#witsec hotch

Life with Moose happened to be a lot better than Aaron first feared, the fur–monster of a canine fitting in well with his and Jack’s lifestyle. Though the dog slept every night with Jack, either across the teenager’s legs, or sprawled across the soft dog bed on the floor, he was awake at 5.30 am sharp – ready to join Aaron for his morning run. The first few times, he had been hesitant; would the dog force him to stop every other pole? It would disrupt his whole thing when running; besides, his morning runs were more something to clear his head, prepare himself for the day, not an interval where he would run – stop – run. Jack had coaxed him to bring Moose with him on a run a few days later, when the grumpy teenager stood on their front lawn, pajamas on and bed–hair on full display, the dog leashed as he intently watched to see when the father of the house would return. 

“Woke me up with his stupid whining.” Jack grumbled as Aaron had returned, the older Hotchner simply rolling his eyes before reminding the teenager the responsibility of owning a dog – and as a stray from the street, Moose would occasionally need the little extra.

However, Aaron had complied, and the following morning, Moose had been at his side, ears flopping up and down as he ran, paws hitting the ground in a fascinating rhythm that matched up with his own steps. It became their routine, no matter the weather. Every morning, at 5.30 am, Aaron would walk into the kitchen to find Moose already there, tail wagging as he saw the older Hotchner. Every morning, after their run, they would alert Jack of the time, Moose by leaping onto the bed and tossing himself onto the younger Hotchner, while Aaron would call out for his son from the door, not interested in hearing Jack’s whines about his father being all sweaty and smelly from his run. That was their routine – even during weekends.

Saturdays and Sundays were both started with a run, Aaron rarely having the patience to sleep in. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, it was more along the lines that he simply wasn’t programmed to sleep in. Aaron Hotchner was programmed the way a profiler with the Behavioral Analysis Unit needed to be, and it was difficult for him to turn away from it. Jack didn’t seem to mind; as long as his father kept the morning news on a low volume, and promised not to blast The Beatles’ The White Album loudly until after 12 pm, the two of them wouldn’t have a problem. Aaron had rolled his eyes at the demands, muttering a single “teenagers” into his coffee, before turning back to the golf tournament he was watching on the TV. 

That Sunday was different, though. He had gone for his run, Moose happily joining him. They had stopped at the park, where the large dog had thrown himself into the water of the small pond to cool off, Aaron leaning back on a hard, wooden bench as he enjoyed the remainder of the sunrise. Then they would head home, the last stretch to their house being a race as Aaron would unhook the leash from Moose’s collar, chuckling as the dog bolted. Hadn’t it been for how many times they had done the run, how many times Aaron had seen how the dog was opening up and showing his true personality (because yes, the former FBI–agent was convinced the dog had just as much of a personality as himself and Jack) to them, he would never have let him run loose. Whenever he would turn into their driveway, however, Moose would be laying on the porch, almost as if to tell his owner “God, you’re being slow there old man.” 

Aaron crouched, running his hand through the warm, thick fur, chuckling as the dog happily licked at his face, before the two of them headed inside the house. The living room was basking in the morning sunshine, the warm rays reflecting on the polished hardwood floors, a gentle smell of something baked sifting through the house. Out of reflex, Aaron reached for the waistband of his pants, where he was used to finding the Glock he considered his trust–worthy sidearm. “Well, fuck.” He mumbled underneath his breath, not even realizing how his breathing had become shaky at the situation. Moose, on the other hand, seemed far too relaxed as he trotted into the house, tail wagging. “So much for a guard dog.” Aaron continued, feeling how every muscle in his body tensed – until he heard what gave him a reason to relax.

“Moose, hey – there you are buddy!” Jack’s voice echoed through the house, causing Aaron to chuckle, dropping his keys on the drawer in their hallway. Beads of sweat had formed along the hairline on his forehead, dark gray t–shirt having even darker blotches, though he didn’t mind either as he stepped into the kitchen, furrowing his brows at the sight.

Jack was making an absolute mess; there was flour spilt all over the countertops, cracked eggs in the sink, and the boy reeked of something Aaron recognized as vanilla. “What on Earth is going on here?” The older Hotchner queried, noticing the sheepish smile that spread on Jack’s face, the teenager nudging the dog down from where he was standing with his front paws on the counter, desperately trying to lick up some of the failed batter from whatever it was Jack had attempted to make. “I didn’t expect to see you up at this hour, let alone that our kitchen would look like someone had partially exploded a bakery.” 

“I’m sorry, dad. I wanted to do something nice, but–,” he scratched the back of his neck as he tossed a glance around the kitchen, shrugging slightly as he turned back to his dad. “Turns out I’m not as good in the kitchen as you are.”

Aaron couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking his head a little as he moved closer, wiping his thumb across the tip of Jack’s nose, wiping away some flour. “I know you’re not one for cleaning, Jackers, but how about you start while I get a quick shower? Then we can make something together, with whatever little things you’ve got left, that is.” The older Hotchner raised an eyebrow as he patiently awaited a response from his son. The teenager nodded at him, a cheeky “sir, yes sir” escaping his lips as he lifted his hand to his forehead, giving his father a proper soldier’s salute.

Moose tilted his head slightly, glancing up at Aaron as if to ask if he was allowed to continue licking the failed batter from the kitchen counter, though the older Hotchner simply grabbed a hold of the canine’s collar. “Come on buddy, you can be out on the terrace while Jack cleans up. Flour and sugar isn’t the best diet for a dog, no matter how fluffy and cute they are.”

Jack still kind of refused to believe how his father was with Moose; the stoic former FBI–agent had turned to jello since the dog had moved in with them, allowing him to sleep in his bed (though Moose tended to sleep with Jack), spending long nights on the couch with the dog’s head in his lap as one of the Star Wars–movies played on the screen of their TV. However, he enjoyed watching as Aaron settled more into their life in witness security. He knew the older Hotchner would much rather be in his office at Quantico, twisting and turning anything he could to help the BAU–team catch Peter Lewis – Mr. Scratch. Jack almost shuddered at the thought; he had been grateful not to notice the man, a man his father described to have a rat–like face, in the crowd while he played his soccer–match, but he knew it had stressed Aaron out. Moose had brought some of that old calmness back to him, the calm the older Hotchner had seen himself have no choice but to bring to himself as Haley had passed away.

Sighing, the teenager got to cleaning, the gentle whines of Moose motivating him to do it quickly; he couldn’t let the poor dog sit out there all by himself while being sad. His Spotify–account was registered under a completely new name, and it sucked; it sucked not being Jack. He knew why he had to do it, and he knew Aaron did it for his safety, but it sucked nonetheless. Jack scrolled through the songs on his playlist, pressing play as he heard the strumming of a guitar to a melody he didn’t recognize playing over the speakers located in their living room. He didn’t even realize that Aaron was done in the shower, having re–joined him in the kitchen, until the music stopped, just for the briefest of time, “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” from the Beatles’ White Album playing.

“Of course.” Jack chuckled, turning to watch as his dad opened the door to the terrace, Moose immediately brushing past his legs as he made his way to the kitchen. “How was your morning run?”

“It was okay.” Aaron shrugged, sinking down onto a chair by their kitchen table, quickly throwing a glance at his coffee cup, hoping Jack would understand what he was getting at; and grinning widely when he did, the teenager turning on the coffee brewer. “Surprised to see you up, though. Is it … you know?”

He didn’t need to say it; Jack knew exactly what he meant. He had struggled with them after Haley’s death, nightmares he couldn’t explain, nightmares about an evil he couldn’t wrap his head around. They had gotten better, mostly gone, in time for Mr. Scratch to surface. At first, the nightmares related to him had just affected Aaron. Jack remembered the nights he would wake at the sound of whimpers and silent cries from his father’s bedroom, wanting to help him, but not knowing how. He had tried asking Jessica about it, but he also knew Aaron wouldn’t want to worry her – and it was hard for Jack to ask her for advice without revealing too much. Seeing his father getting arrested at gun–point had been the turning moment for Jack. Since then, he had been tormented by nightmares – and this time it wasn’t just the figment of evil that haunted his nightmares; this time it was SWAT–officers; rat–faced SWAT–officers who didn’t hesitate to gun down his father after storming the apartment. 

“No.” Jack shrugged slightly. It wasn’t a lie. Not completely a lie, at least. He had woken sometime during the night because of a nightmare, but it was Moose stepping on his crotch that had woken him as Aaron got ready for his morning run. “It was our dear Moose who woke me. Placed a pointy paw and all his weight on me, and when I couldn’t sleep again, I decided I could do something nice for us this morning.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“I know.” Jack rolled his eyes, picking out a chew–bone for Moose from the drawer in their kitchen, the one drawer where they had a flawless system, making it easier to find whatever treat the dog wanted. He handed Aaron a cup of coffee before sitting down opposite of him, completely unaware of the shadow left by flour along his hairline; a bit about his feature that caused Aaron to smile a little. “What?” The teenager scoffed, rolling his eyes a little.

The older Hotchner shook his head, leaning back against the chair, though the grin never left his lips. “Nothing, nothing.” He mused, lifting the cup to his lips, his eyes darting around the boy. Jack reminded Aaron a lot of himself at the same age; tall and scrawny, bed–hair unruly as it fell into his eyes, and the dimple in his cheek showing with every smile. However, he was a softer version of Aaron, and he still had a lot of Haley in him, something that soothed Aaron’s soul. “I look forward to the day we can be ourselves again.”

“You and me both, dad.” Jack sighed, leaning down to scratch Moose between the ears. “Are you sure you won’t go back?”

“I’m positive. There’s no way I’m leaving you or Moose.” Aaron chuckled, sipping his coffee, eyes still locked on Jack. “You’re still having nightmares, Jack. I heard you, you woke up gasping for breath.”

The teenager lowered his head, not sure what to say. Even if Aaron hadn’t heard him, there wouldn't be any point in trying to hide it from him. Aaron Hotchner was once, and would always be a profiler, and he knew his son better than anything – or anyone. “There’s a rat chasing us, and you were held at gunpoint by SWAT–officers. The very same kind of officers who should be on our side and protect us.” Jack gruffed, shaking his head a little. Looking up, he found himself staring right into his father’s face, worry lines etched into the older man’s forehead. “It’s getting better, though. It helps having Moose in bed with me. There is something incredibly relaxing about being able to bury my face in his fur, and feel how his body relaxes in my arms, or to have his snout pressed against my neck.” He paused, glancing down at the canine, who was happily laying across the kitchen floor in a way that had him close to both Aaron and Jack as he munched on his bone, tail wagging and thumping softly against the floor at every mention of his name. “Could do without all the slobber though.”

“You weren’t any better when you were a kid.” Aaron deadpanned, noticing how Jack rolled his eyes, though the corners of the teenager’s lips were turning upwards.

They sat together like that, at the kitchen table of their house, Moose keeping both of them in control as he relaxed, and with the Beatles playing softly in the background. It bugged Jack that it was early; it was still before 8 am in the morning, on a Sunday morning; on a regular Sunday, Jack wasn’t due to roll out of bed for another five hours at the most. “Dad?” Jack spoke up after a while, receiving a simple hum as a response from his father, who had turned his attention to the bird–feeder located in their garden, gaze locked on the tiny, gray sparrows who were eating away at the various seeds. “I know it’s early, and that Sunday’s are usually a sleeping in kind of day, but could we do this more often?”