Hotch gazed out at the bullpen.

Everyone was gone. It was time to go home.

He didn't want to.

Jack was at soccer practice and was planning on a sleepover with one of his teammates. Aaron had asked if his son would like it if he got off work early and came by to watch. The responding shrug and mumbled 'Whatever' had cut Hotch to the marrow. He'd told himself over the years that he should be prepared for the time when Jack would push him away, but he'd expected that to coincide with adolescence. Considering how much of the boy's early childhood he'd missed thanks to Haley's departure and subsequent participation in Witness Protection, Hotch felt cheated.

He should have been able to enjoy a few more years of boyhood hugs and confidences.

To make this day even worse, Dave was meeting with Dr. Fletcher.

Hotch felt as though he'd been hollowed out and filled with lead.

There's no one waiting for me at home. And no reason to stay here. And I hate that I don't know how to fix things.

He'd tried talking to Jack a few more times since his first session with the psychiatrist. The attempts were still exercises in futility. It reminded him of when he'd found out his son was dealing with a bully at school. Then, as now, the boy would mumble that everything was fine. If Hotch pushed, even in the most delicate, gentle manner he could manage, Jack's irritation would surface. He'd insist he wanted to be left alone in a sullen, childish whine that made Aaron catch his breath.

He heard himself in that small, young voice. It was the sound of someone powerless and aching. Someone who felt problems had to be suffered alone…a silent celebration of pain. It was the echo of Hotch's own childhood.

Aaron was very careful about his reactions when that happened. Another parent might have forced the issue. Another parent might have persisted until his son opened up. Those parents would likely be copying the behavior they'd learned from their own mothers and fathers. Hotch didn't have that blueprint.

He only knew about getting hit. Or ridiculed.

Profiler though he was, he hadn't been able to break through or understand why Jack was keeping him out during the bullying episode. Maybe I can ask that psychiatrist about that. Maybe I can turn the focus onto how I could have helped my son. Maybe it's not too late…

He dragged his briefcase out and began to pack, although for once there was nothing urgent to take home. It should have been a gift of free time for father-son bonding. Hotch twisted his watch on his wrist so its display wasn't so visible. People say 'Time heals all wounds,' but time felt like the enemy today.

It had never been his friend where Jack was concerned; always running out too quickly.

And now, as the seconds ticked by, he wondered what Dave and the doctor were discussing. Me. That's what.

Trailing the discomfort of knowing he was the subject of others' conversations, Hotch went home.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Dr. Fletcher saw Rossi's hesitation.

He reminded himself that this agent wasn't his patient. Had Dave been under analysis, the doctor would have let the moment extend, waiting for, if not epiphany, then at least progress. Now, he went to Rossi's rescue.

"I'm just having a guess here, Dave. Aaron hasn't said anything about feeling abandoned. It's just…" He chewed on his lip for a moment, considering his wording. "It's just that my brief contact with him was more emotional, more explosive, than I expected. It made me think that he isn't making use of any outlets that might be available for the pressures building up inside him. And then I found out the cast of characters in your life had been undergoing some changes, and…" He shrugged, shaking his head. "I thought it might be worth putting the two together."

"Why?" Rossi had recovered, but wasn't putting any effort into adopting a poker face. There wasn't any point. They were both interested in helping Hotch. Blindsided as he felt, Dave hadn't lost sight of the main objective. "Did Aaron say something?"

"No. He didn't mention you until I asked him if he had any close friends. But…"

"But what?"

Fletcher reached back, picking up a file from his desk that bore the FBI's official seal. He extended it toward Rossi. "It's just the standard basics the Bureau keeps on all its agents. No case information. Nothing specific of a medical or financial nature."

Putting his drink down on the broad arm of his chair, Dave accepted the folder and flipped it open, eyes scanning.

After a moment, the doctor prodded. "The contact forms. You changed your emergency contacts."

Frowning, Rossi stared at the evidence that pointed toward something he treasured: a real, blood family; generations of genetic continuity. After a moment his brow smoothed and his shoulders slumped. "I never discussed this with Hotch. He doesn't know and I doubt he'd care who I name. If anything does happen, chances are it'll be in the field and he'll be at my side. So…" Dave's dejected sigh matched his posture. "…so you're saying something in my actions is sending out signals that are telling him to keep his distance?"

"I don't know. As I said, this is just a guess, and I've only talked with Aaron once." If Fletcher had had any doubts about the depth of friendship these two agents shared, it was dispelled by the genuine sorrow in Rossi's eyes. "Look, Dave, it's early in this process. To be frank, I grasp at straws in the beginning. Aaron was so closed off, and even though it was what I'd consider a productive session, what I got from him wasn't voluntary. It was more as if he was so raw he couldn't help but lash out when someone touched where it hurt."

"And you're saying that might be my fault?"

"No. Not at all." The psychiatrist hastened to alleviate any misconceptions. "If this is where the problem…or one of them, at least…lies, then it's in Aaron's perception." He leaned in close again. "You know him. As a profiler and as a friend, you have a clearer vision of who he is; what hurts him most and how he deals with pain. If your life changes are impacting him, he might not even be aware of it on a conscious level."

Rossi reclaimed his drink and sipped it, eyes focused inward. Fletcher waited, giving the agent ample time to process this theory. After a few minutes had elapsed, Dave shook his head. "Hotch knows he can talk to me about anything. Hell, when I came out of retirement I jumped down his throat about having been close-lipped concerning his marital problems. He knows I want him to share his troubles. And he's a top-notch profiler. One of the best at seeing inside the human psyche. If he felt something was wrong…"

"But that's just it," the psychiatrist interrupted. "He might be blind when it comes to his own welfare."

Rossi rubbed his drink-free hand over gritty eyes. This was weighty stuff to wrestle with at the end of a long week. He needed time to think about it. And if this shrink didn't understand that…

"Look, Dave. It's been a full week for me and God knows the FBI isn't an easy place to work. I think we should call it a night. You told me how hurt Aaron is about this entire process to which he's been condemned. He's demonstrated a lot of anger and frustration about it, too…and about the repercussions it's having on his domestic life. All I want is for you to think about how this man you know so well got to the point where he's not just frayed around the edges…he's torn apart. He'll talk to you. I'm not asking you to report back or betray any confidences. But maybe you could encourage your friend to open up to me a little bit. You think you could do that?"

Rossi took a deep breath, releasing it in a slow, measured sigh. "Yeah. I can do that." He downed the remainder of his drink. Both men stood. Dave moved toward the door, the doctor following a step behind.

At the door, Rossi turned back, extending his hand for a parting shake. Fletcher gripped it, taking a last professional measure of Aaron's self-proclaimed best friend and hoping he hadn't crossed any lines that would foster doubt about his having the Unit Chief's best interests in mind.

"Dave? Aaron's looking at this as a punishment, isn't he." Statement, not question. "I tried to tell him it's not. I hope he comes to look at it as an opportunity to heal some of his injuries. I hope he takes advantage of it." Fletcher grimaced. "It might be hard for him to admit it, but he's allowed to get damaged. He's not expected to be indestructible."

Rossi gave a dry, mirthless chuckle. "Try telling that to his son. Kid thinks he's a superhero."

The doctor hid a frisson of surprise. So Aaron hasn't told his best friend about the change in his son's attitude toward him. Maybe they're not sharing as much about their private lives as they should.

He felt a small, knot of concern forming on Hotch's behalf.

One agent's family was expanding.

The other's was shrinking.

The distance between them was increasing.

Fletcher hoped it wouldn't get to the point where they drifted so far apart that they lost sight of each other. Something about Rossi's outraged portrait of how hard events had been on Aaron made the psychiatrist think theirs was one of those rare friendships that happens once in a lifetime. And sometimes not at all.

And Aaron needs to feel someone is close to him more than ever right now.