the dark sacred nights
The first of probably many Criminal Minds + White Collar crossovers from me! I'm all over the place lately. And you know what? This time last year I was STRUGGLING so hard with writer's block and now I'm riddled with too many ideas and I'm just going to embrace it and go with it. This story is zero plot, it's just about 2k words of character study to see how these people all work together.
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The sun is out. No, it’s not just out it’s blazing. There is a chill in the air as the breeze whips through the shuddering trees, but the way the sun beats down on Hotch’s face is exactly what he needs. He didn’t know it before he started walking, before Peter called him and asked for a quick meeting. “I’ll come to you,” he had said, but Hotch was up for the walk. His body might not have been, the protest in his aching joints was loud and persistent but still the walk was nice. The walk meant he was alive, and after the night before that was a pretty big miracle.
“You look terrible,” Peter says, offering Hotch half of his sandwich as soon as he manages to ease his aching bones down onto the wooden bench. He’s always done that as long as they’ve been friends. Deviled ham wrapped in wax paper. Hotch had never known anyone as old fashioned as he was before meeting Peter Burke but when they were together it was like a meeting of kindred spirits. Hotch takes the sandwich and nods. He doesn’t always accept, but Peter always offers. That’s the thing about him.
One of the things about him. Another thing is that he doesn’t like being worried about people he loves. He doesn’t like being worried or being kept in the dark, and right now he’s reeling from both. White Collar didn’t exactly deal with terrorists, but he’d been in Federal Plaza at the same time as Hotch and hadn’t heard a peep out of him.
“I don’t know.” Hotch replies in a voice that’s almost too quiet. His jaw hurts, spits fire up into his ear at the movement. “I think I look alright all things considered.”
He can barely hear, the entire world sounds like it’s underwater but that’s a hell of a lot better than the intermittent high-pitched screaming that accompanies all of the pain. There is no scream right now. He’s just scuba-diving in Manhattan, waiting for the headache that follows the silence. It’s like having the bends without ever setting foot in water.
“You’re okay though?”
“I’ve been better, but they said I’ll live.”