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"We know a little about a lot of things. Just enough to make us dangerous."
High school is a particular form of torture for Aaron. School is, and has always come, easy to him and by seventh grade he was no longer remotely challenged by the school work, even in the advanced classes. High school is even more boring, just with a side of humiliation and pain served up via the bullies.
The problem is mostly that Aaron is rather more intelligent than most of his classmates and although he chooses not to flaunt that, it's more than enough to get him teased. He's not a weakling, has taken enough martial arts classes to have the ability to defend himself if necessary. The ability to defend himself from attacks does not shield him from all the minor forms or humiliation or pain that are common in high school; being pushed into lockers, shoved around, or having his books hit out of his hands. It doesn't shield him from the name calling or the one name that sticks, unfortunate as it is; Crotchner. Not the most inventive, but annoying.
It infuriates Sergi, whose temper has always been more explosive than Aaron's, has ever since middle school. Aaron is steady and patient, silent and cold in his anger where Sergi builds hotter and louder and more explosive. Aaron can't afford to be the inferno that Sergi is, can't afford it in a home where holding on to his temper keeps his chances of being smacked around a little lower each day.
Sergi's not like him, he has a hair-trigger temper that he barely has a hold over and the thing most likely to set him off is someone trying to harm those that Sergi decides are his family. Aaron is ever more grateful to be counted one of those even if it makes Sergi get so mad that he's near irrational sometimes. Aaron lives with someone who should call him family, but who often hurts him after all, and if Sergi could he'd take Aaron far away he would and neither would ever look back.
The bullies at school have nothing on Aaron's father and honestly the name calling doesn't really matter to him. High school is hell, bullies or no bullies, and he's mostly just waiting until it's done so he can get the hell out of his parents’ house and off to college where he'll be away from pain and cold silences and the ever more obvious favoring of Sean.
The only thing of any interest in High School are the math classes, which are mildly challenging, and the language classes. Languages are one thing he truly has a passion for. He also has a gift for them, and for a time had considered becoming some sort of linguist when he grew up. It was an option he'd discarded only because he wants to make a difference, but he had considered it. He finds it incredibly easy to pick up languages and incredibly easy to get the accent correct.
He never takes Spanish classes, he'd started learning that language practically the same time he'd started learning English. Having a Latina nursemaid certainly helped his mastery of the language; he knows it as well as he knows English now. French is another language he'd started learning early on, although that was more from his mother’s insistence that he be able to speak the language. Aaron thinks, privately, that it's because she never learned it and wants to feel as if she's accomplished something by making him learn it. But French is easy in a way because it's similar to Spanish and English, even though romance languages are inherently difficult.
The school doesn't offer Italian, and his mother never hires a tutor for it either, but Aaron starts learning Italian when he's eleven and he runs across an ancient copy of Dante's Inferno in the original Italian, the margins of the pages filled with cramped handwriting which Aaron takes to be someone's notes and/or thoughts on the book. He finds the copy in an old used book store where the clerk has worked there since he was a boy like Aaron and the dust is piled so high you could measure it with a ruler. It's where Aaron takes refuge and the man sometimes complains to him about kids not reading as much now days and gives him discounts when Aaron doesn't have enough for the books he wants.
Aaron's not sure what attracts him to the book, what about it fascinates him so much, he's heard of the story and never found much interest in it. Yet this beaten up copy, well-worn and written in, calls to him. So he buys it and a couple of books on the Italian language and sets in to learning that language too.
Sergi is the one who introduces him to Russian; or rather Aaron introduces himself to Sergi only moments after he hears the older boy cuss out one of their classmates in Russian. It's that rather loud demonstration that sends Aaron to introduce himself and ask the other boy to teach him. Sergi is understandably confused.
"Why do you want to learn Russian?" He asks, his English still heavily accented. Aaron shrugs, he has no answer for that, only knows that he loves all languages and isn't about to give up learning one right from the source.
"Just want to know it." He tells the other boy, already a boy of few words. "I know a few other languages, but Russian sounds fun too."
Sergi really doesn't look sure how to respond to that, but agrees to teach him with a simple, "Very well," before they arrange times for them to meet up after school. Sergi is quickly impressed by the dedication Aaron shows to learning, and even more impressed by how quickly he picks the language up. It'll take years before he's able to speak like someone at his age should be able to, but within weeks he's mastered the ability to hold simple conversations.
His fifth language he learns in high school, taking the offered course in German three out of his four years, before continuing learning at the college level, taking a course from the community college one county over once he's leapt beyond the level his teacher can teach to in high school. German is harder than any of the other languages he's learned because it's harsh and guttural, different roots than Spanish or Italian. The type of language you really should start learning when you are a kid to be able to speak it with any sort of skill. Aaron, predictably, throws himself in to his studies of the language as he throws himself in to any of his projects. It's not a language easily mastered, but over time he does it, if only by sheer determination. (Although he'll never tell a living soul, translating large parts of memorized text from books is what gets him through the worst beatings in high school.)
Arabic and Latin he studies in college. He never truly masters Latin, the dead language, although he finds it fascinating. He knows enough to carry on a short and basic conversation, and it gives him a better grasp on the roots of both Spanish and French, but it's not a language he could give a speech, if he ever found someone who could or would listen to him give a speech in Latin. Arabic on the other hand he picks up almost as quickly as he did Russian.
There are more. He never stops studying them, never stops learning new languages, it’s a hobby he uses to relax. As soon as he has one mastered he moves on to another, taking community college courses or online courses or just learning out of a book. He finds a way to learn because he loves languages, they're his escape from the horrors of reality, during high school, after Sergi's death, or after Haley leaves him and there is nothing to come home to but an empty apartment and a bottle of scotch.
His knowledge of languages isn't exactly a secret, it's just something he's never bothered to tell anyone, not even his team. Haley knew, as did Sergi, but there's never been a need to tell anyone else, never been a need for his talents in the field. There had been the time that they'd gone down to Mexico, when he'd thought that it might be needed. Then Elle had revealed her own ability to speak the native language and he'd not bothered to encroach on her ability. Elle had been strong but she was defensive of her talents, trying hard to impress upon them that she could make it in the almost all male team.
It starts coming out slowly though, not long after Rossi comes back, in a strange rush of circumstances that all seem to require him to speak another language.
It starts with a coincidence, the team is having dinner together, a lighthearted affair in a fairly nice restraint Rossi had suggested. It's pleasant and easy and warm and when Garcia makes an offhand comment about them being a family no one thinks to contradict her.
They're trading stories, sometimes personal, sometimes funny, and Rossi is currently engaged in a story about the first time he'd met Gideon. It's hilarious to hear about the ways the two men clashed in opinions and methods. He's mid-sentence when a cheerful, heavily-accented voice breaks in with a questioning, "Alesha?"
Hotch twitches, surprise flashing across his usually taciturn face. He turns, as do the rest of the team noticing his reaction to the name, to find a man in his late thirties, blonde with serious gray eyes. The man is smiling and a happy, if confused; smile has situated itself on Hotch's face. The rest of them are trading confused looks, and mouthing 'Alesha?' at each other.
"Aleski! It is you. I thought I was mistaken for a moment." The other man says. The team watches as Hotch slowly rises, something like worry and guilt passing through his eyes.
"Dimitri, I... I hadn't realized you were in the country." He says, body language screaming that he wants to move forward, to touch, to reassure himself this man is really there, but he's holding back. Beside Garcia, Rossi stiffens slightly, his own stance shifting into protectiveness.
There is a pause, and then Dimitri steps forward pulling Hotch in to an embrace. "Oh, Alesha." He sighs just loud enough for their table to hear him. Hotch relaxes in to the embrace for a couple moments before pulling back. Some of the tension has leached from his frame.
Dimitri stares at him for a moment, tilting his head in a birdlike manner before speaking again, this time in Russian, [“Have you forgotten how to speak the mother tongue, little cousin.”]
Hotch looks to his teammates, his family, for a brief second before he responds in kind, [“Of course not. You know I would never forget.”]
There are varying levels of shocked reactions from his friends, and Rossi is strung tight with tension, but Hotch mostly ignores them.
[“I heard you quit being a prosecutor. Became a FBI agent.”]
The tension returns a bit to Hotch's shoulders, almost imperceptible, but easily spotted by the team of profilers sitting not two feet away.
[“Yeah, I did.”]
[“It was your dream, Alesha.”]
[“And I accomplished it. Then I figured out that doing this, being a profiler, it is something I'm even better at.”] Hotch makes a motion at his team, ["This is something I'm good at, and these people are my friends."]
[“Are you sure about this? You are in so much danger, and I am sure that Sergi-“]
[“Sergi is dead.”] Hotch's voice is flat enough to make everyone wince, and Garcia feels a faint worry that Rossi is going snap like a too tight bow, the tension has him strung so tight.
[“I know that, Aleski. Perhaps even better than you.”] The response is terse.
["I was devastated by his death, Dimitri!"] Hotch's voice is getting lower and angrier in a way that all of them recognize from when he's particularly frustrated, hurt and angry.
["Have you ever even visited his grave, Aleski?"] The way Hotch blanches and his face drains of color, has every one of his team, his family getting ready to stand up, stand between them, hurt this man who is hurting their friend. Rossi's eyes blaze with anger at the obvious distress Hotch is in. Hotch comes to his own defense though, his voice low and angry and full of grief.
["You have no idea what I went through. Do not judge me, Dimitri Bolshevik."] And Rossi makes a little abortive sound in his throat that tells them that he's reached the end of his control. Suddenly he's stepping forward, subtly putting himself between Hotch and Dimitri, although not blocking Hotch's line of sight. It's like a sign for the rest of them and they almost swarm to stand around Hotch, to support him.
Morgan stands solidly at Hotch's side, expression cold and serious. Beside him Garcia stands in all her eclectic glory, expression more threatening than Hotch has ever seen it before. Prentiss has stepped up almost beside Rossi arms crossed and body language clearly expressing her displeasure. Reid stands behind Rossi and Prentiss, directly next to Hotch, his anger clear in his stance, on his face, in his eyes, and J.J. stands behind them all, guarding their backs. Something warm blooms deep in Hotch's gut. Dimitri looks a little overwhelmed at the sudden confrontation.
"Aaron-" He starts to say before Rossi interrupts him.
"You need to leave." Rossi tells him, ignoring the pressure of Hotch's hand on his arm. "If you keep going with this conversation it is not going to end well. So just leave." It would almost seem like friendly advice except for the flat tone and angry eyes trained on Dimitri's face.
"It's not really your business." Dimitri says coolly, drawing himself up defensively. "This is between me and Aaron."
"It is all of our business because it is obvious that you are hurting Aaron, and you really don't care whether you are or not." Rossi says, eyes flashing with anger, and the whole team seems to move closer together, disgruntled and angry sounds coming from more than one of them. Hotch makes a quiet noise of protest, but doesn't shift away from the sudden possessive hold that Garcia has taken of his arm, or the way Reid presses just a little against his other side, or J.J.'s hand on his shoulder.
"Aaron, tell your... friends that this is between us." More than anything the way that Dimitri twists the word 'friends' makes Hotch angry, and more than a little sad. For a moment he stays silent before he states.
"Dimitri. I am sorry, I understand, better than you think, why you are angry with me. But that anger won't make Sergi come back. Please leave us. Maybe one day we can speak again." There's sorrow in his eyes, but his face is blank. For a moment they think that Dimitri won't agree, will insist on trying to continue the conversation. Then with a short nod he backs off.
"I will call you next time I'm in the country, Aaron. Goodbye." Turning swiftly on his heel, he leaves.
They all just stand there, a little surprised by the abrupt exit, then together they move back to their table and sit down again. There's a moment when they’re all just quiet and then Hotch sighs deeply and drags a hand across his face. His mind is whirling and his emotions are all over the place.
"I'm sorry about that." He says quietly, but the statement jolts his team in to action.
"You don't have anything to be sorry for, Aaron." Rossi says, surprisingly gentle, and the team around them makes noises of agreement. Hotch sighs from deep in his belly, and slumps forward, burying his face in his hands. Rossi's hand is steady on his shoulder, and on the other side Reid presses shoulder to shoulder against him, subtle but undeniably there. Rossi starts again, telling the story that Dimitri's arrival had interrupted like he'd never paused. The normality, the warmth, the lack of invading questions let Hotch gather himself back together and eventually put in a wry remark or two.
They'd carpooled to the restaurant, J.J., Reid, and Prentiss in one car, Morgan and Garcia in a second, and Rossi and Hotch in the third. Hotch is a little wary of the ride home because Rossi knows him well enough to know that what Dimitri said is still lurking there in the back of his mind, just waiting to spring on him when he goes home to his empty apartment.
The team stands outside the restaurant together, just laughing and enjoying the unseasonably warm night, for a long time before they finally split in to their carpool groups. Garcia and Morgan leave first, Garcia giving Hotch a warm hug that lasts longer than he'd normally allow, and Morgan giving a short clap on the shoulder and a quirk of a smile. After them J.J., Prentiss, and Reid leave. J.J. also hugs him and although it's briefer, it's no less warm. Prentiss hesitates before giving her own brief hug, drawing away almost as soon as she initiated it. Hotch has the absent thought that he's had more hugs in one night then he's had all month.
Reid, still standing next to Hotch, waves both the girls on with an easy smile waiting until they're both out of sight. Reid doesn't hug Hotch, but he does lean against the older man's side, pressing shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip. The two of them lean against each other for a moment before Reid smiles, brushes his hand briefly against Hotch’s elbow, and walks to the waiting car without a word. Rossi watches the whole exchange curiously, but doesn't comment, then leads his friend to where his car is parked.
Hotch lets him drive, although it makes him a little fidgety, and the drive is mostly silent. Rossi is, predictably, the one who starts the conversation.
"I didn't know you spoke Russian." Hotch flinches a little and stiffens, tension flooding his frame. Rossi hurries on with the conversation, casually asking, "You learn when you were younger?"
For a moment it looks as if Hotch won't answer, then the tension seems to bleed out of him as fast as it had come and he answers with a sort of wary reluctance. "Dimitri's brother, Sergi, taught me. We were in school together, he was my best friend for years, and he started teaching me in middle school. It's been years since I've needed to say more than a few sentences to someone." he sighs again.
Rossi pushes just a little bit farther, he's known Hotch for long enough to know the man is feeling guilty, and he's one of the only people Hotch will open up to. So he pushes.
"What did Dimitri say, Aaron? It looked like it was getting a bit heated there?" Hotch makes a half laughing sort of huff.
"He was accusing me of insulting Sergi's memory by being a profiler, or something like that anyway." There's a pause where Hotch lets his head drop against the head rest before he speaks again. "He doesn't understand, Dave. He didn't even ask why I'd done it. But then, I was never real close to Dimitri anyway. He's too much like me in all the wrong ways."
That makes Dave laugh and after a moment Hotch laughs with him. Dave knows when to back off though and the rest of the drive is comfortable and relaxed as they talk of idle things.
The next time his penchant for languages is part way revealed is on a case in Metairie, Louisiana. The suburb is located in the south shore of Lake Pontcharthrain, and is home to a serial killer who tortures and kills teenage boys. The unsub isn't hard to identify, the only problem is that he disappears before they can get to him. The wife refuses to speak them and the kid, five years old, only speaks French and very broken English.
"Je veux ma maman." The boy tells them unhappily, sitting at the table where the team has set up.
Prentiss and Reid trade helpless looks then look to where Morgan and Rossi sit. None of the four of them speak French. The boy repeats his plaintive phrase, looking close to tears. Hotch and J.J. enter just as the boy starts to repeat the sentence for a third time and Hotch looks to Rossi in question.
"He only speaks French," The older profiler explains, shrugging slightly, "and none of us speak French."
For a moment Hotch's face is impassive, then he sighs softly and turns to where the boy sits and takes a seat beside him.
"Mon nom est Aaron." He says, the words rolling of his tongue with ease, "Quel est ton nom?"
Each of them has differing reactions, each of startled surprise, but Hotch ignores them, focusing on the boy in front of him.
"Mon nom est Beau." Beau tells him, "Je veux ma maman."
Aaron smiles gently,"Je suis désolé Beau. Tu pourras voir ta maman dans un petit moment. J'ai besoin de toi pour répondre à quelques questions pour moi, d'abord."
For a moment Beau looks at him, concentration written all over his five year old face."Ensuite, nous verrons ma maman." He states.
Hotch nods solemnly and agrees, "Ensuite, nous verrons ta maman."
The questions go quickly and only fifteen minutes later Hotch names a place Beau describes that Hotch thinks is a likely place for the father to have fled to. Then they are off on their chase and the surprise and questions get lost in the adrenaline that comes with apprehending a criminal.
It isn't until the plane ride home, hours later, that any of them think of it again. It is Morgan who brings it up.
"It was a good thing you knew French, man. That kid looked like he was getting ready to throw a fit." He says, question implied.
Hotch shrugs a little, "My mother thought it appropriate for me to learn French when I was younger."
The revelation is surprising in several ways because Hotch hardly ever actually mentions his blood family, let alone chooses to reveal a fact from his childhood, even one as minimal as that. It's a monumental display of trust, especially for a man as reserved as Hotch is, and not a person on his team, profiler or not, can miss it.
They don't mention it again, and the rest of the flight home is spent mostly in comfortable silence, broken by the occasional low, easy conversation.
The third time is something of an accident and less a conscious decision to reveal his ability out of necessity.
He's been sorting through his storage, finding things he'd half forgotten about and hadn't really realized he still had. He'd found that paper he'd written for his Media and Culture professor. Buried under that, under a shoebox full of similar essays and another full of pictures he only half remembered taking, under old t-shirts and half dozen filled notebooks there is the original copy of Dante's Inferno that he'd bought at eleven years of age.
It smells old and dusty, familiar in a way that makes his chest ache. He'd spent years pouring over this book in his free time, first just translating the text, then translating the notes, and finally just reading it through without the help of notes or a dictionary, enjoying it for what it was and reading the sometimes insightful, sometimes witty, notes scribbled in the margins. Somewhere in the notebooks that he's already taken out there are his translations, but he hasn't needed them for years.
His own notes are scrawled in the margins, also in Italian, questions and thoughts and ideas. The book had spent fifteen years as his near constant companion and many different editions of his own notes and thoughts had made their ways on to the pages. He finds himself tracing the words fondly, reading and re-reading already familiar passages. He makes himself put the book aside, but when he's packed everything else up Dante's Inferno stays out with him and is quietly tucked in to his go-bag.
Which is how it ends up on the plane, on a six hour ride across the country. Hotch has already gone over the case file with his team, and then again himself and he has at more than half the flight left. He finds himself drawing out The Inferno and opening it up to read. Even while reading he's aware of the people around him so it's not a surprise when Rossi speaks from behind him, although the words are.
"I wasn't aware that Italian literature was an interest of yours, Aaron." Rossi says in his usual, dry voice, just loud enough to attract the attention of the others on the plane, all of whom are still sitting very near. It doesn't stop Rossi from asking, curiosity in his voice, "Where'd you find a version of Dante's Inferno in the original Italian?"
Hotch offers him a faint glare as his team makes questioning noises and Morgan even asks, "Your reading The Inferno in Italian?"
Hotch glares a bit at Rossi as another round of questioning noises comes from his team. After a moment the clamor that's broken out settles, and then Reid asks, "How many languages do you know, Hotch?"
Hotch sighs again, "Around fifteen that I can speak fluently. More that I can get by on."
There's a stunned silence before Prentiss whistles, impressed. "Wow, Hotch, I didn't know you had the gift."
When the rest of the team look at her curiously, she explains, "I moved around a lot when I was a kid and I met a lot of kids like me who visited more countries their first fifteen years than most people can claim to visit in their whole lives. Some of them had what the rest of us called the gift for languages. All it really meant was that after a month or so in a new place they pretty much could speak the language well enough to get on with their lives, and none of them ever forgot a language later on. I would have loved to be able to do it, but it was never a skill of mine."
Hotch shrugs when the rest of them look at him. "I started learning to speak other languages when I was very young. It's always come easily for me."
"For some reason I have never been able to master a second language," Reid tells them.
"I'd think with your memory it's be even easier than for normal people," Morgan says. Reid just shakes his head.
"While I do remember everything I read I've found I have difficulties associating foreign words with their English counterparts. Did you know that only about nine percent of people in America actually speak two languages fluently? Whereas in countries like Switzerland children are required to be able to speak German, French and English before they leave school and Japan has middle school children learning English as a secondary language."
"Okay, man. We get the picture." Morgan says a little exasperatedly and Reid subsides with a bit of a chastised look.
"Sorry."
The team subsides in to conversation that somehow segues in to a discussion on the best Italian restaurants they know. Hotch finds he's smiling fondly at his team, warmth tingling in his chest and deep in his stomach when he looks at them.
Further discussion on Hotch's talent for languages is suspended once their journey ends and no one gets the chance to even think on it as they take up the case that turns very bloody, very quickly with the unsub rapidly deteriorating in to an all-out slaughter. It's messy, it's horrifying, and even when they finally get the guy he manages to take out one cop and injure another. They go home tired, every one of them affected by the case.
When they finally get back to BAU headquarters Aaron sends them all home, lets them put off their paperwork for the night. He gets tired smiles of thanks from every one of them and Morgan heads towards Garcia's office, obviously letting her know about the small amount of extra time off. Aaron watches them leave, standing at the door of his office, with a small smile, there's camaraderie and fondness and care in their good-byes even as tired and sad as each of them are.
Aaron doesn't leave with them, instead goes in to his office to start on the paperwork that he still has to finish. He's only just started when Dave comes in. For a moment both of them are silent, Dave just standing there, watching, Aaron working steadily on his paperwork feeling Dave’s eyes like a brand on his skin. It's maybe five minutes, probably less, before Dave speaks, breaking the near silence.
"Come on, Aaron, you're as tired as the rest of us. Time to go home." For a moment Aaron considers ignoring him, continuing working, he's not sure how persistent Dave will be. But really what he wants is to go home with Dave, take a warm shower to wash the dirt of the day off, eat something warm, and fall in to bed with Dave. He's too tired to even really want to have sex with Dave, just basic comfort through human touch. And Dave is offering this, right now, offering to go home together, and Dave hasn't been over in too long due to cases and awkward timing.
Finally Aaron starts saving things and shutting his computer down, rearranging stacks of paperwork. When he finally looks up as he stands Dave is staring at him with a fond expression. Aaron looks down quickly, not quite used to the open affection that Dave treats him with. He puts on his coat, and lets Dave lead him out, only pausing a moment to turn off the light.
Aaron had caught a ride with Dave days ago, before the case had first started, which he does fairly regularly now. It makes nights like this easier and it's cheaper not to have a car in the long run. He had been taking the subway, but when Dave had found out he'd immediately insisted on giving Aaron rides. It works out fine most of the time, since Dave likes to spend as often as he can with Aaron and even with Jack.
Dave drives them to Aaron's, and walks with him up to his apartment. Aaron's too tired to hold a coherent conversation during the drive but it's okay because Dave seems content to drive in silence. Once inside Dave sits him down on the couch and Aaron loses track of what happens next; he's already dozing. What's probably only a few minutes later Dave returns and Aaron's a little baffled by the fact that he's still carrying Aaron's go bag. Dave chuckles at him when he asks.
"You're coming to my place, Aaron. I just wanted to get clean clothes for you, and fresh clothes for your go bag." Dave helps him up as he's informing Aaron and pretty soon they're making their way back to Dave's car. Aaron is leaning very heavily on Dave by now. He loses more time on the drive to Dave's house, but decides he's okay with that because Dave will keep him safe.
He's not sure why that thought is so comforting, he's never needed anyone to keep him safe before.
Dave guides him in to his house, which is huge and fancy and completely David Rossi, and as such warm, welcoming and familiar. Aaron's been there before of course, but right in the moment it feels special. Their go bags are dropped off is the master bed room, while they make their way to the master bathroom.
Dave sits him on the toilet and the next thing he knows Dave has him standing up and completely naked. It's mildly disconcerting to be losing time, but Aaron's really too tired to care. Dave's also naked, which would usually be nice and very interesting, but at the moment just makes him feel warm and safe. Dave manhandles him into the shower and the water is just the right temperature of scalding hot to make Aaron groan in pleasure.
When he melts against the other profiler it gets him a breath of a laugh huffed against his skin. They stand together for a while just holding each other and feeling good. It takes a moment for Aaron to register that Dave is speaking to him.
"-silly man. You haven't been sleeping, have you, Aaron?" There's a pause and it takes him longer than it should to figure out that Dave actually wants an answer.
When he comes to that conclusion he says. “No." It's a very soft answer.
Dave sighs and starts to soap up his back, causes little shivers to make their way down Aaron's back and doing interesting things to his body in general.
"You need to take care of yourself, Aaron." Dave reprimands him softly, "We worry for you and none of us want you to collapse from exhaustion. Especially not me."
This is something Aaron can understand. He's had times where he's been worried that one of his team was overworking themselves. He tends to forget it's something he's prone to do himself.
"Do you understand?" Dave asks, still gently stroking his back. Aaron just barely forms his words of agreement. Dave draws back a little and smiles at him before drawing him into a gentle kiss. They haven't been able to just be together in ages, and Aaron practically melts in to a puddle of profiler goo at the simple pleasure of kissing the man he's in love with. Neither of them are terribly demonstrative, and even if they were they couldn't afford to be at work, but Aaron's been touch-starved most of his life and simple gestures of affection are the ones that hit him the hardest.
They stand under the spray of the shower just kissing for a long time, long enough for the water to start to turn tepid. Dave maneuvers him so that he can turn the heat up again, kisses him once more, then goes back to gently washing Aaron clean. Dave is gentle in a way that no one has been for years, washing every part of him thoroughly, but without any eroticism to it. He even goes down on his knees to gently soap up Aaron's calves and thighs, but the normally erotic gesture is negated by the gentle care he's showing and all it does is make Aaron feel emotional.
Aaron just leans against him as Dave washes himself, occasionally trying to help, but too exhausted to do much more than get in the way. It makes Dave laugh though, so the attempt isn't a total loss. After they've both been thoroughly scrubbed clean, no help from Aaron there, Dave carefully manhandles Aaron back out of the shower and dries them both off with the big fluffy towels that Aaron has always favored, but never really had since Haley disliked them. Should get some now. He thinks, and maybe it's a slightly uncharitable thought, but he's too tired to feel even the slightest bit guilty.
Aaron's not sure when Dave collected clothes for them to put on, but he soon finds himself wearing a pair of warm sweatpants and a his favorite T-shirt, one Dave had given to him years ago when Aaron was still a rookie agent. Dave is wearing his own pair of sweatpants and a soft T-shirt that looks nearly as old as the one Aaron is wearing.
He lets himself be led out to the kitchen, leaning in to the body next to him, and taking comfort in the warm arm wrapped around him. The chair Dave sits him down in isn't quite as nice, but Aaron's tired enough that sitting is a good idea. For minutes, or hours, or days, or forever, he just sits there and listens to Dave cook and hum softly to himself. The aromas coming from the direction of Dave's humming are enough to awaken his previously sleeping stomach and it growls, loudly. Aaron only opens his eyes when there's the distinctive chink of a plate being set in front of him.
Dave's made omelet, just the way he like them; lots of cheese, a bit of ham, onions and tomato, but none of the mushrooms that Dave likes in his own omelets. There's an even cheese melted on top and Aaron's mouth waters just at the sight of it. He grins up at Dave, feeling a little more awake now, and offers an enthusiastic, "Thanks!"
Dave chuckles, "I know other ways you could thank me." He says, his voice a little rough. Aaron blushes a little, feeling surprisingly shy in his tiredness, but smiles and Dave chuckles again, dropping a quick kiss on his lips before turning to get his own dinner. They both eat quickly, both of them are starving and the food is delicious. Dave piles the dishes in the sink to do the next day and then herds Aaron out the door.
Aaron's laughing a little by the time they make it to the master bedroom since Dave keeps running his hands up Aaron's sides, hitting all of the ticklish or sensitive spots there. Dave kisses Aaron briefly before stripping the younger man of his clothes quickly and then undressing himself.
"In a hurry are we?" Aaron asks, laughing softly but feeling warm and loved, and Dave responds by tripping him back on to the bed. The bed is a California King, with soft sheets, fluffy blankets and more pillows than Aaron has ever seen on a bed in his life. It's decadent and expensive and Aaron loves it. Dave arranges himself on top of Aaron, pinning him to the bed in a hold that Aaron could break, but won't. They kiss for a long time, lost in each other and each just taking pleasure from the presence of the other.
It's a indeterminable time later when Dave finally draws away, kissing down Aaron's neck and chest before sucking briefly on one nipple, then the other. Aaron squirms beneath him, flushed and already hard from their kissing and the weight of Dave above him. Dave kisses a line back up to Aaron's neck, licking and nipping at the junction between neck and shoulder, and sucking lightly enough not to leave marks where they could be seen.
Without breaking the kiss he urges Aaron up the bed so they're arranged in the middle. Aaron squirms beneath him as Dave ghost his fingers along the sensitive ridges of Aaron's ribs, and down his sides. He's making soft little moaning noises by the time Dave finally reaches into the nightstand to pull out a bottle of lube.
It’s cold at first, but Dave is kissing him on the mouth again and Aaron hardly notices the first finger entering him. Not until it brushes against his prostrate in an almost feather-light touch. That makes Aaron jerk is surprised pleasure and moan into the smile that curves Dave's mouth.
"Smug bastard," He gasps against Dave's lips, and then moans when Dave presses another light brush against his prostrate. Dave teases him forever with one finger, never hard enough to get him to come, but always keeping him close to the edge. When the second finger enters him he's too busy sucking little marks in to Dave's chest to notice. The third finger follows a lot quicker, and burns just a little more, but Aaron's never been afraid of a little pain and he's well aware that the pleasure will quickly override the small pain.
"Are you ready?" Dave asks him, lips barely an inch away, and Aaron mumbles 'yes' before lunging up to kiss him again. Dave settles between his legs, quickly slicking his cock up. For a moment he pause and gives Aaron a long, slow, sweet kiss and Aaron almost comes right there just from the sweetness of it. Then he slides in to Aaron with one smooth motion, and pauses there letting his lover adjust to the significant size change.
"Move!" Aaron demands after only a couple moments and Dave does, setting a slow pace that drives Aaron mad, already fired up and aching with it. It's just as gentle as the earlier shower, although considerably more erotic, and Aaron can feel the emotion welling up inside of him. Dave is thrusting inside him, sweet and hard and taking care of him and it's more than enough to cause Aaron to cry out.
"Dave!" His voice is rough and needy and he's making little whimpering groans in between words. "Dave, Dave, Dave!" It's become a chant. Dave is sucking on his shoulder where a mark would be covered by a shirt and thrusting a little harder as Aaron makes desperate needy sounds and chants his name. Dave's hands are resolutely not touching Aaron's cock, one resting next to Aaron's head and supporting Dave's body while the other grips Aaron's hip.
Aaron gets louder even as he starts thrusting his hips up to meet Dave. His hands are gripping Dave's back helplessly, scoring light marks across his shoulder blades. "Dave!" He begs, "Dave, Dave, please."
Dave takes his mouth of Aaron's shoulder to ask, voice rough and wrecked, "What do you need, Aaron?"
"Come. Please come inside me." Dave kisses him, speeding up his thrusts and then comes, buried deep inside Aaron. For a moment they both lay there panting and then Dave kisses him again, this kiss another slow and sweet one. He breaks from it, massaging slow circles in to Aaron's hip and leans to whisper in to Aaron's ear.
"Come, now, my lover." And Aaron comes, without a hand laid on his cock.
They lay together until Aaron has to insist Dave get off, "Heavy, Dave." Which just amuses Dave, who roles off then pads in to the bathroom to get a washcloth, returning to wash Aaron's come of his belly. After that task is done, Dave gently maneuvers a once again sleepy Aaron under the covers and then gets under them himself. Aaron immediately pushes back against him, back to his chest, legs tangling together intimately.
Dave wraps both arms around his lover, and tangles the fingers of their left hands together. Gently he brings Aaron's wrist up, so he can press a kiss to the soft skin of the inside of his wrist, then wraps himself back around Aaron, tangling them more firmly together.
"I love you." Dave whispers, kissing Aaron's neck.
"I love you, too." Aaron whispers back, voice heavy with sleep.
They sleep calmly and without nightmares.
"We're all a little weird, and life's a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness in compatible with outs, we join up and fall in mutual weirdness, and call it love."
Finis