𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞; 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒𝟒: 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐟

TW: depression, talk of death

Hotch's POV

5 days later.

"But Coco, you said she wanted oatmeal." I bury my head in my hands as she pushes away the bowl I just made for her.

She shakes her head stubbornly, crossing her arms, "I wanted yogurt."

"That's not what you said." Otherwise, I would have gotten her yogurt.

"I don't want it." She twisted her body around in the chair so she could watch the television programme that Jack had put on. He had finished his breakfast about 20 minutes ago, but Colette had been particularly difficult this morning. She hadn't wanted to leave her room, she hadn't wanted to get dressed, then she didn't want to brush her teeth, and now she was being challenging with her breakfast.

I guess it was the change in environment, she had been uprooted from her home, her bedroom, the only life she'd ever known. I had tried to make the house feel as homely as possible for her, all her toys were here, her room was decorated mostly the same, and I hadn't made a big deal of the move, and neither had Jack. But still, she wasn't settled, and I wasn't sure what to do about it.

I give up on trying to argue with her, I wouldn't get anywhere, so instead, I just walk to the fridge and pick out the yogurt that she had apparently asked for in the first place.

Peeling the lid of the yogurt and grabbing a spoon, I place it in front of her. "There you are." I sit down next to her at the table, "Can you do it yourself?"

She nods, snatching the cutlery and clumsily spooning the food into her mouth. I watch with apprehension as the yogurt almost tips off the spoon when she holds it, but I avoid giving her a hand, I'd learnt that she liked to be independent. When she wanted to do something, she would do it. If I didn't want to deal with another tantrum, I had to just let her be, for now, anyway. I had spent enough time with her in the past to know that this wasn't normal behaviour for her. She was free-spirited and a little feisty, but she wasn't misbehaved. 

"Dad," Jack called me from where he sat on the sofa, "Can I have my juice, please?"

"Of course, hold on," I stood up from the table and picked up his juice from the kitchen island, walking over to the sofa and crouching down in front of him, "Be careful to not spill any please." I ruffled his hair when he ignored me, his entire attention focused on the cartoon animals on the wall-mounted television.

Ada and I were both on leave at the moment, which Jack was appreciating greatly. Ada was on bereavement leave, and I was taking some of my holiday leave- luckily, I had lots stored up.

Thinking of Ada, I needed to take in her food. Sometimes she ate it, sometimes she didn't, I tried to persuade her to, obviously, but some days she would only move from the bed to use the bathroom. Yesterday morning was better, she had eaten four slices of toast, and had drunk the entire mug of tea that I made her. That was progress, and I clung to it.