Chapter 10

The hospital garden was covered with a layer of fresh snow. A weak wintery sun filtered through a thin layer of cloud. The forecast was for another major storm but for now, all was quiet. Hotch continued to look out of the window, contemplating his answer to Dr. MacDonald's question. Almost ten days had passed since the first flashback. He had continued to have the same scenes replayed in his dreams and occasionally during waking hours. He had not lost consciousness since his episode with Kyle, but otherwise, the physiological responses had been equally severe.

Hotch's mental state was gradually deteriorating. His outbursts had lessened; instead, with each nightmare, he had shown increasing signs of despondency. Despite his sustained physical improvements (his internal organs were completely healed and he was now ambulatory with a walker and, for short distances, unaided) Rossi and Dr. Travis were concerned. The doctor had persuaded his colleague to return early from a psychology conference to see Agent Hotchner.

Ben was dismayed at the change in his patient. The man looked tired. Self-disappointment and doubt were more pronounced than in previous visits, although the denial seemed to have moved to the background. Watching Aaron stare out of the office window, the psychologist knew that he had to get through soon, before the agent fell any deeper into depression.

"Aaron? Did you hear me?"

It took a great deal to put Hotch on edge, but he had to admit, he was troubled. 'No, Aaron, more than that, you're scared.' Physically, he was feeling much better and knew his strength was returning, albeit it slowly. But the blackouts were another matter... 'Why is this happening? If I'm getting stronger, why can't I stop myself from overreacting to these images? What if...no, I can't think that way... but...'

"Agent Hotchner!"

Startled from his thoughts, Hotch turned away from the window and slowly limped back to the couch. Dr. MacDonald waited patiently.

"Sorry, doctor."

"Not a problem; you've got a lot on your mind. But I need you to answer my question... what has happened since our last visit that would have Doc Travis summon me back to town?"

Aaron's eyes narrowed. "I wasn't aware that you were away. I'm sorry to have been the cause of you having to come back to Virginia early. If I had known..."

"Never mind all that. Don't change the subject. Answer my question, Aaron." Ben looked fixedly at his client. At the end of the last session he had tried to appeal to the agent's pride, issuing him the challenge of exploring his deeper feelings. He hoped that he would see some progress; this next answer would tell him how much, if any, had been made.

Hotch met the doctors eyes. He was worried enough to give a detailed and honest account of both blackout incidents. Ben took some notes while Aaron spoke, his voice staying level. When he'd finished, Hotch clasped his hands on his lap and, still maintaining eye contact, asked "Doctor... this can't be normal? I was expecting nightmares and flashbacks, but passing out? What's going on with my head?"

Despite the quiet demeanour, Dr. MacDonald detected fear. Rather than answer the patient, however, Ben asked a question of his own.

"What are you afraid of, Aaron?"

Hotch's arms seemed to automatically fold across his chest. He frowned, then sighed. He was too tired for a fight. "I don't suppose you'd accept that I'm not afraid?"

Ben shook his head. Hotch took a deep breath.

"I'm worried that if I continue to have these blackouts, I won't be allowed to return to work. I'll be risking the lives of my team if I freeze or lose consciousness all of a sudden."

"And?"

"And???"

Ben tilted his head and shook it again. Hotch looked away, back towards the window. In a voice that didn't seem to be his own, he said, "And... and I'm afraid... I'm afraid enough that I don't want to sleep, don't want to stress myself in physiotherapy or my fitness sessions in case I pass out... I'm afraid because I don't understand what is happening to me. I'm supposed to be getting stronger, yet mentally I seem to be getting weaker."

It was a start, although a small one. The Psychologist breathed a silent sigh of relief. Finally, he had observed some honest introspection. Aaron's admission of fear was just the tip of the iceberg. Ben idly tapped his pen against the notepad, debating on how hard to push. If he went too far, the agent would retreat behind his wall again. But without challenge, Aaron wouldn't face up to the real issues...

"Aaron, you're not getting weaker. Your acknowledgement of being scared is proof of that. You couldn't have done that a week ago. I'm proud of you. But we're only beginning here, okay? Now, tell me how the memories made you feel emotionally."

Hotch clenched his jaw and closed his eyes. 'This is worse than getting shot.' he thought. "It made me feel guilty... I know the bust is my fault, so why do I seem intent on rubbing it in?"

"What did you feel guilty about in each episode? Was it the same both times? Try to be specific."

Aaron thought hard. The images returned... the gun to his head... the looks on the faces of his young team... Morgan's voice, full of concern... Morgan, loosening his tie... "I should have done more." he murmured. Ben watched his client intently. Hotch seemed to be replaying the flashbacks; his eyes were still closed. The doctor didn't want to break the thread so he said nothing.

"I should have seen the profile was incomplete... we should have been more prepared. Morgan shouldn't have been put in that position...shouldn't have needed to see his boss like that... I should have found a way to help him..."

"Aaron?" Dr. MacDonald had heard enough.

Hotch opened his eyes and looked at his doctor. Ben saw the guilt and hurt.

"Aaron, you need to talk to Agent Morgan."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because he is the key figure in your memories. Of all of your team, he is front and centre. I think you need to hear his take on what happened... hear it and believe it."

"How will that help my blackouts?" Hotch looked unconvinced and not at all happy with the idea of discussing anything so personal with Morgan.

"I think you have seen the last of your blackouts. I think they were a way for your body to kick you up the butt. They got you to pay attention to what your mind has been telling you but you've been ignoring. In other words, you've had a physical reaction to a psychological issue. It is similar with your other physical responses, the freezing, shaking, etc... It is my opinion that they are manifestations of the denial you've had towards the severity of your injuries. If you start to admit to yourself how badly you've been hurt, how close you came to death, I believe that any further 'attacks', for lack of a better word, will be lessened."

'Can it really be so simple?' thought Hotch to himself. He highly doubted it. Aloud, he said, "And my temper?"

"Ah yes... your temper. This one isn't going to be so easy. You're angry at yourself, Aaron, although it is clear to everyone, including a part of you, that this rage, with its perceptions of blame, is misplaced. Your rational side is losing the battle against all of the negative feelings of doubt and guilt and it is coming out as anger." The doctor paused. "And I don't happen to think that it's a simple case of you just projecting this fury outwards... I believe that you're also extremely scared, but being angry is an easier, 'stronger' emotion to show to others."

Hotch's first instinct was to refute the analysis. 'I don't feel angry! I feel frustrated, but not angry or aggressive... Surely fear can't be the underlying cause of all of my outbursts? That doesn't seem right; I have more self-control than that; I've been much more afraid during my life and not acted this way...'

Ben continued, "Furthermore, Aaron, it is not just the return to work that has you so terrified, although that is what you would like me to believe. You are petrified of failure, but in a very specific context... and I think you know exactly what I'm referring to..."

Not for the first time, Hotch wished he were invisible. Dr. Ben MacDonald had earned his respect. Never before had Aaron encountered an individual who could so easily see into a soul. He thought he had buried that single fear deep down, where not even he could touch it...

Ben left his last analysis unspoken. 'We're getting closer.' he thought, 'but he's just not ready yet. Until he can start to talk about his family, his son, the healing won't be complete.'

The Psychologist checked his watch. Three o'clock. They had been going for over an hour. Outside, the sun had disappeared and the sky was full of thick snowflakes being tossed about in a violent wind. He glanced at Aaron, who seemed lost in thought, staring blankly towards the window. Ben was about to suggest a quick coffee break when the phone on his desk began to ring. Annoyed at the interruption, he rose and picked up the handset.

"Steph, I..." his reprimand stuck in his throat as he listened to the voice on the other end of the line.

In seconds, the atmosphere in the room had become tense. Hotch became aware of the change and looked over at Dr. MacDonald. Ben's body had gone rigid. He cast a glance over at the agent but refused to meet his eyes.

Hotch overheard the last part of the doctor's conversation. "I think you should speak to him directly... yes...yes... understood...I'll arrange it immediately..."

Then Ben walked over to the couch and held out the phone.

"Aaron... It's Agent Jareau."

Hotch felt his stomach tighten. His mouth went dry. He knew from Ben's reaction that he wasn't going to like whatever JJ was about to tell him. He tried to clear his mind of the list of horrible possibilities. "JJ? It's Hotch."

Ben tried to keep a respectful distance from Aaron, but he wanted to be close when his client heard the news about the accident. He watched, expecting some sort of demonstrable outburst. Instead, he got to witness the experienced, well-trained FBI agent take control. He was impressed. Hotch's face had drained of colour, but his eyes were alert and his voice calm as he questioned his colleague. After fifteen seconds, Aaron hung up.

"Doctor, I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to go..." Hotch struggled to his feet and began limping towards the door. "I... uh... I'll set up another appointment... sorry..."

Ben put a hand on Hotch's shoulder. "Sit in the wheelchair, Aaron. It will be quicker for me to push than you to hobble. You can sign the temporary release forms on the way. Your agents have been told to come to this end of the hospital, presumably. Please... don't argue."

Hotch looked gratefully at the doctor and dropped into the chair. He took out his cell phone and dialled Haley's number. As he listened to it ring and go to voicemail, his mind was already racing towards the scene of the accident. He closed his eyes. 'Please, not my son... not Jack.'

***

A black SUV with engine running was stopped outside of the Psychology wing where Dr. MacDonald had his office. Ben pushed the wheelchair through the entranceway as Agent Morgan jumped out of the van and went to open the passenger-side door. Between the two men, they managed to assist Hotch into the front seat. Morgan got in, tossed Hotch a coat, and moved the SUV into the steady stream of afternoon commuters.

Their progress was agonizingly slow. The predicted storm had blown in with a vengeance; the roads were very slippery, snow was falling thickly and a bitter wind was lashing against the windshield. Hotch leaned his head back and closed his eyes, willing Morgan to go faster. Derek glanced over at his boss. It had been a couple of weeks since he had last been to visit because Hotch hadn't wanted to see anyone other than Dave after his flashbacks. To Morgan, Hotch seemed a little better physically, but looked emotionally drained and still unnaturally pale. He wished that he could help; he couldn't imagine having been through the amount of trauma his Unit Chief had experienced let alone be confronted with this new horror...

"Rossi was giving a talk when JJ took the call; he'll meet us at the scene." said Morgan, guessing that Hotch would have expected the older agent to have been the one to come and get him.

Hotch merely nodded. One hand held his cell-phone while the other gripped the coat on his lap. 'Not Jack, please...' He tried yet again to reach his ex-wife, but with no success.

Morgan tried to be rational, "Hotch, we don't know anything yet. There's a good chance it's all a mistake."

No comment from his passenger. Morgan decided to just concentrate on driving.

Another ten minutes brought them to the accident site. It looked terrible. All of the roads had been closed and traffic diverted. In the middle of an intersection controlled by stop signs, a large truck lay on its side, front end caved in. A few yards away, partially wrapped around a telephone pole, was a minivan. Most of one side of the van had been crushed. Emergency workers were on scene, manoeuvring the jaws-of-life into position next to the van's driver-side door. An ambulance was parked slightly to one side, lights flashing in readiness.

"Oh my god." breathed Morgan. He stopped the SUV at the barricade and flashed his identification at the approaching policeman. The cop nodded and moved the barrier off to one side.

"Hotch, we're not going to be able to get that close... the investigators will still be collecting evidence and with all this snow coming down they'd better be working fast. Stay here, I'll go and check it out." Morgan put his hand on the door handle.

"No. I'm coming too." said Hotch forcefully, wincing as he tried to wriggle his left arm into the jacket. "I need to see..."

"Hotch! You can barely walk. It's a blizzard and an ice-rink out there! You're not going to be of any use to anyone if you hurt yourself or catch pneumonia! Let me help!"

Hotch was about to reply, but bit his tongue. He knew that Derek was right. His lungs were still weak, and scrub pants and sweatshirt were hardly the clothing for freezing temperatures. Besides, without help, Aaron didn't think he could walk as far as the minivan that held his attention. He dropped his head, muttering, "Go."

Morgan yanked open the door and marched through the storm until he came to a fireman who seemed to be leading the rescue. Once again he produced his identification. The fireman glanced it and then at Morgan.

"What does the FBI want with this? One of the vehicles stolen?" the man was shouting to make himself heard over the howling wind.

Morgan shook his head. He gestured back to their SUV. "My boss... he's recovering from gunshot wounds and now finds out that his kid might have been in that van!"

The fireman looked sadly at Derek. "I hope to god he wasn't... poor little guy, didn't stand a chance."

"You're sure... the kid's dead..?" Morgan squinted as large snowflakes blew into his face.

"No, we're not positive. He was still breathing, but it didn't look good. We managed to pull him out from the other side of the van. Air-vac'd him to St. Mary's, the trauma centre, just before the storm got worse."

"Besides the driver, was there anyone else in the van?"

"No. The driver is a woman; the mother, presumably. She doesn't look good either... severe head and neck injuries at best... God knows what we'll find when the jaws get her out."

Morgan took a deep breath. "Have you found anything that could positively identify the occupants?"

The fireman nodded gravely and dug a gloved hand into the outer pocket of his heavy coat. "It's why we knew to contact you lot..." As he spoke, he pulled out a small wool toque and handed it to the agent. Morgan turned it over in his hand. A name-tag was sewn into the inside of the hat. Morgan read the tag then closed his eyes briefly in silent prayer. He looked back towards the SUV, towards his boss and friend. He wished Rossi were here. Hell, anyone but himself.

"You've found nothing else? The woman's purse???"

"Not yet. We can't access the front of the van from either side. Look, I'm sorry..."

"Hey man, can I get closer? I need to take a look at the driver..."

The fireman put out a restraining hand. "I'm sorry, Agent Morgan. There's too much blood for an ID right now, and you'd only be in the way... we need to get her out of there."

Morgan dug out a business card and handed it to the fireman. "Call me if you find anything, okay? And thanks." He took a long look at the minivan. Stuffing the toque inside his jacket, he turned and resolutely began to walk back to the SUV and Hotch.

***

Hotch watched as Morgan navigated his way between the emergency vehicles, head bent against the storm. Aaron's heart was pounding in his chest. He tried to concentrate on keeping his breathing under control. He felt helpless and gripped the coat on his lap even harder. 'How could this have happened?! Haley wouldn't be out in this weather, she hated driving in the winter. We had agreed that they wouldn't visit again until the weekend... did she change her mind? I'll never forgive myself if they were on their way to the hospital... Why won't she answer the phone??!'

His thoughts were interrupted by a tapping on the window. It was Rossi. Hotch found the central locking button and Dave flung himself into the backseat, slamming the door against the cold.

"Hotch! I'm sorry! I got here as soon as I could! Any news?"

"No. Morgan's gone to see what he can find out. I can't see him through this mess of a windshield... I think he was talking to a fireman a minute ago."

Rossi laid a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "Do you recognize the van?"

Hotch shook his head. "But I don't know what Haley is driving these days... We... we don't talk much."

"Look, let's not think the worst..." Rossi hadn't finished his sentence when the driver's door opened and Morgan got in.

Hotch and Rossi knew instantly from Morgan's body language that something was terribly wrong. Hotch braced himself and looked steadily at the younger agent. Rossi kept his hand on Aaron's shoulder.

"Morgan, tell me."

Derek's expression was one of defeat. Slowly, he unzipped his jacket and reached inside. He pulled out the toque.

Hotch felt as though he'd been kicked repeatedly in the gut. He reached out and took the hat. Numbly, he fingered the material between his fingers. He didn't need to read the tag. He had seen Haley sew it into the toque almost a year earlier: 'Jack Hotchner'.