First, Emily went to Hotch.
He'd fallen off his chair to his hands and knees, robe gaping open; an abortive attempt to stop…everything. To stop Megan from drinking. To stop Prentiss from landing a punch that lifted the unsub's dying body and catapulted it to the floor. To stop the sequence of events that had led an intelligent, beautiful woman to trade her life for the opportunity to punish men she didn't see weren't worth the effort. It was already too late. Hotch stayed on all fours, head hanging, panting; finally able to draw in the breath that stress had denied him.
Emily still had enough adrenaline flowing, enough rage and protective instinct, to raise her boss up. But once she had, she realized she didn't want him to stay in this room that was now a crime scene.
"C'mon, Hotch. Lean on me."
"Prentiss, we can't leave…Megan…she…"
"She's already dead, Hotch. There's nothing we can do." She cinched his robe closed and decided to pretend she hadn't seen anything, knowing that was the Unit Chief's strategy of choice for the last time he'd been exposed to her. She wrapped one arm around his waist, supporting and guiding. "I'm gonna put you in my room and then I'll come back and take care of all this."
"But…"
"No 'buts.' You're going to bed. I'm gonna call 9-1-1 and the team. There's nothing more for you to do here." She snagged his go-bag on the way out, shrugging it onto one shoulder. Veins still humming with energy, she hardly noticed the extra weight.
"Prentiss…"
"What?"
"Thank you."
"Yeah, well, consider it payback for what you did for me and Morgan when we were tied up."
There might have been more to say, but Hotch's reserves were gone. Depleted, all he could do was try not to collapse until Prentiss said it was okay to do so.
But he felt Megan's wide, dead gaze follow him out the door. And he could almost hear the whisper of her accusation.
…look at you…leaving…just like Daddy…
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
The Stoneleigh was humming with unwanted activity.
The hotel manager and concierge stood shoulder to shoulder, watching uniformed officials invade. Their glum expressions lightened, however, when some of the guests showed macabre interest. The manager made the conscious decision to embrace the situation in the belief that scandalous publicity was better than none at all. The building fell just short of landmark status, so a little flurry of true-life crime might be better than the faded anonymity into which he saw his beloved, old hotel slipping.
With a casual flip of his hands, he gave permission for the front desk to offer free room service to tenants on the inconvenienced fourth floor for the duration of their stay.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXX
The BAU team gathered in the hallway outside Prentiss's door once it was clear they could relinquish responsibility for Megan Kane to local authorities.
Emily had brought Hotch and his go-bag to her room on the crest of her waning adrenaline rush. The more it ebbed, the more she was feeling the consequences of having attacked…and destroyed…the door to room 419. As they talked, she inspected abrasions and bruises that were just beginning to ache.
"How's he doing?" Morgan kept his voice low.
Emily frowned at the knuckles that had connected with the unsub's jaw. "He didn't say much…"
"He never does," Reid interjected.
Prentiss gave him a fierce look before continuing. "…but…I think he was kind of barely holding it all together…you know?" The last was directed at Rossi, the one who knew Hotch best and longest. He took the hint.
"Why don't you all make sure J.J. and Garcia are up to speed…and, Emily…go get yourself looked at. Make sure those cuts get cleaned. And…" He took a deep breath, hand on the doorknob, preparatory to entering. "…send one of the EMTs up here."
Rossi crossed the threshold and closed the door on assorted nods and mumbled agreement.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Hotch was in Prentiss's bed, lying on his side, back to the door.
Still trembling.
Rossi could see the covers quivering over the shoulders turned away from the light. But he also knew the younger man was turning away from trauma, from an undoubted feeling of failure. No one had been saved today, and Hotch was certainly berating himself for physical and emotional weakness that had prevented him from making things turn out differently.
Rossi crossed to the bed and took a seat on it at his friend's side. Words didn't feel necessary just yet. Instead, he rested a hand on Hotch's waist, hoping the mere fact of his presence would act as a balm on whatever wounds Megan Kane had inflicted.
After a time, there was a light tap at the door, followed by the sound of it opening and closing. Rossi looked up to see the EMT he'd requested, medical kit in hand. Rising, the agent tilted his head, indicating he'd like to talk out of Hotch's hearing. Once at a more private distance, Rossi voiced his concern in low tones.
"He's been through a rough time. Just got out of the hospital. Maybe a little too early, but he does better away from that kind of environment, you know?" The med-tech nodded his understanding. "He was drugged, so I'm a little cautious about asking for this, but…do you think you can give him something that'll relax him? Maybe let him fall asleep?"
The EMT leaned, looking past Rossi at the shivering form under the blankets. "I'll take a look at him. What's he weigh? About 185?" Dave nodded. "Okay. If all his vitals measure up, I'll calm him down. But it's not a good idea to knock him out."
"Whatever you can do to help him get some rest…" Rossi left it open-ended.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXX
"So…" The EMT wrapped a pressure cuff around Hotch's bicep. "Sounds like you've been through a rough time, big guy." Medically professional eyes roved, cataloging everything. "Wanna talk about it?"
Hotch shook his head.
"You're shivering. Can't get warm?"
A lackluster, subdued voice rumbled back at the med-tech from the depths of the pillow into which the FBI agent had turned his face. "I'm fine. I'll be fine."
"I know that. But between now and that future moment when you realize you're alive and healthy and one hell of a lucky guy…what do you need?"
There was a note of steel in the EMT's words. Almost like a reprimand. It made Hotch pay attention a little more. He turned, finally looking at the man taking stock of his vital statistics. "Nothing. I don' t need anything. Well…maybe some time…but I'll be fine. Like I said."
The med-tech's lips quirked upward in a lopsided smile. "Yes, you will. One hell of a lucky guy. Like I said." He rummaged about in his supplies, assembling a syringe. "I'm gonna give you something to help you relax. Might make you doze off. So when I leave…just stay in bed. Rest."
"Sure. Thanks."
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
After the EMT left, Hotch lay flat on his back, thinking.
Thinking of all the deaths in Dallas. Thinking of the consequences of abuse and the different paths sufferers took. He struggled against falling asleep, resisting because he didn't want to hear Megan's voice. Or see her eyes.
But when he finally did drift off, it was his son who came to him. It was Jack.
And the voice he heard wasn't Megan's. It was that of a virtual stranger.
One hell of a lucky guy…
Aaron had to agree. With a sigh, he let the dreams take him.
~The End~
