Mid July 2009

He often thought about where the line lay between trauma and normality.

Were you considered emotionally scarred if you'd accustomed to the daily sight of human organs torn out and bodily fluids smeared across the walls? Was it wrong if you didn't feel scared after being shot at by one of the world's most prolific serial killers? At what point did something otherwise 'normal' change into a niggling feeling that simply wouldn't leave you alone?

Every time, Hotch came to the same conclusion; there is no such thing as a line between one's trauma and lifestyle. There's comfort within the pain and stress woven into this little thing we call 'growing old', and nobody would ever experience it the same.

Therapy often got a bad rap. And Aaron could understand why; the blatant expression of sympathy, the same questions, 'Why did you react that way?' 'How did that make you feel?' 'Have you tried this?' 'That's normal. Nothing to worry about.' Sugarcoating the serious problems deep within was the last thing anybody needed.

Most people seeking help wanted nothing more than for all their years of pain to fade away. And while Hotch understood that in most cases going to therapy had the goal of having a conversation with yourself in a mirror, he yearned for that two-way connection.

Maybe it was why he felt so apprehensive about approaching a therapist every year. Because what was the point in going if somebody wasn't there to truly listen and advise?

From what Aaron had heard quietly from people around the bureau, the Doctor he was about to see had vast experience working with law enforcement. Her name was Jeannie, and everybody she'd helped raved about her expertise. Aware that most of his pain was caused by Jack being kept away, Hotch highly doubted any suggestions she'd give would be of benefit. As far as he was concerned, Foyet needed multiple gunshot wounds to the head, and everything would be fine.

With that in mind, he still wanted to try.

For Jack.

For himself.

Mainly for Emily, who wanted nothing more than him to have a professional to whom he could vent.

Soft baby blue wallpaper lined her office walls, complemented by a literal jungle of plants, some climbing up the wall. He'd always loved the colour blue; that wasn't surprising given its calming qualities. It was, after all, the most popular favourite colour in the world. A quiet radio played outside the door in the waiting room, its distant hums only just reaching their ears if the silence prevailed.

Their conversation started with the usual 'everything stays confined in these four walls' mantra. Jeannie seemed assertive and professional with her grey pantsuit and round spectacles on. Then she slowly lured him onto the topic of why he was there.

And as he expected, Aaron shut down.

Pieces of the assault sauntered back into his memory as he stared into space; each stab wound, the spilt whiskey smeared into the carpet with broken glass, the sweat that glistened on Foyet's forehead. It amazed him that he recalled so many details, the littlest things, as he let his mind drift backwards.

Though Hotch knew from interviewing countless family members how textbook it was for everybody to experience their trauma differently, he didn't expect it to feel like someone had swiped the floor out from beneath his feet as he stumbled for words. It felt awkward and uncomfortable as Jeannie sat diagonally in her chair, silently tapping her fingers against the brown leather while she reassured Hotch of the normality of what he was going through.

His respect for the woman grew with each moment. How she sat here all day long, all week, listening and helping people through the worst periods of their lives, Aaron didn't know how these people did it. Yes, helping people through the tough times was a part of his job description, but that wasn't nearly the same as actively letting strangers vent their lives and problems onto you.

Twenty minutes into the session, Aaron wanted to tell Jeannie everything that had happened… Yet, he couldn't bring himself to. Not because he felt pained by the events leading him to where he was, but because he hadn't the mental energy to relive it. The mere thought of putting everything in his head into words exhausted him, let alone trying to figure out his feelings.

Jeannie sensed this and didn't push Aaron to say anything; she merely provided him with a few coping tips and a brand-new black journal for an emotional outlet if he needed it. "See how you go with that the next couple of weeks. Doesn't have to be a whole essay each day. Doesn't have to be anything… It's whatever you are feeling at any moment."

A diary wasn't what Aaron expected as he met Emily back at the car. But it was something to start with. Whether it would help or not, he would soon see.

000000000000000000000000000000000

Virginia was well and truly into the horrendous humidity that came with the summer heat. Hotch couldn't stand it, that feeling of walking into a hot oven every time he stepped outside. Emily, on the other hand, couldn't get enough of it. It amused Aaron how they were so alike, yet they could be polar opposites at the flick of a switch.

As soon as they returned to the apartment, Hotch immediately headed into the ensuite for a cold shower. That was the only part of summer he enjoyed, letting his mind wander under icy water trickles.

He could tell on the drive home that Emily was curious about how the session went. Hotch told her the truth, "we didn't talk about much. Gave me a diary to write in, and that was about it." He struggled to read her expression when he told her that, whether it was a look of disappointment in himself for not opening up more or at the therapist for not pushing him further, Aaron hadn't the energy to pry. Maybe it wasn't disappointment at all; she was simply trying to read him without asking questions.

Part of him felt guilty for burdening everything upon Emily. She deserved better than having to baby him and put up with all his anger and meltdowns. A few nights earlier, he'd tried to encourage the woman to take a night off and hang out with some girlfriends on the town. Emily being Emily had refused, saying she felt more comfortable with him at home. Hotch knew what that was, fear.

Fear of Foyet coming back to finish the job… Anxiety about leaving him home alone, not knowing if he'd do something to harm himself. Aaron would have had the same doubts about going away if it were her in his position. Even if it was merely for a couple of hours.

When he got out of the shower, he found Emily sitting on the sofa, picking at her nails. "You okay?" He asked softly, taking a seat next to her.

She smiled back at him with a nod, her long black hair draping down her shoulders. "Yeah. I'm good. How are you feeling?"

"You're picking at your nails."

Not bothering to hide it, the brunette merely shrugged. "Okay. I'll admit. I'm nervous about going back. Even though it's been two weeks, it still feels like the dominoes are falling."

Sitting at the end of the sofa, Aaron agreed with a soft hum.

"If you're worried about how I'll be when you go back to work tomorrow, you don't need to. I'll be fine, and I've already talked to Dave about everything there. He has everything under control."

"I'm gonna worry about you anyway. Can't help it. You're engrained in my head."

The comment made Aaron grin. As much as the last couple of weeks had been, at times, volatile and stressful for them both, they'd been days where he couldn't imagine spending his recovery with anybody else. She'd dropped everything to ensure he'd been taken care of, tried comforting him in his most intense rages, and asked what he needed when the nightmares were relentless.

Whenever he had the opportunity, he thanked Emily. For putting up with his rigid stubbornness, for simply being there when she could have easily left him to his own devices.

"Do you really think it's a good idea? Going back to your apartment?"

Hotch took a moment to think. "It's not like I can hide from it forever. Besides, Foyet isn't dumb enough to break in twice."

"But going back to an empty apartment. Do you think? I mean…" Emily sighed at herself. "What I'm trying to say is, are you going to be comfortable being back after…."

Hotch felt himself dissociating as her voice trailed off. "It could be years before I see Jack again. And while I can't bring myself to make peace with what Foyet has done until I catch him myself, I can't keep living to suit his needs. I need to be back home and figure out how to move forward."

"Are you gonna use that diary?" Emily asked, glancing across the room at the small black notebook on top of all his case files.

"I don't know." He shrugged. "It might be a good outlet for my rage."

His comment made the brunette smirk slightly, bringing a soft glow to her aura. "Studies have shown that journalling is one of the best forms of medicine. Just ask Reid about it."

"I'm sure he has many stories to tell." Hotch paused, watching her lean back into the sofa with a light sigh. "Em, what's really going on?"

He waited with bated breath as she glanced around the room, crossing her arms. Her expression was hard to read, almost as if she didn't know what she was going to say. "Everything just feels so different. With Jack being gone… I didn't realise until right now how much of a gap he's filled in the few months I've known him. You don't realise how much you miss someone until the silence is deafening."

"Yeah," Hotch whispered, letting a hand rest upon her thigh. Emily grasped it tightly. No more words needed to be said as the two sat in silence, wondering what life would be like if there was no such person as George Foyet.