"I was carried, to Ohio in a swarm of bees. I never married, but Ohio don't remember me. I never thought about love, when I thought about home. The floors are falling out from, everybody I know. I'm on a bloodbuzz." - Bloodbuzz Ohio - The National

Chapter 11

It's a two hour train journey, and he doesn't have a book. This doesn't bother him, he can't really remember the last time he had the time to read a book. Criminological journals and case reports clearly didn't count, he vaguely recalls reading the Catcher In The Rye, but that was when Haley and Jack were still alive. He tries to shift his mind to other thoughts. The morning had been quiet, and leaving Emily had been harder than he thought. He was still angry with her, and things were strained, not tense, but strained nonetheless. Still… he missed the support system, the unconscious reassurance that everything was going to be o-kay. Her presence rendered him blind to the need to use, how it rose up, peaked, then rose higher than he though bearable. For the first time in weeks he notices how clammy and nauseous he feels, even the engine of the train seems to purr along to this thoughts.

Justonehit. Justonehit. Justonehit. Justonehit.

He wishes he had music or… something! Anything to distract him. He feels worse when he can't think of a reason why he shouldn't take something, a few pills of vicodin, or even a syringe of morphine, dilauded, a line or two of heroin. He finds it strange that it isn't just one drug he's craving, ANYthing will do as long as it shuts his brain off long enough for him to accept reality as it is. That his family is dead, he is alone, and returning to that house he promised, (promised!) himself he would never have to visit.

He opens his eyes and releases his grip on the white plastic table in front of him. The weeks after their death nearly killed him. He shut himself off completely. In the first week he couldn't bring himself to go through the motions, there were no children to make him act like everything was going to be o-kay and al-right. The team tried to visit, knocked on his apartment door, called through the letter box. He doesn't remember most of that week, but what he can tells him he spent most of it curled in a ball. Folded in on himself, this wasn't happening, none of this was happening and he didn't have to face it… until Dave and Emily threatened to break his door down…

And that's when it reaches unbearable. A new unbearable that he knows he can't face without something. Part of his brain tries to conjure Emily, to see if that could stop him, but it's a hopeless attempt before he even begins. The train pulls into Richmond in twenty minutes, in another twenty he can be in an anonymous hotel, in thirty in a back alley. In less than an hour he can feel al-right, and o-kay again.

Time moves fluidly, fifty minutes have past since the train journey and he's back at his hotel with what the kid (he says kid although the dealer was in his early twenties) promised to be the best quality vicodin he'd had in awhile. He knows that means nothing, that the kid wanted to sell it and would have said anything to make the sale. Still, he likes the reassurance of the false words.

Sitting on the bed he pulls out three of the pills, his mind is protesting more strongly now, he promised (promised!) Emily and Dave he would stay clean, that he would at least try. But here he is, he didn't even make it off the train without having plans to use. He lets the pills slide back in the bag, and lies back till he's met with the ceiling. Is he that pathetic? Really? Unable to last a weekend? For a few minutes the unbearable urge becomes bearable again. For the first time in months his brain kick-starts back into logical Aaron Hotchner mode.

He's seeing his mom tomorrow, confronting her, because he isn't going to stay in his hell hole any longer than he needs to. If he uses now he'll lose a good five to six hours he could have spent preparing. Before he changes his mind he places the bag of pills in his go bag for lay-ter. Donning sweatpants and trainers he goes for a run through the streets. Music from bands he used to listen to pounds in his ears, and sweat forms on his brown. Yet there's something liberating about running, it distracts him, soothes him almost. He stops by a canal and watches boats bob up and down in the water, he feels at ease, in control. He runs for another forty five minutes before ducking into an anonymous café to get a bottle of water and a coffee. It's the first time in awhile he's felt in control, in charge.

He gets back to the hotel late. He stopped for dinner in another café on the way back from his run. As he climbs into the shower and lets the hot water rush down his mind goes to the pills again. The desire to use is there, but it's different. It's less urgent, less compelling, less of a com-pul-sion. He can detach himself. He reasons this must be good, at least, it's better than caving.

After the shower he changes into his pyjama's, there's no one and no place to dress up for, and he's tired, he always seems to be tired. The bed is comfy, the mattress is soft and either replaced often or hardly used, judging by the dents the chair made in the carpet the room is hardly used. This unsettles him for some reason. The room isn't lived in, of course it probably shouldn't be, but it's detached, cold, and he doesn't want to stay here longer than necessary. He sleeps with the lamp on. He's not scared of the dark, he just doesn't want any ghosts sneaking up on him. Aaron doubts his tenuous control could withstand that.

He wakes early, but that isn't what's bothering him. Thin rays of light peek through the sheer curtains and he quickly switches the lamp off, with the sun out it's almost ridiculous to imagine that something could sneak up on him. It takes Aaron a minute to locate the source of the problem. He feels… rested, nerves flare up a little, but he isn't weary, or tired, for the first time in awhile he hasn't woken up to a disturbing dream, or nightmare. A ghost of a smile graces his features. And it feels nice to almost smile.

He dresses in casual jeans and a jumper with trainers. His clothes need to be practical, and it isn't his plan to try and intimidate his mother, not that though, for a second, he thinks he could. He takes breakfast to go, it's a good two hour bus journey to where she lives.

He says he grew up in Richmond, and he did, but on the suburbs of the suburbs. To the point where the houses and shops are almost their own enclosed community. A community of Happy Families, and Smiling Children. The Public and Private spheres at their very best. As he gets closer, his nerves rise. The roads with the large houses and streets with local businesses make his stomach lurch, he doesn't want to admit that this very place scares him. It's still the same. Completely, and utterly unchanged. Mr Hollby still runs the corner shop he used to get sweets from every day after school, Mrs Fitch still appears to be handing clothes to charity shops. He doesn't want to see any of them if he can help it, he's here to see his mother, and only his mother.

The bus stops a few streets away from his house, and he leaves reluctantly, knowing the next one will take him to the lone bus station in the middle of nowhere. The streets are eerily quiet here, everyone appears to be away. When he gets to his old street, a row of impressive, upper middle class houses, he reasons that people must be working, and children must be at school. This place is like a ghost town, and walking down the street he feels like the only person on the earth.

He stops suddenly, the house is right in front of him. Nothing's changed, in fact is looks in a better condition that he remembers seeing it through his childhood. He walks up the driveway, and after stalling for a few minutes knocks on the door. Before he can convince himself that no one is home a woman answers. Her grey hair falls to her shoulders, and she stands at, at least five seven. Her clothes are stylish, but worn, and her face is more lined that he remembers it. Still, he remembers her. Aaron's shocked at first, thinking for a few minutes that his mother is as young as he remembers in his mind. She, however, doesn't seem as surprised, his mother nods slightly, then lets him in without a word.

It takes one step for him to break a twenty nine year old promise. Suddenly it doesn't matter anymore.

They go into the living room, and sit on opposing sides. No 'how are you?' or 'tea? Coffee?' both know he hasn't come for that. "What do you want?" she asks, her voice is still as quiet, as clear. He pauses for a minute, unsure what to ask first. He feels entombed in ornaments and ticking clocks, with portraits and pictures as silent, eager spectators.

"Why didn't you stop him?" his voice is just as quiet. His mother doesn't look surprised, Aaron reasons she figured this day would come soon.

"I guess" she says after what seems like forever "I guess you would know that by now Aaron. What with your profiling skills, and understandings of how people work, why do you think?" she asks, but he needs her to say it.

"I can't make any observations on this, I'm too close to think objectively." Again she takes forever to answer.

Forever is eleven minutes thirty four seconds.

"Physically I couldn't, he was stronger than me, and when it came to telling other people…" she hesitates, her hands show she's nervous, and her face looks distressed. "I needed people to think we were normal, that nothing was wrong with our family, if I hadn't then you and Sean wouldn't have gotten as nearly as far as you have," a cold fury takes over Aaron.

"It has nothing to do with our education, you were too scared to leave him, too scared that you couldn't raise the two of us by ourselves, that you'd fail," he pauses, trying to reign his temper in. She looks taken aback by his outburst, and all the more timid for it.

"You weren't the only one affected by it, he tormented me for years-"

"And you put up with that because in your head it was better than being alone, but when he turned on his son, then what? You couldn't leave for my sake? For the risk that he'd do that to Sean, were you that far gone in your delusion?" It almost feels nice to be able to attack without guilt, to get all this anger out. She doesn't answer straight away, they both know excuses won't cut it, he needs real, living answers.

"It was selfish yes, but I couldn't leave I… I didn't want to. I couldn't stand what he did to you, but I needed to stay, I can't explain it," she looks at Aaron. Her eyes swim with untold apologies but she knows they're not good enough, that nothing will ever really be good enough.

He stays silent for awhile, trying to gather his thoughts. A small ray of light shines onto the room, as it hit's the vase by the window it occurs to Aaron. Nothing will ever really make this okay, he just wishes his mother could meet him half way and give him some (any) closure. "What about the pills?" he asks quietly, and he watches as she freezes, in a so-small-it-didn't-really-happen moment.

"You remember that," he gives her a look that tells her 'I'm not an idiot. Stop stalling, and get on with it'. "That was part of the reason I couldn't leave-"

"You needed him to keep your habit paid for?" he says incredulously. But, partly to his relief, she shakes her head, he doesn't need to dislike her more than he does now.

"I was scared I'd fail on my own, I was scared people would find out, and every time there was a good memory it spurred me to try and kick the habit at least a little," she says quietly.

"And did you?"

"I haven't taken anything stronger than aspirin since he died," she says impartially.

"Do you want a medal?" he can't help but be angry, he doesn't think he's ever going to be anything but angry. She doesn't respond. "So all this happened because you were scared?" he states flatly, "Scared, deluded and usually too high to notice your delusions were, well, completely insane?" his words still overflow with venom. His mother frowns.

"No Aaron, they weren't just delusions, there were good times, you've just trained yourself to focus on the bad."

"Name some then, if you're so sure they happened," he snaps, knowing it's a trap. He didn't block out the good times completely, but he can't remember there being a lot.

"He taught you how to swim, how to ride a bike, we went on camping holidays, on trips to the cinema or the zoo. He even encouraged your interesting law enforcement by allowing you to get work experience at his office-"

"That one was for public prestige, to show off," Aaron says bitterly. His mother waves her hand dismissively.

"Does it matter? Although misguided the interest was still there, and it helped you get into college. The other times were good as well. So most of it was bad, but if you focus on the negative too much it'll kill you, although I'm sure you already know that," he lets her finish, and says nothing, he doesn't really know what else to say. He's got his answers, be they what he wanted or didn't, although to be fair he didn't know what he wanted in the first place. "Now is there anything else you'd like to discuss? How's Jack? And Haley? Thought I know you probably don't see her anymore."

And for a second, a magical anything-is- possible second, he wants to lie. Tell her they are okay, they he is going home to see Jack tonight. But that would be a Big Fat Lie, that wouldn't be hon-est. That would guarantee a visit from his ghosts in the lonely hotel room. Truth prevails, but it won't make anything better. "They're dead, they died in a home invasion," because telling her about the Reaper would be going too far. It's been a year since their deaths, but saying it out loud makes it Real.

Her shock and sadness is palpable. "Oh, but… my grandson… your…" he doesn't want to see her tears, he's tired of Grief's unwelcome companionship. It takes her twenty minutes before she can speak again. "I knew there must have been a reason for your visit Aaron, I just… you lost them both?" he can feel her eyes on him.

"It might be surprising to hear that I don't like talking about it," he looks up to meet her, his eyes flashing dangerously. She ignores this.

"When did this happen?"

"A year ago," he hears her sharp intake of breath.

"A year! A year and you didn't tell me?" her anger doesn't effect him like it used it "You didn't think it necessary to tell me my grandson had died? Aaron how dare you! What the hell were you doing? What were you thinking to believe that wasn't important!-" All it takes is a small so-secret-it-doesn't-even-exist moment for him to snap.

"No I didn't think it necessary to tell you! I had a complete mental breakdown mother, are you happy now? It's taken me this long to get everything back in order! Between this and dad you're lucky I didn't go crazy and end up in a mental hospital!" his shouting rings throughout the room, and the ghostly quiet returns. These walls haven't heard shouting like that in decades. They might break.

She doesn't say anything else on the topic. They sit in silence for another half hour before he stands up to leave. She stands to see him to the front door. They look at each other by the front door. One addict to another, it occours to him on some unconcious level that she knows. They both know this is the last time he's going to come here, the last time he's going to leave. "Goodbye, it was nice to see you," she gives a small smile. He gives her a small smile, and a hug. He owes her at least that.

With a short 'Goodbye' he turns and leaves, not bothering to look back. He doesn't have the closure he wants (needs). He walks to the bus stop, he doesn't know how to feel.

When he gets back to the hotel he moves straight to his bed. He feels drained. Though he hates himself for it, he understands, at least a little. She had no support system, no self confidence to try on her own, and the reassurance that there was always someone who could offer a fix. He thinks of the pills in his bag, she was an addict, and he doesn't want to be anything like her.

He has to leave tomorrow if he wants to see Sean, he wants at least a day to himself. The longer he lies on the bed he realises this closure isn't going to come anytime soon. Without thinking he moves to his go bag and takes out the pills. It's a com-pul-sion again. Swallowing them with his self loathing he leaves to find a bar. The pills and alcohol will get rid of the guilt. They have to.

But he doesn't, can't, won't, end up like her.

Aaron tries to convince himself that this was the right thing to do. Because there's only so much you can handle in one day, he reasons.

Sorry for the late update, I've starting volunteering work. I also can't promise an update next week as it's my birthday, and I'll be freaking out at how old I am (with the metal age of 5, 19 is old :P). This chapter was really difficult to write, as I have no idea what Hotch's mother was supposed to be like, I couldn't really find many fanfics on it. My beta - who loves Hotch - doesn't touch the mother subject with a bargepole so she wasn't much help :P. Anyway I hope you all like it. Random info, the song at the start of this Bloodbuzz Ohio inspired this whole fic, it is awesome and I reccomend people listen to it for it's awesomeness. Anyway I apologise for any grammar and or spelling mistakes, and for those who have reviewed, alerted and favourited I am really grateful :) and I hope everyone is having good holidays.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Criminal Minds.