"We need to record these sessions, Fletcher. I'd like you to persuade Agent Hotchner to accept that."
Hieronymus had made a point of arriving early. As soon as Fletcher's door opened, even before his last patient had taken his leave, Mason had stepped inside and was pressing his point home. "And it might be to everyone's advantage if you excluded that other agent from the proceedings." The little doctor's brows beetled. "He's clearly contributing to the tense atmosphere."
William Fletcher stood, gazing at his intrusive colleague, wondering if it would ever again be possible to attain an effortless sense of calm with which to greet Hotch. It almost made him nostalgic for those early, over-emotional times that had been fraught with Aaron's distrust and hostility. It took him a moment to mentally shift gears after having spent the last hour with a patient whose guilt complex over covering for his boss's extramarital affairs was becoming a serious issue of ulcer-producing proportions.
Fletcher closed his eyes and inhaled, counting to ten. "Dr. Mason, I'll be glad to ask for permission once again, but I hope you understand there's a difference between persuasion and bullying. I won't allow…"
"But I…we…we need that as corroboration, as verification!" The diminutive psychiatrist's voice scaled upward. "Without direct quotes and a solid source, I…we can't…"
The outer office door opened.
"Here-RON-i-mouse! So good to see you again!" Rossi's jocular tone overrode Mason's, spewing false cheer and causing Mason to shudder with suppressed resentment. The senior agent beamed a great smile at all and sundry. "Hi, Doc. How ya doin'?" Rossi blazed into the room like a natural force, shielding a quiet, reticent Aaron by sheer force of presence.
Fletcher shook the hand Dave had extended. "I'm fine, thank you. You? And…?" He tried to read Hotch's carefully neutral expression.
"I'm great. And Aaron…?" Rossi caught the Unit Chief's eye, giving him a sardonic grin. They'd both heard Mason's treble voice from the hallway.
"I'm fine." Hotch's glance from beneath his brows connected with Hieronymus, noting the little man's sour expression. "And I'm still not going to agree to any kind of recording. I'm sorry."
"Why NOT?!" Mason sounded petulant.
Privately, Rossi thought the little man would have done well on the stage of a children's theatre production of 'Rumpelstiltskin.' Gnome-ish and likely to act out when enraged. What was that last scene in the fairytale? Oh, yeah…Rumpie grabbed hold of one of his own legs and ripped himself in half out of pure frustration 'cause he didn't win his little game with the princess.
Dave's grin grew wider at the mental image. "Aaron doesn't owe you any explanations, Hieronymus. It's enough that he's made the decision. And don't forget…" Rossi raised one brow at the pad and pen on Fletcher's desk. "…there's always the old-fashioned way of keeping records."
Mason's eyes narrowed. His lips thinned. In fact, his whole visage took on the aspect of a dissatisfied prune. He knew Dave was making a subtle reference to the last session when he'd been banished to the outer hallway. He could see that this agent was one of those for whom acquisition of a doctorate didn't command automatic respect and obedience. Before I can wrench Agent Hotchner into shape, I'm going to have to fight another battle. I'll have to outwit this self-appointed guardian. I can do that. Time to switch tactics.
Mason sucked in his cheeks and nodded, trying to achieve a look of martyred superiority. "Fine. Well. If that's how you want it…" He flipped his hands up in a gesture of defeat. "It's not the wisest course for a layman to make the rules, but… fine."
Rossi's grin never wavered. He enjoyed pushing people's buttons when they were so prominently displayed. Little man. Big ego. Always assumes he's the smartest one in the room. Maybe in some ways that's true, but smart doesn't stand a chance against sly.
The unfortunate thing was…Rossi was right.
XXXXXXXXXXXXX
Hotch's discomfort came from a number of different sources.
His resolve to do whatever it took to get to the point where Jack would be the beneficiary of Dr. Fletcher's expertise remained solid. However, he had to give credence to Dave's admonition that sacrificing himself wasn't the best way to go. There were no shortcuts in his present situation and, deep down, Aaron knew it. He dreaded plumbing his own depths where the man who murdered Foyet with his bare hands crouched in hiding. And his first impression of Mason hadn't changed. Hotch watched the little psychiatrist's beady eyes boring into him. He hates me…yet he said he could help me…
It was hard to tell where the dividing line was between sacrificing oneself and being brave enough to trust one's welfare to a stranger, especially one who came off as an unfriendly force.
Hotch had to push himself to take that first step.
"Dr. Mason, last time we were here you said you could help me." Aaron tried to ignore the air of smug victory that ghosted over the man's petite features. "How?"
"By changing your focus." Hieronymus shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and rocked up onto his toes. It was a habit he would have abandoned had he known it made him resemble a penguin rather than an erudite professional. "That drawing you did last time; it told me all I need to know about the effect Moral Injury Syndrome is having on you."
Fletcher bit his lip, but still felt he had to interrupt. "Doctor, we touched on this last time: Aaron's issues are more complicated than a straight case of MIS. We need to…"
"We need to start somewhere, Fletcher!" The whiplash bite of Mason's tone cut through the younger doctor's temporizing words, shocking him into momentary silence. "We can keep dancing around the fringes of this subject's issues for months!" Hieronymus's eyes narrowed. As so often happened in the midst of argument, his mind had fastened on additional ammunition. "But you don't have that luxury, do you? How long are they going to let you tiptoe around before they decide you're either not the psychiatrist for the job, or he's no longer the agent for his job?"
"That's enough." Rossi's voice brought silence. His wasn't the whiplash whine of Mason's. His was more a scantily-veiled, deadly-calm, don't-mess-with-me threat.
People paid attention.
"Aaron, why don't you get comfortable and think about what you want to discuss." Dave's flat gaze was trained on Mason. "The doctors and I need to step out for a minute."
"No, Dave. No secrets. Whatever you guys have to say…I should hear it, too." Hotch's dark, sad eyes glanced from man to man. "Besides, Dr. Mason has a point. I don't have much time left here, so…"
"You don't need to worry, Aaron. I've taken care of that." Fletcher had hoped to approach the subject at a different time and from a different angle, but if his patient was concerned, maybe the timing was right. "I asked for an extension on your sessions with me."
Hotch's brows rose. "And…?"
"I just need to submit some paperwork. It's taken care of."
In the pause that followed, Fletcher could almost hear the gears turning and the suspicion dripping, growing longer and more substantial like stalactites in a cave. "You sure it's that simple, Doc?"
The shadows in Aaron's eyes demanded an honest answer. Fletcher's shoulders dropped, his posture caving a little. "Of course they want a report, but there wasn't any argument about giving you more time with me." Now Rossi's gaze was trained on him, too. In a split second, the psychiatrist felt whatever trust he'd built with his patient slipping away. And once again, Mason's at the root of it. If he'd kept his mouth shut, the subject of Aaron's tenure here wouldn't have come up.
Mind racing, Fletcher decided to make a clean breast of things. He tried hard not to let his own concern bleed over into his voice.
"Aaron, you're not an ordinary case. I've already told you that MIS and PTSD are part of what you're dealing with. We've already seen some of the effects of your childhood and of what Peter Lewis and your own employers have done to you. And we know you're a concerned father." The doctor took a deep breath. "When I asked for an extension, as I said, there was no problem, but…I was told to make the Director's office my point of contact. That's not usual, but like I said…you're not an ordinary case." Fletcher paused, trying to read the blank, still look that had descended over his patient's features. The psychiatrist cleared his throat, attempting to inject more confidence than he felt into his tone. "I won't hide things from you, Aaron. I want you to trust me. You said you didn't want any secrets, so I thought it would be best to get everything out on the table…to clear the air."
Mason had been an attentive, even avid, follower of the exchange. Once again, his agile mind latched onto an impromptu opportunity to twist things in his favor. He assumed a calm, confidential air. "Gentlemen, I wonder if I might have a word with Mr. Hotchner? Alone?" The request was met with varying expressions; none of them indicative of approval. However, Mason was never one to give in easily. "In the interest of clearing the air…Isn't that what we're aiming for now?"
"I think you forgot the part about 'no secrets,' Hieronymus." Rossi resumed his dead-eyed gaze at the little man.
"Well, if I speak to Mr. Hotchner, I'm not exactly keeping secrets from him, am I!" The challenge ringing through Mason's words only served to set Dave's teeth on edge. The diminutive doctor recognized bristling when he saw it. He had a plan and he needed to take careful steps. He reigned himself in and regrouped. "Look, I'm only trying to help. As I was saying before we got sidetracked with all that extension business, we need to start somewhere. One of the most important initial steps in treating MIS is to let the subject know he's not being judged. Now…" Hieronymus puffed his chest outward, feeling the iron-clad logic of this latest strategy locking into place. "…I'm the only one here who isn't connected to Mr. Hotchner's work. I won't be reporting to anyone. I'll discuss him with Fletcher here, but the subject will still feel a degree of confidentiality with me that he won't have with either of you."
Mason could see doubt as his colleague inspected the proposal; suspicion as Rossi did the same. And looking at the senior agent gave Hieronymus another improvisational idea. Rossi…that's an Italian name. Probably raised Roman Catholic… He tried to look as sincere and penitent as he imagined a priest would. "Think of it as confessing, if you like; a safe way to begin the process of dealing with MIS. I'm not Mr. Hotchner's official doctor…" As you, Fletcher, keep reminding me… "…and I'll have no reason to cross over into either his work or his home life. Why should I?" Mason spread his small hands upward in a gesture at once reminiscent of someone displaying his unarmed status, and slightly beatific, which he hoped would strengthen the idea of sacrosanct privacy.
"I dunno…" Rossi rubbed his beard, narrowing his eyes. He kept hearing Hotch's first impression of Mason… He hates me, Dave. Hates me! But he was in unfamiliar territory. He looked to Fletcher for his opinion.
The younger doctor was trying to set aside his anger that, once again, Mason had managed to bring an element of unease and disquiet into the appointment. "There's some truth to what you're saying, Doctor. But it's not our decision. Aaron? How do you feel about this?"
I'll do anything to move things along…for Jack's sake. "Okay. I guess."
Rossi frowned. "You sure?" There was a distinct lack of enthusiasm in his friend's words.
Hotch shrugged, and committed himself to whatever course of action would untangle the knots inside him. "Couldn't hurt. I guess."
"Well…" Fletcher placed a gentle hand on his patient's shoulder. "You're in control, Aaron. Stop, if things get too much for you, or if you need a break." He patted the tense muscles beneath his palm. "We'll be in the outer office." Giving Mason a cautious nod, the doctor ushered Rossi toward the door. "I'll come back in half an hour…check on how things are going."
"You heard him, Hieronymus…we'll be right outside." Dave's words were ominous, but they rolled off Mason's back.
He'd won. Now who's banished to the hallway? Hmmmm?
But he'd won much more than that small victory.
He waited for the door to close; waited a few beats to be sure Fletcher and Rossi weren't eavesdropping. He motioned to the couch and put some effort into making his smile more sympathetic than gloating. "Have a seat, Mr. Hotchner. We'll begin whenever you're ready."
Aaron quelled any reservations he had as he assumed his position on the couch, wondering what he was expected to say…where he was expected to begin. He didn't notice Mason insert his hand into his jacket pocket.
The pocket where his phone waited.
The phone that he knew so well he didn't need to look at it to set in on 'Record.'
