A/N: The team's discussion about music at the end of "The Performer", as well as a couple random comments in other episodes, kickstarted this idea. So much variety in terms of favorite artists and genres…a hard thing to resist for us music lovers as a result.

As the summary notes, this will be a short series, and each team member will be represented by three songs tied to the artists they enjoy. Also, there are a couple artists featured in this series whose songs feature particularly strong language, for those who may be averse to such things, and I will warn for them when they come up. For those who are curious, all songs are on YouTube if you're so inclined to listen.

And finally, the title is an infamous misquote of a line from the 1697 play The Mourning Bride, written by English playwright William Congreve. The original line is as follows:

"Music has charms to soothe a savage breast," – Spoken by Almeria in Act I, Scene 1.

And with that, on with the stories! First up, Hotch and the Fab Four. Slightest of spoilers for/reference to events with Hotch's marriage in season 3 as well as the Foyet storyline in season 5.

Songs: "Don't Pass Me By";"I'm So Tired";"Helter Skelter"-The Beatles (The White Album)

Hotch: "No, you just drank whiskey and smoked cigars."

Rossi: "Oh, and this from the man whose favorite record is the Beatles' White Album."

Hotch: "Just because Manson hijacked it doesn't have to ruin it for the rest of us." - "The Performer" (Season 5)

It probably seemed a bit odd that Hotch would be a Beatles fan. After all, he'd completely missed out on the initial wave of Beatlemania, having been born around the time when the Beatles were in the tail end of their career, when the in-fighting and "creative differences" were proving to become too much for the band to deal with.

And yet, he grew up on their music anyway, having heard many of their songs on the radio when he was a child. The band members themselves had all gone on to successful solo careers after their split, but the public's fondness for the band was still strong as ever, the group's music continuing to get tons of airplay, gaining new fans such as Hotch in the process. By the time he was in his early teens, Hotch was collecting their records with his allowance money, hanging out at friends' houses and exploring the band's eclectic, versatile musical catalogue.

College only made his interest in the band even stronger, as he met others who fell for the music of the Sixties, the Beatles included, and saw the influence the band had come to have on many musicians throughout the years.

The White Album had always been Hotch's personal favorite record of the band's work. Sometimes others looked at him oddly for that, and he could understand that reaction. Not only would some not expect a person as straight-laced as him to like such wild, surreal music, but it was indeed a very strange piece of work. A double album, which was a Herculean task right off the bat, and with a variety of genres being explored to boot. From Tin Pan Alley pop to straight up rock to psychedelic Eastern music…and whatever the hell "Revolution 9" was.

But at the same time, that was what made the album, and the band by default, so fascinating. A diverse group of musicians coming together to make a unique piece of work, each member's individual personality and talents shining through along the way.

Their music was part of first dates, first loves, forged friendships, a solace from the stress of his life, both personal and professional. Little did he know it would also inadvertently push and influence him towards an illustrious career as well.

"Don't Pass Me By":

Aaron Hotchner couldn't sleep.

Not because of work. The team had miraculously managed to snag a couple days off, Hotch requesting a couple extra ones of his own.

He'd needed to take a few days to talk with Haley, he said. The two of them had been attempting to negotiate a few things since their recent separation.

Key word there being "attempting", of course. Looking back now, those extra days off seemed almost a complete waste of time, given how their negotiations had gone. He closed his eyes, frustrated, as his last "discussion" with Haley ran through his head again.

ooo

"No, I don't know if I'm coming back, Aaron." Her voice sounded small on the other end of the phone, but what it lacked in volume it more than made up for in attitude.

If. Not "when". "If". Hotch's stomach had dropped at that little detail, but he pressed on, trying his hand at negotiation.

"We can take a few weeks. Just a few. Clear our heads. Maybe we each just need some time alone."

The moment that last sentence was out of his mouth, Hotch cringed. Haley's response made his already grim features even more twisted.

"I've had more than my fair share of 'time alone', Aaron. That's. The. Problem."

"I – I just meant –" What the hell is wrong with me? He could talk unsubs out of killing others, or themselves, but somehow he fumbled when trying to explain a simple misspoken sentence?

He took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried again. "I just meant that maybe we each need some time to cool down. Ease our tempers."

"I don't have a temper," Haley said, the chill in her voice sending a deep shiver down Hotch's spine. "I'm not yelling."

That's what scared him the most. There was a certainty to her tone that did not sit well with him at all.

"I don't, either," he said softly, trying to match her eerie calm. "But just in case, we can take a few days so as not to…worry…Jack. Then when we both feel more relaxed, we can –"

"I don't think that's going to happen anytime soon, Aaron." There was some shuffling and rustling on the other end of the phone then, and Hotch soon heard Jack's voice in the background.

"Jack says hi. I have to go now." And before Hotch could answer, he heard the signal ending the call.

ooo

Now here he was, in his own house, in bed at a reasonable hour…and yet wide awake as ever.

He stared at the empty spot next to him in the bed, trying desperately to imagine Haley there next to him. He longed to see the serene smile on her face as she curled up next to him, how her hand felt as she rubbed his arm, his chest, ran her fingers through her hair. That soft voice, soothing and reassuring him on the nights he'd wake with a fright after a particularly rough case, encouraging him to talk it out.

He remembered the night she told him she was pregnant, how they cuddled in bed, talking about all their plans for the baby as he rubbed her stomach. When they'd toss names back and forth, laughing at some of the more ridiculous-sounding ones. The nights after Jack was born, when she blissfully curled up under the covers as he volunteered to put their crying baby back to sleep.

The first week after finding out Haley had up and left with Jack, he stared at the door in the evenings, hoping to hear the key in the lock and the turning of the knob. Jack would run in calling for his daddy, Haley would smile and hug and kiss him, apologies would be exchanged, and that would be that. Just like old times.

But it'd been three weeks now, and he'd started trying to keep himself otherwise occupied.

She said "anytime soon" at the end. Soon. He hadn't heard the word "never" in their conversation.

Soon. If.

For now, at least, that was something.

"I'm So Tired":

One more file. Just one more.

Some variation of those sentences had been Hotch's mantra throughout the evening, as he counted off each piece of paperwork upon finishing it up. Now, thankfully, finally, he was down to the very last one. He didn't even dare look up at the clock to see what time it was. All that would get him was a nasty reminder of just how long he'd been sitting here in his office. Either that, or he knew if he looked up, the second hand would stop ticking, the big and little hands would stop moving. Time would freeze, and he'd be left slogging through this hell. He was certain of that fact.

Eh, well, sort of certain. Frankly, Hotch wasn't entirely sure where his mind was taking him now at this ungodly hour, and he'd begun to get used to his nonsensical fantasies and nightmares.

Rubbing heavily at his eyes, Hotch turned back to his work, sighing as he began his usual task of signing off on the required lines. After that, he'd look over the file one last time, making sure all the paperwork for their last case was organized and ready to go. Then off it would go to his frighteningly large stack of paperwork, and out the door he'd go.

He flipped through the pages like a man possessed. The coffee from throughout the night was clearly kicking in by now. So precise, so quick with the scrawl of a pen, and his signature never once looked sloppy. By now, he could practically do this work with his eyes closed.

Eyes closed. Yeah. That sounds good…

Hotch blinked then, taking another gulp of coffee. There. All well and alert again. Never hurt to have that extra kick.

And on he went, page after page (he couldn't stop feeling stunned at how thick this particular file was. They'd had some excessive workloads before, but this…). Before he knew it, the last page was in his sight.

Hotch smiled. Smiled! He turned his attention to the final blank line, ready to call it good…

…and stopped. Something was wrong.

His brows furrowed as he gazed at the paper. The blindingly bright white paper. And the words. They seemed so…so blurry…so close…

…Hotch jerked his head up, blinking and glancing at his paper. Big, black ink blots splattered across the page. He lifted his hand, and saw the ink had spread all over his fingers as well.

Damnit. He rubbed his eyes, trying to shake himself out of his momentary nap.

Now this meant he'd have to talk to Strauss. Would have to get another copy of the page. The higher-ups didn't take too kindly to stained papers – Hotch cringed at the all too visible memory of what had happened when the lead agent on an old team he'd been part of years ago had a similar experience. All the pages in that file were badly stained, and he'd caught hell for it.

Granted, that was the final straw in a list of screw-ups that lead that man to be "let go" from the BAU, thus adding to the chain of events that had allowed Hotch to move into that position. But still. He was already skating on thin ice with Strauss and the higher-ups over the escalating situation with his hunt for Foyet. He did not want to push his luck any further. It was bad enough he was staying at the office so much for work purposes. To lose even that shelter due to lack of a job and home? Not part of his plan.

Now Hotch did look at the clock, trying to hold in a groan as he noticed the time. It was twelve-thirty in the morning.

He looked back at his desk – at least, what he could see of it, underneath all the papers and folders. He opened the blinds and looked out into the now darkened bullpen. A sudden, heavy yawn made his next decision very clear.

First thing tomorrow, he'd go talk to Strauss. In the meantime…

Hotch grabbed his suit jacket from the back of his chair before heading to the small couch across the room. Collapsing onto the sofa with an exasperated sigh, he then tumbled onto his side, pulling his suit jacket over him as he curled up best he could.

His eyes drooped and fluttered before finally closing, and Aaron Hotchner very quickly thereafter drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

"Helter Skelter":

The fact that one of the nation's most notable criminals claimed to be inspired by this particular song only added to the band's mystique and lore amongst the general public. Hotch found that notable tidbit of information fascinating, too...but for an entirely different sort of reason.

Just like with the Beatles, Hotch was very young, and living on the complete opposite end of the country, at the time an infamous series of murders occurred, ones that horrified the nation at large.

In August 1968, news of the Manson murders swept the nation. Seven people brutally murdered by a "family" (or, as Hotch preferred to call them, a cult) of criminals led by a deranged leader who claimed the murders were part of a planned violent war among the races across America.

The horrific acts were traumatic enough. But once the public got a good look at the criminal mastermind behind it all, once they saw his insanity in action and heard his "reasoning" for the crimes, it made the entire event that much more surreal and terrifying.

When Hotch first heard about how Charles Manson, of all people, had claimed the Beatles, of all bands, were responsible for pushing him to do what he'd done, he was incredulous. The Beatles preached about love, optimism, peace and harmony. They sang sweet, romantic ballads, made young girls go crazy with their innocent, boyish looks, were well-spoken, intelligent people. Manson was seriously crediting them for his actions?

His curiosity led him to pay closer attention whenever the Family made the news over the years, via interviews or other acts of violence. It was the case that captivated him, haunted him. His dad may have inspired him to study law, but if asked, Hotch would always point to the Manson case as the event that kickstarted his particular interest in the study of crime and the psychology of those who become criminals.

In college, he studied the Manson interviews as part of his criminal law education. He would observe the crazed look in the man's eyes, listened carefully to his rants and rambling remarks, took notes on the way Manson gesticulated, or fidgeted. The way he spoke, the words he chose.

Hotch would read the reports about Manson's claims of hidden messages in the White Album, messages that seemed to indicate to him that the Beatles were supportive of and prophesizing the violent race war Manson predicted. "Helter Skelter" in particular became the code name for Manson's planned race war; as a result, that song wound up getting the most attention in the media as a result.

A song that sounded flat out insane and wild and raucous being tied to an insane, wild, raucous group of criminals? It seemed eerily fitting. Even the fact that the title referred to a British amusement park slide with that name seemed appropriate. Amusement parks never were really Hotch's thing.

He would read the lyrics to that particular song over and over again, trying desperately to see things from Manson's perspective. He looked at the education, or lack thereof, Manson got throughout his life, paid attention to his reading level, his understanding of phrasing and context in whatever he read.

All he wound up getting out of his analysis, however, was a load of frustration and a period of time where it became very hard for him to even listen to the album he'd once claimed as his favorite. All the happy, entertaining memories he'd associated with various songs – the afternoons hanging out with friends, the slow dances with girls he dated, hearing Haley ranting about some of the weirder songs on the record – were replaced with Manson's "interpretations".

It made no sense. How could two people listen to the same band, almost to the point of obsession, and wind up getting drastically different reactions out of their shared musical taste? Obviously there were deeper explanations for Manson's mindset, much, much deeper ones that even the most determined profilers might never be able to uncover.

Still, though, it chilled him to think he had anything in common with this man. Sure, Hotch's job meant he had to identify and sympathize with many criminals, but this particular similarity seemed a little too…personal. And there were some criminals that, try as he might, Hotch just didn't think he could ever quite work up much sympathy for, if any.

Eventually, though, as he encountered many criminals as intense as Manson, if not worse, through his years as a prosecutor, and now as an FBI agent, he was relieved to find himself seeking out the music he loved again. He'd listen to those same sweet, lovely ballads to relax after a case, or to allow him thoughts, and later, fond memories, of Haley. He'd let the rock songs vent the anger and adrenaline he felt whenever a case was particularly tense and dangerous, or to ease the stress of a hectic work day. Sit and chuck at the dry British wit of some of the odder one-off songs, happy to find others who shared his unusual sense of humor.

And when he had to prep himself to deal with another serial killer, when certain cases refused to leave his mind, when memories of Foyet haunted him, his choice of song was always "Helter Skelter".

Reviews/critiques/etc. appreciated, as always.