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How I Heal

It had been another long day, and Hotch was exhausted. Just getting home from two back-to-back cases that all together had lasted two weeks. Not to mention the mounds of paperwork that were waiting for him on his desk once he had gotten back. Sometimes, he really hated his job. He had been burning the midnight oil for a while now, but his insomnia wouldn't cut him a break. And now, not only was his body dragging, but his mind as well. For God's sakes he had almost died in a car crash a few days ago, but he hadn't even gotten any sleep in the hospital. Sometimes, he really hated his life. Knowing he wouldn't be able to sleep a wink, he slowly walked into his living room. He carefully sat on the bench of his grand piano, ghosting his fingers over the keys. A long time ago Morgan had asked him who he went to talk to, the answer was he didn't. He would bottle everything inside, until it was ready to burst out of him. Then and only then, would he let the feelings he had inside, come out. But he would never bare his soul to a human being. He had tried that multiple times years ago, always ending with them betraying him. So instead, he shut down.

Except in the presence of a piano. When he played, he felt alive. Felt his emotions run through him and into the music he was playing. It was as if all the things he saw on a daily basis could be washed away by just touching the keys, not even having to play them. As he started to press down on the keys he could feel emotion cover his face. Letting his stoic mask slide off, he started to play; quietly but confidently singing along with the lyrics. It was a simple song, but the feeling he put into it, made it worth more than a thousand words.

He cries in the corner where nobody sees

He's the kid with the story no one would believe

He prays every night dear God won't you please

Could you send someone here who will love me?

Tears started to fall on the keys as he let the painful memories overwhelm him. Felt everything he kept inside 24/7 flow out of him. The pain, the sadness, the painful and sad truth to his words.

Who will love, me for me?

Not for what I have done or what I will become.

Who will love, me for me?

'Cause nobody has shown me what love, what love really means.

He eventually let his voice die out as he sobbed into the piano, letting everything drain out of him. At any other time he would have been horrified at his behavior, but his piano could pass no judgment. It filled him with nothing, instead let him bare his soul and promised or asked nothing in return. This was what he did to heal.