A/N: Sorry this update is a bit on the late side. I just got a new laptop which doesn't use MS Works. And I am not familiar with MS Word. So it is taking me time to learn what does what. Also, my muse has deserted me. But I will keep working hoping my muse returns, or at least cooperates.

Chapter 12

Reid and Prentiss arrived at the home of Todd Westlake, and parked outside the small, rundown apartment complex. They exited from their SUV, and as they approached the brick building, warily looked around the area noticing how run down and unsafe the neighborhood appeared. One would not want to be out alone after dark.

"Not exactly the fashionable part of town, is it?" Prentiss asked glancing around as they mounted the concrete steps. She checked the listing of the apartment's residents beside the door, until she found a 'T. Westlake, apt 42.' She pressed the buzzer beside his name and waited.

"Y'know, I wonder how this Todd Westlake fits into what happened," Reid said with hands stuck in his pants pockets. "I mean, we saw him drug Hotch's drink in front of Wheaton. But he never left the bar after Wheaton escorted Hotch from the establishment. So perhaps his involvement was limited to making sure Hotch was given the Rohypnol."

Prentiss shrugged her shoulders. "We profiled the rapist as having a partner. If Wheaton is the rapist, the bartender could be his pawn in drugging Hotch, and not partaking in the sexual assault or beating." She pressed the buzzer again and held it for a few extra seconds before releasing it. "But with the semen of two different men present, we might be looking at a trio instead of a duo. And according to what we already know, the bartender didn't leave the club until hours later after Hotch was supposedly attacked."

"Who's there?" asked an annoyed-sounding voice over the intercom.

"Mr. Westlake?" asked Prentiss.

"What d'ya want?"

"Agent Emily Prentiss and Doctor Spencer Reid of the FBI. We'd like to talk with you."

"Feds? Why?"

"We'd prefer to meet face-to-face instead of communicating this way."

A buzzer was heard and Prentiss pushed open the front door. Reid followed her inside and up the stairs to the fourth floor. They soon found apartment 42. Prentiss knocked on the door. At the sound of footsteps approaching, the agents pulled out their credentials. When the door opened, the man greeting them stared at the badges and ID. Westlake stood about six foot three inches tall with dirty blond hair and green eyes. He gestured for the agents to come inside, then closed the door.

"What's this about?" he asked innocently hooking his thumbs in his belt.

"Can we sit down?" asked Prentiss.

"Sure," Westlake replied. He himself sat on one end of the worn cloth sofa, while Prentiss sat on the other end. Reid stood behind the sofa with arms crossed over his chest. Westlake nervously looked back-and-forth between both agents. "What is it you want to ask me?"

"We understand from your boss, Tim Janacek, you were on duty yesterday between the hours of 6pm to 12midnight," Reid asked. Westlake didn't respond, but looked back and forth between the agents.

"So what? Somebody complain about their drinks being watered down or something?" he chortled. He noticed neither agent shared his joke.

"Not exactly," Prentiss remarked reaching inside her jacket. She handed Wheaton's photo to the bartender. "Do you recognize this man at all? And take your time before you answer."

The bartender's body stiffened as he studied Wheaton's photo, and struggled to keep his face impassive. He shook his head and handed the picture back to the brunette woman. "Sorry," he lied. "What'd he do?"

Prentiss stared hard at the man. "You are a poor liar, Mr. Westlake," she informed the man noticing he avoided eye contact with her. "Do you know what Dr. Reid and I do for the FBI?"

"Why should I care?" he asked staring at his hands.

"We study human behavior," Reid explained. "And from your behavior, we can tell you are not telling us everything. Especially about the man in the photo."

Westlake shook his head. "I've told you everything."

"I don't believe so," Reid continued calmly. "You're avoiding eye contact with both Agent Prentiss and myself. Your body tensed the minute you saw the photo. That tells us you not only recognized the man, and are denying it. Do you know what else that tells us?"

"No."

"It tells us you're trying to distance yourself from everything. And conceal what you did for this man," the young genius added.

"I have no idea who he is," Westlake repeated nervously and it showed.

"It's odd you should say that," Prentiss interjected. "We have the surveillance tape from the Serendipity. It shows you pouring something into a glass of alcohol in front of this man."

"You have the wrong man," Westlake swallowed the growing lump in his throat.

"The man who drank the alcohol from that glass was found raped and severely beaten in an alley," Prentiss informed the bartender. "He is a federal agent. And right now, you are looking like the man responsible."

Westlake shot to his feet and walked over to the liquor cabinet. He grabbed a half-filled bottle of Scotch, and poured two fingers in a tumbler. He downed it in one gulp. "You got the wrong guy," he repeated keeping his back to the agents as he poured another two fingers of Scotch.

"We don't believe so," Prentiss replied getting to her feet. As she approached Westlake, she reached behind her under her jacket, where a pair of handcuffs hung from the back of her belt. "You deny knowing the man in the photo. And we have you on tape pouring a drug into said agent's drink. So, it looks like you're going to take the fall for this entire fiasco all by yourself."

Westlake nearly choked on the Scotch as he downed it. Prentiss stepped closer. "Wait a minute!" he begged turning to face the brunette. "I…I'll tell you what I can. But I didn't rape or beat anybody. I only did what I was told."

"What were you told and by who?"

Westlake walked back toward the sofa and returned to his seat. He rubbed the back of his neck. Prentiss returned to her seat on the opposite end of the sofa and waited.

"The guy in the photo," Westlake began licking his suddenly dry lips. "I didn't hear his last name. But I overheard the man he met at the bar refer to him as Darryl. And Darryl called his friend AM."

"AM?" Prentiss interrupted with raised eyebrows. "What did this AM look like, Todd? Can you describe him?"

"Kinda. He was white. Maybe 6'1 or 6'2. Looked about 180 or 185 pounds. Black hair. And real dark brown eyes. The kind that look right through you. Oh yeah, he wore an expensive-looking suit."

Emily reached into her jacket and removed a snapshot of Hotch she had taken from a file. She handed it to the bartender. "Is this the man called AM?"

Westlake studied the photo carefully. "That's him." He handed the snapshot back to Prentiss who glanced up and exchanged looks with Reid.

"Why would he refer to Hotch as AM?" Prentiss asked Reid, confused.

"Aaron Michael Hotchner," the young agent replied softly.

Prentiss appeared surprised. "How did you find out Hotch's middle name?"

Reid shrugged. "That's privileged information," he admitted with a sly grin. He would never admit to overhearing Hotch and Rossi talking, and the man's middle name finding its way into the conversation. He hoped Prentiss would drop the inquiry. She did. Reid took Wheaton's photo from Prentiss and held it up for Westlake. "Is this Darryl?"

Westlake nodded.

"Tell us what happened," Reid instructed the bartender.

Westlake let out a deep breath. "This Darryl came into the bar and ordered a beer. Said he was waiting for an old friend he hadn't seen in years to join him. I didn't think nothing of it until he pulled out this small vial with a clear liquid in it. He handed it to me and said he wanted to play a joke on his friend. Asked me if I would pour the contents of the vial into whatever drink his friend asked for when he arrived."

"And you didn't find what he wanted you to do strange?" asked Reid.

Westlake looked as if he was about to cry. "He said it was for a joke. That it would make his friend appear drunk was all. I didn't think there was any harm in it so, I did it when the dark-haired guy left the club for a few minutes to answer his cell."

Prentiss' eyebrows knitted together. "So you expect us to believe you had no idea you were pouring a date rape drug into this man's drink?"

"I swear I had no idea until his picture was shown on the news last night, and I heard what happened."

Prentiss got to her feet and again reached behind her and under her jacket. "Stand up, Mr. Westlake. And turn your back to me with your hands behind you." When the man obeyed, she clamped one cuff onto one wrist.

"What are you doing?" The man was panicked. "I told you everything. Why are you arresting me?"

Prentiss clamped the other cuff on the bartender's opposite wrist. "You're being arrested as an accomplice to the assault of a federal agent." As she led Westlake to the door of his apartment with Reid following, Prentiss read the man his rights.

Rossi and Morgan drove to Dumfries, Virginia in silence. The drive was less than ten minutes, but both thought about the pending arrest they were going to make, and how it would affect Hotch. Both men realized discovering his college friend was the Rohypnol rapist would destroy Hotch. Rossi was behind the wheel of their SUV. He glanced in Morgan's direction and noticed him shake his head.

"What's on your mind, Derek?" Rossi asked as he turned onto Mayfern Avenue.

Morgan faced the older man. "Same thing that's on yours, Rossi. How to break the news to Hotch about his old college pal being responsible."

"Still…."

"Still what? What's buggin' you, Rossi?"

Rossi shook his head as his eyebrows knitted together. "I'm not sure. Somehow this all seems way too easy."

"What do you mean?"

"Let's examine it," Rossi began noticing they were near their destination. "Thanks to JJ and Garcia, we know Hotch met Wheaton at the Serendipity. Garcia further discovered from the surveillance tape, that not only did Wheaton get to the club before Hotch, but that he had a brief conversation with a bartender. Said bartender was seen on tape doctoring Hotch's drink in full view of Wheaton who, once Hotch was under the drug's effects, led him out of the club."

"Sounds pretty cut and dry to me."

"That's just it, Morgan. How does an Unsub who planned everything so meticulously in Milwaukee and avoided capture, be so sloppy as to leave evidence leading us right to him this time?" Rossi parked the SUV half a block away from their address. He turned and faced Morgan. "I'm telling you. Something isn't right."

Morgan mulled over what the older man told him as he straightened up in his seat. "Let's say you're right, and something's not right. Any idea what it could be? You think this Darryl Wheaton might be innocent?"

Rossi let out a deep breath. "I don't know. I can't put my finger on it. But I'll tell you this much. I got a suspicion things are about to get a lot more complicated." He and Morgan opened their doors, got out, and walked in the direction of the address they sought.

Aaron Hotchner kept his face turned away from the door. He neither looked at, nor spoke with, anybody who tried to engage him in conversation. Not even Doctor Dennis Correa, who replaced Doctor Caswell. He was depressed. And as the day wore on, Hotch sank further into his shell, withdrawing from everybody. As far as he was concerned, these people who visited him were wasting their time. He didn't deserve or want their pity or sympathy. He wasn't worth the trouble or concern. In fact, he didn't turn around at the sound of the door opening again, or of the small, sandy-blond tornado bursting through it.

"Daddy!" an excited familiar voice shouted.

Hotch's head snapped around to find his five-year-old son racing forward with a smiling Jessica close behind her nephew. An expression of uncertainty appeared on Hotch's face. Why is he here? Why did she bring him here? He will hate me when he finds out. His uncertainty shifted to Jessica as she picked up her nephew and placed him on the bed beside his father. She then stepped back and leaned against the wall near the door with crossed arms, watching what unfolded before her eyes. Whatever was troubling her former brother-in-law, seeing Jack might help the man.

"He wanted to visit his daddy," Jess explained seeing Aaron's face. "He worships you, Aaron. He kept carrying on until I agreed to bring him."

The five-year-old snuggled against his dad and wrapped his short arms around his father's neck. He rested his face in the crook of his dad's shoulder. Hotch carefully wrapped his arms around his son, holding him tightly against his body, despite the pain caused by the pressure. He inhaled the little boy's scent, needing to let it permeate every pore of his being.

"I love you, daddy," Jack said turning his head sideways. The child closed his eyes while holding onto his father like a lifeline, refusing to let go. The man he considered his own personal superhero. "Are you okay?"

"I am now that you're here, buddy," Hotch replied and kissed the top of his son's head. He squeezed his eyes shut as single tears rolled down his cheeks. Jack raised his head and looked his dad directly in his face.

"Why are you sad?" the child asked seeing his father's face. He touched a tiny forefinger to his dad's cheek and felt the moisture. "Why are you crying?"

"Buddy, I'm so sorry for getting hurt by a bad guy."

"Yous didn't do nothin' wrong, daddy. Yous a superhero. Superheroes don't do nothin' wrong."

Hotch let out a deep breath as the corners of his mouth turned upward. He believed he did not deserve the love of this child for being the weak disgrace of a human he was. His father had told him so. How can this child possibly love him? How? He ran a hand over his son's hair and looked directly into his eyes.

"Buddy, I want you to listen to me very closely. Can you do that for me?"

"Yeah."

"I let you down, Jack. I guess I'm not much of a superhero after all." Another single tear rolled down his cheek.

The little boy tilted his head slightly as he listened to his father. Somehow, he sensed his father's inner pain even though he wasn't sure he understood. To him, daddy was a real life superhero who always beat the bad guys. But his daddy was sad right now. All he knew was he had to help him feel better. But how? Then his mind formulated a plan. He reached out a hand and touched his dad's cheek. Gently, he wiped away the tear. "Don't be sad, daddy. Even Superman has bad days."

"He did?"

"Uh huh. Ev'rytime there was that bright green thing. He lost his superpowers when that green thing was 'round him."

"Bright green thing?" Hotch arched his eyebrows, confused momentarily. "You mean kryptonite?"

Jack shook his head eagerly. "Yeah. It took his superpowers from him. But he got 'em back when that green stuff was gone. So you gots hurt 'cause a bad guy had that green thing. But you gonna gets better and gets the bad man, cause nobody beats daddy." He kissed his father on his cheek as Hotch's smile grew wider as he understood. The two hugged each other close. Hotch winced from the close contact.

Jessica wiped the tears from her face with the palm of one hand as she watched her nephew interact with his father. She had seen Hotch wince and figured he was in pain.

"Jack, honey, it's time for us to go now."

The youngest Hotchner pouted as he looked at his aunt. "I don't wanna leave daddy. He needs me. I gots to guard him."

Jessica smiled and stepped closer to the bed. "I understand. But daddy also needs to rest so he can get his superpowers back. That's what you want for him, isn't it?" She reached out a hand and stroked her nephew's hair lovingly.

"I wanna stay with daddy," Jack whined laying his head sideways on his dad's shoulder again wrapping his short arms around his father. Hotch gently moved Jack away so he could look him in the face.

"Buddy, listen to me. I love that you want to stay here with me. But your Aunt Jess is right. I need rest to get better. And I need you to do what she tells you."

Jack blinked to stave off tears. "Daddy, don't you want me to stay with you? I can keep the bad men away while you gets better."

Hotch and Jessica both smiled. Hotch leaned close and kissed his son's forehead. "Jack, I love that you want to protect me from the bad guys. But I'll tell you a secret. This hospital is for superheroes only. No bad men are allowed in here. I'm perfectly safe."

"Really, daddy?"

"Have I ever told you a fib?"

"No."

"And I'm not now. Those men outside my room? They are assigned to all superheroes while they're here."

"They are?" Jack's eyes widened with this exciting information. "Do they have special powers too?"

"Sure do. And they have ray guns."

"Like Buzz Lightyear in Toy Story?"

Hotch grinned. "Yep. So you see, I'm well protected here. Besides, I have a much more important job for you."

"What?"

"I need you to watch over Aunt Jess. Can you do that for me?"

Jack smiled excitedly. "I'll be the bestest hero ever."

"Good boy. I'll see you tomorrow. Okay?"

"Okay, daddy." Jack allowed Jessica to pick him up off the bed and place him on the floor. Showing his determination at the assignment his father gave him, the little boy tightly gripped his aunt's hand and pulled her toward the door.

"C'mon, Aunt Jess. I gots to gets you home. I needs to keep the bad men away like daddy told me." As they neared the door, Jack looked over his shoulder. "Bye, daddy. I love you."

"Bye, buddy. I love you too. Bye Jess. And thanks."

"You're welcome, Aaron. Call if you need anything. Bye." Jack pulled her out the door leaving Hotch alone in the room, with fresh tears in his eyes, and a smile which lit up the room.

Dad was wrong. Jack doesn't hate me. He loves me. He really, really loves me. Dad was wrong!