Season's of Love

Outside the 11th street phone booth a homeless man puttered around, pushing a shopping cart in front of him. In a hoarse, scratchy voice he sang to himself.

“Christmas bells are ringing
Christmas bells are ringing
Christmas bells are ringing
Somewhere else!
Not here.”

A few feet away a thin boy who couldn’t have been more than twenty sat against a wall. A cardboard box was turned over in front of him and he had a deck of cards spread out on the top. His hands moved fluidly over the cards, gathering them and passing them from hand to hand effortlessly. With a flick of his wrist he seemed to make the card in his hand disappear. A moment later he pulled said card from behind his ear and shuffled the deck. A low moan makes him look up, scanning the street for the source of the sound. When he found none he went back to his cards. A few seconds later the sound comes again. Squinting into the darkness the boy can just make out a figure slumped against the wall of a nearby alley. He hesitated for just a moment before gathering his things and walking over to investigate.

Slowly, Derek Morgan felt himself regaining consciousness. The first thing he became aware of was the freezing cold that seems to have wormed its way into his bones. He realized after a moment that his coat was no longer wrapped around him and was in fact nowhere to be found. He attempted to sit up only to be gripped by the worst headache of his life. Reaching a hand up to his temple he felt warm wetness dripping down his face.

A noise to his left made him look up, fearing that his attackers had returned. His vision was blurry but he could make out a figure moving toward him. As the figure drew nearer his features came into focus. Morgan could make out high cheekbones, full lips and inquisitive brown eyes staring down at him. With the glow of a nearby street lamp illuminating his face Morgan couldn’t help think that the boy looked like an angel.
“You okay?” The angel asked in a soft tenor voice.
“I'm afraid so.” Morgan said, trying once more to sit up. He groaned as his head once again began to throb. The boy bent down beside him to get a better look.
“They get any money?”
Morgan shook his head, laughing humorlessly.

“No, had none to get.” The kid pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and reached out to clean the blood from the older man’s face. Instinctively Morgan flinched away, shivering harder now. The boy’s eyes widened.

“Oh god, you must be freezing!”
“The little bastards purloined my coat.” Morgan said, finally managing to haul himself into a sitting position.
“You need to get to a hospital.”

“No point.” He grunted. “It’s just a scratch. I’ll be fine in a bit.”

“You might have a concussion!”

“In which case they’ll just tell me to rest and not to do anything too strenuous for the next few weeks. Trust me pretty boy, I’ll be okay.”

“Spencer.”

“What?” Morgan asked, blinking up at the boy.
“I'm Spencer.” The kid replied. He held out his hand to the seated man, a hopeful expression on his face. Morgan couldn’t have refused those puppy-dog eyes if he wanted to. He grabbed Spencer’s hand and allowed himself to be pulled into a standing position.
“Friends call me Morgan- Derek Morgan.”

“Will you at least let me patch you up a little?” Spencer asked, still holding Morgan’s hand. “That cut on your head looks pretty deep. And I recently came into some money so I was thinking of getting something to eat if you’d like to come along? We can see about getting a new coat for you too, and I’m rambling aren’t I?”

“But my friends are waiting…” Morgan said with extreme reluctance. The younger man looked down at the ground.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to,” he said quickly. “But about 3.6 million cases of open wounds are reported in the US annually and complications associated with open wounds may include infection, cellulitis, deformity, overgrowth of scar tissue, gangrene that may require amputation-.”

“Woah, kid.” Morgan laughed, lifting the other man’s chin so they could see eye to eye. “Trust me there is nothing I would like more than to have you nurse me back to health. But my friends are probably hungry and freezing their asses off and I’d feel really bad just leaving them.”

“We could always pick up some food and bring it over to them.” Spencer suggested shyly. “It’s Christmas Eve after all. And like I said, I just came into some money.”

“You don’t have to-.”

“I know.” The younger man smiled. “Now come on.”

“Where are you going?” Hotch asked suspiciously as Kevin headed for the door.

“Penny called…”

“You are such a sucker!” Kevin frowned at him, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“I don't suppose you'd like to see her show in the lot tonight?” Hotch shrugged, not

looking up from his guitar.

“Or come to dinner?” Kevin asked hopefully.

“Zoom in on my empty wallet.”

“Touche. Take your AZT.” Hotch held up a pill bottle and gave it a brief shake. Kevin stalled at the doorway, looking at his friend with a mixture of exacerbation and pity.
“I'll check up on you later.” He said at last. “Think about it at least. You have to get out of the house.” Hotch didn’t respond and after a moment Kevin reluctantly left, closing the door behind him.

“I’m writing one great song,” Hotch muttered to himself. “Before I…” he let his guitar slide to the floor, hands shaking.

Trying to be as quiet as possible Hotch unlocked the door to his loft. He took a deep breath and stepped inside. He was relieved to see that the sofa was empty and the room was quiet. Sometimes when he came home late Haley would be sitting up waiting for him. She didn’t like it; said nothing good happened after midnight. A quick glance at his watch told Hotch it was just after 2:30. He cringed in anticipation of the lecture he would no doubt be receiving.  

“Haley.” He whispered. “Haley, I’m home.” There was no response. He exhaled with relief. She must have gone to bed early.

Hotch walked further into the loft, hanging up his coat and putting down his guitar case. Half asleep he stumbled into the small kitchenette and grabbed a box of Cap’n’ Crunch. As he turned to get a bowl he froze, eyes falling on a note on the counter with “Aaron” written on it.

He sighed in frustration, half expecting Haley to have finally left him. They had been fighting more than ever lately, ever since her miscarriage a month ago. She thought Hotch blamed her because he had started staying out late more often than he used to. He didn’t blame her, there was no one to blame. He simply didn’t know how to deal with her sadness as well as his own.

As he read the letter Hotch’s frown disappeared and his face turned ghostly white. Three words stared up at him from the paper, “WE HAVE AIDS.”

He read it again, jaw open and eyes wide. As the words began to sink in he rushed from the kitchen and headed toward the bedroom. His blood rushed in his ears and he couldn’t decide if he was pissed off or scared shitless. When he finally entered the bedroom he found the bed made and not slept in.

“Haley!” He called frantically, racing over to Kevin’s room. Computer monitors and movie equipment littered the room but there was no sign of Haley. Hotch turned and ran down the hall in a haze of panic.

“Haley goddamnit where are you?” Slowly, fearfully he opened the bathroom door and came face to face with his worst nightmare.