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Spencer is adorable when he's sleepy, though you have to be careful to be sure he knows why you're smiling. Dave is learning that - they've started to communicate the two of them, in the way that Spencer Hotchner. He does high fives, signing (oh you better believe he sat down and learned ASL, because when Spencer signs "more, more, please, nommy?" it's one of the moments of his life he's going to hang on to) and sometimes, just pointing.
Maybe he isn't talking, but he certainly, certainly speaks. You can tell when physically speaking gets too frustrating, almost too limiting. And David Rossi is learning (of course he's also learning about Adventures. And why you don't ever let Spencer even start to climb the dinosaurs because he will take it as read that of course you can explore the dinosaur exhibit ("It there, it there!" as said while perched gleefully at the top of aforementioned dinosaur exhibit) and yes, of course you can read that one and that ice cream should be entirely composed of vanilla, thank you very much.
Spencer is many things. He's "twy this?" and offering an apple, then considering the matter and going back to get a package of dried apple slices. He's the time he decided that "Daddy need dino-wiches!" and gave Rossi his lunchbox - complete with animal crackers, sandwiches cut in to the shapes of dinosaurs, a space ship shaped cookie and fruit in a giraffe shaped box. He's never seen so many local LEOs trying desperately to keep a straight face, let alone his team but after all, doesn't everyone need more animal crackers in their lives?
When Spencer naps on him, when he's home and reading the newspaper he just looks at this little, unique, maybe slightly crotchety but very very much Spencer toddler and can't understand why on earth anyone wouldn't love him. Also, the next child-care worker who tells him to 'speak properly Spencer' is getting some more and sharper words.
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Aaron was the one who took Emily. Which well, David Rossi knows when he's not going near something and frankly, going near horses was on that list. Aaron, who grew up riding, is possibly entirely too happy to take Emily (and pay for the lesson fees, clothes, boots, two helmets and whatever else you need to actually get on a horse) and anyway, it means they are gone for two hours on Wednesdays' and there it is.
When Emily goes away to [word for horse riding camp?] he can't stop missing her. Or worrying, while being ridiculously, ridiculously proud. Because Emily is going to be brilliant and she'll have a wonderful time and that? It gives him a warm feeling, underneath the 'what if she breaks her arm/falls off/gets lost' worries.
Emily. Emily-my-Emily, he calls her with a smile, is so much Aaron Hotchners' child that it sometimes floors him. They both have that quietness, the ability to sit and just be, with books or without but they are quiet together (this can include reading, knitting, building things, going for walks together and more reading. Sometimes they both dance to records when alone). He wants to buy her all the books in the world and then he rather thinks he'd like the world to not hurt her so much. She and Aaron are very alike, like that.
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Penelope, Pen. Or as she's been insisting lately "Mermaid!" She's a bright little fairy/frog/witch/hobbit/Moomin/four year old girl who is all of those things and more because when Penelope images, she imagines with a vengeance. He's gotten used to that, with all the kids but with Pen it's particularly wonderful (even if the Mermaid imaginings did lead to some moments of terror).
She's the one who proudly keeps the 'go-away-monsters' spray he'd bought back from an consult in England under her bed because she firmly believes it works. Pen is glittery cards, ballet shoes, an abundance of rainbows ("Daddy needs stickers!" she'd said, handing them solemnly to him to put on his briefcase and yes, some of them went in to his day-planner. Every drawing she gives him goes up in one of his offices), adventures in gel pens and drawing.
He's never been prouder, when he left work to go to her ballet concert and explained where he was going.
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JJ was the one he hugged first, the day she tried to run away because she thought it would bring Gideon back, because he'd left two days after her birthday and "....Dave, I said I didn't like the cake very much!" and he'd stumbled through an explanation and wished that it would stop hurting. But he'd wished it wouldn't hurt this little being far far more.
JJ is playing soccer with a smile. She's being curled up on a window seat with a book or trying to practice a gymnastics move anywhere she can (inside, outside, at the top of the stairs...). She's constructing elaborate carts with Derek and playing in the tree house with Emily and her collection of dolls. She's the first time Dave has voluntarily set foot in a fairy shop of any description.
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Derek is the one who takes care of the family, but he's also a thirteen year old boy. He's more than all that has happened to him and David Rossi knows he can't allow himself to forget any of Dereks' story. It took a long time, the trust they have. It's still taking a long time and that's one of the things that mean he can't bring himself to forgive Gideon for, but he'll never ever take the fact that Derek trusts him at all for granted.
Derek is bookshelves and sporting trophies that he uses mainly to prop up photographs of family and friends. He's the one who will lend a hand, who has tea-parties with Pen every time she asks and has an endless supply of patience for his younger siblings and none at all for anyone who torments them. Sometimes he's awkward, of course he is. Sometimes he's very much the thirteen year old boy but he's a good kid and Dave does wish he could lessen the weight of the world on those shoulders.
He's not going to leave. The day Derek called him Dad? That he wrote down