"Well?!"
Rossi's hovering presence irked the doctor who in turn hovered over Hotch. "He moved. He understood and moved! Wha'd'you think, Doc?"
"He's coming out of it, then." The physician straightened from his examination. "He's coming along nicely. We should just let him rest."
"Is there anything you can give him to, you know, hasten the process?...Get him back faster?"
A sigh that said he was being patient with a layman's ignorance presaged the response. "Mr….uh…Agent…I don't recommend introducing any kind of stimulant into your friend at this point. If he's rallying, great. But let's let him continue at his own pace. His system's already had to clean itself of a combination of paralytic agents and hallucinogens. Let the poor guy rest."
Rossi reined himself in. It wasn't the doctor's fault that he couldn't give a jolly prognosis of instant recovery and a guarantee that Hotch would be dancing by day's end.
And as a matter of fact, it was day's end.
Dave's posture slumped under the weight of worry and simple weariness. He hadn't slept much or well since the unsub had taken Hotch and the others days ago.
Seeing it, the doctor took pity on the man. "Look, Mr….uh…" He consulted the chart attached to the foot of Aaron's bed. "…Mr. Hotchner's brain waves are normal. He's not vegetative. And if he reacted to your presence, he's on track for recovery. The best we can do is let his body handle it at its own pace." He gave Rossi a sheepish smile. "Tell you a secret, Agent…most of the time that's what we in the medical profession do. We let recovery happen. We don't force it. The body usually knows what's best for it far better than we do. So…"
He placed a comforting hand on Dave's shoulder in passing. "It's good news. It's progress. Be patient. Don't push him." Or me…
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Megan Kane did enjoy the stars that night.
There was always so much ambient glow over Dallas, most of the time the sky after sunset was an amorphous shade of lavender-grey. But this wonderful, magical evening, she was far enough away from land that, if she looked straight up, directly over her nose, points of fire spangled the darkness.
Megan glanced at her watch and sighed. Time to get going.
One more sip of the excellent wine whose glittering bubbles rivaled the stars.
One more smile for the bracelet of rare, spicy-green, demantoid garnets her client had gifted her.
One more glance at the wide-eyed corpse lying on the deck.
Kicking off her shoes, Megan prepared herself for the most difficult part of this outing. She had to strain and do it in small increments, but it wasn't that much harder than it had been moving the three FBI agents.
Plop. Into the water he rolled.
The unsub stood up, a little breathless from the effort. There. Let's see them try to write that up as having passed peacefully at home in his bed. It had irritated her no end that the true circumstances of the other deaths had been disguised. They deserved to be revealed for what they were. They deserved the sordid, ugly ends I gave them.
Her fists were clenched, nails digging in, punishing her palms. Let them try to cover-up a water-bloated corpse that some recreational sailing enthusiast will find floating. And let them try and explain the lipstick.
She'd used it to leave crosses on the eyelids of victim number 3. She'd used it to mark lovely Aaron's lovely body. This time she'd drawn a wide, clownish grin on the slack face of a very bad, very selfish man. He dropped $63,000 on this 'date' tonight. But his daughter's working in MacDonald's…flipping burgers to save for college.
Shaking her head at the warped sense of priorities, Megan gathered her things, dumped them into the motorized life-raft and cast off from the side of the yacht. As she maneuvered past the floating body, she smiled at the irony of the situation. Before her father had abandoned her, his money had given her tennis, archery, horseback riding and sailing; all skills a well-bred Texas debutante was expected to master. All skills that gave her physical strength and helped her now.
Running without lights, Megan cut the motor well before anyone on shore might have heard it. She paddled the rest of the way in, wading the last few yards and leaving the raft to drift where it would.
Barefoot, holding the hem of her gown out of harm's way, she strolled back toward the side street where she'd left her car. It would take some time to reach it, but she felt energized by the entire adventure.
There was no sleep in her bones.
And sweet Aaron was on her mind.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Rossi was reaching his limit.
He needed sleep. He also felt guilty about letting the rest of the team continue the search for their unsub without him. Sitting at Hotch's bedside, he debated. He was on the verge of leaving when his phone jolted him out of his musings.
"Prentiss?"
"Yeah. How's Hotch?"
Rossi's tired smile lifted one side of his lips. "Showing some signs of life, but still a ways to go. What's up with the case?"
"Got a lukewarm tip that someone named 'Meggie' might be having a date with a man-without-a-name on a yacht-without-a-name out of a marina-without-a name on a body of water-without-a-name."
Dave rubbed a hand over his face. "Sounds like a lot of nothing to go on."
"Well, we split up to cover the three places where the really big boats play. J.J.'s staying on point at PD. After we check it all out, depending on what we find, we're gonna call it a night, probably."
"I'm thinking along those lines, too." Rossi chewed his lip for a moment, staring at Hotch. "Do you guys need me? Feels like I should be out there, too."
Prentiss heard the conflict. Duty versus friendship. Everything Hotch had suffered did a quick rerun through her mind. "We've got it covered. You sound tired. Get some rest…and stay with Bossman. It's okay. Really."
Dave's sigh was as much gratitude as fatigue. "Thanks, Emily. Call me in if you need me."
"Gotcha. G'night."
Rossi hung up and gazed down at his friend for a long moment.
Then he went in search of a cot.
Something told him both he and Aaron would rest easier in each other's company.