Title: A New Kind of Tradition
Author: Sam
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Pairing: Hotch/Gideon
Rating: FRM - slash
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money made.

***

It was late.  Probably midnight or close to it.  The annual Christmas party had finally began to wind down about an hour ago, with the bulk of the FBI attendees and their spouses having opted for either an early evening, or a cab to get them home.

It seemed Morgan had spiked the punch again this year.

Standing at the rail just outside of his office, Gideon looked out over the main pit of the BAU and felt a wave of contentment roll over him as he watched Hotch, jacket draped over the chair in his office, sleeves rolled up and tie undone, idly picking up a cup and small paper plate with the remains of what had been a very good red velvet cake from Spencer's desk.  There were plates, cups, napkins and other odds and ends of the party scattered everywhere.  The place was a mess. 

At least the eight -foot tall tree decorated in white lights, silver and gold garland, and the cheerful hodge-podge of personal ornaments everyone had pitched in and brought from home, was still standing.  It hadn't been last year.

The last of their 'kids' had long since gone home; Spencer, Morgan and Garcia had left together, saying something about catching a cab and JJ and Emily had also left, arm in arm.  Heaven only knew what those two were up to, though judging by the obscene amount of giggling going on between them, Gideon was rather glad he had volunteered to stay behind and help with the cleanup.  Not that there was any need; the cleaning staff would take care of most of the remnants of the party; he and Hotch had only stayed for courtesy’s sake.  There was no way their token efforts would make anything close to a dent in the chaos that was inevitably left after the 4 hour long party and gift exchange.

Catching the other SSA's eye as Hotch gave up and settled for dumping the armful of cups, plates and other trash he had collected into the bin, Gideon chuckled at the wry expression shining from the dark eyes. 

"Congratulations,"  Gideon told him.  "You lasted a record 3 minutes.  30 seconds better than last year."

"All in all, I think I'd rather be chasing down a serial killer than cleaning up after Morgan has spiked the punch,"  Hotch admitted dryly, following him into his office. 

"Close the door, will you?" 

Turning to close the door, Hotch favored him with a puzzled look.  "Sure, what's up?"

"Nothing,"  Gideon smiled, pulling a bag of takeout and a very good bottle of scotch to go with their Chinese from the bottom drawer and placing them on his desk.  "Just don't want anyone seeing the consequences of me hiding a very inappropriate piece of mistletoe by the door and you standing under it."

With a patently false gasp of surprise, Hotch looked up at the cheerful little sprig of green in mock horror and gasped,  "You cad.  How could you?"

"Because I've been waiting to do this all day,"  Gideon swore and abandoned both food and beverage to claim a kiss on the now-grinning lips. 

"Mmm, how devious of you."   

 

Gideon smiled, chuckling as Hotch wrapped his arms around his waist, hands gripping the back of the dark red shirt Gideon had worn to the party.  "Wasn't it?"

”Definitely.”  Murmuring his approval, Hotch leaned into the embrace before pulling away to cast a raised eyebrow in accusation at the bags sitting in brown-papered splendor in the middle of Gideon's desk.  "The scotch I understand, but Chinese?  A little off the traditional, isn't it?"

"Ah, we'll get the whole turkey and stuffing thing tomorrow, " Gideon promised, moving away from the younger man to start divvying up the Mooshoo pork.  "I'm cooking, remember?  Besides, " he said firmly as he handed Hotch a steaming plate piled high with chicken, sauce and rice.  "Tradition is highly overrated."

"You're right about that."  Hotch laughed, taking a seat beside the miniature table top Christmas tree decorated with various craft store birds in all breeds and colors.  A Christmas gift from Garcia and Reid; Spencer’s white scarf circling the ‘trunk’ and helping hide the three-footed stand under it’s soft folds of fake ‘snow’.  Atop the ‘snow’ rested all of the photo frames Gideon kept with him, now nestled under the artificial branches like the gifts they were. 

Like co-workers who were more family than friends, a job he loved, and a lover who tolerated his little eccentricities.  Like Chinese instead of turkey or ham and dinner at the office with the drone of vacuums beyond the closed blinds to said office, instead of ‘I’ll Be Home For Christmas’ as dinner music.  If home truly was where the heart is, then Jason *was* home; sitting in the semi-dark of his FBI office, surrounded by case files, with Hotch and a flock of styrofoamed and feathered birds perched on his Christmas Tree to keep him company.

 

Settling himself in his favorite red leather chair, before he dug into his mound of fried rice, he looked up and smiled.  "Hey Hotch?  Merry Christmas."

Gideon watched the shadows leave the brown eyes that had been haunted way too much in the last few weeks as Hotch smiled.  "Yes.  Yes, it is.”

end