Title: Can't Get It Out of My Head
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Rating: PG-13
Table: 3, 20_est_relships
Prompt: 6, Pain
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my own imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own the lovely Aaron Hotchner or Spencer Reid, unfortunately, just borrowing them for a while. Please do not sue.

***

Spencer frowned as he glanced towards the bedroom door; he'd expected Aaron to be out of the shower by now, and he couldn't help wondering if his boyfriend had gone to check on Jack and possibly fallen asleep in the comfortable chair by the bed in his son's room.

He couldn't hold back a smile at that thought; he'd seen it happen often enough, and he had to admit that the sight of the two Hotchner men in his life sleeping there, side by side, was absolutely adorable. It made him wish that he spent more of his nights here.

Maybe that would change in the near future, he thought with a buoyant lift to his spirits. He and Aaron hadn't really discussed him moving in yet, but with the direction that their relationship was taking, it was a subject that Spencer was sure would come up in the future.

He wasn't going to push Aaron into it, though, he told himself firmly. That was something that his boyfriend had to bring up first; he didn't want to seem as though he was insinuating himself into Aaron's home too soon. He intended to take his time, and let their relationship progress naturally.

That almost sounded as though he had some kind of plan for the future, like he knew what he was doing, Spencer thought, sighing inwardly. The truth was that he didn't know; he was feeling his way as they went along, hoping that he was doing the right thing.

So far, so good, anyway, he told himself as he rounded the corner of the door frame -- and came face to face with Aaron, standing there in front of the bureau mirror, wearing nothing but the boxers he'd slept in last night, a startled, frozen expression on his face when he saw Spencer.

"S-Spencer." Was it his imagination, or did Aaron sound nervous? The other man quickly reached for a shit to hold up in front of himself, as though he didn't want Spencer to look at him -- but not before the young man had seen what his lover was trying to hide.

His eyes widened at the sight of the livid, curving scar that ran from just to the right of Aaron's navel down into the waistband of his boxers; there were two other scars as well, though Spencer could only see the top of those, as they were hidden beneath the cloth.

"Do they hurt?" he breathed, reaching out a hand as though he had the right to touch those scars, to feel what Foyet had done to his boyfriend. His hand dropped back to his side within seconds, just as his gaze dropped from Aaron's face to stare at the floor.

"N-no. Not really." There was a slight tremor in Aaron's voice, but it steadied as he continued to speak. "Only when I think about them," he added, his voice so low that Spencer had to strain to hear the words. "Or when I look at them and know that he left his permanent mark on me."

Spencer swallowed hard, not knowing what to say. It was true that Foyet had left his marks on Aaron; those scars were mute testimony of what Aaron had been through, a permanent reminder of Foyet's unwanted presence in his life.

But the worst scars he'd left were the ones that couldn't be seen. Spencer's heart bled for the man in front of him; he wanted to take Aaron in his arms, hold him and assure him that those marks didn't matter, that they would go away and everything would be all right.

Would he be allowed to do that if he took a few steps towards Aaron? Or would he be pushed away? He didn't want to take the chance; it would hurt too much to be rejected, so he compromised by simply moving closer and choosing his words carefully when he spoke.

"We all have battle scars, Hotch." Spencer's voice was soft and low, as soothing as he could make it when he wasn't sure if he was saying what his boyfriend needed to hear. "Some of them are just outside instead of hidden away. There's no shame in that."

Aaron nodded, sighing as he turned back toward the mirror, dropping the shirt to the floor. "I can't get it out of my head, Spencer. That night .... feeling him on top of me .... I can still feel each stab, every time the knife went into me. And I can still hear every word he said."

Spencer almost wished he could cover his ears, not hear what Aaron had to say. But he had to make himself listen; this was obviously something that the other man needed to get out, something he felt that he had to say. And he needed someone to hear it.

Who better than the person who loved him? Spencer moved closer to stand behind his boyfriend, only then daring to slip an arm around his lover's waist as the two of them stared at their reflection in the mirror. Their eyes met in the glass, their gazes locking and holding.

It was Aaron who finally broke the silence. "I look at those scars and the pain comes back. I can feel every movement, Spencer. I can feel my blood flowing out and staining the carpet. I can feel ...." His voice broke, his words barely audible when he continued. "Sometimes I can still feel him inside me."

Those words almost made Spencer break down; he could feel the tears rising behind his eyes, the lump in his throat becoming so large that it held back words. When he was finally able to speak, his own voice was shaky, so soft that he almost couldn't hear it himself.

"He's gone, Aaron," he said softly, sliding his other arm around his lover's waist. "He's gone, and you're here. What's more, you're here with me. You're not alone in this. I know it's hard to get out of your mind, but you've got to put the past where it belongs."

"That's easier said than done when I'll be carrying the marks of that past with me forever," Aaron said, his fingers tracing the scar. Spencer's hand moved to cover his boyfriend's, his own fingers gently tracing the curving line into the waistband of Aaron's boxers.

"I didn't want you to see this," Aaron whispered, his voice breaking. "I thought it would make you back away, that you wouldn't want to see something that would remind you of not being ...." He swallowed hard, but managed to get the last few words out. "That you weren't the first."

Spencer shook his head, laying the palm of his hand flat against the scars on his lover's abdomen and closing his eyes. "It doesn't matter that I wasn't the first. All that matters is that I'm the person you want to be with. It's being the last that's important."

His eyes flew open when he felt wetness splash against his hand; he glanced into the mirror, surprised to see that tears were streaking down Aaron's face. The sight of his lover's tears almost made Spencer's own tears come to the fore, but he blinked them back.

"Haley would never have been able to accept this," Aaron whispered, his fingers tracing the path of the scars. "She wouldn't have wanted to see them because they're ugly. She'd have just tried to pretend they didn't exist -- and she would never have touched them."

"Those scars are a part of you, "Spencer murmured, his own fingers following the other man's, getting used to the feel of those scars on Aaron's skin. "Nothing that's a part of you is ugly to me. They might not be something you want to acknowledge -- but they're a part of your history."

"I hate them," Aaron whispered, raising a hand to wipe at his tears. "I hate that they're exactly like his scars. They make me a living monument to him -- and in a way, they mean that he lives on in me, because he literally gave me the same scars he had."

Spencer shook his head, his voice firm when he spoke. "They might be the same kind of scars in the same places, but they're not his scars. His scars reflected how twisted he was. You have those scars because you take that kind of perversion out of the world."

"Sometimes I'll wake up in the middle of the night and the pain will come flooding back," Aaron told him, one hand finding Spencer's and slipping into his, entwining their fingers together and squeezing tightly. "It's as if the whole thing is happening again -- and I can't stop it."

"Maybe I can," Spencer said softly, stepping back and hoping that Aaron would move towards the bed along with him. "Come on, let's go to bed. I know it's hard for you to get the memories out of your head, but maybe if I hold you all night, that'll chase them away."

At those words, Aaron managed a smile, nodding and moving towards the bed with Spencer. "That sounds like it might be an antidote to my nightmares. If it is, it's a shame that we can't bottle that and sell it. We could make a fortune -- and help a lot of people."

Spencer laughed, glad to see that Aaron was making an effort to leave his melancholic thoughts behind him. "The only person I want to give that kind of comfort to is you. Besides, I don't think that there would be many people who'd appreciate being held by a skinny genius."

"This person certainly appreciates it," Aaron said softly, leaning over to pick up the t-shirt that he usually wore to bed, then glancing at Spencer with raised brows. "I take it you don't mind if I don't put this on?" he asked, his voice soft and a little hesitant.

"I'd rather hold you skin to skin," Spencer answered, his own voice husky with emotion. Reaching for the hem of his own t-shirt, he pulled the garment off over his head, tossing it to the floor as he sat down on the bed, then moved over to make room for his lover to lie down beside him.

He was surprised when Aaron moved into his arms, pressing his body against Spencer's and wrapping his arms around the young man's waist. Surprised, but pleasantly so. With a soft smile, he kissed the top of his lover's head, reaching for the light and turning it off.

Spencer lay back against the pillows, closing his eyes and holding Aaron close. He hoped that being in his arms would keep the nightmares out of his boyfriend's dreams -- not only tonight, but each and every night that they were together from now on.

***