid thirties, likely in a trade profession, and liable to pick fights with co-workers. Yeah, he’d done this before.)
Whenever Reid got the chance, he was squinting at his phone screen to read something, likely not trusting the security of the tech they were loaned by the local police department. Derek had to strike a balance between spending too little and too much time with him, lest Reid think he was purposefully distancing the two of them or the team get suspicious they were collaborating on something. He trusted Reid, but he still got nervous that he might be texting Garcia for help about matters unrelated to the case.
Derek handled the case just fine. He had thicker skin than he thought they suspected – better that assumption than the opposite, he figured, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t annoy him – and Reid seemed to be coping well.
Though the hotel budget stretched to separate rooms for everyone, he’d knocked on Reid’s later in their last evening and hadn’t sensed anything majorly wrong in their brief chats. Despite the undercurrent of tension when they talked about involving Garcia, their regular conversations were regaining a sense of normalcy, slipping back into Reid’s endless facts and Derek’s light teasing.
“Look, if you’re having nightmares again,” Derek had said, because the dark circles under Reid’s eyes and his surreptitious yawning earlier might be chance, might not, “if you want to talk—”
“I don’t,” Reid said. He fidgeted with the sleeve of his cardigan and glanced up and down the hall for the rest of the team. “I’m sleeping fine, it’s just hard to get to sleep. But I’ve always had that.”
“Can’t shut that brain off, huh?”
“Nope.”
Derek couldn’t trust that was the only reason behind it, but stress would do that to anyone and he knew the kind Reid was under. He hated to be in this position. The alternative, do nothing about the photos, was far worse. “Okay, but you know the offer still stands, any time.”
“Yeah,” Reid said. “Thanks, Morgan.”
“You’re welcome.”
And Derek went back to his own room, to pour over the files again, because they were at the point where it came down to one crucial link buried in the mess somewhere. If his phone lay on the desk beside him the whole time, it was only because a second pair of eyes would never be a bad thing. He called it a night when his eyes felt gritty and he was scanning over words without reading them and there’d been no messages. He hadn’t expected. He’d hoped, and he was starting to think that was worse.
He fell asleep easily.
Derek didn’t wake until morning. As if to make up for the night of uninterrupted sleep, when he did, it was with a violent jerk and his mind full of freeze-frame snatches from the room; he was drenched in sweat and, a sickly familiar sensation, achingly hard.
He sighed, willing the heat pooling in his stomach to go away.
It might be normal, but that made him no less ashamed. It was normal, and it happened, after assaults, it was physiological and it had nothing to do with him – everything he’d known from the behavioural textbooks, everything he’d heard from his therapist. Derek knew how it went.
But it was easier to accept when it was the memories of Buford. Partly because most of the times it’d happened with those was when he was a teenager, and back then, it took very little anyway. Even though he’d been utterly disgusted, physically sick to his stomach more than not, Derek only ever had to worry about how he felt. The arousal was his. Shameful, yes, but he didn’t give a shit about Buford. Didn’t have to consider his feelings.
He couldn’t control it but it still felt wrong to wake up like this when Hotch was part of that memory. Like getting aroused by them raping Hotch. His pain. It felt like he was playing a role in the violation too, having those memories – staring down at a crown of dark hair – intertwined with the arousal.
Derek reached for his phone and hesitated. Hotch didn’t want to hear from him. He’d made that clear, and the feeling of being an unwilling assailant lodged firmly in his chest. He went for a cold shower, standing beneath the spray until he was shivering, and brushed his teeth until he could no longer taste bile.