Tilting at WindmillsbyDragonLadyK Part 1 Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc.

are the propert y of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. "I caught a falling star. It cut my hands to pieces." -- duVivier "Remind me why we're here again?" Reid asked, staring out over the crowd beneath the balcony. Tuxedoed men and evening-gowned women rippled along the carpeted f loor, flowing like rapids around the white-suited waiters bearing champagne and too-expensive hors d'oeuvre on silver trays. The Grand Old Party's decorations w ere everywhere, both in streamers of ribbon and dyed carnations. The low murmur of polite conversation nearly eclipsed the soft strains of "Fur Elise" coming fr om the small group of musicians in the corner. "Senator Brooks is up for re-election. He and my father have worked together for decades, so my father asked me to be here. I said yes to make him happy," Emily narrated, trying not to clutch at Reid's arm. She was in a black, satiny evenin g gown. Reid was in a rented tux Emily had paid for. He wished he could have wor n his usual tweed. It was more comfortable. "You are here as my human shield for the drunk trustafarians," Emily continued through a frozen smile. "You're paying me with a copy ofFirst Contactit cost you at least five hundred dol lars and six hours of waiting to acquire," Reid commented, "to be a human shield when you've faced deranged psychopaths without flinching." "I can shoot the psychopaths," Emily said. She put an extra layer of false warmt h as an elderly couple approached. "Senator Montgomery, Mrs. Montgomery." She sh ook hands with a practiced lightness. Reid tried to slow his usual hummingbird-d art of a handshake to something roughly that speed. "Emily," Mrs. Montgomery said in the same shallow and pleasant tone Emily had us ed. "It's so good to see you here. Edward and I thought for certain that you'd b e called away. And who is your handsome companion?" "Dr. Reid," Emily said when all Spencer could produce was a blush and a downcast look. "He's a colleague from the BAU." "Ah, so you're the young genius," Mr. Montgomery said with a smile. "Yeah-- uh, yes. Yes, that's me," Reid stammered. Edward Montgomery's smile lost some of its sparkle, then he and his wife moved away. "I'm terrible at this," Reid moaned in soft misery. "You carry a penis, you have a brain, and you're bribable," Emily whispered back . "I'm not counting on you to win any elections, I just need you to be my date. As long as I get out of here without getting propositioned, groped, or losing my mind: mission accomplished." "Mission failed," Reid corrected as a waiter passed with something green on crac kers. "You've already lost your mind." Emily looked around the ballroom with a sinking expression. "Two out of three wouldn't be bad." She looked back over the ballroom toward the grand entrance. "Oh.Wow." Reid turned from gawking at a particularly ostentatiou s statue to see what had garnered his partner in suffering's attention. He didn'

t say so out loud, but he heartily seconded her sentiment. Hotch was gorgeous. The tux highlighted his long legs and trim waist, leading up ward to firm shoulders. The black cloth of his jacket made his eyes and hair loo k even darker, highlighted his medium complexion. The long row of satiny black d ots stretching down the pristine white of his shirt drew the eye upward. First t o his throat, which led naturally to the points and hallows of his face, and fin ally the untamable lock of hair that fell across his brow. Reid had never wanted to unwrap anything so badly in his life. He imagined the woman on Hotch's arm would have a thing or two to say about that . Haley was resplendent in red silk, her blonde hair done up in an elegant twist and an equally elegant expression on her face. Her body language gave every ind ication she was truly enjoying herself. Hotch wore the same expression he wore f or whatever bureaucrat JJ was trying to placate. "Come on," Reid said, turning toward the stairs. Hotch was better at social stuf f than either of them, and he was probably armed. "What's he doing here?" Emily balked. "Who cares?" Reid asked. She couldn't argue with that logic so she followed Reid , weaving with polite deliberation through the crowd. They made slow progress on ce they descended to the main floor. Emily was stopped every five minutes for a brief introduction or perfunctory small talk. A few asked how she was enjoying t he BAU, most pretended she'd never taken up the police. Soon they'd lost the Hot chners completely. "Do we eat soon?" Emily asked. Reid checked his watch. "Another half an hour." He took a suspicious-looking bit of food from a waiter a nd held it out to Emily. "Slimy thing?" "Canape," Emily identified before eating it. "Thank you." They ascended the stai rs to take up their previous position at the corner of the balcony. "Who's the guy who's been eyeing you for the past twenty minutes?" Reid asked, n odding to a tall, cut blonde surrounded by equally sculpted minions. "Richard Hambolt III," Emily said with a disgusted voice. "Trustafarian and woma nizer." "Where's the Prince Charming Killer when you need her?" Reid asked. Emily bit ba ck giggles. "Say something intelligent," Hotch's voice suddenly said behind them. Reid and E mily both jumped. "In 1953 Watson and Crick first described the structure of DNA," Reid said immed iately, "thus paving the way for the first major breakthrough in genetic enginee ring: in 1980 bacteria were modified to produce human insulin." "The first pyramid," Emily said, her brain coming out of the half-second freezeup it usually went into when Hotch questioned her directly, "was a step pyramid designed for the Pharaoh Djoser by Imhotep, who was himself revered as an incarn ation of the Egyptian creator-god Ptah. You hate politics." "Senator Brooks is Haley's uncle," Hotch explained. He flashed a false smile and a wave at someone in the crowd. "She loves these things. I'm not certain if it'

s getting out of the house, having an excuse to dress up, or if she just enjoys rubbing my nose in the fact she's better at something than me." "That's why the book," Emily said slowly, voice lilting with the dawn of realiza tion. The day before, a plain brown paper package with no return address had bee n mailed to Hotch at the BAU. Hotch had carefully opened the paper to discover a single dried rose and a book he'd been coveting for a month but Haley had forbi dden him to buy:Mistress of the Art of Death, a novel about a Crusades-era corone r from Salerno investigating a series of murders in England. "She didn't want yo u to buy it because she knew she'd need it to butter you up." "Was it worth it?" Reid asked. "I'm wondering if it's possible to kill yourself with stemware," Hotch replied d ryly, lifting the untouched champagne glass in his hand. "Smash the flute into the balcony to break it off at the stem," Emily replied wi thout hesitation. "Then drive it into your temple by falling on it. You can try smashing the globe to make a knife, but cutting your own jugular can be tricky. The artery in your wrist is under too many tendons to cut before someone can sto p you." Hotch and Reid stared at her mutely. "I spent a lot of time at these thi ngs when I was young." "It shows, Morticia," Reid deadpanned. Hotch scanned the crowd. "In the middle of a ridiculously expensive party we're all clumped together hopi ng one of our cell phones will ring," he commented. "That could be considered pa thological." "It's true what they say," Reid said. Hotch regarded him curiously. "Some people are more comfortable in Hell." Hotch frowned, then reached into a pocket to withdraw his buzzing phone. He duck ed behind one of the dark blue drapes. Hotch made a couple of affirmative sounds , then told whoever was on the line that Reid and Prentiss were with him. Adrena line ran through Emily. Reid looked just the same, a blend of dread and fear and anticipation and high. Someone needed them, and the stultifying waste of time w as over. Emily didn't enjoy being in the BAU. She lived for it. Reid was the sam e, she was certain. He was still here, after all, still here when Greenaway wasn 't. "That was JJ," Hotch said after he emerged from behind the drapes. The insincere smile was gone. "We have a housecleaner. She says it's bad. I'll need a ride." "Absolutely," Emily said without hesitation. Everyone around them saw their post ures change as the social slipped away until only the Agent was left behind. The y parted, Emily and Reid heading for the exit and Hotch headed for Haley. Hotch slid into Emily's Mustang twenty minutes later. Both Prentiss and Reid had changes of clothes in the trunk. Hotch would have to do with his tux. Neither E mily nor Reid minded. ~*~ "How mad was Haley?" JJ asked with a wince when she saw Hotch's outfit. "A little," Hotch said matter-of-factly. "She really couldn't argue when I point ed out leaving meant I couldn't tell anyone a politically inconvenient truth. Re id and Prentiss are changing, they'll be along." He took his customary seat at t he head of the table, pulling a folder towards him. Morgan was already there, co ffee in hand.

"Valdosta, Georgia," JJ said as soon as Reid and Prentiss arrived, neatly attire d in their usual clothing. "Six murders in two days." "That's a short fuse," Morgan remarked, saying aloud what everyone else was thin king. "All of the victims were convicted pedophiles," JJ continued. "They were overpow ered with a blow to the head, then shot through the heart and genitals. None of the neighbors reported hearing a gunshot. Police are assuming the unsub is using a silencer. The killings all happened at night. The victims were found when the y didn't show up for work or missed appointments. There has been no attempt to c ontact the media, no forensic evidence left at the scene. The guy's a ghost." "Bold, too," Emily commented. "There are a lot of wealthy families in Valdosta. With this short of a cool-down, he's killed before. He had to know this would ge t our attention." "Three murders in eight hours, travel time included takes determination," Morgan said. "There was no hesitation between the time he knocked on the door until he left the scene. This unsub either believes God is on his side and he doesn't ha ve to fear us, or he's so certain he thinks we'd approve." "His victims are the lowest form of criminal," Hotch said. "Even hardened cons h ate pedophiles. We'll have to keep this out of the media." "If he has a gun," Morgan asked, "then why the blow to the head? That suggests a lack of confidence. It conflicts with the mission-based profile." "Not if he has hand tremors, or bad aim," Reid said. "The first victim was George Donnelly, 35," JJ narrated, "who molested his seven year-old daughter and one of her friends. The second was Mika Theron, 40, who w as a chronic repeat offender. Lou-Ann Moskala, 36, was the last of the night. Sh e was convicted of raping her fifteen year-old son after her husband left her fo r another man. Donnelly was a Class 2 offender, Theron a Class 3, and Moskala a Class 1. The next night he killed Jose Vasquez, 40, another chronic offender. He moved on to Richard LaSalle, 37, convicted of molesting three girls in his kind ergarten class. The most recent was Michael Lee, also 37, convicted of molesting his five year-old son." "The Lees are a wealthy family," Hotch commented. "The house definitely had an a larm, perhaps cameras. Our unsub either charmed his way in the door or he has ex perience with breaking and entering." JJ circled back, going over each victim in more detail. The Valdosta police had already ruled out any jurisdictional connection between the victims and the chil dren they'd molested. No courtrooms, no arresting officers, no social workers in common. "One last thing," JJ said, clicking her remote for the final time. "The unsub le ft a message at each scene: '"I will lose no more children."'" "Why the quotation marks?" Reid asked. "Because it's a quote," Hotch said solemnly. "FromMistress of the Art of Death. I t's from King Henry's confrontation with the Church tribunal attempting to prote ct the submissive unsub -- a nun -- to protect the Church's reputation. He says it as an ultimatum, that either the Church removes her from England or he will t ake public action."

"You just got the book yesterday," Morgan said blankly. "When I can't sleep, I read," Hotch said with a shrug. "We're going to Valdosta. If our unsub hasn't killed tonight he will tomorrow. I'll stop home for the boo k and to pack an overnight bag, meet you on the plane." He started for the door, stopped, then turned. His mouth was a thin line of frustration. "I don't have a vehicle." "Take mine," JJ said, tossing her keys at Hotch. "It's almost out of gas." "You're welcome," Hotch muttered as he left the breakroom. JJ smiled wickedly. ~*~ Haley was already home. Hotch was surprised. He would have expected her to stay after the dinner for a while, to linger in adult conversation for as long as pos sible. Hotch pulled in behind his car -- which was not in the garage -- popped o pen the back and pulled out his duffel. He tossed it into the passenger seat, lo cked JJ's car and his own, then rushed up the paved walkway. The door was locked , but the alarm didn't ask for his access code. "The alarm doesn't do any good if you don't arm it, Haley," Hotch muttered. It w as an old fight. Just like allowing Aaron to teach her to use the gun he'd bough t her for their fourth anniversary, or learning basic throws and pain points. Ha ley said she refused to live her life like a victim. His protest that women who could defend themselves didn't usually end up victims fell on deaf ears. All of his siblings -- especially his sisters -- owned and knew how to operate firearms . They knew how to make an attacker let go and what the danger signs were, as di d his nieces and nephews. Aaron made certain of it. He knew what the world was l ike far more vividly than Haley and her family, who only saw through the news wh at people were capable of. He couldn't be everywhere all the time. That wasn't p aranoia. Hypervigilance, perhaps. But, as his family (half of it, anyway) pointed out so often, who could blame him? Hotch set his keys on the kitchen table. Haley's purse was on it, her coat throw n over a chair. He didn't hear Jack. Aaron made certain to step quietly across t he house, in case Haley was already asleep. She needed it. He took the late-nigh t awakenings when he was home, but he was away so often... Hotch stamped down th e familiar guilt. The baby sign was helping with Jack's fussiness. A hand under the chin for "dirty," hand moving down the chest for "hungry," first two fingers and thumb together for "no," fingers of both hands grouped and pressed together for "more" -- it was primitive, but it reduced the guesswork. Hotch wasn't cert ain which annoyed his sister-in-law more: having to learn the signs, or that Aar on's idea had worked. Hotch crept softly through the living room toward the dining room staircase. The re were towels on the sofa, and he could hear the hot tub running. Aaron glanced at the clock. He had time to say a proper goodbye. Or, at the very least, take her the forgotten towels in an insufficient apology. He picked up the lavender-s melling terrycloth and headed for the fenced garden that held the hot tub. Aaron could see candle-light flickering through the sliding glass, which was odd, sin ce Haley usually only put candles out when they were-Hotch dropped the towels. A nauseous and breathless feeling dominated his consci ousness. It really did feel like being punched in the stomach. Haley wasn't alone. A muscled man Caucasian descent was with her, one hand on he r back and the other fondling a breast. Haley's hands were grasping the back of

his neck, her upper body rocking in a very distinctive rhythm. Aaron had seen th e man before. He was an aide to one of the congressmen, he helped organize fundi ng for one of Haley's volunteer organizations, he couldn't remember which one-Aaron pressed a hand to his mouth, moving away from the glass. The muscled physique, the fine Italian suit on the bench by the hot tub: this wa s a man who cared about appearances. Helping secure funding for Haley's charity had probably been nothing more than a way to showcase his employer's compassion. He was an aide to a congressman, a position that took ambition and intelligence . He'd probably been a lawyer or a lobbyist before, worked his way up the ranks. He knew how Haley liked to be touched. He had either been with her before or el se he was sexually well-experienced, possibly both-It was sick, to be leaned against a bookshelf profiling his wife's lover. But he couldn't stop. The litany of traits kept unspooling in his mind. -- charming, most certainly. Ruthless, definitely, to be sleeping with Haley in her own house. Haley's ring was still on, Aaron's FBI Academy graduation picture on the shelf. This man knew he was running the risk of being caught having sex with a cop's wife. It either didn't deter him or it turned him on. That was arro gance. His hands had no calluses that Hotch saw, no scars on his torso. Soft liv ing, safe living. He'd probably never fired a gun, let alone had one held on him . Hotch was tempted to give him that experience. His secondary weapon was heavy at his ankle, his service 9mm outside in his overnight duffel. The .38 Elaine had given him for his thirtieth birthday was upstairs in the locked gun cabinet, as was his grandfather's hunting rifle. He could, if he wanted, scare them both. He couldkillthem both, make them pay for this forever. But that wasn't him. He wasn't his father's son; violence had no place in his ho use. Aaron pushed himself away from the bookshelf, lurched up the stairs. He'd get th e book, go to work, and think about the rest... after. It was a mistake. The book was on his shelf in the bedroom, and the bedroom woul d have hurt less if it had been rigged. There were snuffed candles on every surf ace, and the dark blue satin sheets were on the bed. The usual cotton ones were in a pile in the corner, next to a chair that held a bag full of men's toiletrie s. The room reeked of musk. Hotch bent to pick up a piece of cloth from the floo r. It was a teddy, pinstripes and red lace. He'd purchased it. She'd slept with him in their bed, on sheets she'd bought and in a negligee that had been his gif t to her. Aaron brought the cloth to his face, torn between inhaling the scent and sobbing into it. Had she introduced him to Jack as well? Living the reality of a cop's wife when Aaron was home, living the fantasy of a politician's courtesan when he was away saving lives. Policeman and politician, duty-bound and indulgent, safe provider and forbidden risk, dark and fair, lean and stocky: Haley had everything both ways. A harsh so b escaped Aaron's mouth. He brought his other hand up and jerked, tearing he teddy down the middle. Then he threw the useless scrap on the pillows. Hotch pulled the luggage set from its hiding place underneath the bed. He unzipped the largest suitcase, jerked out t he garment bag, the other suitcase, and the collapsed duffel.

His suits went into the garment bag. Not all of them would fit, so he took his f avorites and the most expensive. His ties went into the duffel, along with socks and underwear. His shirts were laid out in the largest suitcase. Jeans and casu al shirts were stacked atop them, his favorite zip-up thrown on top. He snapped the suitcase shut, zipped up the garment bag, and set them both by the footboard . The album of his family photos went into the duffel, as did his small album of pictures of his team. He put the .38 in its box, shoved that in the duffel as w ell, then closed it and sat it by the large suitcase. He pulled the fireproof bo x out from under the bed, removed Haley's papers, then snapped the box shut and set it in the pile. He put his grandfather's rifle in its case, shoved the ammun ition into the last remaining suitcase, then set the hunting rifle by the rest o f his possessions. Into the last suitcase he added mementos. Books he treasured because they'd been gifts from dear ones, the velvet box containing what heirlooms he possessed, th e plaque from his step-sister's Pass-in-Review, with "Honor, Courage, and Commit ment" beneath her uniformed portrait. For the first time, he was glad Susan was stationed overseas. It meant she couldn't take a sniper rifle to Haley. He didn' t want her courts-martialed. Hotch carefully wrapped the plaque in a pillowcase before setting it in the suitcase. He had toiletries in his overnight bag, pajam as as well. He looked the bedroom slowly. Was there anything else he wanted to t ake in this first trip, to have safely locked away from any possible retribution ? Hotch reached out and took a picture from his dresser. It was of Sean, taken aft er Aaron's commencement ceremonies. Sean had been only seven; old enough to unde rstand that his brother's graduation was important, but young enough to ask to w ear the tasseled hat. The wind had promptly snatched it off Sean's head. The pic ture was of Sean chasing the flat piece of cardboard and cloth across the sundia l, Aaron's full and step siblings gathered in a giggling group off to the side. Hotch carefully wrapped it in a pillowcase as well, then zipped the final suitca se shut. He couldn't drive his car and JJ's to the airport. He'd have to load hi s things in her car, and explain when they returned from Valdosta. If his team h adn't figured it out by then. They were bright people. Aaron slid his ring off his finger and set it on the ruined teddy. He slung the rifle case's handle over his shoulder, added the duffel, then picke d up the larger suitcase and the box. The garment bag, the other suitcase, and t he book would require a second trip. Aaron loaded his belongings in JJ's car, sn apped the trunk shut, and headed back inside. Apparently his re-entry garnered a ttention because Haley was waiting at the bottom of the stairs when Hotch descen ded for the second time. His garment bag was in one hand, along with the suitcas e's handle.Mistress of the Art of Deathwas tucked in the crook of his arm. JJ's ke ys were in his free hand. "What are you doing?" Haley demanded. Covering her guilt with accusation, self-j ustification making her bold. She was in a robe, and her boyfriend was nowhere t o be seen. He'd probably snuck out the back. "What does it look like?" Hotch fired back, not even pausing as he passed her. "You're going to leave, just like that. After I took you back." "You are unbelievable." Aaron turned to face her. "How long has this been going on, hm?" And that was part of the empty poisoned feeling in his chest. Aaron Hot chner, youngest unit chief in the BAU, the unparalleled Jason Gideon's protege a nd successor, and he hadn't even noticed his wife having an affair right under h is nose. Again. "Did you pick him up at the party, or has this been going on lon g enough you're not even sure which of us sired your child?" Haley flinched. Aar

on wished he'd kept his mouth shut. "Well, what did you expect, Aaron? You're never here." A complaint as a justific ation, as if she were the wronged party. "I expected," Hotch replied, his voice sounding like it came from somewhere behi nd his sternum. "Four times a month I am six states away surrounded by people wh o don't know me and sure as Hell don't know you. I have three pretty women and t hree handsome men on my staff--" Haley looked away. She liked to think of bisexu ality as a phase he'd grown out of. "-- five of whom are with me when I travel, and I'veneverslept with anyone else! I expected reciprocation, if not appreciation ." "Appreciation?" Haley's voice was laced with sarcasm and surprise. "I'm the one who does 'the good housewife' alone every damn day while you're off playing hero , and I'm supposed to be happy about something as trivial as refraining from one night stands? It's just sex, Aaron!" "It's not trivial!" As much as he wanted it to be, because if it was it wouldn't hurt so much. If it didn't matter, he wouldn't see Haley with her lover every t ime he closed his eyes. Aaron was shouting, for the twelfth time in nearly twent y years. "You looked me in the eyes and smiled in my face, made love to me, for two years knowing you were banging someone else." There were tears on his cheeks , he could feel them, which was worst of all because it meant she knew how badly he was hurting. Aaron fled, bolting from the house before any more vulnerability could be expose d. Haley called after him. Hotch didn't waste time with the trunk, he just shove d everything in the passenger seat and started the car. He drove long enough to ensure Haley couldn't find him, then pulled over. Aaron rested his head on the s teering wheel. He bit the cuff of his tux in a vain attempt to get control, but the sobs kept slipping through his clenched teeth. Two years. Saying it had made it viciously real, both the adultery and the deception. He'd been cuckolded for a blond who was both polar opposite and exact copy. He could have been that con gress-bound politician, of lily-white hands and diplomacy, if he hadn't joined t he FBI. He could have worked his way up to DA, then from DA to governor or state senator, then to Congress. It was what had been expected of him, the only reaso n anyone had imagined for him taking his law degree to the prosecutor's office. If he could ignore the criminals and their victims, turn away those who desperat ely needed his protection, then he could be the kind of man his wife desired. "Though she had fallen in love, nothing in the rest of the world had changed. Co rpses would still cry out. She had a duty to hear them." It was fromMistress of the Art of Death, the passage he'd seen flipping idly thro ugh the book while he'd waited for Haley to finish chatting with a girlfriend. T hat sentence was why he'd coveted the book so much. Because Ariana Franklin unde rstood, and maybe if he could convince Haley to read it and then she could under stand, too. She could finally grasp what the Sheridan half of his family had tri ed to explain: that duty was a noble passion, more inexorable than any of the ot hers. Did Haley love him at all, or just what he had the potential of becoming if that half of him was burned away? Were they even in the same marriage? Aaron laughed , a brittle and cackling sound. If Haley could sleep with someone else -- after she'd promised never again, after he'd believed her explanations -- and declare it "just sex," then probably not. Aaron pressed his face in his palms. He should have seen this coming. The great

profiler, and he'd been blindsided.Two years,for the love of all that was holy. Th at was what he got for trusting. He trusted his team completely, too. Would that haunt him, someday? His reflex response was to deny even the possibility, but i f someone had asked him three hours ago he'd have denied the possibility of Hale y cheating again. No. He couldn't think that way. He couldn't start doubting everyone just because of Haley. He'd end up like Vincent Perotta, or one of the other dark mirrors th at haunted his nightmares. Paranoid personalities developed in childhood, but th at didn't mean he had to be a slave to it. Suspicion would destroy his unit's dy namics. He trusted them with his life, they'd had his back every time. None of t hem would use him as a stepping stone to secure a promotion or a favor. He could trust them, every last one. Hotch leaned back, resting his head on the seat and taking deep breaths. He wish ed Jason was there. It would be a sanity-saver to have him to along to talk to, and to run interference with his family. God, his family. A case in Valdosta was enough of a nightmare to contemplate, ev en without the inevitable conflict when Haley called his mother. Maybe he could shoot himself in the foot. The thought brought a bitter smile to his lips. He co uldn't stay home. Not with an unsub this nasty. Hotch popped the trunk and pushed himself out of the car. His overnight bag stay ed on the passenger seat, everything else was neatly stacked in the trunk. He'd worry about a lawyer and a place to stay when he got back. For now, he needed to focus on the job, keep his head in the work. Take his team out for dinner, mayb e even borrow his step-mother's kitchen and cook them a real meal. He knew it wa sn't fair to his team to fuss over them, but it was a more attractive option tha n having a major depressive episode. "Great coping mechanism, Hotch," he muttered to himself, one hand resting on the open trunk. He thought of the rose bushes around his house and the fenced garde n with a guilty pang. He probably needed to apologize to Strauss for the bonsai remark. He did the same damn thing. ~*~ They'd been waiting on the tarmac for over an hour. Even if Hotch had taken JJ's gas remark seriously, and even if he'd then stopped and bought coffee for them all, he was a half-hour late. Hotch was never, ever late. He wasn't answering hi s cell phone nor had he returned their calls. He had to be in trouble. Morgan's phone rang. He answered, talked with Garcia for a few minutes, then clo sed the phone. He shook his head. No accidents had been reported with JJ's licen se plate. "Maybe something happened while he was home," Emily said fretfully. "An accident or burglar. Should we have the police check?" "Does anyone even know Hotch's home number?" JJ asked. They had never needed it before; his cell was never long off or absent. "Garcia does," Reid answered, staring out the plane windows. Morgan called Garcia back to ask for the number. There was another long silence while Morgan listened. He thanked Garcia again and hung up. "She already called," he said to the rest of the group. "Haley said he'd already left, and she sounded upset."

"Maybe she killed him and was cleaning up the blood," Reid said darkly, looking away from the glass. "That's not funny, Reid," JJ snapped. Because they all knew it was possible. Any thing was possible, given the right stressor. "There he is!" The team gathered a round the window beside the table, watching as JJ's black Honda parked and turne d off its lights. They saw a figure leave the car and dash across the lot. "Sorry I'm late." Hotch threw his overnight bag into a chair and tossed d black book on the table. "Page 362. Buckle up, I'll change when we're ir." He disappeared into the cockpit. The team slowly took their seats. appeared a few moments later, silently plucked a file from the box, and customary lone seat at the front of the plane. a red an in the a Hotch re took his

JJ took a tablet and wrote on it. She held up the paper. It read, "anyone else a little freaked out?" They all nodded. Erratic behavior in Hotch was normally th e sort of thing they'd leave to Gideon. But Gideon was gone. Reid gestured for E mily's notepad. "If he wanted to talk, he would. I say we give him his space," he wrote. Whether out of cowardice or concession to wisdom, the plan was instantly agreed on. Eve ryone took a file but Reid, who began reading the novel. Shortly after the plane leveled off, Hotch left his chair and set his file on the table. "Thoughts?" he said, as if he were starting a normal briefing. The team gave him blank looks over their files. No one was more than a quarter-finished. "I'm sor ry," Hotch said before anyone could think of a coherent response. "It won't happ en again." As if they had any clue what the Hell he was talking about. Hotch pul led a suit from his overnight bag and disappeared into one of the bathrooms. "There is somethingreallywrong with him," Emily whispered. "I've never seen him ac t this way." "No shit, Sherlock," Reid whispered back. "But what do we say? 'Hey, Hotch, we n oticed you're a little agitated. Anything you'd want to share with us?'" "Don't get sarcastic at me," Emily shot back. "I'm just saying he's usually bett er at faking." "Guys," JJ whispered. "He's not wearing his ring." The team was quiet as they put the pieces together: Hotch going home at an unexp ected time, the tardiness, the obvious distress, and no wedding band. Emily was sick, JJ was ready to cry, Morgan's fists clenched reflexively, Reid was white. Haley had no right to hurt Hotch that way, not when the unsubs did such a thorou gh job. Not when Hotch was always there for them no matter when or what they nee ded. Not when they'd all been so welcoming to her. The silence stretched on. Non e of them knew what to say to each other, let alone to Hotch. The bathroom door opened. Everyone quickly picked up their files and pretended t o read. Hotch draped his tux on a chair, then stopped in the aisle. One hand res ted on JJ's chair, the other on the back of the bench. "I suppose you've all worked out what happened," he said softly. They looked up, but Hotch didn't. His long lashes contrasted with his skin. He was embarrassed, which made the ache a little worse for all of them. "I apologize. I'm usually b etter at pretending nothing is wrong. But, uh, everything is still a little," Ho tch stopped, then continued hoarsely, "raw." Hotch stopped again. His voice was even when he quietly concluded, "let me know when you've finished your files." H otch passed them to return to his seat.

Part 2 It was after three in the morning when their plane landed in Valdosta. "Y'all better be here for the return flight," their pilot said, leaning against the door frame leading to the cockpit. "If I have to turn around and deal with t hat bitch in the Tower again 'cause one of y'all landed your damnfool self in th e hospital, I'm gonna be crabby." "Relax, Chuck," Morgan said with fond amusement. "Anyone late will take the trai n." Not that making a third trip was what Chuck was really dreading, but this wa s how the game was played. "Your mamas shoulda taught you not to be late. No more splittin' up, any of you. " "There's still some coffee left in the pot," Hotch said casually, as if they had n't deliberately saved it for him. "Reid's stash." Chuck nodded, then slouched b ack into his cockpit. The team disembarked. "There's some sort of conference in town," JJ said as they headed for the waitin g police vehicles. "I only found two rooms available within our budget." "Do they have beds?" Emily asked rhetorically. She paused before finishing, "sou nds great." "Well, um, one is a honeymoon suite and the other is a two-occupancy," JJ explai ned sheepishly. "They're on the same floor, though." Hotch waved to the policeme n. The blue-shirts regarded them resentfully, then climbed in the squad car and drove away. Hotch resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Just because the Captain w elcomed the FBI didn't mean the regular cops felt the same. "All in favor of sticking the girls with the honeymoon suite?" Morgan asked as t hey tossed their duffels in the back of the green SUV. "Fine," Hotch said, "you get the rollaway." Morgan gave him a dirty look. The te am piled in to the car, Reid in the middle in the back, Morgan riding shotgun. E mily sat behind Hotch and fiddled with the seat's pocket. She noticed JJ watchin g her and stopped. "The police station is that way," Reid said when Hotch took an off-ramp. "The police station is this way if you want to avoid a clover-leaf and two expre ss-ways that will be clogged with clubbers," Hotch corrected. He glanced at Reid in the rear-view mirror. "I was raised here." "Does that mean we won't be playing Takeout Craps for a change?" Morgan asked, w atching the lights pass the windows. "Actually, craps really isn't that random. It's predicated by the balance of the dice and the force and motion of the player's throw. It's all physics," Reid co rrected. "The only reason craps is hard is that casinos often unevenly balance t heir dice." "House advantage," Morgan replied. They stopped at a gas station for Reid's Cock tails, a concoction one part coffee-machine coffee and two parts Starbucks Frapp achino. Then they drove to the police station. The Valdosta police were obviousl y working 12 and 12s; very few windows were dark. They parked their vehicle and

headed inside. The bullpen was chaos, divided almost in half. Two-thirds of the room continued to keep the peace, one-third was devoted to their particularly vi cious unsub. "You must be the FBI," a tall man with an air of authority said. He had dark ski n, dark hair, and high cheekbones. He reminded Hotch and Reid of John Blackwolf, minus the confrontational prejudice. "I'm Detective Okuda." "Agent Hotchner. This is Agent Jareau," Hotch said politely, shaking the proffer ed hand. "This is Agent Morgan, Agent Prentiss, and Dr. Reid. Do you have a plac e we could set up?" "Yeah, right this way," Okuda said. "Have there been any new attacks?" Hotch asked. Morgan and Prentiss beelined for the oval table. JJ stayed close to Hotch. "No. The Sheriff announced the BAU was coming earlier tonight to calm people dow n, and it looks like that rattled him. Or, at the very least, might have slowed him down to one a night." "You announced this to the press?" JJ asked sharply. "We had to," Okuda said pragmatically. "Yesterday some reporter put together the vigilante connection. Today's paper will be nothing but editorials from scared parents praising this guy. The Commissioner wanted to scare off any potential co pycats. The letters FBI carry a lot more weight than VPD." "We understand," JJ said in a conciliatory way. "With things out in the open, th ough, we'd like to set up a tip hotline. Vigilantes often contact the police." O kuda nodded, then sent JJ in the direction of their Press Relations Officer. "We'd like to see the crime scenes as soon as it's light," Hotch said. "In the m eantime, Prentiss and Morgan will set up our link to Quantico. Reid and I would like to see the bodies." Okuda nodded once. Hotch turned to his team. "After you 're finished, get JJ and grab some sleep. Reid and I will be along." Reid, Hotch , and the Detective left. "Here's hoping Hotch can hold it together," Prentiss murmured. Morgan made a sym pathetic affirmative. ~*~ Grabbing some sleep was a short affair. JJ, Prentiss, and Morgan checked in to t he hotel first. Morgan won the brief squabble over who was stuck with the suite by pointing out it bordered on cruel to put Hotch in the honeymoon suite after h is marriage had been flushed down the crapper. He collapsed on one of the neatly -made beds without so much as taking off his shoes. Reid and Hotch arrived an ho ur later. Hotch let Reid take the bed and crashed on the floor rather than wait for a rollaway. Hotch's cell phone alarm woke them all up after an hour. He then called JJ and Prentiss. The agents showered, brushed their teeth, ate a cold co ntinental breakfast, and were back at the station by 8. Okuda's shift was up by then. His replacement was Detective Montoya, who greeted Hotch warmly. "It's good to see you again." Montoya looked up at Hotch with a real smile. She was Hispanic, with short hair and a stocky figure. "How are Elaine and Sean?" "Sean is fine," Hotch said conversationally as they crossed the bullpen. "He's i n a four-star restaurant in New York. One of the pastry chefs took maternity lea ve and he rated substitute. Apparently he's doing a better job than she did. Ela ine is still in Wisconsin with Merial. She and another geneticist are seeing if

they can't find bovine phenotypes that correlate to behavior problems, like blue eyes do in dogs." "Is she still seeing Jane?" Montoya asked, making Emily inhale her coffee. Reid spat his. Montoya and Hotch turned to give them quizzical looks. "Wrong pipe," Emily gasped through the coughing. "No, she isn't," Hotch said, his voice all amusement. "Jane forgot the cardinal rule of dating Elaine." Montoya gave him a questioning look as they entered the BAU's temporary headquarters. "Love her, don't fire off man-hating-lesbian about her brothers." "Ah," Montoya said. "That's an important one." Her demeanor changed from pleasan t to grim. "There were no new attacks last night. Okuda said you mentioned somet hing about checking for correlations between the victims, other than being convi cted sex offenders. Anything?" "We're about to find out," Hotch said, taking a seat at the table. Detective Mon toya sat on his right, Reid on his left. He dialed Garcia's number into the spea ker-phone. "Techie Godmother," Garcia's perky voice announced. "Problems solved, wishes gra nted, and true fates foretold." "Hey, doll," Morgan said. "Tell us you've worked us some magic." "Fraid not, babycakes," Garcia said with an audible grimace. "I had the program run everything from reporters to elementary schools -- nada. It looks like our g uy just picked them off the registry." "It's possible," Morgan said, leaning back in his chair. "Their thin five years of each other. Maybe that's all this guy needs, an age. Our unsub most likely has a child or loved one who was e in the 35-40 age bracket, or for five years starting when the "I'm trying to work up a geographic profile, Garcia said. "Thanks, Doll," Morgan said. "When we have more for you, we'll call." "I'll be waiting with baited breath, my vision," Garcia purred, then cut the lin e. "Nothing on the bodies and nothing in the databases," Reid said, slouching in hi s seat. "JJ's right. This guy's a ghost. The major element of his signature is n o signature, other than the quote." He looked over at Montoya. "Most mission-bas ed killers are loud. Either they layer their kills with symbolic actions, or the y contact the media, or taunt the police. Our presence should have exacerbated h im, not driven him underground." "Morgan and Prentiss, you take the first night. See what you can get from the cr ime scenes," Hotch said. "Reid and I will take the second night's scenes. JJ, st ay with the tip line. Hopefully our unsub will feel inspired." The team stood an d dispersed. ~*~ George Donnelly's house could be best described as a hazardous waste zone. Food wrappers and garbage provided a second carpeting, cockroaches took the place of household pets, dirty dishes were stacked along the countertops. The only clear patch was where the body had lain. CSI had had to collect every bloodied piece o ages were all wi a conviction and molested. Someon abuser was 35."

f trash. "How do people live like this?" Emily commented, wrinkling her nose at the smell of garbage and decay. "I have no idea," Morgan commented, stepping past a cheeseburger that looked rea dy to evolve sentient thought. "I wouldn't leave Clooney in this place." He look ed around the house. "So I'm a lazy slob. Why do I get up at 10PM to answer the door, and then open it to a total stranger?" "Posed as a delivery, maybe?" Emily posited. "That means the unsub would have been stalking his victims," Morgan said. "He co uldn't have been doing that for all three, not in the timeframe. TODs tell us he went straight from one house to the next. Why would I open the door?" "Maybe the unsub lured him outside. Turned off the water, set the neighbor's dog s barking. Then when Donnelly goes outside to do something, the unsub just slips in the door. Donnelly walks back in, and a sharp blow to the head subdues him." Emily walked gingerly through the refuse. Beside the phone were stacks of envel opes. "Unpaid bills. You know, something about this case is really bugging me, b ut I can't put my finger on it." "The quote," Morgan said, turning his back on Emily to enter the kitchen. "Hotch assumed the book was from Haley because it had a DC postmark and because she us ed to send a rose to his office when he won a case. I've never seen Hotch get ro ses in all the time I've been at the BAU. And when Hotch is working, what's the one thing you hear him say to Haley most?" "'I'm sorry, I don't know when I'll be back.'" "Does that sound like he's talking to someone who'd send him a book about a seri al killer and a victory rose?" Morgan asked, glancing through the cupboards. "Be sides, cheaters only send gifts symbolic of happy memories after they've been ca ught. Not before." "Hotch is a profiler," Emily said, going through the stack of mail by the phone. "If things were that bleak with Haley, he would have known it wasn't from her." "Hotch is human," Morgan said, leaving the kitchen to stand in the doorway. "He wants Haley to appreciate what he does. The book gave him a reason to believe it . That's probably why he's ignored the possibility the gift might have been the unsub contacting the police." They processed the scene in silence for a while. Morgan gave up on the kitchen a nd down the hallway to the bedroom. After a while, Emily joined him. "You don't think he'll take her back, do you?" "I'd like to think Hotch has more self-respect than that," Morgan said. It wasn' t a confident answer, which was worse than an affirmative. ~*~ The Vasquez and LaSalle homes had yielded no clues as to how the unsub had gaine d access, nor any meaningful revelations about the victims. Nor had they yielded any revealing conversations. Hotch was very firmly shoving everything aside to bury his head in the case. Reid understood that. He knew what it was like to des perately need not to fall apart, not only because the team needed him at his bes t, but also because falling apart was too overwhelming to contemplate. So he hel ped as best he could. He didn't ask how Hotch was feeling or doing, and he avoid

ed small talk in favor of expounding on facts in encyclopedic detail. He hoped t hat if he crammed Hotch's head full of data, he wouldn't have any room left to t hink aboutthat. It had always worked for Spencer. Maybe that was why Hotch was keeping him so close, taking him first to the autop sies and now to the scenes. Or perhaps it was because Emily was tactless and Mor gan aggressive, and either of them might not appreciate the sweetness of pretens e. There would be enough examination and conflict when Hotch returned to Quantic o. He didn't need it here, from them. Hotch and Reid scaled the ramped driveway to Michael Lee's home without any real hope of finding more than the invisible footsteps of their ghost. "You know, I think the lack of clue might be our best clue," Ried commented. "Va squez was a hardened con, LaSalle a kindergarten teacher, and Lee was old money. It's highly unlikely the same trick would have lured all three. I think the uns ub profiled his victims, worked up a strategy best able to get him inside each h ome, then acted on it. The lack of forensic evidence means he wore gloves. The i nitial blow to the head was to ensure his victims couldn't fight back, since he would then be running the risk of leaving saliva or blood evidence at the scene. He could even shave his head as DNA protection." "Then he may have deliberately randomized his victims to make a geographic profi le is useless." Hotch slowed as he climbed the stairs to the main entrance. "The gate was locked." Reid noticed what had caught Hotch's eye: a yellow rose with tints of red lay before the door. Hotch pulled gloves out of his suit pocket and slipped them on. A piece of parchment was tied to the rose with a black ribbon. "'Sorry for the mess,'" Hotch read aloud. Reid turned, scanning the bushes and t he street. Hotch swept his gaze over the rooftops. No one could be seen. "Call Montoya," Hotch said, one hand resting on his sidearm. "Have CSI go over t he grounds again, here and at the other crime scenes, too. We'll have to have th e neighborhoods re-canvassed. Our unsub revisits his scenes." The rest of the afternoon was spent pouring over the rose. Forensics came back b lank, both on the rose and the Lee grounds. Reid announced the writing wasn't th e unsub's natural writing, but stylized calligraphy. Their unsub had an apprecia tion for the antique, which conflicted with the use of a modern firearm on the v ictims. The vagueness of the note indicated a delusion that the addressee knew w hat was happening. After an under the table rock-paper-scissors contest Emily lo st, Prentiss voiced the hypothesis Hotch's gift had been from the unsub. "I had thought of that," Hotch admitted, his eyes downcast. "I hairsprayed the r ose, and we've all handledMisstress's cover. Any trace or fingerprints are gone. If one of you would call Haley and ask her if she sent me the book, I'd apprecia te it." JJ, being the master of diffusing hostile situations she was, took the job. "This is Agent Jareau with the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit. I'd like to speak to Haley Hotchner, please... No, I just have a question for her regarding a boo k we believe she sent her husband, it may have significance to our case... No... No... We just need to know if she sent her husband a copy ofMisstress of the Art of Deatha few days ago... Yes, I'll hold... Thank you..." JJ froze, her eyes na rrowing and her teeth clenching. "It's called being a professional," she said fu riously. "And on that note, I can't tell if you have the worst narcissistic pers onality disorder I've ever seen or if you just have a compensatory need to asser t your masculinity, but either way I can't see why anyone with half a brain woul d pass up Aaron Hotchner for you." JJ slammed the phone down on the hook. She gl

anced sheepishly at Hotch. "Sorry." "'Narcissistic personality disorder?'" Hotch asked wryly. Reid let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "It sounded sharp," JJ said. "Haley didn't send the book." ~*~ Morgan looked at the clock. 11:15. "He's probably just enjoying the shower," Reid said without looking up from his book. Hotch had lost the coin toss with Reid but won with Morgan, so Reid was cu rled up on one of the narrow twin beds while Morgan tried to punch the rollaway' s mattress into something semi-comfortable. "It's a cheap hotel, Reid," Morgan argued. "The hot water runs out after fifteen minutes. He's been in there for almost forty. No one enjoys a lukewarm shower." "Maybe he fell asleep," Reid said. "Then we're agreed," Morgan said, throwing the covers back. "No, we're not!" Reid protested, but Morgan pounded on the door before Reid coul d reach him. "Hotch, you okay?" "I'm fine," Hotch's voice said, oddly distant. The water turned off. "I'll be ou t in a minute." There wasn't much Morgan could say to that, so he grabbed his no tes from interviewing Mika Theron's family and sat at the small table to pretend to read. "Way to go," Reid snapped sarcastically, opening his book where he left off. "What is your problem?" Morgan demanded testily. "I'm trying to help, here. You' re just reading." "My problem," Reid fired back, "is that the point of a forty-minute shower is ev eryone thinks your taking a shower and leaves you alone! In the last forty-eight hours Hotch found out his wife cheated on him and the really great gift he thou ght was from her was in all likelihood from a highly-organized psychopath. A lit tle space is not too much to ask for." "Look," Morgan said, slapping the file down on the table. "Hotch is always there for us no matter what. Advice, a listening ear, or even just knowing someone gi ves a damn. Always. And now that something has happened where we should be there for him for a change, he's locked up inside his own head. It's worse than Gideo n! No, wait, I take that back. It'sexactlylike Gideon." Reid tilted his head and l ooked at Morgan thoughtfully. He let the silence build, creating a void that wou ld pressure Morgan to fill the space. After while Morgan slumped in his chair. " I can't shake the feeling we're part of this. We knew Hotch has a family, we hea rd Haley's complaints. She left, but she came back. We just assumed Hotch had a handle on things. We never turned down his help, or even thought about hiding th e fact we needed it. He's always the first one there and the last one to leave, after he's sent us all home and we never... we could have at least ganged up on him and sent him home early for once." "It's Hotch's responsibility to set boundaries," Reid said evenly. There was a f lutter in his stomach. Morgan's conclusions were normal under the circumstances, and he desperately hoped Hotch wasn't reaching the same ones. It was selfish, b

ut he didn't want Hotch to change. "Secondly, accomplishment releases dopamine i n the brain, and appreciation or approval from others releases opioids. Both cre ate feelings of happiness and well-being; the biological payout for our efforts. When we catch the unsub and/or save a victim, that's the dopamine. We share the sense of reward with each other, thus creating a secondary opioid release. When we're down and Hotch tries to help us, we feel that he values or appreciates us , and the subsequent opioid release makes us feel better. Hotch has then achieve d a goal and since we approve of him helping, he then receivesbotha dopamineandan op ioid release. Testosterone creates a 'hunger' for dopamine in the brain, which i s why men tend to be more success-driven than their female counterparts. Haley, on the other hand, seems to use guilt or nagging as her primary method of gettin g Hotch to do what she wants. Since Hotch often cannot fulfill her request -- na mely, to leave the field -- he experiences a feeling of failure, which releases various stress hormones and neurotransmitters. After failing to meet her request , Hotch is then in 'the doghouse' when he returns home, which triggers another f eeling of failure and more stress hormones and neurotransmitters. The high stres s/failure response increases the testosterone-amplified drive for dopamine and/o r opioids. So, the next time there's a case or one of us is having a crisis--" "--He is even more inclined to respond, which starts the whole cycle over again, " Morgan said slowly. Reid nodded, aglow with the satisfaction of teaching a con cept. "So Hotch sucks at boundaries because of biology." "Helping or saving others is his primary source of dopamine/opioid release. We n aturally want to do things that we know will make us feel better, so Hotch is dr awn to helping because his brain knows chances are better than they're not that there's a payoff at the end. Being with Haley has much less of a chance of produ cing a payout." "It's simplistic to lay all the problems in my marriage at the feet of biochemis try," Hotch said, exiting the bathroom. Reid swallowed. Hotch looked like someth ing out of his wet dreams in dark blue pajama bottoms and a gray tee, his damp h air sticking out in odd directions. The lack of gold on his hand made it better. "There are non-biological concerns, of course," Reid stammered, looking away. Le t Hotch think he, like Morgan, didn't know Hotch could hear him. "Matters of com munication styles, motivations, priorities, baggage from previous relationships. Nevertheless, if Haley were supportive instead of punishing, she wouldn't be fi ghting your brain every step of the way. The biochemical concerns are why marria ge counselors advocate positive reinforcement and avoiding accusatory behaviors. " "It's almost frightening how much of who we are is predicated by our bodies," Ho tch mused, sliding onto his bed and crossing his legs. Reid blinked furiously an d looked down at his book. He'd seen Hotch in sleepwear before, they all had, it was a consequence of sharing hotels all the time. And though it had never faile d to turn him on, now it was worse. Worse because Hotch's marriage was ending an d then he'd be available, worse because Hotch in all likelihood felt pretty unde sirable right now, worse because he was hurting and vulnerable and could be-- co uld beseduced, if Reid just knew how. He would bet a year's pay Hotch was just as bisexual as he was, but more closeted about it. Not that Reid was open and flam ing. That was the price you paid for working with the police. "Everything's kept in the brain," Morgan said. "It's an organ like any of the ot hers. Mental illness is no different than heart disease. It just costs you more. " "Thanks," Reid said softly, putting his book on the nightstand and sliding betwe en the covers. It wasn't himself he was saying thank you for. Morgan shrugged. H e left his chair to climb into bed. Hotch bid them good night, then switched off

the lamp. ~*~ The hardest part of sharing a room was the mornings. Everyone was trying to get ready at once, and there was only one sink and one bathroom. With practice they' d all found rotation was key. Morgan shaved while Reid showered and Hotch went t hrough his ritual morning combat with his hair, then Hotch and Reid shaved while Morgan showered. If they had time, Hotch would take the bathroom to change out of his pajamas. If they didn't, he'd just be frightfully quick about it in a cor ner. Reid made certain to be looking elsewhere when that happened. If his coordi nation tapered off when he was thinking, he didn't even want to know what it wou ld do if he saw a practically naked Hotch, even if only for the few seconds it t ook to jerk on clean underwear. Reid had just loaded his toothbrush when someone knocked on the door. Hotch stil l had shaving cream on his face, so Reid peeked through the spyhole. Their visit or was tall and thin, wearing a suit that doubtlessly cost more than Reid's enti re wardrobe. Her thin mouth was set in a hard line. "It's a scary-looking woman in an expensive suit," Reid said. Hotch looked heave nward. "That would be Mother," Hotch said with wearied patience. Reid opened the door. The woman regarded him with an expression usually reserved for something unpleas ant stepped in in good shoes. "Hi," Reid said tensely, stepping aside so Hotch's mother could enter. She looke d like Hotch, elegant features and dark eyes. Her bobbed black locks had no gray . Reid had seen enough plastic surgery in Vegas to recognize Mrs. Hotchner had h ad at least a facelift. "You must be Dr. Reid," she said with the same false warmth the socialites at Mr . Brooks's fund raiser had used. Her smile was warm, but here eyes weren't. "Cor delia Hotchner." She held out her hand. Reid shook it awkwardly. She stepped ins ide, sweeping the small hotel room with a condescending gaze. "I see the FBI is taking good care of you, Aaron." "Criminals don't generally warn us two weeks in advance so we can reserve good r ooms," Hotch said evenly, finishing shaving. He splashed his face with water. "And staying at the house was...?" The tension crackled in the air. Reid darted between them to stand between Mrs. Hotchner and the rest of the room. Morgan opened the bathroom door and leaned ag ainst the frame. Reid wasn't certain how intimidating or supportive they were, b ut they could at least give it their best effort. "I go where my team goes," Hotch said, wiping his face with a towel. He was the only one in the room in pajamas, but if it made him feel insecure, he wasn't sho wing it. "I didn't think you'd welcome a bunch of bourgeois in your home." "Your 'team' needs your constant supervision, then?" Mrs. Hotchner asked, her vo ice lilting in a show of disbelief. She reminded Reid of Mrs. Mayes in Harringto nville. "No. But I don't leave them." Hotch's voice was polite, but it brooked no argume nt. Mrs. Hotchner's nostrils flared. Someone knocked before she could reply. Mor gan crossed behind Mrs. Hotchner, peeked through the spyhole, and opened the doo r.

"Hey, you guys almost ready--" Emily started, then stopped when Mrs. Hotchner tu rned to see who had interrupted. "Mrs. Hotchner! What are you doing here?" Mrs. Hotchner's eyebrows threatened to fly off her head. "Stupid question," Emily bac kpedaled frantically. "I just didn't put it together right away, Hotch doesn't r eally talk about himself much, and-- how are you?" The oft-practiced last line w as the only thing delivered with confidence. "Very well," Mrs. Hotchner replied. "And how is Ambassador Prentiss?" "She's fine. She misses having an assignment, but helping with Senator Brooks's re-election is easing that." Emily looked up Morgan. "JJ and I will be in the ca feteria." "You two go along," Hotch said gently. "I'll join you when Mother and I are fini shed." Reid and Morgan couldn't argue with that, not without implying things you said about no one's mother to his face. They slinked by Mrs. Hotchner and left. Emily held in her outburst until they'd made their way through the breakfast li ne and sat at JJ's table. "Hotch is a blue-blood!" she said in a rush as soon as her butt hit the seat. "No," JJ said, disbelieving. "You're kidding." "His mother is Cordelia Duquesne-Hotchner, she's in his room right now," Emily s aid animatedly, buttering her muffin. "She and my mom are political acquaintance s. I can't believe I didn't put it together until now -- he looks just like her. " She turned to Morgan and Reid, explaining for those who neither read People no r participated in Garcia's gossip sessions. "The Duquesnes are one of the oldest families in Virginia. Their money goes all the way back to the plantations. Old , old South. The Hotchners are third-generation wealthy -- well, fourth if you c ount Hotch. They're part of the fifth-biggest corporate law firm in Georgia. The y mostly do copyright law, contract law, and international negotiations, but All en Hotchner -- Cordelia's last husband and probably Hotch's dad -- was a big-nam e defense lawyer back in the day." "I bet Hotch being a prosecutor made Dad happy," Morgan said in a low voice. "Forget being a prosecutor," Emily snorted. "That could at least be considered a stepping stone to career politics. My parents are only second-generation wealth y, so they have no problem with the FBI, but a purebred family like the Duquesne s? I bet Mrs. Hotchner was climbing the walls when Hotch dropped that announceme nt." "She still is," Reid muttered, stirring his oatmeal. "You implying Hotch didn't seem like a Hotchner probably didn't help." "Well," Emily said defensively. "He doesn't. Hotch is the most low-key person on the planet." "I'll take that as a compliment," Hotch growled. He set down his cup of coffee a nd pulled a chair from another table. He held his hand out to JJ. "Whatever you have." JJ obediently dug around in her purse and handed over a pair of Advil. "T hanks," Hotch said. He swallowed them with a mouthful of coffee. "That was a sexist thing to say," Emily protested. "I have three sisters," Hotch snapped. "Two step, one full. Women always have pa inkillers. Move on." "Wow," JJ said with a tempering smile. "Who sprinkled you with cranky dust?"

"Mother. Let's just-- talk about the case." "It's not a good idea to take Advil on an empty stomach," Reid interrupted befor e JJ got her head bitten off. "At least have some toast." Reid proffered one of his triangles. Hotch shot him one of his most terrifying glowers. Reid blanched; he'd never been the recipient of one at point-blank range before. He didn't pul l his hand back. Hotch finally took the toast with an inaudible sigh. "My marriage to Haley is pretty much the only thing I did Mother approved of. Sh e's taking it personally. Now, the unsub's signature quote is fromMistress of the Art of Death, but my copy arrived the day the killings started. So either the u nsub counted on me reading the book all in one sitting, or I have an unrelated a dmirer with excellent taste." "The book was mailed through the post office," Morgan said. "It could have gotte n lost for a few days." "The postmark was for four days ago," Hotch said, then took a bite of his toast. "It was only a day late." "Are you sure?" Prentiss asked. She received a glower in reply, softer than the one Reid received but still potent. "No," Reid said sarcastically, "he said it just to confuse us so we wouldn't rea lize he snapped and orchestrated all this to announce the start of his career as a serial killer." "Yes, I'm certain," Hotch said, smoothing the sudden smirk from his lips with on e hand. "Which brings us back to the unsub knowing I would be able to readMistre ssin a single sitting, and that I wanted the book badly enough to do so. The only people I mentioned wanting a copy to were Haley and Jason, so I'm inclined to t hink the novel is coincidental. The rose was not. There was no way the unsub cou ld have known which law enforcement officer would be the first to return to that scene, so we can guess the note was intended for the police as a whole." "The note makes no sense," Morgan said. "The unsub has no hesitation about killi ng six people, but then leaves a note apologizing for the mess? The quote and th e execution style make this seem like a mission-based killing, but every time we turn around something conflicts with the mission-based profile. The high-level of organization, the randomization of the crimes to make a geographic profile us eless, not contacting the media." "Maybe we have more than one unsub," Reid said. "A preacher and an acolyte." "The preacher provides the motivation and determination," Hotch said thoughtfull y. "The acolyte makes certain there's no mess. The note suggests the acolyte is unwilling, at least on some level." Hotch's cell rang. He answered it. His face dropped from serious to grim. "We'll be there." Hotch hung up. "We have a new pr oblem." ~*~ Alpine Senior Living was pristine. A white picket fence surrounded the manicured grounds, ivy clung to the brownstone complex. The police cars flocking the park ing lot looked like they were from another world, incongruous with the serenity of the landscaping. The BAU entered the main doors and headed for their crime sc ene. The residents stared at them as they passed through the halls, staring thro ugh door-chains or boldly poking a head outside. Leona Miller was 69. She lay in the middle of her bedroom, crumpled with her thr

oat slit from ear to ear. Arterial spray spattered almost every surface. There w as a spilled glass of water on the bedside table, the pictures were in disarray. The lock was scratched, but there were no valuables missing. A single red rose lay by the body. "She was my first grade teacher," Hotch mused, looking at the photographs on the wall. "This looks like a standard homicide, why are we here?" Hotch asked the s talwart Detective Jameson. "This," the detective said, holding out a piece of parchment in his gloved hands . Hotch took the note, the stark blue of his gloves -- borrowed from Reid -- con trasting with Jameson's latex. "'My dearest Aaron,'" Hotch read aloud. Reid looked up slowly from Leona Miller' s body, his breakfast churning against the sudden lump of fear.Let it be another Aaron,he thought.There's got to be an Aaron in VPD.The next words Hotch spoke, his voice carefully devoid of feeling, dashed that prayer. "'I'm happy to see you ma de it. I was afraid Dr. Strauss would send someone else, despite your obvious fa miliarity with the elements involved. After all, she only owes her position to y our refusal. Jealousy or shortsightedness would tell her to bury you in obscurit y, lest you attract even more favorable attention that would bolster your claim if you later changed your mind about remaining a unit chief. Perhaps she has see n the wisdom in having a loyal and clever subordinate like yourself. It is no ma tter. The better angels of her nature won out, and here you are. "'I believe I spoke too harshly upon our last meeting. I apologize, and I hope t his makes up for it. I look forward to speaking with you again. Yours." Hotch fo lded the letter. He had the decency to look guilty. "Bitch!" Emily gasped. "I can't believe it." "You told us you were passed over for the directorship of the BAU," Morgan said flatly. "I lied," Hotch said with a shrug. "The only people who know the truth are Haley , Dr. Strauss, and the Director, so I'm curious how our new unsub got this infor mation." He looked at Detective Jameson. "I assume the forensics on this came ba ck blank?" Jameson nodded ruefully. "Why would murdering this woman make up for anything?" "I have no idea. As far as I'm aware she was a fair and dedicated teacher," Hotc h said. "Have you collected any significant evidence?" "We won't know until all the DNA and trace comes back," Jameson replied, "but at first blush it looks like no fingerprints or shoeprints besides the decedent." The BAU went over the scene, but like the pedophile killings, the main clue in t his crime was no clue. No wasted effort and a meticulous organization -- this wa sn't a murder, this was an execution. "The MO and the signature are completely different, but the level of organizatio n and skill are the same," Hotch said as they left the lobby. "Either the acolyt e has started killing on his or her own, or we just stepped into the middle of a turf war. Morgan and Prentiss, you interview Mrs. Miller's family. I'll call Ga rcia and fill her in, have her look for any accusations of misconduct. The unsub thought killing Mrs. Miller would make up for something, we need to know why. R eid, start checking personal ads, classifieds, and letters to the editor for any sort of challenge or communication between this new unsub and the last."

"Hotch," Morgan said softly. The obvious question was his by right and seniority . "Did she touch you?" "If it was something that simple," Hotch said seriously, "I would have told you. " "Well, you lied about the promotion," Morgan replied. "And you conveniently forg ot to mention 'Cordelia Duquesne-Hotchner.'" "Taking the directorship when Dave left would have meant leaving the field, and I'm not ready for a desk yet. I didn't tell you because I didn't feel the need t o undermine Dr. Strauss's authority by letting everyone know she was second choi ce. As for my family's social status, I'll take 'Things that Do not Matter' for 400." Hotch turned away and opened his cell. Morgan, Prentiss, and Reid exchange d worried looks. "This whole deal stinks like bad Chinese food," Morgan said, keeping his voice l ow. "Until we figure out what's going on, Hotch doesn't go anywhere alone. Say w hatever you have to." Reid and Prentiss nodded. Reid hurried after Hotch. Hotch was quiet in the car. Clogged in a traffic jam that seemed to stretch on f or blocks in either direction, the silence seemed ominous. "I hate the feeling," Reid said softly, staring out the window at the proud anti que architecture. "Being prey." He looked at Hotch, all sympathy and understandi ng and, though he didn't realize it, doe-eyes. Hotch relented. "I've been stalked before," he admitted softly. "It was while I was in Seattle. I'd been in the office for six months and suddenly I got this letter saying I'd be beautiful in pain. I thought it was a prank at first -- I was the youngest su pervisor in the office, and several of my subordinates were older than me. The n ext one detailed a specific type of torture, and the third thanked me for always wearing a tie since it would make a convenient ligature when he strangled me. I reported it as harassment. My supervisor hit the roof. He sacked the office, bu t it wasn't any of my coworkers. After that a man started calling at all hours o f the night, leaving messages telling me what he thought of a meal I'd eaten, th e clothes I'd worn that day. He hated my gray suit." "We all do, Hotch," Reid said softly. Hotch's smile was lopsided and half-hearte d. "After a couple of months, Haley couldn't take it anymore. She filed for separat ion, and I... couldn't blame her. It was-- terrifying. The letters got more grap hic, describing where he'd cut me, where he'd burn, how he'd take off my clothes . The order in which he'd rape me. How he'd... trigger my body's involuntary res ponse." Hotch's voice was rough and fighting his control. He looked at the steer ing wheel, the road, anywhere but Reid. Spencer knew why Hotch was confessing: v ictimology was important, and for whatever reason Hotch preferred to tell him. R eid couldn't help feeling warmed by that, just as he couldn't help hating Haley a little more for abandoning Hotch when he'd needed her support most. Just becau se Hotch didn't blame her didn't mean Reid had to forgive. "It went on for a year. I changed phone numbers, moved a dozen times, worked a d ifferent shift every day. I wanted to prove I wasn't afraid of him, so I never s lept at the office, I didn't throw out my gray clothes, and I forced myself to r ead every word. Finally my supervisor called Gideon and begged him to come take a look. A BAU agent's arrival infuriated the stalker. He left three screaming ti rades on my machine. Gideon said it was best to hide me, deny the man even a gli mpse. The stalker responded by stealing me from the safe house. I... I convinced him not to rape me, not at first, and after that it was just a matter of waitin

g while he tried to beat fear into me." Hotch shrugged. "The man's name was Nick Barnes." "You convinced a sexual sadist who had been mentally assaulting you for over a y ear not to rape you?" Reid asked with frank admiration. "How?" "I faked consent," Hotch said. "Arched into his touch, begged for it. Even the c hance I might have been sincerely willing rendered him impotent. I'm just gratef ul object rape never occurred to him." Hotch paused, then continued. "About a mo nth later Jason offered me a spot on the BAU. He said I had more raw talent than he'd ever seen, that as a profiler I could stop people no one else could, and t hat he would not take no for an answer. Haley and I had been separated for eleve n months. So... I went." He shrugged. "It was almost four months later Haley mov ed to Virginia, said she wanted to get back together." Hotch fell silent again. Reid stared at the window, trying to process everything: the ramifications Hotch 's experience might have on the new unsub's victimology, the resentment of Haley and anger at Hotch for tolerating her bullshit, the intense desire to find Nick Barnes and spatter his brains on a wall, the equally overpowering urge to reach across the center console and caress his boss's face. That last was the most di fficult, and Reid clenched his fists in his lap. "When I refused the promotion, the Assistant Director was relieved," Hotch said suddenly, apropos of nothing and everything. "She said she had to offer because I'd earned it, but that I was a Hell of a field agent and she'd hate to lose me to a desk." He fell silent again. "She's right," Reid replied. He wanted to promise they wouldn't let anything hap pen to him, but Reid knew better than anyone what an unfulfillable promise that was. So instead he reached out and rested a hand on Hotch's arm. He squeezed onc e, firmly, and then let his hand remain.

Part 3 When they got to the police station, Hotch disappeared. He found an unused obser vation room, slipped inside, and wedged one of the chairs beneath the door handl e. His hands were shaking. Hotch pressed his palms together to still them, his h ands folded as if in prayer when he'd been an atheist for twenty-nine years. The absurdity of it drew a pained laugh from between his dry lips. He sank slowly t o the floor, leaning back against the cool industrial-green wall. The advil, cof fee, and toast had been a bad idea. His heart was galloping and pounding his sto mach beneath its hooves. He really, really should be in a bathroom just in case, but bathrooms could be walked in to and he needed-- He needed not to be seen. H e needed to be away from area cops that expected him not to flinch from horror t hey would see once in their carreers but he saw every day because he saw it ever y day, and the idea that his team could handle it as a matter of course kept the m from panic: and as the unit chief, he was the foremost recipient of that trust . He needed to be away from his team who depended on him to be stable. Good God, they'd been terrified when he'd only been late, nearly in a panic when he'd bee n moody; what would they do if he fell apart? It wasn't an acceptable option. The last time he'd used that phrase flashed through his too-good memory. Hotch s topped pressing his hands together to press them to his mouth, stifling the near ly-hysterical laughter. It was too much. Aaron rested his forehead on his knees, his shoulders shaking w ith the laughter that wouldn't stop. Too much on top of a heart abraded raw. He was prey again, every move watched with ill intent by a mysterious figure who on

ly meant him harm. A fishbowl inside a fishbowl, and for all he knew it could be Nick Barnes again. The man was always good for a head-fuck. There was no way Ba rnes would fall for the same trick twice; he'd be raped this time if he was caug ht, and really, what did it matter since his virtue wasn't worth that much, anyw ay? It certainly hadn't convinced Haley to reciprocate. -- Elle's knowing look when his control slipped and his fussing became overt; Ga rcia's rapture over his flowers (they'd had Gideon's name on them, true, but the y'd been his); Morgan's dark eyes alight with humor as he urged Aaron to loosen up; JJ crying onto his lapel when her mother had died; the way Jason had taken a ny excuse to touch him, a clap on the shoulder, a hand on his back to guide him through a door; Emily's quiet desperation for his approval and her unsubtle flus h when she thought she had it; Reid's adoration and all-too-knowing sympathy, ev en if Reid didn't know just how well he knew -All the times when he could have -- if he pressed just a little. Just a little m ore attention, a little more sympathy, a little more warmth, a smile to slip pas t their defenses with and more accurately gauge the level of consent. A few more compliments (completely sincere and therefore far more effective than flattery) , a shared confidence (the man of stone who never smiled did not tell secrets li ghtly), a confession of desire tinged in not-entirely-put-upon shame. Reciprocit y. The pressure to return a favor. Small but enough to expand that almost-consen t into something large enough to slake his desire in. Press his new lover to his body afterwards, murmur affection into the whorl of an ear so no one would feel cheapened, provide a thoughtful trinket or meal. A little more attention, a lit tle more sympathy, a little more warmth, and Aaron could lure him to bed, despit e her promises not to succumb to Aaron's charm again. Aaron's lover would settle into his role of mistress easily enough, because Aaron would be fulfilling her needs while she fulfilled his. Aaron knew how to be his father's son. He wasn't. For all the good it did him. He wasn't enough to keep his wife's interest. And wasn't that fitting? Trying to o hard and still not getting it right, the chronic little over-achiever. All tha t intelligence and self-control, all the times he'd profiled and downplayed and pretended, and still the one person sworn to be his alone had wandered. He'd bes t pull himself together here in this dark room, because what would happen if his team saw the man behind the curtain as Haley had? It hurt to contemplate, becau se being stalked in his childhood city meant his team was bound to discover the flaws behind his marble perfection. Aaron tilted his head back, resting his occipital lobe against the wall. He took deep breaths: an in-count of five, hold for eight, release for eight. Control. He could not fail his team. Even if it killed their affection for him. That was really his fault anyway; it was unfair to them for him to harbor those kind of e xpectations. He'd known it and ignored it, and playing with fire meant you could n't cry foul when you got burned. Aaron pushed himself up off the floor. Control . He was going to be profiled. He couldn't let them see him flinch, not when Morga n had undergone the same scrutiny. He was the vic. He couldn't let them see him humiliated by the helplessness. Everything he'd said to Reid to assuage the sham e of Henkel's actions would become hypocrisy at that point. He couldn't risk it. Control. His team looked to him for stability and confidence. He had to provide it, whether he was being torn up or not, because Jason couldn't anymore. Hotch returned the chair to its place. He left the interrogation room for the ba throom, splashed some water on his face, and then returned to the bullpen. Garci

a was ready by then. She had found no record of accusations or complaints agains t Mrs. Miller, and Nick Barnes was dead. "How?" Hotch asked. His knees were weak with relief. Control. "Vincent Perotta," Garcia said. "Barnes was bragging he'd been the first to teac h you pain, and Perotta stabbed him through the temple with a pen." "Great," Hotch whuffed. He wasn't certain if Perotta killing Barnes on his behal f flattered or scared him. "Well, there goes that theory. Is Joseph Ward still a live, Garcia? He would have been the principal of Southland Christian School in 77." There was a clicking of keys. "Christian School?" Garcia asked. "You?" "Cause, effect," Hotch said dryly. "Got him," Garcia said. "The Manor, 225 East 37th, room 405." "I'm going with you," Reid said, pushing himself out of his chair. "No," Hotch ordered. "You're staying here and looking for communication between unsubs." "He's going with you," Garcia said. "Or you take JJ. Mama says. So does policy." Hotch held up his hands in surrender. "Look for communication," Hotch ordered Reid. "JJ! You're with me," he called as he left the room. Reid looked back at the screen. Garcia's frown was worried. "We'll look out for him," Reid said. Then he left to find as many newspapers as he could. ~*~ The Manor wasn't an apartment complex but a hospice, and Joseph Ward was too far deep in psychosis to answer any questions. He merely sat in his chair, rocking and muttering to himself. Hotch practically jogged up the stairs to the VPD. JJ somehow managed to keep up in her heels. "We've been here two days and we're not one step closer to a profile than we wer e," Hotch said tersely, holding the police station door open for JJ. "In fact, w e're farther away since we have a new unsub and much of what we thought about th e first unsub was wrong." "Why can't they be the same guy?" JJ asked. "One psychotic killer instead of two psychopaths." "There were no personal connections between any of the victims," Hotch said. "Th e first victims were convicted pedophiles, Mrs. Miller didn't even have so much as a complaint. An unsub would have to be a fractured schizophrenic or suffering a psychotic break to have that kind of variation in his victimology. That level of psychosis is mutually exclusive to this level of organization." "Could we be dealing with a Garner-like anomaly?" JJ asked. "I hope not," Hotch said. Morgan and Prentiss were already in the conference roo m. Morgan was unpacking sandwiches from a brown paper bag. "What do you have?" "Zero," Prentiss said with unconcealed frustration. "We talked to both her daugh ters. They weren't abused in any way, nor do they remember any complaints about

their mother. She even kept pictures of every class she taught." "JJ and I went to talk to my old principal," Hotch said, "but he was too far gon e to answer any questions." "I checked the personals and letters to the editor in all the papers from a week before the killings began until today," Reid said, unwrapping his sandwich. "If the unsubs communicated prior to this, it wasn't there. Garcia is checking mess age boards and email lists. It's possible the unsubs don't have prior knowledge of each other." "JJ pointed out it's also possible we're dealing with another Garner," Hotch sai d. "If that's true, there's no telling what kind of delusion our unsub is operat ing under." "Is that the profile we want to give?" "I think we should give the police both options," JJ said. "But not release anyt hing to the media. It'll help them keep their eyes open without spreading misinf ormation." "No," Morgan disagreed, leaning back in his chair. "We're missing something. Gar ner was one in a million, and he had hoops for us to jump through. There isn't t hat maze mentality here. Mrs. Miller was about Hotch, but with the exception of Hotch knowing the Lees, no connection with any of the shooting victims. Why wait until Mrs. Miller to leave the note? Why stop killing pedophiles the moment we arrive? And why switch suddenly to slitting throats? My gut says this is two peo ple. One mission-based with mysterious muteness, and the other with a fixation o n Hotch." "The unsub knows something I didn't even tell Elaine," Hotch said, toying with a potato chip. "But he killed the first grade teacher who never did anything to m e instead of the principal who expelled me -- not that I didn't deserve it. Even that aspect of the profile makes no sense." "You were expelled?" Emily said it, but the disbelief came from every corner. "Aaron Hotchner, expelled. What for? Set something on fire?" Morgan asked, grinn ing. Hotch's eartips were bright red. "No, don't tell me, videotaping the girls' locker room." "Selling homework," Hotch said stiffly. "It was how Dad met Ma -- my step-mother -- actually, outside the principal's office. Her daughter Elaine was my partner . She contacted the kids, I did the assignments. I had the 'clients' give us a c opy of a previous assignment so I could fake the writing style. When the teacher s started asking for handwritten rough drafts on essays, I forged the handwritin g, too. We got away with it for almost three years until we decided to branch ou t into another school. Our contact there got caught, and gave us up to avoid get ting expelled himself." JJ and Emily were staring in complete shock. Morgan and Reid looked at him with abashed admiration. "What's going on in here?" Montoya asked, poking her head in. "My team is having a hard time believing I was expelled," Hotch said. He filled Montoya in on what they had so far, or rather, didn't have. "To be honest, Renee , my team has a half-century of combined experience and we've never seen an unsu b behave this way. Without more data, we can't establish a profile." "More crime scenes," Montoya said grimly. "To tell you the truth, the fact that this guy stumps you all scares me more than what he does."

~*~ There was an ATM outside the police station. Hotch stopped at it and handed the money to Morgan. "Get something to eat, everyone," Hotch instructed, "bring back change. It's pro bably a dead end, but I'm going to see if Mother remembers anything about Mrs. M iller." "You don't put all the times you spring for dinner on your expense account, do y ou?" Morgan asked. He did not tuck the money into his wallet. "Morgan," Hotch said overpatiently, "I've had almost eight hours of sleep in the last sixty, including the nap on the jet. Can we have this discussion later?" "I'll take that as a no," Morgan said. "You know, we are all adults, and we all make good money. You don't always have to pick up the tab." "Derek," JJ said, snatching the bills out of Morgan's hand and shoving them in h er purse, "let it go. I feel like Olive Garden." "Reid, you had a sandwich out of the vending machine earlier, so you're with me. We may be a while," Hotch said. Reid tried not to let his surprise show. He'd e xpected a fight, or at the very least having to insist. Hotch looked back at JJ. "Take Reserve and then Fairmont, it's shorter than the expressways, and the Oli ve Garden off the Exit is always full of tourists anyway. We'll see you there or at the hotel." Hotch was silent during the drive, and Reid didn't interrupt. He wondered if tha t had more to do with his selection than the fact he'd already eaten. But with H otch, you never knew. The house they pulled up to was almost palatial. The cream brick building was Ge orgian Revival style with manicured grounds. The neatly paved driveway was lined with azalea bushes, doubtlessly a nod to the city sobriquet. They scaled the gr anite stairs and passed through stately Corinthian columns. Hotch rang the bell. "Feel free to add any information you feel is pertinent," Hotch said. Reid wasn' t certain if that was meant merely to assure him his input was welcome even thou gh they were interviewing his mother, or if it meant that he was to come to the rescue with as much encyclopedic detail as he could muster should things head so uth. A smartly-dressed maid opened the door. "Master Hotchner," the maid said. "What a pleasant surprise." She stood aside to let the FBI agents enter. "Hello. You're new. It's just Aaron," Hotch said. He even sounded tired, which w as never a good sign. "Master Aaron," the maid said, reaching out for Hotch's coat. Hotch asked for he r name, and was told nothing more than Elsie. "How about Hotch, then, Elsie? My agents all call me Hotch." "I don't think that would be appropriate," the maid replied, neatly hanging thei r coats in the closet. She was at her vocational school best. If Hotch were a mo re expressive man, he would have sighed. "Where is Clyde?" Hotch asked.

"I'll fetch him for you." "That's not what I asked." Reid had heard that tone of voice before, firm and di dactic, directed at recalcitrant cops across the nation. "I don't want you to je rk Clyde away from whatever he is doing, I want you to tell me where he's doing it." "He is in Butler's Pantry," Elsie said, her thinned lips conveying what her rigi dly pleasant voice did not. "Planning tomorrow's menu." "Thank you," Hotch said. He headed to the left, and Reid followed him thorough a mazework of hallways. Reid was glad of his 90% recall, or he was certain he'd b e irretrievably lost. The fifty-something man sitting at the long table smiled when he saw Hotch. "Aaron!" he said, standing and holding out a hand. Hotch shook it. "And who is t his?" "Dr. Reid. I'm with the Behavioral Analysis Unit." Clyde's handshake was firm, R eid noted. "Ah," Clyde said, his face sobering. "So this is official." "Things with Haley aren't good right now," Hotch said, "and I'm about to make an official call on Mother. Consider this a duck-and-cover." "You're always very good about those," Clyde said, his lips quirking. "We apprec iate it. Come, I'll take you to her." They followed Clyde through Byzantine corr idors. Another maid -- this one a young woman who greeted Hotch by his given nam e -- intercepted them to tell them Mrs. Hotchner was on the sun porch. Clyde alt ered course, headed up the stairs, and showed them into a screened room. There w as a small white linen-covered table on one side of the porch, and several small white couches on the other side. The table had three chairs around it, and Elsi e was arranging a tea service on the table. She worked fast. "Agents Hotchner and Reid to see you, madam," Clyde said formally. "Agents?" Mrs. Hotchner said with a well-bred amusement. She held out both hands . Hotch took them, submitted to a kiss on the cheek, then stepped away. "We have some questions for you." Hotch's voice was filled with the put-them-atease pleasantness he used during witness interviews. He sat gracefully on one of the chairs. Reid sat as well, and watched tensely as a porcelain cup and saucer were set before him. Elsie poured tea into the cup. Reid was no connoisseur, bu t it smelled like what Hotch usually drank when he wasn't drinking coffee. Reid accepted two sugars but turned down milk. Hotch turned down both, and thanked El sie. Mrs. Hotchner took both milk and sugar. Elsie served them all a tea sandwic h from the tray, then departed. "What do you remember about Mrs. Leona Miller?" Hotch asked, not touching his sa ndwich or his tea. Reid took his cue from his boss. Besides, he wasn't certain h e wanted to entrust his coordination with the dishes in front of him. He felt li ke a gawky plebeian. Which he was, technically. But Hotch had never made him feel that way, not for a n instant, and he wished Morgan could appreciate what a gift that was instead of seeing only the deception of omission. "The name doesn't sound familiar," Mrs. Hotchner replied evenly. She sipped her

tea. "She was my first grade teacher at Southland," Hotch prompted. "Did you hear any complaints, rumors? Did the other parents talk?" "Ah, that Mrs. Miller," Mrs. Hotchner said. She took a bite from her sandwich an d chewed thoughtfully. After she swallowed, she replied. "No, I don't recall any thing untoward. Southland is a fine Christian school with an excellent reputatio n. Allen and I wouldn't have sent you or your siblings there if anything else ha d been the case. You should try your sandwich, Aaron." "Did Vivian or David say anything about her?" "No," Mrs. Hotchner said. Her voice was firm, pleasant, and laced with mother-kn ows-best condescension. "Nothing. Aaron, not everyone is a monster. There are de cent, caring, and genuinely good people out there. If you would pull your nose o ut of the crime tape, you'd see that." "If I didn't have my 'nose in the crime tape' the people I catch would be out in the street," Aaron said. "Someone out there thinks killing Mrs. Miller made up for something, and if we're ever to get out ahead of him, we need to know why. A ny rumor, no matter how wild it may seem, would be helpful." "Nothing," Mrs. Hotchner repeated. "Then thank you for your time," Hotch said formally. He stood. Reid was only hal f-way out of his seat when Mrs. Hotchner's voice stalled him. "Stop! Aaron, you bring a stranger to visit your mother, bring a gun into my house, speak to me li ke I'm some sort of witness you're interviewing for evidence, and now refuse my hospitality. There is only so much rudeness that can be bourne!" Reid's thighs w ere trembling with the effort of holding his position. Sitting would undermine H otch, but standing might exacerbate the conflict. "This is an official call, not social," Hotch replied. His mother replied by sta nding, reaching across the table, and jerking the FBI ID off her son's chest. "Sit down, young man, before you burst something," Mrs. Hotchner said pleasantly to Reid, setting the plastic rectangle in her hand next to the teapot. She look ed at her son. "Your official business is concluded, Aaron. There is no FBI regu lation that says you cannot spend some time with your mother before scurrying aw ay to write your reports." A muscle in Hotch's jaw was jumping, but he took his seat. Reid gratefully dropped into his. He folded his hands in his lap. It was e ffeminate, but better than folding them on the table. He nearly jumped when Hotch's knee touched his. Aaron didn't move, a reassuring touch, like resting a hand on Spencer's shoulder at the shooting range. Hotch re ached for his cup, grasped the handle for a moment to let Reid see how he did it , then lifted the cup to his lips. Reid mimicked the conformation of fingers ben eath the table, then repeated the movement with his own cup. The tea rippled wit h almost-imperceptible trembles, but he didn't drop it. Returning the cup to the saucer, his mouth full of dark, sweet liquid, felt like a victory. "What would you like to talk about, Mother?" Hotch asked politely. "How long has it been since you've seen Vivian or David?" she asked. "Christmas," Aaron replied. "But I babysat Brent, Elizabeth, and Victoria for a weekend a couple of months ago." Mrs. Hotchner updated her son on his siblings, describing a few of David Hotchne

r's victories in copyright law. She talked about Mark Lee's re-election bid for state senator, and how well Vivian Hotchner-Lee was organizing the campaign. "Was Michael Lee a relative of Mr. Lee?" Reid asked. Mrs. Hotchner looked surpri sed, as if she'd forgotten he was there. Or astounded he'd dare to interrupt. "He was Mark's mother's third cousin," Mrs. Hotchner said stiffly. "Dreadful bus iness, that. I hope it won't hurt Mark's chances too much." "If Mrs. Lee had thought to ask Michael why he asked to blow Mark at six, perhap s that 'dreadful business' wouldn't have happened," Aaron said bluntly. "Aaron!" Mrs. Hotchner shrieked, looking from her son to Reid. She calmed hersel f to polite stillness. "I fail to see what that has to do with anything." "Displaying age-inappropriate sexual behavior, especially at a prepubescent age, is a common sign that the child has been molested," Reid narrated. "A large per centage of abuse victims become abusers themselves as adults. The risk increases exponentially if they never received proper therapy for the abuse." "So we needn't prosecute offenders," Mrs. Hotchner scoffed uncomfortably, "becau se it's not their fault?" "Not at all," Aaron said evenly. "There comes an age when we are responsible for our choices, and we have to recognize and obey the prevailing social contract - in this particular case, that pedophilia is against the law for a reason. Howe ver, by recognizing what makes a pedophile we can avoid having the situation bec ome a problem in the first place. My primary concern, though, is that whoever mo lested Michael was never caught because the Lees were more interested in silence than justice." "A proud family name is a responsibility," Mrs. Hotchner said with an undercurre nt of old bitterness so strong Reid wished he was anywhere else. "Though it may cost you, you cannot let dirty laundry be spread out on the headlines for all to read! It simply is not done. Every family member has an obligation to uphold th e family reputation at any cost. You, of all people, I would expect to understan d that duty. Besides, if Mrs. Lee had deprived Michael's abuser access to Michae l, he might have turned on all of her children. Michael had a duty to his siblin gs, too." "I understand duty just fine," Aaron said. "But forcing someone else who has no choice to pay a price to benefit yourself isn't duty. At best, it's enabling. At worst, it's a dereliction of your duty to protect the innocent." "I-- Mrs. Lee did the best she could," Mrs. Hotchner spat. "No, Mrs. Lee did nothing." It was the evenness in Aaron's voice that was the wo rst, the certainty with which he faced down the murderously mad. "The maid who r eported Michael Lee for molesting his son did something, as did her husband when he took Lee's son to the hospital for pictures to be taken and evidence collect ed." "And that's what the boy will remember." Mrs. Hotchner's voice was all venom. "Yes," Aaron replied. "I doubt that his being saved damaged his family's reputat ion will bother him at all." Mrs. Hotchner's fists were clenched. "Dr. Reid, would you give us some privacy?" she asked.

"That won't be necessary," Aaron said. He stood, and Reid followed suit. "We hav e to be going." "Dinner plans with Anna?" Mrs. Hotchner's voice was barely on the edge of civili ty. "With my team. We're going to the Olive Garden. You're welcome to join us." Hotc h picked up his ID from the table and tucked it in a pocket. "I would not be caught dead in a cheap chain restaurant," Mrs. Hotchner replied, drawing herself up proudly. "Your loss," Aaron said with a shrug. "Morgan does a mean Benny and Joon with th e breadsticks. Have a good evening, Mother." "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Hotchner," Reid said awkwardly. He had never been so gla d to get away from someone in his entire life. When they were in the car, Hotch rested his head on the steering wheel. "That went better than I expected," he said dully. "Thank you for being my human shield. I would have left all of you behind, but I knew I wasn't going to win t hat one." He raised a hand to his mouth to cover a yawn. "I could sleep for abou t a year." "I'm good at being a shield," Spencer said. "I should start my own agency. Emily 's paying me for being her shield at Brooks' party with a copy of First Contact autographed by Patrick Stewart and Jonathan Frakes." "How about I give you a decent suit to wear in court?" Aaron asked. His eyes gli nted at Spencer through his lashes. "There's nothing wrong with my suit," Reid retorted. "It's shag-brown pinstripes," Hotch said, sitting up. A smile was trying to take over his mouth. "And you wear a yellow shirt with it. You look like the bastard step-child of the seventies." "Let me burn your gray suit instead," Reid said. "That's fair payment. You look like a corpse in it." "Hey," Aaron protested, starting the engine. They pulled on seatbelts. "David bo ught me that suit." "To make you look ugly so he'd be the cute brother," Reid retorted, quietly amaz ed by his own boldness -- and Hotch's receptiveness. "You don't know what David looks like." "I don't have to," Spencer said, his voice raising in put-upon protestation. "Th at's the only motive for buying that kind of suit, genius profiler." "Condescension from the man who gets beaten at cards by JJ?" Hotch retorted. He was smiling, and that sent an unexpected rush through Spencer. "I let her win." "Meaning you don't cheat her," Aaron fired back. "But you do everyone else."

"Baseless accusations," Spencer said with a flick of his hand. "I've seen you do it. That king topping your straight three days ago was from th e bottom of the deck; you weren't dealt it." "Oh, and how would you know if you hadn't drawn it and put it back?" Aaron gave him a coy, naughty look. Blood was immediately diverted from Spencer' s brain, and he was eternally grateful for his loose-fitting khakis. "You cheated!" Reid exclaimed shrilly, thoroughly distracted by Aaron's mouth an d glittering dark eyes. "You were expelled for plagiarism and you cheat at cards . Hypocrite!" "Actually, I lied to trick you into admitting you palmed the king." Another impi sh look from Hotch, another rush of blood way from Spencer's brain, and both men realized their flirtation at the same time. Victory and sudden self-consciousne ss both heightened and dampened Spencer's arousal. When Aaron's face stilled to its normal impassive lines, Reid almost begged. "I'm sorry," Hotch said sternly, halting at a red light. "That was inappropriate ." "Hotch, really, it's okay," Spencer said. "I didn't mind. I don't mind." "I'm your supervisor." "It was just talk. It isn't like you pinned me to the car." God, even saying tha t out loud was arousing. "Besides, that's the first time I've ever been any good . Usually I would have landed on my face somewhere around 'genius profiler.'" "You probably weren't flirting with the right people," Hotch observed, making a left and then easing into the other lane. He looked at Reid. "And I do not mean me." "You could call it lessons in flirting," Reid said. "I was just trying to cheer you up." Hotch gave him a truly nasty glower. Those were both classic pick-up lines. The cabin quieted. "Hotch," Reid asked softly, breaking the silence. It had been bothering him sinc e leaving Mrs. Hotchner's house, and he needed to ask. It might be important to the case. It was definitely important to Spencer. "You two weren't talking about the Lee boy back there." "I was," Aaron said. He glanced at Spencer, who wasn't even trying to pretend he was convinced. "Mostly. Molestation was never part of my experience. Dad slappe d me around a bit, yelled some -- usually that I was too smart for my own good - but nothing like the Lee boy." He glanced at Spencer again. "I would prefer yo u kept that knowledge to yourself." That was classic Hotch. He could lop off a leg and still insist that he was fine , no one needed to worry about him. "The L.D.S.K.-- kicking me--" Reid stuttered and stopped. "That was why you were so apologetic. It must have-- It must have been like living a nightmare." Hotch didn't reply. Reid could see the barriers slide back up; less guarded than in the field but still tightly controlled. Spencer was grateful to have seen th

e man behind that stoicism even for so short a time. He wanted to know so much s o badly. Did Hotch like Star Trek? Why had he chosen law enforcement when stayin g a prosecutor would have satisfied both the Hotchners and his need for justice? Would bondage turn Aaron on, or freak him out? Spencer tamped down on those tho ughts immediately. The last thing he needed was to pop a boner in the Olive Gard en. Morgan would think he had some sort of breadstick fetish, and he'd never hea r the end of it. Hotch held the door open for him. There must have been a backlog, because the te am was just being seated. Hotch really was a master actor: his Vulcan expression never wavered, his voice didn't crack, and he forced himself to eat enough that no one suspected. It was painful to watch, knowing what he now knew, because Ho tch must have learned that skill hiding the pain of his father's abuse. Sadists craved the suffering of their victims. Had Hotch turned that smooth poker face o n his parent in defiance, or had he simply learned that expressing hurt did no g ood and stopped? Reid had learned a lot about hiding pain detoxing from the dilaudid, four weeks of Hell only Hotch knew the wherefores of. But he couldn't force himself to do m ore than pick at his food. Morgan noticed; he usually roomed with Spencer and kn ew very well how much food Reid could pack into his skinny frame. He didn't pres s the issue in front of the group. Reid was grateful. JJ paid the bill with Hotch's money, the waitress gave Morgan her number, and th e team returned to the hotel. Hotch pulled his pajamas from underneath his pillo w and disappeared into the bathroom. When the creak of water through pipes sound ed through the walls, Morgan asked the inevitable question. Hotch said he was smacked around a little and yelled at some, Reid thought, whic h translated out of Common Hotchian means it was somewhere between Bad and Worse . His mother let it happen to protect the family name from scandal. It's not fai r. As if fair had any sway in this world. "The note," Reid said aloud. "At the Lee house. If it was meant for Hotch, it me ans the unsub is watching." Hotch was in Mrs. Miller's class, Spencer continued silently. He was probably br uised, almost certainly cowed. Mrs. Miller didn't notice. Or else she kept the s ecret as Mrs. Hotchner dictated. That could be her 'crime,' but I can't say anyt hing without betraying Hotch's confidence. I'm not you. My silence cost us Elle, and I still can't break faith. "And this puts you off food?" Morgan asked skeptically. "No, that's the creamer at the station," Reid lied fluidly. "When I went back fo r my second cup I noticed it was three months past its expiration date. I've bee n queasy all day. I thought salad and a parfait would be safe, but--" Reid scrun ched up his face. "Reid, Reid, Reid," Morgan said with amused reproachfulness, "you always check t he date first, look for mold second, then eat. Even in your own house." "Yeah, yeah," Reid said. He looked up as Hotch emerged from the bathroom, neatly hung his suit, silently crawled into bed, and pulled the covers over his head t o block out the light. Spencer pulled a book on the history of Women's Liberatio n (a gift from Emily) from his bag. He read a few hundred pages, added a couple of paragraphs to his next letter to his mother, and turned in. Morgan was alread y asleep. Reid turned his book light on, set it on the nightstand between his be d and Hotch's, then flicked off the lamp.

Part 4 The room was dark, an ocean of black surrounding beaches of incandescent light. It was deliberately so, because his guest was afraid of the dark. Monsters lurke d in the dark. Aaron stepped forward into the yellow brightness, his briefcase heavy in his han d. Finely-tooled leather, a monogrammed gold detail just below the handle. He se t it on the smaller of the two tables. His guest was tied to the longer one. Spread-eagled, bound at wrist and ankle. N aked, of course, to add shame to the terror. Psychological torture before the ph ysical pain. Aaron opened his briefcase, folded out the upper shelves. His tools were laid out neatly, arranged by purpose. "Please," Spencer begged, pulling at his restraints. "Please, you don't have to do this." "No," Aaron said, pulling a scalpel from his kit. "But I'm good at it. Humans li ke doing things they are good at. It brings a sense of reward, purpose." "You could be good at so much more," Spencer said. His hazel eyes were impossibl y large, his soft lower lip quivering with desperation. And fear. Aaron could se e it, smell it. If he were fool enough to kiss his guest, he knew he would taste it. But a bite would be too hard to explain to his fellow DDAs, much less to th at nosy profiler Gideon. Did the man have no appreciation for beauty? "Really?" Aaron asked. He carefully modulated his voice to convey both skepticis m and interest. Let the genius FBI agent think he stood a chance, before removin g all hope. "How do you know?" "I know that you're the third child of Allen Hotchner and Cordelia Duquesne, old money names with old money privilege. You have an IQ of 187; a read speed of 18 ,000 words per minute; an eidetic memory with a 90% recall; that you started Cor nell at 12 years old and graduated with a juris doctor, a masters in psychology and a masters in forensic science earned in conjunction with Pace, undergraduate majors in linguistics and history, with minors in entomology, plant pathology, and horticulture. You've been profiling since before you can remember, analyzing the motives and mannerisms of others. First to try to gauge your abusive father 's moods, then to forge papers, then to try to compensate for the fact you were at least six years younger than all of your peers. You've either had to fight fo r the respect naturally granted your colleagues or else you've had to try to con vince those around you to see you as more than a walking intellect -- or a freak of nature." "Like you?" Aaron purred. He forced his lips not to curl in a smile. "Do you see something of yourself in me?" "You're my own kind," Spencer pleaded, almost a whisper. "Let me go. I'll keep y our secret. You can join the FBI. I know I can convince Gideon to offer you the first available spot, another grown child prodigy isn't something he'll be able to resist snapping up. You can save lives instead of ending them, catching prey no one else is hunter enough to take. If you just come with me.Bewith me. Please. The BAU can be home for us both." Aaron ran his fingertips through long hair. It was soft. "It's a tempting offer," he said, leaning down until his lips nearly brushed Spe ncer's ear.

"It'll work," Spencer promised. "... but I'll pass," Aaron whispered. He pressed a kiss to the soft skin of Spen cer's temple. "Just pretend it's given with love, my dear, and the pain won't hu rt so much." Aaron made his first slice, quick and deep across the thin skin cov ering the ribs. Spencer mewled, again and again with each red line across pale f lesh --- but it was his voice that was screaming. His own name answered back, and for one horrible moment in the suffocating dark Aaron couldn't tell which reality wa s the dream. Aaron bucked away from his victims. Something coiled around him, pi nning his arm to his side and squeezing across his chest. He panicked, fighting the steadily-tightening constriction as the thing tried to squeeze the life out of him, each breath made shallower than the last. His heart was going to go into defibrillation. He lashed out at something, anything, just trying to get it off him. The sudden light was blinding-"Hotch! Hotch, take it easy, man!" Gravity pulled him down, a desperate slide to the ground that knocked the wind o ut of him but knocked the thing loose. Aaron kicked the sheets away. His stomach twisted and he ran, slamming into something soft that cried out and then someth ing hard that bit into his hip. Cool porcelain under his palms. Partially-digest ed pasta primavera burned his throat and nose. Aaron laid his arm across the toi let seat and rested his forehead on it. He panted, eyes closed against everythin g. "That was a bad one." Spencer's voice, long fingers pressing a glass of water in to his hand. Aaron took a sip, swished it around, and spat blindly. "Is it safe?" Morgan's voice called. "No," Reid responded. "He missed." Aaron opened his eyes and realized it hadn't been both sides of the toilet under his hands, but the toilet seat and the edge of the tub. "Oh Hell," he growled, lowering his head back onto his arm which was, now that h e stopped to contemplate it, uneven. What a mess. "Here," Spencer said, offering him his toothbrush. "Brush your teeth. I've got t his." "You do not have to clean up after I yarp on the tile," Hotch snapped. "It's not in your job description." "It's linoleum," Reid replied. "Morgan is a sympathy barfer. And you -- well, I' d show you a mirror, but you don't want to see yourself right now. I'll go see i f the front desk can spare some Pine Sol and a bucket." "Not the lemon-scented kind," Hotch specified. He straightened to load the tooth brush. "You're not cleaning this." Reid clearly didn't deem that worthy of reply , because he stood up and walked away. Hotch brushed his teeth and took his seco nd shower of the night. When Spencer returned bucket and mop in hand, Hotch was sitting on the edge of the tub in his boxers washing the spatter out of his swea tpants. "I told you you aren't cleaning that," Hotch snapped.

"If you were in my spot you'd be doing the same thing," Reid pointed out. He dip ped the mop into the pine-scented water. The mop had a wringing cup attached, wh ich Spencer was silently grateful for. "That's different. I'm your boss, not the other way around." "Hotch, I owe you a few. Remember?" Reid asked. He didn't say it out loud, he le t Hotch's keen memory say it for him. Shaking, sweats, nausea -- Aaron had clean ed up after Spencer more than once during the aftermath of Henkel's predation. S ilently cursing himself for weakness, Hotch again capitulated to the pressure of unintentional doe-eyes. Reid finished cleaning the bathroom, returned the mop and bucket to the front de sk, and climbed back into bed. His pajama bottoms covered a multitude of sins -or, rather, just the one -- and Spencer silently slid his hand down to cup hims elf. He was still half-hard, residual lust still running through him. He could l et himself return to softness, but putting off release would only make inappropr iate erections more likely. He wasn't certain which outcome of that scenario fri ghtened him more: Morgan's mockery, or that Hotch might know just how badly Reid lusted. After checking to make certain both Hotch and Derek were sound asleep, Spencer turned and pressed his face into the pillow to muffle himself. He called to mind the image of Hotch's bare legs, his firm ass covered by too-thin materi al that clung in all the right places, too tired and wrung out to really conside r that Spencer's bisexuality made Aaron's undress immodest to the point of provo cation. Too tired and wrung out to resist temptation; shapely legs spread and hi ps rocking against the bed while Spencer prepared him, the sweet moan when Reid slid inside. Just the idea of topping Aaron Hotchner was enough. Reid pressed hi s face further into the pillow as he shuddered through orgasm. He lay there for a moment, basking in the glow and the pictures his imagination had created. Then he slid out of bed, padded softly into the bathroom, cleaned h imself up, and flushed away the evidence. ~*~ Hotch was quiet during breakfast, eating his slice of toast and coffee in uninte rrupted silence. Reid tried not let his anxiety show, but none of the other prof ilers had such qualms. JJ looked more worried than any of them. When they arrive d at the police station and did their usual pre-shift review -- in this case, go ing over the large pile of nothing that made up their case -- Reid found out why . "When I was eleven I got this fortune cookie that my mother made me tape to the mirror," JJ said. She was clenching her pen nervously. "It said, 'beneath the fr agrant bait you find the hooked fish.' She meant it about boys, but-- If I wante d to make sure the BAU came to my town, I'd fake a housecleaner on the verge of devolving into a frenzy." JJ was looking at everyone but Hotch. "There are five teams," Morgan argued, "an unsub couldn't predict which one woul d be assigned the case." "All right, let's say the first victims were picked at random," Reid said. "All within the same age group because a lot of serial killers have a chronological c omponent to their victims. Killed quickly, no mistakes, because our unsub can't afford for the local police to solve this. His fingerprints might be in IAFIS fo r a previous charge, his DNA in CODIS. The quote makes certain the local PD reco gnizes the serial nature of the crime and calls the BAU. Sending Hotch the book quote ensures his interest would be peaked if he heard about it from his colleag ues, setting up in his hometown means he'd hear about it from family and involve himself."

"The unsub would have no way of knowing the teams are their own separate worlds, " JJ said. "The unit chiefs see each other once a month at their meeting, but th ey don't discuss cases. A few hours in the bullpen at random intervals is the mo st the profilers ever see of each other, if that. I haven't seen anyone from A U nit in months. If this case hadn't been given to me for review, if I hadn't chos en it, Hotch would never know. Even if he did hear about it from his family, the most he could do would be to point the other unit chief in the direction of the novel." "So our unsub starts over in a new town," Emily said flatly. "A new MO, a new si gnature. For all we know, this could be our unsub's second or fifth try." "I'm on it," Garcia said promptly, keys clicking in the background. "Stalkers fall into five categories," Hotch said dispassionately. It was the fir st thing he'd said that morning beyond a greeting. "The Rejected, the Intimacy S eeker, the Incompetent, the Resentful, the Predatory. The Rejected is a simple o bsessional stalker who wishes to mend a broken union or possess the partner who left him. Usually his behavior during the relationship was controlling or abusiv e, and he cannot handle the idea of his partner leaving his control. The Intimac y Seeker pursues an intimate relationship with an individual they perceive to be their ideal mate. Erotomanics are Intimacy Seekers who have the delusion the af fection is mutual. The Incompetent craves intimacy but lacks the intelligence an d social finesse to achieve it. The Incompetent does not hold the object of his desire as having any unique qualities -- he is attracted, not infatuated, and vi ews his stalking as being no different from sending flowers. They often have man y stalking victims, a strong sense of entitlement, and are usually dissuaded wit hout violence. The Resentful uses stalking behaviors as a form of revenge, usual ly for a perceived injustice. The Predatory is hunting his victims, usually as a prelude to a serial rape or murder. Male stalkers make up the bulk of forensic samples, female stalkers make up the bulk of clinical samples. Male to male stal king is rare, so it is most likely our unsub is female." Hotch took a sip of his ever-present coffee. Not even its acrid taste was enough to alter his expressio n. "Our unsub is highly organized and highly intelligent, so the Incompetent is out ," Prentiss said. "Her behavior toward Hotch is almost conciliatory, she even ap ologizes, which rules out the hostile varieties. She's got to be an Intimacy See ker, possibly even an erotomanic." "And a psychopath," Reid said. "She displays neither hesitation nor remorse for killing six people just for bait. Her only apology is to Hotch for the mess she made. Intimacy Seekers can easily morph into Resentful stalkers if they feel the y've been rejected or unappreciated." "Call Montoya," Hotch said. "We're ready." Within an hour Montoya, Okuda, Jamison, and the regular cops on shift were assem bled in the bullpen. "The pedophile killings and Mrs. Miller's murder are the work of the same indivi dual," Hotch announced to the room. "The pedophiles were killed in such a manner and frequency to appear to be the work of a housecleaner -- or vigilante in the common vernacular -- on the verge of devolving into a frenzy. That is one of th e worst kinds of serial criminals the BAU deals with. It was guaranteed to get a ttention. The quote on the mirror is from a book the unsub sent me as a gift a f ew days ago. That was also a ploy to ensure my unit's involvement." Hotch steppe d back, and Morgan stepped forward. "Our unsub is a stalker and a psychopath," he narrated, "and because of that the

unsub is very dangerous. The unsub is also a woman. She killed six people just to get her foot in the door, and another as a present. If she perceives someone, anyone, is trying to get between her and the object of her obsession, she will not hesitate to kill them. She's highly organized and highly intelligent. She pr obably has a skilled, white-collar job. At work she is confident, competent, and well-liked by her supervisors. Her coworkers are evenly divided. Those who are useful to her are completely fooled by her manipulation and adore her. Those who are not useful see her manipulation for what it is." "The success of her professional life is contrasted by utter failure in her pers onal life," Emily said from where she leaned against a desk. "She is socially im mature, unable to sustain the intimacy she craves. She rarely dates and has had few sexual relationships. Her home life as a child was emotionally barren or els e severely abusive. She has a very poor sense of her own identity. She seeks to find identity by bonding with a 'soul mate,' a 'true love' who will validate her existence. Her favorite movies and books will be romances that feature a young ingenue pursuing her disinterested superior until he suddenly realizes she is wh at he's been needing all along. That is her fantasy." "But as much as our unsub craves intimacy, she's afraid of it," Reid said. "That is why she's fixated on a married man of a higher social class. Nothing she has sent him has had any identification, not even a signature beyond the cryptic, ' yours.' However, this could also mean she believes Hotch already knows who she i s, so make certain to check old schoolmates and acquaintances." "That could be extensive," Montoya said. "Aaron was kind of the class pet at Geo rgia Christian." "Why can't we just have Agent Hotchner go on TV and ask this woman to stop killi ng people?" a cop asked in the back. "Absolutely not," Morgan said. "The first rule of dealing with a stalker is to l imit contact." "Any direct acknowledgement from me can only lead to exacerbation," Hotch said. "Given the psychopathic component of the profile, this is something we must avoi d at all costs. She might stop killing and switch to torture, or allow the victi ms to survive but send me body parts." "Or she could take Hotch's request as an indication her gifts were unappreciated ," Reid finished. "At that point she would cease being an Intimacy Seeker stalke r and become a Resentful stalker. All of her hostility would become focused on H otch, and making him suffer or killing him would be her first priority." "We want our unit chief in one piece when this is over," JJ said dryly. "And we don't mean in a body bag." Strained laughter peppered the room. "Okay, people," Okuda said. The FBI agents ceded the floor. "There's the profile . Lee was a wealthy man, not just anyone could have gotten in. Start with his bu siness and personal acquaintances, compare them to the profile. Don't leave out maids and groundskeepers -- if this woman is willing to pretend to be a vigilant e, she might be willing to pretend to be a servant." The police dispersed. "Class pet?" Hotch drawled at Montoya. "Short, big brown eyes, does entertaining tricks: what do you want to call it?" Montoya asked. Hotch shrugged. "Elaine couldn't come up with a better descriptio n either." She pushed away from the desk she was leaning against and walked over to Jamison.

"This is like looking for a needle in a stack of needles," Hotch said grimly. "I know too many people, especially here. We need to figure out what makes someone 'giftable.' Morgan and Prentiss, start interviewing Mrs. Miller's colleagues. C oworkers talk, even if principals or children don't. All of my step-siblings had Mrs. Miller, I'm going ask my step-mother if she remembers anything." "A needle in a stack of needles?" Morgan asked, eyebrows raised. "A needle would stand out in a haystack," Hotch said distractedly, sorting throu gh file folders. "Just use a magnet." "Okay, you've been spending way too much time around Reid," Morgan announced fla tly, picking up his jacket off the chair. "I'll come with you." "Excuse me?" Hotch said, looking up at Morgan without really raising his head. " I assigned you interviewing Mrs. Miller's colleagues." "Is there some reason you don't want me coming along?" JJ put her face in her hands, Prentiss turned her back, and Reid looked away to stare off into space. "Derek, I realize that I foster a relaxed attitude in my unit." Hotch's voice wa s made of iron. "But lest we forget, I am the unit chief. I assigned you and Pre ntiss to interview Mrs. Miller's colleagues. If you have a problem with that, yo u are welcome to return to Quantico and take a refresher course on chain of comm and." "Hotch, your behavior has been erratic since we got here," Morgan argued. "Takin g Reid every single time you head out, skipping breakfast, the weird silences an d the sarcasm, then the nightmare last night, and now you're pulling rank. You j ust said 'needle in a stack of needles,' and then there was that weird thing on the plane. I don't think I'm out of line asking if you're all right." "Prentiss," Hotch snapped coldly, not breaking eye contact with Morgan. "Has my behavior been outside departmental guidelines or indicative of mental instabilit y?" "No, sir," Prentiss responded with military promptness. "Good. Instead of interviewing Mrs. Miller's colleagues, Derek, I'm going to hav e you go to the library and start looking through old newspaper articles for any references to a frenzy the BAU wasn't called in on that stopped short for no ex plainable reason. If you find something, call. JJ, you're going with Prentiss. H ave Detective Jamison monitor the tip hotline in your absence." Hotch paused. "R eid." "Uh, I'd like to get some coffee first," Reid said. "Meet you in the car?" "Fine," Hotch said. He left the bullpen file in hand. "Damn!" Morgan snarled, shoving a chair. "I forgot what a tightass he is when Gi deon's not around." "Ease up, man. The last time you got in Hotch's face like this he enforced a dre ss code to instill discipline," Reid said. He held up placating hands when Morga n glared at him. "Just a thought, unless you want to go back to wearing a suit t o work." Reid picked up two cups of coffee from the breakroom. Hotch was hanging up his c

ell phone when Reid climbed into the car. "Did you tell Morgan you had me covered?" There was a bite in his voice Reid was n't used to hearing directed at him. Hotch took the cup Reid held out to him. "No," Reid said brightly. "Just reminded him that last time he tap-danced on you r ego we got stuck with a dress code." Hotch's eyes softened, even if his face r emained impassive. That was enough for Reid. He fancied he was rapidly becoming addicted to a warm Hotchner gaze. If he wasn't hooked by the end of this mission , it would be proof of divine intervention. Hotch set his coffee in the cup hold er and started the car. Reid buckled his seatbelt, and started on a quick disser tation about the history of Freud's triplicate structure theory, its adherents, and its deterrents. Half-way through the lecture, Reid realized Hotch knew almos t all of it already. "You don't have to humor me, you know," Spencer said. "You could tell me to shut up." "I'm not humoring you," Hotch said gently, easing to a stop behind a line of car s. They couldn't see what was causing the slowdown, but when Hotch cracked the w indow the bitter smell of new asphalt was strong. "Great." Hotch rolled the wind ow back up. "You have a Masters in Psychology. Nothing I was saying was new." "A review is helpful in retaining information. Besides, it's something to concen trate on." Hotch looked over at him. His elbow rested on the door, his hand rest ing lightly on the steering wheel. It was a lovely pose. Reid tamped down on the thought. "If you'd prefer, you can talk about something I don't know." "Why don't you tell me something I don't know?" Reid asked. "To make things more conversational." "Short of reciting law codes and precedent at you," Hotch said dryly, "I doubt t here are any facts at my disposal you don't already know. Information for the sa ke of information has never been a great interest of mine. I prefer skills or ha nds-on stuff." "Hands-on stuff?" Reid asked. "Like lab work," Hotch said. "Practicals. My first year in the FBI was in Fraud' s Questioned Documents. It's actually how I received my first command. Someone w as passing fake security clearances and DoD's QD was stumped. My supervisor knew Ambassador Prentiss's head of security. So he loaned me out. I was given a grou p of SSD men and told me to find a way to tell the real and fake IDs apart. I've never received more grief from subordinates in my entire career." "Did you find a way?" Reid asked. "Yes," Hotch said. "The cards themselves were indistinguishable outside a lab. B ut the real clearances used an acid-free jacketing. The fakes didn't. Ambassador Prentiss said that may have been the first time her life was ever saved by cabb age juice." "Did you meet Emily then?" "No. She was in college at the time." Hotch drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "My first assignment was the BAU," Reid said, watching the children in the van a

head of them bounce around. "Gideon pulled me in over the top of applicants who had had their names on the list for years, including Emily. I was surprised I ma de it. I hadn't expected actually getting in for at least a decade. I guess Mack intosh wasn't joking when he said Gideon was greedy." "Gideon was very monofocused and aggressive about collecting the best and bright est for his team, or the FBI in general if the BAU did not interest." Hotch ease d the car forward a precious foot. "Mac in A Unit? Why would he call Jason greed y?" Reid looked at Hotch sideways. His supervisor's voice was carefully neutral, and he wasn't looking at Reid. Interesting. "The reason that has you planning how you're going to hide the body," Reid said with a smile, turning to look at Hotch directly. "It about a year before Boston. He offered me a promotion of two full pay grades to transfer units. Gideon inte rrupted, and Mackintosh told him he needed to share." "I imagine Jason took that well," Hotch said, again, not turning to look at Reid . Spencer tilted his head. Hotch was deliberately keeping Spencer from getting a direct look at his eyes. They knew the loss of Gideon was wearing heavily on Ho tch, but Reid would have bet a week's pay this was something else. "He said it was my decision, but that trying to lure me into transferring after Gideon had recruited me and trained me for a year was poaching." "Why didn't you transfer?" Hotch asked. "Gideon didn't treat me like a pocket computer. And you were so nice--" Reid sto pped that train of conversation. "Giving that up wasn't worth two pay grades, no t when I knew I could expect more of Morgan and Carter from the members of A Uni t. I mean, I like Morgan now, but that first year he was... hard to work with." "Carter was a bad influence," Hotch said. "He was a brilliant information tech, but goddamn, did he have a mean streak. I'm much happier with Penelope." "Morgan is, too," Reid commented, taking a smug sip of his coffee. Hotch's lips quirked. Hotch turned off the engine and flicked on the radio. Reid didn't recognize the artist, but apparently Hotch liked her wave-like almost-jazz style because he di dn't change the station. Reid drank his coffee, silently weighing the benefits o f tipping his hand against the possible consequences of calling Aaron's bluff. H otch was a conundrum. His trophies for marksmanship were openly displayed in his office like his law books and diploma, carefully structured to demand respect. But he rarely talked about the latter and never mentioned the former. Another aw ard would just silently appear on the shelves. Hotch greeted each new horror wit h oaken solidity, pressing on when no one would blame him for resting, never fli nching when others -- hardened police officers -- had to leave the scene to get some air. Yet he was always the one making sure they'd eaten, sending them home when they'd had to much, whose door was open any time any of them needed a liste ning ear. Blaming himself for every plan that went to Hell, even when it wasn't his plan in the first place. A chitinous exterior to lean on and a tender heart to take refuge in, and maybe that was why the over-passionate Gideon had bonded to him so deeply. It couldn't be easy living in Hotch's head, balanced like a fiddler on the roof between being dominant enough to be the alpha and humble enough to always put th e team ahead of himself. Evenly split between masculine aggression and feminine self-sacrifice, folding his arms as often as he rested a hand on a hip, and it f rankly astonished Reid no one else on the team had figured out Hotch was bisexua l.

Reid hadn't looked away from Hotch once during his musings, but Hotch wasn't pay ing attention. He was watching the pedestrians on the sidewalk and the other car s out his window. Spencer could see his lips moving, subtly mouthing the lyrics. Reid was grateful. For all his other talents, Hotch had a singing voice that co uld make cats wonder what the commotion was. "Fall away to the sound of my heart to your beat," the woman sang, "melancholy a nd cool, kinda bittersweet--" "'You think you're so smart,'" Reid said experimentally. The hand resting on the steering wheel spasmed. Reid's nerve faltered. "That's what your father said to you before he beat you, wasn't it? That's why you pretend to read slowly when p eople can see you, unless we're pressed for time then you just let people assume you're skimming, why you never talk about it--" Reid's babbling skidded to a ha lt. "It," like a disease or deformity, but "genius" and "prodigy" were words oth er people used with stigmas and expectations attached that had no place in this car. "The way you read makes people uncomfortable. So I avoid it when I can," Hotch s aid, like he was explaining an interrogation technique. But he had used the seco nd-person pronoun, which was as much a tell as a crack in the voice. "Besides, s o much of your self-esteem and confidence was based on bringing something unique to the table. It wasn't worth risking that just to brag." Hotch was still looki ng out the window. "I've never lied. Just discouraged the right questions." Just ifications. They had to be, because Morgan had been on the team for two years be fore Reid and he didn't know. But-- But there was definitely a thread of truth i n that last, because Hotchhadalways been gentle with him. Never coddling, God knew Hotch had pushed him far beyond what he'd thought his limits were, but... gentl e. Empathetic. The scars from his father's abuse were why Hotch downplayed, but the outright se cret-keeping was for Spencer. "'Based on bringing something unique--' Hotch, I--" There was too much he wanted to say, and it all jumbled together in his mouth. "Gideon said you'd say someth ing when you were ready and I waited but you never said anything-- I couldn't te ll if maybe you didn't like me or if you were ashamed of being different or if m aybe you resented me for taking your spot-- Not that that seemed like you, but I couldn't think-- of-- There was so much I wanted to-- just to not be alone--" R eid slammed his jaw shut so hard his teeth clicked. Hotch was looking down, his dark lashes delicate against this skin. Reid's heart did a two-step. He really, really wanted to brush Hotch's cheek with his hand, to see of those lashes were as soft as they looked. "I know," Hotch said, a soft admission that his silence had cost him. Just not e nough to make him put himself above what he'd perceived Reid's needs to be. Ludi crous, that all this time all Reid had had to do was say something. "So how long have you known?" "Since my third week at the BAU," Spencer replied. He filled his voice with smug ness to take the emotional edge off. "You said on the day I met you the junior y ear of your J.D. program was in 1987, but three weeks later we had a party for y our thirty-third birthday. In 1987 you were 17, and since law school takes seven years and your birthday is in November, the bulk of your freshman year occurred when you were twelve. Even without that, you just said your first command happe ned while Emily was away at college. Emily's a ten-year agent. Count back ten ye ars, plus one for the Academy, and another four for her BS: fifteen years, you w ere twenty-one. Three years as a prosecutor gives us you leaving law school at 1 8." He was tempted to add an "elementary, my dear Watson," but Hotch was resting

his temple on his fingers, chagrin written plainly across face and body. "So I've spent the last four years making a complete idiot out of myself." "Pretty much," Reid said, smiling. "The only reason I didn't know that first day was because you said you'd met Haley that year, but Haley is only a year younge r than you. It was a clever bit of misdirection." "It wasn't," Hotch said. "I told you, I never lied. I was participating in a col lege-prep tutoring program at her high school. My RA thought it would be a good idea for me to spend time around people my own age. I accidentally walked in to a Theater Club meeting, saw Haley, and decided to pretend to be a student to mee t her." Reid really didn't want to talk about Haley, so he didn't reply. Part 5 Both Spencer and Derek had been on the team long enough to have met Sean Hotchne r and his mother Anna Sheridan, who had returned to her maiden name after her hu sband's death to "make Cordelia more manageable." The simple yellow-sided house with a neatly-trimmed lawn fit her profile of pragmatic straightforwardness. Two horses stared at him over the wood rail fence behind the house, black tails swi shing flies from their rump. Reid waved. The gelding snorted at him. Reid shoved his hands in his pockets as they scaled the small cement stairs to t he door. Hotch knocked twice, then unlocked the door and stepped inside. "Hello?" Aaron called as Reid stepped by him. The living room was plain and clea n, the walls decorated with pictures and a few carefully-folded flags. Plants we re everywhere, ivies and rhododendrons and orchids. Hotch untied his shoes and l eft them in the cubby rack by the door. Spencer followed suit. "Ma? Hello?" Hotc h flipped back his jacket to unfasten his holster. Reid inhaled, but he couldn't smell any trace of blood. If the unsub had been here, she hadn't left much of a mess. They heard a door open, the thud of shoes on the floor. "Aaron?" Anna called, and Hotch visibly relaxed. "You took so long, I thought yo u'd been called away." Anna entered through the laundry room. Her hands were bla ck with dirt. "I was surprised you had time to see me at all, what with a pair o f unsubs in town." Reid smothered a smile. Of course Hotch's "Ma" would know the jargon. Anna began washing her hands in the sink, continuing without missing a beat, "I was in the garden. We've had so much rain recently, the roses have all gone into shock. They're Hell-bent on keeling over, but I refuse to accept defea t. The little bastards'll live if it kills me." She dried her hands on a towel. "There. Now." Hotch bent to scoop his mother into a one-armed hug. Anna was not so inhibited, and threw both arms around her much taller son's shoulders. Aaron pulled away fi rst, and Anna fluidly turned to Spencer. "It's good to meet you again, Dr. Reid." Her handshake was firm, and her blue ey es welcoming. "Go, sit on the couch. Just let me start the water boiling." "We're," Hotch started. His voice was scratchy. Hotch turned, coughed harshly in to a hand, and tried again. "We're here officially, Ma. I have some questions ab out Mrs. Miller. She was a first grade teacher at Southland Christian School whi le we were there." Reid sat next to Hotch on the overstuffed brown sofa, curling his stocking feet beneath him.

"Ah, yes, the brainless wonder," Anna commented, snapping on the stove. She cros sed the kitchen to sit on the chair on Aaron's left. "What do you need to know?" "That's hostile," Reid observed. "Oh, she made an impression. I thought it was a little odd that my eighth-grader always had a second-grader hanging around when I'd pick her up from school, but I never talked to him. So when she said she was just protecting him from bullie s, it seemed logical to me. Aaron was in Mrs. Miller's class for almost seven ho urs a day and she never noticed he was operating at an eighth-grade level, much less that he and my daughter were running their own little plagiarism ring." And that was why Hotch had taken Reid along, because this was the point where he would have had to scrape Morgan, JJ, or Prentiss off the ceiling. "I was quiet," Hotch said with a shrug. "I finished my work and then sat in a co rner and read. I wasn't acting up, distracting the other students, or getting in to fights. It probably looked like I was just glancing at the pages of books I c ouldn't possibly understand." "Aaron, honey, you were a scary-smart little boy. It should have been obvious to anyone with half a brain you weren't average." Anna looked over at Reid. "The f irst time I talked to Aaron was outside the principal's office. I asked him what he was in for while the principal finished up with Allen. He looks up at me and says, very solemn and proper, 'Plagiarism. Another girl and I sold essays to ot her students. I'm going to be expelled.' I about had a stroke. When I exclaimed 'oh my God, you're Aaron Hotchner,' he fires back with, 'that's what it says on my birth certificate.' That is not normal second-grader behavior. That isn't eve n close, and the fact Miller never noticed and still won all the teachers' award s she did is galling." "Is there anything else she missed?" Hotch asked. "Anyone she may have mistreate d?" The tea kettle whistled, summoning Anna to the kitchen. "Not that I'm aware of." Reid couldn't see Anna past the fridge, but he heard th e clink of china. "John covered good touch/bad touch with James and the girls be fore he died. He'd spent too much time overseas not to. They would have said som ething. As far as missing... who knows what she missed." Anna brought back a tea service. She poured tea in their cups but let them see to their own cream and s ugar. "I would have fixed coffee, but I figured at this late hour you'd've had t hree cups already." It was 10:30. "Two," Hotch countered. "And a half," Reid added. He didn't bother with the handle of his teacup, just p icked it up by the body and brought it to his mouth to blow on it. "Three," Anna said with a nod. She took her own cup. "I know you're probably loo king for 'why this victim,' but I really don't know of anything bad enough for t his new killer to focus on her." "It's not a new unsub," Aaron said softly. "It's the same individual, a stalker. The first killings were just bait to bring my team and me here. The second was a... present... for me. We need to know what makes a person giftable." "Barnes?" Anna asked, blue eyes wide. She spilled her tea onto her saucer, but s he didn't care and Reid knew that panic. He'd called Vegas in that fear, orderin g Diana Reid pulled from her sanitarium in hopes the unsub hadn't already visite d becauseoh, God, his mother--. To know your relative was deliberately walking in

to the path of the monsters... Maybe it was a good thing his mother was crazy, b ecause it meant she didn't fully understand how badly Spencer could get hurt. "Dead," Aaron replied. "This one is new." "There shouldn't have been a first one," Anna said darkly. "I know," she said, h olding out a halting hand. "Risk is part of the Service. But a mother is allowed to be scared to death when her son attracts the violently insane." "I don't attract them, I hunt them." "You attract them," Anna argued calmly, mopping up her tea with a napkin. "Theyl ikeyou. They think you understand them, that you empathize. They try to make you laugh, impress you with card tricks. One even sent you flowers." "It's common for unsubs to feel that profilers empathize with them. We work in t eams now specifically to combat the proprietary feeling unsubs often have for th e agents that investigate their cases." Anna didn't reply, she just rested her chin on her hand and stared at her son. "All right," Hotch confessed. "I've had a few fixate on me even with a team." "Thank you," Anna said, sitting back up. Reid hid his mouth behind his hand. "Is something funny, Dr. Reid?" "I just see where he gets it," Reid said. Hotch glowered at him. "That." "Aaron picked up a lot of things from my side of the family," Anna said, sipping her tea. "Independence, duty, justice. It's why Cordelia is so difficult." Anna reached over and tapped Aaron's ringless finger. "Haley, too. She wanted a tame able Hotchner boy and ended up with a bloody-minded willful Sheridan." Aaron did n't reply, and Reid knew it was because he didn't trust himself to speak. "Bathroom?" Reid asked, even though he didn't really need it. Anna gave him dire ctions, and Reid gave Hotch some space. Spencer waited outside the bathroom, scr utinizing the books on the shelves lining the hallway. He could hear the low mur mur of conversation. If there was trouble, he'd hear, but Hotch had privacy. One shelf held six albums with names written on the spine. The oldest was filled wi th ink sketches, the newest with color photographs. The last was marked John Nig htingale. It matched the name on one of the flags in the living room, presumably Anna's first husband. None of the pictures appeared more than once, which seeme d odd, and very few of the captions shared surnames. Reid frowned. If it wasn't a family album, then what was it? Reid moved on from the strange albums. The books on the shelves were heavily pop ulated with military memoirs, followed by books on gardening, horse care, histor y, some random fiction, and even some sci-fi. Reid tried not to be too happy abo ut that. After all, for all Reid knew the science fiction was from one of Hotch' s siblings. Still, snuggling up to Hotch and watchingThe Voyage Homewas a good fan tasy to keep tucked in the back of his mind.You,the voice in his head sounded susp iciously like Garcia,are on the verge of having it so badly you can't function. "Oh," Hotch said. Reid nearly left his skin behind. "Put a bell around your neck!" Reid said crossly. Hotch was smirking. "You were gone for a while," Hotch said. "I thought maybe you'd fallen in." Aaro n's dress socks made no sound on the soft dark blue carpet.

"I thought you might want some privacy." Aaron didn't reply at first. "Dad married Ma when I was nine," Aaron said. His hands were in his pockets. He pretended to look at the photographs on the wall. "His first affair was... almos t a year into the marriage. He said it was a mistake, that he'd never do it agai n. He just got better at hiding it. Everyone knew, but no one said anything. Aft er Sean was born, I decided to confront him. One day I followed him. That's how I found out he had cancer. For reasons I cannot begin to understand, Ma nursed h im through the chemo, the radiation... and he cheated again as soon as his hair grew back." Aaron's smile was bitter. "After I, uh, got the job with the Richmon d County prosecutor's office, I had nothing to lose. I was no longer a minor so I didn't have summer visitation, I had an income independent of the Hotchner Tru st, and I could press my own charges if he hit me. So I came home and told Ma sh e didn't have to put up with Dad anymore. Elaine, James, Susan, and I could take care of her and Sean just fine. I had promised myself 'someday, when I'm big en ough' for twelve years, and... I was." "You were spoiling for a fight," Reid said. "People never believe me when I tell them I have a nasty temper," Hotch said. "M a was furious. I wasn't responsible for her marriage and she was perfectly capab le of divorcing her own husband, she said, and money wasn't why she stayed. Dad heard, of course. I had never heard him shout so loudly. I refused to back down from him or Ma. Dad had a heart attack, literally." Hotch paused. "When the doct or gave me the news that it had killed him, all I thought was, 'finally.' One of my professors had a good friend who specialized in estate law. He made certain Ma got the house even though Dad had left everything to Mother in his will. Even if he'd lost--" Apparently the end of that sentence skirted too closely to Aaro n's idea of bragging, because he stopped. "We -- the lawyer, Ma, and I -- sold t he house, bought this one, and invested the difference. Elaine, James, Susan and I chipped in what we could." Reid pretended to believe Aaron hadn't made up the bulk of the contributions. "Everything turned out all right. Well, except that Sean thinks the ABA is the kiss of Death." "I was surprised you didn't think the same thing, all things considered," Anna s aid. She was leaning against the wall, arms folded. "Are you single, Dr. Reid?" Spencer nodded. "I'll give you some advice. Don't date someone with children. If you fall in love with them, you'll marry her even if you're fairly certain you don't want to be her husband because being their father will be irresistible. A step-parent has no rights and Allen knew it. As long as he had David, Vivian, an d Aaron, he had me." "David and Vivian hated you," Aaron stated. "Only because Cordelia wanted them to." "Wow, Hotch," Reid said lightly, breaking the tension. He wanted to loop his arm through Hotch's, and shoved his hands into his pockets to control the urge. "Yo ur family makes me feel a lot better about mine." "My life has purpose," Aaron deadpanned. "It's good to know your place in the universe," Reid responded. "Speaking of, wh o are these people?" He gestured to the old photographs scattered across the top of the bookcase. "The left side are the Nightingales," Aaron said, stepping across the hall to st and next to Reid. "Grand parents, grand aunts, as far back as Ma could find." Hi

s voice dropped a note. "This is the South. We're big on genealogy. The right si de are the Sheridans. Some of the pictures are originals, but the bulk of them a re reproductions. The Sheridans have been soldiers and policemen since the 1700s . The line is just as old as the Duquesnes." Hotch stepped behind Reid, resting a hand on his shoulder as he reached for one of the odd albums. "These are the R easons." Hotch opened one, standing next to Reid and holding the book open on hi s palms. Spencer peered down at it. His fists were clenched with the excitement of being so far inside Hotch's personal space, both physically and metaphoricall y. "Being a soldier or cop is hard on the family," Aaron said. "So the Sheridans ha ve a tradition that every time a family member in the service saves a life, he s ends a picture of the person home so they know what the sacrifice is for. Some f amilies keep the pictures on a shelf before putting them in the album and the ch ildren get to pick the frame, some families make scrapbooks." "Do you have one?" Reid asked. He wondered if Gideon's murder book had been take n from the Sheridan Reasons, or if it was a case of concurrent evolution. "No," Aaron said softly. "Haley never allowed it. She said it wasn't condusive t o a healthy work-life balance. She doesn't like Dinners with the Crew either. I' ve been able to talk her into a few in disguise, like the Superbowl party." Reid frowned in puzzlement. "Another Sheridan tradition," Hotch explained. "A police man or fireman brings his crew to dinner for is family to get to know. Military spouses host dinners for the other military spouses in the area. The idea is to make the spouse feel like a part of things." "It's a psychologically sound tactic," Spencer said, looking up from the Reason. Hotch flicked his eyebrows and nodded in bemused agreement. "Dr. Reid," Anna said suddenly. Reid stepped away from Hotch. "Aaron said you we re raised in Vegas. Ever fed a horse?" The topic was apropos of nothing, and her eyes were a little wide. "No," Reid said. "We have time," Aaron said, somewhere between off-duty warmth and on-duty effici ency. He shelved the Reason. They fetched carrots from the refrigerator and head ed out to the barn. Aaron and Anna slid easily through the rails. Reid was caref ully slow about sliding first one leg, then his body, then the other long leg be tween the wooden poles. When he straightened, the gelding was right next to him. The gelding snorted, blowing hot air in Reid's face, and Reid immediately held out both carrots like magic wands. "Greedy bully," Hotch said, pushing on the gelding's neck. The gelding moved awa y. "They're big, and you have to respect that, but don't be afraid of him. Kerry 's all posturing. Annabella's easy, try her. Hand out flat. Don't arch your palm or curl your fingers, just make a platform for the food." Reid did as instructe d. Annabella's velvety lips tickled and she slimed his hand. But a grin curled h is mouth, and the experience was definitely a pleasurable one. Anna produced ano ther carrot for Reid. Kerry was thoroughly distracted by nosing at Hotch's pocke ts. Reid fed Annabella the carrot, then reached out to stroke. Her tawny neck was sa tiny soft, in sharp contrast to the rough texture of her mane. He scratched at h er hairline. The warm brown eye blinked. Reid grinned, petting with one hand and scratching with the other. They didn't smell at all like he imagined. Earthy, y es, but stinky, no. Anna crossed the paddock to give her son the other carrot in her hand.

"So what was that all about?" Hotch asked, feeding Kerry. "Aaron, honey, I'm not going to spoil the surprise," Anna said, "but that doesn' t mean I have to watch." Aaron gave her a thoroughly confused look. "This is awesome," Reid said before Aaron could give voice to a question. "I can see why horses are so effective in treating autistic children." The horses were doted on for another minute, then Hotch declared they had to be leaving. Reid repeated his cowboy-exit without falling on his face. They crossed the side lawn toward the car. Hotch and his step-mother discussed the possibili ty of there being time for a Dinner with the Crew. Reid contemplated trying to h old his experience over Morgan's head and ultimately decided Morgan wouldn't car e about feeding horses. Meeting Chamillionaire, yes. Equines, no. "Hybrid teas?" Hotch asked, stopping by a sad little rosebush. "No wonder you ha ve shock." "I know they're a pain in the ass," Anna said, "but I thought Veteran's Honors w ould be worth the hassle." "Well, at least they're a hardier strain. Colindas are almost impossible outside South A--" Hotch stopped. "We have to get back to the station. Talk to you late r." Hotch hugged his step-mother once, then hurried for the car. Reid jogged beh ind him. "Hotch, you want to fill me in?" he squawked, clambering into the car. "Roses," Hotch said starting the car with one hand and buckling his seatbelt wit h the other. "They come in different varieties, even among species. Differences in color, petal count, fragrance, foliage, petal shape." Hotch dialed his cell p hone as soon as he'd pulled out of the driveway. "Morgan, meet me at the station . Avoid Princeton, it's jammed for over an hour with road construction. Take Add ison, left on Cobalt, and right on 13th instead. Have Prentiss and JJ join you." Hotch hung up, then redialed. "Garcia. Is the rose sent with the novel in Evide nce yet? Good. Call up that photo, the rose left at the Lee scene, the Miller ro se, and I'll also need exemplar pictures of Colindas and Classies. Roses, Penelo pe. They're types of roses. Thanks. Oh, and call up the files for the Prince Cha rming killings, especially the crime scene photos. I know. Trust me." When they all arrived in the briefing room, Hotch had Garcia lay all the request ed photos out on one computer screen. "There are 100 to 150 different species of roses, depending on who you ask," Hot ch narrated, "and within each species there are innumerable varieties. The most popular florist rose is the hybrid tea. All of these roses are hybrid teas. If s omeone were to just buy the first red rose they saw in a store, they are most li kely going to find these two, the Classy and the Colinda. These two are the rose s sent to my office and at the Lee scene. They are Chivalry roses. They're harde r to find, only about one in eight stores stock them." "Deliberation," Prentiss commented. "This rose was the flower found with Mrs. Miller. These thirteen are the flowers found at Melinda Coltrane's kills. They are all Ink Spots roses. Ink Spots rose s are less popular than the Chivalry roses, and they sell out almost immediately when they are carried due to the almost-black red on the outer petals. This can not be coincidence."

"Hotch, are you gay?" Morgan blurted incredulously. "Or did you just switch brai ns with Reid." "I was minoring in plant pathology," Hotch said, "a minor in horticulture was on ly a few more classes. Garcia, start looking for special orders on Chivalry and Ink Spots roses in the florist shops." "There's nothing like a man who knows his flowers," Garcia purred cheerfully. "Y ou are welcome to demonstrate your knowledge practically at any time." "So, our unsub speaks the same language as the Prince Charming Killer," Prentiss mused. "They may have even had contact. Garcia, where is Coltrane being held?" "Um, nowhere," Garcia said, grimacing. "There was a fire at the mental facility she was being housed at two years ago. She's dead." "Oh, come on!" Morgan exclaimed. "Dammit, we finally had a lead." "We still have a lead," Hotch murmured. "We have records of her contacts, her vi sitors, and her psychologist is still at Kingston. JJ and Reid, you go to Staunt on and talk with Dr. Mullhall. Fax us Coltrane's visitor logs as soon as you hav e them." JJ and Reid left. Hotch folded his arms and leaned against the counter, his face immobile. "Melinda Coltrane killed thirteen men from 1991 until 1998," Garcia narrated. "S he broke into her victims' homes, slit their throats across both carotids, and l eft a single red rose beside the body." "Just like Mrs. Miller," Morgan said darkly. "Her victims were all successful, wealthy men from good families," Garcia read. "They were charming, well-educated, respected in the community. They were all ei ther serial womanizers or adulterers. When asked why she killed, Coltrane replie d that her victims lured women under the guise of being Prince Charming, then us ed them and disposed of them. She killed them before they could take any more vi ctims. The roses supposedly represented the romance they promised and the stain of their crimes. Coltrane's stressor was in 1989. Her employer, Maximillian Coch rane III, took her to dinner at a four star restaurant for Christmas and then dr ove her to her home, held a knife to her throat, and raped her. Hotch was the pr osecutor on the case. Her sobriquet was taken from his closing statements. "Which I, the source of all wisdom, have here," Garcia said. She typed a few but tons off-screen. "Awww, Hotch. You were just a baby. Too cute." "We all have at least one friend who has... zero luck," the piped-in voice said. It was expressive and solidly Southern, but still Hotch. "His estate deal falls through, his stock tumbles, he buys his daughter a dog and promptly hits it wit h the car. We give him the money he asks for, and he always pays us back. But le t us imagine that one day we don't have the liquid assets he asks for." "The Defense stacked the jury with upper-class men," Hotch explained. "I tried t o sneak in as many with respect for women as I could, but the Good Old Boys stil l had the majority." "--and demands that you give him all the money in the house," the recorded Hotch drawled. "You could fight back. It's the honorable thing to do. But the knife i s long and sharp, and you don't want to die. So you do the smart thing, the thin g you've been told to do by every law enforcement official you've ever met: you give him the money. Afterward you call the police. 'But weren't you dressed nice ly, like you had money?' they ask. 'You have a reputation for philanthropy. You'

re always giving money away. How is this different?' 'Oh, he had a knife. But yo u knew he wasn't really going to kill you, didn't you? After all, he's your frie nd. You know him.' And after asking these questions, they ignore the bruises on your body, your insistence that you really weren't willing and that something va luable was stolen from you. They leave, declaring that no crime occurred." There was a pause. "A police officer who acted this way toward a robbery victim would be fired on t he spot." Hotch's voice was brassy with certainty. "But a rape victim? Those kin ds of questions are a matter of course. Asked by policemen, reporters, her famil y, lawyers -- all those who are supposed to be on her side. Most rape victims ne ver even come forward because they are so certain that they will receive no just ice from the system. Rapistscounton it. "Rape isn't about virtue or chastity or even lust. It is about power. It is abou t dominating another human being, taking what you want from her over all her pro tests, stripping her of all control and safety, and savoring every moment of her fear. It isn't about sex. If all he wanted was sex, there were plenty of willin g partners he could have chosen from." There was a mocking undercurrent to Hotch 's voice. "You heard Cochrane's wife, his family, his colleagues all say with st rident certainty that he could have any woman he wanted. So then, why this woman ? Why this lowborn secretary from Nebraska, when he had all the aristocracy to c hoose from? Because raping a high-born woman incurs consequences. His secretary was controllable. Unprotected. Unlikely to even report him for fear of losing he r job and never being hired again. "Did Melinda Coltrane dress up for her dinner with Mr. Cochrane? Of course." Hot ch's voice rose and fell, a calculated impersonation of debate. "They were going to DuBrev, a four-star restaurant. Did she go alone with him, let him pay the b ill? It was a Christmas treat from her dear employer, it was only to be expected . Did she leave the restaurant in his car? Naturally. She had had three glasses of wine. It was dangerous to drive, and who knew what kind of man her cabbie wou ld be. But her boss, she could trust him. He was Maximillian Cochrane III: wealt hy, charming, well-respected, intelligent, and erudite -- what any woman woulddre amof marrying. And Cochrane knew it. Owned it. Wore his facade of being Prince Ch arming to lure Melinda into a situation she never would have allowed with anyone else, took what he wanted, and then disposed of her like garbage. "Melinda is not garbage. She is a daughter, a sister, and a human being. She is the victim of a robbery, but instead of money or possessions she has lost her vi rginity and her ability to trust. To feel safe in a male presence. That is a cri me, and it is up to you to make certain that justice is dispensed for it." There was a click as Garcia ended the tape. The conference room was silent. "Wow," Prentiss said. "What are you doing in the FBI?" "I prefer preventing crimes to cleaning up after them," Hotch replied. "The jury came back with a verdict of guilty. Cochrane got three years and died of a coke overdose one year in. Melinda stayed in New York for about a year, then she mov ed away. I haven't heard from her since. Neither had any of the rest of my survi vors as of her arrest." Hotch caught himself, realizing how that sounded. "I ref erred all the women whose rape cases I prosecuted to the same therapist. I intro duced each new survivor to previous survivors who wanted to help other women who 'd been through the same trauma." "Like an amateur support group," Morgan said. "Not amateur," Hotch countered. "I have a Masters in Psychology, and I had the i nput of Dr. Guilland. I knew what I was doing. I had Haley transport them to my

office and take them home whenever possible. Meeting my wife helped them see I w asn't the enemy despite my Y chromosome, as did meeting those whose cases I'd al ready prosecuted. From what I hear, several of them are still friends." "It still makes no sense," Morgan said. "Our unsub mimics the Prince Charming Ki ller's MO so closely as to be forgeries, but targets the person who was the most supportive and understanding after the rape? And then sends Hotch the wrong kin d of roses?" "Ink Spots were for sins," Prentiss said solemnly. "Hotch received Chivalry rose s. He is what Coltrane's victims were pretending to be: wealthy, successful, cha rming, well-educated, respected, and at the same time gentle, protective, genuin ely self-sacrificing, preternaturally intelligent, and perceptive. Against the w ill of his entire family, he makes his career hunting those who prey on the help less, first as a prosecutor then as an agent. He even turns down a cushy desk jo b to stay in the field. Coltrane was a modern Cynic, searching in vain for an ho nest man and killing when she was disappointed. Our unsub thinks she's finally f ound what her idol was looking for." The conference room door closed. Hotch had left the room. "I'll go talk to him," Morgan said. Hotch wasn't in the breakroom. There was really only one other place he could be hiding. Morgan cracked the door open just enough to glimpse the familiar back, then let it swing shut. He leaned against the wall. Men did not follow each othe r into the bathroom. They didn't go in packs, either, a facet of female behavior that continued to mystify him. It made no sense. Just like an alpha male gettin g a degree in Horticulture because it was only a few more classes. Or a drill se rgeant with feeding behaviors. It didn't add up in the same way Reid didn't add up: on the one hand, out-of-dat e shirts, long hair, and a voice that squeaked and squealed when excited; on the other hand, his fling with Lila Archer, the ongoing flirtation with JJ, the way he ran roughshod over Emily and used science tricks to impress the ladies. Gay behaviors in a straight man who came across as some kind of braniac Virgin Mary. Sex seemed somehow too visceral to impact Reid's cerebral existence, even thoug h Reid's beloved statistics said Reid thought about sex at least once a day. Mor gan knew why Reid was that way, of course. Prepubescent when everyone around him was flush with hormones, just discovering sexuality when everyone else was enga ged in advanced experimentation. His mind had charged ahead and dragged his body along for the ride. Always comparing himself to those around him and coming up short because the herd instinct didn't give handicaps, yet barred by law from ca tching up. Male, female, and denial had gotten all tangled up inside his head, a nd by the time soul and body had come to enough of an accord for Reid to be able to work it out, it was too late. The sexual identity had already been formed. Hotch gave off that same overgendered and genderless impression. Women didn't hi t on Hotch. He didn't even seem to notice women's bodies. It wasn't just a monog amous disinterest; it was a kind of frigidity Morgan normally associated with wo men who had been sexually assaulted. But Hotch wasn't a woman and he hadn't been raped. Yet, still, Jack aside, thinking about Hotch and sex in the same sentenc e felt like a contradiction. To add to the conundrum, Hotch obviously packed a p air. His emphasis on firearms, the way he ran right over people who stood betwee n him and doing his job, the way he instantly commanded a room just by walking i nto it -- Hotch had no problem being forceful. But at the same time he wore a su it even when it was a hundred degrees out, and he was positively fastidious. Sen sitive, too, under all the stern and distance. For fuck's sake, Emily called him "Mom" behind his back.

Male, female, and asexual all tangled up in an inextricable knot, and Morgan won dered what on earth had confused Hotch's gender behaviors so badly. It didn't help that this case was making Morgan think he was losing his superpow ers. Every time Derek thought he had a handle on the unsub, something happened t hat made everything fluid gray again. He knew something important about this uns ub, possibly even the one thing that would crack this case. He was certain of it . But try as he might, he couldn't bring it into his conscious memory. It spun a way as soon as his fingertips brushed it. Whatever it was. "What happened to 'there's no shame in being afraid?'" Morgan asked when the doo r opened. "There isn't," Hotch said evenly. "That's why you're hiding in the bathroom and refusing to talk to us?" "I had three cups of coffee and a cup of tea this morning, Morgan. That's not hi ding, that's not being able to wait any longer." "Uh-huh," Morgan said. "If you think of a better reason, I'm standing right here ." Not that that line had worked the last time he'd used it. Maybe that was what bothered him most about all of this. It was Reid all over again. For a moment, it looked like Hotch was going to lash out at him. Morgan tensed. He was ready f or everything from sarcasm to tears, but Hotch just walked away. "Damn." Hotch didn't go back to the conference room. He wasn't ready to face his team ye t. Not after-He shied away from even the thought. Hotch pushed through the back door of the s tation. The back parking lot was half-full of black-and-whites. Aaron paced back and forth, one hand drumming against his thigh.I'm not that man,he said silently.I 'm not the man Coltrane was looking for. I'm, I'm a drill sergeant made of stone . I have no sense of humor. I cheat on my wife with my career. I'm tempted to ch eat on her with my handsome and endearing virginal genius subordinate. I've blow n my illusion of paternal asexuality to smithereens with said subordinate becaus e my self-control really isn't what it should be. I lust for wide hazel eyes and the staticco pulse of facts delivered by that perfect mouth. I'm arrogant, a pe rfectionist, heartless, manipulative, and deceitful. I push my team too hard, ex pose them to too much risk, and I never teach them how to deal with things emoti onally because I haven't got the slightest clue myself. And I follow a recitatio n of my virtues with an immediate recitation of my flaws. "Hey, Fed," said a gruff voice. Hotch turned. A grizzled old police man was hold ing out a slim cigarette and a green lighter. "You keep that up and you'll kill yourself long before the cancer could." Hotch stared mutely. Not counting the three months after Barnes's arrest, he had n't smoked in fifteen years. But the sight of the white paper surrounding dark b rown was enough. That should have told him just how high his stress level was. I t didn't. The only thing that registered was the sudden, sharp craving he'd thou ght he'd mastered. Hotch's hand trembled as he reached out. Reciprocity. The ser geant was doing him a favor. That mattered more than the blackened lungs and can cer. It mattered more than knowing he'd just have to turn around and go through the pain of quitting again. The first inhale seared his lungs, and he coughed a bit. The second was sweet. A aron closed his eyes and leaned against the wall, bending one leg like a stork.

He held onto the smoke for as long as he could bear. Aaron tilted his head back to exhale. The burn was lovely. "You picked a Hell of a time to quit smoking," his conspirator commented. Aaron glanced at his gold name tag. Polumsky. "Thanks, Polumsky," Aaron said. Polumsky shrugged. Aaron raised the cigarette to his lips. The nicotine was heaven after the craving. He smiled bitterly. That p retty much summed up his life. Making Haley happy, catching criminals, fantasies of being tied up and teased: he was happiest oscillating between wanting and hi s next fix. Caretaking personalities were the most easily addicted. Hotch exhaled again. The flush of nicotine was almost orgasmic. No wonder the cr avings never really went away. Another lungful, the familiar texture of a cigarette in his fingers. His boundar ies were in shambles. His team knew about Haley, about Barnes, about Mother -- p ersonal things he had no business sharing with them. They would soon know about what he could do. The expectations would follow. He wasn't geeky enough to be a genius, wasn't that what they always said? He wasn't Spencer. Spencer had a joy and a pride in his abilities Hotch envied, because no matter how much good he di d with his own, he could never quite stop being embarrassed about his. It was ea sier, safer, more polite to pretend. And really, that wasn't the sort of thing h e could just work into casual conversation. "Hey, did you see the new painting i n the lobby? Oh, and by the way, I have an IQ of 187." Ridiculous. Calling undue attention to himself. Listening to Emily ennumerate his virtues in front of the entire team like that had been too much, too crowding when he was already hemmed in more than he could really bear: Haley and the Hotchner half of his family on one side, the unsub o n the other, his team's anxiety behind him, and the dissolution of the border be tween Work and Privacy ahead of him. He wanted to plead with one or all of them topleaseback off, and maybe he was so desperate for Spencer's company because Reid gave him space. It was a paradox. Reid backed away, so Hotch drew him close. Words like "don't" and "stop" had no meaning. They depended entirely on the othe r person's willingness or your ability to force the issue, and right now he had little or none of both. There was no way to undo Haley's cheating or his Mother' s overinvestment in his marriage, he couldn't get the unsub to stop because they still had no idea who she was, he certainly couldn't tell his team not to do it s job, and he couldn't not do his job. A leader had to set a good example, which meant he had to march back up there and tell them about Mrs. Miller. Morgan was going to go fusion, and Prentiss right behind him. By the time he finished the cigarette, Hotch knew he'd made a mistake. He hadn't eaten enough to start smoking again. The nausea had escalated into full-blown s tomach cramps when he reached the bullpen. Hotch was tempted to go back to the b athroom. He'd feel better if he threw up, but he really didn't want to. His team would probably think he had bulimia or something. God, what a horrible discussi on that would be. There were Chivalry roses waiting for him on the desk in front of the conference room. A yellow five-inch envelope rested against he crystal vase. Hotch's finge rtips were numb when he pulled gloves from his suit pocket. He couldn't tell if it was nerves or the cigarette. Inside the card's envelope was a Polaroid, a pic ture of himself, leaning against the police station. His eyes were closed.

"You're lovely in pleasure," the card read, "but smoking is a nasty habit." Aaron set the card on the desk, pulled the waste bin forward, and vomited tea an d bile. He was glad Polumsky had offered him the cigarette. It gave him somethin g to blame. Part 6 Montoya was having a conniption. Her voice was shrill with fury, sounding throug h glass and wood. A criminal had been standing in the police car parking lot tak ing pictures and no one had noticed, she had even walked into the station to del iver flowers, Agent Hotchner could have been taken, and why was a traffic cop th e only one keeping an eye on him? Inside the wall, Emily and Morgan were far fro m shrill. They were discussing the obvious sexual component to the note. Morgan saw a contradiction that a woman whose heroine was a rape victim who murdered ep itomes of male domination -- which suggested a sexually abusive background -- wo uld want to sully Hotch with sexual objectification. Prentiss held that rape vic tims were capable of coming to view sex without violent connotations. The previo us kills lacked sexual symbolism. It was the stalking she got off on, not the ki lling. "Besides, Hotch is already 'sullied.'" Emily meant Haley, but Hotch remembered the feeling of Barnes's hands on his bod y. Arching into the harsh and squeezing touch, kissing the bastard back because consent --an approximation thereof, Aaron told himself firmly -- was the only way to keep Barnes's penis safely limp. He'd thought about Haley to get it up, to l eave no doubt in Barnes's mind. "You're getting off on this!" Barnes had shouted. Aaron's hands had been cuffed behind his back, his ankles tied. The cheap sheets had been rough against his ch eek. "I told you I liked it rough." Lying was what he did best. Maybe he and Haley deserved each other. He had passed over-stimulated long ago. The room was stiflingly hot. "Look, I love you all dearly," Penelope snapped, "but I swear to God if you all don't give Aaron some air and something to eat I'm going to leap through this co mputer screen and freak out on you! He's the color of his frickin' shirt." Hotch turned his head. He couldn't tell what his facial expression was, which meant h e probably didn't have one. He hoped Garcia saw his gratitude in his eyes. Prada gift certificate, that's what he would send her. And flowers: button mums, coreopsis, and iris. The traditional bouquet for gratitude was a selection of v arious roses in full bloom, but under the circumstances... The flower you give y our mother, the flower of constant cheer, and the flower of wisdom and valor wou ld do. Aaron hoped he didn't end up with a rose-phobia by the end of this. "I'm all right," Hotch said because a leader had to set a good example. "I shoul d know by now not to relapse on an empty stomach." "Relapse?" Prentiss said, dumbfounded. "Yes, relapse," Hotch said snapped. "When you quit and then you really want a ci garette so you have one?" "Okay," Prentiss snarled. "Reid does a good enough job yelling at Emily. You don

't need to help when he's gone." "Emily," Penelope barked. "Stop. You cannot argue with a hypoglycemic episode. F eed. Hotch." "I don't need to be coddled," Hotch growled.Pull it together, Hotch. "A captain c annot afford to appear weak in the eyes of his crew."A sugar cookie on a napkin a nd a cup of orange juice appeared in front of him, delivered by dark hands. When had his field of vision become so narrow?Stupid, to skip breakfast when you thre w up dinner and lunch is always late.The thought of the cookie turned his stomach , but maybe liquid would be okay. Hotch reached out to take the glass of juice. His hand was shaking.Stupid, stupid, stupid.It took both hands, but he brought the orange juice to his mouth. He drank it slowly, then rested his head on the tabl e. The room was spinning. When the room slowly slid to a halt, Aaron sat up and took his cookie. "You," Penelope said, "are not allowed to skip meals ever again. Scare a woman t o death." "Welcome to my world," Hotch said with a snort. "Well, minus the woman part." Prentiss produced a chicken tika sandwich from the vending machine. By the time Hotch finished it, the world seemed a lot less despair-filled. The room was cool er, too. "Let's look on the bright side," Hotch said dryly. "She can't kill people and ta ke pictures of me at the same time." Morgan and Prentiss were working on their o wn sandwiches. They didn't look comforted. "Ma pointed out Mrs. Miller failed to notice I was operating at a higher academic level than I should have been. If t hat is the reason behind her selection, we're in trouble. I was very good at bei ng invisible." "That seems like a petty reason to kill someone," Prentiss said. "Even for an un sub. Gifted kids get missed all the time, especially quiet ones." "I don't like the fact this woman knows you skipped a grade," Morgan said. "That implies a level of research that is just plain scary." Hotch tensed, readying h imself. "It wasn't one grade, babycakes, it was five," Garcia said casually. "A basic se arch of the Valdosta newspaper archive would bring up four or five articles on t he subject, to say nothing of the Cornell alumni list. And a first-grader readin g Louisa May Alcott is definitely something that should stick out to a teacher." "What the fuck?" Morgan snarled. Prentiss was speechless. "What, did you come do wn with amnesia? Get brainwashed by Ted Kresan and nobody notice? Have a case of aphasia and forget the definition of 'important'? First you're loaded, and now you're a child prodigy. I've known you for three years and I feel like I've just met you yesterday! I thought we weren't supposed to have secrets. Wasn't that w hat your big speech was all about in Chicago? Have you even toldReid?" "Reid already knows," Hotch said wearily. "He's known since his first week. I... don't like talking about it, all right? I'm not a literature buff and I couldn' t even begin tell you what a pound of nails would weigh on Pluto. I learn quickl y, I can do my taxes in my head, and I read fast. That's all." "Not when we can see you," Prentiss said scathingly. "That's not 'not wanting to talk about it,' that's lying." "It is rude to flaunt your strengths unnecessarily. Especially when the bulk of

Reid's self-confidence came from being unique," Hotch replied tersely. "That's bullshit." Neither Morgan nor Prentiss looked ready to give an inch. Nor , Hotch admitted, should they. "Look, there's nothing more we can do here," Hotch said. Give them time to work through it, talk it over. Time for him to come up with an explanation they could understand. "Not until the unsub makes another move. I'll take Montoya and chec k the florists Garcia sent us. You two take the afternoon off." Aaron fled. ~*~ Morgan and Prentiss went out for coffee. They found a small cafe in downtown aft er getting thoroughly lost, paid $7.95 apiece for a chai and a scone, and sat at a small table in the back. The cafe was eclectic, with modern art on the walls and a wifi hotspot sticker on the bain. "'Sundays, too, my father got up early,'" Prentiss said slowly. Morgan gave her a questioning look. "Robert Hayden. 'Sundays, too, my father got up early and pu t his clothes on in the blueblack cold, then with cracked hands that ached from labor in the weekday weather made banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him. I 'd wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking. When the rooms were warm, he'd call, and slowly I would rise and dress, fearing the chronic angers of that hous e, speaking indifferently to him, who had driven out the cold and polished my go od shoes as well. What did I know, what did I know, of love's austere and lonely offices?' It's a poem my class memorized for Father's Day once. It's about a so n recognizing as an adult that his father's emotional distance wasn't due to a l ack of affection." Morgan didn't know what to say to that. "Are we really just upset that Garcia and Reid noticed and we didn't?" Prentiss asked. Morgan was quiet. "It wasn't like it wasn't obvious something bad had happened in Seattle," he sai d. He looked up at Prentiss. "I joined the BAU a year or so after Hotch did. He was justweird. If you tried to touch him in any way other than shaking hands, he' d step out of the way. He used to clean the breakroom every morning: do the dish es, clean the microwave, start coffee, all of it. One morning Carter -- Penelope 's predecessor -- walked up behind Hotch when he was washing the coffee cups." M organ moved to stand behind Prentiss. He wrapped his hands around her upper arms . "Grabbed him like this and said, 'you'll make someone a wonderful wife someday ' right into his ear. Hotch slammed him into the cabinets so hard he cracked the wood." "Oh my God," Prentiss said, shocked that anyone at the BAU could have ever been so stupidly cruel. Or that Hotch had ever had a hair trigger. "Personal space issues up the wazoo. He never talked about Seattle, but by Chris tmas he'd stopped dodging touch so we all just kind of forgot about it." Morgan stirred his chai with a spoon. "I think playing dumb was his way of regaining co ntrol, maybe not even consciously. Not wanting to upset Reid by making it seem l ike he had competition makes sense, too, in a Hotch Logic sorta way." Hotch Logi c: Morgan's term for the highly unique set of rules Hotch viewed the world with. "... but you're still pissed," Emily said. Morgan tore viciously at his scone.

"Yeah, I'm still pissed." Morgan made frustrated cross between a growl and a sig h. "Hotch didn't used to be like this. I mean, he's always been wound pretty tig ht even without the weird. I've never seen him wear anything but a suit to work. He pushes himself harder than anyone I know. Once that clock starts it's all bu siness, and he'll run right over anyone in his way, but--" Morgan stopped, shaki ng his head. "Hotch knew how to relax, too. Did you know Hotch can do imitations ? Voices, mannerisms, like a one-man Saturday Night Live. It's the funniest damn thing I've ever seen. He used to do them whenever we'd ask. Now you can't get h im drunk enough to agree. The last night of a mission we used to have these movi e nights. Hotch would pick up some off-the-wall little-known movie and have us a ll meet in his room. We'd watch the movie and horse around and basically just de compress. The closest we've come since Boston was that Chaplin showing. "Hotch being chosen as the new unit chief after Gideon's collapse was no acciden t. Gideon had been grooming him from day one." Morgan was staring blankly at the wall, seeing the story play out behind his eyes. "Those first three months afte r Boston, Hotch never smiled. He was at the BAU, with Gideon, or asleep. That mu st have been when Haley started sleeping around. When Gideon healed up enough to start teaching at the Academy, Hotch stopped looking like the dead, but he stil l wasn't the same. His wore his poker face all the time, on or off the clock. Hi s smiles were so rare we could count them. He started picking up the tab every t ime the whole team ate together. He enforced the dress code. And we all stopped calling him 'Aaron.' He never said anything about it, we just..." "Hotch wasn't your coworker anymore," Prentiss said sympathetically. "There's a certain amount of distance that goes with being the leader." "Yeah, but that doesn't mean you've got to give up your sense of humor, or let i t gather dust." Morgan looked down and stirred his drink. "Hotch is one nervous breakdown -- sorry, 'major depressive episode' -- away from being Gideon." Morga n folded his arms and leaned on them. "Sometimes I thought Gideon was some kind of psychic vampire. I mean, I know that vampires aren't real and he didn't do it on purpose, but it seemed like he just drained the life out of Hotch. Hotch jus t got darker and darker while Gideon stayed the same. After Boston Gideon healed up and stayed afloat, but Hotch was fading, we all saw it, and when Hotch could n't give anymore--" Morgan shook his head and looked down at his coffee. "Someti mes I think what Gideon did at the end was the best thing he ever did for Hotch. It's horrible, and I hate thinking it, but." Morgan sighed. "I can't even get a solid feel for this unsub. Every time we zig, she zags. I don't even know what she is. She's an organized psychopath using psychotic methods to accomplish a st alker's ends. Stalkers kill to protect their charges or eliminate competition. S erials kill out of a sexual fantasy or a post-traumatic compulsion or a psychoti c delusion. Organized killers kill ritualistically, psychotic killers kill accor ding to the mandates of their delusion. This unsub makeszero sense." Morgan flung his hand out in a vaguely rude gesture. Morgan's cell phone rang. "What?" he barked into it. "Yeah. Yeah, fine, sure. Thanks." Morgan snapped the phone shut. "Hotch is going to an early dinner with his mother at the Crown, he' s taking a uniform, and he should be back to the hotel by ten at the latest. He and Montoya came up with a few people in hoods who paid in cash." "Well, Morgan, look at it this way," Prentiss said slowly, leaning forward acros s the table. "The single most independent man on the face of the Earth just call ed to check in like a good little boy. Things are looking up." Morgan smiled entirely against his will. "I'm not letting you cheer me up," Morgan said. "I just worked up a perfectly go od mad."

"Here's to saving it for the unsub," Prentiss replied, holding up her mug. "May she necessitate the use of force." Morgan clinked to that. ~*~ Aaron told Officer Delhomme to order whatever he liked. Hotch could afford to pa y the officer's way, and it was worth the cost in entertainment value alone. The waiters were stiff with discomfort at having to be graciously subservient to th e uniformed redneck, and the regular patrons were giving Hotch icy looks. Hotch smiled back at them politely. As much as he liked the food at places like this, the ambience made him long for leftovers on Morgan's couch. Not that it was likely he would ever see Morgan's couch again. That hurt, and it was his own damn fault. His fault for lying and his fault for letting himself g et so attached to his team. Though he dared anyonenotto get attached to the men an d women he worked with. They were the best in the world at what they did, with a selfless courage besides. If Hotch could be half the leader they deserved, he w ould die happy. Fat chance of that. His team deserved nothing less than perfection. Aaron sat at the table he and his mother shared. He was within sight of Delhomme , but out of earshot. Aaron knew better than anyone what gossips cops were. "I assume from your bodyguard that this newest lunatic has targeted you in some way?" his mother asked, the epitome of well-bred disapproval. "I can't discuss an ongoing investigation, Mother," Hotch said with polite dista nce. "Officer Delhomme is here as a precaution." Cordelia did not press the subject. The sommelier was summoned. Cordelia went th rough the ritual of selecting, tasting, and approving. Aaron told the wine maste r he was on-call, and would only be drinking water. The sommelier nodded discree tly. Aaron pretended to peruse the menu while his mother chattered. Aaron knew h e should care, but politics and business stripped statistics of the lives and pe ople whose patterns made them, making human beings no more than pieces on a ches s board. Aaron had no interest in the objectification of souls. The abstract pal ed in comparison to the visceral. Not that Cordelia understood that. She had no frame of reference for it. She had been raised in a world that viewed servants as a type of sentient furniture, th at spoke of laying off a couple hundred people as casually as laying aside a use d garment, that looked out for their own to the exclusion -- and sometimes detri ment -- of others. In high school, Aaron had hated her for that calculation. Cor delia had allowed Aaron to suffer his father's wrath alone lest she displace the abuse onto her other children. Anna had displaced the fury on herself by declar ing Allen had to go through her to get to his son. To his prepubescent mind, it had seemed so black and white. Anna loved him, Cordelia didn't. In Psychology 101, he had learned to see things from his mother's point of view. It wasn't an easy choice: to risk two children to save one, or to sacrifice one to ensure the other two were doted on and safe. Cordelia's upbringing had not p repared her for self-sacrifice as Anna's Naval rearing had, and his grandfather' s abuse of his grandmother had left its own set of scars on Cordelia. Sitting in the darkened auditorium listening to Professor Hanson lecture on the Cycle of A buse with silent tears sliding down his twelve year-old cheeks, Aaron had promis ed himself that the circle would stop with him. Letting go of the anger had been harder than anything, especially since his mother still refused to acknowledge that she needed to be forgiven. But then again, forgiveness never benefited the forgiven as much as it did the f

orgiver. And it wasn't as if his mother hated him. She had paid for his obviously law enf orcement-oriented education, allowed him to room with the step-sister she despis ed so he could attend Cornell instead of insisting he remain in Valdosta for his education, and had never so much as threatened to cut him out of the estate no matter how much she disagreed with how he spent his money. That counted for some thing. Cleaning his wounds after his father's beatings counted, too, though not as much as Anna's steadfast defense. Cordelia knew it, too, and Aaron was wise e nough now to see most of her controlling behavior was to compensate for that kno wledge. He really did love his mother. "Now, Aaron, I understand that you probably don't want to talk about it. Lord kn ows I never wanted to admit how humiliated I was all the time Allen cheated on m e--" She just made it hard sometimes. "Mother--" Aaron sighed. "Now, just, hear me out," Cordelia said, holding up a forestalling hand. "I know that you've been the deceived spouse before. But the second time is nothing lik e the first, and very different than the third -- God forbid. I would be remiss in my duty as a mother if I didn't try to give you the benefit of my experience. I would hope you would do me the honor of listening to your elders." There real ly wasn't much he could say to that. Shewashis mother, even if Ma gave much better advice in a way that was much easier to swallow. "I just don't want you to make a terrible mistake with your marriage you'll come to regret later. I know that it feels like you've been a fool right now. When Allen's second girlfriend told me about the affair, I could not imagine how I had fallen for it a second time. I screamed at him for almost a solid hour. I cried. I told him it was over and t hat I was leaving. Frankly, I am astonished he didn't lay a hand on me. But, aft erward, as I sat on my spinster sister's sofa watching her feed her cats... I re alized I still loved Allen. He'd made a mistake for the second time, true. There were problems in our marriage, true. But it wasn't all bad. He could be romanti c, sweet, and understanding, too. He always had a passion for me. I knew I had m y own weaknesses, and so... I forgave him." Forgiveness. How ironic. "Haley repeated a mistake," Cordelia continued. "But at least, at least try to s ee things from her point of view. A wife needs a husband. Your job keeps you awa y much of the time, and just because she swore to stay faithful to you doesn't m ean she needs a husband any less. She's lonely, overstressed because of Jack, an d then someone pays attention to her. Makes her feel special. Surely you remembe r what things were like with Elizabeth." "Elizabeth," Aaron said firmly, "was different. Haley and I had been separated f or a year. She didn't even call me back when I told her I was moving to Virginia . She didn't respond at all until I filed." But he did remember trying to stay f aithful while desperately alone. He remembered the flutter in his chest when Eli zabeth had offered him a cigarette and sympathy, how easily coffee had turned to dinner had become sleeping over. He remembered the joyous thrill when it seemed he'd found someone genuinely accepting of the fact he felt Barnes's hands on hi m every time someone touched him. How could he have been expected to know Elizab eth hadn't minded his frigidity because she hadn't wanted him in the first place ? He'd filed for divorce from Haley and given Elizabeth his key, only to return from a mission to find everything sellable in the apartment gone -- even his sui

ts. He'd been so ashamed of his misjudgment he'd never reported the robbery. "Sometimes it takes almost losing something to shock us out of our complacency," Cordelia replied. "Aaron, look at your relationship history. Do you really thin k you will find better than Haley? She's a New York Brooks, a fine mother, an ex cellent volunteer, and an accomplished photographer with a BS in Art from Pace. She chose you as the subject of her final project, and even though you don't lik e a single one of the photographs she took, it was an excellent study. You've be en married to her for eighteen years, through an affair each and a separation. I don't want you to throw that away because of one indiscretion." That hurt. It hurt because his own mother didn't even believe he could find bett er, because Anna had been outraged on his behalf, and because it was true. His f irst kiss had been Delouise Bordeaux the pedophile in the Cornell Library. He'd been a shy 13, she a beautiful 24. Elaine had nearly been expelled for beating t he Hell out of her. At fifteen he'd had a mad crush on Andrew Colefield, and pat iently tutored him in exchange for lunches and praise only to be immediately dro pped when Andrew won an exchange scholarship to England. Andrew's girlfriend Jan e -- whom Aaron hadn't known about up until that point -- had gone with him. He' d met Haley in June and given his virginity to her that Christmas only to be dum ped for Peter the clarinet player in January. February had belonged to James Wol fe, rowdy librarian and patient lover. March had begun with the humiliating, "yo u thought we were dating like relationship-dating? Jesus, Aaron, I'm sorry." He'd welcomed Haley back at the end of March and married her in September. She r eally was the best he'd found. He'd been happy with her despite their problems, and in love enough to go to a marriage counseling to please her. But she'd had sex with someone else. He hadn't. It wasn't like he hadn't had opp ortunity and temptation. He couldn't get past it. He should be able to. He had o nce before. "I've never slept with someone else." "You don't have to sleep with someone to have an affair with them," Cordelia sai d primly. "Don't tell me the women on your team don't treat you like a husband." "They don't, actually," Aaron said evenly as the waiter brought their appetizers . "Garcia treats me like a girlfriend some of the time, but Penelope is very ope n-minded." Cordelia's hands clenched and her nostrils flared. He'd alluded to the unmention able: homosexual behavior. "Be that as it may," Cordelia said breathlessly, "you cannot simply throw away e ighteen years." "I didn't," Aaron said. "Sex doesn't matter," Cordelia said with uncharacteristic bluntness. "Allen slep t with a lot of someone elses long before you were born and after. Your precious Anna stayed with him, too, you'll remember. I just wonder if you aren't using H aley's adultery as a convenient justification to make an emotional infidelity on your part a physical reality." Spencer.The guilt was reflexive. Was he so intolerant of Haley's affair because h e'd already moved on and wanted out? The sudden doubt must have shown on his fac e, because his mother straightened primly. "There. 'Let he who is without sin cast the first stone,'" Cordelia said, dippin

g her bread in the olive oil. "Did you know eighty percent of marriages will be affected by adultery at one time during the relationship, either from one or bot h partners? People say a lot about cheating being the unforgivable sin, but the reality of their actions is much different." Hotch didn't know what to say. He didn't even know what to think. Both profiles -- wronged mate and passive-aggressive adulterer -- were supported by the eviden ce. Hotch's calamari reeked of lemon. He pushed it away. He had promised himself he wouldn't be his father's son. But if what his mother said was true and he wa s just as much of an adulterer as Allen Hotchner despite all his efforts to the contrary, then was he just as doomed to fulfill the rest of the cycle? It had be en so easy to let the anger take control in that darkened ER the year before. Aa ron had told himself he'd only been acting, told Spencer the same lie, but it ha d still been too easy to leave bruises on both soul and body. He may have broken his promise not to be his father's son, but he would not cont inue the cycle of abuse for another generation. He'd rather die first. He would die first. Part 7 Officer Delhomme dropped him off at the hotel at nine-thirty. Hotch trudged thro ugh the side door and down the hall, the tin-foil duck containing the remains of his chicken kiev in one hand and his jacket slung over his arm. It was tempting to skip his nightly shower in favor of going straight to bed. With Reid away, b athing in the morning wouldn't even require getting up early. Besides, it wasn't like Morgan was going to want to talk. He wanted to call Spencer, see how thing s were going on his end. It was a perfectly professional thing to do. But it fel t like pretense, like offering to read Haley her cues in theater club. It would be easier if Haley was abusive or cold-hearted. But Haley volunteered w ith museums, Habitat for Humanity, the Relay for Life, and her church. She kept the house clean and cooked for him when he was home. She was thoroughly devoted to Jack. She was nice to his team. Haley was never hateful about expressing her discontent. He loved her. Aaron knew Haley loved him, too. She just didn't like him. Spencer did. Spencer liked him a great deal, maybe enough not to want anyone els e while he was with Aaron, and that was the source of the temptation. But how could he ask Haley not to want anyone else when he himself couldn't mana ge not wanting anyone else but her? When she'd left him he'd tried to move on, a nd he'd been tempted by Spencer ever since Boston. During the aftermath of usband more than Gideon with Gideon and days at llen asleep at his desk on's shoulders. Bale's victory, Haley had been needed a friend. After a month the BAU, they'd had a blowout. only to be awakened by Spencer insitent she needed her h of Aaron spending nights The morning after he'd fa tucking his coat over Aar

"I know you'll pull Gideon out of it," Spencer had said with gentle confidence. "Go back to sleep. We'll cover for you." Approval, understanding, and space. Did it really take so little? It did, because Dr. Goldman had used the same tactics to crack his shell during counseling. Reid was doing it, too, though probably n ot consciously. If it took so little for him, should it take any more for Haley? Perhaps he shou ld take her back, try harder to make her happy this time. It wasn't like he woul d be welcome at team social events anymore. He wouldn't force Morgan and Prentis

s to be in his company on their off time just because Reid and Garcia would stil l want him there. He'd blown his team to Hell, why add his marriage to the list? Except he hadn't slept with Spencer. Wanting wasn't the same as doing, or else h e'd be up on a ream's worth of assault charges. Asking for Haley not to want to be with anyone else was asking to much. Asking h er not to be with anyone else wasn't. Wasn't it? It was what they'd sworn to. He didn't know. Aaron's head told him he was asking too much, that even if he le ft Haley for Spencer the odds were good Spencer would leave, that if he tried ha rder to please Haley she wouldn't stray. His heart insisted that just this once trying harder wasn't the answer. He already lived in silent panic between phone calls when it didn't need to be that way. Marriages had thrived under worse circ umstances. Hotch pushed open his hotel room door. Morgan was doing push-ups next to the rol laway. Hotch set the duck on the end table, waved, and pulled his pajamas from u nderneath the pillow. "Hotch," Morgan said, standing. Hotch turned. The expression on his face was one Reid often wore right before Morgan's ribbing, patiently awaiting the next barb to get it over with. "Look, I'm sorry I blew up at you earlier. I knew you had personal space problems when I met you. I guess I'd just figured I'd earned your trust by now." Hotch's expression didn't waver. The catch or the punchline woul d be along soon. When nothing else was forthcoming, Hotch stoicly thanked Morgan for his apology. He changed into his pajamas in the bathroom. Reid had left his 5x Rubix cube on the dresser. Hotch picked it up, examining the sides. He was t oo wired to sleep, and there was nothing to be gained from going over the case f iles again. Hotch began turning the cube. It was more difficult than the usual 4 x cube, but not nearly mentally taxing. There was no point in pretending it was. Not anymore. "It's hard to wrap my brain around," Morgan said, watching Hotch snap the lines into place. "You're not geeky enough to be a genius." "It's a poor profiler who resorts to stereotypes to make judgements," Hotch snap ped witheringly. Morgan stared silently, stunned. "Copy that," Morgan replied. Hotch set the completed Rubix cube on the dresser a nd slid between the covers. He could feel Morgan watching him. Even though he pr eferred to sleep on his back, Hotch turned away from Morgan. "Good night, Morgan," Hotch said evenly. Morgan didn't reply. Hotch was asleep b efore the light was off. ~*~ This time, it was Haley beneath him. His forearms were sore from the scratches r unning down them, and another set of lines on his cheek, but she was still now. Both hands clamped under one of his, a long knife at her throat, her thighs pinn ed beneath his bent legs. "Don't do anything stupid," Aaron growled. Haley shook her head. She was crying. "Please," she sobbed. "Please don't kill me." Aaron shifted his weight to rest on the hand holding the knife. He released her wrists, made quick work of her jeans, pushed them down her pretty legs. He tore

open her blouse rather than unbutton it. He touched and fondled, squeezing her b reasts and sliding fingers inside her vagina. She was no virgin. "Don't, please, don't! Oh, dear Holy God!" Haley screamed. Her body responded to the physical stimulation; she was wet. "God doesn't live here," Aaron said softly. He unzipped his trousers, gathered h er wrists back into his grip. Sliding inside was pure bliss, especially the plea ding cry for him to stop. Aaron went brutally slow. He experimented with rhythm and thrust, discovering what she liked and giving it to her. Just enough pleasur e to confuse. Aaron leaned down to kiss her neck and cheeks. It was the taste of her tears that pushed him over the edge. "You have what you want, just let me go," Haley begged as he came down out of th e afterglow. "I'm not wearing a condom," Aaron purred mercilessly, "nor a mask. How did you t hink this was going to end?" He drew the knife sideways. The hot spray of blood spattered his chest and face, more of a release than physical climax could ever be---Aaron didn't make it to the toilet. He barely made it to the sink, dizzy and s weat-soaked and trembling. He rested his head against the mirror. The smell of v omit overwhelmed the dream-smell of blood. Aaron retched again. Morgan was gaggi ng in the main room. Hotch pulled the drain catch out. He turned on the water. I t was slow going, but he finally rinsed all the vomit away. He wished rinsing th e nightmare out of his mind was so easy. Hotch pulled a pair of clean underwear from his bag and disappeared into the bathroom. He stripped, balling the sweatand semen-soaked underwear inside the damp t-shirt and throwing the entire mess in the corner. He'd need to make a run to the laundromat tomorrow, or, better ye t, Anna's. Cheaper, and the company was better. Aaron stayed in the shower until the water ran cold. He slowly pulled on his las t pair of boxers. His sweatpants were as useless as his t-shirt, so he tossed th em in the corner, too. Aaron opened the bathroom door to find the hotel room doo r open and Prentiss sitting with Morgan on Reid's bed. Aaron made a startled sound and slammed the bathroom door closed. After a few se conds, Prentiss knocked on the door. Hotch opened it a few inches. She pushed a pair of jeans and a new tee inside. Once he was properly clothed, Aaron stepped outside. "Sorry, man," Morgan said. "I thought you heard me let her in." Aaron made a noncommittal noise. He didn't say anything else. "Hotch, are we going to talk about this?" Prentiss asked. "What's to talk about?" Hotch said. "We all have nightmares." "This case is getting to you," Morgan insisted. "Thank you, Captain Obvious," Hotch snapped. "Here's another for you: I don't wa nt to talk about it." "God," Prentiss said in exasperation, "you're exactly the same! Nice and fluffy and easy to talk to, but as soon as we show an ounce of concern, bam! Out come t he claws." "Fluffy?" Hotch asked blankly. "No, nevermind, I don't want to know. Now, I appr

eciate your concern, but go back to bed. That is an order." Prentiss and Morgan both looked ready to protest. "I mean it." Prentiss acquieced. Morgan glared for a few moments, then slowly obeyed. Hotch didn't want to lay in Spencer's bed, so he pulled the sweat-soaked sheets off his bed and laid down in his jeans on top of the mattress. He didn't sleep a gain. ~*~ He made a laundry run that morning. He took Morgan and Prentiss's stuff as well -- it was only courteous -- even if he was certain Prentiss threw her underwear out rather than send it with him. JJ used to do the same thing, up until they'd switched luggage by mistake. It had seemed only polite to wash and fold her clot hing before returning it. It hadn't occurred to him JJ might be embarrassed unti l he'd looked inside his own duffel to find his clothing in a disheveled heap -JJ had gone through the duffel just long enough to find out which male it belon ged to, then shoved it all aside. He'd tried to play it off, say that Haley had laundered everything, but JJ apparently hadn't believed him. It wasn't surprisin g -- he'd walked into the BAU that morning explaining very patiently to Haley ov er the phone that having grabbed JJ's duffel out of the luggage compartment inst ead of his own did not mean anything other than that black Samsonite duffels loo ked identical at two in the morning. If those who don't cheat don't suspect, that should have been a warning right th ere. Maybe if he'd been a little more jealous-- But he didn't want to be the insecure husband who couldn't stand his wife having male friends, that jealousy often accompanied abuse notwithstanding. Ma or on nd wasn't home when he arrived. Aaron set the garbage bag of clothing on the flo and opened the washer. Anna's cat, a tuxedo kitty named Priscilla, hopped up the dryer. Aaron obediently said hello. He dumped the clothes in the washer a added detergent.

"I don't understand, Priscilla," Hotch said, picking the cat up. She purred. "I know I'm gone a lot, but the work I do is important. Susan is stationed at Yokos uka, and yet Anthony is still happily married to her even though he's taking car e of Molly and George alone. He writes her every day and sends her as many pictu res as the regulations allow. Anthony doesn't begrudge her the Service. James is a cop in Lagrange, and Lana is proud of him. She respects him for doing what he does, and I've never heard her complain he isn't enough of a father to Andrew. Her Reason is beautiful -- she does the entire page in the theme of the ethnicit y of the person. And even without the Reasons, marriages survive the service all the time. My job cannot be why Haley cheats." Aaron sat on the couch, laying his legs out along the cushions. Priscilla happil y laid along his chest. "I did all the landscaping on the house myself," Aaron explained to the cat, "an d I keep the yard immaculate. I take the night awakenings when I'm home. I prais e her cooking, listen attentively about her projects, and I never 'have a headac he.' Well, except when I've kept a deathwatch. I don't think refusing sex after keeping someone company when they die is unreasonable. I make sure to project an air of aggressive disinterest when I'm out so I don't attract even so much as a second glance, because it upsets her when other women notice me. I look forward to doing my chores because they make her happy. It does not get more whipped, P riscilla, and as often as Haley scratches up my back I don't think I classify as a lousy lover." Priscilla purred, butting her head against Aaron's chin. "I kno

w I'm emotionally distant, but I do my best to leave the BAU at the door and giv e her 100% for however long until the next shift or page. I don't always succeed , especially if the case was really bad-- But I don't know how to try any harder . It's like living in a pressure cooker as it is. I agreed to marriage counselin g, and I put up with Ms. Williams for two months before I finally insisted on a new counselor. I like to think I've been very cooperative with Dr. Goldman. "I'm not saying I'm perfect. Everyone knows I'm not easy to live with -- Morgan is about ready to murder me in my sleep -- but I don't think I've done anything that warrants sleeping with Sven the Politician for two years." Hotch's phone rang, and Priscilla jumped down. "Think on that and get back to me," Aaron told the cat. He pulled the phone out of its sheath. "Hotchner." "I cannot believe I missed this," Morgan announced, his voice filled with a mani c zeal that he usually associated with Gideon. "When do psychosexual killers use psychotic methods?" "They don't," Hotch said. "A psychosexual killer is acting out a fantasy, a psyc hotic killer is operating under a delusion." "Unless they're off-script," Morgan said slowly. Hotch sat up straight. "Our gir l isn't establishing a pattern. She's breaking her pattern, doing whatever she h as to do because somehow you've thrown her off her game." Kerry whinnied, a shar p and angry sound. Hotch stood, crossing the living room. He peeked out the kitc hen window. Officer Delhomme wasn't messing with the horses. Hotch crept back ac ross the living room and peeked through the blinds. Officer Delhomme wasn't on t he porch smoking where Hotch had left him. His car was gone. Hotch reached acros s the door and flicked the deadbolt closed. "Hotch?" "Officer Delhomme left," Hotch said curtly. "Shit," Morgan said. "We're coming." Glass broke in the laundry room. Hotch drew his sidearm. "Hurry," Hotch said. He hung up his phone, creeping quietly across the living ro om. He heard the sound of the back door being unlocked. Hotch's heart was poundi ng. His stalker knew he was tall, trained, and armed. She had to have a plan. Dr ugs? Gas? Or did she not know Ma was gone, and planned to use Anna as a hostage to gain his compliance? The last scared him, because he knew it would work. Hotc h stopped by the door way. He heard the intruder scuffle around, heard the garba ge bag being picked up. Hotch looked at one of the picture frames across from th e doorway. The intruder was small, no more than 5' 6" and slender. Hotch tighten ed his grip on his sidearm. Safety off, check. Front sight, trigger press, follo w through. The intruder was masked, which boded well for his survival. The intruder walked out of the laundry room. Hotch slammed his foot into her kne e. "FBI!" He announced as the intruder fell flat on the floor. "Hands away from the body!" "Oh, sweet Holy God," a high -- but definitely male -- voice squawked. The intru der lay spread-eagled on the carpet. "Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" The reek of uri ne was strong. He'd wet himself. "I'm sorry, Mr. Sheridan, I really am!" "You're trying to rob the house?" Hotch asked incredulously, his nerves jangling

, fear trying to flip into anger to have an outlet. "I could have killed you!" "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" the boy cried. Hotch holstered his weapon and cuffed him furiously. The door slammed open and Morgan charged in, weapon drawn. "FBI! Freeze!" "Relax, Morgan," Hotch spat. "It's just an attempted B&E." Morgan lowered his we apon with an incredulous look. Officer Delhomme charged in last. "What the Hell did you leave for?" Morgan snarled, taking his terror out on the nearest semi-deserving target. Hotch knew what Morgan had been imagining on his drive. He had the same images burned into his own memory. "Robbery down the road," Officer Delhomme said nervously. "I figured Agent Hotch ner would be all right here." "The unsub knows who his first grade teacher was, don't you think she knows wher e his mother lives?" Morgan shouted, pushing Delhomme into the wall. "Huh? Do yo ur fucking job!" Morgan turned away from Delhomme, running a hand over his head. Delhomme took the burglar into custody. "B&E," Morgan muttered. "You may not think this case is going to give you a nerv ous breakdown, but it's damn well going to give me a heart attack." "They don't call them nervous breakdowns anymore," Hotch said. "I know," Morgan snapped. "Look, Hotch, you don't have to tell me birth to BAU. I just need to know you're not going to bottle everything up until you explode i n a post-traumatic tailspin and take Reid with you." "Like Gideon took me with him?" Hotch asked softly. "Yeah," Morgan said without hesitation. "I'm not going to bottle everything up until I explode in a post-traumatic tails pin and take Reid with me," Hotch promised. "I am not okay. But I am functional, and I can do my job. All right? "We'll have to have Garcia check my cases and VI-CAP interviews against escapes and releases. I'll cross-reference them with the visitor logs JJ and Reid sent o ver. We'll also have to check cell-mates and therapy sessions." Hotch looked aro und, at the broken doors and damp carpeting. "I'll have to leave a note for Ma. She probably won't want to press charges." ~*~ They arrived at the station just long enough to turn around and head out to the Camellia Trail. The body had been found by tourists. The woman was obviously the work of the unsub: throat slit with an Ink Spots rose next to the body. The wom an was well-dressed, in a blue power suit and heels. There was jewelry on her bo dy, and her brunette hair was expertly colored. She looked to be in her early fo rties. When Hotch saw her, he thought he was going to be ill. He thought about reconsid ering his position on the existence of God, because random chance could not prod uce this level of sadism. "Her name is Elizabeth Wilmont," Hotch said, his voice blank of feeling. "Or it was when I knew her."

They filled everyone in on the off-script theory on the ride back to the station , Hotch talking to Prentiss, Morgan talking to Reid and JJ. Once back in the con ference room, JJ and Reid were put on speakerphone and Garcia on the webcam. Hot ch wasn't certain which was more humiliating, admitting he'd been so thoroughly deceived or that he hadn't reported a crime. "Damn," Morgan said, and if he hadn't already forgiven Hotch he would have then. Stalking, attempted rape, and an intimate con, one right after the other. No wo nder Hotch played things close to the vest. "Good riddance," Reid said with uncharacteristic venom. "If it makes you feel any better," Garcia said, "it doesn't look like anyone els e reported her either. There's only one conviction on her record, and it's for i dentity theft. She's got four or five aliases and two husbands who died under su spicious circumstances, so finding her could not have been easy. Her last known address is in New York. The name on the driver's license you found was reported missing by her boyfriend -- a VP at one of the New York Bank of America branches -- five days ago." "Coroner says the TOD was 26 hours," Morgan said. "But there were no signs of to rture on the body, just ligature marks. Why keep her alive?" "To make certain she had a presentable corpse so Hotch would recognize the gift. But if she had Wilmont, why kill Mrs. Miller first?" Prentiss asked. She gasped . "The pictures. Mrs. Miller kept the class picture of all her students. One of the albums was open. Hotch, what year were you in her class?" "1976," Hotch replied. Prentiss dialed the Crime Lab. She talked to one of the C SIs, and after a few moments she closed her phone. Prentiss nodded. Hotch leaned against the counter. "We're heading back," Reid said. "Dr. Mulhall doesn't remember any visitors as p articularly standing out, and I have copies of all her notes. There's no reason for us to stay in Staunton. We also might want to check tech schools against the visitor logs. She'd have to have as much skill as Garcia to hack into the FBI d atabase and get into Hotch's secured personnel file." "If she hacked into this system, I've got her," Garcia said viciously. "Hang on, hang on. There might be an easier explanation," Morgan said slowly. "H otch, I saw an appointment card for a Dr. Goldman on your desk. Is she a psychol ogist or counselor?" "Marriage and abuse," Hotch said stiffly. "But she's a paraplegic; she doesn't h ave the physical capacity for any of the killings." "But does she record the sessions?" Morgan asked. There was victory in his demea nor. "She does audio recordings and burns them to CD," Hotch said. "No one has access to them but her. Authorized access, anyway." "I'm grabbing a list of employees now," Garcia said. "Thanks," Hotch said woodenly. Over the past six months, Dr. Goldman's office ha d become a safe place to drop his barriers and speak freely. Now, quite suddenly , that had not only been taken from him but also had made him a target. He under stood now what the decapitated head being sent to the cabin had done to Gideon. In that endless moment, staring at the darkening screen, he really wasn't certai

n he could keep going.You have to,Aaron told himself,you are the unit chief. They l ook to you for strength. You cannot fall apart. Find it from somewhere, Hotch, b ecause Jason isn't here to take over. Hotch pushed himself away from the counter and grabbed the stack of visitor logs . He felt sorry for Garcia, the bulk of this case was in her corner. Escapes, re leases, employee lists, tech school graduates; the fields were all too wide for a manual search. Any escaped or released serial criminal wouldn't use his or her real name and information on the log sheets. He would have to profile each shee t and compare it to the profiles of those criminals he'd arrested or interviewed . If he didn't have Reid's memory, it would be a hopeless task. "I'll take these," Hotch said. "Prentiss, would you mind going to Ma's and finis hing the laundry; see what you can do about the doors? If I find anything worth following up on, I'll give it to Morgan, have him pick you up." He scribbled dir ections on a sheet of paper. Prentiss would probably tell Anna everything, she w as blunt to a fault, but his step-mother was tough. She could take it. "Yeah, sure thing," Prentiss said. "Thank you. Oh -- here is Dr. Goldman's number." Hotch scribbled the numbers on a sticky-note. "Call her and give her the profile, see if it sounds familiar." A fter Prentiss left, he rested his head on one hand, his eyes closed. The unsub w as killing people she felt had wronged him, and she was presumably basing those judgments on what he had told Dr. Goldman. He had several ideas as to who might be next on her list. But if he gave the team the names he would also have to tel l them why, and he didn't want to. It was there in his handwriting: all caps wit h only size of the letter discriminating between capital and lowercase. He was h iding something, a something or somethings he was reluctant to admit to any livi ng person. Gideon knew. Reid the psycholinguistics expert and graphologist knew, which wasn't surprising, since Reid apparently had the ability to read him like a billboard sign. If you can't do what you've asked others to do, you don't deserve command, Hotch told himself harshly.They deserve better than a hypocrite.He'd been too much of o ne already. Hotch pulled a piece of paper towards him and began writing names. "When I was, uh, ten," Hotch said, struggling to keep his voice even, "Ma, uh, r eported Dad for what he did. My father said the bruises were from bullies at sch ool. Mother didn't want a scandal, so she-- she corroborated his story. I was te n years old and a high school junior, none of my other siblings had any marks, i t was my birth parents against my pregnant step-mother... The social worker dism issed the case. Things were different then, what I said had very little sway, an d crossing either of my parents' families would have been career suicide. This i s the social worker's name, the doctor who catalogued the injuries, and the soci al worker's supervisor at the time. The fourth name is the man Haley cheated on me with last time. It was in '95, during the last half of my liaison with SWAT. Later, for the bulk of my experience with Barnes and a little after, uh, Haley a nd I were separated. I don't know if she saw someone during that time. If she ha d, she most likely would have told Dr. Goldman. I'd appreciate if you or someone else asked her." Morgan didn't move. Hotch bent his head to stare at the visitor logs. "Fuck, Hotch," Morgan finally spat. "Just-- fuck!" Morgan stormed out of the roo m, slamming the door behind him. The door abruptly opened again. "Aaron, if you take that woman back I will kick your ass." The door slammed shut again. Hotch b linked slowly, then forced himself to concentrate on the visitors' entries.

As soon as Morgan was outside the police building he dialed his cell. "And how my I save your lovely ass today, gorgeous?" Garcia said perkily. "I've got--" "She fucking let it happen!" Morgan snarled into the phone. "This whole time I'v e been wondering what the fuck his problem is, why he's so fucking-- just-- and I mean the genius thing, fine, and the stalking thing, fine, but that doesn't me an Mother Hen of the Year award and a whole fucking pine tree up the ass. And no w I've got it and I can't even fucking do anything because she's his Mom and you can't mess with someone'sMom, but to justlet it happenbecause you don't want a fuc king scandal-- what kind of parentdoesthat? A fucking lousy one, that's what! Fuck , no wonder Hotch wants nothing to do with Money, if protecting the reputation i s worth fucking letting the shit get beat out of your own fucking kid!" "Okay, babycakes," Garcia said in long, soothing syllables, "I understand you're upset because your language just went back to the inner city, but the f-bomb do esn't carry a lot of concrete information." "Hotch's fucking Mom!" Morgan shouted into the phone, holding it like a walkie-t alkie. "Which one?" Garcia asked, keeping her placating tone. "The one that fucking gave birth to him, the one that was supposed to give a shi t!" "Okay, okay. Now, Hotch's birth mother allowed what to happen to Hotch to preven t a scandal?" "She let. Hotch's father. Beat the shit. Out of him. And when Anna reported it. Cordelia lied. And said. It was from bullies. So the social worker. Dismissed th e case, Garcia." "Oh," Garcia said mournfully. "Poor Aaron, the kind of message that has to send to a kid." "Well, now we know how he's managed to stay married to Haley. You know she's fuc king cheated on him twice before?" "Um, honey, I don't think Hotch would be okay with you telling me this," Garcia said uneasily. "Oh, he's more than fucking okay with it since he gave me the names of the numbnut social workers that dismissed the case and the one of Haley's boyfriends he knows the name of to make sure the fucking unsub hasn't taken them. I have to ca ll Haley to get the name of the second one, and if I called her before venting f irst I'd give her a piece of my fucking mind right over the phone." "Oh," Garcia repeated. "Um, if you give me the names I can get you current addre ss and phone numbers. I've got Haley's cell." "I hope you have her email so you can send her a nasty virus," Morgan said vicio usly, pulling out his notepad. "Hotch is a Mac man, baby," Garcia said. "Great. Go." Morgan wrote down the information he was given. "Thanks, baby doll. And sorry about the language."

"It's okay. Totally justified. I'll tell Emily, JJ, and Reid." "You're a lifesaver, girl. Part 8 Morgan left a message on Haley's cell phone asking about the probable second boy friend. The lead social worker and his supervisor were already dead, the doctor safe and sound at his retirement home off the coast of Italy. The first boyfrien d had missed his last PO visit and was off the grid. For a drug dealer, that was n't exactly news. Garcia's search matrixes hadn't come up with any significant c orrelation between Coltrane and any of Dr. Goldman's employees, the profile hadn 't sounded familiar to Dr. Goldman, and the two tech school graduates with Garci a's education who had connections to groups supportive of Coltrane were accounte d for. Hotch had come up with a few possibilities from the visitor logs, but all of those criminals turned out to be still incarcerated. Reid was on his way back with Mr. Mulhall's notes, and until Haley called Morgan back, they were effectively at a dead end. Morgan was grateful, because he didn 't think Hotch could take much more. He had Morgan drive back to the hotel so he could nap in the back seat. Morgan knew just how exhausted Hotch had to be to a dmit coffee wouldn't cut it. "So, do you want fries or nachos with that?" Morgan asked. "Fries," Prentiss said, fiddling with her cell phone. "McDonald's has the better salads." She leaned over the seat and snapped a picture of Hotch, then sat back down and began pushing buttons. She had the shutter sound turned off. "What are you doing?" Morgan asked, consulting Hotch's written directions. "Sending this to Garcia," Prentiss said. "She never believes us when we say Hotc h looks about fourteen when he's passed out." "You talk about it?" "XX chromosomes, Derek," Prentiss said, still fiddling. "You're the titleholder of Hottest Agent in the BAU, but Hotch has the best rear end." "You do realize he isn't fully asleep yet, right?" Morgan asked, pulling into th e drive-through. Prentiss gave him a horrified look. Morgan started laughing. "That's not funny." Prentiss glared at him. "That's not funny toyou," Morgan corrected. He pulled up to the speaker. He order ed a bacon double cheese for himself and a Southwest salad for Emily. He debated waking Hotch up to ask what he wanted, but ultimately just ordered a chicken cl ub. Hotch would eat pretty much anything. They woke Hotch when they arrived at the hotel. The group congregated in Prentis s's room. Hotch frowned at the heart-shaped queen bed and red velvet duvet. His gaze swept over the cream wall paper and heart-shaped wicker wreaths above the b ed, the wall sconces with bases in the shape of doves, the red settee with cream cushions, and the wood table for two. There was a television off to the side, a nd the bathroom clearly had a Jacuzzi. "Not fair," Morgan said. "You're the one that wanted the two-occupancy," Prentiss said with nasty satisfa

ction. "I'd take two single beds over a Jacuzzi any day," Hotch said. He pulled the set tee over to the table. "Have you ever looked at a hotel double bed's mattress or sheets with an ALS?" "Thanks," Prentiss said. "Now that I have to sleep on that tonight." "You're welcome," Hotch said. After two bites he wrinkled his nose at his sandwi ch, but as Morgan predicted, he finished it anyway. Hotch pushed his fries towar ds Morgan and drank his water, sometimes listening while Morgan and Prentiss cha tted, sometimes brooding silently. The pair seemed content to ignore him, which suited Hotch -- he was in a mood to be ignored. "So I take it you've never read Vonnegut?" Prentiss asked. "I readSlaughterhouse Five," Hotch said drowsily. "And it didn't blow you away?" Morgan asked. Hotch stood, swaying with fatigue. "I'm going to bed. If you hear gunshots, cons ider that a request for backup." Hotch left the door open when he left. Prentiss's suite was at the end of the ha llway, only five doors away from his own room. Hotch slowly pulled his key out o f his pocket -- Reid had the other one -- and opened the door. Haley was sitting on Reid's bed. Hotch froze. Haley wasn't wearing makeup. Her h air was done up in a messy twist. Her eyes were bloodshot. Morgan hadn't been ab le to reach her because cell phones were not allowed to be on during commercial flights. "Hi," she said. Her voice cracked. "I figured we needed to talk. I-- Aaron, I'm so sorry."Chaplin falling into the pool. JJ throwing popcorn at Reid, Morgan stea ling a bite from Garcia's twizzler, Spencer completely enthralled by the film, G ideon's high laughter underlying every sound.A memory burned into his heart like a jewel against future pain. "I shouldn't have ever taken up with Robert, but you were away so much with Gide on and then with being the head of the unit--" He needed to focus, try to refute what she was saying. That was the price for keeping it together at the station; he didn't have the strength for this. He was so tired his bones ached with chil l. "I know being lonely isn't an excuse, but Robert was there and he was... nice. H e listened. He wanted me. Would it take less for you?" It hadn't taken any more for him to stupidly fall in with Elizabeth. It took no less for Spencer to be su ch a temptation. (Wanting wasn't the same as doing in their hot tub by candlelig ht.) "I don't think it did." Haley's hands were on him, the familiar touch, pulling his arms. Pushing on his shoulders to get him to sit on the bed. Resisting was too much. Everything was t oo much, and even though he knew what was coming that didn't make it hurt any le ss.Jack's first sign: open hand to the forehead, daddy, and a hand sliding down t he chest, hungry.Another memory. He was dissociating. Defenseless. Waiting silent ly for the next blow because crying for mercy did no good. He shivered. Haley pu t her arm around his shoulders. "And I don't hold Elizabeth against you, I really don't. It must have looked to you like our marriage was over. It looked to me like your affection for me was d

ying, and then you went back to the BAU. I just-- Robert made me feel special ag ain. It's not right, I should never have cheated on you again, but that's why. I 'm so sorry. I love you, Aaron, and I want nothing else more than your forgivene ss. I would hate to lose you because of a stupid mistake. You're wonderful. I lo ve you." Haley caressed his face, turning his head to look at her. "Please, Aaro n, say something." "Elizabeth Wilmont was killed," Hotch said dully. Haley clapped her hand to her mouth. "Oh my God--" Horrified the woman he'd cheated on her with had died. (It wasn't cheating.) She 'd flown all the way to Valdosta and hunted down his hotel to try to win him bac k. Eighteen years, and really, what was swallowing his pride one more time? It w asn't like he was anything close to perfect. A hypocrite and a liar who saved li ves but couldn't save his marriage. A mockingbird with pretensions.With Gideon in a park, teaching Spencer to play catch. The arc of the ball, Spencer's joy when he caught it, Gideon's soft smile encouraging perseverance when he didn't.Forgiv eness would earn approval, from Haley and from Cordelia. He could have a warm sm ile and soothing fingers gently stroking his hair, if he just took her back. Whe n things were good with Haley they were very, very good; wasn't that how the chi ld's rhyme went? Divorce and a battle for visitation: it would take so much energy, and he'd live d without fidelity this long. Haley was his wife. He'd made a promise. He had ad uty. "I--" The door opened. When had it closed? Aaron couldn't remember. "What are you doing here?" Aaron hadn't heard that much hostility from Reid sinc e detox. JJ was shouting for Morgan and Prentiss, and that couldn't be good. "Ge t away from him!" Reid grabbed Haley's arm and jerked her away. Haley's timing really couldn't be worse, Hotch reflected numbly. Elizabeth was d ead and the unsub was a mystery. Haley was present in the flesh. "How dare you? I'm talking to my husband," Haley shrieked. "You're going to be talking to the ER nurse if you don't get the fuck out of thi s room," Morgan snarled. "Don't you think you've done enough damage for one lifetime?" JJ was positively imperious when she wanted to be. His team herded Haley out of the room. Spencer shut the door behind them and ret urned to his bed. Aaron bowed his head, his hands laced together and elbows on h is knees. It was too much; he was so dissociated that it almost felt like he was profiling himself. It was a skill learned from his father. Aaron wouldn't have a major depressive episode if he collapsed. He would suffer a psychotic break. Fingertips lighted on his shoulder. They began tracing circles and lines, over h is shoulders and down his spine. It felt good. Hotch felt his eyes slide closed. The hesitation faded. Spencer became more confident, pressing more firmly. Aaro n's head dropped further. It felt so good. Too good to resist even if he had any resistance left. "Do you trust our judgment? Derek, JJ, Emily, Garcia and me? Do we always have y

our back?" "Yes," Aaron murmured. "You're the best in the world." He told them so. He showe d them so by pushing himself to try to be the kind of chief they deserved. "Not a single person on this team thinks taking Haley back is a good idea." Reid 's voice was soft and his hand didn't pause in its route. Circles across his sho ulders, a line down his spine, circles up his back. "She's broken your heart thr ee times already. Doesn't giving her a fourth chance sound just a little beneath your dignity?" Spencer paused. His hand didn't. God, it felt so good. Spencer c ould ask anything of him now and Aaron wouldn't refuse. "You deserve better than to be a cuckold, Aaron." He hadn't heard that name from Spencer's lips since Bo ston. Reid pulled his hand away. He leaned behind Hotch and pulled Aaron's pajam as out of the garbage bag. "Here. Take your shower and go to sleep. This--" Reid dug a blue tin out of his messenger bag "-- will guarantee a nightmare-free nig ht." "Thank you," Aaron murmured so softly he wasn't certain Reid heard. Spencer twis ted, smiling over his shoulder. Laid across the bed, legs slightly spread: an in vitation to lay next to him, or beneath him. Aaron lowered his eyes. He pushed h imself up off the mattress. Reid was playing him like an instrument, and now he understood what Anna had meant about not wanting to watch. When Aaron emerged from the bathroom, Reid was curled up with his book. He had p rocured a cup of hot water; the tea from the blue tin was already brewed. Hotch neatly hung his suit, shirt, and tie. He grabbed the cup and slipped under the c overs. "Better?" Spencer asked. Hotch nodded, leaning against the headboard. He took a sip. Chamomile and something else. "Haley and Mother insist that my relationship with Elizabeth was an affair," he said softly, staring at the dark amber liquid. "Well, that's a nice double-standard," Reid said with vicious sarcasm. "She leav es you for a year (probably for another man), doesn't say a word when you move a cross the entire contiguous states, you start over with someone else and file fo r divorce (making no attempt to have both at the same time), and that's somethin g you need to wear sackcloth and ashes for for the rest of your life. She, on th e other hand, can have Fabio the Pool Boy during the day and you at night for tw o years (after having done the same thing already once before on top of leaving you) and you're supposed to just forgive and forget." Spencer snorted his disdai n. "Or, to look at it another way, if starting over with Elizabeth was cheating and that justifies Haley and Pool Boy, that means if your partner cheats you get a get-out-of-jail free card. If that's true: Haley cheated first, which makes E lizabeth your response-cheat. It doesn't count. And since Haley cheatedagain, you get to sleep with one of us for free, now." It sounded so ridiculous said aloud. Hotch smiled with half-hearted humor. He di dn't raise his eyes from his cup. "He's a politician who helps with her volunteer work," Hotch murmured. "I think I would have been suspicious of a pool boy, since we don't have a pool. Where's Morgan?" "He's outside on the phone. I think he's arranging protective custody for Haley and Pool Boy." Rather than reply, Hotch took another sip of tea. It packed a punch. He'd barely finished half the cup before he couldn't keep his eyes open anymore. Aaron set

the cup aside, snuggled beneath the covers, and slept like the dead. ~*~ Aaron stretched, reaching upwards as far as he could and arching his spine like a cat. He twisted gracefully, curling inwards and opening his eyes. He'd have to get the name of that tea from Reid. Aaron blinked slowly. Spencer was still sle eping despite the radio's chatter. His elfin features were slack, his eyes close d, that perfect mouth open. Long bones covered by a sheet, the comforter kicked down. The theory of relativity was printed on his gray tee, his soft cotton pant s were personally tie-dyed. His seventies-style glasses were neatly folded on th e nightstand. Spencer dressed like a genius. He was epitome of high-fashion beau ty and not even remotely aware of it. It was charming. His manic energy was charming. Everything he did -- watching te levision, working a case, playing cards, learning a concept -- he did with all h e had. All in, just like Jason. If fish watched the birds fly, it made sense tha t his reserved nature would be attracted to enthusiasm. Aaron traced the lock of hair curling against Spencer's cheek with his eyes. He'd run his fingers throug h that hair a few times during the tremors and nightmares, he knew how soft it w as. He just didn't allow himself to think about it most of the time. "I made a c ovenant with mine eyes; why then should I think upon a maid?" Though in his case the "maid" in question was male, Moses' principle itself was still valid: he wa s faithfully married, he had no business looking at or dwelling on another sexua l interest. Haley, for all her flaws, had been enough for him. But he wasn't enough for her. Not only physically, though that choked him, but e motionally as well. Her demands for change were incessant: work less, care about the victims less, be with her more, love her more, love his team not at all, sp end more time with his son, forget the horror when he was home, but always remem ber family was important and someday it might not be there-- He could measure up some of the time: in slow nights, in leaves taken, and in chores accomplished. He had measured up all the time as an attorney. And really, that was all Haley w anted from him. That was ster and he could e second all she wanted him tobe:nine to six and home every night; the social regi neighborhood dinners; the doting family man and articles in the paper s show her friends. No bullets, no kevlar, no horrors. She wanted what th son of Allen Hotchner should have been.

He wanted Haley to approve of him. He wanted to measure up, to make her happy. Heneededthe FBI. The visceral joy of a life saved was incomparable to anything. No t even the hellish lows nor the defeats could dissuade him from the pursuit of t he only thing he held sacred. He needed the BAU, too. He was a natural-born prof iler. He'd started learning by forging handwriting and writing styles, and only expanded his talent for analysis and mimicry from there. He was a prodigy, gifte d with the ability to learn and retain both skills and details more quickly and thoroughly than anyone. Nowhere else was every ounce of him so thoroughly useful to do this job only twenty-nine others could. As for his team... He wasn't cert ain he would be able to bring himself to physically sign a resignation letter. I t would be like walking away from Jack, or volunteering never to see Anna again. Haley saw disparity where there was none. The service was a family, blood was a family, and family always had room for more. It would take so little to make the Hotchner household a happy one: phone calls home for Jack as well as Haley ever y night, videos and pictures sent regularly to his handheld, Dinners with the Cr ew often enough for Jack to know the team and vice versa, and the Reasons to rem ember. Having a family member in the service was a sacrifice, but it was not a m

isery. At least, it didn't have to be. Life was sacred, and it was short. He had less than a century before he ceased t o exist; he had to make it count for something. He was out of ideas how to make Haley see that. He didn't even want to try anymore. He was sick of it, all of it: of her insisti ng on $125 an hour marriage counseling -- both separate and joint -- while sleep ing with another man; acknowledging the importance of what he did in one breath while stating her disappointment that he did it in the next; the Guess Why I'm U pset game; and the guilt trips laid on when he already felt wretched. Or when he was too bone-tired to put up any resistance. He knew he had no right to be angr y. He knew that second marriages typically died faster than first ones because t he ability to tough it out was what made a relationship last. But hewasangry, and he didn'twantthe relationship to last. His team had thrown his w ife out of his room to protect him, Spencer had rubbed his back and made tea, an d goddamn it, Reid was right. Haley had left him once while they were dating -after taking his virginity, for Christ's sake -- once while they were married, a nd cheated on him twice that he knew of. There had to be limits on how much pati ence could be expected of him. Hotch threw his covers back. He grabbed his cell from off the nightstand and pad ded to the bathroom. His first call was to Will Rochleau, an old friend from law school. Even if Aaron had the time and stupidity to be his own lawyer, all of h is expertise and experience was in criminal law. Then he called his bank and the Payroll Department -- just in case Haley tried to drain his finances or trash h is credit in a fit of spite. His last call was to Dr. Goldman. The receptionist routed him straight through. "Hello, Dr. Goldman," Aaron said quietly. "I was just calling to cancel my next appointment. I assume Prentiss filled you in?" "She did," Dr. Goldman said with professional calmness. "I can't say I didn't ex pect your call. I want you to know that from now on I'll be burning sessions dir ectly to CD, and then combining them later when I have a full disc's worth. I'll be replacing the safes as well, and this time I'll be the only one with the com bination. However, I do understand if precautions aside you still wish to discon tinue seeing me. Boundaries and trust aren't easy things for you. I- Ms. Prentis s said it was most likely my practice was chosen at random, but if there's anyth ing I did to attract this woman, I would appreciate it if the BAU let me know." "I'm not canceling because of the stalker. Well, I am," Aaron corrected himself, "because it's unlikely I'll be back in DC in time. But the stalker isn't why I won't be seeing you anymore. Haley has been having an affair, a long one, at lea st two years--" he stopped himself. He took a deep, shuddering breath. "I'm gett ing a divorce. I already have a lawyer." "And how does that make you feel?" The barked laugh escaped Aaron's mouth before he could stop it. There was no one in the bathroom, just Dr. Goldman on his phone, and it was hard to remember tha t the walls were thin. "It's the standard question," Dr. Goldman said wryly. "You can't fondle my trigg er and then blame my gun." "That's my line," Aaron retorted. He said it with no special inflection, like he 'd comment about the weather. Dr. Goldman erupted into startled giggles. She nev

er took herself -- or him -- too seriously. It was what he liked about her, that and the fact she never pissed on his leg and told him it was raining. He suspec ted that was true for most of her clients. "Aaron!" Dr. Goldman said with an almost-exaggerated exasperation. "Here I teach you some slang out of nothing but the goodness of my heart, and you make dirty jokes." It sounded like something Elaine would say, and Aaron smiled. "Like a quitter," Aaron said. He felt his smile fade as he answered her question . "I'm leaving my marriage. I've told my team that divorce isn't uncommon in the BAU, and they all look at me as an exception to that rule. Proof you can have a family and be in this job. And yet, at the same time, I'm relieved." Aaron lean ed against the door. "My team look at me like I'm a hero or the world's nicest g uy, depending on the day, and then I go home to my wife and I'm this-- complete idiot that manages rare moments of brilliance. I know that's arrogant, and I don 't expect mindless worship from anyone, but goddamn, it'll be nice to come home and not hear that I should be happy I was suspended and it's not like we need th e money." Aaron didn't even try to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "Aaron," Dr. Goldman said slowly. "Let's address this one point at a time. First of all, in 2004 Shaunti Feldhahn commissioned a study where four hundred men we re asked to choose between two unpleasant situations: being alone and unloved fo r the rest of their lives; or being a failure and the subject of contempt for th e rest of their lives. Seventy-four percent chose option one. Among men who are not serial cheaters yet had a sustained affair, the number one reason cited is t he mistress thought they were the best thing since sliced bread whereas their wi ves' behavior was contemptuous. Now, granted, there's no excuse for cheating and it is the responsibility of the provoked not to respond in inappropriate ways. However, that doesn't change the fact that hearing constant criticism from a wif e is as painful for a husband as hearing 'I don't love you' from a husband would be for a wife. "As for being a quitter..." Dr. Goldman sighed. "I'm a marriage counselor. Excep t in cases of abuse, it rubs against the grain to advocate divorce. But, frankly , I don't think Haley is equipped to be married to you." Aaron flinched. "Your p arents divorced, you were severely abused, your other biological parent consente d to the abuse, your father was a serial cheater, you were a child prodigy, your colleagues at the DA's office assumed you were a spoiled rich kid looking for a fast track to politics and hazed you your entire first year, your step-sister c ame out causing a further divide between your step-family and your biological fa mily/in-laws, the FBI tried to kill you with that SWAT-liaison that was only sup posed to last two months and ended up two years of 70-hour weeks, Haley cheated on you, you were stalked, Haley left you, you were conned, then there was Carter , you're on-call all but one weekend a month, then there were the BAU-troubles: Gideon had a breakdown, your team was stalked, Elle was shot, Elle committed mur der, Morgan was arrested, Reid was kidnapped, Reid was addicted, and then Gideon had another breakdown, and now you're being stalked, and your new boss hates yo u. Any one of these things would put a strain on a marriage. You have had all of them. Haley wants the perfect life with the perfect husband... and you're a shi t-magnet. The fun never stops with you." Shit-magnet. It was perfect in the most tragic way. Aaron pressed a hand to his mouth to muffle the sound of his boyish, near-hysterical laughter. Morgan banged on the door. "You want to tell me what's so funny about taking a dump?" Aaron forced his breathing to steady and opened the door.

"My psychologist said the reason my marriage isn't working is that I'm a shit-ma gnet." "And you're paying her a hundred dollars an hour?" Morgan asked skeptically. "Difficult patients require special handling," Dr. Goldman said primly. Aaron re layed the message. Morgan's skeptical look didn't waver, but he backed off. "You won't be needing my services as a marriage counselor," Dr. Goldman continue d, "but I would like to see our individual sessions continue. There's a lot of r esidual damage from your abuse I'd like to treat. Especially given the amount of attention you will doubtlessly receive once you are unattached." With the extra precautions, Dr. Goldman's records would certainly be safe. Besid es, he liked Dr. Goldman. She was the first therapist he'd ever seen that he lik ed. Within the confines of her office, anything he felt like being was acceptabl e: stoic, dorky, geeky, extroverted, tender-hearted, sarcastic, dry, by-the-numb ers, by-the-book, rebellious, even funny. Some of the things he was around Dr. G oldman -- like making a dirty joke -- he was just to see if he could. She hadn't punished him yet, though she had called him on trying to provoke her several ti mes. "Then I'll reschedule when I return to DC," Hotch said. "Did Agent Prentiss see to your security?" "I have a new receptionist, if that's what you mean. She's good. I may have to m ake a stab at poaching her." "We pay better." "I'm less stress. Be careful, Aaron."

Part 9 When the team arrived at the station that morning, a CSI was waiting for them wi th an evidence bag. There was a parchment envelope inside the plastic. "We found this tucked inside the vic's jacket, probably so it wouldn't blow away in yesterday's wind," the investigator said. "We figured you'd want to see it a s is, so we didn't touch it other than to photograph and bag it." He held out th e bag and a scalpel. Reid took both. Hotch pulled on a pair of gloves, then took the evidence from Reid. The paper was expensive. Hotch slit it open carefully w ith the scalpel. There was a letter inside several pages long. Hotch unfolded it . The handwriting was neat, running straight across the page even though the pap er was unlined. She had used a nibbed pen. "She's really trying to impress you," Prentiss said, looking over his shoulder. "If she wants to impress me, she should stop killing people," Hotch said. "'My d earest Aaron,'" he read. There was an undercurrent of sarcasm in his voice. It s tripped the unsub's words of all sincerity. "'Much is said about your courage an d your devotion to duty, of the lives you've saved and the monsters you put away . Justifiably so, there is no one better at your job than you. But then, it isn' t a job to you, but a vocation. A calling, the fusion of choice and destiny into a path that cannot be deviated from no matter how difficult. It amazes me that there are those who do not see you belong in the hunt, bringing down that prey w hich preys upon others.'" "This had better not be a wind-up to 'join me, soulmate, on my mission-based kil

ling spree,'" Morgan said. "Oh, that's an almost certainty," Hotch said. He returned to the letter. "'You a re a mockingbird, my dearest Aaron. A natural mimic, not only of the thoughts of the men you profile, but also what they most want to hear. You defend not only your nest, but the nests of strangers as well, with every talent and strength at your disposition: a trickster, an American Nightingale without any thought for your own safety.' "Which is, of course, why I wear kevlar," Hotch commented. He went back to readi ng. "'It's obvious why Gideon coveted you so, but I saw you first. It surprises me how the chicks you parent so devotedly speak so little of that which makes yo u most precious: your tenderness and--'" Hotch balked. He read ahead, flipping t he pages with unabashed speed. "This goes on for eight pages." Hotch held the pa pers out. Emily took them. Prentiss read the letter aloud. Hotch looked out the window of the conference ro om, his back to the team. He couldn't have seemed more self-protective if he tri ed. "'--speak so little of that which makes you most precious--'" Emily read, pickin g up where Hotch had left off. Woe bubbled beneath her even narration. It gave t he words a more ominous color. "'--your tenderness and loving care.'" Reid looke d down. The unsub was breaking the unspoken rule: don't call Hotch on the heart he pretended not to have. Not when he crooned to the victims or rested his hand against their cheek, not when he offered one of the team his jacket or coat or a clap on the back, not when he deemed something too great a risk and prioritized their safety above achieving the goal. "'A lesser man would have let the depart mental psychologists tend to Jason Gideon, or let him wash out of the BAU after Boston. Another man would not have abandoned his nights to ensuring Gideon felt safe enough to sleep and sane enough not to take his own life. Another man would have let crime scene cleanup wash away the blood on Elle Greenaway's wall. "'Another man would have claimed credit for these actions had he taken them, wou ld have used the rapists and scum you put away to garner power. Other men do not live lives of quietly doing the right thing for the right thing's sake.'" The letter wore on. The unsub related the things she found most impressive about Aaron's career as a lawyer, a regular field agent, and as a profiler. The last page was a frank admission of physical desire that made Emily flush deep burgund y when she read it. Heavy silence swallowed the room. If this unsub kidnapped Hotch, they would neve r see him again. She would only let him go feet first. "Garcia," Hotch said softly, "did they ever find Coltrane's body?" The tapping of keys sounded over the speakerphone. "No," Garcia said softly. "Six months ago I knocked over a cart at Dr. Goldman's," Hotch said. He took a s ip from his coffee cup. "The cleaning woman had burn scarring on her jaw and nec k. Black hair and green eyes, 5'8", fair skin. Coltrane had brown hair and brown eyes, but dye and a pair of contacts can fix that. She called me an oaf, then l ooked like she'd seen a ghost. I didn't have time to ask or say much more than a n apology. We were already late." "The letter reminded me of something interesting here in Dr. Mulhall's notes," R eid said. He flipped through the pages in his lap. "'The thing that strikes me m

ost interesting in Coltrane is that she is both ruthlessly pragmatic and fanatic ally devoted to her ideal,'" he read. "'The two traits work together in a pathol ogy I have never seen before. Unlike most serial killers, it is not the manner o r ritual of the killing that gives her satisfaction, it is the result. Murder is just a means to an end, namely, the punishment of those men she sees as wolves in sheep's clothing. Again, however, there is a practicality to her fanaticism. She believes that the death of her victims will serve as a deterrent to other me n following that course. She insists that men are capable of good behavior if th ey try. This leads me to believe that there is, in fact, a man in her past acqua intance who meets her standards.'" "Hotch, didn't you make it into the Academy right after you prosecuted Coltrane' s case?" Morgan asked. "That following year," Hotch said. "After that I was stationed at Quantico for f ourteen months, then I was transferred to Minneapolis." "The FBI doesn't give out transferral information," JJ said. "I want Hotch to notice me," Prentiss announced, staring up at the ceiling. "My dating history is filled with men who left me for someone else or because I didn 't put out enough or because I wanted a commitment. The ones who stayed weren't worth keeping. Then, after being raped and brutalized by a man I knew and truste d, suddenly there he is. He's taken, of course, but there are ways to deal with that. So sweet andsonice and tough, too. Protective. The kind of guy I could reall y... really go for. I'm not even ready to be pursued, much less to poach someone who only sees me as a rescue project, and so I go to Vermont for a year. Take s ome classes, get the start of my BS in Forensics. But after a year, when the gir l at the end of the hall is raped and they never catch the guy, I can't handle i t. I have to see him, my champion, just to remind myself there is actually a goo d man out there. But when I return to New York, he's gone. Not even so much as a forwarding address with the therapist. "I try to find another, but that doesn't go quite as planned -- he's married wit h a girlfriend besides me -- and so I kill him. One less pretender in the world. The next replacement is also a disappointment. So I settle into my role with re signation, if not happiness, and begin to cull the herd. I'm caught, incarcerate d, and denied any male visitors. They don't want to provide me with new targets. Even if my champion, who I keep carefully secret, wanted to visit me he couldn' t. During the fire I escape, take a year off to heal, and what better place to s tart looking for prey than a cleaning service that is hired primarily by counsel ors? The recorded ramblings of unhappy wives will make for a lush hunting ground s. A fake ID and a new appearance are all I need. Besides, people are too busy s taring at the scars to really see me. Then, just as suddenly as the first time, there's my champion right in front of me. "It's fate. I have to have him for myself. And so I devise a plan to separate hi m geographically from his unappreciative child of a wife, woo him with gifts no one else could provide, and test his interest. All he has to do is remember me a nd then I'll take him. If he doesn't recognize or remember me, then he really wa sn't my champion anyway. I know what to do with pretenders." Emily looked down from the ceiling. The team was staring at her mutely. Hotch lo oked ready to slit his wrists and call it a day. "What?" Prentiss squawked. "I'm trying Morgan's method." "And?" Morgan asked. Prentiss raised her eyebrows questioningly. "Other than creeping the shit out of us, is it working?" Reid demanded.

"I don't know. It doesn't feel any different than the second or third-person pro nouns. I think creepy might be why Morgan does it. Look, I might have a handle o n her perspective, but if I had my way? I'd nail Coltrane's head to the table, l ight it on fire, and feed the charred remains to the Pak'ma'ra." "It's an imperfect universe," Hotch said dryly. Prentiss did a take, then a double-take. "Nevermind," Hotch said. Reid squealed. "Thatwasa Babylon 5 reference!" Reid crowed, his voice high with exaltation. He so bered and stilled when the team regarded him with confusion. "JJ, have Garcia give you a photo of Coltrane's new appearance. Then organize a press conference. State that Melinda Coltrane is a suspect and the new photo is what shemaylook like now. Make it sound like an armed-and-dangerous warning. That should provide enough proof of recognition and still be ambivalent enough to avo id a lawsuit if we're wrong." "Enough proof for what?" JJ asked. The room sobered. "For Coltrane to set up a meeting," Morgan intoned ominously. "She'll know it's probably a trap, but Hotch is bait she won't be able to refuse." ~*~ "Are we certain about this?" JJ asked, peering through the curtain at the jackal s assembled in the conference room of the Holiday Inn nearest the station. "We d on't have a single piece of forensic evidence linking Coltrane to the crime, jus t a profile. Even if we catch her, we'll never get a conviction." "We don't need a conviction," Hotch said grimly, "all we need is to match her DN A and fingerprints and we've got her for escaping prison and identity fraud. Col trane had the start of a BS in Forensic Science. That's sufficient for her to un derstand the Journal of Forensic Science. Killing clean is her speciality." "Right." JJ looked over the crowd again. "Sure you don't want this one?" "Direct acknowledgement is too risky," Hotch said, "even if she didn't perceive me making an armed-and-dangerous announcement as threat or rejection. We're taki ng a chance even with indirect acknowledgement." "Wish me luck," JJ said, the passed through the curtain to approach the podium. Hotch passed through behind her. He stood in front of the curtain but slightly t o the side, barely in the camera view. "Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. As you are aware there have been a series of murders over the past week here in Va ldosta. Some reports have claimed they are the work of two different killers, bu t in fact, it is the work of one individual. The first six killings were an appr oximation of what we call a mission-based killer on the verge of a frenzy. That type of killer is the worst the Bureau faces. It was guaranteed to get our atten tion. The next two were her actual targets." JJ held up a sign board. "Evidence at the scenes has led us to believe the killer is Melinda Coltrane, al so known as the Prince Charming Killer. We believe she escaped during a fire a y ear ago, and now that she has healed, she has begun looking for new victims. Thi s is the last available photo of her, and this is what we believe she looks like now. Melinda Coltrane is not your ordinary serial killer. Most serials have a t

ype of victim that they look for, or a certain signature method for their kills. Coltrane doesn't have those compulsions. She will kill anyone she feels she nee ds to to accomplish her goal. We highly recommend that anyone who sees her immed iately and discretely vacate the area and call the police. Do not approach her n or try to stop her from what she's doing. Do not try to be a hero. Just leave if you can and call for help from a safe place." "Isn't Melinda Coltrane dead?" a reporter asked. "Until now, Coltrane's status was 'missing presumed dead.' Her body was never re covered." "All of the latest victims have been unfavorably connected to Agent Hotchner," a nother reporter said. "Why isn't he a suspect?" "The quote at the first crime scenes was from a book sent anonymously to Agent H otchner shortly before we arrived," JJ said calmly. "Once Leona Miller was kille d, we placed him under protective surveillance. He hasn't been out of police or Bureau supervision for a moment. He couldn't have killed Elizabeth Wilmont. Also , his whereabouts are accounted for during all of the first six murders." "Agent Hotchner," a reporter called. Hotch fixed him with a lupine stare. It was the same reporter that had shocked the Copelands in Delaware. JJ's nails dug in to the podium. She remembered him, too. "My sources indicate Coltrane is killing these people as gifts to you. Why don't you simply ask her to stop?" Son of a bitch.He didn't dare sound approving of Coltrane's actions at a press co nference, and he didn't dare sound disapproving lest he provoke Coltrane. "The procedure for dealing with this sort of delusion is to limit contact betwee n the stalker and the stalked individual. A direct acknowledgement from Agent Ho tchner could only have made the situation worse," JJ said promptly, as if the qu estion had been addressed to her. "The Prince Charming Killer took her sobriquet from Hotchner's closing comments when he was a prosecutor," the reporter continued, "and the men she killed all h ad striking similarities to Hotchner. She was in your custody for nine years, sh e took part in your VI-CAP interviews, why is it just now you're realizing her e ntire killing career has been about Aaron Hotchner?" "That is unfair and inaccurate," JJ began, but the reporter was on a roll. "Speaking of timing, why is it just now that Coltrane has finally turned her att ention to you, Agent Hotchner? Does it have anything to do with your wife's affa ir with Robert Diefenbach, aide to Senator Montgomery?" The crowd of reporters savored the scent of blood, recorders and cameras held hi gh. Hotch didn't waver his long, cold stare. It was the first thing they taught you at law school: never let them see you shaken. "Melinda Coltrane," JJ started. "The question was addressed to Agent Hotchner," a shrill black woman said, goade d on by the loudmouth. "Why is he even here if he isn't going to comment?" "Agent Hotchner has a Masters in both Forensic Science and in Psychology," JJ sa id, whipping out her Dumb Blonde card without hesitation. "He is here to answer any questions that are beyond my education or experience. The psychology of a cr iminal like Coltrane is highly complex. She straddles the border between the psy chopath and the delusional. Her rape at the hands of Maximillian Cochrane strain

ed a psyche already weak from her mother's systematic abuse. Agent, then DDA, Ho tchner behaved in a professional and compassionate manner. She then became obses sed with him. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time. If someone else had b een her DDA, someone else would have been the object of her fixation. The rape o f a woman in her dorm provided further strain, and the failed relationship with her first victim caused her to snap. What was an obsession became a conviction t hat it was her destiny to 'cull' the male herd of undesirables. "Agent Hotchner has unique skills that are in high demand. During the time betwe en Coltrane's first kill and her capture, Agent Hotchner served in multiple offi ces across the nation. Any attempts of Coltrane's to find him would have met wit h failure. Since she could not exercise any physical or mental control over the object of her obsession, she maintained a feeling of control by keeping her fixa tion a secret. That's why we never knew the identity of her ideal. The timing of these attacks comes from a chance discovery of Agent Hotchner's location." Despite the humiliation of having trouble in his personal life announced on stat e-wide television, he couldn't not feel a sense of awestruck pride at JJ's maste ry. "There will be no further questions," JJ said. The reporters shouted heckles and demands as the two agents left the dais. "That man has a whole lot of bad karma headed his way," JJ said as she accepted a glass of water from Morgan. "I'd love to help it along." "Don't," Reid said. "Someone would notice, then you'd be in jail. There are a lo t more stupid people in prison that in the free world." JJ nodded in a resigned sort of way. "That was good work," Hotch said, "I thought for certain the loudmouth was going to blow our plan straight to Hell." JJ took the compliment with a brilliant smi le. They returned to the station, went over the notes and evidence once again, and w orked up several loose strategies for trapping Coltrane. They couldn't plan anyt hing specific until Coltrane contacted them or someone called her in. Montoya wa sn't bothered by the waiting. The entire station was energized by finally having a concrete direction to move in. The FBI agents were fretful and tense. They di dn't like the idea of baiting a woman this clever, but as Hotch pointed out, the y didn't have any other options. They needed to get Coltrane into custody as qui ckly as possible. For dinner the team picked up a couple bags of premade salad and a loaf of garli c bread from a grocery store. Prentiss found "Cursed" in the discount bin. Morga n added microwave popcorn to the basket. Hotch, however, shared neither Prentiss 's love of werewolves nor Morgan's enjoyment of suspense films. Reid endured a f ew taunts about leaving the lights on during the movie from Morgan before follow ing Hotch back to their room. Hotch was curled up on the bed with a paperback when Spencer slipped through the door. He was still in slacks, his white shirt unbuttoned to reveal the tee bene ath. Spencer swallowed. He pulled his pjs from his sack and disappeared into the bathroom to change. Hotch was reading, really reading, when he emerged. He watc hed has Hotch's speed stuttered, reflexively slowing his pace before discarding the impulse. He was a little over a quarter through the novel. Spencer slid onto his bed, resting his head on his arm and watching silently. "Yes?" Hotch finally asked. He placed his forefinger on the page and looked up a t Spencer.

"Have you ever read Harry Potter?" Spencer asked. Hotch shook his head. "Garcia recommended them. In the books, the magical people keep their existence a secret from non-magic folk, whom they call Muggles." "I haven't read the books," Hotch said dryly, "but I haven't been living under a rock. Muggles, Voldemort, Hermione the female you: I'm familiar." "In Book One," Reid continued, ignoring the jibe, "Hagrid comments that the spel ls wizards use work so well because Muggles with rationalize anything to avoid b elieving in magic. JKR makes a valid point." Hotch raised his eyebrows. "Your su bterfuge works because people assume you're not a genius and rationalize away an ything that indicates you are. Like the way you fly through paperwork, or books. Is that your secret purchase?" "Did you think I had left you to buy a pack of cigarettes?" Hotch asked. Reid no dded. "I was thinking about it. I decided to exchange one unhealthy addiction fo r another." Hotch held up his book. It was Anne Rule's latest. "That's been out for a while," Reid commented. "Haley doesn't allow crime books," Hotch said, shrugging. "If she finds them in the house, she rips them up or burns them. She says I spend enough time chasing serial killers at work that I don't need to read about it in my free time." And the fact Haley destroys your possessions doesn't seem weird to you?Reid wante d to ask. But he knew instinctively that couldn't end well, so he settled for as king if Hotch had ever met the policewoman-turned-author. "Once. She was giving a seminar at the Academy. She walked out of the auditorium and bumped into me. I opened my mouth, no sound came out, she said, 'excuse me, young man,' and walked away. Not exactly the impression I wanted to make." "When I first met Gideon," Spencer said, "I recited his entire career from Acade my up until then in one, long, incredibly unbroken sentence. I think I would hav e preferred awestruck silence." "A recitation of facts is flattering. Gaping silence is an idiot," Hotch counter ed. He closed the book and set it on the nightstand between them. Hotch pushed h imself up to sit cross-legged facing Spencer. "There's a lot to say." "Then let's start with basic reciprocity," Spencer said, scooting up on the bed so his back rested on the headboard and folding his legs. "You already know most of my high school experience. So tell me about yours." Hotch apparently took th at as an invitation. He slid next to Reid on the narrow bed, his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle. "I went to private school," Aaron said softly, "and Elaine was in my graduating class. The environment wasn't nearly as harsh as yours. Even so, I was too enter taining for the bullies to bother much. I did impersonations, cracked wise, did things with Elaine and James like rigging the anatomy skeleton to dance or stran ding the principal's car on the roof. No one outside the student body ever found out that was us. Ma said my boredom could rate as a weapon of mass destruction. Mother and Ma both tried to see to it I was as occupied with lessons and chores as possible. "I was short for my age until my first growth spurt at twelve. That made things difficult. My feet never touched the floor in any of my desks, I couldn't reach anything over the sixth shelf in the Library without climbing on something, none of the chemistry lab aprons fit, and forget about basketball in gym. I played b

aseball, though, all four years of high school. I was small and fast with good h and-eye coordination. Coach Wilson liked the psychological advantage. The pitche rs would reflexively throw me something easy and I'd promptly hit it out of the park." "The team that had me in gym got a handicap," Reid said. "And I was still picked last for everything but races. I had perfected the art of running like Hell. Th e regulations would have allowed me to go out for track, it certainly would have raised my stature among my classmates -- runners are supposed to be slim -- but Mom never allowed it. She said athletics were Neanderthal and away games danger ous." Hotch smiled. "I had to room with the coach on away games, no exceptions. Not that it did much good. James had disreputable friends who took great pleasure in corrupting me. I can pick pockets and locks, and I know the proper procedure for taking all the major drugs. Not that I ever did," Aaron insisted firmly. "Elaine would have gr ound me into the pavement right before Ma killed me." Reid turned, curling his legs beneath him and resting an elbow on the headboard. He didn't bother to try to disguise his attentive affection. Spencer had been w anting to have this conversation for four years and if the way information was s pilling from Hotch's usually tight lips was any indication, so had he. "I wasn't cool enough to offer drugs to," Spencer said. "And I would have told. I didn't even drink until I was fifteen. My dorm mate invited me along to a kegg er. I got completely wasted, of course. I'm told I do a fairly good rendition of 'Twist and Shout' while inebriated. I woke up next to the toilet with the templ es of my glasses sticking up out of the vomit-filled water." Spencer wrinkled hi s face at the memory. "That was the last time I drank more than one in the space of three hours." "I never went to any parties. Elaine would have killed me and Ma would have fini shed the job." Aaron's voice dropped, his hand spreading in his usual narrative gesture. One arm was crossed over his chest. "You will notice this was a regular theme of my childhood. Dad was going to hit me no matter what I did and I didn' t really give a damn what Mother thought, but Ma and Elaine? Their word was Law. I tried to be for Sean what Elaine was for me, but..." Hotch shrugged. "That di dn't quite work out. Or maybe it did, and I just didn't have as much urge to reb el." "I don't think you'd know rebellion if it walked up and bit you," Spencer deadpa nned, trying to imagine Hotch in Sean's usual gear. The mental picture refused t o coalesce. He'd have to bribe Garcia to Photoshop it. "I am a bit of a perfectionist," Aaron confessed, looking down. He cleared his t hroat. "I never quite succeed." "No one is perfect, Hotch," Spencer said with soft empathy. He was supposed to b e smarter than everyone; he knew what the burden of others' expectations felt li ke. He couldn't imagine how much heavier the weight was when paired with abuse a nd a chronically unfaithful spouse. Hotch shrugged. The silence wore on until Re id finally broke it by asking which Entil'zha he preferred. They debated the mer its of Jeffrey Sinclair, Delenn, John Sheridan and -- at Hotch's insistence that even though she was Ranger One for only one episode she still counted -- Susan Ivanova. That led to exchanging stories of geekiness interfering with social fun ctioning (Spencer had far more of them than Aaron), and then to the Knock-down D rag Out Debate of all Trekkies Anywhere: who was the better captain of the Enter prise.

Morgan walked in just as Reid declared that Kirk could kick Picard's ass any day of the week with one hand tied behind his back because Picard would try to "tal k it out" and Kirk would just shoot him. "Oh, please," Hotch scoffed, "Kirk has more temporal violations than anyone in h istory because of his 'shoot first, question later' policy. Kirk almost started a war five times in the course of three years and in the course of seven years P icardstoppedfour, beat the Borgtwice, and was courted by a god." "Okay," Morgan declared. "I'm going to go switch rooms with Emily before the Tre k talk melts my brain." Hotch whuffed, pulled his pajamas from underneath his pillow, and headed into th e bathroom. Morgan, not having Hotch's modesty, began changing right there. Reid used Hotch's discarded book as an excuse to lower his eyes. Morgan didn't know he'd read it already. "Hey, Reid?" Morgan asked. Reid looked up as Morgan sat on his rollaway in his s weatpants. "Do I sound that creepy? You know, like Emily's speech this morning." "No," Reid said. "You always sound objective." Morgan nodded his gratitude befor e starting his nightly gym-less exercise routine. Spencer exchanged Hotch's book for writing the day's entry in his letter to his mother. He'd mail the letter t omorrow. He placed envelope on one nightstand and pulled the book on feminism fr om his bag. It was 1,357 pages of angry woman, the first book in a long time to take him more than a day to read. It wasn't that good, more rhetoric than histor ical analysis, but Spencer couldn't not finish a book. It was against the laws o f nature. They heard Hotch talking in the bathroom. When he emerged they saw he was on his cell. "Oh, she left a message on my cell this morning asking," Aaron said, a flippant irritation in his voice they rarely heard. "I don't think it's that hard of a co ncept: atheists don't go to Church, and if forcing me to go as a child didn't co nvince me, badgering me into it as an adult certainly isn't going to do the tric k... That's not funny, Ma." Morgan and Spencer waved at Hotch. "Derek and Spence r say hello." Hotch pulled the phone away from his mouth. "Ma says hi." "As her what the chances are of her fixing lunch," Morgan asked. "Her stuff is w ay better than Perkins." "Nothing," Hotch said to his step-mother, ignoring Morgan's impertinent request. He slid onto his bed, crossing his legs at the ankles. "I'm not certain, everyt hing is still very up in the air... I don't want you to go to all that trouble a nd then not be able to make it. If we finish up after check-out time, I'll ask t he team if they want to have Dinner with the Crew and stay the night since the r ooms have to be paid for anyway. They're usually pretty anxious to get home, tho ugh... Ma, that's not a fair question." "Did she ask if you were going to ask-ask or ask-like-it's-no-big-deal-ask?" Spe ncer commented from his book. It sounded like something Hotch would do, asking i f they wanted to have dinner with his step-mother without explaining the century -old family tradition behind the request. Hotch scowled. "Good night, Ma." Hotch tossed the phone on the dresser and slid down on the bed . His hands rested on either side of his head as he stared up at the ceiling. Sp encer wanted to grab those wrists, hold them down and straddle Aaron to press ki sses on that lovely firm mouth. He forced his eyes back to the page. This was re

al life, not fantasy. Besides, Morgan was right there. "You know, I enjoy Ma's c ompany more, but whenever I'm in Valdosta I always end up spending more time wit h Mother." "The squeaky wheel gets the grease," Morgan said. "Or the non-psycho gets the sh aft. No offense." Hotch smiled dryly. "When Sean was a senior in High School he made me a Christmas present in shop cl ass," Hotch recalled, his voice rich with humor. "It was this perfectly round pi ece of wood with 'the shaft' burned into it. I still have it. So does that mean I'm not a psycho?" "No, but it does seem to be fairly symbolic of your life," Spencer said. Hotch s norted. "Sean wouldn't know symbolism if it walked up and bit him in the ass. He got thr ough all four years of High School English without reading a single book. Sparkn otes and bullshit, the whole way. If it wasn't for Ma's rule that less than a B average with less than a 70% in any of your core classes means no spending money , no after-school job, and no car, I don't think he would have tried at all. Sea n always said he wanted to be a lawyer, but now I think that was just a way of f eeling connected to Dad after he died. Or maybe the path of least resistance." Hotch fell silent. Morgan's arms were folded on the edge of Hotch's bed, his chi n resting on his fists. Spencer kept his head bent over the pages, not daring to do more than watch out of the corners of his eyes. Hotch had never been a compl ainer, but before Gideon's collapse he'd engaged in the every-day bitching colle agues bonded over: snarky comments about bad drivers, relating marital squabbles so stupid they bore repeating, sharing tales of culinary disaster. After the co llapse there were no morons on the road, every day with Haley was a second honey moon, and Jack always slept soundly. Neither Morgan nor Reid wanted to chase Hot ch back into his shell of "everything's fine with me, let's talk about how you'r e doing." "The point of the shaft was to annoy," Hotch said. "By the time Sean was in scho ol, I was away at college for most of the year. When I was home, Elaine was too. She and James were big enough to back me up by then, and Ma was never afraid of Dad. A free-for-all would have left visible bruises. He had to restrain himself ." Hotch shrugged. "Sean was never abused, David and Vivian prefer to gloss over what happened, and it's natural to idolize a dead parent. So he believes that i t wasn't really that bad or else I provoked things, and therefore I've no right to be Ma's 'favorite.' Unless he needs a father figure to rebel against.ThenI can be the living epitome of Sheridan and Hotchner expectations. He's getting bette r as he gets older. These last five years have been the best we've ever gotten a long. Possibly because we never see each other." Morgan and Reid graced that com ment with a laugh. Hotch didn't say anything more. He just reached over and buried his nose in his book, and when that was finished, he slid between his covers and bid them good n ight. Part 10 Aaron was tying his tie when Emily entered the living room. She was wrapped in a sheet, her dark hair disheveled. "I don't see why you have to go back to her," she said, approaching him. Emily w as better at being a mistress than Spencer, even if Spencer was better in bed. E

mily made it seem like it was something more to her than a quid-pro-quo arrangem ent. "You're welcome to stay the night." He reached out to rest a hand on the sm all of her back. He pressed a little. She came willingly. Her arms folded themse lves across his shoulders and her lovely curves settled against his trim lines. Being in full FBI costume while his mistress was in nothing but thin cotton was a thrill. He trailed his other hand down her rib cage to rest on a hip. "Haley's not the sharpest knife in the set," he said, "but she's not a complete idiot." Emily traced the outline of his tie with one finger. "You could leave her." "If you'd like to leave the BAU and care for my children, I could arrange it," h e said coolly. Emily's hand stilled and flattened. The position of profiler was her payment for sharing a bed with Aaron. "Good point," Emily said. She leaned up for a kiss, then stepped away. She held the sheet against her breasts. "Even dull housewives serve a purpose." Yes, Emily was definitely better at being a mistress than Spencer. Home was neat and orderly, as he liked it, the perfect showpiece of a Supervisor y Special Agent. Haley was already asleep. Aaron locked the door and crept softl y around the home. Everything was secure. He armed the alarm and moved softly up stairs. Michelle and Amy's lights were off. Jack's was not. It was nearly midnig ht, lights-out was at ten, and the defiance infuriated him. Aaron moved with a policeman's stealth down the hall and shoved his son's door o pen. The guilty startle and the ineffectual hiding of a book under the covers on ly heightened his anger. "What's the rule?" he said coldly. Jack blanched. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," his son begged as his father crossed the room. "I just g ot it today, I forgot, I didn't know you'd be home tonight, I'm sorry!" Aaron je rked his son from the bed. "So if I am gone my rules don't have to be obeyed?" "No! I didn't mean it! I'm sorry!" Jack was sobbing, fighting the pull on his ar m. A punch to the stomach and two quick slaps across the thigh stopped the resis tance. "I'm sorry! Daddy, please don't, I'll never forget again, please!" "Oh, I'll make certain of that!" He dragged his pleading son down the stairs. Jack mewled when Aaron rammed his s houlder into the banister. Aaron knew better than to shove his son into the kitc hen. An uncontrolled fall stood a chance of leaving marks on his face or hands. Aaron pushed his son roughly against the wall, wrapping one hand over his throat to hold him. He reached for a small black canister above the fridge and flipped it open. "No, please, I'll never stay up late again!" Aaron pulled a handful of lemon drops from the canister, one pinched between his thumb and forefinger. "Open." "Please!"

"I said open!" Aaron tightened the hand around his son's throat. Jack obediently opened his mouth. Aaron placed a lemon drop on his tongue. "Swallow." Jack swal lowed the sweet whole. Lemon drops were as much of a choking hazard as pennies, but they didn't show up on x-rays. And who would find it suspicious if a boy cho ked on candy? After five Jack did choke. Aaron let him panic for a few torturous seconds. Heimlich was almost reflex and the yellow drop came flying out of his son's h. Aaron slammed Jack against the wall and made him try again. Aaron's hand empty after five more. Jack sobbed quietly, his hands grasping his father's t. The mout was wris

"In the corner," Aaron ordered coldly. Jack obeyed, standing with his back to th e room. "If you want to stay up late, you can stay up all night. If I catch you asleep--" Aaron didn't bother to finish the threat. Aaron left the room. If Jack fell asleep, Aaron would boot him awake, impress up on him the consequences of defiance with a few more kicks, and stand him in the corner again. If Jack lasted the night, well, it's about time the boy toughened up. ~*~ Hotch was shaking when he awoke. He slid out of bed with the silence of practice , crossed the room with one hand pressed to his mouth, and closed the bathroom d oor. The damp towel he'd used for his shower was crumpled and pressed to his fac e to stifle his sobs. Aaron preferred puking to tears. He didn't get to choose h is nightmares. Aaron wished he could have dreams of helplessness and failure lik e the rest of his team. They seemed like they would be so light in comparison. N ot that he ever said that to those who came to him for help. The twisted element of one-upmanship would have been almost as bad as the implication of weakness. Aaron sank to his knees. He tried to regulate the hitching of his diaphragm. It wasn't listening. The cheap terrycloth was rough against his skin. He'd never trusted himself to be a father. Haley hadn't wanted children when the y'd married, but at twenty-five she had changed her mind. She'd dismissed his fe ars as foolish, tried relentlessly to convince him, and then, suddenly, Jack. Ha ley said it was an accident. Elaine was equally certain it wasn't. Either way, A aron had immediately scheduled a vasectomy over Haley's protests. At least Jack would never have to wonder why him instead of his siblings if the worst happened . Aaron had never had to wonder. He knew. Hotch took a deep, shuddering breath. He had to get it together before-Spencer scratched softly at the door. It had to be Reid, because Morgan wouldn't have bothered with a request for entry. The hotel was too cheap to have a sink inside the bathroom. If he ran the tub it would be obvious what he was doing, and if he went out without splashing water on his face it would be obvious what he had been doing. Hotch settled for wiping his eyes one last time with the snotty towel. "You might as well come in," Hotch said. It was embarrassing how mucous-filled h is voice was. He hated crying. He'd rather be shot. Reid slithered in and closed the door behind him.

"You've got two options," Spencer said softly, sliding down the wall to sit next to his supervisor. "You can talk to me, or I can sic Morgan on you." "I do not need to be coddled," Hotch said. "Okay, so if I walk out of here you have to accept it the next time one of us in sists we're perfectly fine when we're obviously not." "It's my job to look after you." "It's you're job to point us in the direction of the department counselor," Reid countered. Hotch glowered. It didn't have the same effect with a shiny red nose and damp lashes. "I mean it. Me or I go wake up Derek." His hazel eyes were bot h wide and filled with a grim earnestness. Hotch sagged, resting his head agains t the wall. "In my dreams I'm the monster," he said clinically. He shrugged. "Sometimes I'm a serial killer. Sometimes I'm just my father: good Christian in public, taking mistresses that mean nothing and beating my child behind closed doors." Aaron lo oked down at the towel. He began folding it absently. "Jack wasn't planned. Well , not by me. I'm not sure if Haley sabotaged her birth control or if it was an a ccident. I can't say I wish he was never born, he's my son and I-- but-- Me bein g a father is a bad idea." "I don't think so," Spencer said softly. Hotch made a disgusted sound somewhere between a whuff and a laugh. "You sound like Haley," Hotch said. Spencer stiffened with an insulted look. "Sh e says I'll be a wonderful father and if I was like that I'd have hit her alread y, and the way I treat my team shows how I'd treat a child." There was bitter sa rcasm in his voice. "But you-- she-- You don't understand! Dad was great to begi n with. He was fun, and affectionate, and he never raised his voice. Ever. Then, after I was expelled-- When we got home, he lost it. He said I'd disgraced the whole family. It took weeks for the bruises to heal. He, um, pressed for custody saying Mother left us to nannies and hadn't even noticed her own son was--" Hot ch shook his head. "He won. I guess he discovered he liked hitting, because afte r that one time he wasn't gentle with me anymore. I couldn't make him happy. But I could make him mad, sometimes by just walking into the room. Or if his guests would ask me to do tricks, you know, reciting out of books or doing math in my head." Hotch shrugged again. "He was good to my siblings, though, the same Dad I remembered. When he married Ma, when she found out how he was, she said he had to go through her first. You' ve seen Ma. She weighs a hundred pounds soaking wet. Dad was as tall as me and b uilt like Jason. Sometimes he condescended to let her try to beat him. Most of t he time he just slapped her around a little and locked her in a closet. Sean was his favorite. I think I was supposed to hate him. The only one I ever really ha ted was David. He knew the quickest way to get Dad's approval was to bully me or tell him I'd been showing off." Reid didn't know what to say. He couldn't even breathe around the hard lumps of pain in his lungs and throat. Some people deserved to die. "It only takes losing control once," Aaron said softly. "You'd never allow yourself to." "You can't say that for certain." Spencer reached out and laid a palm on Hotch's cheek, forcing him to turn and lo

ok at Reid. "Yes, I can. You are not your father. You are nothing like him in any way." "I'd like to believe you," Hotch whispered. His eyes were over-bright. His lips were still slightly puffy from the abrasion of stifling cloth, his skin still fl ushed. Hurting, vulnerable, and open. For once in his life, Spencer didn't think. He just leaned forward and pressed h is mouth to Aaron's. Oh, God. The firm line of the lower lip trapped between the warm curves of Spenc er's mouth, the way the jaw dropped in surprise, the submissive tilt of the head when Spencer rose up on his knees: Aaron was better than anything. The hesitant response made Spencer's entire body flush with warmth. Spencer sent one hand in to Hotch's hair, the other still holding his face. Coarse strands between his fi ngers, the feel of Hotch's enamel against his tongue. Winterfresh had never tast ed so good. Hotch didn't have any crowns. Spencer checked. Spencer pulled back. He was breathless, both from not breathing and from his own boldness. Aaron looked dazed. "Wow," Aaron sighed. That was enough invitation for Spencer to start again. He c aptured and released Hotch's mouth with his, randomly switching between Aaron's upper and lower lip. His hands trailed through Aaron's hair and across the plane s of his face. Aaron apparently realized he had arms, too, and used them to pull Spencer into his lap. Aaron tilted his head back, breaking the kiss. Spencer replied by trailing his l ips passionately down Aaron's neck. This had to be a dream. Reality couldn't be this good. The smell of sweat and the rough texture of morning beard couldn't be this good. Except it was Aaron. Aaron's thighs under his ass, Aaron's throat, A aron's breathless sighs. "Bad idea," Aaron gasped. "This." He reached up to curl his hands over Spencer's fine-boned wrists before pulling them away. "Stop." Spencer reluctantly pulled his mouth away from soft flesh. His tie-dye bottoms w ere already tented. Spencer could feel the beginning of an erection against his thigh from Aaron. "I don't feel pressured or harassed," Spencer said sincerely. "I know there are no professional repercussions from you. You're not that kind of man." Spencer pu lled, trying to free his wrists. "I'll transfer to another team so you're not my boss if that's what needs to happen." "All good points," Hotch said, "but not what I meant. I have bad luck. With rela tionships. I'm not even divorced yet, Spencer. I'm not ready-- Making out with a man in a bathroom before I've even filed is asking-- I understand if you don't want to wait. You don't have to. No professional repercussions. But I can't be d oing this with you now." Aaron wanted to. That was enough for Spencer. Not even sheer sexual frustration could dampen the sudden warm glow of knowing he tempted Aaron Hotchner. Spencer reluctantly slid off Aaron's lap. Hotch released his wrists. "You need space, I get that," Reid said uncomfortably. He could feel heat on his

cheeks to match the heat in his groin. "But, uh, you're going to have to give m e five minutes, here." Hotch colored all the way to his hairline. "I'll take that as a compliment," Aaron muttered before fleeing the bathroom. Sp encer surprised himself with a brazen smile. ~*~ "Nothing good comes easy" was the cliche. J. Michael Straczynski, on the other h and, pointed out a far more relevant truth: nothing bad comes easily either. The universe makes you work for your damnation. Elizabeth, James, and Haley had all seemed like good matches at the time, he'd been happy with them, and they had s eemed happy enough with him -- right up until he'd been forcefully confronted wi th the facts, or in Haley's case, been confronted with the facts over, and over, and over again. He must be a slow learner. But who wanted to admit he wasn't someone who was courted for being interesting, but for being safe? Reliable. Dull. Spencer wouldn't wait. Between now and when Aaron could offer a partner anything other than a broken heart, someone flirty and fun and just a little out of Spen cer's league, or a little dangerous, would appreciate Reid's poorly-packaged bea uty and the value of his uniqueness, and that would be that. Aaron couldn't even hold a partner's interest while trying his hardest for perfection. How much mor e quickly would Spencer tire of him without getting even that in return? He was blowing his shot with the only other person he was likely to meet in his lifetime who knew what it was like to be valedictorian of your graduating class while you were still young enough to be protected under pedophile laws. It wouldn't have lasted,Aaron told himself, dipping his razor in the water. Spenc er was taking his morning shower, and Morgan never really talked before breakfas t.Your request for time doesn't feel like a rejection, his confidence isn't damag ed, and when he finds someone else he won't have to leave you first.Aaron drew t he razor across his cheek.Spencer probably wasn't thinking with his brain. As soo n as he realizes being with you means accepting Jack and still being impacted by Haley, his interest will be over. Single parents were not valued commodities in the dating market. Not that he was even certain he wanted to date again. He could just marry his jo b and be done with it. But he wasn't going to start collecting bird stuff. A man had to draw the line somewhere. But what if Spencer didn't find someone else? What if he liked being with you? It was a sublime possibility. Contemplating it made his chest hurt in the most m arvelous way. Impossible,Aaron told himself firmly.You've seen this movie before, remember? It s tarts out good but the ending is terrible. It was better this way. Aaron rinsed off his razor and wiped his face. He needed to focus. JJ's warning had been playing off and on all night. Coltrane would had to have heard it by no w. If she didn't contact him that day she would the next, and he needed to be re

ady. Part 11 The waiting was tense. They played cards, drank coffee, chatted about other case s, related amusing anecdotes from the past, and returned to cards, but the spect re of the unsub's next act hung over the small conference room. The roles were w ell-defined: Prentiss and Reid bickered, Morgan paced and fidgeted, and JJ watch ed. Sometimes she refereed Prentiss and Reid, sometimes she counted Morgan's ste ps, sometimes she counted the path of the red second-hand, and sometimes she wat ched Hotch. Hotch wore his role like a second skin, making sure no one had too m uch coffee or too little food, deftly turning the conversation way from too-dark topics, making sure neither cheating nor mockery got too far out of hand. Stead y certainty even though he was scared to death. He had a responsibility. It was that responsibility that had landed him here, the object of Coltrane's de luded affections. He wasn't certain what he felt about that. Haley called him -- not Morgan -- to say she hadn't seen anyone during their sep aration. Hotch couldn't quite believe her. He told her emphatically that the uns ub knew everything Dr. Goldman knew and any lies on her part would only put some one else in danger. Haley was outraged he dared to disbelieve. Aaron hung up. He didn't answer when she called back. He didn't listen to her messages. He just d eleted them. Had it ever occurred to her that he might not take her back? Good old Aaron, alw ays there to come home to after she'd had her fun. He could, he supposed, make s tipulations. But he knew that would end the same way it always ended when he los t his temper and declared he'd had enough. She would be nice for a while, then o nce he calmed down things would go back to the way they were before. Why should she make lasting changes? It washisjob andhisnegative attitude that were causing the problems, if he'd just go back to being a lawyer and be more positive, everythi ng would be fine. There was one arm chair in the conference room, tucked in a corner by the microw ave. They had conceded it to him. It was as close to pity as they were allowed t o express. Aaron rested the back of his skull against one arm, his back curled o n the seat, and his legs dangling over the other arm as he stared at the texture d ceiling. He couldn't do it anymore. He couldn't get his hopes up that this time she was s incere, that this time she understood, only to wind up with another affair or no t being heard. He'd told her that if she really objected to field agent he would join a local police force as CSA instead, but once he made it into the FBI Acad emy there was no turning back. He'd told her not to bother coming to Virginia if the BAU was going to be a problem. He'd explained the Service, the pull of duty and of lives saved, and the ties of attachment and understanding that bound him more tightly to his step-family than blood ever could. But Haley had carried on as if what he said was merely transitory until she could fix him, certain that she knew what was best no matter how he protested or how unhappy it made him-Aaron laid his arm across his eyes. Jesus. He married his mother. It was natural, of course, many abused children did it: continuing the struggle to force their parents to love them by trying to cajole an equally emotionally u navailable or abusive spouse. Happened all the time. He really should have noticed before. Like right about the time Haley backed Cor

delia's demand that Anna not be part of the wedding. Or when Elaine held his fac e with both hands the day before the wedding, looked him straight in the eye, an d said, "Aaron, I love you more than life itself and I ambeggingyou please, don't do this." Right about then would have been good. Elaine was going to enjoy rubbing his nose in this. So was Sean. James had enoug h tact to pretend to be sorry. David and Vivian were going to be furious, of cou rse, they liked Haley and Vivian's husband was counting on the Brooks' support. He hated politics. "Hotch?" Prentiss asked. "I hate politics," Hotch said. "Haley's uncle is Senator Brooks, and her father is a major campaign donator. Vivian's husband is depending on the Brooks' suppor t to win, which I don't think is fair since Mark is running for state senator in Virginia and the Brooks live in New York. He's going to be furious I endangered that by divorcing their daughter whether she cheated on me again or not." "That's messed up," JJ said. "That's politics," Prentiss said flatly. "Oh, by the way, my mother wanted to kn ow if you'd be free for lunch Friday. Apparently she likes you, I'm not sure why ." Hotch lifted his arm off his eyes and turned to look at Prentiss. She blushed. "I didn't mean it that way!" she apologized. Morgan started laughing. "I just me ant-- I don't know what she wants. It might just be to say thanks for helping th e Churnises. Or-- I'm sorry." "It's all right," Hotch said dryly, "but I'm not taking another case outside off icial channels. Three in a year is three too many." "North Mammon doesn't count," JJ said. "They faxed over a request." "After you already told them you wanted the case," Hotch argued. JJ didn't even bother to look apologetic. "McGee's case happened to be federal, but we didn't k now that until we got down there, so it counts, too. Ambassador Prentiss is just lucky Cramer feels he owes us for finding Jimmy Baker." "Luck has nothing to do with it," Prentiss bitterly. "If Cramer had put up a fig ht she would have bulldozed him out of our way." "I don't doubt it," Hotch muttered. "She and my mother went to the same school o f behavior." "Number one reason to date bourgeois men," Prentiss said. "I'd much rather have Morgan's mother for a mother-in-law than yours. Hypothetically speaking, of cour se." Hotch shook his head and laid his arm back over his eyes. Morgan wasn't the sett ling-down kind, but if Prentiss wanted to waste her time, who was he to stop her ? She wouldn't listen any way. He sure as Hell hadn't. Assuming she had a crush on Morgan. It was hard to tell. Sometimes he was certain she was a deeply closet ed lesbian -- that would certainly make Elaine happy. Not that he'd tell Prentis s. There were some things a boss did not say to his subordinates, and "my lesbia n step-sister thinks you're a hottie" was definitely in the top ten.

"So do any of your siblings live here?" JJ asked, popping an orange slice into h er mouth. "No. Vivian lives in Richmond; Elaine lives in Waupun, Wisconsin; Susan is stati oned in Japan; James and Anthony -- my step-sister Susan's husband -- both live in Atlanta; Sean and David both live in New York. We rotate hosting Thanksgiving . Christmas is always here." "That must be awkward," Spencer commented. "I can't imagine Cordelia and Anna ge tting along." "They don't," Aaron admitted softly. "They bite their tongues for Thanksgiving d inner, which is always hosted by one of the kids. But since neither is welcome i n the other's home, Christmas is split. David and Vivian spend it with Mother. E laine, James, Susan, and Sean spend the holiday with Ma. I spend Christmas dinne r with the Hotchners and Christmas day with the Sheridans. I have to fight Haley about it every year. She would rather we spent the entire holiday with the Hotc hners, or with her family." Hotch pulled his arm away. "We spend Easter with the Brooks. They live three hours away, so we see them once a month or so anyway." Hotch smiled. "You should have heard Haley's father a couple of months ago when Sean was his waiter. Apparently having one of the servants say, 'Hey, Mr. and Mr s. B. How's Haley?' in front of your new client and his wife is embarrassing." "That's great," Prentiss said with a grin. "Mmm," Hotch said. "That wasn't the best. Haley's parents rotate Thanksgiving be tween Haley, Jessica, and Peter. One year Elaine forgot it was a Brooks year and brought her girlfriend. The look on Patrick's face at spending his holiday with a homosexual couple was priceless. Catherine tried to 'save' Elaine by quoting Romans at her to which my sister replies, 'oh, don't worry, Mrs. Brooks. I'm fin e. My Goddess doesn't have a problem with homosexuality.'" Hotch's voice dropped into an imitation of well-bred feminine disdain. "'Excuse me?'" His voice went back to normal. "Then Amy -- Elaine's girlfriend -- chimes in to announce that t hey're both Pagan." Hotch grinned, then ducked his head in shy guilt for his amu sement, smoothing the smile from his features. "Haley didn't find it nearly as f unny as I did." "It's not your fault Haley has no sense of humor," Morgan said, leaning back in his chair. "That almost rivals the Jerry Springer Camping Trip." Hotch raised hi s eyebrows, and Morgan launched into a story about a time when his sister Desire e and a cousin named Janet got into a profanity-laden screaming match in the mid dle of a crowded campground that culminated in Morgan having to physically separ ate the two. "No wonder you're so good at tackling," Spencer said. "Hey, show some respect, kid. I've graduated from people to taking out vans, rem ember?" Morgan and Reid bickered for a while until Hotch declared it was time for dinner . They picked up more salad and a roasted chicken, eschewing wine in favor of a concoction Emily made from raspberry coffee syrup and 7Up. It tasted almost like white zinfandel. Hotch drank some of Reid's Blue and Yellow tea and slept sound ly. They had only been at the station for less than half an hour that next morning w hen a CSI brought them a package delivered by courier. The courier hadn't actual ly spoken to the client, he'd simply found the package lying on top of his usual pick-up stack with a hundred dollar bill taped to it.

Hotch pulled on gloves and carefully removed the brown paper wrapping. He placed it in an evidence bag. The gift itself was an ornately-carved Japanese box with a gold catch. Hotch could smell the blood. There was a parchment envelope insid e the brown paper, tucked under the legs of the box. Hotch slit it open with a s calpel, tucked the envelope into a bag, and then opened the letter. "'I will never tire of you,'" Hotch read, suddenly sick. "'Northlake Golf Course and Country Club, the peninsula off Northlake Drive. 6PM.'" Hotch opened the ch est. Inside was a human heart. ~*~ The heart's DNA was in CODIS from a conviction for picking up a prostitute: Jame s Wolfe. Hotch drew away when the CSI announced the victim's name, turning his back to th e team and folding his arms. He wasn't ready for this conversation. "Goddamn! Didn't we tell Haley this woman was after her old boyfriends? Didn't I warn her lying could get someone killed? Didn't Hotch?" Morgan said angrily. It was tempting to let Haley take the fall for this. Let them believe he didn't know. But Morgan, of all his team, deserved better than that. "He isn't one of Haley's old boyfriends," Hotch said softly. "He was mine. I did n't think he was in any danger. I thought we were in a relationship, he thought we were having fun. Nothing malicious." "Penelope, why don't I just sign over my whole damn paycheck?" Morgan scoffed. " Man, I always wondered what was up with you and insisting we change in the bathr oom. I always figured it was some weird prudish Southern Baptist thing. So. Anyo ne else have any deep, dark secrets to share before an unsub forces it?" Not for the first time, Hotch had to admire Morgan's courage. Not just his physical hee dlessness of danger, but his ability to power on through just about anything wit h a combination of bravado and bullocks. "Are you certain you don't want to go in for profiler, Garcia?" Hotch asked, tur ning around. He shouldn't have doubted his team, even for a moment. Orientation was the least of what they had to deal with. "Because I went even farther out of my way to hide that than I did--" Aaron couldn't say it yet. "--the rest of it. " "Hello?" Garcia said a satellite image of the Northlake Country Club appeared on the other computer screen. "It wouldn't be the Office of Unfettered Omniscience if I didn't know something." No one could really argue with that. "Here's the p eninsula." They printed out a copy, then took the note to Montoya. They kept the significance of both victim and sentiment to themselves. They had the perimeter in place and well-hidden by four. Hotch was outfitted wit h a GPS transmitter both in his watch and beneath the skin of his thigh. He dres sed in his black suit, found a bouquet of Bride's Dream roses at a florist, and showed up at the peninsula of the small lake at 5:45 PM. He deemed a picnic bask et too over the top but he brought a blanket to sit on. Six o'clock came and wen t. So did seven. At eight thirty Hotch declared they'd been stood up. The sunset stained the roses pink when he handed them to Montoya. "She must have spotted one of the officers," Hotch said as they pulled into the hotel parking lot. "There will either be another body and another note, or it's me she'll be after."

"She couldn't take this as a rejection," Prentiss said, sliding out of the car. "There's no way you could have gone to that peninsula alone. Even if you hadn't wanted a perimeter we would have set one up." They started for the side-door lea ding to their rooms. JJ was carrying dinner in grocery bags. This time they were having ribs with their lettuce. They heard a trunk pop open and the warbling of an infant. "Aaron!" a deep voice called. Morgan, Hotch, Prentiss, and Reid drew their weapo ns as they turned. An elegant, synchronized motion lost on the woman who stood b y the black Buick. She held a squirming baby in her arms, the barrel of her gun pressed to its chest. "You know how this works." The baby was too young to be Jack. It was barely six months old. But it was stil l a baby, a civilian. A hostage. The FBI agents lowered their weapons. Hotch han ded his to JJ. He stepped away from his team. "Nice and slow," Coltrane instructed. She looked like the photo JJ had released, dark hair and scarring that ran along the side of her face and down into her co llar. Her brown eyes were cold. "Now, strip. All of it, your watch too. I know y ou're wired." It was fitting after rendering him metaphorically naked that she s hould bare him physically as well. His team lowered their eyes as he disrobed. H e appreciated it. Aaron shivered despite the heat in his face. He resisted the r eflexive urge to cover himself with his hands. It would only make him look silly . "There are two bottles of water in the trunk. Drink one. The second is in case you spill. Then climb in the trunk and pull it closed." It was clever. With him in the trunk his team wouldn't dare try to shoot out a tire. But he still had h is subdermal transmitter. Hotch drank the water. He couldn't taste or smell anyt hing different about it. It was probably laced with rohypnol or amobarbital. He climbed into the trunk and pulled the lid closed. He heard Coltrane's footste ps through the fiberglass body as she circled the car to stand by the open drive r's door. He heard the baby scream, his team's shouts, and the car door shutting . The sudden acceleration skidded him across the rough carpet to slam into the t runk lid. Aaron scrabbled blindly in the blackness. Some cars had a release insi de the trunk. If this one had such a mechanism, he couldn't feel it. Not that he could feel much but the abrading of his skin as he slid around the compartment. The unused water bottle was cold when it rolled against him. It was getting hard to focus. Sometimes he swore he could hear sirens. He wondered if it wasn't his ears playi ng tricks on him, hallucinating hope in the sound of car engine and tires. He was so tired. It would be so easy just to close his eyes. When the car slid to a halt he waited for the trunk to open. It did, but Coltran e didn't try to pull him from the car. Instead she held a flashlight and a magni fying glass. Aaron's muscles didn't want to listen. He tried to move his leg as if to hide his genitals from her sight. It wasn't enough to hide the pin-prick s cab from the insertion. It was enough to draw Coltrane's attention. He didn't fe el the knife split his skin, but he saw her throw the bloody transmitter to the side. He couldn't move his head to watch her press a bandage on his thigh. He co uldn't do anything. He could just blink, long and slow, as she closed the trunk lid. Part 12 Waking up was painful. His head felt swollen and stuffed, his arms ached, his th igh ached, and light was an agony. Hotch flinched from the blinding yellow. Movi

ng his head that much hurt. Aaron tried to pull his arms down to ease the discom fort. The clang of chain on metal wasn't that much of a surprise. He tried to sh ift his legs and got the same result. The feeling of satin shifting against his dick was a sensuous one, but far too vulnerable. He was naked in the bed of a psychopath. He almost wished his captor was Vincent Perotta, because Vincent he could handle. He'd never counseled Vincent through the aftermath of rape, never poured time and energy into making certain the man who hurt him received justice. Vincent had never been one of his "strays." "You're awake." Aaron stiffened at the sound of that voice. He tried to open his eyes to see. Th e pain forced them closed again. He retched dryly. Coltrane pressed a bottle to his lips. Hotch let the drink drip down his jaw. He was desperately thirsty, but not enough to drink a Viagra cocktail. "This is me you're dealing with, my dearest, not some random lunatic. You know t hat I, of all people, would never violate your body." The bottle was again press ed on him. She had a point. Coltrane the Prince Charming Killer was ruthless, bu t Melinda knew what it was like to be raped. He unclenched his teeth. The lukewa rm liquid washed away the cotton lining his mouth. Coltrane pulled the bottle aw ay to let him gasp air, then returned it. The hand petting Hotch's hair never st illed. Hit stomach cramped viciously, but he didn't throw up. When that bottle was empty, another took its place. This one was filled with war m chicken broth. Hotch drank that, too, and his stomach settled. Afterwards Colt rane nestled against his prone body like a lover. "Could I have some clothes, please?" he asked. Hotch kept his voice mild. Blind resistance would do him no good, and aggressive posturing would only convince he r he was a fake. That had to be avoided at all costs. "We'll get to that." Coltrane's nails traced his skin along the top of the blank ets. Her fingertips replaced the nails. "Once you can open your eyes without gag ging." The fingertips traced upward, along his sternum to caress the cords of hi s neck. Coltrane caressed him with both hands, running her palms down his neck a nd up his arms to where his wrists were bound together above his head. Hotch cou ld feel her breasts touch his cheek. Aaron turned his head, gritting his teeth a t the pain the movement caused. "Such a gentleman," Coltrane purred. She moved back down along his body. A kiss was pressed to the side of his face. "You're so beautiful. You're even more hand some than I remember." "I'm a lot older than you remember," Hotch grumbled thickly. "But you're still the same man." Coltrane pressed a kiss over his to have you. From the moment I met you I knew you were everything I thought I was going to have to kill Haley to get you, I had it t, but it looks like she took herself right out of the race. Some preciate what they have. I'm not one of them. I love you." heart. "I had I ever wanted. all planned ou women never ap

"Adversity breeds appreciation," Hotch said. He felt Coltrane settle against his chest. He needed to keep her placated, so he forced the words out of his mouth. "You've had much more of that than Haley." Coltrane's arm draped itself across his waist. Hotch let his head sink into the pillow. Waking up for the second time was a shock. He didn't remember falling asleep. Th e hangover was gone, though, so he couldn't complain. Hotch twisted as much as h

is aching hips and shoulders allowed. He was alone in a shed of some kind. There was a small hot plate off to the side, a flat of bottled water, an Igloo cooler , and a lone bulb dangling from the ceiling. On the other side of the bed was a door and a wood stove. His bed had a brass-rung headboard and footboard. The she d looked familiar, but not enough for him to get a solid feel for where he was. He wasn't gagged, so he could presume wherever this place was, it was far away f rom human inhabitation. And he had to pee. Badly. Hotch squirmed in his restraints for a few moments unt il it became clear it was call for help or wet himself. Coltrane came inside when he yelled. She pulled the sheets back and shoved a bed pan beneath him. Hotch closed his eyes against the humiliation. He kept them cl osed while Coltrane wiped him clean with tissue. It was necessary, bound as he w as, but that didn't make it any easier to bear. Coltrane left to dispose of the waste and presumably wash her hands. Hotch felt himself blush as he stared at th e worn wood ceiling. If being naked beneath covers was bad enough, being spreadlegged and naked without them was worse. When Coltrane returned, she was holding a pair of trousers. "Don't kick me," Coltrane warned, pulling the key off her belt. "I know it's you r duty to resist, but if you put up a fight I keep you bare." Coltrane uncuffed his legs, put first one foot then the other into the pant legs , and then worked them up over his legs. She paused to replace the bandage. Hotc h lifted his hips to let her pull the pants all the way up. Coltrane courteously tucked his penis out of the way before zipping. She let him keep his legs close d when she secured his restraints. "Are those really necessary?" Hotch asked smoothly. Any freedom, no matter how s light, had to be tried for. "You've got me cuffed by my arms. And even if I want ed to run away, you have the keys to the car and I'm shirtless and barefoot. I c ouldn't get far in terrain like this." "True," Coltrane said. She straddled his pelvic bone. "But you don't have Dr. Re id's aversion to force. Best not to leave you the option." "I don't hit women." "But you do hit 'unsubs' and I am most certainly an 'unsub.'" She traced his che st with her fingertips, catching the hairs on her nails. "You love your duty. Un til you come to see where your talents are best spent I have to keep you this wa y. I refuse to lose you again." Coltrane pressed another kiss on him. Her lips t railed along his eyelids, his cheekbones, his nose. Her fingers caressed his nec k. Hotch stayed perfectly still, reciting the New York state law code in his hea d to overwhelm the sensation -- and the instinct to pull away. Coltrane sat up. "Not ready yet. But I know a way to help you get ready. So first, you're going t o eat lunch. Then you're going to pick an audio book to listen to while I'm gone ." Lunch was a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with milk, fed to him in bites. He selected "Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets" from her meagre collection . Coltrane started a fire, then left. Almost as soon as the door closed Hotch began pulling at his restraints. They di dn't budge, nor did the brass poles they were attached to. Breaking his hand wou ld do him no good since his legs would still be cuffed. There was no phone in si ght. The British narrator droned on. Hotch was barely paying attention. He worked fut

ilely at his restraints for the rest of the CD. His wrists sported deep black br uises and the cut on his thigh screamed for mercy, but the brass poles were no l ooser when nightfall enveloped the shack than they had been when Coltrane left. Hotch sagged. It felt like a knife was slicing his shoulders free from their soc kets. This would be easier if Coltrane was completely disconnected from reality or a t otal narcissist. Then he could just ply her with flattery or false sympathy unti l she released him. But Coltrane was neither. She expected both resistance and t reachery. Coltrane knew not only the FBI Hotch that Dr. Goldman had talked to, b ut also the tender-hearted lawyer who was given the cases no one else wanted -rapes, housecleaning kills, vigilante murders -- and won them. He'd been Melinda 's crisis counselor as much as he'd been her prosecutor and that familiarity did him no favors here. Coltrane was personal, no matter how hard he tried to compa rtmentalize who she was from who she'd been. Hotch shuddered. It was one more ad vantage for her, and Coltrane had outsmarted him twice already. He hoped his team found him soon. ~*~ No one could remember hearing Derek swear as viciously as he did when he found t he bloody GPS transmitter by the side of the road. "She played us," Montoya spat, holstering her sidearm so viciously she tore a be lt loop. "We jumped through her hoops like dogs." They swept the area until nightfall, but the trail dead-ended at the transmitter . Coltrane didn't stop for directions or gas. No witnesses came forward. They di dn't even have a license plate number; Coltrane had covered it in mud. VPD had r eported a baby being kidnapped at the same time as the supposed meet. VPD had be en so focused on the Country Club the response had been slow. "She knew Hotch would resist," Reid said. He stared at his hand in the breakroom , making a quarter appear and disappear. "Flattery won't get him far." "Coltrane knows Hotch better than we do," Emily said, one hand on the back of he r neck and the other holding a cup of coffee. "Longer, too. Were her gifts reall y about wooing him, or about forcing him to reveal parts of his past he kept pri vate so he'd be stressed and more likely to make mistakes? A little of both? Or-" Emily looked away. "We should have seen this. It was right there in her file: Coltrane only cares about results. So where she is is based on Hotch's profile, not hers." Emily swallowed. "We need to hear those recordings." "I'll talk to Dr. Goldman," JJ said quietly. None of the profilers could quite look at each other. Would they rescue Hotch on ly to lose him because he wouldn't be able to work with them knowing they knew w hatever he'd told Dr. Goldman? ~*~ JJ wasn't a profiler, but she wasn't above stooping to manipulation. Dr. Goldman knew Hotch as well as they did. It was easy enough to tell her that as soon as she finished with Hotch Coltrane would begin killing again, that Hotch would nev er put his privacy ahead of saving lives, and that those tapes were their only s hot at finding Hotch alive. Dr. Goldman had a genuine affection for her patients . Exigent circumstances was enough to convince her to bend her confidentiality, and the promise of a court order on her desk by morning sealed the deal. JJ had an agent dispatched to pick her up. There was over forty hours' of material betw een the separate and joint sessions; they would need Dr. Goldman to serve as an

index. Garcia's bunker was handicap accessible, it wasn't hard getting Dr. Goldman insi de. "You must be Penelope," Dr. Goldman said, offering her hand. Garcia shook it wit h a smile. "Aaron talks about us, huh?" Garcia asked. She took the boxes from the psycholog ist. "Incessantly," Dr. Goldman said with wan humor. She wheeled up next to Garcia. T he agent responsible for picking up Dr. Goldman called Valdosta to tell the prof ilers to prepare for the conference. "Hello, everyone," Dr. Goldman said when the video feed activated. "I'm Dr. Gold man. I, um, I took the forensic psychology classes for my doctorate, but it's fa r from my speciality. You'll have to tell me what you need to know." Prentiss bl inked sharply, Morgan and Reid exchanged looks. She hadn't asked for their names . "Why don't you start with why Hotch came to you for counseling?" Prentiss asked slowly. It would give them an idea what Coltrane thought Hotch's weaknesses were . "He didn't," Dr. Goldman said. "Or, at least, it wasn't his idea. Haley doesn't like sharing Aaron with the FBI to the extent his on-call status necessitates. S he thinks that he places his job ahead of her and their son. She insisted they n eeded marriage counseling and to appease her, Aaron agreed. The first counselor Haley chose does well enough with normal marital discontent and teenage rebellio n, but she is in no way qualified for a case as complex as the Hotchners. She sa id their marital troubles stemmed from Aaron's supposed control/safety-zone issu es. Her idea of treating his supposed agoraphobia was to expose him to situation s that cause him anxiety in slowly-increasing duration, like having strangers en ter his personal space uninvited or having someone hold onto Aaron from behind." Dr. Goldman leaned over and placed her hands on Garcia's upper arms in demonstr ation. "On a genuine agoraphobe that might -- and I emphasize might -- have work ed. For a case like Aaron's it was entirely counterproductive. After a few month s he refused to go back to that counselor, and since Haley insisted on continuin g counseling, he chose another. Me." "Was he cooperative?" Prentiss asked. "Not at first, no," Dr. Goldman responded. "The first month was entirely joint s essions, it wasn't until partway through the second month we decided separate se ssions would also be a good idea. During their first two appointments Aaron didn 't talk at all. Half-way through the third session I asked him if he had anythin g to add, he said he didn't, so I asked him about work as an ice-breaker. He des cribed the BAU and some of the other positions he'd held in the FBI. Haley objec ted, of course, the purpose of the counseling was to talk about their marriage n ot his job. Frankly, I was so glad to have gotten words to come out of his mouth I wasn't about to do anything that might clam him up. So for that first month, she talked about the marriage and he talked about this." Dr. Goldman gestured to the BAU. "What I don't understand," Dr. Goldman said, "is why Melinda Coltrane would both er to kidnap Aaron if she'd listened to my records. The reason Haley wanted coun seling is because she thought a therapist or psychologist would be able to 'fix' Aaron so that he'd leave the FBI. I was very clear with both Hotchners that whi le therapy could get Aaron to a place where he'd feel comfortable being separate

d from the FBI, there was no way to make him leave if he wasn't already inclined to do so." "What's the hangup?" Morgan asked. "I wouldn't call it a hangup, exactly, Agent Morgan. From a financial standpoint , Aaron doesn't have to work. He could walk out any time he likes; he doesn't ha ve to worry about having to find another job first like the rest of you. Well, m ost of you." Prentiss looked guilty. "He doesn't have to be here -- he chooses t o. Part of it is that his job is very self-rewarding from a biochemical standpoi nt. He is good at what he does, and the male brain craves nothing like it craves success. Also, like any policeman, Aaron is an adrenaline junkie." Reid raised his coffee cup in salute. Coffee stimulated the production of adrenaline in the body. "The second part is familial conditioning. He was singled out from his sib lings and viciously abused by his father, his birth mother let it happen so that his father wouldn't turn his abuse on her other children -- and she shared this information with Aaron. For a child, the message was brutally clear. The step-f amily that adored him, on the other hand, was a military family. His step-mother 's first husband was a third-generation Marine, and his step-mother's family hav e been soldiers and policeman for centuries. The bulk of their family traditions revolve around the concept of the 'Service' and having a nuclear family member serving in a life-saving capacity is considered to be a mark of pride for the ho usehold. Aaron picked up both abysmally low self-esteem from the Hotchners, and the Sheridan-Nightingale idea that saving lives is the noblest career a human be ing can choose." "So Hotch feels he has a right to exist only because he's in the FBI," Morgan sa id. "That's extremely stated," Dr. Goldman said. "It would be more accurate to say t hat being in the FBI forms the foundation of Aaron's sense of self-worth. The th ird reason is that Aaron has a habit of developing familial loyalty and feelings for people completely unrelated to him -- and masking the depth of his attachme nt when he's not certain the depth of attachment would be considered appropriate by the parties he's attached to." "For those of us playing the home game?" Garcia asked sweetly. "She's saying that Hotch cares for us like family and doesn't want to leave," Pr entiss said. "Actually, I was going out of my way not to say that," Dr. Goldman said with asp erity. "In any case, all of this is covered in my notes. Any one of these factor s would make it difficult to forcibly separate Aaron from the BAU. The three tog ether make it impossible: Haley has tried and failed to the point of resigned de speration." "We know Coltrane wants Hotch as a mate," Morgan said. "So the question is, now that she's got the man out of the BAU, what would she do to get the BAU out of t he man?" Part 13 The opening of the cabin door jerked Hotch from sleep. He immediately closed his eyes, watching through slits as Coltrane put some food and a block of ice in th e cooler. She stoked the fire, then picked up a bed pan and approached the bed. "Good morning," she said, sitting on the bed. Hotch opened his eyes. His body wa s stiff with cold and discomfort. His joints ached. Coltrane undid his pants and slid them down, then positioned the bed pan beneath him. "Call when you're fini

shed." Hotch had no other choice but to obey, and again endured being wiped clea n like an infant. Breakfast was yogurt with granola. Coltrane petted his hair wh ile she fed him. "Would it be possible," Aaron asked mildly, "for you to cuff me in a different p osition? My shoulders are killing me." "I can't," Coltrane said softly. "I don't have enough cuffs." "What happened to the set you used on my right leg yesterday?" "Now that would be telling," Coltrane said coyly. A kiss was pressed to his temp le. Hotch barely kept his lips from thinning. He was getting tired of being touc hed without invitation by a murderer who doubtlessly had her next victim in mind -- if not in custody.Don't antagonize the psychopath, Hotch. Just let it go."But I can give you this." She held up a bottle of Ibuprofen. She peeled off the saf ety wrappers and the cotton cushioning, then dumped three of the little sepia pi lls in her hand. She pulled a water bottle from the flat and let him see her rem ove the safety wrap. Hotch raised his eyebrows. Coltrane smiled. "You're paranoid," Coltrane said. "I understand, though. The world is a tough pl ace. It's hard to know who to trust." Coltrane held up the pills. Hotch opened h is mouth and took them. He drank most of the water. "Do you plan to keep me here forever?" he asked conversationally. "Not forever," Coltrane said. "Just long enough." Coltrane took a sip of water. "Tell me, my dearest Aaron, did you enjoy my gifts?" "I wouldn't say enjoyment was the right word," Hotch said carefully. Repulsion, guilt, sorrow: those were closer. Not that he could afford to say them. "Satisfaction, then?" "No," Hotch said. He didn't like where this was going. Not at all. "No?" Coltrane raised her eyebrows. She shifted to kneel by the bed, her chin pr opped up on one hand. "Are you certain? James Wolfe toyed with your affections t o gain access to your body, and once he'd had his fill he got rid of you." "That wasn't how it happened," Hotch protested. That version of events was a pet ty, ego-soothing rationalization and nothing more. Not that he hadn't thought it once or twice. That's what made hearing Coltrane say it so disturbing. "I'm not interested in what you tell yourself to make it all okay in your head," Coltrane growled. "I'm interested in the truth. The truth is that he wanted a p iece of this," Coltrane grabbed hard what buttock she could reach, "and wasn't a bove playing you for a fool to get it. Elizabeth capitalized on your pain. And M rs. Miller never noticed she had something rare and special right in front of he r nose. No matter how many excuses you make for them or how many times you forgi ve them because that's what you're 'supposed' to do, don't tell me you aren't ju st a littlesatisfiedthey got what was coming to them." Hotch kept silent. Anything he might say -- about taking no joy in death, about trusting in the law, about the consequences of vigilantism being too high -- wou ld only sound like hallow justifications. "How would you feel if it was Haley's corpse I gave you?" The bottom dropped out of his stomach. The extra set of handcuffs.

No, Morgan had seen to Haley's security personally. If Derek said she and Jack w ere covered, they were covered. "How about that vigilante in New York? No jury would have convicted him. He'd st ill be out killing if you hadn't gotten there first. How does that feel?" Coltra ne asked implacably. "He had a gun pointed at Jason." He'd been asked the question before: by himself , by his union rep, by the IA agent who reviewed the case. Jason had never belie ved his answer. "He was handing his weapon over," Coltrane maintained. "That's not what Ted Elmore and his wife said," Hotch said sharply. "If I'd exec uted a suspect I'd be in jail. I was cleared. It was a good shoot." "It was that all right," Coltrane said with a smug smile. "By that reasoning, th ough, Elle would be innocent. So was she? Was her kill 'a good shoot'?" Hotch cl enched his jaw and looked away. Even after a year, Elle Greenaway was painful. H e'd failed his every responsibility to her: by sending her home instead of keepi ng her in the protected BAU building, by not giving Anderson proper directions, by putting her in a situation she wasn't ready for, and by not being able to hol d her accountable. She and William Lee had paid the price for his negligence. "How about I fly down to Vegas and bring her here? Put a bullet in her chest tha t will finish the job. Hell, I could even use your gun." "Don't you dare!" Hotch snarled, his eyes flying open.She's pushing your buttons, Hotch, you dumb shit!Hotch clung to that Derek-like voice. He clamped his mouth shut again. Answering in this kind of headspace would only give her another weak ness to exploit. "What would you do if I did?" Coltrane purred, infuriatingly all-knowing. "Would you kill me? Would you shoot me here," she laid a hand on her breast, "or hold me down and wrap your hands around my neck? What would you do to someone who kil led one of your puppies right in front of your eyes, hm, my dearest Aaron?" He c ould picture their deaths, he'd seen them all in his nightmares. "Would you reve l in the feel of life draining from his body like the life drained from your dea r agent?" Coltrane slid onto him, straddling his hips and leaning forward. Her h air draped like a curtain around her face. "Tell me, my dearest Aaron, if Garner had murdered Elle Greenaway after you sent her home like a lamb to the slaughte r, would he have survived long enough to detonate that bomb? Or would you have s pattered his brains on that ridiculously expensive chair?" Hotch's heart was pounding. He'd wanted to. Garner, Henkel, Shepherd: he'd wante d to make certain they couldn't hurt anyone like that again, but he hadn't. He d idn't. "Admit it, my love, what you know in your deepest heart. If I brought your prodi gal puppy here and shot her, you'd kill even me. Picture it with that fertile im agination of yours -- the sound of the shot, the smell of gunpowder, the shocked look on her pretty face as her lungs spatter on the wall and her blood stains h er blouse. You didn't save her then, you wouldn't have saved her now. Now tell m e, darling, what you would do to me for killing her for the second time." Don't answer. Control. Don't answer!"Nothing gives one person so much advantage o ver another as to remain always cool and unruffled under all circumstances," Tho mas Jefferson had said, but barring that Larry Morey would do: "if you don't hav e anything nice to say, then you shouldn't say anything at all."

Even if he could imagine it so clearly he could feel the murderous hatred contam inating his blood like poisoned mead. "You and I? We're just the same." Coltrane rested her hands on his chest, leanin g down to whisper in his ear. "You are your father's son, after all." Hotch ngth. like away st. jerked violently, trying to throw her off or pull a bar free by brute stre He couldn't tell. He'd settle for either. Coltrane laughed. The sound felt it was setting his brain on fire.CONTROL. Don't answer.Hotch turned his face and closed his eyes again. His pulse was racing, his breathing hard and fa

"You can pretend otherwise. You've fooled enough people. But here, there's no pr etense. Only confession." Coltrane caressed his cheek. Hotch tried to pull away. "How do you think you find us, Aaron, my dearest? Serial killers make the best p rofilers, and you are the best profiler in the BAU, my dearest Aaron. Think abou t it. If you were really the harmless, tamed pet you pretend to be, why do you t hink Haley's always shopping around, hm? She knows what she married and it was n ot what she wanted. She married a wolf, not a dog. It's the hunt that keeps you in the BAU, my sweet." Coltrane circled a nipple with one finger. "Go to Hell," Hotch rasped. Control, control, control, if his "pups" were ever t o find him alive. He couldn't give in to her mindgames, no matter how skillfully they were played. No matter how badly he was already losing to this mouthpiece of all his self-doubts. "You wouldn't be nearly so upset if it wasn't true. There's never smoke without fire." There was nothing but reasonableness in her voice. "You didn't mind it wh en Perotta offed Barnes, did you?" Coltrane pinched the tit she'd been playing w ith. "Go on, my love, tell me you weren't the least bit happy that Barnes couldn 't hurt you -- or anyone else -- again." "Go to Hell," Hotch rasped again. Coltrane sighed. "You... are incredibly stubborn." She pulled a vial and a needle from her bag, f illed the needle, and held his arm still when he struggled. She slowly injected the sedative. Almost immediately Aaron felt his head start to swim. "I had hoped it wouldn't come to this. Sweet dreams, my dearest." ~*~ The lightbulb, the chair, the stove, the door. Aaron was groggy. He slowly moved his neck, panning his gaze from ceiling to doo r. He was cuffed and tied to a chair. There was tarp beneath him and tarp draped over his lap. It itched where it touched his bare stomach. The lightbulb, the chair, the stove, the door. Reality bent, then snapped into place. Oh, God. Dear God. Please, God, because e ven an atheist was allowed to plead with the nonexistent Almighty when he was th is screwed. Coltrane played headgames like she played everything else: to win. Here, there's no pretense. Only confession. No headstones, no poachings this time. No cameras to link him to his team. He wa s alone.

Hotch tried to move his feet. They were bound together, but not to the chair. He had a weapon. A clumsy, on-shot weapon, but a weapon nonetheless. His pulse jum ped. "Do you know where you are now?" Coltrane asked. Hotch nodded. She wouldn't have asked if his face hadn't already betrayed him. "I'm not surprised it took you t his long. I did a lot of summer cleaning; removing the granite, vacuuming up the rat turds, cleaning the filth from the windows. Taking down the crime tape and those hideous curtains." Coltrane knelt before him, looking up at him with cool brown eyes. "Dr. Reid found out what he was made of here. Now it's your turn. "You told Dr. Goldman Dr. Reid chose you to die. Your team must have thought his choice upset you. You give of heart and time and soul to all of them, to Dr. Re id, and he made you a sacrifice to save himself." Coltrane was doing this delibe rately, calling up the helpless horror of that case. As if he needed any help re membering. "How could they know the post of sacrificial lamb wasn't even remotel y new to you?" Hotch kept silent. "Your mother," Coltrane said, tracing his belly with one finger, "refused police protection. She refused the safehouse, too. I don't think she could stomach adm itting there was a wrong to be avenged." Hotch couldn't control his pulse, the s udden shallowness of his breathing. "Not Anna, of course. She has nothing to ans wer for, and even if she did, she is too practical to refuse such a sensible pre caution." "No," Hotch said flatly, as if verbal refutation could somehow alter reality. Coltrane merely smiled, pulling on a pair of gloves. She injected his left arm w ith a clear liquid. "What are you doing?" Hotch demanded. "Teaching you a lesson," Coltrane said. She put her equipment away and stripped off her gloves. "Like I said, this is the place for finding out exactly what you are made of. You, my dearest, are going to be stripped of your lies and your fa cade of legality. You had an excuse in New York. There were witnesses in Los Ang eles. Here, there will be neither." Coltrane caressed his cheek. Hotch pulled aw ay. "You belong to me, my dearest. Once you stop lying to yourself, you'll see t hat." "Maybe the people you killed deserved to die," Hotch said with certainty. "Maybe they didn't. That's irrelevant. The rule of law does not allow for us to run ar ound murdering each other, and without the rule of law there would be anarchy. T hen there would be no justice for anyone." "There isn't justice for anyone now," Coltrane said. "Maximillian Cochrane paid for what he did to you," Hotch said simply. Coltrane' s eyes darkened. "Only because of you," she said. Coltrane uncuffed the arm she'd injected. Aaron tried to move it. He couldn't. The liquid must have been some kind of potent lo cal anesthetic. She left the shed. He heard muffled cries and the rustle of gravel. The door opened, and Coltrane d ragged Cordelia Hotchner inside. His mother was gagged and blindfolded. Her ankl es were tied with thin rope and her wrists were cuffed in front of her. One high heel was missing. Her pink suit was torn and dirty. She was crying. Hotch clenc

hed his functioning fist in anger. She was his mother, for all the times she hur t him and infuriated him. Coltrane had no right. "Now," Coltrane said. She pulled off the blindfold. Cordelia screeched through h er gag. "It's time for me to see that you receive justice." "Melinda, don't," Hotch commanded. Coltrane dragged Cordelia to plant her at her son's feet. "Shh," Coltrane said. "No witnesses, no excuses -- and no lies." Hotch tried aga in to move his useless, numbed arm. It was resolutely still. Coltrane pulled the gag from Cordelia's mouth. Cordelia screamed. Coltrane stepped back to pull a g un from her satchel. Hotch didn't acknowledge his mother. He needed to minimize her value as a target. "Melinda, listen to me," Hotch said, even and commanding. "You do not need to do this--" "She stood by and let you be beaten every day!" Coltrane argued. "When Anna repo rted your father, she helped cover it up. She was already divorced. Her son came home covered in bruises and flinching from an upraised hand, and she did nothin g. Because her other children and the family's reputation were more important to her than you." "And Anna's more important to me," Hotch snapped. "Cordelia doesn't actuallymatt er. The only reason I call her 'Mother' at all is basic courtesy. Anna is my mot her." Cordelia bowed her head, her terrified sobbing turning to a mournful weepi ng. "Look at me! FBI, dining with my lowborn crew in common chain restaurants an d sleeping in cheap motels every other week or more. No politics, no power, and I'm not even a blip on the social register. My house is the only thing that 'bef its my station' and that was Haley's idea. I'm Anna Sheridan's son, not hers, an d she is reminded of that every time she sees me."Sorry, Mother. "A living revenge," Coltrane said flatly. "Tell me, my love, do you think I'm st upid?" "No," Hotch said sincerely. "Not even Gideon could have laid a better trap for m e." "If she matters so little to you, why try to convince me she deserves to live?" "She's a civilian," Hotch said. "You said it yourself. It's my vocation." "She doesn't deserve your protection!" Coltrane spat. "She isn't threatening the life of another human being, and she isn't resisting arrest with force." "A policeman's rules," Coltrane said dismissively. "She deserves to die for what she did to you." "She deserves to lose custody of her son," Hotch replied. "And that's already ha ppened." "I'm not talking about the law. I'm talking about justice." "They're the same thing," Hotch argued. "It's the Social Contract. We give up ou r right to take revenge in order to form an objective, authorized justice system that protects us all. In the state of nature, might makes right. If I'm strong enough to take your things or rape you, then I have the right and there is nothi

ng you can do. Under the rule - punishes me on your behalf. her we had the Inquisition or any vigilantes kill the wrong

of law, society -- the police and the government Calmly, with deliberation and proof. Would you rat the Salem witch-trials for a justice system? How m person, Melinda?"

"I never did. Neither would you." "We all have to play by the rules if we are all to be protected." "And those your rules do not protect?" Coltrane asked. "What of them?" "We're only human," Hotch said with soul-deep conviction. "We can't say 'never a gain' because we just don't have the power. But we can say 'not this time.' A ma n killing for thirty years? Not this time. We stopped him at five. Making two mi llion stealing a man's child and holding her for ransom? Not this time. We found the girl. Molesting children? Not this time. That victim was the last. For the next twenty-five years your blockmates are going to be making your life a living Hell. "The corrupt say that you can't save the world so you shouldn't even try. But wo rlds can be small as well as large, as small as a single life, Melinda! If enoug h of those small worlds are saved-- It's only when we let ourselves be broken th at we lose." "Then I will break you here," Coltrane promised. "What are you going to do? Torture me?" Hotch asked. "If physical pain was sufficient to the cause, your father would have done the j ob already." Coltrane set her firearm aside and drew a knife from behind her bac k. She grabbed Cordelia's hair and pulled her close to Hotch's lap. "You are goi ng to kill. And after each kill, I will give you an opiate I procured during my time as a hospital cleaning service worker. Opiates are highly addictive, and un like nicotine, the withdrawals do not fade. They merely kill you. Tell me, Aaron , is your will strong enough to resist death becoming synonymous with that pleas ure you most crave and the end of the most agonizing pain you've ever experience d?" It wasn't, and he knew it. Aaron's fingertips tingled and his mouth was dry. Eve n if she switched him from opiates to methadone to halt the destructive spiral o f opiate addiction, she would still be able to control him simply by withholding the methadone until he acquiesced. And hewouldacquiesce. Dilaudid had one of the lowest dependence liabilities of any narcotic and look what had almost become of Reid. Good-willed people who took no joy in death killed for drugs all the time . Hotch swallowed. He would give his body to her as well, willingly, anything to keep her happy and the drugs coming. He would have no control. That terrified h im, even more than the thought of the lives he would take. Coltrane knew it, too. She was smiling. "Or we could skip that part," she said. "You could just give yourself freely. Yo u're going to kill anyway, so why make it hard on yourself?" "Why end up your crack-whore, you mean," Hotch said. He moved his legs to the si de, a demure pose that would give him enough leverage to stand. He lowered his e yes submissively. His good hand gripped the arm it was cuffed to. "If you want to think of it that way. I prefer to think of it as cleansing you o f the FBI's brainwashing."

Hotch pivoted at the waist, whipping the chair up and over Cordelia's head to br ing it down as hard as he could across Coltrane's torso. His hips, shoulder, and wrist complained bitterly. Hotch ignored it, bringing the chair back up in a vi cious backhand. Coltrane dropped to the floor, breathing hard and clutching her ribs. He was too hobbled to walk, much less run, so he settled for dropping to h is knees in an ungraceful scrabble for the gun lying on the cooler. His left arm was dead weight. Coltrane grabbed the chair and pulled. Hotch's arm went out from under him. He f elt the pain in his nose, tasted blood, and twisted onto his side. He curled his legs up. Coltrane's kick landed on his shins instead of his groin. Hotch pulled back on the chair. Coltrane let go and Hotch gave into the momentum, twisting t o bring his legs up and out. Coltrane's midriff was solid under his feet. Hotch pulled away, rolling up onto his knees and swinging the chair again. He didn't c onnect, Coltrane had moved aside, but he swung the chair again anyway. "Get the gun!" Hotch shouted to Cordelia, who was screaming in a useless heap on the tarp. Hotch moved forward on his knees as much as e. Coltrane was hunched over in pain, she'd he was favoring her left arm, but it wasn't right arm and dived. Her fingers closed on ordelia's hand landed on the white plastic. curled against her belly and panting. he could, trying to buy more distanc taken three blows to the torso and s enough. She pushed herself up on her the butt of the gun. Seconds later C Coltrane stepped back, her left arm

Aaron dropped his arm. The chair lay useless on its side. They both heard the crunch of gravel. A heavy boot losing its footing and then f reezing in place, afraid of the noise it had created. "Your team is smarter than I thought," Coltrane said, bringing up the weapon. Red flowers bloomed on her blouse with loud cracks like contained explosions. Ho tch couldn't hear anything else, not even his blood in his ears. His chest hurt. At first he thought it was with sadness at the waste: what Melinda could have b een versus what she was, the memory of the woman who had cried on his suit mingl ed with the woman who had stripped him of it. Then Hotch looked down. Melinda had left him one, last rose; burned and bleeding in the fair skin of his chest. Part 14 "If I had just thought of it sooner--" Reid said miserably, staring at the waiti ng room's cool green carpet. His elbows were resting on his knees, his head hung forward. He'd paced himself out. JJ said next to him on a cushioned maroon chai r. Emily and Morgan paced behind them. Anna Sheridan, James and Lana Nightingale , and Anthony Irons sat together a little to the BAU's left. Sean and Garcia wer e on their way. Elaine's flight wouldn't leave for another hour. Elaine Nighting ale didn't know if she was coming for a recovery or for a funeral, but she was c oming nonetheless. Vivian and Mark Lee stood next to Cordelia's chair on the far side of the room. Reid didn't know if David Hotchner was coming or not. He didn 't really care. Detective Farraday paced in the center of the room, separated by his own feelings of guilt more than anyone else's feeling of blame. It was his man's clumsiness that had tipped Coltrane off. "No, don't you even," Morgan said flatly. "There was no way Coltrane would have

given Hotch up. No matter when we got there." Reid checked the clock. Three and a half hours of surgery, and still no word. No t even a nurse. Was that a good or a bad thing? Spencer closed his eyes, remembering the texture of Hotch's mouth, the taste of salt and skin. Hotch couldn't die. Spencer wanted more from Hotch than one passi onate, comfort-filled kiss. He wanted to make Aaron happy, to love him like he s hould be loved instead of what he'd contented himself with with Haley. Hotch had as good as promised him a chance to make it happen someday, when Aaron was read y. A dead man could never be ready. Another family sat in the corner opposite the Hotchners. A man, a woman, two chi ldren, two old men, and an old woman. The eldest child was fascinated by the sma ll fountain in the center of the waiting room. Reid supposed the sound of fallin g water was supposed to soothe. A nurse entered the waiting room. Everyone in the room held their breath. The bl ack woman approached the family in the corner and laid one gloved hand on one of the old men's shoulders. "She'll be fine," the nurse said. The family erupted into smiles and tears. The Hotchners, the Sheridans, and the BAU turned away. They tried not to resent the happiness too much. The world couldn't stop just because Hotch's heart might. Emily's phone rang. She opened it and looked at the display. Whatever she saw in furiated her. Her face darkened, her lips thinned, and she threw her cell phone like a fastball into the fountain. It skittered and sparked as it sank beneath t he surface. "If anyone asks, I accidentally dropped my cell phone into the fountain twenty m inutes ago," Emily said bitterly. She began pacing an arc from Reid's chair to A nna's and back, her arms folded beneath her breasts and eyes on the carpet. She only glanced up to look at the clock. No one pressed her for answers. They simpl y sank back into the uncomfortable cocoons of their own worry. A tall, Middle-eastern man in surgical scrubs entered the room. "Agent Hotchner is out of critical condition," he said. "We have him stabilized and the bullet removed. He's still unconscious, but his family may see him when he awakes." "That's everyone in this room, Doctor," Anna said, her voice thick with relief. The doctor watched the hugs and smiles exchanged around the room and nodded once . He departed. Cordelia stood and began gathering her coat. "We can call you when he's awake," Prentiss offered, more out of politeness than any real compassion. Morgan and Reid glared balefully. "That won't be necessary," Cordelia said stiffly. "I doubt he will wish to see m e." "Cordelia," Anna said, "you can't put any stock in whatever Aaron said in that c abin. Everything he said or did there was to get the uns-- criminal-- to do what he wanted." "She's right," JJ said. "Manipulation is part of a profiler's training." "A profiler," Cordelia spat. "Spare me your false sympathy, Anna. You won. Aaron is your son, it's your family's values he will be passing on to Jack, and you'r

e the one he looks to as a mother. Just enjoy your victory gracefully." "It wasn't a contest," Anna said dully. "What did you expect, Cordelia? You never even apologized," James said angrily. "I have never apologized in my entire life," Cordelia said haughtily. "That's the problem," Anna said. "I did the best I could." "Neither of us did," Anna said, looking down at the carpet. Cordelia swept from the room. "You didn't have to say that, James," Vivian said reproachfully, then rushed aft er her mother. Mark followed. "If I had it to do over," Anna confessed bitterly, dropping her head into her ha nds, "I would have run away with my children and Aaron. I had access to some of the money, enough to buy new identities. I just never had the balls to risk a ki dnapping charge." "You stood up to Hotch's father even though you knew it was physically impossibl e for you to win one fight," Reid said without looking up. "You tried to report what was happening to the authorities. That counted -- counts -- a lot for Hotch ." "Sometimes," Anna said, pushing herself up off her chair, "I think Allen is laug hing in his grave." She left the waiting room, whether in search of Cordelia or privacy they didn't know. ~*~ When Aaron awoke, the Sheridans visited first. The Hotchners -- including Haley, at Vivian and David's insistence -- went second, and then the team was allowed in. Jack was firmly planted between Hotch's ribs and the arm not hooked up to IV s, clinging to his father's bicep with one hand and holding a blue bottle with t he other. His brown eyes were wide and -- if Reid wasn't imaging things -- fille d with stubbornness. "It's m'own fault," Hotch murmured somnolently, his eyes half-lidded. "I insiste d on holding 'im 'n'e refused to leave. Kicked me in th'stitches when 'aley trie d to pull 'im off. Easier to leave 'm here till he falls 'sleep." "How are you feeling?" JJ asked solicitously, pulling a chair up to the hospital bed. "No pain. Good drugs," Hotch said. "'M tellin' you, if my legs 'adn't been tied 'n one arm numb 'n th'other cuffed to a chair -- would've kicked 'er ass." "Keep tellin' yourself that, Tiger," Morgan said, leaning against a cupboard. "Mm," Hotch murmured. His eyes slid closed and stayed that way. His breathing wa s even and slow. "We should stay," Garcia said, taking Morgan's arm. "To make sure Jack doesn't p ull anything out." It would only take one to do the job, but they all stayed anyway. After fifteen minutes Jack dozed off. Reid left the hospital room to summon Anna. Anna managed

to extricate Jack without waking either party -- not that anything short of a t rain wreck could have woken Hotch -- and Hotch was left alone to rest. The team would have liked to stay until Hotch was well enough to be transported home, but Strauss would have no part of it. Detective Farraday bought them an ex tra day by demanding a thorough update as to what exactly had precipitated the B AU's sudden involvement in his jurisdiction -- a request the BAU had to honor ou t of courtesy, of course. Strauss knew damn well she was being played, but there wasn't much she could do. Farraday's demand was on file and Emily's cell was th oroughly out of commission. Hotch was much more coherent on the evening before the team's departure, propped up on pillows with the bed inclined. His pea-green hospital gown sallowed his c omplexion and the days' of stubble on his chin made him look like a sort of Cind erella -- or Cinderedgar -- vagabond. "When you live in a glass house, you're going to be caught in the shower sometim e," Hotch said with wry fatalism when he was told of Dr. Goldman's help. "Good w ork, all of you. Coltrane was certain Marshall Parish was the one place you woul d never look." "We've read The Purloined Letter, Hotch," Reid said with a small smile. "Speak for yourself, braniac," Morgan said, giving Reid's shoulder a shove. "The rest of us used Cliff's Notes." "Anyway," JJ said with exaggerated patience, drawing a brown paper package tied with ribbon from behind her back. "We got you this--" "Made it, actually," Reid chimed in. "--It was supposed to be for your birthday," JJ continued doggedly, ignoring the interruption, "but all things considered, we thought it was better to give it t o you now." "You didn't have to," Hotch protested reflexively, taking the package. "No str-" "NoSound of Musicreferences, or we take it back," Morgan commanded. The women roll ed their eyes. Hotch twisted the package around to pick at the ribbon knots. Hotch made a curious, anticipatory sound as he finally untied the ribbon, like a ten year-old at Christmas, and that was half the fun of giving Hotch presents. It was one of the few times he gave himself permission to be expressive. Not tha t he could be anything but expressive with the drugs he was on: morphine always blew Hotch's famous control straight to Hell. Hotch pulled back the butchered Sa feway bag and removed the 12x12 black scrapbook. His face clouded with puzzlemen t, then fell in shock when he opened the album and saw the faces of his first th ree cases staring back at him with their names written in black ink. Black ribbo n surrounded each picture on the fawn-colored parchment paper. "They got the idea from the pictures in Gideon's office," Prentiss said. "We've -- they've -- we've -- It's been a year in the making." Hotch emitted a wet, choking sound. He turned the pages, the fawn-colored paper of his cases changing to the gray parchment and white ribbon of the victims he'd rescued as an FBI agent. The people he'd saved in the BAU were on black paper w ith gold ribbon. Hotch made the sound again, bringing a hand up to cover his mou th.

"Oooo," Garcia cooed mistily, pulling tissues from the paperboard box and divvyi ng them up between herself and Aaron. "We made Hotchcry!" "Reid told us about the Reasons," Morgan said softly. "And that Haley never allo wed one." Hotch tilted his head back and wiped his cheeks with the damp Kleenex. "I'm sorry," he said shakily. "I'm always so-- emotional-- on morphine." "You're lucky we have to fly out tonight," JJ said. "Otherwise I'd bringThe Noteb ook." "Where the Red Fern Grows," Prentiss suggested, "orFor Rosanna." "Don't you dare," Hotch said, trying to be threatening while bringing his shudde ry breathing under control. "I had-- chest surgery-- waterworks are-- out of the question." "You're on morphine," JJ scoffed, smiling wickedly. "You can take it." "You're flying out," Hotch said. He carefully picked up the Reason and moved to set it on the nightstand. Reid took it from him, taking the opportunity to surre ptitiously caress his fingertips. Tapered, callused, and colder than normal -- b ut not waxy with death. "You'll still be on morphine for a while when you get back to DC," Prentiss said . "That'll give us enough time to dig up some really good ones." "'S bad as Elaine," Hotch griped, playing with the crumpled tissue. "You're not getting a Christmas bonus if you-- take advantage of the fact I can'tgoanywhere." "Oh, you're all bark," Reid said, waving his hand in utter dismissal of Hotch's threat. "Intimidation works better when your eyes aren't all red from crying like a nine year-old girl," Morgan said with a merciless smile. "I can't reach him. Would you?" Hotch asked. Prentiss smacked Morgan on the back of the head. "Supervisor's pet," Morgan accused. "We've got a plane to get on," JJ said with a full-body eyeroll. "We'll see you back in DC." Even knowing what they knew, even after giving him his long-forbidd en Reason, none of the team quite had the balls to hug Hotch. They settled for g rasping an arm or hand in temporary farewell before leaving the hospital room. T hey left a warm silence behind. Aaron pulled the Reason back onto his lap. He flipped through the pages, scannin g for his final year as a DDA. They hadn't removed Melinda's picture. Brown hair, brown eyes, and a radiant smi le, full of the trusting optimism that had made her easy prey for Maximillian Co chrane. She didn't even look like the same person who had so calmly held a gun t o a baby's chest. Hotch caressed the photo with his fingertips. The memories of being Melinda's lawyer and confidant seeped out of their tightly-sealed containe r in his mind, poisoning the clear water of his thoughts. Aaron didn't try to st op it. There was no reason to compartmentalize anymore. Melinda had been the Pri nce Charming Killer's first victim, and now the Prince Charming Killer was as de

ad as Melinda had ever been. Aaron pressed his palms to his face to catch the silent drops. He'd done his bes t. With Allen and Cordelia and David and Vivian, Melinda and Elle and Jason, Jam es and Elizabeth and Haley: given it his all and failed anyway, then gotten up a nd done it all again. He had counted out Robert Frost's endless repetition, runn ing on sheer stubbornness when strength gave out, trying desperately to say "yes , I will" just one more time than they could say "no, you won't." Was that bravery, or insanity? He didn't know. And did it even matter? Aaron reverentially turned the pages of his Reason. Peop le were alive who wouldn't have been otherwise, as were all their future descend ants. That was worth slaying a few dragons. Or tilting at windmills. ~*~ "Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day that says, 'I'll try again tomorrow.'" -- Mary Anne Radmacher