Day 23, part 2

"Okay, kiddies. Chris Hardwick. Grade A, professional asshole. We have charges including, but not limited to, animal cruelty, fighting, and drugs. His mom kicked him out when he was seventeen. In a social services interview she said he had a short temper and seemed. Un. Stable. Uhhh…he spent three years in weapons training with the Army but failed a psych eval. " Garcia spits out all the information in rapid succession, typing furiously all the while. "Sounds like your typical psycho jerk to me."

"What did his mother mean by 'unstable?'" Morgan asks.

"Ummm…it says here he was 'prone to tantrums,' and was quick to take others' actions 'personally.' He lashed out at her frequently, accusing her of chasing off his dad, and blaming her for his foul mood…. He never hit her, but would throw and punch things in his tantrums and she was afraid that was the next step. So she asked him to leave."

"What did he do to fail his evaluation?" I ask curiously.

"He showed extremely malicious leanings and little evidence of remorse or compassion. The shrink even went so far as to say he might classify Hardwick as borderline sociopath…. Oh! And last year, he was found unconscious in an apartment he shared with a friend. His blood alcohol level was through the roof, and he was put in the hospital psych ward for three days and then moved to a six week inpatient rehab facility. Oh," she sounds disappointed, "he was back in the hospital for another detox right after his release." I shake my head.

"And lemme guess, they kept him for another three days and let him walk?"

"Right on, sugar. According to his doctor, he expressed interest in another rehab stint, and since this doctor didn't know about the rest of his history, he reported that there was no reason to believe Hardwick was a danger to anyone."

"How about himself?" Emily asks.

"Why does everyone always say that despite all these glaring warning signs, there was no reason to believe a crazy person would do something crazy?" I ask, looking up from the phone at the others. Emily just shrugs and shakes her head, mouth open like she was going to answer but couldn't find the words.

"Anything else, Garcia?" Morgan asks.

"Not yet, but if I find anything I'll let you know." He nods.

"Thank you, honey. Hey, wait, one other thing. Where's Hardwick's dad?" Garcia pauses.

"I haven't been able to figure that out yet. He's on the birth certificate but I can't find another record of him. I'm looking, though."

"Okay. Call us when you find out."

"Not a problem. Peace out, kids." There's a click, and everyone just looks at each other.

"I'll call Hotch," Morgan says finally, puling out his cell phone and leaving the trailer. Reid wanders over to the bulletin board, studying the maps and pictures. I glance at Emily, who's just staring at the phone.

"It always seems to happen that way, doesn't it," she says, looking up at me. "They have all these mental problems and then when they finally snap, everyone wonders what happened. The signs were there, but there was no reason to think he'd actually do something stupid." I nod.

"Think of how many lives could be saved if people stopped letting everyone fall through the cracks." She shakes her head.

"I need coffee. Want some?"

"Sure. Thanks. I'm gonna go find Morgan."

I ended up between Reid and Aaron at dinner, but it wasn't the reason I kept my mouth shut all evening long. With the rest of the team thrilled and relieved to have avoided the potential disaster today could have been, I was just tired, and I wanted to forget about it. School shootings were my absolute least favorite thing in the world.

It didn't help that I was on Aaron's left side, and his being left-handed and my being right meant we were pretty much in constant contact for the duration of the meal.

"You speak Arabic?" I ask Emily over the top of my wine glass, catching part of a conversation she's having with Rossi. She nods.

"I lived in the Middle East for a little while when I was growing up."

"That's…pretty awesome," I say, smiling a little for the first time in hours. "I've never met anyone who speaks Arabic."

"She's also fluent in Spanish and Italian," Reid says.

"Gees. I think I have some catching up to do." Emily smiles.

"Didn't you say you speak French?" Reid asks. Leave it to Reid to remember or sort of remember everything I've ever said to him. My being bilingual was brought up in a thirty second conversation when he saw a French book I had.

"I do."

"So between the two of you we've almost got all the major languages covered." Emily and I exchange amused looks.

"How did you learn it?" she asks.

"My mother was French, born and raised. I've been speaking French and English interchangeably since…well, since I could speak at all, I guess. I'm not all that good at languages, though. I tried taking Spanish a couple of times and I know about five words."

"So are you like, one of those people who starts yelling in your second language if you get mad?" Morgan asks. Laughing, I nod.

"I have been known to do it on occasion, yeah." Everyone kind of laughs, and the conversation trails off into the clinks and clatters of silverware and glasses.

Rossi is the first to speak, saying something about how Aaron showed up the negotiation specialist. I reach out to set my glass down, and the back of my hand brushes the back of Aaron's as it rests on the table. Out of the corner of my eye I can see he turns his head in my direction, but I won't look up. Instead I pull Reid into conversation, continuing a previous discussion of a book I was reading on the flight earlier. Aaron continues talking to Rossi, and I relax a little.

"You alright? You were awfully quiet earlier." Hotch slides into the seat across from me and I pull the headphones from my ears. I smile a little in the dim light coming from above us. The rest of the cabin is dark. Everyone fell asleep an hour ago.

"I'm fine." He gives me a second look, and I hold his gaze despite the overwhelming urge to look away. "Just because I wasn't the center of attention all night long doesn't mean anything's wrong."

"That might be true if I was talking to someone else. If you're not going to talk to me, at least find someone else to talk to." I bite the inside of my lip. A few moments pass as I stare into the black window, and I sigh.

"Alright. Alright. You wanna know why I pushed so hard during this case?"

"We could start there." I sigh again, playing with the sparkling silver class ring on my right hand ring finger.

"I lost a friend in the Virginia Tech shooting." I shake my head, partly in disbelief that I'm about to cry already, and partly because anytime this gets brought up, it still doesn't feel real. "Amber. I was her babysitter for years growing up. She was such an amazing girl." I take a deep breath, blinking back tears. "I guess I just…wanted to prevent that kind of pain from happening to another community," I say with a shrug.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly. I shrug again.

"It's…it's over now. It's been four and a half years, I-she was like a little sister to me, you know? And it just…I flew from Boston for some candle light services on campus with a few friends from home. If we didn't lose someone we knew people who did." My voice cracks and I close my eyes. "I knew exactly how those people felt today, Aaron. The second I heard about the shootings…the panic is completely overwhelming. It's awful."

"You did good work today. You helped save a lot of lives." I smile a little.

"Thanks." Other than the sound of the plane, there's silence. I reach for my purse and pull out my wallet. In one of the zipper pockets is a small, worn piece of paper and two ribbons.

"Her picture, from a program at one of the services. And they were handing out little ribbons like these. I have a bunch of them." I lay the paper with Amber's name and picture on the table between us, next to the ribbon. Aaron picks them up and looks from the picture to me.

"She looks like you." I smile.

"A little." He smiles, too, and sets them back on the table. I fold my fingers around them and drop my hand next to his.

"I really am sorry. It's never easy, losing someone." I shake my head.

"That's for sure." His hand moves to cover mine. "How long have we been in the air?" He turns my hand in his to check his watch.

"About an hour." Outside the sky is beginning to lighten.

"I think I'm gonna try to get some sleep before we land."

"Sounds like a good idea." I pull my hand away slowly. I want to say something. I feel like I need to say something, but I can't find the words. There are no words. Nothing that can be said here, at least, in danger of someone hearing. So he sits back in his seat, and I turn my iPod back on, drape my blanket over my shoulders, and close my eyes to him. I try to forget he's there, but I can't, and I don't sleep for the rest of the two hour flight.