"One often calms one's grief by recounting it" - Pierre Corneille

Chapter 13

The next day he meets Sean for breakfast at his apartment. It's a clichéd, sparse, studio, and Aaron gets the impression Sean could, and would, happily leave at a moment's notice, if the need arose. Sean cooks them pancakes, and Aaron watches from one of the kitchen stools. His brother is relaxed, the whole atmosphere is peaceful, and Aaron is amazed at how better their relationship has gotten over the past few years. When they're served up Aaron looks dubious, "I swear they are better than they look," Sean says as he places his plate clumsily down next to Aaron's. The smiley face drawn in syrup makes him laugh, "You need to smile more."

Tentatively Aaron takes a small bite, they are good, better than hotel pancakes, light-years better than his. "They're good," he comments.

"Come on, they're more than good," Sean insists, Aaron relents.

"Okay, they're amazing," Aaron admits grudgingly, Sean raises his hands to the ceiling in victory.

"Wooo hooo! I make the best pancakes ever!" Aaron is surprised Sean doesn't proceed to run round his apartment with his t-shirt covering his head. It makes him slightly sad that he doesn't know his brother better, that he doesn't have the time to get to know him better. Profiling, Aaron realised a long time ago, can't substitute proper conversation.

They spend the morning wandering round New York without direction, as if they were kids waiting for their parents to finish the weekly shopping. Sean offered to let him stay at his apartment for another night, but he's working, and Aaron just wants to get back to Quantico. "So I'll visit in a few weeks when you're back at work, you need some fun in your life," Sean jokes, but the concern is there, and for once Aaron appreciates it.

"Sure, if you let me cook this time," he grins as Sean's face turns into mock horror.

"No! Please! Anything but your cooking!" he begs, Aaron laughs.

"Never!" Aaron jokes, watching his brother's face get more horrified by the second.

"Remember that time you gave me food poisoning?" Sean's eyes flash, with an evil smile on his face.

"It was one time! And you're going to have to suffer my cooking, man up!" Hotch orders.

"Yessir!" Sean mock salutes. The last call for the train is announced.

"I was good seeing you Sean," they embrace before Aaron steps onto the train.

"It was good to see you too, Aaron," it's sincere, and Aaron smiles.

The train journey isn't that long, and Aaron feels peaceful, everything seems sorted, as sorted as they can be. He wants to spend another night in his apartment, to get used to being alone, he convinces himself. Although he knows it's a lie. He just doesn't want to face Emily.

His apartment is still, empty. He stares from the doorway, he just needs to summon the courage to take that one step… and he crosses the threshold. He doesn't feel much different. Dumping his bags in his room, Aaron makes to head for the kitchen. It's five, dinner time, although he isn't hungry, and something makes him pause. His room is adjacent to the guest room, it's door half open. The room hasn't been touched since that night the ambulance came. He enters the room cautiously, as though a lion is there, lying in wait.

He'd sorted through all of Haley's boxes with Jessica, and she'd offered to help him sort through Jack's, but he'd refused. Because he could do it himself. Because really he didn't want to face it. Because by that point he was already struggling. One of the four boxes is open, pictures of Jack's, crayons, and toys are scattered on the floor like crime scene evidence. Pictures of 'Daddy catching the bad guy', or Haley, Jack and Aaron under the same roof again. He breathes in sharply. He doesn't remember his overdose, just that he was upset, more distressed than usual. He moves towards the mess.

He can do this.

It's just a few boxes.

He should prove (has to!) prove he's getting b-e-t-t-e-r.

"It's just a few boxes," he mumbles.

Gathering plastic bags from the kitchen he tries to work on the boxes. Sidestepping the toys and drawings he moves straight to the top one, his clothes. "It's just material," he whispers to himself as Spider-man pjama's, first school uniforms, and a suit he wore to a friend's wedding are put into the bags. With one box down he moves to another, the less personal clothes, t-shirts, socks, pants, they're easier to discard.

Then only two are left, toys, drawings, and books. Aaron swallows, his hands shake. He knows he should stop, he's already sorted two, that's enough, bags for charity shops and the bin are in two separate piles. Yet something makes him unable to stop. He has to do this, he has to get it over with. He opens the box with books, recreational, and learning, with the odd school jotter. He doesn't know why, but he picks up the one with 'English' written in bold, crude letters. He looks around guiltily, as if the act is immoral, before opening the jotter. There's various words like 'dog' 'name' 'house', Aaron's eyes scan the four sentences.

'My name is Jack Hotchner'

'I have a mommy, and a daddy'

'I live in a house.'

'For Christmas I want a puppy.'

Tears threaten to pool over, because he remembers talking with Haley about getting a puppy. The conversation seems fresh, like a just-yesterday conversation. Blinking back tears he slams the jotter shut, it falls to the ground with a small thud. He sits in silence, gaining composure. It's seven, but he has to! do this tonight.

Without knowing why, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and dials. She answers after two rings. Her voice is surprised. "Hotch! What's wrong? I thought you were on leave."

"I… I know it's short notice, but I need you to come over," his voice is strangled.

"Sure, are you okay?" she asks, and he can hear her moving. He settles for the truth.

"Not really."

He doesn't move from his position on the floor until he hears the buzzer from downstairs. He hasn't been waiting long, he forgets how close her house is to him. "Hotch, are you alright?" she's concerned, and nervous, and Aaron isn't sure if calling JJ was the best idea. He lets her in.

"I, I was sorting through some of Jack's things, and, and I need help to go through them, I… I would have asked someone else but, they don't have children they…" he can't finish.

"Don't understand?" she says softly, Aaron nods, he can't look at her. "Of course," she says, determined, brave, and he gives her a small smile of thanks.

"I was sorting the stuff out… what to give to charity, and what to throw away," he says listlessly from the doorway, as JJ inspects the two piles.

"Aren't you going to keep anything?" she asks, Aaron stalls for a few minutes.

"I don't really want to," he says slowly, JJ shakes her head.

"You say that now, but in time you will, come here," he obeys. She pulls out the Spider-man pjama's, "What about these?" she asks.

"They, were his favourite," he swallows his voice low. JJ gives a sad smile.

"Keep some things then," and she hands them in pjama's. He creates a separate 'keep' pile.

By nine they are finished sorting. JJ offers to take the charity bags down to her car to give them away, Aaron helps her and doesn't protest. The 'keep' pile consists of his Spider-man pjama's, his favourite story books, some school jotters, a few drawings of the three of them, and a Batman doll. He puts them in his room. The bin bags stay in the guest room, he will throw them out tomorrow.

JJ stays for a cup of tea, and they sit in the living room in silence. He's aware that she's watching him, but it's just that, watching, she isn't analysing his every move. It doesn't feel so bad. They sip their tea quietly, his mug is half empty before he attempts to speak. "Thank you," he says quietly.

"It's no problem, I… I'd like to think that if the roles were reversed you'd…" she lets the sentence trail off.

"I, I just thought because you had Henry that, that you'd understand," he looks at her at long last. He expected pity in her eyes, that same sympathetic glaze given to every victim's family members. Instead she looks more sombre, sad but not pitying.

"You did really well today, how are you holding up in general?" she asks, and it occurs to Aaron that she doesn't know, that she has no idea. Sometimes he thinks he's teetering on the brink, other times he feels… almost okay.

"I don't know yet," he says quietly, she waits for him to continue. "Sometimes I think I'm doing okay, and other days are a lot harder," she leans forward, her gaze steady.

"When you can distinguish between the 'good' days and the 'bad' days, it normally means your making some progress to normal," and she gives a supportive smile.

"The pain, on the other hand, is still the same. It's like they, they were killed yesterday…" he takes another sip of tea, it grounds him slightly.

"The pain," she says softly "The pain is something that takes longer to leave."

"Does it ever go away?" he asks, and he sees her pause that pause people take when they deicide between Lying and Truth Telling.

"It goes away eventually from everyday thoughts, and diminishes with time, but it can take years, and even then some days it still hurts just as much," her voice grows quieter, and quieter, until Aaron thinks it will fade altogether.

"Thanks," he says again.

"What for?" she asks, confused.

"For telling me the truth."

"I didn't see the point in lying."

She stays after the tea as been drunk, neither of them wants to move although the clock is inching closer to eleven. "How do you feel about returning to work?" she asks, Aaron shakes his head.

"I don't know. The job defines me, but it's ruined everything," he blinks a few times. He's tired.

"Why did you join the FBI? Why not stay a prosecutor?" she asks, he laughs bitterly at this.

"I've been asking myself the same question for sometime," pause "I didn't like how many criminals, who were guilty, weren't prosecuted, or prosecuted fairly. I wanted to make sure the 'bad guys' could go away for longer."

"Do you still want to do that?" he closes his eyes, and thinks. The feelings are still there, the hope for justice, the desire to fight crime, they're small, but they're there.

"I think I do," he says thoughtfully. "Why did you become a media liaison?" he asks, the question surprises her. She takes longer to answer.

"It's a security thing really. When my sister… killed herself, all my parents could tell me was 'everything's going to be okay'. I knew it wasn't. I guess I thought if I could reassure people, lie to them sometimes, that criminals would be caught, or something would be done that… that one day I'd believe… I…"

"You thought that if you could convince others they would receive closure from their relative's death, and see the belief in your words, that maybe you could convince yourself to believe your parents. After all you're doing the same thing they did on a wider scale," JJ looks at Aaron.

"I guess so, it's difficult to explain, I just wanted closure" Aaron gives a small shrug.

"These questions don't usually have easy answers, did you ever get closure?" he asks. And this time she stops completely, hand still at her face.

"Not completely, and I don't think I ever will," Aaron digests this silently. He's so lost in his thoughts he almost misses her next words "I think I'd better go, if that's okay with you," she gives him one last worried glance. He unfreezes, and smiles in appreciation.

"It's fine," his voice is subdued. She stands and stretches, before grabbing her jacket off the kitchen counter. He walks her to the door. "I really can't thank you enough," he says quietly, she gives another sad smile.

"It's alright, I'll make sure they go to good charities," and Aaron almost breaks down right there and then. Pulling himself together he says goodnight to JJ, before turning back on his empty flat.

He walks to his room slowly, and see's Jack's stuff lying on his bed. He's tired, and he wants to shove it in a drawer and forget about it, but he stops himself. With shaking hands he places the pjama's in a drawer, and books on the small shelf in the corner. He places the Batman on his desk, and glances at the drawings, and jotters. Finding a paper folder he places them inside and puts them by his bookcase.

Aaron turns back to his bed, and sees one drawing he's left out. Haley, Jack and himself stand under a yellow sun, they have a house next to them, and a new pet dog. Taking in a sharp breath, it catches in his throat as a tear rolls down his cheek. His throat hurts a dull, burning ache. He places the picture up right on his desk, and turns to the photo frame on the beuaru. He hasn't looks at their faces properly in a year. Picking it up gently, he traces his fingers over their faces, his breathing is disjointed and ragged.

"I really miss you guys," he whispers through tears. He places the picture back on the beauro. Moving to his bed he knows they won't visit him tonight.

In a sea of grief, a small droplet of relief soaks his pillow.

Thanks for the response from the last chapter, its good to know people still like this fic and are still reading it! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, please R&R and constructive criticism is very welcome :). I apologise for any grammer and spelling mistakes, I tried to get most of them.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Criminal Minds, I'm just bored.