Chapter 9
The day was shaping up to be one to forget for Aaron Hotchner. Things seemed to go from bad to worse from Hotch's point of view. When he was returned to his hospital room following the disastrous session with the Psychologist, he was subjected to yet another round of respiratory and blood tests. These analyses left him feeling like he'd just blown up a room full of balloons and donated an ocean of blood but he had only just enough time for lunch and a brief nap before he needed to be ready for two more appointments. Even the sleep failed to refresh him; Hotch's dream about Jack was replaced by haunting images. He was in a house, sitting with his back against a wall. There was a large pool of blood on the floor next to him and a man was shouting and pointing a gun at him. He felt like his side and his calf were both on fire. Hotch awoke in a cold sweat. It took him a few minutes to realize that the house belonged to the Gordon brothers and that the blood was his own. It left him slightly disoriented. 'Not a good way to begin the afternoon', he thought as an orderly appeared to wheel him away.
The first engagement was a fitness session with his exercise physiologist. Meagan had progressed Aaron from the pool into a room containing a treadmill, some weight machines and other loose pieces of equipment. She seemed pleased with his recovery, citing the fact that he now had full range of motion when bending forward and stressing his abdomen and could also bring his toes towards his shin if seated. His strength was improving too; he'd been given separate exercises to do on his own time. Nevertheless, Hotch was frustrated. He desperately needed to be able to walk again, to gain back some independence. His hospital room was becoming more and more like a prison each day.
It seemed that perhaps today would be more encouraging; when the orderly had left, Meagan gave him her customary grin, "So, Mr. FBI, are you up for a bit of a challenge?"
Hotch gave her a small, determined smile in return. "Ready...although perhaps I should have asked what you had in mind, first?"
Meagan laughed. "You don't trust me yet?" she teased, winking at him.
Hotch grunted. "Bring it on, Meagan. I need to get moving!"
"Such impatience!" the physiologist said, mocking her client. As she chatted, she rummaged through a cupboard and came back with a pair of crutches. She eyed up Hotch, made some quick adjustments in the length of each crutch, and handed them to him while she began clearing a walking path.
In his eagerness to proceed on his own, and in his attention to his injured calf, Aaron completely forgot that he was still weak from his other injuries. As he put the crutches under his arms and attempted to rise from the wheelchair, his upper body collapsed, causing him to lose his balance and topple to the floor. He shook his head in self-disgust. 'Aaron, you're an idiot.'
"Aaron! Are you okay? You're supposed to let me help you up first!" admonished Meagan lightly. She bent down and between the crutches and her support, Hotch managed to get to his feet. Tentatively and somewhat shakily, he put his good leg forward. Meagan was at his side, ready to steady him if necessary. His balance held. 'Ok, so far so good.' He gritted his teeth to try again. Gingerly, he began to set his weight down on the injured lead leg.
"Use the crutch to take some of your body weight..." advised Meagan. Hotch heeded the advice and although his calf was stiff and painful, his balance held again.
"Hey! Look at you! Fantastic job!" The words of encouragement rang in his ears. 'Finally!'
The physiologist let him rest for a minute before measuring out a few of her own paces. "Okay, let's see if you can make it from here to the window. That should be about five steps with each leg. Now take your time! If you need to rest, then do so... you'll need to pay attention, Mr. FBI or you'll end up on your butt again..."
Hotch looked at the distance to the window, glanced at Meagan and nodded. Frowning in concentration he painstakingly took a step, then another, then another. After what seemed like an eternity, Aaron found himself looking out at a bleak, wintry day. He was about to congratulate himself when something caught his attention. Looking out the window again, he saw a group of people huddled around an SUV, some four stories below. 'What's so odd about that?' he asked himself, turning away and preparing for the return trip towards his care worker. He took a step. All of a sudden he felt the sensation of cold metal to his temple. He frowned. 'What the..?' Hotch started to lead again with a crutch and his opposite leg. The sensation returned, this time bringing with it nausea and dizziness. He stopped.
Meagan noticed his hesitation. "Aaron? You okay? Those steps are looking good, just take your time."
Hotch swallowed his rising uneasiness. 'What is going on with me??! Ok, Aaron, just breathe and try again. You're fine.' He lifted a crutch and was about to set it down when he froze. An image had appeared in his mind to join the other feelings. He was standing in the window of the Gordon house, looking down on his team. Trevor Gordon had a gun to his head and was threatening to kill him if Agent Morgan didn't give him what he wanted. His younger team members were looking up at him, pure terror etched on their faces. Hotch had never been so sure that he was about to die as in that moment...
"Aaron? Hey, Aaron, what's the matter? Talk to me!" Meagan had watched her client make it successfully to the window. He had taken a breather, turned around and had begun his return towards her when he had stopped, crutch in mid-air. The look on his face suggested confusion and fear; he was literally frozen in mid-step. She rushed to him and was just in time to catch him as he collapsed.
"Oh my god! Aaron! Hey, come on, wake up!" Then she yelled, "I need some help in here!"
***
"Wha... Wha... What happened?" Hotch asked groggily, trying to sit up. Gentle hands restrained him.
"Easy, Aaron, just lie still. You decided that apparently I wasn't paying you enough attention, so you passed out on me." Hotch recognized Meagan's voice, although it still sounded far away. 'I did what??! Why would I..?' And then it came back to him... the memory from the bust. He opened his eyes and turned his head to the voice. He was lying on the floor of the exercise room, Meagan crouched anxiously beside him. She had propped his legs up on an aerobic step and covered them with a blanket. A doctor that Hotch didn't recognize was talking into a cell phone, casting frequent glances in his direction.
"I'm sorry. I must have scared you..." Hotch said to Meagan.
"Nah, it takes more than that, Mr. FBI." but he saw that her hands were shaking as she adjusted his blanket. "But I am a little confused... you were doing great, taking your time, and then all of a sudden you just froze in mid step and boom! Down you went. Do you know what happened?"
Hotch didn't want to say anything, but he felt he owed the physiologist some explanation. "I suddenly felt dizzy. I had a long morning and I guess I've just overdone it. Meagan, I really am sorry, it was completely my fault. Please don't look so guilty."
Meagan tried to smile through her concern. "It's okay. The doc over there has checked you over and says you'll be fine... You won't even need to skip tomorrow's session, so be prepared to work hard to make it up to me."
Hotch looked over at the doctor. He had finished his phone conversation and was walking towards them.
"Agent Hotchner? I'm Dr. Peters. How are you feeling now?"
"Much better thank you. I just got a little dizzy. I'm fine now."
The doctor looked sceptical. "Well, just to be sure, we're going to take you back to your room and run a couple of tests. I've talked to Dr. Travis and he'll meet you there." He turned to Meagan. "You ok to stay with the Agent? The Orderly should be here shortly." And without waiting for an answer he turned and left the room.
***
Dr. Travis took the head of the stethoscope off of Hotch's chest, removed its tips from his ears and wrapped the instrument back around his neck. He pulled up the visitor's chair and sat down, surveying his patient. He had performed a full examination of Aaron's calf, abdomen and ribs and listened to the Agent's heart and lungs. He had taken blood pressure and done an EKG. Nothing was out of the ordinary; the injuries were healing well.
"Well, Aaron, the good news is that there don't seem to be any after-effects from your fainting spell... Now tell me again what you felt just before you lost consciousness."
"I had a flashback from the bust..." Hotch scratched his head. "It came out of nowhere... made me feel dizzy and nauseous so I stopped momentarily and the sensations went away. I was just putting out the crutch to walk again..." His brow furrowed. "Sorry, that's all I remember... Meagan could probably tell you the rest."
"And how do you feel now?"
"Fine."
"Agent.??"
Hotch sighed. "I'm not trying to deceive you, doctor. Really, I'm alright."
Dr. Travis was quiet for a minute, thinking. He had anticipated that Agent Hotchner would start to get his memory back, but the degree of physiological response accompanying those flashbacks had come as a surprise. "I'd like you to chat with Dr. MacDonald about this." he said. "When is your next session?"
Aaron didn't like the tone of the doctor's voice. He frowned. "What's the matter? What has you concerned? You said my condition hasn't changed..?"
"It hasn't." soothed Dr. Travis. "But maybe Ben can help to identify some potential triggers so we don't scare any more hospital staff..?" he tried to joke.
Hotch thought there was more to the doctor's explanation but surprisingly, he agreed with the idea of talking to the Psychologist so he didn't push it. 'It will be different this time; we'll only need to discuss the facts of the incident.' he consoled himself.
"And in the meantime, Aaron, try to get some rest. I've talked to Kyle and rescheduled your physiotherapy for tomorrow morning. I think you've had enough excitement for one day."
***
Hotch had to admit that he was exhausted. He had slept fitfully, his mind a confused haze of memories, from his childhood, the Academy, the courtroom and the BAU. He had awoken feeling like he had gone six rounds with a professional boxer.
Kyle had been less than sympathetic to Aaron's fatigue. The physiotherapist had started with some range of motion and strength exercises paying special attention on the abdominal area. Hotch discovered muscles he previously never knew he had. He also learned, much to his chagrin, that the stomach muscles were involved in just about every movement imaginable. Consequently, he welcomed Kyle's suggestion to focus the end-of-session's massage on his bad leg. Once lying on the bed, Hotch gritted his teeth and made it through the deep tissue kneading on his healing calf.
"Gee, that's looking good, Aaron! I figured after your crutch-walking yesterday, your calf would be much tighter."
Hotch merely grunted, enjoying the brief reprieve from the torture as his Physiotherapist poured some more lotion onto his hands.
Kyle grinned. "Well, since we still have some time, why don't I work on your upper body? Most people who have difficulty breathing will bend over slightly; I think you'll probably find that after all these weeks, the muscles of your shoulder and chest will be really tight."
"You sound almost pleased." said Aaron. "Aren't there some stretches you can do?"
"Contrary to popular belief, I don't enjoy inflicting pain on my clients..."
There was another grunt from the prone figure on the bed.
"And no, stretching alone isn't going to get that arm ready to shoot a gun again. So, turn over, take off your t-shirt, please and I'll get started."
Hotch sighed inwardly and rolled over onto his back. He struggled to get his shirt over his head. 'Just great.' he thought bitterly. 'Can't get my own shirt off and my abs are already killing me. That should help my balance on the crutches later on.'
He closed his eyes as Kyle began working on his chest, fingers probing for knots and applying strong pressure to release them. If Hotch thought that this area would be any less painful than his leg, he was sadly mistaken. It was agony. He tried to think of Jack, once again turning to pleasant imagery to escape current pain. The technique worked well for a few minutes. However, as Kyle began massaging the area around Aaron's left collarbone Hotch had another and very sudden flashback. In it, Morgan was leaning over him, looking extremely worried and yelling at him to 'hang on'. Hotch could feel Derek's hands loosening his tie and the Kevlar vest; he felt cold and wasn't getting enough air into his lungs.
"Aaron?!! What's the matter?!! AARON?!!"
Hotch returned to the present with a jerk, only to find himself shaking uncontrollably. 'What IS going on with me??!' and seeing Kyle's panicked look, muttered "I'm okay, I'm okay."
The physiotherapist wasn't buying that Agent Hotchner was anywhere near being okay; he knew the signs of shock when he saw them and had already called for help and grabbed a blanket. Hotch tried to sit up but found he was still trembling and was also finding breathing difficult.
"Oh no you don't!" said Kyle firmly. He adjusted the massage bed so that Hotch was seated semi-upright and covered him with the blanket. "Try to relax, Aaron, Dr.T's on his way."
Hotch closed his eyes and concentrated on bringing his breathing back under control. Frustration was threatening to engulf him. 'What is going on?!! This can't be a normal part of recovery; something's wrong and I'd better figure it out fast; it's getting worse.'
***
When Agent Rossi arrived at the hospital later that evening, he found an irritable Hotchner. Fortunately for Dave, a nurse had stopped him prior to his entering Hotch's room and warned him that the patient was not in a good mood and had had a rough couple of days. Rossi braced himself, knocked on the door and entered.
Hotch was sitting in the visitor's chair; it had been turned to face the window and Rossi could see Aaron's reflection in the glass. He was staring straight ahead, but his eyes were alert and judging from the familiar frown, Hotch was deep in thought.
"Hotch?" said Dave softly so he didn't startle his friend.
Hotch turned his head to look briefly at Rossi then shifted back to the window. "Dave."
'Uh oh.' thought Rossi. "Heard you've had a nasty couple of days..?"
The figure in the chair didn't move. "I've had better." it said.
"Want to talk about it?"
After a long moment, Hotch replied "Not really." He slowly got to his feet and spun the chair around. It was obvious that he was in some pain but doing his best not to show it. As he got into bed and indicated that Dave should take the chair, he said "But I do need to ask you some questions."
"Okay... but are you sure you're up to it? You're looking a bit..." he was cut off by a glare from Hotch. Rossi sighed resignedly. "How can I help?"
"Tell me about a gun being held to my head by Trevor Gordon."
"Hotch, I don't see how..." again Rossi received a scowl. "Okay, okay."
"And Dave?"
"Yeah, Hotch?"
"Don't leave anything out this time."
***
Ten minutes later and Hotch wasn't feeling any better; worse, in fact. 'I should have done more!' he kept thinking. 'The team needed me... Morgan needed my help...but he shouldn't have been put in that position in the first place. If only I'd thought the profile through, there wouldn't have been any need for a negotiator!'
Rossi was concerned. Hotch had grilled him for all details. Dave had tried to emphasize the fact that Aaron had remained incredibly calm and diffused the situation, saving both of their lives. He hoped that Hotch would take some solace in it, but it appeared to have had the direct opposite effect. Aaron was sitting up, head down so that Rossi couldn't see his face. But the body language told of a man full of guilt and disappointment.
"Hotch? You're not thinking of trying to blame yourself for having a gun to your head?!"
Hotch raised his head and met Rossi's eyes. "It all comes back to me. The profile was incomplete and I didn't see it. I should have known better. Then there wouldn't have been any hostages and Morgan wouldn't have been forced into negotiation. It was my responsibility..."
Rossi held up his hand, interjecting, "I won't let you do this, Hotch. I won't stand by and see you self-destruct. I know you're angry and frustrated with this whole thing. But Aaron, the only people you should be blaming are the Gordons. I know that part of you understands that but I can't seem to reach that bit of your brain. So I'll say it again... Based on the information we had, our profile was solid. There was no way to predict that kind of desperation and violence."
"I wish I could believe that." Hotch said faintly, looking away.
"Hotch, what's happened? Something is troubling you. What's the significance of that bit of the bust?" asked Rossi quietly.
A full five minutes passed in silence. Rossi had given up on receiving an answer and was about to change topics when Hotch raised his head and turned towards his visitor.
"I'm getting flashbacks." He said in his customary low tone.
"Okay. So you're getting your memory back. That's a positive thing, isn't it?"
Hotch shook his head in confusion. "I'm not sure... I'd heard that it was a good indication of recovery..." his voice dropped to a whisper, "I was even prepared to deal with the nightmares, but..."
Rossi leaned forward and took hold of his friend's hand. He met no resistance which was not a good sign. "But..?" he encouraged gently. "Talk to me, Hotch. I'm your friend and I want to help."
Dave could see Aaron steel himself. 'Dammit, I've lost him again!'
But Hotch surprised the older agent. "I... I... I keep passing out." He faltered.
Rossi waited for further explanation. When none was forthcoming, he prompted, "Honestly, Aaron, that doesn't surprise me. Lately, it seems like you've been overdoing it. Now your body is trying to tell you something."
Hotch shook his head. "No Dave, it's not that simple. On both occasions, I've had a flashback just prior to blacking out." He paused and studied Rossi. He was unsure he wanted to continue. 'He'll think that I'll need more tests...'
Rossi squeezed the hand that he was holding. Hotch closed his eyes. He needed to trust someone and Dave was the closest friend he had. Hotch also knew that Dave wouldn't repeat the conversation to anyone at the Bureau.
"... and I've felt the physical aspect of the memory..."
"I'm sorry, I don't follow."
Hotch's dark eyes gazed steadfastly into Dave's. "I mean, I could actually feel the metal of Gordon's gun against my temple."
Rossi felt momentarily dazed but quickly regained his composure. "You said 'flashbacks', plural. What were the others?"
Having gotten the initial incident off his chest, Hotch figured he may as well continue. "I remembered the end of the bust. Morgan was telling me the paramedics were on their way. He was trying to take off my Kevlar and tie... I wasn't feeling so well..."
"No kidding." said Rossi sarcastically. "Okay, what happened when you came to?"
"I'd lost control of my breathing and..." Hotch swallowed, "I was shaking... Dave, I couldn't stop..."
Dave looked grimly at Aaron. They both understood the seriousness of the implications if these experiences continued. Hotch would not be allowed back on active duty if there was any risk to himself or to others. Losing consciousness with no warning definitely constituted such risk.
Hotch smiled dryly at his friend. "Now aren't you glad you asked?"
"Actually, Hotch" Rossi said sincerely, "yes, I am. You aren't on your own; we're going to get you through this."
"And how do you suggest we do that?"
"You need to talk to Ben MacDonald."
