Chapter Text
The bullpen hummed with the soft clatter of keyboards clicking, low conversation, and the quiet shuffle of papers being sorted. From the glass confines of his office, Hotch caught the movement without even meaning to. Reid, seated at his desk, one hand flipping through a case file while the other drifted almost unconsciously to his neck. Again.
Hotch narrowed his eyes. He'd seen it a few times now—Reid’s fingers ghosting over the spot just under his jawline, where the scar was faint now after almost a month, but still there. Sometimes he rubbed at it like it itched, other times it was more deliberate, like he was trying to ease something deeper. And every time, he’d stop if anyone got too close.
Hotch stepped out of his office. He didn’t go directly to Reid. Instead, he took a slow route, checking in with JJ, asking Morgan for a file update. Just enough to get close without bringing it to Reid’s attention.
Finally, he stopped next to Reid’s desk.
“You alright?” Hotch asked lightly.
Reid blinked up at him, caught off guard. “Yeah. Just reviewing the bank surveillance for that robbery out of Philly. Trying to line up the timestamps with the witness statements—some of them are off.”
Hotch nodded once, but didn’t move. Then Reid, sensing the silence hanging a little too long, added, “I’m fine. Just... residual stuff.”
“Does it hurt?”
Reid hesitated just enough for Hotch to pick up on it. “It’s nothing. Sometimes it just... twinges. The doctors said that might happen.”
“And if it was more than that?”
Reid offered a thin smile. “Then I’d tell you.”
Hotch didn’t believe him, at least not entirely. He knew how Reid was—how all of them were.
Reid’s jaw tightened. “It’s not interfering with my work,” he defended weakly.
“That’s not the only thing I care about,” Hotch replied, his tone a bit softer. Reid broke Hotch’s gaze.
“I know it’s been a while,” he admitted finally, his voice quieter. “And it’s not like the original injury still hurts—not all the time. But it... flares. It’ll pass.”
Hotch sighed quietly. “Take a break,” he instructed. “Ten minutes. Walk around, grab some water, anything. That’s an order.”
Reid blinked. “Hotch—”
“I’m not asking. You’re not a machine, Reid. Take a few minutes.”
With a sigh and a slight flicker of appreciation behind his eyes, Reid finally nodded and stood. “Ten minutes,” he muttered.
Hotch watched him go, still weary. He’d keep an eye on him for a little longer.
Later that afternoon, Hotch stood near the coffee station, sipping from a lukewarm cup of whatever passed for caffeine in the break room. His eyes flicked toward Reid’s desk, now empty. His youngest agent had obediently taken another “ordered” ten-minute break. Across the bullpen, Morgan was finishing up a call, eyes scanning a folder as he hung up. Hotch walked over.
“Got a second?” he asked, but his tone indicated that he wasn’t really asking.
Morgan glanced up. “Yeah. Everything okay?”
Hotch folded his arms. “Have you noticed Reid… rubbing at his neck lately?”
Morgan raised an eyebrow. “Neck?”
“Where he got hit last month. Just... have you seen it?”
Morgan nodded slowly, setting the file down. “Yeah, a few times. Usually, when he doesn’t think anyone’s looking. Why?”
Hotch shrugged like it was nothing, but his tone was just serious enough to say otherwise. “I asked him about it. He says it’s normal, but it’s been a while, and it seems like it’s still bothering him more than it should.”
Morgan leaned back in his chair. “He got shot, Hotch. And it was bad. Took a while for him to even move his neck without looking like he had a board strapped to it. You don’t just bounce back from that.”
“I know.”
Morgan softened. “Look. Reid’s tough, but he’s not the type to pretend something doesn’t hurt if it’s serious. He’s smarter than that. If he’s downplaying it, I don’t think it’s about hiding an injury. He probably just figures this is the price of getting hit.”
Hotch nodded slowly. “He said as much. I just don’t want him brushing something off that needs attention.”
Morgan gave a short laugh. “Well, he’d join the list of brushing off injuries along with the rest of us.”
Hotch cracked the faintest smile. “God help me.”
Morgan’s grin faded just a bit. “If it helps, I’ve kept an eye out too. I haven’t seen him stumble or miss anything—mentally or physically.”
Hotch nodded. “Alright.”
“I’ll keep watching,” Morgan added. “I’ll let you know if you spot anything, but so far, he seems okay.”
Hotch offered a quiet “thanks” and turned back toward his office, catching a glimpse of Reid returning from his break. The younger man gave a small nod in his direction. He was tired, maybe, but functioning.
Still, Hotch couldn’t shake the thought: how much pain does someone put up with before they start calling it normal?
***
It was the end of the day. Once the clock hit 5 pm, the team saw the bullpen empty out fast from the other departments. Some stayed, like the BAU team, who didn’t have that classic 9-5 workday luxury. Technically, when they weren’t on an active case, they could leave traditionally, but it was easier just to get everything done before the end of the day.
Reid sat at his desk, staring down at a case report. He had been reading the same sentence for two minutes. He wasn’t even sure what it said anymore. Something about psychological profiles in cases involving long-term stressors—ironic.
He leaned back in his chair and rubbed the side of his neck. The ache that had settled behind his right eye about an hour ago hadn’t gone away. If anything, it had crept down his temple and toward the base of his skull, hugging the still-tender muscles in his neck like a vice. He blinked a few times, reached for his coffee, and took a sip. It was lukewarm. Fantastic.
Across the bullpen, JJ grabbed her bag, and Garcia popped in just to announce she’d be bringing cinnamon rolls tomorrow as a reward for surviving a Monday.
Reid smiled faintly. Mondays. Right.
About forty minutes later, Emily and Morgan headed towards the elevators. Morgan tossed his hair on the way past his desk, and Reid had to hold in the flinch at Morgan’s touch until he passed.
About an hour later, Hotch emerged from his office, glancing toward Reid’s desk as he adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves.
“Are you finishing that tonight?” he asked casually.
Reid nodded, though he didn’t move to close the file. “Yeah, I just... got a little sidetracked.”
Hotch gave him a once-over. “Are you sure you’re alright?”
“Yeah,” Reid replied quickly. “Just a headache. Long day.”
Hotch nodded, but not before his eyes flicked briefly to the angle of Reid’s hand at his neck.
“Alright,” Hotch said slowly. “Try to rest tonight.”
“I will,” Reid said, lying through his teeth.
Hotch gave him a look that said I know, then turned toward the exit.
Reid worked for another thirty minutes or so, or at least tried to. When he couldn’t focus on the words anymore, he gave up on the file for the night. Then he stood too fast, and had to steady himself with a hand on the desk. He blinked through the momentary blur. It passed. He grabbed his satchel and coat, pushing past the tension in his shoulders.
It was just a headache. A long day. That was all.
***
The next day, Reid tried again with the file. His eyes moved across the pages, but it was taking longer than usual to process anything. The dull ache behind his right eye was back. Not worse than yesterday, but it hadn’t let up either, and that was starting to wear him thin.
He shifted in his chair, rolled his shoulders back, then forward again, trying to release the knot that had formed somewhere between his neck and the top of his spine. It didn’t help. The pressure was still there—mild, persistent, and irritatingly stubborn. He sighed and leaned back in his chair, glancing around the bullpen.
JJ and Emily were conferring over something at the whiteboard in the other room. Morgan was typing one-handed while drinking a smoothie the color of moss. Hotch was in his office on a call, posture rigid as always.
Reid blinked at his screen, then quietly closed the file he’d been trying to read. He stood, stretched, and walked to the break room. Maybe movement would help.
He poured himself a third cup of coffee, took a sip, and winced. The temperature was fine, but the sharp, momentary throb that hit him behind the eye as he tilted his head was not.
“Come on,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing his temple with the heel of his hand. “It’s been almost four weeks.”
“Talking to yourself now, pretty boy?” Morgan’s voice drifted in as he strolled toward the fridge.
Reid straightened. “I’m formulating a counterargument to the coffee machine.”
Morgan smirked. “Let me know when it talks back.”
He snagged a yogurt, clapped Reid on the shoulder, and left. Reid took another sip and didn’t wince this time.
‘Just a headache,’ He repeated to himself. He wasn’t going to mention it to the team, he decided. They’d just worry, and he was secretly worried enough.
***
The bullpen had emptied slowly over the past hour. JJ had gone first—something about Henry. Emily left about twenty minutes later. Morgan hung back longer, finishing up some paperwork and waiting for Reid, like he sometimes did.
Reid had been restless. He’d shifted in his chair too many times. Stood up quickly, then sat down again. He’d walked to the break room and came back without anything in hand. Finally, Morgan gave him a look across the desks.
“You good?”
“Yeah,” Reid said quickly. “I just... I think the lights in here are slightly misaligned. It’s triggering a low-level tension headache.”
Morgan stared at him for a beat. “You gonna be here all night to make it worse?”
Reid cracked a smile. “Just… finishing up.”
Morgan rolled his eyes and grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair. “Don’t overthink it.”
“You can go, I’ll be a little longer.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
Morgan clapped him on the back lightly. “Go home soon, alright?”
“Yeah. I will.”
Morgan walked off toward the elevators. Ten minutes later, the bullpen was silent.
Reid sat slouched in his chair, pressing his fingers to the back of his neck, trying to ease the pressure that had slowly crept into his upper spine and behind his eyes over the course of the day. It was a constant ache by this point, like someone had turned the pain up half a notch every hour and never brought it back down. He closed his eyes, just for a second.
Reid didn’t hear Hotch’s office door open or hear the soft footfalls on the stairs.
Hotch stopped halfway down the steps and watched for a moment. Reid hadn’t seen him. He was sitting at his desk, his head bowed, one hand cradling the base of his skull, the other gripping the edge of the desk. Hotch’s eyes narrowed, concern flickering across his face. He cleared his throat softly.
Reid startled, sat upright, blinking like he was trying to recalibrate.
“Oh—hey, Hotch,” he said quickly. Hotch saw Reid’s hand release from where he had been holding the base of his head and neck.
“Reid, what are you still doing here?” Hotch asked lightly.
Reid straightened a stack of files on his desk. “Just wrapping a few things up. I’m heading out in a minute.”
Hotch gave a small nod, his gaze lingering on Reid a little longer than necessary. “Alright,” he said eventually, knowing Reid wasn’t about to share anything. “Don’t stay too late.”
He passed Reid’s desk a fraction slower than usual, as if gauging just how much tightness was still sitting in the younger man’s shoulders.
Reid didn’t look up again, but Hotch clocked the pain he was hiding. He always did.