Chapter 14

Shortly after nine the following morning, Aaron Hotchner stepped out of the elevator and into the ICU when the doors hissed open. Despite only getting four hours sleep the night before, he was still alert and smartly dressed. He approached the nurses' station while reaching inside his jacket for his badge, producing his credentials for the nurse to see. Satisfied, she pointed him in the direction of the ADA's room.

"Thank you," he said putting away his credentials before he walked toward the assigned room. It was easy to spot which one it was as there were four plainclothes agents outside the door, two on each side. They nodded to Hotch who again produced his credentials for them to see before they allowed him to enter the room. Putting away his badge, he opened the door. Standing in the doorway, he noticed an older man slouched in an uncomfortable-looking plastic chair staring at an unconscious dark-haired man connected to a ventilator with numerous wires and machines everywhere. The older man didn't seem to acknowledge his presence.

"Mr. Schiff?" Hotch announced stepping further into the room. He stuck out his hand. "I'm Aaron Hotchner of the FBI." He admitted to himself that Prentiss had been right in her assessment. Adam Schiff looked totally exhausted.

Now aware of the man's presence, Schiff stood up and gripped the outstretched hand firmly in his. "Adam Schiff, District Attorney. Pleased to finally meet you face-to-face, Agent Hotchner. Jack's told me a great many things about you."

"All good, I hope," Hotch said with a grin.

Schiff smiled. "If they weren't, I wouldn't have asked for you and your team to come to New York and help solve this."

"That's why we're here, Mr. Schiff. And just so you're aware, I made a phone call earlier and there are now four agents guarding Jack instead of uniforms. I also had the head of security from the New York office speak with Doctor Smythe about limiting access to Jack's room. He assured me after speaking with the doctor, that the only ones to have access have all been introduced to the agents guarding the room so they'll recognize them by sight. I hope this brings you some relief."

"It does. Thank you."

"I also plan on speaking with Doctor Smythe myself before I return to work. But I first wanted to touch base with you. Agent Prentiss relayed your message to me and I wanted to also see how Jack was doing." Hotch's dark eyes studied McCoy's face and a wave of compassion came over him. He crossed his arms across his chest.

Schiff glanced back at the unconscious man before turning back to the agent. He stuffed both hands in his pants pockets. "I need to get a cup of coffee. Do you want to visit with Jack for a spell, Agent Hotchner?"

Hotch swallowed the growing lump in his throat. "I'd like that, Mr. Schiff."

"Please call me Adam."

"I'd like that, Adam. And please call me Hotch."

"Fine…Hotch. I won't take long, I promise. Can I bring you a cup of coffee?"

"No thank you. And take your time. I'll stay with Jack until you get back."

"Thank you."

Hotch nodded then watched the older man leave the room. Now alone, Hotch sat down in the hard plastic chair beside the bed. He stared at the man's face and at all the machines and wires. He felt somewhat relieved hearing the continuous beeping of the heart monitor. It meant the patient was still alive. Reaching out, he gripped the unconscious man's hand and squeezed it. As he did, he recalled their first and only meeting eight months ago.

(Flashback):

The case was exasperating. There were no leads but plenty of suspects. He was exhausted. So exhausted he had sent the rest of his team back to their hotel ahead of him. For himself, he needed to unwind before he returned to the hotel and decided a walk might do him some good and perhaps help him to unwind thus allowing him to get some sleep.

With hands stuffed in his pants pockets, he walked along a street when he noticed a bar/restaurant called 'Dorado's.' Hotch found himself stopping and peering through the front window. He noticed it didn't seem too crowded, so he pushed open the door and entered the establishment. Once his eyes adjusted to the lighting, he looked around, spotting an empty bar stool beside a tall and lean man with unruly black hair wearing a worn green outer jacket. He was staring into the Tumbler in front of him which he spun slowly around and around with two fingers. There was something about this man that read 'unapproachable,' which didn't bother Hotch as he wasn't really in a talkative mood himself, so he slid onto the empty bar stool. The bartender approached him.

"What can I get you, pal?" he asked only mildly interested.

Hotch sighed resting his arms on the bar top. "Scotch on the rocks," he ordered.

Though he couldn't swear to it, Hotch thought he noticed the lean man beside him perk up at hearing his drink of choice. The bartender returned and placed a Tumbler in front of Hotch then walked away. Picking up his glass, Aaron took a sip allowing the amber liquid to burn its way down his throat.

"Hard day?" a voice asked. Looking around, Hotch sensed it was the lean man who had spoken despite not looking at him.

"Very," he answered. He held out a hand. "Aaron Hotchner, but you can call me Hotch."

The lean man gripped Hotch's hand in his and shook it. "Jack McCoy."

"Pleased to meet you."

"Same here," McCoy replied.

(End of Flashback)

Hotch let out a deep breath as he stared at the unconscious man. "Jack, its Aaron. I know you can hear me so I want you to listen and listen closely. My team and I are here in New York, and I promise you we will find who shot you. So you need not worry about that. All you have to worry about is getting well." He paused and swallowed hard. "I told my son about you. Jack asks when he can meet you. I keep telling him you're extremely busy, but that's not going to work forever. He'd like to meet you."

(Continuation of Flashback):

The two men had moved from the bar to a nearby empty table with their drinks and each eating a chicken salad sandwich and fries.

"So you're a profiler?" asked Jack as he stuck a French fry in his mouth. He had never met a profiler despite having dealt with FBI agents in the course of prosecuting cases. And his opinion of FBI agents was not favorable.

"With the BAU also known as the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI. And you?" Hotch sensed Jack's opinion of the FBI was not pleasant. Probably from personal experience.

"Executive Assistant District Attorney."

Hotch grinned. Jack was puzzled by the man's reaction.

"What's so funny?"

"I used to be a federal prosecutor before joining the FBI."

McCoy found himself intrigued by this man sitting across from him. "Why'd you quit if I may ask?"

"You can ask. I couldn't accept prosecuting a case where the suspect had already harmed his victim. I wanted to stop him before that happened. I couldn't do that as a prosecutor so I left and joined the Bureau. Then the BAU was created, and it turned out to be exactly what I was looking for. A chance to stop the bad guys before they commit their crimes against the innocent."

McCoy nodded his understanding. "I've never heard of your unit. What does a profiler do exactly?"

Hotch sighed. "We work with the local police when they are unable to solve a case. We review evidence at crime scenes to figure out how a crime is committed. Then we build a profile, identify suspects in an investigation, list the most probable characteristics of a suspect, and then use that suspect's past behavior to predict future actions as to how the perpetrator is evading capture."

McCoy took a drink from his Tumbler.

"Ever step on other people's toes?" There was a touch of anger in his voice.

"We don't hijack a case, Jack," Aaron explained. "Now I don't know what kind of interaction you may have had in the past with the FBI, but I assure you the BAU only take control of a case when a serial killer is involved. Also, we have to be invited in by the locals. And once a case is solved, we let the locals take credit for the arrest. It's how we do things."

The two men continued to talk and realized they had much in common and were very much alike. Hotch had a seven-year-old son named Jack; McCoy's grown daughter was named Rebecca. Difference was McCoy was estranged from his daughter while Hotch and his son were extremely close.

"I'm sorry," Hotch said. "I don't know how I would survive if Jack and I were estranged. It was bad enough being estranged from his mother."

"What happened?"

Hotch sighed and took a sip of Scotch. "Haley couldn't take the long hours. My job also requires I travel a lot, so I was away from home most of the time leaving her to raise Jack, and I often forget dates and appointments. One day I was out-of-town on a case, and when I came home, she had packed her things and Jack's, and had left to stay with her sister. She eventually filed for divorce. But we're still friends."

Jack chuckled. "I can relate to the long hours. Ellen and I married because she was pregnant. And my long hours didn't sit well with her either." He sighed wearily. "My daughter, when she was growing up, had problems with my long hours as well. I hardly saw her and I was never home until late. Now she's a grown woman, and I met her once. I understand she's married and a mother, and I've never met her husband or my grandchild. (1) My second wife couldn't handle the long hours either. But I can't blame either of them or the long hours for the problems."

"What do you mean?"

For some unknown reason, McCoy felt comfortable talking with Hotch about his personal life which he had, until now, only shared with one other person. "I had a wandering eye. I wasn't what you call a faithful husband." He took a drink. "In fact, I sucked at it. How about you? You think Haley will forgive you and take you back?" (2)

Hotch sighed sadly, and for a moment McCoy thought he might have said something wrong or brought up something the man did not want to discuss. He soon found out neither was the case.

"I'm afraid not. She was murdered by a serial killer who was after me because I refused to make a deal with him. He killed her before I could reach her, but I was in time to save my son from sharing her fate."

McCoy's eyebrows arched upward. "Your son was with her when she was killed?"

"He was. He was five at the time. Fortunately, he's okay physically. But being a single father now with a seven-year-old isn't easy, and especially with my job. But my sister-in-law, Jessica, is a tremendous help. She offers to care for Jack when I need to travel."

McCoy finished his drink and gestured to the bartender for another. He waited until he got the fresh drink before continuing their conversation. "It sounds like you and I are two of a kind, Hotch." He found himself liking this man despite him being an FBI agent.

"We both have three failed marriages between us, work long hours, and are single parents. But at least you have a good and loving relationship with your child. I can only hope Rebecca will one day forgive me." There was a sadness Hotch noticed in the man's dark eyes. He couldn't imagine how he would feel if he had been in his place with Jack. He considered himself fortunate that he and his son had such a close and loving relationship despite his situation with Haley and that his ex-wife encouraged their relationship.

(End of Flashback)

Hotch exhaled deeply and continued staring at the man's face. "Jack, despite the strained relationship you have with Rebecca, you are still her father. And despite the way things are between you, a daughter still needs her father. Truth is even a strained relationship can be repaired with time. But you need to come back to us or there will be no relationship at all or even a chance of one."

(Continue Flashback):

Hotch and McCoy continued their talk when Jack looked at his watch. "Somewhere you have to be, Jack?" Hotch asked.

"I have a closing argument to prepare for court tomorrow morning."

"How's the case going?"

Jack let out a deep breath. "I don't like to discuss a case I'm prosecuting. Don't want to jinx it." He chuckled. "As a former prosecutor, I'm sure I don't have to tell you that." He took another swallow of the amber liquid.

Hotch chuckled. "I may no longer be a prosecutor, but I do remember all the closing arguments I had to give."

Jack smirked. "So you're with the New York FBI office?"

"No. We're located in Quantico, Virginia. My team and I are currently in New York on a case. It's not going well at the moment I'm sorry to say. Plenty of leads but no suspects. At least not yet."

"So why are you here in a bar drinking Scotch with me instead of working on finding the guilty party?"

"We've decided to call it a day right now, get some rest, and start again fresh tomorrow. But I couldn't turn off my mind, so I decided to take a walk to clear it. After a few minutes I found myself outside this bar and decided to come inside and get a drink hoping to relax enough so I can get some sleep."

McCoy grinned before he checked his watch again. He really needed to get home and work on his closing argument for court. He quickly downed the remainder of his Scotch and started to get to his feet. "I need to go." He held out a hand again. "Good meeting you. And good luck with your case."

Hotch shook the man's hand again. "Thanks. Same here."

When he noticed Hotch reaching for his wallet, McCoy held up his hand, stopping him. "It's on me. Stay and finish your sandwich and drink." Reaching into his own pocket, McCoy took out a small handful of bills and tossed them on the table.

(End of Flashback)

Hotch let go of McCoy's hand and fell with his back against that of the chair. He let out a deep breath. "Jack, I don't know what else to tell you. There are a lot of people pulling for you. Too many to mention."

Just then Hotch thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. He noticed the forefinger of McCoy's outstretched hand twitch. He leaned closer and placed the man's hand into his open palm. "C'mon Jack, I know you can do it." The forefinger twitched again then stopped.

Someone was calling his name again. Asking him to do something. To do what? It was a voice he had heard before but not the same one from before.

Was it Adam? No. It was somebody else's. But who?

Again he tried opening his eyes but they refused to obey his brain. Again he tried moving his legs which refused to move. There was also the pain in his head which still throbbed.

But it was that familiar voice he couldn't identify.

A faint groan of pain was all that he could muster as he tried to convince his body to respond in some way; to obey him. But it wouldn't move an inch. So he tried one last thing to alert whoever was talking to him.

"Ad…dum," was all he managed to whisper before his strength gave out completely.

If Hotch hadn't been leaning over him, he wouldn't have heard McCoy whisper Schiff's name. A small smile appeared on his face. He reached for the patient buzzer and pressed it. A short time later, a doctor and two nurses hurried into the room.

(1) According to the series, the last name of Ellen was never given. But per research, she was McCoy's first female ADA with whom he had an affair, and is the only one he married, and had a child: a daughter, Rebecca. Whether or not they married because she was pregnant is not known, but knowing the character as I do, I feel he would have done the right thing and married Ellen. He is estranged from Rebecca and remained so throughout the series, despite meeting only once for dinner. As per the series, McCoy never remarried after his second divorce which was mentioned in Season 17, E3 called 'HOME SWEET.'

(2) It was also known that he fooled around with his other three female ADAs during both marriages: Diana Hawthorne, Sally Bell and Claire Kincaid, which combined with the long hours, led to both divorces and the estrangement from his daughter although it is never confirmed but hinted at by McCoy.