Title: Sleep Deprived or The Summer During Which Spencer and Aaron Fell in Love

Warnings: For the part: profanity, preslash and discussion of rape.

Pairings: Hotch/Reid, mentions of Hotch/Beth

Summary: Non-established, Reid catches Hotch masturbating. After initial embarrassment they share one of the sincerest conversations they had in a very long time and from there they start their journey from friends to lovers. Eventual slash. Written for hotchxreid promptmeme.

Word count: ~... Long...very long.

DISCLAIMER: The Mark Gordon Company, ABC Studios and CBS Paramount Network Television own Criminal Minds. I just took them out to play and I promise put them back when I'm done.

The blessing it is to have a friend to whom one can speak fearlessly on any subject; with whom one's deepest as well as one's most foolish thoughts come out simply and safely. Oh, the comfort — the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person — having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but pouring them all right out, just as they are, chaff and grain together; certain that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and then with the breath of kindness blow the rest away.

~Dinah Craik

Sleep Deprived or The Summer During Which Spencer and Aaron Fell in Love

Chapter one: Minnesota.

Budget Oversee Committee consisted from overpaid, lazy bunch of bureaucrats who came to the office straight from their mansions with big, square, feathery beds only to plot how to make other peoples – field agents who worked their asses off day in and day out – miserable by looking what else they could cut off in order to supposedly save costs. Someone should definitely tell those bastards that the bureau would save pretty impressive sum just by cutting those fuckers paycheck in half.

Once, years ago there was a time when one could get a total reimbursement of all travel expenses without having to explain his supervisor and therefore highty and mighty Budget Oversee Committee that they needed to eat and sleep and that after spending twelve hours worth day on their feet in the field the last thing they needed was putting together a geographical profile of the cheapest motels in the area.

But in last few years not once, not twice, not trice Spencer found himself challenging unit's budget into staring contest once Hotch, Morgan and Rossi had been over it several times already and separately and in unison came to a single conclusion that once again they had spent more than Budget Oversee Committee had decided that they could spend in the field.

Last year they had to say goodbye to their annual raise because as small as it happened to be the committee decided that it was something they didn't deserve and besides they were already, according to the committee an overcrowded unit which had more profilers than any other team. Translating from bureaucratic economics into English JJ's paycheck was largely coming from whatever raises and financial perks they were supposed to get but didn't.

When Emily finally left for London for a while it seemed that BOC, affectionately and unofficially deemed by the four of them as Bunch of Cretins would leave them finally in peace but it took Spencer one good look at Hotch who just returned from his first meeting with BOC after Emily left with the look on his face that spoke, 'On the next case out of town we are doubling up.'

After all it was cheaper share two double and one single rooms than get five single ones.

Easier Chief Accountant's stark white and oversized butt in his too small trousers.

Single rooms were supposed to give them the illusion of privacy they needed and in a way deserved, the peace of stretching out in the bed to calmly sleep through the night or doing whatever nocturnal desire had struck them whatever it was to catching up with late night documentary about the spider's circle of life, ordering in midnight snacks or submitting to more carnal desires like watching porn and masturbating.

It sucked, majorly. Especially way too small double beds.

The first case on double-up regime Spencer spent sharing a room with Morgan. It wasn't the first time they shared a room, they've done it in the past but it was the first time in a longer while when they had to share a double bed. They didn't like it but they sucked it up.

During the first night Morgan had a nightmare which had ended painfully for Spencer because by the time he managed to kick off Morgan from the bed he ended with a black eye, split lip and bruised ribs. Morgan of course apologized and spent the rest of the nights until they got back sleeping on the floor but after that case they decided to don't double up together again for a longer while.

So next time when they went into the field and it became painstakingly clear that the only beds the motel had were double beds Spencer simply snorted 'Dibs' before he grabbed his bag and followed Hotch to his room before Rossi and Morgan could protest about the arrangement.

Doubling up with Rossi was out of question for Spencer because the man snore like a distraught goat, constantly and unfortunately for anyone who had to double-up with him he always fell asleep first.

In the past Hotch proved to be a good, unproblematic roommate who didn't have severe control issues over the remote control and few chapters of a novel. He didn't snore, didn't kick, didn't stole the covers (at the very least during those few times they were forced to share a double bed). Spencer fully believed that he was in for a calm, peaceful night of sleeping.

If he knew what he was getting himself into he would simply sleep in the SUV or back at the police station.

Spencer was roused from his sleep around three thirty in the morning by the sound of creaking springs and shallow labored breathing of a man straining himself for complexion... for ten minutes now and for the last two minutes not paying attention if his fellow bedfellow was really sleeping.

The bed was squeaking like a pig which someone was trying to slice in half.

'Come damn it!' Spencer hissed inwardly. 'I want to sleep for fuck's sake. You couldn't have taken care of that while you were in the shower?'

Two minutes later nothing had changed, the bed still oinked, Hotch still tried to strain himself into complexion and Spencer was getting closer and closer to grabbing a pillow and pressing it to Hotch's face to finally end this embarrassing horror.

He didn't know how he would be able to look Hotch in the eyes tomorrow. He will either end laughing his butt off every time he would look at the man or he would spend the day trying to match his new crimson tie.

'The retribution for that must be painful,' he decided. 'It would be nice if it got me a single room too,' he mused.

There was one thing, one thing that would put an end to it and would make sure that Hotch wouldn't try taking things in hand while he was sharing the room with Spencer.

Spencer breathed the air in, softly and shallowly drawing it out as if he was coming around for a moment before he turned on his back. The change of position had earned him a pause from Hotch's side of the bed but predictably after two and half a minute wait through which Spencer was breathing softly as if he was sleeping the bed creaked again.

Once. Twice. Trice.

Horny bastard. Strike that: relentless horny bastard. Was he drawing his orgasm out because he liked it that way or because the lump on the bed next to him was counterproductive to his nocturnal routine, if it was nocturnal routine... It could be a nocturnal routine because even when Hotch was doubling up with someone nine times out of ten he ended sharing a room with Rossi who snore and wouldn't wake up even a minute before the alarm would go up.

Oink. Oink. Oink.

Spencer's right hand curled into a fist. If Hotch wouldn't finish it in two minutes his face will have a very urgent meeting with Spencer's right hook which while not as impressive as Morgan's or Hotch's right hook carried enough strength to leave a bruise.

Oink. Oink. Oink.

Thirty seconds. Twenty seconds. Ten seconds. Five seconds.

Jesus...

"Rossi and Strauss are having an affair!" Spencer howled, not loud enough to wake up the whole floor but loud enough to make it deafening for the other occupant of the room.

Hotch froze but other than that he hadn't done anything which if Spencer just woke up – which he did not – wouldn't alarm Spencer that he wasn't sleeping but Spencer knew better.

It was the highest time for the endgame.

"And I want to sneak into Chief Accountant's mansion house in the middle of the night, bind him with his ridiculously high thread count sheets spread eagle to his big, square, feathery bed, take down his pants, put the barrel of my revolver in his anus and shot all bullets from the cylinder into his ass," this time Spencer didn't howl but made sure that his voice was loud and clear.

"Noble and highly encouraged aim," Hotch mumbled. "Do you have any particular reason for informing be that you are thinking about getting in touch with your inner unsub?"

"Yes," Spencer snorted. "My inner unsub wants me to practice first before I will go after the real target. As of late I've been feeling increasing desire to take a pillow and smoother a rabbit with it."

"Rabbit?" Hotch asked skeptically. "The miniature fluffy one or one of those which eventually end at the table?"

"Neither," Spencer answered. "I was thinking about the relentless bugger who for past twenty minutes was making the bed squeak like a slaughtered pig. I acknowledge your stamina oh the mighty one and I bow before you. Now either stop it and go to sleep or go to the bathroom to finish it because I'm an inch away from hitting something and your head is the closest."

Hotch sighed and his shoulders relaxed a little before he said quietly, "I'm sorry. You have every right..."

"To sleep," Spencer snorted before he turned again to the edge of the bed and pulled the covers tightly over himself.

"I was going to say file a grievance," Hotch sighed and Spencer could hear him turning on his back.

"I will," Spencer muttered. "I will file a grievance against entire merry bunch of cracked in the head accountants for violation of privacy and whatever I will be able to think of on our way home."

"You want to file a grievance for violation of privacy done by your supervisor against budget oversee committee?" Hotch asked.

"I'm pretty sure that my supervisor wouldn't violate my privacy if he had his own room where he could make the bed squeak for as long as he wanted," Spencer snorted. "Beth is a lucky woman, I give her that. Now shut up and go to sleep or shut up and go to the bathroom."

Hotch didn't move.

Spencer closed his eyes ready to fall back to Morpheus's arms when a soft sigh tore through the air.

"You're wrong," Hotch sighed.

Spencer opened his eyes and rolled on his back.

"I'm wrong?" he said.

"Doesn't matter," Hotch said before he turned back to his own side. "It's not your business."

"You woke me up at half past three in the morning," Spencer pointed out. "You made it my business just like I will make your business the reimbursement of my expenses on the sessions with chiropractor which without shadow of a doubt I will need if I will spend the rest of this case sleeping in the SUV or at the police station."

"Jerk," Hotch snorted into the pillow.

"Fucker," Spencer huffed. "Now we are even."

Hotch snorted into the pillow. Spencer huffed the bangs out of his eyes and crossed his arms thinking what an insufferable jerk Hotch could be at times.

"If I will have a migraine tomorrow it will be your fault," Spence muttered.

Slightly pitched muffled sound came from the pillow.

"So what you are going to do?" Hotch asked. "Boot me out of the bed and make me sleep on the couch in the lobby?"

"I will if you will as much as twitch a finger to my side of the bed," Spencer grimaced.

"That's my side of the bed," Hotch pointed out. "I always sleep on the right side of the bed and if I slept on the right side of the bed tonight you would be still sleeping and not planning a murder."

Spencer frowned before he said, "You always take the side closer to the door."

"No, I always take the right side which more often than not happens to be closer to the door," Hotch corrected him.

"Relentless bastard with severe territorial issues," Spencer puffed. "It wasn't labeled 'Aaron Hotchner's side' so suck it up and get over it, I'm not moving to the left side of the bed until the room-service will change the sheets. You will get your precious right side back tomorrow."

"Thanks," Hotch sighed.

"Why you didn't do it in the shower?" Spencer asked suddenly, he wasn't curious, it just bothered him.

Hotch was silent for a very long while before he sighed, "I tried. Didn't work."

"Didn't work?" Spencer echoed.

"Didn't work," Hotch confirmed and after even longer pause he added, "Doesn't work."

"Doesn't work?" Spencer asked.

"You said that I made it your business," Hotch shrugged. "Doesn't work."

"For... for how long?" Spencer asked pensively as he sat up and leaned against the headboard.

"That particular part?" he could practically hear Hotch grimace. "Works better when I'm using my left hand and I'm not sharing the room with tap-dancing rhino who at any given moment can barrel into the bathroom."

"I don't tap-dance," Spencer muttered. "And I don't come barreling into the bathroom when I know that someone is in there. Taking into an account the level of your embarrassment I hazard a guess that before we left you had 'the spirit was willing but the flesh was not' moment, am I right?"

"Yes," Hotch muttered.

"More than once?" Spencer asked cautiously.

Hotch rolled on his back and raised his head up to glower at Spencer which in any other position and any other circumstances would make Spencer keep his mouth firmly shut but it was almost four o'clock in the morning, his sleep routine was upset and he really wasn't going to take serious the threat that was coming from a man who came to bed wearing Fairly OddParents t-shirt.

"I have a PhD in Psychology and I charge less than any other certified psychologist," Spencer shrugged. "And it's not that the first thing which I'm going to do after leaving this room will be coming over to Morgan and Rossi while saying 'guess what I just learned', is it?"

"I'm not worrying about that," Hotch huffed.

"I know, you are worrying about your ego," Spencer nodded. "Which already is the prime casualty of your problem which means that it can't get any worse than it is," he shrugged.

"For a psychologist you have a bedside manner of a psychopath," Hotch snorted.

"But I don't break doctor-patient confidentiality," Spencer pointed out.

"And you also happen to be a relentless bugger," Hotch added.

"I've learned from the master, the table got turned around," Spencer quipped. "So?"

"It was fine," Hotch sighed. "Nothing serious, nothing overly sexually exhausting. Kissing, making out, cuddling, petting, a great deal of foreplay. Everything was fine, slow but fine, no pushing or going past things we weren't both comfortable with..."

"But?" Spencer asked.

"Then we decided to go step further," Hotch grimaced as he folded his arms over his chest. "Everything was going fine until..." he looked at the door to the bathroom and crossed his ankles under the covers.

"Until it came down to discovering what previously remained undiscovered?" Spencer suggested.

"In case you didn't notice I have a living proof that I'm not a virgin," Hotch snorted.

"Fine," Spencer snorted. "Sexual intercourse consisting from inserting the penis into vagina and continued penetration of thereof done by aforementioned. Is that better?"

"It's painfully clinical and painstakingly accurate," Hotch muttered. "And that's when everything went..." he pursed his lips over his tongue making the sound akin to one done by a deflating balloon. "I was embarrassed, she was understanding, we cuddled and went to sleep."

"Bad move," Spencer commented.

"For your benefit I'm skipping the part that has me making sure that she went to sleep relaxed," Hotch snorted. "I decided that I was stressed out and that it was a one time thing that occasionally happens to a man. I wasn't planning on loosing sleep over it."

"But you did," Spencer said.

"Not that time," Hotch sighed. "Next time I made sure that it was on our day off. No stress to mess. I even took an idiotic bubble bath in scented oils with vanilla candles, burnt myself with hot wax in the process..."

"Where?" Spencer asked.

"Not there," Hotch puffed. "I've put my right pinky in hot wax if you really need to know mother hen."

"Papa rooster," Spencer coughed. "So?"

"Same outcome, same story," Hotch sighed. "She was understanding, I was embarrassed, I pleased her the other way. Next morning when she left for work and took Jack to school I..."

"Took things in hand," Spencer suggested. "And?"

"Everything was in working order. Straight from point A to point B," Hotch snorted. "But it got me thinking so I ended going out and playing dumb idiot at one of those free clinics, I profiled the crap out the kid on duty, played into his empathy, sold him a story that my girlfriend was returning home after over a year abroad in Japan and that I didn't want to disappoint her on our first night together after so long separation. It was really pathetic, so pathetic that it made my teeth hurt..."

Spencer frowned and he did quick math in his head before he said, "I noticed."

"I wasn't proud out of myself but I've got what I wanted and told myself that this time everything will be good right from the beginning till the end," Hotch sighed. "Next time turned exactly like the others with the adjustment to Beth's decreasing understanding, the level of my embarrassment had remained the same and later only increased because she started questioning my past relationships and no, we aren't going to talk about it."

"Were they satisfying to you?" Spencer asked ignoring Hotch's comment.

"For the most of the time, yes," Hotch grunted. "Few weren't but it wasn't big deal, usually the problems were stress related or chemically induced."

"Did you try again?" Spencer asked. "After the blue pills had failed?"

"Once or twice," Hotch sighed. "Hadn't worked. So now she is making a research, worrying herself that my inability to perform is her fault and she has a meeting with a counselor lined up and as much as I care for her and want to spend my time with her I only want to come back home in order to play dead."

"Have you masturbated in between?" Spencer asked pensively.

"Yes," Hotch nodded.

"Frequently?" Spencer asked.

"Reid..." Hotch drawled out Spencer's surname on the vowels.

"Doctor Reid," Spencer corrected him with a shrug putting the emphasis on his tittle.

"Yes, Doctor Reid, I have been masturbating frequently between my failed attempts at having a healthy sexual intercourse with my girlfriend," Hotch said sourly.

"Successfully?" Spencer asked.

"In a moment I will successfully deliver a right hook into your groin Doctor Reid," Hotch snorted.

"Go ahead if you want to lose your fingers," Spencer shrugged.

"Yes," Hotch huffed.

"Then she is totally right," Spencer declared. "Your problem doesn't lie with the plumbing, it lies with the wiring. I hazard a guess that she ends doing something which subconsciously turns you off momentarily. Did all your attempts at having a sexual intercourse had a common denominator?" he asked.

"Us," Hotch supplied.

"Asshole," Spencer snorted. "Stop playing dumb, it doesn't become you," he added. "Does she prefers a particular position? Particular behavior?"

Hotch fell completely silent and it was a longer while before he finally said, "She likes being on top."

Everything fell into its place like pieces of puzzle forming a bigger and at the same time scary and sad picture. Erratic and aggressive behavior, hyper-vigilance, almost never-ending assertion of dominance, quickly developed recklessness seemingly to play into the fantasy of the psychopath in order to lure him out of his hiding place and this feeling of helplessness so overwhelming, so consuming that once it turned into fury it burnt everything in its path.

Spencer brought his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them before he placed his chin on the top of his knees.

Male on male rape has historically been shrouded in secrecy due to the stigma men associate with being raped by other men. Fewer than one in ten male-male rapes were reported. As a group, male rape victims reported a lack of services and support, and legal systems are often ill-equipped to deal with this type of crime. Also the rape of men by men has been documented as a weapon of terror in warfare.

When you patient is bleeding out on you, you fix what you see and what you see is blood-loss, visible injuries. Foyet had Hotch at his mercy for nearly five hours and Hotch was injured, powerless...

Spencer wrapped his arms more tighter around his knees and he lowered his head allowing his hair to fall around his face.

"Reid?" Hotch asked. "Reid?" Spencer could hear him sitting up and moving so he was facing Spencer, he could practically feel Hotch's hand hovering over his arm in order to check if Spencer hadn't fall asleep on him.

Hotch's right hand landed on Spencer's left arm and Spencer couldn't stop the shiver which ran through his body and made Hotch withdraw his hand. He needed to address it and he needed to address it now, for Hotch's sake if not his own.

Spencer took a deep breath before he raised his head so he was resting it on his arms but rather than looking at Hotch he fixed his gaze on the bathroom door.

"For a very long time after Georgia I used to go to sleep with growing sense of dread," Spencer said quietly. "I didn't need any of these supposedly certified retards that the bureau hires as counselors to tell me that I was suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder because I knew that I had a helluva of a PTSD. Being captured, beaten and forced to play Russian roulette between being drugged so much that you can't see straight does that to a person. The nightmares were bad, really bad but I kept telling myself over and over that it was over and that I was safe and that it won't happen again, that I wasn't in a shed in Georgia but in my own flat in DC or one of the hotel rooms with the rest of the team sleeping down the hall. Reliving the capture and the beatings I could stand because I knew that it was over and not happening again, that wasn't what terrified the living daylight out of me..."

He paused to take a breath and wrapped his arms around his knees even tighter before he continued.

"Between the time I was taken and the first video feed you received there is an eighteen hours worth gap, time during which I've been beaten, drugged... I have an eidetic memory and while it doesn't equal hyperthymesia and I know it I also know that if I would concentrate on a past memory and things connected to it hard enough sooner rather than later I would be able to recall pretty much all memories I've acquired since after the age of five. Being unable to remember something is not a normal state of mind for me because I need to know, I need to remember..."

He paused again and this time he crossed his ankles before he hugged his knees even tighter.

"Between the time I was taken and the time I've written in the official report of the incident that I'd met Rafael there is a six hours worth gap during which I was slipping in and out of consciousness, bordering on the edge of a nightmare and a hallucination which I couldn't remember properly. I know that people who suffered from a concussion often suffer from retrograde amnesia which generally resolves around the time and origin of their injury. It seemed to me that it was the reason why after Georgia along with the nightmares of the capture, the beatings, being drugged..."

He paused to take a deep breath.

"Few weeks after the capture, shortly after I came back to work I had a dream, a nightmare to be more precise. I was still in the shed but it wasn't like any other nightmare I had from the capture. It wasn't real... at the very least I convinced myself that it wasn't real. It came back, once, twice, trice... I was dreaming it every single fucking night and while other nightmares had changed this one remained the same."

He let out a shaky breath and took another before he continued.

"It was always the same," he licked his lips. "I was laying on the floor on my stomach, with my head down, breathing in the stale, dusty air. I was in pain, my head was hurting like hell and there was this pain in my lower back which origin I couldn't pinpoint... not right away. Next time I remembered it better and I decided that it had to be a nightmare because it didn't happen for real, it couldn't happen for real," he licked his lips again before he added softly, "And one day, one day I realized that I was wrong and my mind was repressing something I didn't want to remember but when I actually remembered it I only wanted to forget it but I couldn't, I couldn't and the first night after I remembered was the first night when I tightened my belt around my left biceps and shot up so much that it was a miracle that I didn't OD then and there."

"You never..." Hotch started, his voice was low, so low that it was barely above the level of whisper.

"Simon Soloveychik wrote, 'Man – is his dignity'," Spencer said quietly. "More often than not male on male rape is about power, either reassuring or asserting the dominance over the victim. Fewer than one in ten male-male rapes get reported due to the stigma men associate with being raped by other men. Almost every time in the end pride and dignity makes the man swear to himself one thing, 'No one knows and no one will ever learn'. You end pretending that nothing had changed but it's not true because everything had changed, you've been violated, used against your will and there was nothing, absolutely nothing you could do about it, there was no way you could have stopped it. The more you keep pretending that nothing had changed the more you convince yourself that it didn't happen, that it all had been just a nightmare, not a memory that you repressed so much that in a way you forgot about it but you didn't because it's not a nightmare, it's a memory and your mind knows better than let you turn your back on anyone when you are at your most vulnerable, your most exposed. With time you learn to avoid triggers but to be able to do that you have to make yourself even more exposed and more vulnerable by trusting your partner with your triggers because if you wouldn't be able to bring yourself to trust them then what's the point of being together."

Spencer sighed and took another shaky breath, "My question is: what is more important to you, Hotch, your relationship with Beth or your dignity?"

Hotch was quiet and when Spencer looked up he saw that the man had shifted to sitting in cross-legged position.

"How long... How did you..." Hotch started and shook his head.

"Tonight," Spencer said quietly. "I would love to say that I'm good at the job but if I was that good I would have realized it sooner and wouldn't make the connection right in the moment it smacked me across the head."

"How did you... How did you deal with it?" Hotch asked. "After..."

"After forgetting was no longer an option?" Spencer finished grimly. "For a long time I used to ignore it but at some point it wasn't an option either so I decided to use it because it was the only thing I could do without contemplating the idea of eating my gun. It didn't always work and there were times when it had failed, one time it had failed spectacularly..."

Hotch closed his eyes.

"I'm not going to tell you that it won't come back to you because if I can promise you one thing for sure is that it will come back to you," Spencer said quietly. "When it will happen I want you to remember that you aren't going to be the only one in that room. Sometimes knowing that there is someone who understands what's going on makes all the difference in the world."

"I'm sorry, for earlier," Hotch sighed. "I shouldn't have..."

Spencer rolled his eyes before he said pointedly, "If at that point I thought that my ass was in danger, trust me, you would know and instead of sitting on the bed and talking with me you would be sitting under the running shower handcuffed like Houdini and for safety measure bound with the shower curtain. I trust you, Hotch and I trust you to not abuse that trust."

"A little too late for that," Hotch mumbled.

"Will it happen again?" Spencer asked simply.

"No," Hotch answered quickly. "I'm..."

"If you say I'm putting you with Rossi I swear to God I don't believe in that if you will make me share the room with Rossi ever again your replacement won't be looking only for Emily's replacement but also Rossi's and mine," Spencer snorted. "I have severe issues with his snoring and he not only he falls asleep first but he also snores through stoppers and two pillows and I'm only bringing up times when we had two separate beds in the room."

"What's wrong with Morgan?" Hotch asked. "You didn't have an argument, did you?"

"We didn't have an argument but we did have a nocturnal, nightmare induced fight. I ended bruised like a peach and because I like the idea of not being attacked by my roommate we decided that it would be better if we didn't share the room for a longer while," Spencer answered.

"Why you didn't tell me anything about it before?" Hotch asked.

"We all get nightmares Hotch," Spencer sighed. "And we handle them, once we handle them better, once we handle them worse but we always handle them. Besides Rossi is fare more capable of holding his ground against Morgan in case of a repeat and while I trust Morgan I don't trust him to not break my ribs in case one of his nightmares will turn violent again. I weight only 170 lbs, Morgan weighs about 240 to 245 lbs, you weight about 190 no more than 200, Rossi is between 200 and 210 lbs and his chances against Morgan are the most elevated in case of a fight."

"You know that's not how it works," Hotch shook his head.

"I know and I also know what doesn't work. Suddenly awaken and turned into punching bag dude who weights 170 lbs soaking wet defending himself against a guy who weights about 240 lbs and mostly consists from muscle. It's like unleashing a lion on a wild cat, I have chances in a face to face combat because what I lack in body mass I make up in agility and speed but for that I need enough room to maneuver and I can't do it when someone is trying to break my ribs while I'm sleeping. That in the end leaves me with you or sleeping in the SUV or at the police station."

"Only you would profile your roommates by judging your chances in case of an eventual fight," Hotch sighed.

"I like my ribs," Spencer shrugged. "I'm kind of attached to them," he paused in order to stifle a yawn, "Or more precisely they are attached to me and a broken rib would put me on medical leave for two weeks and out of field for a month and possibly another month of no heavy lifting and not doing anything else than researching."

"We are getting up at six," Hotch sighed. "We should try to catch a nap when we still have time."

"Motion eagerly supported," Spencer nodded. "Will you be okay?"

"Eventually," Hotch nodded. "Thanks and I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

"Of that I have no doubt," Spencer said before he slid down on the bed so he was laying flat on his back.

Hotch lied down too, also on his back and he threw the coverlet around both of them before he said, "Strauss and Rossi are having an affair."

"I had to say something to get your attention," Spencer said sleepily.

"It was a statement, not a question," Hotch muttered. "I noticed that as of late he had a surprising spring in his gait but I attributed it to the successive sale of his shares."

"You weren't that far away from the target," Spencer snorted. "He's been getting his share..."

"For only the two of them know how long," Hotch sighed. "Where did you see them?"

"At the convention which we were supposed to attend with Garcia, we never made it inside, but the view outside kind of made up for that," Spencer admitted.

"You two can consider yourself as lucky," Hotch said. "Back before Dave retired I walked in on them in a supply closet, precious fifteen seconds of my life that I would never be able to take back. It taught me to knock on the doors of supply closets until Dave retired."

"That explains a lot," Spencer sighed sleepily. "Like why Strauss was out searching for your blood for a very long time."

"Nah, that was my usual charm," Hotch said sleepily.

"Reckon how long they have been at it?" Spencer asked pensively.

"Depends who you will ask," Hotch sighed. "When I came to BAU there was a pool running around and someone who knew someone who knew both of them while they were in college claimed that they had it going for that long. Personally I thought that it was since about the fall out with wife number two, Strauss wasn't married back then and Dave was where he usually was after a divorce, on rebound."

"Which means that this time someone else is on rebound," Spencer noted. "Sorry, I asked," he yawned. "I feel like a teenager discussing his parents' sex-life with an older brother.."

"One whom he caught masturbating," Hotch yawned. "We should get a medal for being one of the most dysfunctional families that ever existed."

"It's not something I would like to put on display," Spencer said sleepily. "Speaking of medals I know a five years old who made 'The Bestest Daddy in The Hole Word' – and I'm speaking it out the way she wrote it down – to the guy who at the time of her conception had been 2853 miles away from the mother and had never been involved with the mother, before or after her birth."

"What brought this on?" Hotch asked pensively.

"That's a medal I would like to put on display," Spencer yawned. "We should give them a medal, Strauss and Rossi, I mean. Something that reads 'You Are World's Most Dysfunctional Parents But We Love You Anyway'."

"Has someone ever told you that you get cranky when you are sleep deprived?" Hotch asked.

"The source of my sleep deprivation and several times on that," Spencer yawned again. "Nighty night or whatever had been left of it anyway."

To Be Continued...

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