I have to say, you guys' response to the intro chapters was amazing! Thanks! It's always more fun to post a story when you know it's appreciated, so thanks for the feedback! :-) In this part you'll get to see a little bit of Hotch's point of view... Enjoy! - Amalgam000
Part 2 (see prologue for disclaimers)
François Mauriac once said: "No love, no friendship can cross the path of our destiny without leaving some mark on it forever."
When Hotch got home after dropping Prentiss at her hotel, his former sister-in-law was cleaning up in the kitchen, but there was a definite smell of food in the air that made his mouth water. When was the last time he actually ate today? This morning… Dropping his keys and briefcase on the table, he made his way to the kitchen.
"Hey," he called as he looked through his mail.
Jessica threw him a look over her shoulder as she rinsed her washing cloth in the sink. "Hey. Jack's finally asleep, he was a little recalcitrant tonight."
Hotch sighed. "Sorry I'm so late, I- something came up."
She threw him a quick look as she cleaned the counter. "It's alright. There's some lasagna in the fridge, if you'd like. Everything okay?"
Hotch stayed silent as he reached for a plate and helped himself to some lasagna before putting it in the microwave. "Yep." He'd always been adamant about keeping his work outside his house, especially with Haley, but for some reason Jessica always seemed interested. It was a little disheartening to realize that sheseemed to get him in ways that her sister never had. Then again, Jess, not being in any way involved with him, didn't have any of those expectations that come with a committed relationship, and she didn't have to put up with his crazy schedule on a daily basis.
So he wasn't really surprised when she pushed the issue. "Does it have to do with your mail this morning?"
He gave her a pointed look as he retrieved his now hot plate from the microwave.
"Oh come on, Aaron, I saw your face when you opened that envelope. What's happened?"
He shook his head as he sat at the table and Jess followed him, taking a seat across from him. But then he sighed. Maybe it would do him good to talk about it? Maybe it would help alleviate the worry and helpless rage that had been building up inside of him all day. "A member of my team is in trouble."
Jess just nodded, encouraging him to say more.
Hotch sighed, realizing that she wouldn't let this go until he threw her a bone. "You remember Emily Prentiss?"
Jess nodded in recollection. "The dark, funny one."
Hotch threw her a bemused look; that wasn't exactly how he would describe Prentiss, but… "Yes, well, let's just say that we have reasons to believe that she may be in danger."
"Oh."
Hotch avoided her inquisitive gaze as he started eating. After a few minutes spent in heavy silence, he looked back up with a sigh, only to see that she was smiling as if she knew something he didn't. It was infuriating, and suddenly he knew what it was like to have a little sister always questioning and nagging and questioning some more. His brother had never been like that, thank God for small favors. "What?" he asked, annoyed.
"And?" she pressed.
"And we don't know anything yet."
"Is that why you're brooding?"
He sighed as he dropped his fork onto his plate and leaned back in his chair. "A member of my team, a friend, is in danger, I think that's enough justification for a little frustration," he said, letting his anger permeate his tone. "We've spent the day trying to come up with a profile that has no meaning, no solid ground, and it won't mean anything until the UnSub makes his move, until something happens."
Her smile was gone, but she was still looking at him as if she could read him like a book. Hotch restrained himself from squirming and faced her as he would a suspect, meeting her gaze unfalteringly, defying her to say more. She did, no more intimidated than if she was talking to Jack. "And you're afraid of what that something might be?"
Hotch felt his breath catch in his throat and his heart constrict painfully at the thought, and he looked down, shoulders sagging and letting out a long breath. "Terrified," he admitted in a low voice.
Jessica apparently had enough decency not to look triumphant at his admission and seemed to recognize when was a good time to back off, because she merely nodded and quietly walked back to the kitchen, leaving him alone with his words. They seemed to echo loudly in the quasi-silent house.
Yes, he was terrified. And he hated it – he hated how it hampered him, froze him instead of driving him forward. Worrying for his team had always been part of the job, just as much as losing good people and rescuing victims, but Hotch had always been confident enough in his team's abilities not to worry about their safety while they were on the clock. But this… this was different. The threat was direct this time, and it concerned his one profiler who was wise and political enough not to make enemies, the one who constantly questioned the ethical ramifications of their jobs and who fought everyday not to let the evil of criminal minds deter her from enjoying life. He didn't see her as any more vulnerable than Morgan or even himself, but the idea that somebody wanted to hurt someone that good made him sick with the world. He had felt the same revulsion when he'd learnt that Garcia had been shot. It was just… revolting.
The thought that the UnSub had spent days, maybe weeks, observing her, stalking her, invading her most private moments, was enough to make him nauseous, so he pushed his plate aside and rubbed his hands over his face.
Hotch also had not been totally honest with her when he told her about the picture. He did think that who had received which photo was a meaningful and intentional act. He had told Prentiss that by sending him the most private picture the UnSub probably wanted him to get the message more quickly, but the truth was that Dave actually got the most significant symbol with that photo of her and Morgan and her head circled in black marker. No, the UnSub hadn't sent Hotch that particular photo to make him get the message, he had sent it to get to him. Personally. To get under his skin and rattle him until he staggered back and fell on his ass.
And the worst of it was that it was working.
The photo was highly inappropriate in itself, but to make sure that somebody else saw it, that he saw it… Hotch was slightly disgusted with himself for remembering it in such vivid detail, but he hadn't been able to get rid of the image all day. Every time he'd look at her he'd see it in his mind eye; her fingers around the hem of her sweater as she pulled it up over her stomach; the small portion of her dark green lacy bra that showed just below; the ivory skin of her stomach that looked incredibly soft to the touch… And there was just something simply arousing in the half-closed eyes and arched back…
Hotch jumped to his feet, ashamed of thinking of her in this way. He had always been careful not to get too familiar with his female colleagues, but she had somehow managed to burrow her way through his thick wall of professionalism with her friendly nature, sharp mind and wide, expressive dark eyes. And he was pretty sure that she wasn't even aware of it.
"Hey Aaron," Jess called from a few feet away, making him jump. "I'm off. You'll probably need me to pick up Jack from daycare tomorrow, right?"
Hotch cleared his throat, trying to shake thoughts of Prentiss from his head. "Um, I'm not sure. I'll call you."
"Okay. Take care, Aaron. And take care of Agent Prentiss."
"Bye Jess. Thanks."
Shaking his head at himself, he grabbed his unfinished plate and dropped it in the sink, then made his way to Jack's room. Opening the door slowly so as not to disturb his son's sleep, Hotch stepped in quietly and sat in the rocking chair that still filled one of the room's corners. Sitting back and rocking gently, he leaned his head back and watched as his son slept peacefully, the streetlights casting shadows over the light brown mop of hair. He knew he should probably try and get some sleep himself, but he had so many confusing flashbacks of the day swirling around in his head that he knew that sleep would elude him for a while - Garcia lunging forward to hug Prentiss, the grave faces of his colleagues as they realized that they'd all gotten a photo, Prentiss's nervousness as she'd admitted filing an incomplete report, her awkwardness when she'd asked him point blank which photo he'd received, her horrified expression as she realized she'd have to call her mother and silently pleading him to refute the idea…
Hotch smiled at that last one and tried to hang on to the memory as he closed his eyes. But her image morphed into the last look they had shared as he'd left her hotel room. She had been worried, but not for herself. For him. And that made him feel… cared for, and he realized he hadn't felt that way for a depressingly long time.
Hotch reached into his pocket to make sure that his cell was still on and that it had enough battery to last through the night. She would call him if anything happened, he knew that she would, so he pocketed his phone again and leaned back once more, closing his eyes.
Using years of experience at sublimating horrific mental images, Hotch tried to slow his breathing, relax his tense muscles and empty his mind. It wasn't long before he fell asleep.
The next morning felt very… anticlimactic.
He got to the BAU early after a restless night, half of which had been spent in the uncomfortable rocking chair, only to realize that he had no more information this morning than he had when he'd left last night. He was still waiting, and he hated it. And he hated that the UnSub probably knew that, probably enjoyed the waiting game and seeing him pace back and forth like a tiger in a cage.
After grabbing some coffee that seemed to taste like ash, he decided to go through the 'viable suspect' pile again, this time considering himself as a possible target in addition to Prentiss. He set aside the Nashville killer since they had no connection, but the rest of the cases were more ambiguous as he had participated in every one of them, usually as unit chief, but sometimes as Morgan's subordinate.
He was still going through them when the rest of the team showed up, including Prentiss and her FBI security detail. Hotch dismissed the two men with a nod, then met her eyes as she entered the conference room, trying to block any memory of the photo and regard her as his colleague and nothing more. He succeeded, for the most part; it helped that she wore a sharp, dark suit that screamed 'professional FBI agent – hands off.'
She met his eyes over the table and shrugged, shaking her head.
Nothing had happened.
Hotch was both relieved by the news and angry that they had no new information on which to lean. As his team settled back around the table, mostly in silence as they detected his bad mood, Hotch redistributed the 'viable suspect' folders among them and updated them on his ideas. He was hoping that their fresh eyes might notice something they'd missed the day before.
By the end of the day they had dismissed several more files for various reasons, so that they only had three viable suspects left, but still no new information or threats. But as much as Hotch wanted this to be over, they'd also come to the conclusion today that whoever was threatening Prentiss was smart enough to plan ahead and very carefully so. So they were now pretty sure that the UnSub was patient, highly intelligent and derived pleasure from a battle of wits. Most of the suspects they eliminated today would have followed up on the threats immediately, the compulsions making them act recklessly. But not this UnSub. This UnSub was calculating and patient, which fit the profiles of Steven Norland, John Cregg and J.C. Fergusson. Of the three, only Norland was still free.
Hotch rubbed his forehead tiredly as he walked to his office after dismissing the team and suggesting they call it a day. It was relatively early still, so Hotch grabbed his phone and dialed Jess's number to let her know that he would pick Jack up from daycare after all. As he hung up, Dave appeared in the doorway, hands in his pockets and with that look on his face that said he had something on his mind.
"Rough, huh?" he said as he entered and closed the door behind him.
"Isn't it always?" Hotch replied as he arranged his files into his briefcase.
Rossi shrugged, but Hotch knew him enough to know that there was nothing non-committal about Dave's conversations – especially those behind closed doors. "It's worse when it's one of our own," Dave stated.
"Yes, it is."
"Prentiss can take care of herself," he said after a beat, making Hotch glance at him briefly.
"Yes, I know." He shut his briefcase with a thud.
"Good. I'm glad we've cleared that up."
Hotch's head snapped in Dave's direction at this, wondering what he was implying. "She wouldn't be part of this team if I didn't know she could take care of herself, Dave," Hotch replied, feeling a little defensive in spite of himself.
Dave rested his hands on the back of a chair and leaned forward. "I know you want to protect her, we all do, but you… It's in your blood, Hotch, and I just wanted to warn you to be careful not to let the need to protect her blind you to… other dangers."
Hotch frowned in confusion. "I don't understand. I'm just trying to find whoever-"
Dave was all seriousness, no sign of false casualness when he interrupted. "I'm just saying, don't let it get under your skin. Be sure not to give in to your compulsions."
Hotch almost blushed at this – surely he couldn't mean those compulsions. Hotch had been very careful not to treat her or look at her any differently than he normally would, so how could Rossi have noticed-
"I meant your protective compulsions," Dave added, this time with a ghost of a smirk at the corner of his lips, making the tip of Hotch's ears feel suddenly hot. "She wouldn't put up with it."
With that he left, smugness permeating his stride. Hotch shook his head, perplex, wondering what the hell had just happened. Rossi had a way of noticing everything, which was usually a great asset to the team, but this was a little too-
A knock on the doorframe made him look up sharply, and he shifted on his feet when he saw it was Prentiss. "Hey, just wanted to let you know that my mother's out of town until Thursday, so I told Sheppard and Mansfield that I'd be prolonging my stay at the hotel for a few more days."
Hotch merely nodded.
Prentiss frowned as she stepped in more fully. "Everything okay?"
He cleared his throat. "Yes. And I'm sure it won't be a problem, for the hotel. We'll arrange for you to switch locations every couple of days."
Prentiss nodded, but she was still looking at him with a little concern. "Thanks. You sure you're okay Hotch?"
He grabbed his briefcase, a clear signal that he considered this conversation to be over. "Yep," he replied curtly. "Call me if anything happens."
She nodded, bemused. "I will. Good night." She turned on her heels and walked out, but not without sending him another concerned look over her shoulder.
Hotch shook his head, cursing mentally and berating himself for his actions. He was angry at himself, but also at the UnSub for sending him that damn picture and bringing to light emotions he wasn't allowed to feel.
That was his punishment, Hotch decided, and the UnSub's perfect revenge.
End part 2 - I should have part 3 up at some point tomorrow. Thanks for reading!