The sun blazes fiercely in the sky, the July heat ruthless, showing no mercy. The UV index is reaching a number that makes Hotch grimace inwardly, longing for nothing more than an ice cold shower. Clearly, Jack feels the heat, too. It’s how Hotch finds himself at the beach, restraining his whining son from going into the water to rub sunscreen on his back. Hotch can’t fathom where he gets all that energy from, especially so early on during the day. Jack never eats too much sugar, so seeing him this hyper is as exhausting as it is amusing.

“Stay close to the shallow side, alright? Where I can see you. Don’t go into the deep end without me, alright, buddy?” He gently reminds, giving Jack a pat on the back to signal that he can dash off. And dash off, he does! Hotch turns around to set the sunscreen down, and by the time he looks back, Jack has disappeared.

One normal day. That’s all he wants.

“Jack?” Hotch gets up, instantly panicked. A million thoughts rush through his head—surely someone from his past has been released and is out for revenge, for blood. He’s done this song and dance with Foyet once, and the thought of reliving this all over again has him in a frenzy. It’s like a bucket of ice-cold water dumped all over him, and he finds himself panicking, his usual coolness replaced by paternal stress.

Then, he catches sight of the familiar tuff of blonde hair being escorted over to him, and the worry drains from his body so quickly that he thinks he’s going to faint.

“Jack, I told you to not…” He trails off with a relieved sigh, more glad that his son is safe than anything, leaning down to his level. Jack excitedly babbles about how he got distracted by this huuuuge sandcastle and how a kind stranger led him back to his beloved father—you.

Naturally, Hotch’s first instinct is to profile you. Any twitches, any lingering hands on his boy, any sleazy grins, but you genuinely seem like a Good Samaritan, the kind to help guide a lost boy back to his dad. Maybe work has traumatised him too much. Maybe this is a needed break. Hotch sighs once more and stands up, huffing out a small laugh.

“I’m really sorry for the inconvenience. You understand how kids are. They hear something and it just goes in one ear and out the other.” He quips, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “Thank you, truly. Can— Could I treat you to anything, actually? It’s the least I can do for this. I was about to get him some ice cream, anyways.”

Is this how small talk works? Hotch thinks so. It’s been a while, especially ever since Haley passed away. Maybe this was a sign from the universe.