Dr. Fletcher gave Hotch a few minutes to collect himself, during which he studied the man's lean, tear-streaked profile.

He hadn't expected such a strong reaction. While the FBI agent tried to cover his embarrassment by clearing his throat, scrubbing at his eyes, and looking anywhere but at the man beside him, the doctor's mind was speeding. He'd been presented with a rare opening, but also a fragile one. The ball was in his court and, after having researched his patient, Fletcher was pretty sure he knew what kind of ball it was. He could either pursue his hunch, pushing Hotch past his limits and possibly alienating him completely, or he could try to tiptoe into the eye of the man's storm; maybe find that calm place where he could see all the psychological detritus whirling and spinning around him.

When Fletcher felt his patient had regained control, he waded in.

"Aaron, are you sure that's how your son feels? As though something bad is just waiting to happen? I think you said 'hunting' him?"

"How could he not?" Hotch's voice had a blurred, hollow quality; the aftermath of his sinuses having been clogged by tears. He tried to snuffle it away. "He's gotta be thinking right now that everything bad that happens to him comes from my job. He's not stupid. He sees everything. I'm not the good guy he thought I was."

The doctor chose his words with care. He knew where he wanted to go, but threading his way through the minefield of Hotch's psyche would require a very delicate, very indirect path. "Alright. You know your son better than anyone else, of course." He paused, consciously avoiding any judgmental tone that might give him away. "Have you talked to him? About how he feels?"

"I know how he feels." Hotch sat straighter and squared his shoulders. He heaved a weary sigh; his honest nature wouldn't let him evade or mislead. "But, no…we haven't really had a discussion. He…he doesn't seem to want to talk about it."

"Ah. I see. So you've tried and he wouldn't respond?"

"Pretty much." The Unit Chief didn't feel like talking about Jack. The worst wound to have come out of having been arrested and accused was the chilly, injured air that his son had adopted. Hotch's resultant pain ran too deep for him to do more than offer opportunities to have a father-son conversation. Each time he was rebuffed, the crack in his heart widened and his soul withered a little more.

Fletcher's eyes narrowed as he watched his patient train his unseeing gaze out over the scenery again. He dearly wanted to push a little more. He'd read the profile that was compiled when Hotch was accepted into the Bureau. What details there were concerning Hotch's childhood had been grim. An overbearing, abusive father. An ineffective mother. A little brother who'd become an under-achiever.

The psychiatrist found it tempting to draw conclusions already about why this agent sometimes ignored procedure, sometimes kept secrets, sometimes got hurt more grievously than anyone suspected. But it was only their first session. And two hours, even if it had provided something substantive, wasn't enough to supplement the Department files and allow Fletcher to consider Aaron Hotchner a known quantity.

He watched his patient's features reassemble themselves into the stoic façade that couldn't quite conceal the traces of anguish now that the doctor had seen beneath the surface and knew they were always there. He's fragile. Letting go the way he did was involuntary and disturbing to him. He's going to be doubly on his guard from now on because he won't want a repeat performance. But I need to flesh out the picture I've already formed of him. Maybe I can find supplemental information…if he'll allow me to search for it.

Fletcher stood, dropping a light touch on Hotch's shoulder as a way of calling him back from wherever his thoughts had taken him. "I think you've had enough for today, Aaron. Let's head back."

Wordless, the Unit Chief rose, brushing and readjusting his suit out of habit. The doctor slipped back into his jacket, but let his tie remain loose and askew. I wonder if his presenting a perfectly groomed appearance is armor he's developed, or is it something that was installed in him as a child? Lots of things to find out about you, Mr. Hotchner. And to that end…"Aaron, do you have any close friends?"

The two men had resumed walking. There was less foot traffic than when they'd started, or maybe it was that there were fewer pedestrians going away from the small, urban oasis than toward it. Hotch hesitated before replying, agile mind running over the possibilities attendant on his answer. "Why do you ask?"

"As I said, you're not my first agent. You guys don't have a lot of free time, so whatever friendships you do manage are usually deeper and more intense than your average civilian relationship."

"That's not an answer. It's an observation."

Fletcher could feel the mantle of suspicion and distrust descending over his patient like an exoskeleton. It was settling into place with each step that brought them closer to his office where all the hallmarks of his profession hung on the walls and were embodied in a comfy couch. He wanted to see if he could shoot one more arrow into a target before Hotch's defenses had slammed closed completely.

"I'm wondering how you'd feel if I talked to one of your friends."

The Unit Chief scowled, watching the sidewalk pass by beneath their feet. "Why?"

"You're a profiler. You know how it works. I have the Bureau's paper trail which gave me a one-dimensional view of you. I wouldn't presume to say I know you well after meeting you just this once, but already I see things that can't be caught in official reports. Sometimes our friends have a clearer vision of us than we do of ourselves. Especially if they're very good, very close friends."

Fletcher took a cautious breath and shortened his stride a little, wanting to resolve this issue before they reached his office and Aaron's armor was fully in place. "So I'm asking you if you have anyone like that in your life with whom I could speak. If you don't mind, that is."

Hotch let a few beats of silence fall as he mulled over a request he hadn't expected. He'd thought this episode in his professional life would be completely private, except, of course, for the report the doctor had already said he was duty-bound to place in the Unit Chief's permanent file. The fact that Fletcher didn't interrupt or try to press his case forward finally tipped the scales in Hotch's decision.

"So, what would happen? You'd just call someone up out of the blue and say you want to talk about me?"

"No." The psychiatrist hid his surge of triumph when the response wasn't a flat refusal. "You'd give them a heads up. Tell them that this is an evaluation, but not one geared toward anything disciplinary. It's just a sort of state-of-the-agent checkup. That's all. And if they agree, we'd set up an appointment. Whenever and wherever is convenient for them." The doctor held his breath, hoping he'd made his request sound mild and unassuming.

More silence. Slower pace. At last, a block away from Fletcher's office building, Hotch cleared his throat.

"If I refuse, it'll be in your report, right? And the Bureau would see that as just another mark against me."

"No. It's not like that." The doctor could feel this opportunity slipping away. He made a last grasp for it. "Whatever your friend tells me, I'll keep to myself. The report I do will be based on my sessions with you, and you alone. No one else."

They'd reached the wide, glass doors leading into Fletcher's official territory. The doctor knew his patient would leave him here. Their time was up. "Aaron? It might help both of us, and I can promise it won't hurt."

Hotch had resumed his professional front. His eyes bored into Fletcher, assessing him just long enough to create a little doubt. "Okay, Doctor. My closest friend is also an agent; a member of my team. David Rossi."

Inwardly, the psychiatrist breathed a great sigh of relief. "Thank you, Aaron. So you'll talk to him sometime this week…yes?"

"Yeah."

"Good. That's good." Fletcher wondered if he should leave things with this small victory, or if he could dare a little more. If you don't ask, you don't get… "Maybe after I talk to Mr. Rossi, you'll let me touch bases with the other person you're closest to?"

Hotch's posture straightened. His chin rose.

"Would you mind if, at some point in our time together, I met your son?"

The Glare emerged in full force, skewering the doctor and erasing any impressions he'd had of having befriended Hotch. "NO. Absolutely not." The Glare didn't waver. "Are we done here, Doctor? May I go?"

"Of course. I'll see you next week." Fletcher watched his patient stalk away. Slim. Stiff. Encased in the narrow confines of his dark suit.

Of course you can go, Aaron. I'm not holding you prisoner. You're doing a fine job of that all on your own.

But we are most definitely NOT done here.