Chapter Text
Aaron didn’t know how long he had been sitting, mindless in front of the television. Lazy Sunday was a luxury he was never afforded in his working life, so to find himself sequestered in front of a nature documentary for hours in the early afternoon was a rarity. Jack often told him he needed to switch off for a while (a problem his teenage son never seemed to have) and he had listened, becoming enamoured with nature documentaries as a kind of outlet.
He was snapped out of his mild stupor when the host, a soothing British accent, talked about imprinting. He was talking about birds, the way that at a critical point in their life, they would imprint on stimuli and be forever changed by the encounter. But it was the throwaway line, how humans do this too, to a lesser extent that caught his attention.
Restless and wandering through his home, a nondescript house on a nondescript street, he looked through the photographs he had kept. Those he had bullied the US Marshals into bringing with them when they went into Witness Protection. Those he had returned to gather from the storage locker when it was safe to return. He thought about Jack, currently with friends in a park with bikes and skateboards, being teenagers a fulltime aesthetic occupation.
He had Hayley’s colouring. His hair still the same soft blonde it had been when he was a boy, flopping over his eyebrow now. His features had sharpened, taken on more of Hotch’s, the jaw sharper, the expression firmer. He kept her kindness though, natural sensitivity to others, and a deep and overwhelming need to help. Aaron wasn’t sure which of them he got that from.
Years of therapy and acceptance had stripped Foyet from him. The nightmares infrequent and random, coming only after a stressful day at school, or a fight with a friend or Aaron. He would wake sweating and crying, unsure of the emotions coursing through him, his memory only of the dark place, the loud noises, and the feel of his mother’s hug as she said goodbye. But Jack would walk himself around the house, taking deep breaths and glasses of water as he methodically steadied his breathing, returned his heart rate to normal. If it was bad enough, he would wake Aaron, and the two would sit under the cool night in the backyard, swapping stories of Hayley and happiness and all the things she wanted him to know.
But Aaron realised, thumbing the dusty edge of a picture frame, they had taken other things with them as well.
Jack wore mismatched socks. It was easy enough to ascribe this to a teenager’s carelessness, but when he thought about it, it was Reid. Reid who had pulled up his pant legs at every function they attended to let the boys pick their favourite. Who had once whispered that that was where the magic came from; having something to smile about every day.
He loved classic art and literature; something Dave had always talked to him about, rhapsodising on the Catholicism of the Sistine Chapel and its beauty, despite the faith not being as important to him as it once was.
He was the caretaker of his friend group. Carrying bandages and water bottles wherever he went, just in case they needed it. Hotch thought fondly of every papercut he ever received, and how JJ would appear as if from nowhere, a band aid and a scold at the ready for him as she needlessly tended his wounds.
He refused to write in black ink. Something his teachers noticed, and Jack didn’t comment on, simply shrugging that he preferred the greens or purples or oranges of the pens he found. Aaron had let it go, thinking it was a minor act of rebellion, a way to buck against the perfect grades he achieved, make him have something that wasn’t perfect. Now he saw Penelope in those pen strokes, the way her reports were often scented with stone fruits and cream, lingering in the air of her electronic lair and his office alike.
From Derek, he had taken the eagle-eyed sharpness. Jack had an uncanny ability to know deep in his soul when something was wrong. He would find his father on these days, ask to go to a movie, or to a store, to get him out of the house. The first few times he thought it was coincidence. But over time, it was a gentle way for Jack to help Aaron, get him out of his head on days where he was buried there. Other parents had commented, what an astute and compassionate soul his son was. Aaron felt an indescribable ache of pride in his chest when he heard that, Hayley’s final request granted by the village that had helped raise him.
And Emily. Aaron often thought of memories of her as solely his own. He couldn’t pinpoint any particular interaction Emily had with Jack. She was fond of him, loved him dearly, as the whole team did, but nothing jumped out. Instead, he held Emily in his own heart, the memories he cherished of her were often tinged blue with sadness. Her protectiveness and strength over him was a force, a tornado of affection he was never quite prepared for. She had always taken him by surprise.
But he realised, Jack had held more of Emily than any of them. It comes as a surprise, wiping his thumb over the slightly dusty surface of a photograph, the team, with their kids hoisted on shoulders, at Dave’s house, some party he couldn’t remember the purpose of.
Jack swears like her. The filthy stream of consciousness that erupted from his mouth when he stubbed his toe, or was woken early in the morning, was all Emily. He would caution from the other side of the house “Language” but for some reason the peal of “fuckshitcuntfuckfuckshitmotherfucking-ow” made him smile, rather than irritated. He understood where it came from now, the untapped river of bad language that spilt forth when he was irritated.
She was there in the way he laughed when things were difficult. How when frustration and anger welled inside Aaron like a balloon, Jack would start laughing, dissipating any emotion other than lightness and joy. How Jack would sometimes give Aaron a hug, no other reason than just because.
Running his thumb methodically across the photograph he smiled, thinking fondly of each of them in turn before the door slammed open.
“Hey Dad!” Jack’s voice rang out from the kitchen, loud and breathless. “Do we have any of those yoghurt things left?!”
“No. You ate all the yoghurt things yesterday remember?” he replied, walking into the kitchen to find his son, breathless and flushed from a day outside, the fresh air giving his skin a healthy glow.
“Damn it.” He said, grabbing milk from the door of the fridge and drinking straight from the carton.
“Jack…” he started, hearing the weary parenthood in his tone of voice.
“I know I know, use a glass, sorry. But it’s empty” Jack said, flashing Aaron a guilty grin as he threw the carton away.
“Do you remember Emily?” Aaron asked, the question coming forth without hesitation.
“Emmy? Yeah course I do. Why?” Jack asked, looking at his him as he groped blindly in the fridge for something to eat.
“I was just thinking about her today… realised you swear like she does sometimes” Aaron admitted.
“Oh yeah, she taught me that you know?” Jack said.
“She did?”
“Oh yeah, one of Uncle Dave’s gatherings. I fell over and hurt myself or something and she taught me to swear it out”.
“Oh god.” Aaron said, rubbing his jaw. Jack laughed.
“Nah. She was cool. Told me it was okay to be angry or sad or upset or whatever. But letting it out with some curse words and letting it go is better than bottling it up.” Jack shrugged. “She was right.”
Aaron stayed quiet, watching as Jack grabbed handfuls of fruit from the crisper drawer, shoving them into his backpack as he selected apples and peaches, filling the front of his bag.
“Anyway, I’m going to Mark’s place for a bit, is that cool?” Jack asked, looking up from his treasure hunt for stone fruits.
“Sure, home by 7 though okay?” Aaron said, watching as Jack tried to hide the chocolate bar he was slipping into his bag with a wry grin.
“Yep. No worries.” Jack said, dashing back for the door. “Oh, and Dad?”
“Mmm?” Aaron said, memories already clouding him.
“You should give Emmy a call. You’re not thinking about her in the middle of a Sunday for no reason.”
He was out the door with a flash of a smile, his presence bright as he dashed to grab his bike.
Aaron sighed, wondering if the imprint he had left on his son was his ability to see right through people, to see whose name was tattooed on their hearts.