It was always the stuffed parrot that brought back the memory of Haley for Hotch. It was stiff and smelled musty after twenty years, but he still kept it in his top left hand side drawer. It had lived there since he had rescued it from the garage that spring day, one of their last good days before Foyet, before their marriage had crumbled irrevocably, before he no longer had a chance to change anything. To patch the broken places with time, his presence, his love and devotion. He would have given anything to change the direction their lives had taken.
But now he and Jack were alone, and he had to give that love, that time, the devotion he'd not shown his wife to his son, who adored him beyond reason. And the feeling was mutual. Telling Jack pirate stories was second nature now, and the old hat that belonged to the fourth pirate now hung cock-eyed on his son's bed post.
Maybe it was time to pass along the parrot too, but Hotch was a selfish creature, and the memories the stuffed toy evoked were too precious to let go of just yet.
The echoes of the best romance he'd ever had lived in a four inch high brightly plumed bird, and he would never allow himself to forget the bitter aftertaste of the first sweet images of their life together. Self-flagellation was the only way he could allow himself to wallow in the pleasure of his wife's memory.
Without it, he would allow guilt to overwhelm him and he would binge at work for days, leaving Jack upset and confused, which was something the boy didn't deserve. So Hotch let the guilt her death and the end of her life twist inside him until he felt suitably punished for the earlier enjoyable memories, then tucked the parrot away for another few days or a month until he would come upon on it unexpectedly again and begin the cycle once more.
END