CHAPTER SEVEN: AN UNEASY ARGUMENT (HOTCH)
Hale was different, that was for sure. She might have some emotional kinks to work out, but she was going to be very valuable on our team, for this case and all the ones that followed. I was eager for her to start working with us. And in time, so would the team.
She sat beside me in my car, staring out the window as the scenery rolled by. I did my best not to profile her, because there was this unspoken agreement among team members not to profile each other, but I could tell her mind was moving a million miles a minute. I didn't pry though.
"Turn on the next right," she said.
I nodded, not wanting to push her in the wrong way. I still barely knew her in a personal sense. "Do you know what you're going to say to him?"
She sighed, and turned her head to look at me. Her eyes looked tired. It registered with me how overwhelmed she must have been. Just a couple days earlier, she had been going to go get coffee with a guy she thought would make her an assistant chef. Now she had a gunshot wound in her leg, was rebounding from being drugged and nearly kidnapped before jumping out of a moving vehicle, and she had accepted a job offer from the FBI. "I figured I'd just wing it," she sighed. "Did you ever have to tell anyone something you thought might change their view of you?"
"Yes," I said, not elaborating. "Do you really think his view of you will change?"
"I don't know," she admitted. "I've never told him anything about my past, if I'm being honest with myself. I just told him my mom died and that my dad was out of the picture. I never said that he went missing on an undercover mission, or that she was brutally murdered right under my nose. He doesn't really know me. At all." She leaned her head on the window. "Maybe this relationship was doomed from the start."
I didn't know what to say. This wasn't my sort of conversation. "Maybe you should give him more credit. Give him a chance."
"I know," she sighed. "I know. I'm going to have to. And we had just gotten an apartment together."
"Hale," I said. She looked over at me. "If he doesn't accept you because you held back from him, he's making a mistake. Someone who's had to go through what you have deserves to keep their guard up a little. If he's worth anything, I'm sure he'll understand."
"I hope," she replied. She was twirling her hair with her left index finger. A nervous tick. She was also biting her lip, which indicated her anxiety. "It's the next building to the right, there's a parking garage you can go into."
I did as she said, pulling into a middle-class apartment building. I pulled into the parking garage below the apartments and parked the car. "Do you want me to come in with you?" Not that I'd give her a choice.
She thought about it for a moment, and then nodded. "Maybe if he hears another side of it…and telling him you saved my life might be a bonus."
"Then I'll come," I said, unbuckling my seat belt and stepping out of the car. She slid out and I followed behind her as she walked to an elevator and pressed the up button. We stood there silently as we waited for the doors to open. Once they did, she pressed number four and the elevator started to lift into the air. She was biting her lip and twirling her hair, and for a moment I feared she might draw blood or start yanking strands out of her scalp. "Hale, relax," I advised. "It is what it is. Just think of a worst case scenario and build from there."
She stared at me in disbelief. "You want me to envision the worst that could come from this?"
"It couldn't hurt."
"The hell it couldn't," she exclaimed. The elevator doors opened and she strode out, and I, trying to figure out what I said that was so wrong, followed her down the hallway. She stopped at apartment 417. After taking a deep, quiet breath, she quickly pulled at a small golden chain around her neck. She kept her key on it, and it had been painted a glittery gold color. She stuck it in the door and turned it.
Her apartment was small and neat, although not entirely moved into yet. We walked straight into a small living area with walls painted a light, bright green. "Jason?" she called out. "Jason, are you here?"
There was a clamor in a different room, and then a man emerged from behind a door. He was tall, and he look built for military. Judging by the close cut of his hair, he probably had been. He had dark brown hair, light eyes, and a beer in his hands. "Hey, Nat," he said in surprise before he saw me. "How come you're out of the hospital already?" Then he saw me, and the smile was wiped off his face. "Who's this?"
"Jason, this is Aaron Hotchner. He's the guy who saved my life."
He looked taken aback. "Oh." He paused for a moment, and then placed his beer down on the bar. He stuck out his hand, and I took it. "Thanks," he said. "This whole thing has been crazy."
"It was no problem," I replied.
"Jason, Agent Hotchner and I need to talk to you about something," Hale said. She looked at me. "Well, really, just I do."
"What is it?" Jason asked, looking at Hale in concern.
"I…Hotch, would you like a beer? There's one in the kitchen fridge."
I caught her drift. "That sounds good," I said. I found my way to the kitchen and looked in the fridge, eyeing the beer inside but not touching it. I sat at the small dining room table, and I could hear the faint sound of their voices through the wall, so I listened in.
"Jason, I need to tell you some stuff. But please don't freak out," Hale started.
"Why would I freak out?" Jason asked. "I mean, you've just been shot! What else could possibly have happened?"
"Funny you should ask that," she replied, and there was an uncomfortably long moment of silence in which I'm sure they were exchanging equally uncomfortable looks. "A while after you left the hospital…the same guy who shot me came back."
"What?" Jason exclaimed. "What the hell? Did the feds get him?"
"No," she replied, and I could hear how miserable she sounded. "He got away. But first, he drugged me and almost got away with kidnapping me. Jason, don't freak—"
"And he still got away?" Jason sounded furious. "The hell I won't freak out! God, Nat, are you okay?"
"I'm okay, Jason, just listen."
"You sound completely indifferent that he escaped, Nat!"
"You think that I don't care my attacker got away?" she exclaimed. He didn't reply. I wondered if I needed to come in, but I withheld. "You think that I enjoyed watching him drive away into the damn sunset?"
"No, Nat, I'm sorry…I didn't mean that…."
"I'm not finished talking yet, Jason," she snapped. "I haven't…I haven't been…." Her voice cracked and sputtered to a whisper.
"What? I didn't catch that, Nat, what'd you say?"
"I said I haven't been completely honest with you," she said in a louder voice. "Remember when I said that my mom was dead, and my dad was out of the picture?"
"Of course…but Nat, what does that have to do with this guy?"
"My dad went missing when I was a junior in high school, because of a mission the FBI sent him on," she blurted out quickly. "He hasn't been seen since. A year after he went missing, a man broke into our home. He murdered my mom right in front of my eyes. No one ever knew why, but I know it had to have been because of my dad." There was a long period of silence. "I'm sorry I never told you," she said so softly I almost didn't hear. "I was afraid you wouldn't see me the same—"
"In the two years we've been together…in the two months we spent moving in together…you didn't think I was trustworthy enough to share the most important events of your life with?" He sounded hurt and angry.
"Jason, you know that's not how it is."
"Why didn't you trust me?"
"I was scared, Jason," Hale said. I was stuck in the kitchen, unable to move in any direction, and this encounter was becoming much more awkward to be around by the second.
"And something tells me you told that man in our kitchen," Jason replied. "So you could tell a damn stranger, but you couldn't tell your boyfriend of two years."
"Jason! Listen to yourself! You're really going to be mad at me for not telling you the most traumatic things that have ever happened to me? You wouldn't even know!"
"Don't yell…," Jason trailed, sounding conflicted and upset. "God, don't stress yourself any more than you already are…."
"Pick a side!" she yelled. "You can't be mad and caring at the same time. I haven't even told you the whole story yet and you're already blowing up!"
"There's more?"
"Yes. Now maybe I can tell you—are you honestly going to drink a beer as I spill my guts to you? God, Jason."
"Don't judge, Nat. You're throwing a lot on me at once."
"Jason, I need you right now. Just listen. Please."
"Okay," I heard Jason say after a moment. "Okay. I'm listening."
"Four years ago, when I was eligible, I entered the FBI Academy. It was twenty weeks of really rough training, mental and physical. I got through with flying colors."
"The FBI Academy?" Jason replied. He sounded overwhelmed. "You told me you'd studied at culinary arts schools since you got out of high school!"
"I lied! There, are you happy? I lied, and I would have been a damn good agent if I hadn't decided to go in a different direction!"
"And why'd you do that?" he asked. There was a very long pause. I listened more intently, wondering if she'd reveal the big secret to her boyfriend. "Natalie, why aren't you answering me?"
"We agreed a long time ago that you wouldn't call me Natalie," she said in such a low voice I almost didn't hear her again.
"You're really going to hold more back from me?" he yelled. I was starting to get unsettled. His anger was escalating.
"Jason, stop, please," she said, and I heard something else in her voice besides annoyance, and it was something like discomfort.
"More lies? More secrets? Do you even want to be a chef? Do I really know anything about you?"
"Yes, Jay. But you need to let go of my arm, you're hurting me, and my boss is in the next room."
I started moving when I heard Jason yell, "Your boss? That FBI agent? So you're in the FBI? Are you a freaking undercover FBI agent?"
Hale cried out and I heard a thud. I moved my hand to my gun on instinct and rushed into the living room. Hale was on the ground, her crutches knocked over, useless. The door to the apartment was wide open. I moved to chase him—I could still hear his heavy footfalls, taking long, hurried strides. "Don't," she grumbled. I looked down at Hale, who was trying to use one crutch to haul herself off the ground. "Just don't."
I leaned down and helped her up, and she let out a stream of profanities. "Slow down there," I said, and I got her up to her feet. She leaned on her crutches and ran her fingers through her hair.
"Remember telling me to picture the worst possible scenario?" she asked. I just looked at her. "That was it. Right there. Like it was plucked straight from my brain."
"I'm sorry for letting him hurt you like that," I told her.
"Don't make it sound so bad," she sighed. "He was rushing out of the room like a pissy five-year-old prima dona and he tripped on my crutch. He'd already left the room when I hit the ground."
I didn't buy it. "Well, are you okay?"
"I'm fine. We don't want to keep your son waiting. Let's go."
"Hale—"
"Hotch, I will gladly work for you, regardless of what happens between Jason and I. But please stop asking me about my personal life. I'm sure you could profile most of it, anyway. I shouldn't have asked you to come with me. It didn't do any good."
"I'm glad I came," I said. "Me being in the kitchen might've saved you from him actually throwing a punch."
"Jason would never hit me," she exclaimed. "No matter how angry he is."
"Then explain why you were just on the ground, after being shot, and the fact that Jason just ran away afterwards," I said.
She looked at me in surprise. "You actually sound angry, Hotch."
"If you think bastards don't get me angry, Hale, then you've got me all wrong. You know, for someone about to join the Behavioral Analysis Unit, you sure aren't analyzing behavior all that well."
She glared at me. "You know I'm a damn good profiler."
"Do I? The stuff in your file only means so much. How should I know you're good in the field?"
She stared at me for a moment longer. "Jason's up to something," she said.
"What?" I asked, thrown off guard. "What do you mean?"
"He sounded so shocked and repulsed when he asked if I was undercover," she replied, shaking her head. "He thinks I've been dating him to get to the bottom of something, that I've been using him to figure out what he's been doing. That's why he left like that. I don't have the energy to think any further. Drug dealing? That would be the most probable. Arms dealing? A goddamn prostitution ring? I don't even care. That's a case for someone else. I'm out of here and done with him."
"You think he could be in drugs?"
"I don't know," she said. "I don't care. Screw him. Let's go get your son."
"Just don't say the words 'screw him' around him," I said, giving her a wry grin. "He's already learned a couple expletives from me, and I'm pretty sure his school teachers would hate it if he learned more."
She cracked a smile, too. It was a sweet smile, and I wondered how it was going to be like having someone with such raw innocence on our team. "I think I can manage that," she said. "Let me just get some things, I'll meet up with you at the car."
"I don't think so," I said. "And watch as you get kidnapped from your apartment, or shot again? I'll wait. And if your potential drug-dealing boyfriend returns, I'll be able to bring down the hammer."
"He's not my boyfriend right now, I think," she joked, and then she turned around and hurried into her bedroom. I listened for ten minutes as some banging and shuffling came from her room, and wondered what the hell she could be packing.
She came out with a suitcase in her hand and a loaded backpack resting on her shoulders. In her other hand, she had an empty carrying case, which seemed out of place. All this, and she was juggling her crutches as well. "I hope Jason has enough illegally earned money to pay his own damn rent," she muttered. "Now I just have to find Carrot."
I looked at her as if she were insane. Which would have been very unfortunate, seeing as I'd just hired her for an elite position in the FBI. "You want to stall our departure…for a carrot?"
"Not a carrot. Carrot. She's Jason's cat, but she's basically mine. I'm not leaving her with him, he forgets to feed her all the time."
"Her name is Carrot?"
"My niece named her." Hale disappeared into another room and came out holding a bright orange tabby in her arms. "Hotch, meet Carrot."
"I'm good," I said.
She grinned. "Can you put her in her carrier?"
"Are you serious?" I asked.
"Hello? Girl on crutches here. I'm also hoping you'll carry the suitcase."
"Hand me the cat," I grumbled, and I deposited the furry mass into the carrier. It meowed as I zipped it up, and I grabbed her suitcase as well. "Let's go."
She started walking down the hall in her crutches, and I tried not to shake the cat carrier. I hated cats.
Once we had started on our way to Jack's school, Hale immediately took out her phone and started furiously looking stuff up on the Internet. After a couple minutes of this, she dialed a number and put the phone to her ear. "Hello, I was wondering if you have any vacancies tonight? Tourist season? So you don't have anything? No, that's fine, thank you." I looked over at her as she groaned.
"Searching for hotels?" I asked.
"God, this is kind of difficult, you know? I've never just picked up and left with a suitcase in one hand and a cat in the other. I didn't really think about where to go. There's a hotel in this town with an empty room, there's got to be." She frantically flipped through her phone again.
"Don't worry about it," I said. "You can stay with Prentiss until you've got a place. She'll be glad to let you, I'm sure."
"No, that's not necessary, I don't mind getting a hotel room."
"Actually, it's completely necessary. Maybe your memory's been altered, but you just had a bullet surgically removed from your leg prior to being drugged and kidnapped by a man who is working for someone who wants you, dead or alive we really don't know."
"We're assuming alive," she said grudgingly.
"That's not the point. The point is that someone has been targeting you, and as a federal agent I have a legal obligation to offer you some sort of protection."
Hale looked at me, a gleam in her eye. "Hotch, I've kept a knife on me since the day my mom died, and the day I turned twenty-one, when most kids would be hitting up bars, I started the process of getting a concealed weapons permit. I'm not helpless."
"Where were those weapons when you were being shot at?" I asked.
"The gun was in my car. My knife was…hidden somewhere that I didn't have easy access to."
I didn't say anything to that.
"The point is, I don't really need to stay with one of your agents. I'll be fine," Hale assured me.
I looked over at Hale, narrowing my eyes slightly. "You signed on to be on my team, Hale, which means that Prentiss is not just one of 'my agents'. She will be part of your team as well. And your team needs you safe. So you will be staying with Prentiss until this case is closed. Do I make myself clear?"
Hale looked a little annoyed and frustrated, but she just nodded. "Perfectly."
I nodded back to her, turned my head back towards the road, and continued driving.
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