A/N: Happy Thanksgiving everybody! Thanks again for all the support. :)
June 2009
Benjamin Allen once asked, "Does time heal all wounds?"
No, it doesn't. Healing heals wounds.
How do wounds heal?
In their own time, in their own way. In your own time, in your own way.
He stands and inspects himself against the tiny mirror hanging by a thread in the hospital bathroom. The only thing between him and his scars; a tight set of bandages bound to his torso like a tourniquet. In some ways, they've kept the pain contained. But there's no denying that they have kept him in a state of limbo, a reminder of what happened and the process of trying to move forward.
Whatever moving forward meant…
It had been four days. Perhaps the longest four days he'd ever lived.
And it was hard to describe. Almost like he was hovering over his own body, seeing himself in the third person. The dissociation perhaps the only thing preventing him from having to think. Hotch hated to admit it, but the painkillers were a blessing, inducing that feeling of numbness. He now understood why people got hooked… It was an escape, an ecstasy simply at the drop of a pill.
With scissors in hand, he slid one blade beneath the thin cotton, letting it hover there momentarily. He felt a simultaneous heaviness and expansion of relief as he snipped the first bandage, letting it sag to the ground. Then went the other three, each strand revealing the tender wounds over his torso, safely hidden away by more bloodied dressing.
Nurses had come in at 5 on the dot every evening… pulling away the bandages slightly and checking for any signs of infection, ensuring the wounds were healing nicely.
Hotch hadn't the energy to look, merely stared into space as the medical professionals did what they needed to. He didn't want Emily to be in the room either as they nursed him; she didn't need to see him like this… Tormented and weak.
The process took 10 to 15 minutes as they changed each dressing and rewrapped him in the bandage to help with any swelling, dabbing a potent antiseptic cream on in the process. Then he'd go back to sleep a short while after, the pain medication knocking him out for a couple of hours.
Removing the first dressing just below his bottom left rib, Aaron first caught a glimpse of the eyesore staring him down in the mirror. It astounded him how long the wound stretched across, along with the slight swell of redness surrounding the crusted slice. It was weeping slightly, of clear fluid, something the nurses said was to be expected and normal with an injury of this nature.
Within seconds, Hotch relived the memory of laying on the ground, powerless and weak, while the bastard hovered over him. He felt his breath hitch and his legs weaken. Shakily, he lowered himself to the toilet seat, ripping off the remaining 7 dressings scattered over his abdomen.
"Hotch? You all good?" He heard the brunette ask from outside the door.
"I'm alright," he lied, staring down the wall opposite.
God knows how long he sat there, silently crying before redressing his wounds and returning to bed.
The following morning, Hotch was discharged from the hospital.
With a supervisor down in the team and the events leading to it, Strauss had ordered everyone to take two weeks' leave. On the other hand, Hotch had been ordered by the doctor to take a mandatory month off to allow for complete internal healing of his wounds, with the condition he'd need evaluating before his return.
How he'd survive for that long, with no work and no Jack… No distractions… Emily honestly didn't know how he'd cope. That little boy was the one thing in this world that breathed life into every crevasse of Hotch's soul. To not know how long it would be before Aaron got to hug him again… For him to kiss his little boy as he wound down for the night and fell asleep…
She had faith they'd be reunited again (however long that may be), but everyone silently knew it'd be one hell of a fight to take down Foyet. And for Hotch, the one person who'd chased and studied Foyet for nearly his entire career with the BAU, Emily could already tell he was jumping to the worst-case scenarios.
It sucked that she didn't know what else she could do for him. Usually, with a case, his way of dealing with the burden was to bottle it in for a while and then let it all out. Having his pride and joy ripped away came along with so many more dimensions, and the toll of that had already affected Aaron in ways that not even he had yet realised.
The pop radio station filled the silence between them as they drove home to Emily's apartment. Hotch's eyes were fixed out the windshield, his gaze empty and numb. And Prentiss, with so many thoughts riveting her head at any given time, couldn't think of anything.
After pulling into the underground basement and clicking the vehicle into park, Emily killed the engine. "You alright?" She asked softly, letting her hand softly caress his black sweatpants. His eyes were darting around the parking lot, a trauma response on top of his already cautious nature.
Deeming the area to be relatively safe, Hotch nodded slightly before pulling at the handle to exit the car. Instinctively, he opened the trunk and took out all his gear, but Emily stopped him with a hand resting upon his shoulder. "I'll do it; you go ahead."
"I'm not completely helpless, you know," he teased back with an undertone of seriousness. At that, Emily relented and passed him the softest and lightest bag she could find. "Pass me another one."
"Hotch, the doctor said-"
"A couple of bags won't hurt."
Internally wanting to roll her eyes at his stubbornness, she passed him her overnight bag, which he slung over the other shoulder. If he was in pain, she didn't catch any sign of it. "Okay… We'll test that resolve after you've walked up two stories."
Taking the remainder of the heavier belongings out of the trunk, the pair made their way upstairs. Upon entering the apartment and disarming the security alarm, Aaron's first instinct was to survey the house, ensuring everything seemed in order. Once satisfied, he plopped himself down on the sofa and surfed through channels on the television, eventually landing on some documentary about the amazon rainforest.
Meanwhile, Emily started unpacking everything from the hospital, putting away Hotch's pain medication on the island counter, as well as the hundreds of dressings and bandages the hospital provided. "Prentiss…" She heard him mutter from the living room.
"What do ya need?" She answered back, glancing in her fridge to figure out what she would be cooking for dinner tonight.
"Just sit down."
"Babe, this won't take long. I just wanna put everything away."
"Do it later," he muttered back again. Emily wanted to laugh.
"Do it later," she mocked, making her way into the living room with her arms folded. "That's exactly why your apartment is still filled with boxes. Remind me again how long you've been there?"
"That's beside the point. Sit down."
Grinning slyly at her lover, Emily continued to stand. "Can I get you anything before I do? Coffee?"
"I can get it myself."
"Uhh… I know you can, but you won't. That's why you're here. Sit the hell down."
Having a slight chuckle to himself, Aaron obeyed her orders as she returned to the kitchen and flicked the jug on. "It feels wrong. You doing everything for me."
"It's the least I can do. And before you say it, I am NOT overcompensating; I'm just trying to help."
"I appreciate that. Just… Don't feel like you must bend over backwards for me."
While waiting for the water to boil, Emily returned to the living room, taking a seat on the single chair diagonal to Hotch. "I'm not…." She took a breath. "Sometimes you've just got to let people help you, Hotch. No matter how much you hate it. You've always done the same for me in a heartbeat... Now it's my turn." She smiled.
"One condition… I change my dressings on my own."
Emily nodded, wondering if that was due to a fear of her seeing his scars or if he simply didn't want to be touched. Five days later, Emily still hadn't seen the consequences of Foyet's attack. Not that she necessarily wanted to. "Of course."
"Thank you."
"Can I ask you something?" Hotch glanced at her, his way of egging her on. "You're gonna see someone about this, aren't you?"
"Of course, I've got a check-up next week with the doctor."
"No. Not that… Therapy."
Hotch stayed silent, glancing to the floor as he licked his lips in concentration.
"I know you don't want to, but if it's not me… Or Rossi, or anyone else, what's happened will eat you up from the inside. More than it already has." Deeming it safe to carry on, Emily breathed a sigh. "You know what Gideon would say… You can't go quiet with this job."
"It wouldn't help," Aaron confessed, glancing at the brunette.
"How do you know?" She prompted, leaning forward. "How do you know if you don't try?"
"Prentiss, I have tried before. Every person I've ever been to says the things I already know. It's not beneficial."
"But this time, it's different. This time, everything you hold dear to you has been ripped away. Admit it, Hotch, you're NOT COPING without your little boy…."
"Of course, I'm not, Prentiss!" he snapped back, tears sprouting in his eyes but not falling. "What else am I supposed to do except lay around all day with nothing to do or think about, except Jack and fucking Foyet!"
"That's exactly my point…." Emily argued back, remaining level-headed amid his emotional outburst. "You're angry. And you need to find a way to channel that anger into some distraction that will benefit you without hurting yourself or anybody else."
"Prentiss, you know what will be a good distraction? If we don't talk about it at all."
Holding her hands up in defence, Emily quietly made her way back to the kitchen, scooping coffee into each mug before topping it up with boiling water. "That's your solution? To keep bottling it up?"
He sat there thoughtfully for what seemed like minutes. As Emily returned to the sofa with his black coffee, he admitted quietly, "you're right… I'm lashing out at you for all the wrong reasons."
"There's no right or wrong way to deal with what you're going through. I know from experience that not talking about it makes the experience a million times worse."
Aaron nodded as the brunette sat at the opposite end of the sofa, gazing absent-mindedly into her drink. He shut off the television before breathing a heavy sigh. "I'll see someone this week… Whether it helps or not, I guess we'll see."
Emily couldn't help but smile softly in his direction. "I'm glad you're going to give it a go. That's all I ask."
"You think you could do me a favour?"
"Anything."
"Can you swing by the Bureau and grab me Foyet's case files off my desk? If I ever have a chance of getting Jack back, I need those files…."
"What do you hope to get out of them that you don't already have?" Emily questioned quietly.
"Maybe I'll find something with fresh eyes."
Ever so hesitantly, Emily agreed with a nod. If it meant he could channel his anger into tracking down a new lead for Foyet, then the brunette was all for it. On the other hand, Hotch could get nowhere and drive himself into a deeper depression. She hated to think it, but it was a more likely consequence of the two, considering the whole decade it had taken to track the man down. Who's to say he couldn't hide for another ten?
"You feel like coming for another drive? Or do you wanna sit this one out?"
"I'll come…." Hotch answered, not wanting to spend another moment sitting in silence.