She held the phone between her palms, pressing her hands together and lacing her fingers. She knew that she shouldn't call … but it'd been too long, and the move scared her.

Scared her too much, really.

She hit call.

"Dr. Hart," The voice on the other end answered, and she felt something unravel in her at the casual tone. She was fine, then.

"You don't call, you don't write," She quips wryly, eyeing the house from down the street as she straddled her motor. "Why, I would almost think you were trying to get rid of me."

"You know, Vine, communication is a two way street," Jane quips back, and neither of them care to disguise the chuckle in their voices. "What wind blew you hither?"

"Had some business to take care of," She doesn't-answer, kicking up her stand. "And I can't talk long. Your old place has an old vet up to his ears in smack – new boyfriend?"

"Hell no," Jane answered dryly. She could see the doc gathering her satchel through her window. "New digs. You should come by some time."

"Send me the address," Her finger hovers over her phone. "And we'll see."

She ends the call, revving her engine.

She drives away, leaving the smell of exhaust and a hint of lotus perfume in her wake.


"Jane, come with me – right now."

Jane looked up at JJ, the blonde only poking into her office long enough to summon her before striding purposefully towards Hotch's office.

Shit.

She dropped her pen and grabbed her satchel, mind racing, as she followed JJ – only falling short to linger in Hotch's doorway.

"Guys," JJ stressed, catching Hotch's attention. "Foyet's meds – we've been tracking the entire combination. What if he's been using over-the-counter meds for some of it, to mask his purchases?"

"Shit," Jane breathed, the air knocked out of her. "I never thought to - shit."

All those years in fucking med school and she missed it.

"Jane," Hotch gritted out, clearly agitated – attention on her completely. "Jane, what do you know?"

"I know that I'm not a fucking pharmacist and never fucking thought about it that way and I'm a fucking idiot," She growled, whipping out her steno pad and rapid fire writing the list of all of Foyet's meds from memory; then she started crossing out all the ones that could be subbed by over the counter stuff, at least easily.

"I'll go give this to Garcia," She spared them a glance, still writing. "She can start narrowing it down."

As she walked away she felt Anderson pass her in the hall – headed to Hotch's office with more news.

Not Naproxen, not Ultram, not —


"Agent Jareau, do you think that it was the fault of Dr. Hart that finding George Foyet took so much time?" Strauss asked, sitting regally across from JJ with the tape recorder running between them. "After all, as the team's doctor it was Dr. Hart's responsibility to be your resident expert on medical matters."

"No, I do not," JJ replied calmly, clearly. "Dr. Hart is trained as a medical examiner, crime scene investigator, trauma surgeon, and field medic. Her focus has always been on in the moment situations, and had no reason to approach the Reaper case from the perspective of substituting his medications."

"Do you think that Agent Hotchner shared this same view?" Strauss pressed, and JJ had to clench her fists under the table to stop herself from doing something rash. "Was he … agitated by Dr. Hart's lapse."

"He was understandably frustrated," JJ allowed. "But he didn't bring it out on Jane. He knew it wasn't her fault, that it wasn't her focus."

"So you're saying that the betrayal of trust from one of Agent Hotchner's closest friends and most relied upon colleagues did not affect Agent Hotchner at all? That it had nothing to do with the resolution of this case?"

"No," JJ swallowed roughly. "No, it did not."


"Penny, we need you to –" Jane burst into her office, then stopped to stare. "Lynch, is that a fucking bacon donut?"

"Yes! You should try it sometime!" He grinned, Vana White-ing the disgusting thing.

Jane shook her head, and Penelope honestly couldn't blame her.

"Yes?" She prompted her lovely doctor.

"We found a lead to track Foyet," Jane dropped a bomb. "We need to track him by the medications that cannot be substituted over the counter. I've compiled a preliminary –"

"Kevin, you need to leave right now," Hotch burst in, cutting Jane off and startling Kevin out of his chair.

"Is this about Foyet?" Garcia asked him, standing up instantly at the sharpness in her boss' voice.

"The Foyet letters came from Fredericksburg, Virginia and Westminster, Maryland," Hotch drives through. "We can match the prescription drugs Foyet can't substitute with a geographic profile of the two cities."

"She's got my list," Jane tears off a sheet from her notebook swiftly, passing it over.

"We need to hurry," Hotch presses, still driving forward. "Foyet doesn't stay in one place very long."


"He is creepy good," Garcia told them, grim but determined.

"How good?" Reid immediately asked, fingers gripping his cane.

The team was in the apartment of Peter Rhea, one of the Reaper's aliases, and they were staring down a laptop actively purging it's harddrive. Morgan didn't want to waste any more time standing around and waiting, but there was nothing they could do until Garcia got what they needed.

"He wiped his hard drive," Garcia reported. "Might've been in a hurry to leave, but whatever was on there he did not want us to see it."

"Garcia, tell me that you're hacked in and that you can rebuild it," Morgan half pleaded.

"Watch me work, darling," She shot back, and as she worked the sounds from her computer and the rhythm of fingers flying over keys came through the line. A notification sound. "Hel-lo."

"What have you got?" Hotch asked swiftly, Jane asking the same question only a half second behind

"He had an internet alarm on the name Peter Rhea," She replied. "It alerted him as soon as we ran a check on it."

"What else did he wipe?"

The laptop screen showed a number of pictures, flipped through too quickly to really see but –

"Garcia, wait a minute," Morgan stopped her, dread building in his gut. "Freeze it right there. This one and the next."

The screen split, one side showing a picture of Sam Kassmeyer, the marshall assigned to Haley and Jack – and the other showed Jane, getting out of her car at her new house.

Jane stared at the screen, fingers gripping her satchel's strap.
"Well shit."


"You left for Marshall Kassmeyer's house immediately? Even after you had discovered the possible threat against Dr. Hart?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Reid responded politely, keeping his leg from bouncing. "Threats had been made against both Dr. Hart and Agent Hotchner in the past in similar veins. The priority was Marshall Kassmeyer, someone we didn't know the location and status of, over the redundant protection of Dr. Hart and Agent Hotchner."

"So, then, you stormed his house," Strauss moved on unhappily. "Wouldn't this be a job for a tactical team?"


Jane went straight to the marshall on the ground, tearing her bag open and immediately stabilizing him.

As best as she could, at least.

At this point … there wasn't much she could do.

She was rapidly wrapping his hand, staunching the flow from his missing fingers, when the EMTs came in. The three of them worked in tandem, and Jane forced herself to ignore what Hotch and Kassmeyer were saying – or trying to say – as they put pressure on his bullet wounds.

By the time they had loaded into the ambulance, Hotch clambering in beside them, she knew that Kassmeyer wasn't going to make it to the hospital.

Only a few minutes later, he flatlined.


"Agent Prentiss," Strauss dramatically greeted her, dropping a file noisily on the table.

"Ma'am," Emily deadpanned back, trying and failing to keep just how done she was out of her voice. At least it covered up how anxious she was.

"We understand that Agent Hotchner managed to separate himself from the rest of the team," Strauss tilted her head, judgement across her face.

"He didn't 'manage' to do anything," Emily frowned, forcing herself not to pick at her fingernails even more. "And anyway, Jane was with him. When Marshal Kassmeyer was in the ambulance –"

"Agent Hotchner volunteered to ride along," Strauss cut her off, unimpressed. "Even though Dr. Hart was already riding along."

"Dr. Hart is a doctor," Emily reminded the Section Chief, a tad forcefully. "She was there to do nothing more or less than treat Sam – Marshall Kassmeyer. Agent Hotchner was there to get answers before he lost consciousness."

"Why didn't you go with him?"

"As you said, Dr. Hart was already there."


"Aaron –"

Hotch watched as the car Anderson sent pulled up, and he got ready to climb into the driver's seat. Jane had a firm grip on his arm.

"Aaron. Let me drive."

He didn't argue – too busy hanging up on Emily and calling Foyet.

He climbed in. Jane glanced at the coordinates that Garcia sent them and started off, pushing the speed limit.

"Agent Hotchner."

"If you touch her–" Hotch threatened The Reaper, almost growling.

"Be gentle, like I was with you?" Foyet mocked him. "What the hell took you so long? I was beginning to think this phone was dead or something."

Hotch didn't answer. Jane made a sharp right turn, barely slowing.

"Why so quiet? You usually lash out when you're frustrated."

"I'm not frustrated," Hotch lied. "You're more predictable than you think."


Jane saw the moment that Foyet hung up on them.

"Where?" She asked, soft and firm.

"My old house," Was his reply.


The phone rang again.

"Foyet," He answered on the first ring, grateful that Jane was the one driving.

"Aaron?" Haley's voice came from the other side. "You're okay?"

He felt himself shatter.

"I'm fine," He squeezed his eyes shut.

"But he said that –" Haley realized. "Oh, Aaron."

"He can hear us, right?"

"Yes," She replied, voice thick. "I am so sorry."

"Haley, show him no weakness. No fear."

"I know, Sam told me all about him," He heard her gulp. "Is he, uh – "

"No, Sam's fine," Hotch lied, forcing his eyes open.

"Aaron, Aaron, Aaron," Foyet chimed in. "Is this why your marriage broke up? Because you're a liar? Huh, I thought it was because of that pretty little doctor of yours."

Out of the corner of his eye, Aaron saw Jane rip an earpiece out of her ear and drop it in her lap. Then she suddenly reached over and pulled the phone right out of his hand.

"Haley, he's trying to terrify you," She was saying before he could – could do anything. "Sam is dead. And I'm sorry about that. But what he's doing is trying to get you to blame Aaron. The more you blame Aaron – the more distracted you are – the less able the two of you are to protect Jack. Focus, we need to protect Jack."

Jane passed the phone back to him. He scrambled to put it to his ear.

"Oh, she's a spitfire," Foyet was laughing. "Much better than your first wife. But … you haven't made an honest woman out of her yet, have you Aaron?"

"Haley," He found his voice, eyes on the speedometer's creeping hand. "Tell Jack I need him working the case."

"What?"

"Tell Jack I need him working the case," Hotch insisted.

And his son's voice came through the phone's speaker, and Hotch felt like he was going to fall apart all over again.


"Promise me that you will tell him how we met," Haley was pleading with Hotch, and Jane felt like an interloper – she tried to focus on hurtling down the street without killing anyone on the way rather than listen to the sounds of Hotch's last moment with his wife. "And how you used to make me laugh."

"Haley –"

"He needs to know that you weren't always so serious, Aaron," Haley presses on. "I want him to believe in love, because it's the most important thing. But you need to show him."

Hotch bowed his head.

"And if you're with Jane, that's okay," Jane swallowed roughly at her own name, forcing back the mess of emotions that that simple sentence had brought up. "That's okay. You two take care of each other, and you take care of him. Promise me."

I promise.

"I promise."

Bam.

Bam.

Bam.


Strauss shuffled her papers, clearing her throat. Jane wished, not for the first time, that it would be appropriate to pass the Section Chief a face mask or a cough drop or something.

"On the phone call placed by Haley Hotchner on Marshall Kassmeyer's phone to Agent Hotchner, George Foyet implied that you and Agent Hotchner were in a relationship."

"Yes, he did," Jane kept her breathing steady. She counted her own heartbeats.

"Are you in a relationship with Agent Hotchner?" Strauss asked, after it was clear that Jane wasn't going to elaborate without prompting.

"No, I am not."

"Then why would Foyet imply that you were?" Strauss pressed, still clearly not satisfied.

"Foyet's intention was to turn Haley against Agent Hotchner, as a final act of torture for the both of them," Jane finally forced herself to speak, attention still on her own pulse. "Agent Hotchner and I have been close friends since I started here six years ago, and Foyet saw our friendship as a way to manipulate Haley. Agent Hotchner and I have not been intimate together, and Foyet knew this after his extensive surveillance and research on both Hotch and I."

"Well then," Strauss seemed satisfied by her answer, for now at least. "After the … after the death of Haley Hotchner, what series of events followed."

"We pulled up into the driveway of Hotch's old house," Jane swallowed, clearing her throat and thinking back. "Hotch was out before the car was even in park. I grabbed my satchel and was right behind him."

"What was the plan?" Strauss asked, glancing at one of the bureaucrats in the room. "Did you just run in there half-cocked?"

"The plan was for me to get to Haley as soon as possible to assess her condition," She refused to rise to the bait. "The plan was for Hotch to clear the house room by room until he found Foyet, while I helped until I found Haley. If Haley was dead, then I was to get Jack and run."

"And what did happen?"

"The ground floor was clear," She recounted, hands gripping the strap of her satchel in her lap. "Haley was on the second floor, in their bedroom. She was dead. Shot three times: neck, stomach, stomach."

Strauss looked sick. Good, because Jane didn't want anyone treating this shit show as fucking pedestrian.

"And then?"

"Shots were fired," Jane grit her teeth. "I immediately left to go to Hotch's office. My priority was Jack."

"You left Agent Hotchner to deal with a suspect on his own?" Struass asked, disbelieving. "That was irresponsible."

"Chief Strauss, I am not a field agent," Jane sat up, leaning towards the older woman with her teeth bared. "I am not even an agent. I'm a doctor, and with one dead Hotchner already it was my utmost priority to keep there from being another. Hotch would've willingly died for his son, the least I could've done was get Jack out of there."

Strauss sat back.

"And this code, the one that Agent Hotchner and his son had – about 'working the case'?" Strauss asked, clearing her throat yet again. "How did you know the significance of it?"

"Hotch loves his son, and was my best friend," Jane smirked, leaning back. "How do you think? The man gushes like a geyser."

The Section Chief's eyes sharpened, narrowing.

"Was?"

Jane felt her smirk slip off her face.


"Jack," Jane hissed, gun in one hand – glancing between the door and the bench-thing. "Jack!"

She threw open the lid one handedly, gun pointed at the door.

"Hey, Jack," She tried for a smile, hoping not to scare Aaron's son. "I'm a friend of your Dad's. Do you think you can come with me?"

He nodded, and with her gun still at the door she scooped him up, curling herself around him as she listened at the hall.

She heard them tumble down the stairs. So the front and back doors were out. But –

The roof.

She slipped through the hall to Hotch's bedroom, whispering for Jack to stay quiet and close his eyes. She stepped over Haley's corpse, getting to the floor to ceiling windows that she saw earlier.

She holstered her gun, prying them open. A small ledge, then a drop to the ground. Ten feet, maybe more.

"Jack," She pressed a hand to the back of his head, keeping his line of sight into her shoulder. "Jack, I need you to trust me. Can you trust me?"

He nodded into her.

"Hold me tight, okay?" She asked him, adjusting her grip. "Hold me tight. Big bear hug, big bear hug. Good."

She took a deep breath, steadying herself.
"I need you to keep your eyes shut, no matter how scary – okay?" She insisted, putting one foot out onto the ledge. "No matter how scary."

And she jumped.


'Well,' Jane thought as she strapped her best friend's son into the front seat of the car she hijacked. 'At least today we learn that I know how to hotwire a car.'

She pulled out quickly, praying that Hotch had Foyet under control, and sped off. Block after block passed by, and she was just grateful that the Toyota she stole was an automatic so she could at least partially ignore the throbbing in her ankle.

Her phone rang.

"Jack?" She smiled tensely at the little boy next to her. "Hey, Little Bear. Can you reach into my bag and take out my phone for me?"

He quietly nodded, reaching into an outside pocket and digging around. It took a moment, but he found it, and passed it her way.

"Who is this?" Jane demands.

"Jane, Jane it's Hotch," Aaron's voice is coming through, and Jane thinks that she'll just collapse back in relief. She keeps driving.

"Rin," She breathes. "Is Foyet after us? Is he still coming?"

"No, no – no, he's not," He's assuring her, and she immediately pulls over. "He's – he's dead, Jane."

"Good," She says, smiling down at Jack. "I have Jack with me. Little Bear and I are safe."

"Little Bear?" Hotch repeated, amused. "That's new."

"Oh, I said that out loud, didn't I?" Jane smiled awkwardly, glancing down at Jack. "Well, buddy-boy here gives the best bear hugs – and after you going all Papa-Bear on the … meanie that broke into your house, I think that the name's well deserved."

Jack smiled, delighted by what he heard of the conversation; Jane grinned right back.

"Indeed it does."

A brief lull, one full of relief.

"I stole a car," Jane decided to just come out and say it. "See if you can't spin that so it doesn't sound like I'm a criminal. I'm headed back now."

"You stole a – nevermind, thank you," Hotch's voice sounds thick. "Thank you."


Jane was rewrapping her ankle when he stepped into her office.

Her face was focused, clinical. She was solely focused on the precise laying of the bandages, and she only noticed him after she had carefully taped the end down.

"Hey," He finally managed to say.

"Hey," She repeated, looking tired.

He supposed they both did.

He wasn't in a suit, today. Just a pair of jeans and a set of sneakers, with a tee-shirt that Haley bought him at a concert when …

Well, he wasn't himself. Didn't feel like himself.

"How's the Little Bear?" She broke the silence.

"He's … he's confused," He answered, lingering in the doorway. "Glad to see me …"

Silence. Jane knew the rest.

"He's with his aunt, right now," He finished awkwardly.

He could see her scars, today. The ones that Foyet gave her. Her makeup was faded, washed off after a too long week. Or maybe she hadn't put as much on as she usually did – usually you couldn't even see the three long lines.

"I don't think I'm going to wear so much foundation, anymore," Jane guessed where his mind had gone, fingers ghosting over her cheek. "I wore it … I wore it before because it was a too-constant reminder that we hadn't stopped him. But now … it feels wrong, to try and hide the damage."

"And what about all the stares you'll get?" Hotch couldn't help but ask. "You hide your scars all the time. What makes these any different?"

"Because I remember who gave me these," She answered, facing him head on. "And we beat him. That's what these scars are, Aaron. A reminder that we beat him."

Silence.

"It still bothers you."

"Yes," He dropped his gaze, tearing his eyes from her skin. "But … but it's your body. Your defiance. Just … just don't let his actions define you."

"Don't let his actions define you," She countered harshly, sharply.

Silence.

She sighed, deflating.

"I think that the distance we had, that it was good for us," Jane switches topics abruptly. "And I think we still need a stopgap. But … but I can't leave you alone right now, not when you need me most."

Thank god.

"Yeah, okay," He smiled, inside a turmoil of emotions. "Jack should get to know you, anyway. He keeps talking about my 'nice friend' who jumped out of a window for him."

"Yeah, and busted my ankle for it," Jane smiled minutely, gesturing to her hobble. "But I'd do it again."

He stepped into her office, then. Sat down across from her, just breathed.

And she reached out slowly, fingers curling around his wrist.

They sat there together, falling back on old patterns, and Aaron could almost pretend that the world had gone back to normal.

But it wasn't, because they were too close and their legs were touching and his eyes were on her lips and –

He tears his hand away. Suddenly guilty and disgusted and he's standing and he has too much energy and Haley –

""I can't – I'm sorry, I just … I just can't."


Hotch was distraught, and Jane cursed herself for … just cursed herself.

It was too much. Too soon.

She swallowed back her emotions, nodding. "Yeah, I know. I know, I'm sorry. She was your wife."

"I loved her," Hotch finally spoke, and Jane curses herself for wincing at his admitting it. "I loved her, and now she's gone."

"I know. I know."

"And now I'm just left with Jack and Strauss offered me retirement and …"

"I didn't know that," Jane swallowed. "I … Are you going to take it."

"I don't know," Aaron buried his face in his hands, scrubbing at his face. "I just …"

They stew in silence.

"I loved Haley," He repeats, hunched over. "But I love you too."

Her breath catches.

"And I don't know how much, or in what way, yet," He admits, refusing to meet her eyes. "And I know that … that there's something here. Somewhere."

"But your wife just died," Jane nods, tearing her eyes away. "And I'm a broken mess, just like you are."

"No, Jane, you're not –"

She cuts him off with a look. His voice dies in his throat.

"Hotch – Rin …" She finds her voice. Tries to find the words. "I … Rin, I know that you can't."

Can't love me. Can't do this. Can't talk about this. Can't figure this out. Can't leave Jack. Can't betray Haley –

"I know that you can't," She repeats, firming her voice. "And that's so beyond understandable. It's okay, I get it."

They can't look at each other.

"I loved her …" He repeats.

She doesn't know when he started crying, doesn't think that he does either. But all she knows is that suddenly his arms are around her and his head is in the crook of her neck and she's hushing him, cursing her lack of … everything.

They stay there until he's stopped crying, and as his sobs come to a close they're on the ground and she's half perched in his lap and there's nothing remotely romantic about the way her fingers are threaded through his hair or how his hands are on his waist. They just are.

And Jane curses how she has to savor this little bit of closeness, because she can never do this again. Never have this again.

Aaron Hotchner was her friend and her boss and he could never be anything more.

Especially not when the scars on her face reminded him every day of the man who killed his wife – the woman he loved.

(She didn't deserve a man like him anyway.)


A letter and a black lotus were on her front porch.

Really, just what she needed after a day like this.

She forced herself to read it.

It was a polaroid picture of her, a few days ago when she was limping down the street with Jack in her arms.

'You always were mother material.'

She growled, pulling a lighter from her bag, and set fire to them both – tossing them aside into a puddle once they were scraps.

Then she took extra time, burning each and every petal of the lotus all the way through before crushing the cinders under her boot.