"What did they tell you about…about this…this…about this whole…?" Hotch's lip curled with revulsion.
He couldn't bring himself to name it. Dredging up words to define the situation that had led to meeting Dr. Fletcher would also access the depth of betrayal he felt. Rehashing or even touching on being taken into custody and interrogated…cuffed like the most unpredictable and destructive unsub… As though I'd lunge across the table and attack like an animal!...would only make the pain of it more immediate. He felt in control at the moment, much of which had to do with his being able to manipulate Fletcher's opportunities to initiate a conversation.
Hotch was clever by nature and by experience. He knew mental health professionals tended to ask gentle, probing questions. It was an effective tool in the discipline's arsenal. By making a bargain to trade question for question, he knew he was hamstringing the doctor's standard procedure.
He didn't care.
They sent me to be analyzed even after I led my team and brought down the real unsub. Even after everything I've done…all the cases I've seen through to a successful conclusion…His throat threatened to close. He fought it. Even after all the blood, the injuries…even after losing Haley…they still have doubts about me.
He realized Fletcher was responding to his question, even though he hadn't really asked it. He was missing the answer; too caught up in his inner turmoil. And that's not like me. I don't let myself get distracted like that. I'm not that self-indulgent.
But the doctor was looking at him with a puzzled expression. Hotch tried to fill the pause as Fletcher observed him. "I'm sorry, Doctor. Could you repeat that?"
A corner of the psychiatrist's lips quirked upward. "Well, that would make it two questions in a row for you, Aaron. That's not fair."
The doctor's grin vanished when he saw Hotch's shoulders slump; his eyes fill with that mournful look that Fletcher would dearly love to lighten. This wasn't just a game of wits they were playing. This FBI agent was damaged and struggling. And as recalcitrant as he is, he's not giving up. He's a fighter, but he's also someone in pain. This is why I do what I do: the confused ones who don't know how they ended up in such a dark place.
The doctor revised the game's rules slightly. "I'm sorry." His voice was as sad as Hotch's eyes; devoid of competitive banter. "I think we're getting lost in verbal sparring. My intention isn't to engage you in battle, Aaron. You said you don't trust me. But I'm a stranger to you. It doesn't matter who hired me…who I work for. You don't know me. You have no reason to trust me."
Hotch's neck was bent. He was tracking the doctor from beneath his brows, looking for all the world like the feral canine Fletcher had likened him to when he'd made a point of not forcing too much eye contact.
The doctor took a deep breath. "Let's make a new deal. You can ask me whatever you want, as many questions as you want. When you run out of them, or you feel you don't need to ask any more, then it'll be my turn." And I'm taking a gamble on you, Aaron. You were an attorney. You could fill our sessions with nonstop inquiries and avoid ever letting me in. I hope that doesn't happen. "Is that something you could agree to?"
The two men had halted. Neither seemed to remember that they'd come out for a walk. Pedestrians flowed around them, paying no attention to just another couple of suits on the street in a town where dark-clad professionals were plentiful.
With slow deliberation, Hotch gave a single nod.
"Okay. You're right. I don't know you, Doctor. My question is, how well do you know me? I know you aren't coming into this blind. You've been told I'm some kind of problem. So, what did they tell you about me and…and…" No use. He still couldn't form the words that named his deepest pain. Not without giving too much away; a catch in his throat, a crack in his façade.
Fletcher wasn't smiling, but Hotch thought he could still read kindness in his expression. The doctor placed a gentle hand on the agent's back and coaxed him into resuming their walk. " 'They' didn't tell me anything. But I know everything they do…and then some." He steered Hotch around a corner.
"I also know a place where we can talk in private without being surrounded by all the trappings of a psychiatrist's office. You'll ask questions until you feel safe letting me ask one…"
Hotch glanced up for a moment. It was sharp and distrustful, but very quick. Fletcher noticed nonetheless.
"Don't look so worried, Aaron. You might have a thousand questions, but I only have one."