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"Daddy, Daddy, d'you wanna play aeroplanes with me?" Jack called, running into his father's office cum library, airplane in hand. Hotch was hunched over his desk, filling out some forms. Hotch didn't bother to correct Jack on the pronunciation of the word; he was too preoccupied. Jack appeared at his father's side, looking at his idolized father expectantly.
"Not now, J. I've got work to do. Later, okay?" Hotch continued to write as his son's hopeful expression morphed into a devastated one. Jack's eyes filled with tears, but he hid them, knowing that his daddy was Busy and that he had to be a Big Boy and not cry.
"'Kay," He said, disappointed.
Incidents such as that were what had given Hotch the strength to fight back against Foyet; knowing that if he didn't, he'd never get to tell his son all the things he'd wanted to.