"O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, alone and palely loitering? The sedge has wither'd from the lake, And no birds sing. O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms! So haggard and so woe begone? The squirrel's granary is full, And the harvest's done." - La Belle Dan Sans Merci - John Keats.
"'Tis one thing to be tempted, another thing to fall." - Measure for Measure - William Shakespeare.
He crosses his arms over his chest, and looks away from the scene. Because if he doesn't register it, then it isn't happening. When David Rossi clears his throat in that 'we-need-to-talk-this-is-serious' manner reserved only for unsubs, Aaron realises with sickening clarity that this is happening, and this is serious. He feels Rossi's eyes bore into him, willing Aaron to look at him. It's contest of who can break first, but he's not wearing his suit, that constant reassurance of power "You need help Aaron," Rossi's calm voice forces him to look from the hospital parking lot.
'It's none of your business' burns in his mouth and wants to dive head first from his tongue. But he reigns it in, he's being profiled after all, and he doesn't want to admit that he's already lost. Rossi's gaze is impartial, he's not sure if David is angry, concerned, or both. He doesn't want to be sure. He doesn't want to be here, and he can draw this out a little longer if he wants. "I'm perfectly fine Dave," he tries to make it casual, give the impression that he isn't bothered. Hunched over, and scowling he can't even trick himself. The rest of the world moves on around them, Rossi looks back to the younger man unimpressed. Four ambulances, three doctors, and five nurses go past before David speaks.
"I'm not playing this game Aaron, it's too late and I'm tired," Aaron wonders idly what gives him the authority to demand a response, the response that he wants, does that make it the truth? Aaron shakes his head, lying to himself failed when he was declared dead five hours ago. He isn't sure when he moved from crossing his arms, to holding himself together.
"It won't happen again," he diverts again, if David can't make time he'll leave him alone. The stupidity of this thought doesn't immediately occur to Aaron. What does, however, perhaps a little too late, is Rossi's composure. Fists clenched by his side, the narrowing of his eyes, and how, somehow, he appears to tower over Aaron without being taller than him.
David Rossi is angry, and for a moment Aaron isn't his boss.
"This isn't a missed homework assignment, or a screw up on the job! You almost died Aaron, in fact technically you were dead! Didn't you think how this would affect yourself, or the team, or your career!" he stops, breathing deeply. Aaron counts four more ambulances, three doctors and five nurses passing before David speaks again, his tone softer "Everything you've worked for is in jeopardy Aaron, Strauss is on my back about you, the team know something is up. What do you propose you do?"
Aaron almost shrugs, not as defiance, but because he really doesn't know. This loss is disconcerting, scary, and for the first time in awhile he wants someone to tell him what to do. He can't think of what to say, words stick to his tongue like paste and he can't talk. He meets David's eyes for the first time that night, the man is waiting. He goes for what is on his mind, a thought, a question. It's not a course of action, and it's not an admission. It's an 'asking-for-direction-without-asking-for-direction' phrase, "Is it worth it? Everything I've worked for?"
He cocks his head and looks at the older man, waiting. Rossi casts a critical eye on Aaron, he's pale, shaky, and the expression in his eyes is one he hasn't seen on the man in decades. It's a raw hurt, a genuine confusion. The twilight is ending, these questions don't have a short answer, and the man before him is spent.
"Let's get some coffee," he suggests uncertainly, half expecting a rejection he's surprised when the younger man nods. The acceptance almost makes him smile, and as he leads the disgraced and confused agent from A&E, he thinks perhaps there's some hope for him after all.
They end up in a diner with crappy filter coffee. The smell of pie is choking him, and the place seems unusually busy. Still the gaping black stares up at them from white porcelain mugs, and Aaron wonders how everything had lead to this one moment. If someone had told him a two years ago this was where he would be, he would have dismissed them angrily. Now, as he drinks the sickly sweetened, bitter coffee he's struck by how real all of this is. There is something inevitable about this scenario, and Aaron doesn't really know what to make of it.
At first he thinks they're going to spend the aging night in silence, he rubs his eyes, his body needs sleep. He looks to see David staring calmly at him, and it occurs to Aaron that the ball is in his court, it's sink or swim time. "I…" the words stick in his throat, refuse to come out, and he shakes his head. "I… I don't know what to do," loss coats his face, and he's painfully aware of his inability to draw his arms from around his torso. "Things have gone too far, yes, but… I can't think of a way out," he looks at David, gauging his reaction, aware for the first time of the need for David to believe him. To his surprise the other man smiles. "Why are you smiling?"
"You're admitting something, that's good, that's more than the old you would have told me," this sparks something in Aaron, an ignition of hope that there might be some way of reverting back to who he was.
But then Jack and Haley flash in his mind, and scar like the track marks on his arms. The reality of his ten pm coffee with David shows it's filthy head. And the hope slips away, because some things can be lost forever. He keeps his focus on the table, removing his arms from his chest only to organise the pepper and salt so they're sidebyside, and the napkin tray so it's dead centre on the table. He can't postpone this forever. "They're gone Dave, and… it's taken everything from me, but I always go back to it, it defines me and…"
"And?" Rossi prompts.
"I don't know if I can do it anymore," he says it with his eyes shut, and his fisted clenched. Articulation makes this fear real, this fear that has resided with him since Foyet. He doesn't look at Rossi, the spotted plastic table makes for a more interesting sight.
"I think you need to take time off Aaron," his voice is calm, neutral, and Aaron can't tell if he's still angry.
"To do what Dave?"
"Rest, recover, get that stuff out of your system."
Its then the fear sets in, a genuine fear that claws his insides and screams warning bells in his head. Because, this addi- this thing is his, his way of dealing with life, his way of coping. He doesn't know if he can cope without it.
Rossi isn't oblivious to the fear, the panic which he couldn't say he ever pictured to appear on Aaron's face. Still, he cares for the man as if he were his own son, and any course of action that won't lead to withdrawal… well, it isn't going to happen. He offers Aaron a sad smile, and watches as the man tries to regain some composure. He won't admit to him that in old jeans, and a paint flecked t-shirt there is little more poise left to be lost. "How do you propose I do that?" Aaron asks.
"I'll drive you to your apartment, and you can pack a bag, you'll stay at my place for the worst of it then go to a rehab clinic for rest," Rossi waits for Aaron to protest.
"I'm not going to rehab Dave, I… there is no… it isn't that bad," he hisses.
"You're going," Rossi states, short and simple. He can see Aaron trying to think of another argument, but right now the man looks incapable of standing, let alone carry a debate with a, despite suffering from tiredness, veteran FBI profiler. Rossi stands, and with a motion of his hand signals the glowering younger agent to follow suit. They pay the bill and leave quietly.
It isn't until they're in the car that Dave notices the shaking, and summarises Aaron's lack of attempt to hide it stems from tiredness. The streets are empty and they coast smoothly along to Aaron's apartment, the cold night air is a shock for both of them.
The lights are still on when they enter, the tourniquet and needle are still in the living room, and Rossi is disturbed by the impersonal air of the apartment. The man is alive, just. After ten minutes Aaron returns with a go-bag and a sweatshirt to combat the cold. He quickly disposes of the needle, and tourniquet, and David notices a distinct lack of eye contact.
"Go on, what's your profile," Aaron says wearily in the car. His body tenses, preparing for the invasion of privacy. One car journey, twenty passing cars, and some acute observations is all it takes for Aaron Hotchner's remaining composure to break down.
"You keep your arms crossed as though to distance yourself from the situation, and think it isn't happening. You treat the situation in a methodical manner suggesting detachment, and to prevent forming any link between it and yourself suggesting denial. The lack of pictures in your apartment implies you don't want Haley, Jack, or the team to see you as you are indicating shame and guilt. Your apartment is spotless to keep up the career man appearance, but also to prevent it from becoming your home, and to admit that, in a personal sense, you are alone. Shooting up in your living area publicises it so despite the façade, you want people to know of your problem. On some level you want actually want help," Rossi falls silent, and Aaron stares out of the window, holding himself tighter, he doesn't like people mentioning Jack or Haley.
They pull into Rossi's driveway at eleven, and sluggishly make their way to the house. The night has gotten colder but if Aaron wasn't so tired he would walk, bask in the peacefulness, and let the night make him forgot who he is for awhile. Instead he trudges up to Rossi's front door, and waits for Dave to catch up. He hadn't let Aaron carry his bag, Aaron tried to protest, but couldn't deny he didn't have the strength to carry the bag without collapsing from exhaustion.
He's been in the house before and found it perfectly pleasant. But now as he casts his eyes over the grand furnishings, and closed windows it takes on the form of a prison, which he doesn't have the key. They set him up in the spare room, and Rossi tells him goodnight with a glass of water, he isn't oblivious to the older man locking the window before he leaves.
Aaron lies in the dark, the ticking clock driving him a little more crazy with each second. Sleep is difficult and his shaking is getting worse. Eventually his body shudders into an uneasy slumber, but not before he sees Haley's bloody corpse lying on the floor.
This is a new idea for a story, purely a 'what if' senario. I was thinking about how Hotch is always at the the centre of the team, and overall pretty dependable and stable. I wanted to see what would happen, and how it would effect the other characters, if this stability was taken away. I've never written a Hotch centred fic before, so any tips of characterisation would be help. Overall I hope you enjoy it, I apologise for any grammer and or spelling mistakes, please R&R.
Disclaimer: I don't own Criminal Minds... other wise there would be WAAAY more Reid badass moments :P.