A/N: The response to this story was great! I'm psyched to keep it going for a few more chapters! This segment is short, but one I really needed to write. I hope you like it as much as I do. Please let me know what you think! Each and every review and suggestion means a lot!
Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.
The Hotch Chronicles – Segment 2
/4/
The first rule you tell all of the profilers on your team to abide by is to not become emotionally invested in a case. To do so could ruin an agent and it is something you've seen happen more than once. You are careful to follow this rule yourself and have the stoic mask to prove it. And while your track record pertaining to this rule is strong, Megan Mitchell is making a dent in it.
She sits in front of you, weeping softly as she remembers her father. He was found in a ditch two days ago and you and your team are here to catch the man that killed him and three other men. You carefully debate on what to say to the fragile 22-year-old who is sitting on a worn out couch that is in the corner of the station's break room.
You're at the doorway and you're here to discuss what kind of man Martin Mitchell was. You're here for clues as to who the unsub is, a standard procedure, but you are more concerned about the girl who has barely noticed you enter. You pull out a chair from the table and place it in front of Megan before taking a seat and resting your elbows on your knees.
"Megan, my name is Aaron. I'm sorry for your loss."
You briefly acknowledge to yourself that you've used your first name which is not your normal practice.
Megan meets your eyes for a fleeting second before she looks back down at her hands that are tugging on a tissue.
"I want to ask you about your father. Anything you can tell us about him will be helpful in trying to catch the man who is responsible for this." Her sniffles interrupt your delicately phrased words. You are doing your best to be sensitive and comforting but you know from personal experience there is not a thing anyone can say or do in situations such as these. No matter how hard you try, nothing will relieve any of the anguish Megan is feeling. For that, you feel guilty.
"He always had a soft spot for babies. He thought they were perfect. They always made him smile."
Her first words about her father capture your interest since they are so unique. Most people talk about their loved one's personality when asked the question you just inquired of Megan. "He was funny, he made everyone laugh" or, "when she entered a room everyone wanted to talk to her." Usually the last thing mentioned about a recently deceased loved one is their weaknesses, if they are voiced at all. From your experience, those in mourning typically focused on the victim's strengths.
"Everyone knew he couldn't wait to be the doting grandfather who spoiled his grandchild one day." Her cheeks move upwards as she smiles which make her tears switch direction on her face and get caught in her blonde hair. "And he always said that when he was going to buy himself a yellow Corvette when he retired." Megan looks off into the distance and you wait patiently for her to continue. "These two things always stuck out to me. They were the two things I wanted to give him the most. He was the perfect father, even after everything he went through."
Megan looks directly into your eyes when she tells you this. It is important to her that you know how amazing Martin Mitchell was.
"I wanted to buy him that Corvette with the flip-up headlights and give him a grandchild." She chuckles at the memories you assume are flashing through her head.
And then you watch as Megan releases a sob.
"I was pregnant. Early last year I was pregnant." Megan is breathing hard and you know she hasn't confessed this secret to many, if anyone. "I was in a new relationship with this guy and it was exciting even though I knew deep down it wasn't going to last and," she stops to take a deep breath and you know where this is going. "I knew he wanted me to get rid of it and I wanted to please him and I was scared and ashamed…and I did it! I got rid of it."
Megan's voice is one you never expected to hear on a 22-year-old. It is filled with hatred and self-deprecation. She looks directly into your eyes you see anger, fear, shame and guilt. "Me! I killed a child!"
Megan brings her hands to her face in mortification. In this moment you know she's told no one but you. She hugs herself and leans forward, bringing her head to her knees. Her emotional devastation has carried over into physical pain and this takes you aback.
You want to take her burden and carry it instead. You want to play the hero, as JJ would say, and the knowledge that you can't is upsetting to you. You are just about to go find her and have her take over for you when Megan straightens.
She takes a deep breath, willing herself to finish. "If I was just a little braver, I could have given Dad something that would have made him happy. Even if my actions disappointed him that baby would have been accepted by him. A grandchild he could have treasured, no matter for how short a time."
She tries her best, but raw emotion takes over her willpower and she breaks down into sobs. They echo in the small room which makes them seem as if they are ten times louder. And while you can't explain why, you no longer see Megan as a source for information but rather as a scared, little girl. Before you can block it, sympathy courses through you as she emotionally crumbles. You adjust positions in your seat because while you're anxious to comfort her, you need to remember your rules.
To an outsider, you look like a heartless bastard.
"I robbed my father of something that could have brought him so much joy. I was selfish! Even after all he had done for me. After everything—and I took it from him. And now he's dead!"
The girl is shaking uncontrollably now and her sobs are affecting you in a way you weren't anticipating. Megan's anguish is cracking your expertly placed, stoic exterior. You subconsciously glance towards the door and windows lining the far wall and you see the hallway is deserted. There is no one around to relieve you of the newfound sense of responsibility you have for Megan.
You stand and move to the couch, taking a seat next to her on the faded cushions. Words aren't necessary, you know, because no words at a time like this will do. Instead you lightly take her hand in yours, offering what little you are able to give. She leans into you, still crying, and the action makes you automatically wrap an arm around her shoulders.
And while you're still able to keep an indifferent expression on your face, you feel your heart break for Megan. The emotion you feel goes against everything you practice as an FBI agent but you don't fight it. This time, you allow it to settle within you instead. It forces your eyes closed while you whisper encouraging words to Megan that you know are empty to both of your ears.