"Mr. Harris, put the gun down," Hotch said slowly. They had suspected that the unsub would be angry about the lack of media attention, but they never would had assumed he would be pissed enough to pull a gun.
"Tell them how much I mean! Tell them that I am a legend," Drew Harris said, his hand shaking.
"I can't do that, Sir. You have to do that yourself," Hotch said desperately, trying to gain time. He knew that at any moment now, the bomb squad would make an entrance, but that might put Drew over the edge. Hotch had to talk him down first.
"Listen to me!" Drew yelled. But just when he was about to make another demand, somebody kicked open the door. Drew yelled and, in fright, his hand instinctively clenched.
His hand with the gun.
At first, Hotch didn't understand what was happening. One second he was trying to talk down a suspect, and the next he was staring at the ceiling fan. The twirling was making him dizzy so he tried to sit up, but found that he couldn't move. He was in shock, but from what?
While Hotch was concentrated on trying to figure out why he was immobile, there was a lot going on around him. Screaming—loud, persistent shrieks. Voices yelling, but the words all ran together. A few bangs and crashes: it sounded like some sort of struggle.
Everything got darker. The edges of his eyesight became black, closing in while everything else became a shade darker. Darker and darker, less and less to see, until:
"Stay with me, Hotch!" a woman's voice, the pitch way to high for his liking. Also—ouch, what the hell was she doing to his chest? Searing, burning pain from where her hands were. Were her hands on fire?
"Come on, stay awake!" she pleaded as Hotch's eyes were weighed down. He opened his eyes painfully and saw a familiar face, framed with brunette hair which was hanging in his face.
"Yeah, that's it," Emily Prentiss encouraged. "Just stay with me."
But the darkness was closing in again. Soon, everything was black. And something strange was happening to Emily's voice. Her words changed from, "Come on, Hotch," pleading and panicked to "Come on, Aaron," tranquil and content.
It was no longer Emily speaking, it was someone else, someone else familiar...
"Come on, Aaron." A face he missed so very much showed up, surrounded by a nearly blinding white light. But instead of squinting from it like he normally would, he stared in awe. Because it wasn't painfully bright, it was warm and welcoming.
But the face...he had expected that the next time he saw this face, it would be almost as cheerful as the light. But instead, it was nervous and restless.
"What's wrong, Haley?"
"Oh, good," Haley sighed. "You have to go back now."
"No," Hotch said, but it sounded more like a question. "What? No! I just got here, let me stay."
"No," Haley said, her voice more stern and stubborn than he remembered. His eyes widened in shock. "No, Aaron, you cannot just stay here for a while. This is not a vacation. This is the afterworld. You have to go back!"
Her face was getting bigger, the light brighter. He realized that he was getting closer and closer.
"I don't want to," Hotch admitted. "It's horrible back there without you. It's lonely and miserable, and I run around day after day seeing all the horrible things people can do. No, I'd much rather stay here. It seems nice..."
"Aaron, listen to me," Haley growled. Hotch definitely did not remember her being this convincing, but he stood his ground. Even as her hair framed her face perfectly, the blonde hair that he missed so much...Why did she even dye it brown? It was so beautiful...
"Are you listening?"
"Yes," Hotch lied.
"Good, because you need to go back. You can't stay here. Do you hear me?"
"Don't you want me here? Don't you miss me?" He was worried now.
"Of course I do, honey." She smiled sweetly. He could almost touch her now—he reached his hand out to stroke her face but found her just beyond reach. "But now is not your time. You'll get here at some point, I promise I will see you again, just not now. You have to go back to your friends."
"I don't care about that," he said. "I just missed you so much. You know, Jack talks to you every night? He thinks I can't hear him, but I do. He misses you—I miss you."
"I miss you too."
"I'm sorry." Hotch said. He felt like he should be crying now, but no tears were in his eyes. Probably a side affect of this bright, happy place. No crying allowed. "I'm so sorry, Haley. It's all my fault. I do this job, we have a kid, and I can't take care of either of you. You leave me, and then I go and get you killed? You never got to live your life, Jack doesn't have a mom...it should have been me. I should have died. I'm such a horrible father..."
"Don't ever say that," Haley demanded. "Don't you ever say that again. Do you hear me? You're not a horrible father, just a busy one. You do your job to save people's lives. Do you know what that means? Do you know how amazing that is? Please, you can't stop now. You have to go back, for me. Go back for Jack."
"Jack..." he gasped.
"Yes. Go back for Jack. You can't leave him an orphan. Go back."
"But..." he was running out of excuses to stay in this wonderful place. When he didn't say anything, he noticed Haley getting smaller and the light getting dimmer. He held his hand out to touch her again, but by now, his hand covered up her whole body. He brought it back down—he wanted to preserve this memory of her. He wanted to remember her.
"I miss you. See you later," She promised as the darkness consumed him once again.
The first thing he noticed was the difference in temperature. The light had a warmth, a heat to it, and now he was cold. The next was the intense pain. When he was with Haley, he couldn't feel anything at all. And now, it felt like he had been shot in the chest.
Oh wait, he had.
"Hotch," Emily grinned. Tears were pouring down her cheeks, a sight Hotch thought he'd never live to see. "I thought I lost you for a second there. Don't worry, the medics are on the way."
"I miss you, too," Hotch rasped out, hoping that wherever she was, Haley could hear him.
"What's that?" Prentiss leaned closer to listen.
He thought fast, coming up with a simple "thank you".