I do not own Crminal Minds.
grown men don't cry
by
PerfectMisfit
-0-0-
The worst past of this whole ordeal for you was Hayley's funeral. You remember every excruciating detail of it - the speech, the gathering afterwards, Jack saying goodbye and sending a flying kiss to the coffin. You remember the weather, the millions of condolences, the numerous 'If there's anything I can do, please let me know's. And of course, your team being sent off for a case. Foyet is gone, but you don't feel like the survivor; the hero.
You're the victim.
You know what it's like now to be on the other side of crime.
Jack is lying down on the couch, watching a video intently. You suggested cartoons or maybe a movie, but Jack was adamant and demanded to watch this video. You see Hayley's face on the TV screen and Jack's quavering bottom lip and your heart clenches in pain. You walk up to him and let out a breath you didn't even know you were holding.
"It's time for bed, buddy." You say. He looks up at you with teary eyes.
"Can I watch it one more time, Daddy? I'm waiting for Mommy."
You look closely at your son's face and realise that he does have Hayley's eyes. They're the same shade of green but there's so much more to his eyes than just the colour - the sharp, vigorous gaze with hints of humour in them; unlike your stony, dead ones. You remember arguing playfully with Hayley over whose eyes Jack had, a few days after Jack was born. You smile mirthlessly to yourself as you gently lift Jack off the couch and switch off the TV.
You may have been a terrible husband to Hayley.
But you're not about to be a terrible father to Jack.
Sometimes, when you lie in bed, you think about her. You can't shut your eyes and you can't work yourself to death every night. She's everywhere and that's what's so damn irritating. You see her face in every woman on the street, you hear her voice in your dreams, you see her battered body, covered in blood every time so do so much as close your eyes. You considered drowning your worries in alcohol and that scotch in your refrigerator is very, very tempting. You've come dangerously close to drinking yourself into oblivion when Hayley's voice reminds you that you have a son and he does not need an alcoholic for a father.
The same voice that you want to stop hearing.
You lie in bed - this is not the first time you've found yourself unable to fall asleep. Your job comes with nightmares and insomnia, but it's never been this bad for you. You turn over and wait for sleep to wash over you. Usually it's not until the early hours of the morning. Under normal circumstances you'd be working at eleven in the night and someone from the team - most of the times it's Garcia or Rossi, but the others have stopped by a few times as well - would suggest going back home. Well you're on leave now. You can't submerge yourself in a tonne of paperwork.
You hear Jack's muffled screams from the adjacent room. Another nightmare. You prop yourself up on your elbows - Jack's been having a lot of...scary dreams as he puts it. It makes you wonder how much of Hayley's torture had he witnessed. Or what sort of things could Foyet have said to him. You hear a creak as your bedroom door is slowly pushed open. You hear soft footsteps and your mattress sinks slightly as another body climbs on to the bed.
It's Jack.
You normally don't allow him to sleep in bed with you. Even before the divorce, you and Hayley agreed on the fact that Jack should learn to sleep on his own. Now you just see a little boy who needs comfort and you really can't find it in yourself to tell him to go back to his own bed. You pull him closer and tuck the covers around him. He looks up at you with wide, imploring eyes and then breaks the silence.
"Are you mad at me Daddy?"
His voice is shaking.
He's crying.
All of a sudden, you feel like a failure as a human being.
"No buddy, I'm not mad at you." You pause, becuase you don't know what to say. "Why would you think that?"
"D-daddy - you said that I'm a big boy...and big boys don't cry..and...and..."
A fresh bout of tears cuts him off.
"It's okay buddy." You say. You hear doubt in your own voice, but think nothing of it. "Go to sleep, okay?"
"The monster under th-the bed ate Mommy." Jack tells you, sitting up as you try to coax him to go back to sleep. "Will you beat up the monster Daddy?"
"Go back to sleep Jack, there are no monsters under the bed."
"Daddy, there is!"
"Go back to sleep, okay buddy? If there's a monster, I'll beat it up in the morning." You groan.
"Okay Daddy."
When you wake up the next morning, three things hit you; the first one is that Jack is not in bed beside you - rather, he's on the floor and by the looks of it, he appears to be cold without the covers. The second one is that it was much too bright to be six AM, which is when you usually wake up. A glance at the clock tells you that it actually is eight AM and you are extremely relieved that you don't have to go into work today. The third is that your eyes are burning and there is an overpowering pounding in your head which makes you wonder if you had one too many glasses of whiskey last night. You walk over to the other side of the bed and gently pick up Jack. You place him on the bed and pull the covers up to his chin tenderly.
It's Saturday. You find aspirin in your medicine cabinet and dry-swallow two pills. At least the pounding in your head diminishes significantly. You look out of the window and wince as the sunlight hits your eyes. It's a beautiful day. You figure the best thing for both you and Jack is fresh air - you decide to take Jack to the park. It'll take your mind off things. Jack wakes up at around ten.
You were right - fresh air was a good idea. You sink into one of the nearby benches as Jack runs to the swings. You watch him smile - really smile - for the first time in God knows how long and a grin tugs at your lips. This entire week has been tiring, on both you and Jack. Jessica is like an angel, offering to help you with whatever she can - even going as far as to go out of her way to baby-sit for Jack when you're away, so you won't have to consider retirement. But you don't want to bother the poor woman or become completely dependent on her.
An hour or so of swings and merry-go-rounds later, Jack tells you he wants to go back home. You nod and the two of you walk to the car, when Jack brings up exactly what you want to avoid; children have an odd way of doing that.
"Daddy, you said Mommy's in a better place, right? With the angels and God?"
You heave a sigh. How does one explain death to a child?
"Yes buddy, she is."
"Do you think we'll ever get to see Mommy again?"
"Someday Jack. Someday we will."
"Can we see Mommy today?"
"I'm sorry - what -" You frown. You're not exactly sure what Jack is trying to say.
"You know Daddy. When they put Mommy into the ground..." Jack trails off.
"Oh. You want to go to the graveyard..." you hesitate. Maybe visiting Hayley's grave so soon after her death isn't a good idea. But you can't see what's wrong with doing it. It might even help Jack... "alright."
The graveyard looks a lot different from when you last saw it, for some reason. It doesn't seem quite as sombre as it did during the funeral. You shrug off the feeling and walk up to the headstone. You study the white headstone as Jack gives the grave a flying kiss. It says Hayley Hotchner.
Not Brooks.
It's like you're still married to her.
It's not like she's dead.
It's like it happened yesterday.
"Is something wrong Daddy?" Jack asks you. Your hands are shaking. You shove them into the pockets of your pants and turn to answer your son's question.
"You know Jack...I made a very important promise to Mommy. I promised her that I would catch the bad guy who did this and we could spend the rest of our lives happily. I never kept my promise." You begin.
The fact is, if you had arrived earlier you would have been able to save Hayley. It's not really comforting to know that she died instantly and didn't suffer much. You know the truth is that Hayley did suffer, so much more than what you're experiencing now. What must it have been like to wonder when some psycho who was holding a knife to your neck would kill your baby boy? What must it have been like to spend you final moments, alone and cold, with no one to hold you close?
"Mommy told me it's bad to break promises."
"I know buddy, I know."
"But Mommy doesn't hate you."
You give Jack a small smile.
Would Hayley think you're doing a good job as a father? Maybe. You hope she does.
That night, after you and Jack watch several back-to-back episodes of Spiderman, you tuck Jack into bed. It's eleven PM - way past Jack's bed time - but you suppose it can't hurt. Tomorrow is Sunday and the only homework he has is craft, which makes you groan because you'll have to help him and you're pretty crappy with paper and glue yourself. You sit down for a drink - one drink can't hurt - and as you raise the glass to your lips, the only thing you can think of is that you were doing the exact same thing before Foyet stabbed you.
One lone tear slides down your face. You hastily wipe it away.
Grown men don't cry. You, Aaron Hotchner, are a grown man. But you do cry.
Sometimes.
When nobody's watching.
Ahem, sorry about the crappiness. I'm also not really sure how old Jack is - I'm assuming he's five, so that would put him in kindergarten.