Even after Emily's pep talk, I was still upset we hadn't gotten anywhere with Ms. Foley. Morgan heard us approaching and turned to greet us with a hopeful smile. As soon as he caught sight of our expressions, though, the smile dropped off his face.

"You're kiddin'. It was a dead end?"

With a huff, I flopped into one of the chairs and slumped onto the table. Emily stepped up behind me and rested her hands on my shoulders in silent comfort as I mumbled, "well, sort of. Ms. Foley recanted her story."

"She's saying the abduction didn't happen?" Rossi asked in surprise. He had apparently returned – with Sheriff Caulfield in tow – and the two of them gathered closer as Emily and I nodded heavily. "Sounds like you think she's not telling us the truth."

I shook my head and agreed, "not at all. I think her report was genuine, based off of her immediate reaction when we mentioned her abduction. Something definitely happened to her."

"Definitely," Emily agreed instantly. "She avoided eye contact, shielded herself, and got defensive with us, even after Aria started to connect with her."

"She doesn't want to admit it happened," I sighed, giving a shrug. "I mean, it's understandable. She's protecting herself. She doesn't wanna open the door she's kept shut for almost thirty years –"

"Well right now, the only person she's protecting is the offender," Morgan cut in with an air of contempt, shaking his head. Emily felt me tense and she gave my shoulders a squeeze. Possibly in comfort, possibly in warning to keep my temper in check; either way, I ignored it.

"She's not protecting him, Morgan. Based off her report and what the other victims suffered, we know what Ms. Foley went through had to be horrific and traumatizing, to say the least. She's clearly compartmentalized what happened and it's not really fair of us to go demanding she drag all of that back out into the open again –"

"Not fair?" Morgan scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest, staring down at me in disbelief. "Kid, you and Prentiss just told her this guy could still be out there, snatchin' up other women and doin' the same thing to them as he did to her, and she refuses to help? At this point she's just bein' naïve –"

"Naïve?! Do you really not see all this woman has been through?" I threw back at him incredulously, shoving to my feet. Emily's hands, firm on my shoulders, were the only things keeping me from storming around the table. "It had to take an insane amount of strength for her to put her life back together and move on from what she went through –"

"Aria," Rossi tried, shooting a look to Morgan as well. My raw nerves had already been struck, though, and I wasn't gonna drop the point I was trying to make.

"Now, three decades later, some FBI agents just show up and ask her to go back and relive what was quite possibly the worst day of her life –"

"Aria –"

"And you have the audacity to accuse her of being selfish and unbothered –"

"Aria, basta cosi!" Rossi's sudden snap of Italian put the brakes on my rant and I cut off, turning to glare at him. He softened his tone a hint to add, "Lascia che me ne occupi io, ragazzin."

Emily tugged me back and I sat reluctantly, still scowling up at Morgan as he did the same down at me. Rossi held his hand out between us, silently asking for a truce as he pointed out,

"Alright, let's take a step back. Morgan, Aria's right. It's not fair to blame Ms. Foley for not wanting to open up to us about her experience. We can't – and we won't – hold that against her." I instantly opened my mouth to say I told you so. Rossi shot me a look to keep quiet as he continued, "however, Morgan has a point. You could read her well enough to know she was lying when she recanted her report. So, we just said the man that abducted and tortured her might be running around again. Did she seem worried to you?"

"No," I admitted, but instantly defended, "but that doesn't mean –"

Rossi held up his hand at me this time and I begrudgingly fell quiet. "Did she ask for a protective detail? Did she even seem frightened?"

After another moment of silence, I said slowly, "well, no."

"Ms. Foley moved away just a few days after filing that report, in the beginning of December. She moved back to the same area less than a year later. Now tell me, if you were Ms. Foley and you'd moved out of state to escape all the terrible things that had just happened to you –" just like I did moving to Seattle to get away from Connor… "– why, when the FBI told you the same things were happening all over again, would you not be fearing for your life? Why would you have even moved back in the first place?"

"I wouldn't have. I mean, unless…" the realization dawned on me and my eyes widened just a bit. "Unless I knew I had nothing to be afraid of."

"Unless you knew you had nothing to be afraid of," Rossie repeated, enunciating each word for emphasis.

"She'd only move back here because she thought it was safe," Emily added, hands slipping off my shoulders as she came up beside me, grabbing the list of offenders Penny had sent us earlier. "So, she'd have to know that the guy who actually did this to her was gone."

"You know who this man is," Rossi insisted, turning to look at Sheriff Caulfield. "He grew up here too. He was in his mid-twenties back then."

Morgan shifted back to tap the evidence board that we'd filled with pictures of our best possible leads. "He was reckless in his personal life, probably a drinker. He would've had arrests for DUI's."

Sheriff Caulfield looked between all four of us, taken off-guard by the spur-of-the-moment profile. "I – I don't recall –"

"He would've left right after you found his last victim. December 13th, 1980," Rossi kept going, glancing at us to help with the rapid-fire information.

"He might've gone to prison, could have joined the military, moved away, sold his property…" Emily hinted hopefully. Sheriff Caulfield just shook his head, seemingly at a loss.

"He could've died," I piped up. Morgan and Emily glanced at me in surprise, but I didn't back from my own gut instinct. I still didn't think it was the same offender, and if Ms. Foley felt safe enough to move back here, I was starting to think I actually was right.

"This is it. This is your case, right here, right now," Morgan continued, tapping the board again. "This guy was meticulous. He might've had two areas of control, both private. One to torture them, one to confine them. A workshop, a barn, a garage…"

"I'm sorry, I just – I can't remember –" Sheriff Caulfield tried, and then cut off as Rossi grabbed his shoulders. He actually gave the guy a small shake as he insisted,

"Yes, you can! December 1980. The man was here and then he was gone. You know him, John –"

"Robert Wilkinson!" the Sheriff gasped out, eyes widening as the name snapped back to him. Emily quickly rifled through the papers and then glanced up with a nod.

"He's on here with 3 DUI's. Spent a few days in jail?"

"He did. Had a hard time stayin' sober 'till…" Sheriff Caulfield met my eyes unexpectedly and revealed, "'till he died. He was twenty-eight when it happened. He fell into his combine harvester."

My heart leapt in my chest – mostly because I was pretty sure I was right, partially because of the guy's grisly death – and I asked quickly, "when did he die?"

"December 1980," Emily read off, looking around at us as we all. Right when the killings stopped."

Morgan came around the table to join us as he looked down at another paper. "And it looks like Karen Foley moved back not long after that."

All five of us around the table looked up, sharing a moment of we found our guy. Well, more accurately, we found one of our guys. Just like I'd been suspecting all along, our UnSub wasn't the same man from 1980. But…

"Like you said, Rossi… the most recent murders, they're almost identical to what happened twenty-seven years ago. Right down to the details that were never made public," I pointed out. "If Robert Wilkinson's the UnSub from then, who's doing this now

Rossi pressed his lips together, thinking over what I'd said before he turned to look at Sheriff Caulfield again. "Was Wilkinson survived by anyone?"

"Yeah," the Sheriff said slowly. "He had a wife. Mary Wilkinson."

"Does she still live around here?" Rossi asked. When Sheriff Caulfield nodded, he snagged the keys off the table, pointed to Morgan, and jerked his head towards the door. "Let's roll. Sheriff, fill us in about her on the way."

As he and Sheriff Caulfield headed through the station, Morgan came around the table and paused at my side. When I gave him a reluctant glance, he reached down and gave my chin a gentle squeeze. "Hey. I'm sorry. I didn't mean for that to come off the way it did."

"I know," I murmured, offering a small smile. Morgan gave one back, giving another squeeze before he made off after Rossi and the Sheriff. Alone now, Emily rested her hand on my back and asked,

"Are you okay?"

I could see the concern on her face, and I didn't blame her. After my… well, outburst, and our talk in the car, I knew she was worried about me. So, I gave her my most reassuring smile, nodded, and told her softly, "yeah, Em. I'm good. I promise."

"Though I could tell she wasn't fully convinced, she knew I wasn't in the mood to be pushed right now. She just slid her hand up to squeeze my shoulder before she moved for the board. When she paused and looked back, though, I glanced up in question. "If that changes… if you're not good, you let me know. Okay, kiddo?"

"I will," I told her, giving a small smile. She held my gaze for just another moment before she nodded and went back to the board. The moment she turned away, the smile fell off my face. My heart twisted and guilt trickled through me. Why did it feel like I'd just lied to her?

I'd been genuine. I was alright. I mean, still a little peeved at Morgan, but that was honestly one of my primary emotional states most days. And… I didn't feel bad. I just… Morgan's words had hit me in a weak spot I hadn't anticipated. The whole case so far, really, had just come at me from left field.

I knew why, too, and it just made me more defensive. I took a breath in and let it out slowly, running a hand through my hair, trying to get myself settled again. Making things personal during a case was a stupid thing to do. A girl was dead, another was missing, we had a possible lead with Mary Wilkinson, and I had to focus.

My own troubled thoughts could just stay buried where I put them for now.


It was nearing 1am by the time we left the station. After hours more of digging through Mary and Robert Wilkinson's life, it was clear we'd hit a dead end and weren't getting anywhere. After both Morgan and myself had passed out at the table, Hotch had finally called it and sent us to the motel to try and get some sleep. He said it was for our benefit, but I'd seen him starting to doze off a few times too, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

Once at the questionable hole-in-the-wall we'd picked for the night, we split up how we usually did: Rossi and Hotch, Morgan and Spencer, then Emily and I. As I went to follow my roommate inside, Rossi caught my arm and motioned out towards the parking lot. "How about you and I take a walk?"

"If this is an elaborate mafia hoax to kill me, you should probably check with my boss first," I told him, nodding towards Hotch who was pointedly pretending he couldn't hear us. "I don't think he'll be okay with me not showing up tomorrow morning."

Rossi gave me a deadpan stare and sighed, "I've told you before, I'm not in the mafia. Just start walkin', alright?"

"Says the guy who's supposedly not a mob boss," I hummed under my breath. His eyes narrowed and I bit back another grin as I passed Emily my go-bag. She tossed me the room key in return, and then I scampered across the parking lot after Rossi.

He led us out to the SUV's and leaned against the back of it, perching on the bumper and patting the space beside him. I took his silent request and followed his lead, looking out across the street just as he was. We were silent for a couple moments; if we didn't start talking, I was gonna fall asleep again.

"Since I'll assume – for now – that murder wasn't your motive for getting me alone, I take it there's something you wanna talk about."

Rossi chuckled, shaking his head as spared a glance to me before l0oking back across the road. "You're right, on both assumptions. I just wanted to check on you, kid. See how you're really doing.

"Me? I'm fine," I said, tilting my head to the side as I stared up at him. "I mean, I'm tired, but I'm not –"

"I meant from earlier, with Morgan," he explained, and my words died out momentarily. I'd been so busy through the night I hadn't even given our little argument a second thought. When my silence drew on, Rossi hinted, "I know you told Morgan it was okay, but I've got this funny feeling you weren't being completely truthful."

For a couple moments I held my silence, eyes falling to my lap as I started to pick at the hem of my skirt. Slowly, I took a breath and then offered, "I mean, I know he didn't mean to upset me. I was being sensitive and took it personally when he didn't mean it that way."

Rossi hmm'd and bobbed his head, thinking over what I said for a few moments. After a couple seconds he turned to me and guessed, "Morgan's judgement about Karen Foley hurt because you relate to her and what she's gone through. His comments about her felt directed at you."

"I… I mean, know he wasn't saying it with that in mind," I defended softly, shrugging my shoulders as I tugged at my skirt nervously. Rossi let us go another handful of moments in silence before he prompted,

"But…?"

Being surrounded by profilers seriously never let me hide my own feelings. I'd been trying to keep it to myself, but I knew Rossi was just as stubborn as I was. He wouldn't let me play down what was bothering me.

"I just don't get how we can hear the word victim and see the same thing in such different light. You know?" I asked him softly, slumping back against the car as I looked up at the faint flicker of stars above us. "The Sheriff assumes Molly was an easy victim. Morgan thinks Ms. Foley is naïve. If that's what people think after all they went through… what does that make me?"

Rossi shifted on the bumper to face me completely, and I looked over to him now instead. His face had softened, and the usual humorous gleam in his dark eyes was gone, replaced with gentle understanding.

"To you, Molly wasn't easy, she was helpless. Ms. Foley wasn't naïve, she was innocent. The same words, maybe, but different connotations that change the way we see the victims. The way you see yourself." Rossi reached out and rested his hand over my own and said softly, "in your mind, you were innocent, you were helpless, you were vulnerable. Deep down, you're wondering if other have seen you in that different light. If they think you deserved what happened to you because you were just a stupid little girl who wasn't strong enough to stop herself from becoming just another victim. You wonder if that's how we see you, because after today, that's how you're starting to see yourself."

Tears pooled in my eyes and, with an admittedly pathetic sniffle, I nodded and did my best to keep my lower lip from quivering. Rossi smiled gently and gave my hand a squeeze.

"You're a victim. That's a fact, but that doesn't make you weak, dolcezza. That doesn't change who you are, or how your family sees you. You're still the feisty, ornery little firecracker you've always been."

The laugh that bubbled out of me pushed the tears back as I scoffed, "I'm not ornery."

"Eh, fine. Cantankerous, surly, difficult… I'm not picky," he teased as we both pushed to our feet. We were both worn out and, even though we both had much more to say about this, we were tapping out. We needed the few precious hours of sleep we were managing to get. As we reached the sidewalk outside the rooms, Rossi moved closer and rested his hands on my shoulder, giving me a genuine smile. "Just remember, whatever you call yourself, however you see yourself, you'll still be Aria to us, and that's what matters, okay kid?"

When I smiled in return, no tears this time, he reached up and cupped my cheeks briefly before stepping back. We murmured our goodnights and split off to our own rooms. The heaviness in my heart, the self-doubt and self-criticism still lingered, but I had a feeling that'd be there for some time.

The wounds Connor left me wouldn't just disappear after a few weeks, but… Rossi was right.

I was a victim, but I was still me.


A cup of tea was placed at my elbow and I glanced up from the mountain of papers I'd been buried in the last half hour. Hotch settled into the seat across from me, sipping from his own cup as he instantly fell back into the file he'd been reading.

He'd denied it a couple of times, but I was pretty certain he'd come right back to the station after dropping us off at the motel. Judging by the number of discarded coffee filters in the trash, he'd been here since at least 4am, and that was if I pretended he'd allowed himself a couple hours of sleep. Which, going off the dark circles under his eyes, was overly generous of me.

Before I could analyze my possibly-not-human boss further, I heard the station door swing open and Sheriff Ballantyne call out to us,

"There's been another abduction."

Rossi, Morgan, Sheriff Caulfield, and I all groaned as he led the rest of the team to gather around us. Spencer and Emily gathered beside me as the Sheriff reported,

"Name's Tara Ricker, family called this morning. She never came home last night. We're still trying to locate the vehicle."

"Great," Emily sighed, scrubbing a hand down her face. The rest of the team might have gotten some sleep, but the case was weighing so heavily that we all felt as worn through as Hotch looked. "We know he kills after he takes another victim, so now Molly's running out of time."

"All right, what do we know?" our weary leader prompted us, sitting up and looking around to each one of us. Even now, with as worn through as he had to be, the only thing showing in his dark gaze was unwavering belief. He knew the answer was here, and he knew the team would find it.

"I think we oughta start with the obvious question," Sheriff Ballantyne spoke up, arms crossing over his chest as his brows furrowed. "Are we sure Wilkinson was our killer from the 80's? There's no possibility that we've got it wrong and this is still the same guy from back then?"

"It'd be wasting time we don't have trying to dig up new leads," I explained, getting a doubtful glance from the Sheriff. "With how Mary Wilkinson acted being questioned about her late husband, and how well his death coincides with the end of the murders… at this point, the chance of it being the same guy are just so low it's a waste of time pursuing that theory."

The Sheriff shrugged and my temper already started spiking. I was not in the mood for his combativeness today. "But, you're sayin' it's still a possibility."

"Possible, maybe, but not probable," I told him. When he started to argue that, I pointed up at Spencer and added, "I'm sure our resident genius could whip us up some statistics, if you really think I'm wrong."

The doctor at my shoulder took a breath, ready to back me up, but at the look Hotch threw our way we both kept quiet.

"No need," he said, effectively stamping out my combative fire. The tone of his voice told me I was already inching out onto thin ice. Once satisfied I wasn't gonna snark out anything else, he looked up to the Sheriff. "I think we're dealing with a copycat who's holding to the same M.O. and the same dumpsite."

"Only you never released any of that to the press," Rossi pointed out, looking over at Sheriff Caulfield. The older man shook his head. Just as a lightbulb went off in my mind, Spencer spoke my thoughts out loud.

"To be this precise, he would've had to learn it from someone…"

"A family member, a friend maybe?" I added on, tipping my head back. Our eyes met and he matched the smile I gave him when he realized we were on the same brainwave.

The gasp of surprise from Emily got all of us swiveling at once to stare at her as she rushed out, "Mary and Robert Wilkinson had a son. Charles Wilkinson, goes by Charlie."

This time, both Sheriff Ballantyne and Sheriff Caulfield made noises of disbelief. The elder man beside Rossi looked around at us and asked skeptically, "are you really suggesting there is a genetic predisposition to killing?"

"It's can be a factor, that's for sure," Morgan confirmed, abandoning his spot at the map to step up beside Hotch as he elaborated, "along with psychology and socialization, it can add up to being one hell of a stressor. Right, sunshine?"

Now all eyes fell to me and I admittedly shrunk just a hint under all the sudden attention. Long, gentle fingers brushed the back of my arm; Spencer's silent reassurance helped me find my voice again. Managing a nod of confirmation, I explained, "if you take a combination of genetics from an UnSub like this and toss it into a son who grew up without a father, it could be a recipe for disaster. He'd spend his whole life searching for his own identity, trying to find out where he came from, and finding out his dad was a killer… it could definitely pile together to make an UnSub where there might not have been one before."

Sheriff Ballantyne still looked unconvinced. At this point, I was pretty sure Robert Wilkinson could've rose from his grave and killed the guy and he'd still have his doubts. Sheriff Caulfield, however, seemed to have taken to mine and Morgan's explanation.

"Now that you mention it, thinking about Charlie Wilkinson when he was 15… boy killed a neighbor's cat. He put it in a bag and hit it against a tree."

My face pulled into a grimace and Emily met my unsettled frown as she said,

"That's never a good sign. You'd be hard-pressed to find an animal abuser without the makings of a psychopath. How old is Charlie Wilkinson now?"

"Mary was pregnant with him when Robert died," Sheriff Caulfield said, and our group all drew in a collective, tense breath. Rossi was the one to finally say out loud,

"Twenty-seven. That'd make him roughly the same age Robert was when he started killing."

All eight of actually jumped when my phone began to ring. Stifling my yelp of alarm, I scrambled to answer it and, realizing who it was, I threw it on speakerphone instantly.

"Hey, Penny. Tell me you and JJ have something for us."

"What do you two have for us?"

"Would I ever disappoint you, my sweetness?" at the bemused chuckle I let out, she followed with, "I thought you'd like to know that JJ and I just managed to prove Karen Foley was indeed lying to you."

All of the others around me all perked up at that. I sat up a little straighter and asked quickly, "really? I was right about that?"

"Oh, right doesn't begin to cover it. Check your phone, honeybee. I've got something you're gonna wanna see."


The number of traffic laws I broke racing to Ms. Foley's house was something Emily and I wouldn't be disclosing to Hotch. I cut the travel time in half and we skid to a stop at the end of her driveway in just barely ten minutes.

We leapt out and practically ran for the house; Emily was ringing the doorbell before we even got onto the porch. As soon as Ms. Foley spotted us through the window, she was scowling.

"What are you doing back here?" she demanded as she ripped open her front door. She spared a wary look at Emily before her furious gaze fell to me again. "I told you before, I don't know anything –"

"We know what Robert Wilkinson did to you," she told her, and at the name of her abuser, the woman in front of me shrunk back into herself. The bravado she'd thrown out at us instantly vanished, and she just barely kept from flinching.

I knew that instinctual terror. My stomach churned for her, watching her try to fight the memories that were surfacing. As much as I hated dragging the poor woman back through all this, we were out of time to go slow. She didn't look at me as I pressed, "we know that you were raped by him, and we know that you have a son because of it."

Ms. Foley took another step back, her arms crossing protectively over herself as her eyes fell to the floor. For a couple of moments, I thought she'd try to deny what I was saying yet again. This time, though, she finally looked back up to me.

Her soft, blue eyes were shimmering with tears. The pain she'd been burying for so long had come tearing through her again and I couldn't help the guilt that rose up in me. In that moment I was just as terrified as she was, remembering the instant terror that had gripped me seeing Connor's text that night at Penelope's. The sickening fear that had rooted me to the spot hearing his voice for the first time in three years, the way my heart had seemed to stop every single time I said his name…

"I'm sorry," I whispered instinctually, my voice catching over the honest words that came spilling out before I could stop them. Ms. Foley held my stare for several long, aching moments. She was trying to read me like she had been yesterday. She was searching for any hint that I was lying. After a moment of studying my genuinely empathetic expression, she just cleared her throat and told us softly,

"Stephen, my son… he doesn't know the truth."

"May we come in?" Emily asked her, stepping up to my side. Whether she was truly accepting us into her home or whether she was too tired to fight this battle today, all she did was nod and step aside. She shut the door silently, and then motioned for us to follow her into the living room.

Emily and I sank down onto one of the couches as she settled across from us on the other. Then, to my complete surprise, her eyes fell to her lap and she began to twist her skirt nervously around her fingers.

Just like me. Just like I was doing now. My hands stilled and I forced them to spread out over my knees. Emily thankfully caught my own hesitation, and she took the lead for us. She sat forward and propped her elbows on her knees as she studied the trembling woman in front of us.

"You never told Stephen about his father?"

Ms. Foley shook her head quickly. "No. I… I made him out to be a hero. I wanted to have someone he could look up to, even if he didn't really have a father to help raise him."

"You were worried about how he was going to turn out, weren't you?" Emily continued, and after a brief hesitation, Ms. Foley finally nodded. "Why did you decide to have Stephen, if you were so concerned he'd take after his father?"

Twice, Ms. Foley opened her mouth to answer and nothing came out. Tears rolled down her cheeks and she hurriedly wiped them away. Maybe it was because I was getting better at profiling, or more realistically, maybe it was because I could relate to her more than I thought, but I already knew the answer.

"You didn't want to make your baby pay for what his father did," I guessed, and finally I got her to look up at me again. Her lip trembled, and she gave me a shaky nod. I smiled at her just a hint; I got it, I really did. Which is why I hated to segue into our overarching concern. "Ms. Foley, we… we know Stephen's been drinking again. He just got out of jail for a dui, right?"

Now, the woman across from me went alarmingly still. Her eyes instantly hardened as her defenses rose and her own fingers went still in her lap as well. "What are you trying to say, Miss DiMaggio?"

"You lied about your past because you're protecting your son," Emily profiled now; Ms. Foley wouldn't even look at her as she continued, "and now you're scared that he's the one who might be hurting these women, aren't you?"

Before she got the chance to answer, though, the front door swung open. Emily and I got to our feet as a young man – who I could safely assume was Stephen Foley – came inside. He paused seeing Emily and I already looking at him, and his eyes fell to Ms. Foley.

"Mom, what's going –" he cut off, rushing to her side in concern when he saw the tears in her eyes. Instantly he turned to us and his face darkened. "Who the hell are you? What's going on?"

"I'm Emily Prentiss, and this is Aria DiMaggio, FBI," Emily announced, which got Stephen tensing instantly. "We're investigating the disappearance of four women from this area."

"Yeah. The girl over at the Monroe farm," he said slowly, still looking between the three of us. "I heard about that."

"What do you know about the case, Stephen?" I prompted, watching as he moved forward to sink down beside his mom.

It was clear he was standoffish about the situation, just like his mom; it got Emily and I sharing a look of concern. After all Ms. Foley had gone through, all she'd overcome… man, I really hoped we had the wrong son.

Stephen scoffed at my question and started, "I don't know anything about –"

"Does the name Robert Wilkinson mean anything to you?" I threw out, which not only got him recoiling like I'd slapped him, but also got Ms. Foley reacting as well. Her whole body tensed up and she rushed,

"Please, Miss DiMaggio, don't say anything –"

"No, mom. It's okay," Stephen cut in. Ms. Foley whipped around to stare at her son in shock. He just reached out and took her hand as he held his questioning stare with me. "Is this about what he did to my mom?"

I, understandably, didn't quite know what to say to that. Ms. Foley was still gaping at Stephen – much like Emily and I were – and in the silence he cleared his throat and turned to face his mom.

"I know you thought you could keep it a secret, but I've known who my father is for a long time," he told her, almost apologetically. "I know it was him. I know what he did, mom."

"I – no," she insisted, shaking her head, more tears falling as she desperately clung to the life she'd built for him. "You don't – that's – your dad was a good man –"

"No, mom. He wasn't. He… Robert Wilkinson raped you." Ms. Foley cut off with a sob and pressed her hand to her mouth, trying to hold herself together as he continued, "that day I was cleanin' out the garage, and I found that article about Wilkinson dying in the farming accident, you remember? When you found me holding that newspaper, the look on your face… well, it wasn't hard for me to figure it out."

Ms. Foley shook her head, dropping her hand back to her lap as she stared at him in disbelief. "But – Stephen, that was almost ten years ago. You mean – you knew this whole time? You knew I was lyin' about your dad?"

"They were really great stories," he offered, getting a watery chuckle from his mom as she reached up, cupping his face. He leaned into her touch, smiling a bit as he said, "I knew you liked makin' me think he was a good guy. I knew it was important to you, and I didn't wanna take that away."

"I'm so sorry, honey," she cried, dropping her hold on him to bury her face in her hands. "I never wanted… I let you down, Stephen. I'm so sorry. I just wanted to be a good mom –"

She cut off with a sob, and I couldn't stay quiet anymore. Slowly, I moved around the coffee table and came up to the two of them. As I sank onto the cushion beside her, Ms. Foley lifted her head to fix her watery gaze on me.

The pain in her eyes cut me straight to the core, taking my breath away. Heartbreak, feeling like she'd let her son down. Raw agony as she ran through the memories of Robert Wilkinson, which brought on flickers of fury at the man who'd abused her and tore her apart. And, just like me, the hidden shame that was buried deep inside of her, the scars left behind that managed to convince her this was all somehow her fault.

Her own Connor had shattered her and left the pieces behind, and though she'd put them back together, the pain she'd never be able to get rid of shone through the cracks. Before I realized it, I'd reached out to rest a hand on her knee; she didn't push me away. Her eyes didn't waver from my own as I told her softly,

"His dad might not have been the great man you wanted him to believe he was, but you were a great mom to him. You are a great mom. You protected him, and despite the odds you rose up from what he tore you down to, and you made a good life for your son. The selfless love you gave him, all the hurdles you jumped to make sure he'd be okay… you raised him to become a good man."

Ms. Foley didn't speak, but the hand she settled over my own told me more than words ever could. Though she dropped her eyes to her lap again, she kept her hold on me. On her other side, Stephen cleared his throat and glanced between Emily and I.

"Let me guess. The FBI thinks the old case is connected to the new murders?"

"Yes we do," Emily said. I didn't miss the tensing of his jaw, the way his shoulders hunched in just a hint… he knew what we were here for.

"Wilkinson's dead… but I'm not, right?" he asked us quietly; Emily nodded, and Stephen looked down at his mom. Hurt flashed in his eyes, indignation beginning to rise. "Mom, you really think I could do something like this?"

My protective instincts spiked and I spoke before Ms. Foley had even looked up at him. "We're not accusing you, Stephen. I promise. We had to come here just to double check, but we're not blaming you for this." After a pause, as Stephen looked to me briefly before back at his mom, I urged, "none of us are."

Ms. Foley's hand tightened again, a silent thanks for defending her. I gave her knee a squeeze in return; I understood. I knew why she'd lied to us yesterday, and I didn't blame her one bit. I knew why she'd liked to Stephen. Why she had lied to every single person that'd undoubtedly asked her about her abuse, about her child's father, about her scars and her past that she was so desperate to leave behind…

She'd buried all that she'd gone through to protect herself and her child. Trying to move myself past what Connor put me through was exhausting and, at times, seemed impossible. The woman beside me had overcome so much, and I wasn't letting her doubt her choices or her strength.

"I didn't kill anyone," Stephen insisted, looking around to each one of us. "I swear it."

Emily and I shared a look, a small smile, and then she gave him a nod; we were on the same page. "We believe you."

He cleared his throat and gave a terse nod, ducking his head as he let our assurance sink in. I shifted forward a bit to face them, and Ms. Foley looked up to meet my gentle stare.

"I really hate to ask this… but, if you can, could you walk us through what you remember?" she tensed beneath my hand and I added quickly, "if you can't, I understand. We won't push you. But… anything you can give, any details, no matter how insignificant they may seem, they might be able to help us stop him."

"You might be able to save other girls from goin' through what I went through," she murmured; when I nodded, she let out a shaky breath. "I… I'll try."

"Take your time," Emily encouraged, coming around to perch on the coffee table in front of us. It was a subtle psychology technique, and I was glad she'd somehow read my mind (seriously, I was convinced all of them could at this point). The three of us had built a protective space around her, helping assure she was physically safe so that going back through the frightening memories would be a little easier.

"I… it's hard to know what was real, and what I was just imagining. The drugs… I had a hard time knowin' what was real, and what I was just dreamin'. Sometimes I remember wanderin' outside in the dark, sometimes I remember bein' chained up… All I know for sure is the barn. He covered my head almost all the time so I couldn't see where we were. Not like it mattered. He kept me so high I didn't even know what day it was. I – he made me dance for him," she whispered, shutting her eyes tight. More tears fell; my hand flipped over, and I took hold of hers. Her fingers tightened around mine as she drew in a shaky breath. "He called it our little party. He – he'd drink, get himself riled up, and then…"

She cut off, sucking in a sharp breath, eyes snapping open. For a few moments her gaze darted around the living room, over us, reassuring she wasn't there with him. Emily reached out now and put a hand on her other knee as Stephen wrapped an arm tight around her shoulder.

"Do you remember how you got away?" I asked, wanting to pull her away from the dark images I knew were starting to flicker through her mind. She swallowed hard and gave a shaky nod.

"Y-yes. He… he got so drunk one night he passed out. He'd forgotten to cuff me up again, and I realized the barn door was open. I just – I ran. I didn't stop runnin' till I got to the police station."

I felt Stephen draw back away from her and all of us looked up quickly to him. He wasn't looking at his mom, he was looking between Emily and I. There was rising, thinly-veiled anger in his stare as he bit out, "the cops didn't believe the story, did they?"

"No," I told him, not even making an attempt to cover up my own disgust. Ms. Foley looked up at me as Stephen met my eyes. "They wrote her off as a junkie. We've done a lot of research on Fredericksburg back in the 80's, and I know the Wilkinson's have been a well-known family for a couple generations. Everyone knew Robert's parents, and everyone knew Robert. Everyone liked Robert. Suddenly, some young girl high out of her mind comes running in, saying the Wilkinson boy they watched grow up did all these horrible things? It didn't fit into the view they had of him. Instead of taking her word, they wrote her off. It was easier to dismiss her accusations than face the possibility someone they respected could do such a terrible thing."

"They said that. About Robert. They said he could never do something like that," she whispered, looking up at me stunned. "How on earth did you know what they said?"

My heart wrenched. I knew that look on her face. It was the same one I'd seen in the mirror the night after Connor had attacked me. After my own parents called me a liar. After they apologized to Connor for the 'terrible things I said about him'.

I gave her a small smile as I told her simply, "I've… seen it happen before. I know it doesn't help you now, and I can't take back what they made you feel, but I'm sorry. I'm so sorry they didn't believe you."

"But we do," Emily promised her, nodding along with me. "Thank you for trusting us, I know that was hard to walk though, but it helps us. Aria and I are going to do all we can to make sure we stop –"

Emily's phone started ringing and all of us fell silent as she pulled it out, glancing to me as she answered, "yeah, Hotch. What've you got?... you what? Yeah, yeah. We can be there in a bit."

As she hung up, she met my questioning stare and said decisively, "Hotch needs us at the Wilkinson house."

Though Emily stood, I hesitated. The thought of leaving Ms. Foley here after we'd just ripped through her painful history didn't sit right with me. I'd just opened my mouth to tell Em I'd catch up when Ms. Foley cleared her throat.

"I'll be alright, hon. I've been alright for almost thirty years," she assured with a gentle smile. When I still didn't stand, she added, "those poor girls need you more than I do right now. I'll be just fine. I mean it."

"I'll make sure of it," Stephen promised us both, standing and urging his mom to join him. Squeezing my hand again, Ms. Foley stood and tugged me up after her. On my feet, we let go of one another, but she reached up and rested her hand on my arm in another quiet, thankful gesture.

"You still have Emily's card, so if you need anything, just call and I'll come straight back," I told her. She just nodded, tears in her eyes, and as we stepped back she added,

"It might not help, but I remembered something else. I… where he held me, there was a peace symbol. I scratched it into the wall. I touched it every night before he – before he came for me."

"It does help. Thank you," I told her, smiling in appreciation. She let out a shaky breath and nodded quickly, clutching her sweater tighter around her shoulders. Stephen, at her side again, wrapped his arm around her.

I didn't need to worry. Ms. Foley was strong. She'd picked herself back up, dusted herself off, and carried both her and her son through the hellish memories Robert Wilkinson had left her in.

She would pull through this too. She would be okay.

Emily and I raced across the small down – breaking even more traffic laws than before – and reached the Wilkinson farm in what had to be record time. Spencer was waiting for us as we pulled up; he was a comfort I didn't know I'd needed after going through all that with Ms. Foley. Emily and I hurried up to him, and he pointed back towards a barn on the far side of the property; my stomach churned. Ms. Foley had mentioned he took her to a barn…

"Hotch and the others are in there. It's… we're sure it's Charlie," he explained, falling into step with us as we hurried across the lot. I pulled a face and, though I figured I already knew the answer, I still asked,

"No sign of Molly or Tara?"

Spencer shook his head, meeting my disappointed frown with one of his own. As we reached the barn, Hotch heard us approaching and he peeled off from the others to meet our little group. When he reached us, I asked him quickly,

"Did you guys happen to find a peace sign? Ms. Foley said she carved one into the wall where she was being held.

"Not that I'm aware of," Hotch regrettably reported. "It doesn't seem like this is where he held them, and I don't think Charlie would hold them here now. He'd need something more isolated."

"Ms. Foley wasn't certain, but I definitely think she was kept somewhere else," Emily agreed, looking around the barn. "Even drugged up, they'd make too much noise too close to the house to be kept here for long."

"Going off our profile, he must've kept her close," Spencer pointed out, hands stuffing into his pockets as he studied the barn. "Maybe he had another barn down the road? Another safehouse?"

I'd been looking around too, mind wandering back to what Ms. Foley had said. Wanderin' around outside in the dark… Slowly, I turned and made my way back to the barn door. Spencer, at my side, instantly moved to follow me as he called out, "Aria? What is it?"

Outside the barn, I took a proper look around us. Almost all sides of the property were bordered by forest. The ground around and inside the barn was just dirt – soft and cool, like she'd said – but the forest floor would be hard, littered with sticks and rocks that'd hurt to step on barefoot, uneven ground to make her trip…

"She thought she was walking outside at times," I said, looking up when Spencer reached my side once again. Footsteps crunching behind me got me glancing back to see Emily, Hotch, and now Morgan had followed us outside. "She wasn't totally sure, since he had her drugged, but if her peace sign isn't here, I think she was right. I think he was keeping her somewhere else and he made her walk back and forth."

Hotch folded his arms over his chest, frown deepening as he finished, "wherever he took her to is probably where Charlie's holding Tara and Molly now."

Morgan glanced around – taking in the overwhelming amount of trees around us like I had – and sighed. "That's a lot of ground to cover, especially if we're not sure. Sunshine, you think Ms. Foley could handle comin' back here so we could do a cognitive? Maybe jog her memories?"

"I… I really don't know," I told the guys around us, sharing a glance with Emily. She looked just as uncertain as I felt. "Just looking back in the safety of her home was rough. To have her back here…"

"We wouldn't ask if we had any other choice," Spencer said gently at my shoulder. I tipped my head up, and I caught the look of understanding he held. A glance at Hotch and Morgan met me with the same stare. They all knew where my mind was at. They knew exactly what I was thinking.

I would never want to go back to Connor's apartment. How can I ask her to come back to this barn?

Emily reached up and settled a comforting hand on my shoulder. When I met her eyes she told me softly, "I think… if it were you asking her to, I think she'd agree to it. You got through to her, and if you asked, I think she'll want to help us save Tara and Molly."

"I know," I sighed, heart sinking to my stomach as I slowly pulled out my phone. "I just wish I didn't have to ask."


The police car approaching the barn caught my attention. I looked up instantly, heart sinking impossibly lower when I realized Ms. Foley was here. Hotch, Emily, and Rossi had gone to the Wilkinson house to dig through some of Robert's old journals that Charlie's wife had turned over.

Spencer, though, was right at my side. When I looked up at him, the guilt starting to rise up again, he gave me a supporting nod. "It'll be okay."

Three simple words quelled the anxiety buzzing through me as I nodded in return and started for the police car. Was this a terrible idea? Would it bring back the trauma and ruin all the progress she'd made over the years? Would we destroy the life Ms. Foley had pieced together? What if it didn't even work, and we broke her down for nothing?

I couldn't think like that. Not right now. I had to focus, and I had to trust the team – trust myself. This was the best option we had, and this was going to help. It was going to be okay; Spencer said so, and he was never wrong.

"Thank you so much for doing this," I said as Ms. Foley climbed out of the car. Stephen, thankfully, had joined her too. More support, more reassurance. It would be okay. "I'm so sorry. I know how hard this is for you."

Stephen came around the car to stand beside his mom as she took a shallow, panicked breath. "She's been shakin' the whole way here. You sure this has to happen? Maybe we should –"

"I – I can do this," Ms. Foley whispered, looking between us. She paused as more people came forward, looking at the others around us. "Are these more of your team?"

"Yeah, yeah. Emily's busy helping with something else, but they're all here to help us. To help you," I promised. "This is Agent Rossi and Dr. Reid. We're all gonna walk through this with you, okay?."

As I moved back to give her space, her hand shot out and caught my own. Her panicked eyes met mine as she clung to me and asked, "stay with me. Please."

Silently, I nodded and flipped my hand over, lacing our fingers together and giving a squeeze. My other hand folded over hers and I held tight to her. "I'm here. We'll do this together, okay?"

"Okay," she whispered, taking a trembling breath as she turned to face the barn. Stephen was on her other side, and the two of us slowly led her forward. The moment we reached the barn door, though, Ms. Foley froze and sunk back into her son's hold.

"Oh, god…" she breathed, squeezing her eyes shut, fingers tightening around my own.

"Are you okay?" I asked quickly. She turned to me, putting her back to the barn as gave a shaky nod.

"It's… that smell. The dirt, the rotting wood, the rusting metal…" she shuddered and struggled to take a breath. As her eyes opened, I felt her tense. She was looking over my shoulder, and I turned to follow her gaze as she asked slowly, "who is that?"

The woman behind us, standing with Sheriff Caulfield, was someone new to me. I shook my head and Spencer stepped up to us to say, "that's Mary Wilkinson. Robert Wilkinson's –"

"The wife?!" she hissed, ripping out of both mine and Stephen's hold. Fury instantly ignited behind her teary eyes and her face twisted into pure disgust. "He tortured me every single night! Could you hear my screams!? Did you kiss him when he was finished with me!?"

"Ms. – Ms. Foley, don't to this to yourself," I started quickly, trying to hold her back. She wrenched her arm out of my hold and knocked me back out of her way. Spencer's arm wrapped around my shoulders to steady me, and I sank into his hold just a hint. I didn't have it in my heart to stop her.

I'd wanted to do the same thing. I wanted to scream at my 'friends' back home, at Connor's neighbors, at my family… I wanted them to explain why they'd refused to help me when I needed it.

"What did you think he was doing in that barn every night?! Did you even ask? Why didn't you stop him? Why didn't you help me?! Did you even care –"

"I killed him!" Mary shouted, cutting off Ms. Foley instantly and getting a gasp of surprise from both Spencer and myself. Jolted back to the present, I hurried up to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Her hand came up to tangle into my sweater, hanging onto me as she breathed out,

"You… what?"

Mary just gave a terse nod, ignoring the gaping stares from the rest of us as she held Ms. Foley's tearful gaze. "Before Charlie was born. I came home, I saw this place, and I knew what he'd done. And I couldn't let my innocent baby be brought into this."

I looked back in alarm to Spencer and Rossi. What the heck did we do with this now?! Ms. Foley sank against me, nodding slowly as she let the words fully sink in. And then, she gave a small nod as she whispered,

"You killed… you did?" Mary nodded, and Ms. Foley actually smiled just a bit. "Thank you."

Mary gave another nod, and thankfully Rossi skirted past us to go handle the bomb that'd just been dropped on us. He waved me back to Spencer, and gently I turned Ms. Foley back around to lead her back towards the barn.

Though she tensed again, she didn't freeze. Hearing that Mary Wilkinson had killed Robert… hearing someone had stood up for her all those years ago, it gave her the strength today to walk into that barn.

Stephen and Spencer walked behind us, and Ms. Foley took my hand once again as we moved further inside. She held tight to me as she looked around; she'd started shaking again. "I… I don't know what I can do, Miss DiMaggio. He… he always had that bag over my head, and I don't really remember anythin' outside of this barn."

"With your sight taken away, your other senses might've been in overdrive," Spencer explained. "We're going to walk you through a recall technique that plays off all five senses, allowing your mind to find the information you think you're missing."

Ms. Foley took another breath – a little deeper and less shaky – and then nodded. Still holding her hand, I moved a little closer and instructed, "shut your eyes for me, and let's take a couple steps. Think about what the ground felt like."

She did as I asked, her other hand coming over to hold onto my sweater again as we slowly took a few steps through the barn. She paused suddenly, head tilting to the side, face screwing up as she let herself get pulled back through her memories.

"Leaves… twigs. The ground was really uneven, and I stumbled a lot. Bumped into bushes and branches. There was a hill we had to climb when he took me back," she murmured. Her hand slowly lifted off mine and she reached out, fingers closing around something that wasn't there. "At the end, we'd stop for a bit before he locked me away. There's something… soft, cold. It's over something hard…"

"Was it wood? A tree, maybe?" I offered up, and she shook her head slowly.

"No, no… it's… stone. It was rocks. They were tall, taller than me. I was surrounded by rocks when he'd lock me up –"

"Along the north side of the property," Mary told us from the doorway of the barn. Ms. Foley's eyes snapped open, and we all turned to look over at her and Rossi as Mary explained, "there're some big boulders about a quarter mile past the house. I can take you there."

Rossi nodded, and motioned for Mary to follow him. Spencer rested his hand against my arm to get my attention, and when I looked back he said quickly, "I'll go get Hotch."

As he, Rossi, and Mary raced off towards the house, Ms. Foley looked up to me in surprise. "Did… did that help?"

"Yes," I promised her, smiling and squeezing her hand. "That helps us so much. Here, let's get out of her. I can run and grab you some water, alright?"

She nodded wordlessly and let me pull her back out of the barn. Only once Stephen had his arm around her did I dare pull my hand away. Before I could move for the house, though, Ms. Foley called out quickly,

"You were wrong, Miss DiMaggio." Concern prickled through me and I looked back, tipping my head in confusion when I saw the smile on her face. "At my house, you apologized. You said it didn't help now, but it did. It really helps, more than you know."

Tears came to my eyes now, and I swallowed hard to try and keep them back. I gave her a quick nod as I said softly, "I'm really glad it did."

"And…" she added, before I could turn away. She reached out and took hold of my hand as she told me, "I'm sorry too."

"Why are you sorry?"

"I know why you believed my story, and I know why you knew the police officers sided with Robert. You said you filed a report like mine, and I'm sorry to see the same pain in you that I have in me." The tears fell down my cheeks unexpectedly, and I hurriedly reached up with my free hand to brush them off. As I did, I saw Ms. Foley look past me again, and I turned to see Mary Wilkinson heading off into the forest with Hotch and Morgan.

When I looked back to her, she was crying too, and she gave my hand a squeeze as she whispered, "I see the same strength in you that I saw in myself that morning, when I realized there was no one there to pick me up so I'd have to do it myself. I know you'll move past what you've had to go through, and I hope one day you'll get the same closure I got… even if it takes thirty years and a combine harvester."

Laughing at that probably wasn't appropriate, but thankfully Ms. Foley joined in. For just a few moments, I wasn't an intern with the FBI and she wasn't a traumatized mom trying to fight her way through life.

We weren't victims. We were two survivors pushing past the trauma and laughing the wake of all the painful, lingering memories that had become a part of us.

As we let go of one another, Ms. Foley stepping back to her son as I started after my team – my family - the weight of the abuse and the ache of the scars Connor had left eased up just a bit. It wasn't over, of course. Not by a long shot. I knew that my past, my pain, it would stay with me in some way for the rest of my life.

The abuse was a part of me, but it wasn't all of me.

I wouldn't let it define me.


The drive back to Quantico had been a quiet one. Hotch and Spencer, stuck with me again, didn't even tease me about my speeding. Spencer's silence in the backseat – lost in two different books – didn't really surprise me.

It was the man in the seat next to me that had me concerned. Hotch hadn't said much to me after the case had come to a close. He'd checked on me, of course, but as soon as I assured the tears on my face were good tears, he'd slipped away and hadn't seen him until we'd all gathered by the SUV's to leave.

Even now, as the team reconvened in the bullpen and started to pack up, he'd gone straight up to his office. Worry gnawed at the back of my mind as I ran back through the events of the day. At this point I doubted he'd slept at all last night, and now he had to be running on fumes.

Was he just tired? Had the case touched him in some way like it'd touched me? What I wouldn't pay to read minds like he undoubtedly could… my troubled thoughts were pushed aside as Morgan slung his back over his shoulder and called out,

"Alright, who's up for a drink?"

"Ooh," Emily said instantly, coming up to the rest of us with JJ and Penelope in tow. My best friend instantly scuttled to my side, wrapping me in a much-needed hug as Em teased, "who's up for five?"

She, Rossi, and JJ instantly put up their hands, but as Spencer wrestled the strap of his bag over his head he mumbled,

"Um, I don't know –"

"Uh-uh. Stop with the 'I don't know'. You're in, kid." When I looked up, I saw Spencer glance back at me. Morgan followed his gaze, shared a dangerous smile with Penelope, and then asked, "what about you, sunshine? You comin' out with us?"

"I owe you a drink for giving me a ride the other morning anyways," Penny chirped, looping her arm with mine and leaning against me with a playful smile. I rolled my eyes.

"No, you don't. You just want to see me drunk," I laughed; she shrugged in agreement. I'd been planning on getting a jump on my homework before class on Monday, but when I caught sight of the hopeful smile on Spencer's face, how could I resist? Butterflies already flurrying through me, I nodded and joined the others as we headed for the elevator. "Yeah, yeah. Might as well. Someone's gotta keep you guys in line."

Hotch had somehow slipped past our group, pulling ahead of us and starting to make a beeline for the glass doors. The concern spiked again; he never left without telling us all goodnight. I pulled free from Penelope's hold and trotted forward, calling out,

"Hey, Hotch?" he paused and looked back, surprised to hear me stopping him. I offered a small smile and asked, "you wanna come have a drink with us?"

To my relief, the tiniest smile flickered over his face and he gave a little nod. "Yeah, sure. I think we could all use a break –"

"Agent Aaron Hotchner?" The man that had practically materialized in the bullpen with us froze when all seven of us snapped our startled stares onto him. He quickly held out a manilla envelope to him and asked, "can I get a signature from you?"

"Of course," Hotch murmured, tucking the envelope under his arm as the little bit of happiness I'd pulled out of him instantly disappeared. He passed the clipboard back and then stared down at the envelope.

The rest of us shared a collectively puzzled look, and then Morgan motioned for me to say something. Giving him a frown, I stepped up and asked him worriedly,

"Hotch? What is it?"

He let out a slow breath, collecting himself before he looked up at me. Though his face was as stoic as it had been all night, he couldn't hide the pain shimmering in his dark eyes. He held my stare for a heartbeat before he told me, "Haley's filing for divorce. I've been served."

My heart plunged into my stomach and for a moment I couldn't take a breath. He saw the shock on my face and he pressed his lips together tight before turning and leaving us without another word.

What?! Divorce? I'd just – just yesterday he'd stayed home and had breakfast with her! They were going to marriage counseling, Hotch said they were starting to talk again, they'd been so sweet and happy when I'd stayed for dinner…

As the others started to murmur together behind me, I turned and began to back for the doors. They all fell silent as they looked up at me, and I said simply, "raincheck on the drinks. I'll see you guys later."

The team nodded in understanding. Penelope and Spencer offered waves as I turned and hurried off through the lobby. I didn't bother with the elevator. If I knew Hotch – and I liked to think I did at this point – he wouldn't be going to his car. He wouldn't be ready to go home just yet.

It wasn't hard to find him, really. He'd gone down to the courtyard between the buildings, and he'd settled on the same bench we often ended up at after training. Part of me was hopeful that he'd let me find him, because he didn't seem at all surprised when I took a seat beside him.

He was staring straight ahead, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees, hand clasped beneath his chin. The envelope sat between us and I picked it up, staring down at it as I said softly,

"I never thought to ask you yesterday how breakfast went, and now I really wish I had."

Hotch was quiet for another couple of moments. When he finally spoke, he was so quiet I almost couldn't hear him.

"She said she couldn't feel the love between us anymore," he began, still staring straight ahead. There weren't any tears in his eyes, no catch in his voice, but I could feel the agony through the words he forced out. "She told me every moment we had together now was so overshadowed by my dedication to this job that she couldn't enjoy the time we spent with each other. All she could think about was when I'd break my next promise to come home to her and Jack. She said I had to decide who I loved more… my family, or my team."

It took me a second to respond because I was getting choked up. I cleared my throat and finally asked, "what did you say to her?"

"I told her JJ had just called. That we had a case and the team needed me. "I told her I had to go," he whispered bitterly, the disgust at his own actions leaking through the defenses he was fighting so hard to keep up. "Haley said that if I left, she'd have my answer. As I was walking out, I asked if she could give me a little more time to make things right. Now I have her answer, too."

Hotch's hands tightened under his chin, his lips pressed together, but he didn't cry. I could see him fighting to keep himself as composed as he always was, fighting to keep himself strong in as the world around him tried to pull him to his knees.

God, I knew how heartbroken he had to be. He loved Haley, and the only person he loved more than her was Jack. He was a dedicated agent, and he poured his soul into making this world a better place, but his wife and son always had all of his heart.

He thought that the counseling would help fix it. He'd been so skeptical, but after that first session he was hopeful. He'd come into work smiling that Monday, telling me he felt closer to Haley than he had for years. Hotch had been so happy to finally start building his relationship back up with her and it had all been ripped out from under him.

I couldn't blame Haley, as much as a part of me wanted to. She was just as hurt as he was, having him leave her and Jack constantly to go fix other families while his own fell apart. As valid as her own pain was, though, I was in Hotch's corner. I had no idea how to fix this – and, really, I didn't think it could be fixed anymore – but I knew what Hotch needed.

I sat the envelope aside and scooted closer to him so that I was pressed up against his side. He didn't pull away but he went stiff at my side. I took a deep breath – shoving down the lump in my throat – and told him softly,

"This super smart guy once told me, it's okay if you lose it every once in a while, and there's nothing wrong with that. It reminds us that we're human."

Hotch still didn't look down at me, didn't speak, but his hands slowly came down and his shoulders hunched in just a hint. And then, slowly, he bowed his head. His eyes shut tight and he let out a shaking breath.

Tears fell to the sidewalk beneath us, glinting in the soft light of the moon, a trembling staccato against the stillness of the night. All I could offer was my company, a silent reminder that he wasn't alone in the darkness he had fallen into.

He didn't speak; neither of us did anymore. We didn't need to. I knew he appreciated me being there. He knew I understood this was all that I could offer, and that for now it was enough. There weren't any words for this.

There was nothing more that could be said or done to fix what had broken tonight.


Happy Monday, you sweet little souls!

I wanted to thank you all again for all your kind thoughts and well wishes for my grandma. She passed away on the 10th and the last few days were rough. Honestly, though, having all your kindness from the last few weeks (well, honestly, the last like six months!) has really helped me through! Things are alright and thanks to you and this story I've been able to keep my head up. I can't thank you guys enough.

This chapter was a hard one, I know! There's a lot to unpack here, so I'm really looking forward to your thoughts! How do you feel about Aria and Ms. Foley? How about Hotch?! When will Rossi finally admit he's in the mob? Let me know your thoughts! I know there wasn't a lot of Aria and Spencer in this one, but believe me when I say the next couple of chapters will be making up for that!

As always thank you guys so much for reading and supporting both the story and myself! I'm so happy to hear how much you love Aria and SLAS, and I hope this story makes your day brighter, just like you guys do for me!

Have an amazing week!