Chapter 2

Benjamin Yardley, sixty, janitor for his small apartment building, carried four black plastic trash bags down the hall; two in each hand. It had been a long day, and the day hadn't ended yet, so he couldn't go home and rest. He sighed wearily. It was now Wednesday night. Garbage night. And as janitor, he had to take out the trash, and put it in outside trash cans for pick up the following morning by the garbage collectors. And despite the rain coming down, that task did not change. Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday nights, he had to take out the trash for early morning pickup. And the weather made no difference.

Once he reached the door leading to the outside alleyway, he sat two bags down, unlocked the door, and watched the falling rain. With a shrug of his shoulders, he held the door open with his body, picked up the two bags, then headed outside into the rain. He quickly placed the bags in the only remaining empty trash cans, and started to turn away when he heard moaning. He looked around but didn't spot anybody.

"Who's there?" he called out wondering if the sound had been his mind playing tricks on him. Not getting a response, he again started to leave when he heard the sound again. This time he was sure it had not been his imagination. He was not alone in the alleyway. Yardley warily walked toward the opposite end of the line of trash cans from where the sound had come. As he neared the end of the row, he spotted something bulky laying beside the last trash can. But from where he stood, he couldn't make out what it was. He cautiously approached the bulk, mindful of being alone with no weapon with which to protect himself. When he got close enough, he was surprised to discover the bulk was a man, apparently curled up in a ball and not moving. He took a wary step closer, reached out a foot, and poked the man in his exposed side. "Hey, man, you can't sleep here. I said get up, man. Go sleep it off someplace else." The man didn't move but moaned.

Once he decided to take a chance, Yardley knelt beside the man, reached out, and touched his shoulder. The minute his fingers made contact, the man moaned and tried to move away. Yardley pulled his hand away, and noticed blood on his own fingers. "Holy shit!" he cried at seeing the blood, and then took in the man's disheveled appearance. He took a moment to take in the man's overall appearance.

From what Yardley could tell, the man was tall with dark hair plastered against his forehead from the rain. His face was bloody and bruised. Also, the clothes looked expensive, although torn, blood-stained, and ruined by the rain. "You look like somebody did a number on you man. Let's see who you are." Carefully, Yardley decided to search through the man's pockets. The moment his hands touched the man, the man whimpered in pain, and tried to move away again. After a moment, his whimpers ceased and he fell silent. Yardley pressed two fingers against the man's throat and found a weak but thready pulse. He breathed a sigh of relief the man had apparently passed out. The last thing he needed was a corpse on his hands.

He noticed the man's expensive-looking stainless steel watch on his wrist. Since it looked better than his old, cheap watch with its worn leather strap, he removed the watch from the man's wrist. He quickly took off his old watch and put on the new one. He smiled as he admired how nice it looked. Better than his old one. He began to wonder what else the man had on him of value, and quickly searched the man's pockets. He found a wallet and a wallet-size leather folder in the inside jacket pocket. Even the wallet looked to be expensive to him. Humph. Expensive looking clothes. Fancy looking wallet. This man must have money, the janitor assumed, and figured any money still in his wallet wouldn't be missed. It was clear to him the man had been mugged, and dumped in the alleyway outside his building. A missing wallet would be believed to have been taken during the mugging.

He searched through the wallet and found no money, but did find a driver's license. He studied the name on the license. "Aaron Hotchner," he read. Not recognizing the name, he tossed the wallet with the license inside away, then checked out the folder guessing there might be something inside he can sell. The minute he spotted the badge and identification card with FBI printed on it, he swallowed hard as his eyes bulged. The identification card had the name Aaron Hotchner printed on it.

An hour later, the rain had stopped, and several police cars were now parked outside the alleyway cordoning it off to all but police. Uniformed officers were searching for anything to tell them what had happened. The ambulance had departed with the injured Aaron Hotchner inside only twenty minutes ago. It had taken time to stabilize the injured agent before he could be transported safely. Meanwhile, David Moeller, a plainclothes detective, questioned a nervous Yardley a short distance away from where the yellow crime scene tape hung. He could tell the sixty-year-old man was uncomfortable with so many police around, but he also suspected the man was not telling him everything. Yardley kept shifting his feet.

The detective held the FBI credentials encased in an evidence bag in his hand, looking at them with a shake of his head. He had known Hotchner for three years, from the time the agent and his team had helped with a local serial killer case three years ago. He was angry that somebody had done this to the agent. Someone who, in his opinion, was a good man.

"Detective!" a voice called out from near the end of a row of trash cans in the alleyway.

"Excuse me," Moeller said then left Yardley and approached the uniformed officer. "What is it?"

"I found this on the ground beside several garbage cans. It was either dropped there or thrown away by whoever attacked Agent Hotchner." He then handed Moeller a wallet, discolored from being wet. The detective took it in a Latex encased hand, and examined it carefully. "I suspect whoever attacked Agent Hotchner, tossed the wallet after robbing him. Or not finding anything, simply tossed the wallet."

"Did you find anything else?" Moeller asked the officer.

"Not yet, but we're still looking."

"Good. The wallet tossed away like that could be the result of a robbery or mugging. I suspect an attempted robbery and Hotchner fought back. Won't be sure until I speak with him. Damn shame, too. He's a good man. Hopefully when he regains consciousness, he can tell us who did this to him."

The officer glanced at Yardley over Moeller's shoulder. "What about him?"

Moeller looked back at the janitor. "Name's Benjamin Yardley; he's the janitor here. Says he was taking out the trash and discovered Hotchner laying on the ground unconscious. Said he searched his pockets to find out who he was, found the badge and identification, panicked, and called 911 right away. I'm not sure I totally believe him. Then again, I have no reason not to as well. But I do suspect he knows more then he's telling us. But for now, he's our best suspect."

"When are you going to contact the FBI about Agent Hotchner?"

Moeller let out a deep breath. "I already have," he said. "As soon as the ambulance left, I placed a call to Hotchner's Section Chief, Erin Strauss. She said she'd contact the rest of his team. I just hope the man will survive. The EMTs told me based on his injuries, it doesn't look good."

David Rossi sat in his plush recliner with his feet elevated, his eyes closed, but not asleep. He held a glass of red wine in one hand which rested on the arm of the recliner, and listening to Frank Sinatra singing 'Witchcraft' over his stereo. Of all the music from the early years, he enjoyed Sinatra and Dean Martin the most. After a long day at work completing paperwork, he enjoyed coming home and relaxing. He prepared a dinner of grilled chicken, sausage, onions, peppers, and veggies over linguine tossed in pesto, and a glass of wine. As he prepared his dinner, his mind drifted back to the office for a brief second. Hotch was the only one in the office when he left. He hoped the man wasn't still in the office, but knowing Aaron, he probably was. The man was a workaholic. And Rossi suspected his best friend was going to work himself into an early grave one day. He went so far as to invite Hotch to his house for dinner, but the man had declined the invitation. Rossi soon felt himself dozing off when the sound of his phone ringing woke him out of his fog.

"Cazzo!" he mumbled under his breath as he upped the recliner and got to his feet. He walked to the telephone, sat the wine glass on the table beside the phone, picked up the receiver, and held it to his ear. "Aaron, if you're calling me about a case now I'm gonna…" he snapped until he heard the voice on the other end. "Sorry, Erin. I assumed it was Hotch calling. Is something wrong?" His eyes narrowed as he listened to what she had to say. "What!? When? Is he all right? What hospital? I'm on my way. I'll call Morgan, Garcia, and Reid, and you call Prentiss and JJ for me. Thanks. I'll meet you at the hospital." He disconnected the call, and at once dialed Morgan's cell number.

Derek Morgan and Penelope Garcia sat side-by-side on the couch in her apartment watching the ending of LOVE STORY on DVD on her flat screen television. A nearly empty bowl of buttered popcorn sat between them, and four cans of soda on the coffee table in front of them. They had enjoyed the movie which had been one of Garcia's favorites as she had been a romantic from long ago. As the closing credits rolled by, Garcia wiped the pads of her fingers over her cheeks to wipe the tears which had fallen at the end of the movie. She sighed and smiled sadly, leaning her head against the back of her hand, elbow on the back of the couch. She looked at Morgan who chuckled at the face of the usually bubbly tech analyst. He reached out and brushed a tear away from her cheeks with his thumb.(1)

"How come you're crying, baby girl?" he asked, amused.

"I don't understand you, chocolate stud muffin. You didn't find the end of the movie where she died sad? That movie is so romantic. I just love Ryan O'Neill and Ali MacGraw together."

"You won't catch me cryin' over a chick flick," Morgan chuckled. Garcia pouted and punched Morgan in the chest. "Owww." Morgan rubbed his chest. "That hurt, woman. What's wrong with you?"

"That's for that chick flick crack. LOVE STORY is a sad romantic movie. A love story so to speak. Hence the title LOVE STORY."

Morgan frowned. "Sorry, momma. But that movie, as sad as the ending is, is definitely a chick flick. I mean, you can sorta tell the ending was gonna be sad anyway." He smirked. "Now I cried during the DIRTY DOZEN."

Garcia straightened up, and slapped Morgan's chest. "A war movie? Derek Morgan, you expect me to believe you cried during a war movie? You, my chocolate Adonis, are seriously brain damaged."

Morgan chuckled and about to respond when his cell rang. He groaned and grabbed his cell phone. He was surprised when he glanced at the caller ID.

"It's Rossi," he told Garcia with a roll of his eyes. "Man, it better not be a case." He pressed the phone to his ear. "Rossi, this better be good because…" The smirk on his face instantly disappeared and replaced with a serious expression. His eyes narrowed. When she saw Morgan's change of expression, Garcia became concerned. "How bad?" Morgan asked. "Is he all right? Do they have any suspects? No, I'm here with Garcia. We'll come to the hospital as soon as possible. Thanks, man." He ended the call and tucked his cell back in his pocket. He swore under his breath.

"What's happened? Who's hurt? Why are we going to the hospital?" asked Garcia, panicked.

"It's Hotch. He was found unconscious and beaten in an alley."

"OMG!" Garcia's mouth formed a perfect 'O.' Tears ran down her cheeks. "Any idea who did it?"

"Not yet. He's been taken to the hospital. We need to go."

"Is my liege all right?" Garcia asked hurrying to her feet and putting the bowl with the remaining popcorn on the table near the soda cans.

"Rossi isn't sure." Morgan said. He didn't want to frighten Garcia by telling her that things did not look good for their boss. He jumped to his feet and snatched his car keys.

"What about Reid, JJ and Prentiss? Did somebody call them?" She began to ramble. "OMG! Did anybody call Jessica? Poor little Jack. He can't lose his father after losing his mother."

"Calm down, sweetness. It'll be all right. Hotch is strong. He'll be all right. As for the others, Rossi said he and Strauss will contact everybody necessary."

Spencer Reid was wearing worn sweatpants and a tee-shirt with FBI emblazoned across the chest. He was curled up in bed, his back against his pillows, reading the book Robots and Empire by Isaac Asimov. It was the last of the series of mysteries. Within the last ninety minutes, he had finished the first three books in the series.(2) A cup of hot coffee sat on the night stand beside the bed next to his cell phone which sat on its charger. It had been a long day consisting of paperwork belonging to case files, and Reid, as much as he loved paperwork, was for once glad to be done with his. He turned a page in his book and as he reached for his coffee cup, his cell phone vibrated. He grabbed the phone from it's charger and checked the caller ID. Seeing Rossi's name he sighed, hoping the team wasn't being called back into the office. But Hotch usually contacted the team if they had a case. Why was Rossi calling? He pressed the phone to his ear.

"Reid here," he said calmly. "Do we have a case?" As he listened he sat up straight on the bed, his book and coffee now forgotten. "Is Hotch all right? Do they know who did it? Do you need me to contact anybody? Okay, I'm on my way to the hospital. Bye." He disconnected the call and sat still on the bed, stunned as a tear fell from the corners of his hazel eyes. Who would do this to Hotch? Why Hotch? He has to be all right. I can't lose him. I need him to be all right. Reid took a deep breath, hurried off the bed, and quickly changed out of his sleepwear. He snatched his car keys off the cabinet near the door, and his messenger bag from the floor. Please be okay, Hotch. With that in mind, Reid ran from his apartment downstairs to where his car was parked.

"Woo hoo!" Jennifer Jareau shouted as she ecstatically shot both arms into the air after beating two men at darts for the third straight game. Her friend, Emily Prentiss, sat at a nearby table cheering her on and applauding loudly at the victory by the blond. The room, normally loud in the evening, was not this evening. People were talking among themselves without yelling. "Okay boys," JJ said with a smirk. "The losers buy the winners a beer. So pay up, boys!"

The two men groaned aloud and feigned humiliation. They sat down opposite the women, and one of them gestured to a passing waitress and ordered four beers. In reality, the guys weren't upset at losing. They also were FBI agents but from a different team in the BAU, and were friends with both women. The waitress soon returned and placed a beer in front of each person. The quartet each picked up a mug of beer and clinked their glasses together before each took a swig.

"Where did you learn to play like that, JJ?" The brown-haired agent asked with an amused grin. "You and Emily beat the pants off of me and Sly."

JJ chuckled. "Jim, I've been playing darts since I was twelve. My dad taught me." She liked Agent James Carpenter. He was fun, respectful, and above all a gentleman. He also liked JJ's husband, Will LaMontagne, and he and his wife, Catherine, had attended JJ's wedding at Rossi's a year ago.

Prentiss shook her head tossing a strand of her raven hair over her shoulder. She smirked. "And she taught me." A wide smile appeared as she looked into the green eyes of Carpenter's friend, Agent Sylvester Lipton, aka Sly. Sly was a bachelor, and had a similar reputation to Morgan's. He liked to date a different woman each night, and did date Prentiss off-and-on for weeks. But he considered Prentiss more of a good friend he liked to hang out with now and then. Also, Prentiss felt the same way. Sly was a good friend, nothing more.

JJ was about to take another drink of beer when her cell rang. Nearly choking on her mouthful of beer, she swallowed quickly and put the mug on the table. She reached into the pocket of her jacket hanging on the back of the chair. Covering an ear with one hand, she pressed the phone to the other. "JJ."

The others saw the sudden change on JJ's face and realized right away something was wrong. Prentiss groaned suspecting there was a case, and Hotch was calling for the team to come into the office. Sometime the job really sucked. Then she noticed a tear roll down the corner of JJ's face.

"JJ?" she asked, concerned. The blond held up a finger indicating to give her a minute as she listened.

"Is he alive? Is he all right? Who did this? What happened? What hospital did they take him to, ma'am? Don't bother, Emily's here with me. Yes, ma'am. We're on our way." She put the cell away and wiped the pads of her fingers across her cheeks before facing the raven-haired Prentiss. "That was Strauss. Hotch was attacked and viciously beaten. He was found unconscious in an alley. He's been taken to a local hospital."

"Is he all right?" asked Prentiss, her eyes wide with fear.

"I don't know. Strauss told me it's serious. We have to go, Em." JJ grabbed her jacket and got to her feet as did Prentiss. She looked at Carpenter and Lipton. "We're sorry, guys, but we have to leave."

"Don't worry about it, JJ," said a concerned Sly. Both men knew, liked, and respected Aaron Hotchner. "Go. Please give Agent Hotchner our best. If there's anything we can do to help let us know. Hope Hotchner's gonna be okay."

"Thanks," was all Prentiss said as she and JJ hurried out of the club and to JJ's vehicle.

David Rossi paced back and forth in the waiting room of the hospital like an expectant father. Erin Strauss sat in an uncomfortable hard plastic chair with elbows on both thighs, hands clasped together under her lower jaw. She hated hospitals as much as Rossi. But the worst part was the waiting. She and Rossi had arrived about the same time. Both had been told Aaron Hotchner had flat-lined in the ambulance, and had to be resuscitated. And after arriving in the hospital and being examined, he was rushed into surgery. She lifted her eyes when Rossi sighed.

"David, sit down before you wear out a path on the floor. Please. You're going to wear yourself out with your pacing. Besides, it's not going to make the surgery go any quicker."

"I know, Erin, I know." Rossi stuffed both hands in the back pockets of his jeans and leaned his head backward to look at the ceiling for a few seconds. "But if I sit down different scenarios run through my mind about Aaron. And believe me, Cara, none of them are good."

"Rossi!" a voice called from behind him causing both Rossi and Strauss to look down the hall. Derek Morgan and Penelope Garcia were nearly running toward them. "Is there any word?" he asked the older man.

"We've heard nothing since they took him into surgery forty-five minutes ago," Strauss pointed out brushing a loose strand of hair off her forehead.

"The only thing we know is that he flat-lined once in the ambulance, but they managed to resuscitate him," Rossi added. He saw Morgan run a hand over his bald head before slamming a fist angrily against the wall.

"What the hell happened, Rossi?" he asked. "Are there any suspects?"

"They're still investigating," Rossi replied. He could see tears rolling down Garcia's face. With a sad smile, he walked over to Garcia, and pulled her close to him. "Hotch will be all right, kitten. You have to believe that. He won't give up without a fight."

"I know," Garcia's muffled voice could still be heard despite her face being buried against the older man's chest. "I'm just so scared for him." She raised her tear-stained face up to look into Rossi's. "What if he doesn't make it this time? What if he…he…"

"Shhhh. Don't think that way, kitten. Hotch is tough. You just have to have faith."

"You're right," Garcia replied stepping back. She wiped her cheeks. "My liege is a fighter. Also, he has mini-Hotch at home to think about, so he won't give up without a fight. Besides, I have to be strong for Hotch. He needs us to be strong. But I promise when we find out who did this to him, they will rue the day they hurt mon Capitan. I will hunt them down like the slime they are. I will search under every rock until I find them."

Rossi's smile widened a bit. "I don't doubt it, Penelope. And don't worry. We're gonna find out who did this. And heaven help that person when they face the wrath of Penelope Garcia."

"Damn right," Garcia said surprising all by her swear word.

"Rossi!" called out another familiar voice. It was Spencer Reid. "Is there any word?"

"Nothing," Rossi repeated. "But it hasn't been that long since he was taken into surgery." He saw Prentiss and JJ hurrying toward them over Reid's shoulder.

"How is Hotch?" JJ asked.

Rossi repeated what he had just told Reid.

"Do they know who did this to him?" asked Prentiss, still in shock.

Strauss shook her head. "The locals are still investigating. When I spoke with them, the theory is one of three possibilities. One, that it was a mugging. Two, an attempted mugging. Or three, it was somehow related to one of your team's recent cases."

"That's crazy," Reid stated. "Who would want to purposely assault Hotch? Trying to rob him I could see. But going after…" His jaw suddenly dropped and an odd expression appeared on his face.

"Spence? What is it?" asked JJ worriedly.

"I know who attacked Hotch. At least I believe I do."

Everybody gathered around the young genius except for Strauss who stared at him, waiting.

"You do?" asked Rossi who learned over time to trust Reid's observations.

"Who is it, Reid?" hissed Morgan.

"I should have realized it before," Reid explained becoming animated. "But I was so worried after hearing about Hotch that…"

"Reid! Who?!" Morgan raised his voice becoming angry. He badly wanted to pummel the guilty party.

"The Rohypnol Rapist."

"The Unsub we couldn't find in Milwaukee?" asked Prentiss.

"Exactly."

Morgan held up both hands. "Reid, wait a minute. Are you telling us that you think the Rohypnol Rapist followed us to Quantico and attacked Hotch? That's not possible."

"Think about it," Reid continued. "We never found the Rohypnol Rapist and believed he had left the area. Point is, we never found him. Hotch fits the victimology. Tall, dark-haired men in their forties. What if he had targeted Hotch as his next victim, but never got a chance to act on it."

"But the Rohypnol Rapist left the area," Strauss added. "Why leave the area if you have your next victim picked out?"

Reid took two steps closer to Strauss so he was now looking at her. "I don't think he did. I think he was stalking Hotch and learning his routine while we were there. But Hotch was never alone, and at least one of us was always with him. He never got a chance to attack him. So he simply waited and continued watching. We mistook his inactivity as him having left the area when in reality, he was stalking Hotch the entire time just to throw us off the track."

"So you're saying this Unsub followed Hotch from Milwaukee back to Quantico just to attack him?" Morgan's eyes widened in disbelief. "Kid, that's a hell of a stretch."

"Reid's right," Rossi said after a few minutes. The others looked at the older man. "If this Unsub targeted Hotch in Milwaukee, and couldn't get to him because he wasn't able, it's possible he could have followed him here. We've seen this before with other Unsubs."

Morgan folded his arms across his broad chest. "Rossi, the Rohypnol Rapist raped and sodomized his male victims. We have no evidence Hotch was attacked sexually."

"I know. But if it is the same guy, we damn well better make sure he doesn't get away again."

"But first you need to talk to Aaron and see what he remembers," Strauss pointed out. She saw Rossi grinding his lower jaw. "What is it, David?"

Rossi's eyes were focused on Strauss. "Erin, Aaron might not be able to help much if at all."

"Why do you say that?" Strauss asked.

"Rohypnol causes the victim to feel drunk when they're not, especially if mixed with alcohol," Reid began. "It also causes confusion and dizziness as well as problems with memory." He looked worriedly at the older man. "What if Hotch was drugged and doesn't remember who attacked him?"

Rossi sighed grimly. "Then I'd say we have a problem."

For now, the team put aside their questions until they could talk with their Unit Chief about what happened, and who was responsible. Providing that he not only survived the surgery, but that he survived period. They all took seats around Strauss and prepared themselves to wait knowing it could be hours.

(1)The film LOVE STORY is a 1970 romantic drama written by Erich Segal who authored the best-selling book of the same name. It was directed by Arthur Hiller and starred Ryan O'Neill and Ali MacGraw.

(2) Isaac Asimov wrote The Caves of Steel in 1953; Naked Sun in 1955; Robots of Dawn in 1983; and Robots and Empire in 1985. It was a series of Elijah Baley mysteries starring the Terran Elijah Baley and his humaniform robot partner, R. Daneel Olivaw. It sounded like something Reid would read.