Happenstance

“Basically, the only thing we need is a hand that rests on our own, that wishes it well, that sometimes guides us.” Hector Bianciotti,

It started, he supposed, with Gideon. He’d always been close to Gideon, as close as he was with anyone he worked with. Gideon had always been a father figure in his life, better then his father, then again Gideon had been that way for everyone. Rossi, though, David Rossi had been different. He had never thought of Rossi that way. This had all been back then. When he was a young rooky and Gideon, Rossi, Katie and Ryan had been what the BAU was really about. Times changed though, Katie, Rossi and Ryan had left. Gideon had become head of the team, built it up, handpicking its members. He had, had his brake down, than came back. Hotchner had gotten married, and had a son. The whole team in the BAU changed and slowly he worked his way up the ranks of FBI. If Gideon hadn’t left they would never have gotten to that point. Gideon had left though, this time without telling him, or looking back, and everything changed. Haley left shortly before Rossi arrived and Hotch’s world pretty much had fallen apart with her leaving. He realized that first night he came home to find her gone that the only thing he had left was work. Later he would find out he was wrong, work wasn’t the only thing he had left.

When he heard Rossi was coming back, he really hadn’t believed it. Right up until the point when Rossi walked into his office. Over the next couple cases he began to reacquaint himself with what working with David Rossi was like. He remembered Rossi’s passion, his intensity, his intelligent, his kindness and his ego. He knew it was wrong but somehow he’d expected in those first few days for Rossi to be more like Gideon then Rossi; a stable force, the eye of the storm. Instead Hotch had to relearn that Rossi wasn’t the eye of the storm but instead the storm itself. There where things about the man that riveted him, things about Rossi he couldn’t stand, and things he was beginning to think he might find it hard to live without. David Rossi was nothing like Jason Gideon, but Hotchner didn’t really want him to be.

They were in Boston. Most of the important moments in Hotch’s life tended to happen in Boston. They had been giving a workshop on terrorism, just him and Rossi. That was something he would not have done with Gideon, mostly because Gideon would have probably chosen to take someone else. Hotch was head of the team now and he had chosen to take Rossi to Boston. They hadn’t gone because of a case but there had ended up being one anyway, as there always inevitably was. They had been eating dinner together, talking about the case and Hotch had been feeling more relaxed then he had since Haley had first left. He supposed it was because of the case that the talk turned to marriage and Rossi had said something careless about it being different with children. Hotch had felt a tightness start in his chest. Something the felt too painfully like tears, only he hadn’t let himself cry since he’d been a boy. He’d carefully put his fork down, trying to reclaim the calm sense of authority he usually carefully erected around himself. He could see from the look on Rossi’s face that he hadn’t meant it to hurt, but Hotch knew he wasn’t going to be able to let it go so easily, or at least not as easily has he should have. I tried, he thought, that same thought that had been plaguing his every waking moment since she’d left, and was almost surprised to realize he’d said it allowed. Suddenly he felt very tired, he was on edge he realized, his nerves shot to hell, and he just wanted to get this case over with so he could sleep again, only he knew it wouldn’t be that simple.

“We’ve got four failed marriages between us, we’re experts at something.”

He said and Rossi almost smiles, but the worry doesn’t leave his eyes and Hotchner looks away not wanting to see it directed at him. Rossi walks him to his hotel room and Hotch spends the entire elevator ride really wishing Rossi hadn’t because he knows he is running out or restraint. He’s going to break and he’s been praying for hours now that it wouldn’t happen before he got back to Virginia but somehow he doubts he’ll be that lucky. Hotchner unlocks the door to his room and tries to smile reassuringly over his shoulder at Rossi who hovers just behind him; hands in pockets, that pensive worried look still on his face. Hotchner opens his mouth to say he’ll be fine, Rossi doesn’t need to worry, a few hours of sleep and he’ll be alright in the morning.

Instead he finds himself reaching out to touch the other man’s cheek lightly with the back of his hand and Rossi doesn’t flinch or pull away only stands there looking at him. Then Hotch leans in and kisses Rossi and this wasn’t the way it was supposed to happen because Aaron Hotchner had never even thought of another man like that. He doesn’t stop though. Rossi doesn’t pull away, but instead pushes closer his hands sliding up Aaron’s arms to tangle in his hair. Everything in Aaron’s mind is screaming that this is wrong; they are standing in the middle of the hall where anyone could see, they are colleagues, straight, on the same team. He thinks of his parent’s views on homosexuality, the views he was raised to believe, the fact that he isn’t really even divorced yet.

He fumbles behind him until somehow he manages to get the door open and stumbles back into his room without letting go of Rossi who’s been kissing him; devouring his mouth really, his hands everywhere across Aaron’s back and chest. Aaron feels the rasp of Rossi’s beard against his face as Rossi kisses him again, and it should repulse him this feeling that is so alien so new, instead he pulls Rossi closer opening his mouth grinding his hips against the other man’s. He kicks the door shut behind him and half pushes half pulls Rossi towards the couch, which they than fall on to, in an awkward mass of limbs. Rossi pulls away long enough to laugh softly, and Hotch wonders why he’s taking this so well. Right before Rossi pulls off his jacket and throws it carelessly onto the coffee table and Hotch occupies himself with trying to unbutton Rossi’s shirt with fingers that are shaking. He only gets it half off of Rossi, when Rossi’ hands go to Aaron’s own shirt and somewhere in the confusion Rossi’s shirt gets ripped all the way off with a good amount of damage done to the remaining buttons. Somewhere along the way too most of Aaron’s shirt comes off along with his tie and jacket and Rossi starts leaving bite marks and openmouthed kisses along Aarons neck and as much of his chest as is exposed. Somewhere along the way Aaron managed to get his hand into Rossi’s dress pants. All through this his mind is screaming at him that this is ridiculous, they are being ridiculous, he’s being ridiculous. Making out on the couch like he’s eighteen again, and it’s wrong so very, very wrong, but the way Rossi touches him, the sounds Rossi is making as he moves against Aaron on the couch is chasing every thought out of his head.

He doesn’t remember if or when Rossi touches him, he only remembers when he comes, harder and more uninhibited then he has in years, half dressed awkwardly pressed against another man on a hotel couch. A few secants later Rossi shudders against him, gasping softly into the curve of Aaron’s neck, and Aaron feels almost happy. They lay against each other, in a mass of sticky disheveledness. Aaron tries to get his heart beat back under control, tries not to think about what’s just happened, tries not to think about how much he want to do it again.

He doesn’t remember when he falls asleep, only wakes with light shining in his eyes, feeling cramped, gritty and tired. Rossi’s up, collecting his clothes from where it had been scattered across the room. Hotch tries to think of something, anything, to say, but he knows there’s nothing. There is no way to excuse what happened. Rossi looks over to where Hotch still lies awkwardly on the couch, half dressed, blinking against the light. Then he smiles ever so slightly and leaves without saying a word. On the flight back to Quantico and the debriefing, they are polite, and professional, the way they had been before.

Hotch works late in the office, as he has done since he stopped having anything to go home to. He’s vaguely aware that the rest of the team except Reid goes home at a reasonable time, and be the time he finally locks up his office even Reid has left. He drives home and makes himself dinner, trying to ignore how empty the house feels, how ridiculously big for just one person. He knows he should go to bed, but instead fines himself wandering into the living room where he picks out a book and tells himself he’ll just read a little before going to bed. He’s been staring at one page for what feels like hours when the nocks comes at the door. He puts the book down and goes to it, seeing through the peephole that it’s Rossi, he opens the door.

“Rossi.”

“Couldn’t sleep either, huh?”

The other man’s smile is rye and Hotch stand back away form the door.

“Come in.”

Rossi steps into the hallway and Hotch closes and bolts the door again.

“Aaron.”

Rossi reaches out and touches Hotch’s arm.

“We need to talk.”

Hotch stands, frozen by the feel of Rossi’s hand on his arm, and the warmth that’s spreading out through his body. Slowly he looks up and meets Rossi’s eyes. He sees no anger, no guilt, no regret, or condemnation there, but most importantly he sees no fear. Hotch takes a careful breath.

“Yes, we do need to talk.”

Rossi smiles and lets his hand drop away from Hotch’s arm only to come back up to touch Hotch’s cheek. Hotch closes his eyes, gives into temptation, and leans into the touch. A surrender of sorts.

He opens his eyes and looks back up at Rossi. This time he sees humor, confidence, desire, and caring reflected back at him. He takes a deep breath and promises himself they’ll make it up to the bedroom this time.


“When you come to the end of all the light you know, and it’s time to step into the darkness of the unknown, faith is knowing that one of two things shall happen. Either you will be given something solid to stand on or you will be taught to fly.” Edward Teller.