CHAPTER 17: Haunted (Season 5, episode 2)

Character(s): Hotch, Prentiss

A/N: Some mild swearing, spoilers for the unsub and outcome of the case, and references to/mention of George Foyet and the situation he's put Hotch in.

"He who fears to suffer, suffers from fear." - French Proverb

Emily Prentiss waited nervously outside Aaron Hotchner's door.

She'd gotten the bright idea (that now didn't seem so bright) recently to give him a ride to work. She'd told him it was the least she could do to help a friend who'd been injured.

She didn't tell him it was so she could keep a close eye on him.

Hotch was no fool, though, of course. He was a top profiler, after all. He knew her true intent. Which was why he'd tried to talk her out of the idea in every single way imaginable. He went into "lawyer speech" mode, gave her a list of reasons why he didn't need her aid. He was fine. He was cleared to drive. He wanted the solitude (that was a flimsy one, but eh, he'd go with it). He didn't want to put her out, to inconvenience her. And so on and so on.

Yet she'd roped him into the idea anyway. Well, with a little help from Rossi, at least.

Once she was let in, Emily knew Hotch wasn't in the mood for much more than small talk. Which was fine with her – she wasn't feeling very chatty right now, either. Contrary to what he was thinking, she wasn't looking forward to this car ride any more than she knew he was. It would be awkward, and he was already tense enough. She wasn't in the mood to start off her day dealing with that.

As she waited patiently, watching him fiddle with the alarm, however, she felt her initial anger subside. He was deliberate with every press of a button, with every glance at the little screen, making absolutely sure he'd typed in the right code for the alarm to work. As they left, she watched him tug the doorknob, press at the door itself, at least three, four times, reassuring himself it was indeed locked.

All of this made her hate Foyet that much more.

Hotch wasn't a naïve man. He knew the first day back wouldn't have been easy, case or no case.

But it was almost as though the universe had conspired to throw every difficulty imaginable at him today. His first case back had to deal with a spree killer, and a deeply mentally unstable one at that, who wasn't even whom he claimed to be. He had to work with locals who acted more like the people of Mayberry than citizens of a reasonably sized city. His team had to botch things up and frustrate him today, from Garcia not getting the right information to Reid being of no help in the field thanks to his crutches to Morgan and his "I need to argue with my boss at every conceivable opportunity" attitude.

On the other hand, Morgan was the only one not walking around on eggshells around him, like he'd literally explode at any moment or something. So that whole thing came out as a wash.

The worst part of all of this, though, was the fact that there was someone even potentially worse than the unsub roaming around Louisville. Darrin Call's father had abused him, as well as many other children, in the area over the years. He'd destroyed many children's lives, many families' lives. Fathers were supposed to protect their children from the evils of the world, and this guy hadn't gotten that memo. Darrin had lost everything thanks to this guy, and he in turn caused other people to lose that which was important to them.

Maybe that's why Hotch finally snapped. Maybe that's why he walked straight into that house, unarmed, unprotected. Mitchell, Prentiss, Morgan, Rossi, they could all argue about this, about him, as long as they wanted. He didn't want to argue. He wanted to put a stop to this. Now.

Hotch was supposed to talk Darrin down. He was supposed to disabuse him of the weapon he was aiming at his own father, and see to it he was safely taken into custody.

Instead, he played therapist to Darrin. All his ire was for Jarvis, who apparently still had no desire to be anything resembling a decent human being. He wanted the bastard to look him in the eye, wanted to know why he felt the need to inflict such cruel pain on people.

He'd never get an answer to his question. The sharp BANG! of a gun caused everyone waiting outside to rush into the house at once, total chaos.

A confusing mix of feelings ran through Emily as she surveyed the scene. Hotch was carefully cuffing Darrin, who stood with a shellshocked expression on his face. He wouldn't hurt anyone anymore. And yet, his face, his past, would haunt Emily the whole way home.

Jarvis, meanwhile, sat in his chair, dead. Had he been caught, he might've received that punishment anyway.

As for Hotch himself, Emily was beyond relieved to see him stand before her, and yet she wanted to slap him across the face.

Hotch noticed everyone staring back and forth between him and the horrific situation. He saw the frustration, confusion, and worry in his teammates' eyes once again.

The claustrophobic feeling began creeping up again. "I couldn't stop him," he lamely explained, referring to Darrin, before hightailing it out of there, the anger still bubbling inside him, the whole situation feeling…unresolved. One question, and one question only, ran through his mind.

Did I want to stop him?

Emily did not handle tension well.

Some people, when faced with uncomfortable situations, confronted them head on. They yelled. They made jokes. Anything to try and fill the silence.

Not Emily. She resorted to drawing herself in, distancing herself as much as she could from the person or persons who were adding to the tense moment, staying quiet unless her comments were needed, her focus on her fingernails.

Unfortunately, tonight she couldn't do much of that, for she was too busy driving her boss home.

An entire rant had built up in her mind. Whereas she'd started the day annoyed with Morgan and his incessant arguing, choosing to be sympathetic to Hotch, after the elder agent's reckless stint at that house, she firmly jumped to Morgan's side. She wanted to yell at Hotch for scaring everyone, wanted to tell him the way he acted today wasn't the way to deal with his problems.

Instead, she merely kept her focus on the road. The drive was calming her down, but only a little.

"I'm sorry."

The sudden comment made her jump a little. Emily's gaze remained straight ahead, but she turned her head ever so slightly, so as to acknowledge she'd heard Hotch's voice. "What?"

"I'm sorry. For today." There was no emotion when he talked. Emily felt a little unnerved by that.

"It's okay." She tried to keep her voice light, as though to brush it off.

"No, it's not. Don't patronize me, Prentiss." For the first time that day, Emily welcomed the irritation. "I did something today that I've criticized the others for doing many, many times, and I shouldn't have."

Hotch's head dropped, his gaze on his lap, his arms folded. "I'm just…tired of this."

Emily stole a quick glance at her boss then as they stopped at a red light. Her heart broke as he drew himself inward, his face full of despair, his hair messy, tufts of it hanging awkwardly off his forehead. There were new wrinkles in his face, visible ones at that. He looked exhausted.

She wanted to say something reassuring. Wanted to place a hand on his arm, or his leg. To pull the car over and wrap him up in a strong, comforting hug.

She did none of those things. She simply kept driving.

Once she knew he was inside his apartment, once she realized he was the only one there, she stopped lingering at his door. Emily replayed her brief conversation with Hotch the whole way down, hoping, praying that he got the message she was trying to convey. You aren't alone. You have us. Let us help you.

She had a feeling he heard it, though. It would just take a while for him to properly receive it, was all. But that was fine with her. She'd keep coming back every day and night, however long it took, to make sure he truly understood.

Hotch heard the faint footsteps echoing down the hall, and almost considered yanking open the door, calling Emily back.

He hated having a personal bodyguard of sorts, sure, but at least having her there allowed him to hear another voice. Her presence seemed to calm him more than he realized it would. And yet, at the same time, he wouldn't know how to handle her being there. He'd been alone for long enough now, to the point where the slightest change in routine, the slightest noise, would spook him.

It was funny what being completely alone would do to a person's mind. Hotch knew it was Emily at the door this morning, and yet the hairs on the back of his neck still stood up as he went to check the peephole anyway. His brain couldn't help but race through all the possibilities of who stood on the other side. Maybe it was his friends, come to check on him. Maybe it was Haley or Jack, sneaking out for a visit. Maybe it was the agent assigned to protect them, giving him updates (and, he always hoped, good, reassuring ones at that).

Or maybe it was him. Foyet. Hotch had taken to saying his name as often as possible, had become even more involved in studying him and his history. Say the name often enough, it loses its power, like a swear word would. Get to know your enemy and he won't frighten you anymore.

That's what Hotch hoped would happen, anyway.

He began wandering through his apartment for a few minutes. The whole place creeped him out now, and not just because he kept flashing back to Foyet lurking in his house, the sound of his footsteps behind Hotch as he snuck out from the shadows, the soft click of the gun being slowly aimed at his head.

No, there were other reasons that made him not want to be here, that made him long to just camp out in his office at work until this case was solved once and for all.

There was no spilt milk on the kitchen table or floor. There were no new drawings to hang on the fridge with pride.

No toys scattered about the living room that Hotch would surely trip over or step on at some point. Anytime his TV was on nowadays, it wasn't blaring the sounds of wacky cartoons.

He wasn't running through the hallway trying to wrestle his little boy into the bathroom to get him to wash up for the night. He didn't hear the splashing of water in the tub, his child's laughter echoing through the apartment as he played with his toys and blew bubbles everywhere.

He also wasn't hearing Jack bounding into his room to wake him up, or shuffling in begging to sleep next to him because of "nightmares". And he didn't hear him calling out for his dad at night, eager to listen to a bedtime story before being tucked in, "I love you"s passed between the two of them.

The first week after Haley and Jack had left, Hotch found himself calling out to his son each morning, telling him to wake up. Each time, reality would come back to smack him in the face. He'd tried since then to avoid making that mistake. Occasionally he'd catch himself. Other times, though…

Before turning in for the night, Hotch leaned in the doorway of his son's room. He hadn't looked in there since the day Jack left, and he just needed to see…

The moonlight illuminated Jack's bed, which was stripped bare. Spots where favorite stuffed animals and toys once lay were empty. Haley had Jack come in and pick out what to take with him – apparently he'd wanted to take nearly his entire room.

Hotch felt his chest constrict, felt tears spring to his eyes. No. Coming in here was a mistake.

"Good night, Jack," he whispered, grabbing the handle. "I miss you."

"To lead is difficult when you're a follower of fear." - T.A. Sachs