"Don't move!" As Jack restrained Henry, Hotch and Reid rushed forward to hold down Michael Janasco, who instinctively tried to protect his son and struggled to get up from the floor.
On the other side, Henry was still screaming in pain. Jack had dislocated his wrist but didn't bother to fix it.
Thinking about the injuries JJ sustained while protecting Henry, during her fight with Michael Janasco, Jack's anger flared. Especially since the brat had even turned the gun on JJ in the end. Jack wasn't one to let grudges go easily, and he usually settled scores on the spot.
If there hadn't been so many people around, he might not have cracked Henry's skull open, but the boy would have definitely been laid up in a hospital bed for a few months.
After handing the handcuffed Janasco over to Chief Parker, the remaining tasks were left to the local police.
Andrea White had also arrived, brought by a police car, and was now tearfully embracing her son. The BAU team had pieced together the entire story, and whether it was Emily or Rossi, they just stood by, watching coldly.
Jack, meanwhile, got some gauze, cotton balls, saline, and iodine from the paramedics and began tending to JJ's injuries, while Reid fussed over her.
"Reid, I'm fine, I swear, it's just a little scratch," JJ reassured him.
"I don't think so. I see at least two cuts, three bruises, including one around your eye. You may have a fractured rib. I saw you take a hard hit to your side during the fight. I strongly recommend a CT scan at the hospital," Reid rambled on.
Before he could finish, Jack pulled him aside and handed him off to Hotch. Jack, feeling a bit annoyed that Reid was staring too intently at his woman, wanted him out of the way.
Seeing JJ using a small mirror to inspect the small scratch on her cheek, Jack, annoyed, pulled her onto his lap and began cleaning the wound with saline.
"Now you care about your face? You and Hotch rushed in without us, huh?"
It was the first time the two had shown such intimacy in front of the BAU team, making JJ feel a bit uncomfortable. She struggled to get up.
"We were worried he might hurt the hostage, Jack. Let go, I can handle it myself."
"Don't move. If it scars, I won't be responsible," Jack growled, scaring her into staying still.
"In the future, let Reid handle situations like this. His ability to talk his way out of things is much better than your fighting skills."
Emily walked over, "Hey, kid, that comment makes it sound like you're underestimating us girls."
Jack quickly raised his hands in surrender, "Don't take it like that. Until Reid weighs 160 pounds, I always considered him part of your team. I'm just saying everyone has their strengths."
Reid, feeling a bit offended, retorted, "I'm nearly 170 pounds now."
Jack scoffed, unimpressed. "The pigs I raised at the Wolfe Brothers Farm grow faster than you. They go from birth to 300 pounds in a year, while it's taken you nearly two years under my care to gain just 20 pounds."
Though there's no exact equivalent to the saying "Don't bite the hand that feeds you" in Western culture, the logic still holds. Reid opened his mouth but found himself at a loss for words to counter Jack's twisted reasoning.
After finishing JJ's bandages, Jack patted her shoulder and let her sit up.
"Try to keep your arm dry, and I'll help with the bruises on your face when we get back."
Rossi strolled over and gestured toward the mother and son hugging in the distance. "You really don't plan on fixing that kid's wrist? He's still a minor."
"No, that's the doctor's job. I don't want to get into any trouble for that," Jack replied, shaking his head.
Thankfully, no one here had the "saint" complex. Rossi had only mentioned it in passing. Everyone soon shrugged off any lingering frustration and, on the way back to Los Angeles, started planning the evening's activities.
It seemed like a tradition for the team to get together for some fun after wrapping up a case, but since this one involved a bar, no one felt it was a good idea to meet up at a bar tonight—it seemed unlucky.
When it came to superstition, Westerners could be just as bad, if not worse, than people from certain Eastern cultures. In the East, there's a saying, "misfortunes never come singly," while Westerners prefer: "Bad luck always comes in threes."
Jack quickly caught on to what they were thinking and clapped his hands. "Everyone can come to my place. We'll stop by and grab some ingredients on the way."
Emily cheered and immediately called Garcia, setting up the plan to meet at Jack's house that evening.
They arrived back in Los Angeles just after 3 p.m., giving Jack plenty of time to prepare dinner. He planned to make Spanish cuisine, which he had been experimenting with recently.
The menu included roasted lamb chops, Spanish meatballs, garlic shrimp, vegetable pancakes, seafood bisque, spicy stir-fried pork slices, Basque-style cod, and, of course, a big Spanish paella to top it off.
As for the notorious Spanish churros, Jack had naturally replaced them. He found churros with sugar just as offensive as pouring sesame paste on white-cut chicken.
For drinks, Jack brought out a large jar of plum-infused baijiu from his underground cellar, which also doubled as a weapons vault.
California prunes originally came from Europe, and before the rise of Xinjiang prunes, California supplied 70% of the world's prunes. In the U.S., almost 99% of the prunes come from California, and their harvest season is in August. Jack had made this prune wine two years ago, back when he was still in Quantico.
Compared to plum-infused alcohol, prune-infused wine had higher sugar content and a more intense aroma. Jack poured everyone half a glass, added some ice, and it was met with unanimous praise.
After dinner, the ladies dragged Reid over to play mahjong at the square table, while Jack, Hotch, and Rossi sat under the porch in the backyard, lighting up cigars and opening a bottle of sherry Jack had brought back from New York.
Hotch, who used to neither smoke nor drink much, had, in middle age, been influenced by these two—occasionally joining Jack and Rossi for a cigar, enjoying the rare moments of relaxation.
"Once unfaithful, never again," Hotch muttered to himself, staring at the smoke rising into the night sky, lost in thought.
"Shakespeare?" Jack asked, unsure.
Rossi nodded, "From Shakespeare's dark king, Richard III."
It seemed that this case had really broken Hotch emotionally, now that he was in middle age. Jack thought for a moment and decided to offer some unconventional comfort.
"Today, while I was in the kitchen, I found a tiny potato that had been forgotten in the corner. It was really small, just a bit bigger than my thumb."
Rossi and Hotch turned to look at him, unsure what he was getting at.
"I can't remember the last time I saw it—maybe a few weeks ago, or maybe one or two months? It was just a small piece I had cut off from a large potato, but when I found it today, I was surprised to see it had sprouted."
"Are you marveling at the resilience of life?" Hotch asked, confused, trying to figure out what Jack was getting at.
"No, I threw it away, because sprouted potatoes are poisonous." Jack flashed a mischievous smile.
"You, Aaron Hotchner, have a happy life—a loving wife and a cute little troublemaker. Maybe seeing Janasco, a fellow middle-aged man, made you feel some empathy, but there's no need for that.
I gave you that example because I wanted to tell you, I've had my share of misfortune, I've struggled to survive, but I'm not going to empathize with a sprouting potato and plant it in my garden."
Hotch couldn't help but laugh, "Alright, I admit I might have been overthinking it. I apologize. I won't let this kind of emotion get the best of me again."
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