Written by Montiese,lairofthemuses@LJ.
Note: Emily is in her 50's and Hotch in his 60's.
They have teenage children.
Sabrina "Bree" is their daughter and about 15 years old.
The One Where Hotch is Forced to Let the Demons In
“Knock, knock,” Bree poked her head into her parents’ bedroom. “Hey Daddy, can we…oh my God, what happened to you?”
Hotch stood beside his bed with his back to his daughter. He turned to see the horrified look in her hazel eyes. Sighing, he slipped the tee shirt he’d been holding in his hand over his head.
“What do you need, sweetie?” he tried to sound nonchalant.
“Daddy, what happened to you?”
He could hear the tears in her voice. There was a reason his children had never seen him topless. While they didn’t seem to think anything strange about that, what kid ever thought about their parents topless, Hotch had a very good reason for it. He was facing that reason right now.
“Come in here, sweetie; sit down.”
Bree did as he asked, sitting on the side of her parents’ bed. She looked at her father and he saw so much of the woman he loved in her face. Hotch couldn’t help but take her face in his hands and hold onto it. He knew he had a tendency to be paranoid and overbearing but if anything ever happened to her, he was sure he and Emily would never recover from it. He loved all of his children, would never pick a favorite, but Sabrina was so special to him. Maybe it was because she was a pint-sized version of Emily.
“It was a long time ago.” Hotch sat down on the bed beside her.
“How long ago?”
“It happened before you were born; even before I met your mother. It started in 1998 when I was new to the BAU. It was my very first case. They called him The Reaper; he was working out of Boston. I got the assignment and tried to construct a profile but it wasn’t an easy task.”
“Why not?” Bree asked. “You do profiles all the time.”
“Well it was my first case but it wasn’t just that. The Reaper is what behavioral analysts call an Omnivore. That means he doesn’t have a specific victim type. Everyone has the potential to be a victim so it’s hard to nail down the Unsub based on victimology. Right in the middle of the case, the killings stopped. The Reaper disappeared.”
“Uncle Dave says serial killers never stop…they’re compulsive.”
“He’s right, but control is what gets them high and a decade later I found out just what kind of control he was wielding. I went to Boston at the request of the lead detective on the old case. He was dying and needed to talk to me. He received a letter from The Reaper in 1998 saying if the police stopped hunting him he would stop the killings. The detective, Tom Shaunessy, decided he couldn’t pass it up. Now he was dying and knew The Reaper would come back. He wanted me to stop him.”
“Did you?”
“I tried, sweetie. I took the team to Boston and we worked the case. Unfortunately, more people had to die while we did our best to construct a profile. One night at the hotel, I got a phone call telling me that if I stopped hunting him…”
“No, Daddy,” Bree looked at him again. “You don’t make deals with scum.”
“That’s right, baby,” Hotch stroked her cheek. “I told him to shove his deal…I was coming to get him. We worked night and day and finally figured out his identity. George Foyet was ironically the only survivor of the Reaper attacks a decade before.”
“He attacked himself?”
“Yeah. His injuries were so severe, he nearly died. Foyet had gone into hiding, supposedly deathly afraid of what the Reaper might do to him. We caught him and put him in prison.”
“If he’s in prison then how did he hurt you?” Bree asked.
“He escaped and came after me. He feared me, Sabrina, because I never gave him the control he desperately needed. He tried to break me by stabbing me nine times.”
She started to cry and that broke Hotch’s heart. He took her into his arms, holding her until the tears subsided.
“He knew exactly what he was doing…knew it wouldn’t kill me. He dropped me off at a hospital and that’s where your mom found me. Then he went after my family.”
“Mom?”
“No,” Hotch shook his head. “We weren't married yet though I spent many sleepless nights worrying she might be a target. He went after Jack and his mom. We had to put them in protective custody so they wouldn’t be hurt. I couldn’t talk to him, see him, or even know where he was for months. I missed his fourth birthday. It was an agonizing time.”
“Just tell me that you caught that bastard.” Bree let her anger overshadow her use of a profane word in front of her father.
“George Foyet is dead. He is never going to hurt another family and that’s worth the scars I bear.”
“They look awful.”
“They felt that way too. I know sometimes you think that I'm overprotective and possibly crazy but that’s some of the reason why. I know there are people out there who hurt others just because; no rhyme or reason. Sociopaths are real, baby, and I know their pathology first hand.”
The teenager nodded, wiping the tears from her eyes and face. She looked at him again.
“That’s why I can't call you Daddy when I answer my cell phone, isn’t it?” She asked. She always wondered where that strange rule that Hotch enforced came from.
“Exactly. Someone could’ve stolen my cell and be trying to find you. I know this is a lot to take in…I never wanted to tell you about this.”
“I promise not to complain anymore when I think you're being crazy. I promise never to make fun of Georgeann Hawkins again.”
“Hey, hey,” Hotch held her hand. “The only thing you need to promise me is that you're always going to be you. If that changes then these stab wounds are in vain.”
“What do you mean?”
“Mom and I do the working and the worrying. We do it so you guys can feel happy and safe. Of course we want you to know there are bad people out there. We want you to know the signs and follow your instincts but we never want to scare you out of living. We did what we did for all those years, sacrificed, to make the world a safer place for you guys.”
“I know.” Bree nodded.
“So you came to talk to me and I know you didn’t want to discuss that.” Hotch put on a smile. “What’s happening?”
“Well, my birthday is coming up and I was hoping…”
“That you could mutilate your face with a nose ring?”
“Daddy!”
Hotch was grateful to see the grin spread across her face. He knew his daughter well; she was moving everything around in her head. She was placing things in appropriate boxes and putting away what she didn’t want to look at anymore. Sabrina was definitely her mother’s child. He watched the light come back to her eyes and that made him feel better. He never wanted to tell her that story but he had and it was over. How they moved on from it was most important.
“I've had a little time to think about it. Your mom said it was all you wanted.”
“It really is.” Bree’s voice was hopeful.
“If it’s all you want, I find it difficult to say no. If you really want the nose ring, you can get the nose ring.”
“Oh my God!” his daughter squealed, throwing herself in his arms. “Oh my God, Daddy, oh my God! Thank you, thank you, thank you. I love you so much. I really, really do.”
“I love you too, Sabrina. I'm just going to ask for a little concession.”
“Anything.” She promised, not caring what it was.
“Don’t even think about another piercing or any other form of body modification until after your 18th birthday.” Hotch replied.
“Deal.” Bree hugged him again. Hotch held her tight, kissing her cheeks and forehead. “I love you, Daddy.”
“I love you too.”
“Hey, I thought we were going for a walk.” Emily came into the bedroom. She wore sneakers, jeans, and an American University tee shirt. In her hands was a windbreaker.
“Sorry Mom, I just came to talk.” Sabrina jumped into her mother’s arms. “Daddy’s going to let me get my nose ring.”
“Really? You're excited, huh?”
“I'm stoked! I need to call Blair and Tina.” She turned again to her father. “Thanks, Daddy, I love you; for this and everything else.”
“You're welcome, love.”
Bree rushed down the hall and Emily smiled at her husband.
“I don’t think I've ever seen her so animated. You might have made her millennium, Hotch.”
“I told her about George Foyet.” He replied, his smile fading.
“What? We made a promise…we do not bring demons into this house. What were you thinking?”
“She walked in on me without a shirt. It upset her; she asked me what happened.”
“You could’ve…” Emily stopped herself before saying he could’ve made something up. They didn’t do that with their kids. Even the hard truths were better than making things up. What could he have said anyway? Foyet seriously scarred him, and not just physically. While it was a sight Emily was used to, for better or worse, she shuddered imagining how it mortified their child. “That’s why you said yes to the nose ring?”
“It hurt me to the pit of my stomach but it was the least I could do. If I had to snatch away a little piece of her idyllic childhood I could live with the silly nose ring. Seeing her happy face made it worth it.”
“I need to talk to her.” Emily said, turning to leave the room.
“No,” Hotch came over, put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around. “Give her time to be excited with her friends and to let it all process. We’ll go out for our walk as planned; you can talk to Bree when we come back. I think the both of us could use some cool air.” He took the windbreaker, slipped her arms through it, and grabbed his jacket from the chair.
“Alright.” Emily held his hand. She kissed it as they went downstairs and out the door. It was a beautiful late April afternoon. They could smell the rain in the air but for now it was partly cloudy with a cool spring breeze blowing through the tree-lined streets of Glover Park. “Aaron?”
“Hmm?” He glanced at his wife.
“I know that you did what you thought was best with Bree. I will always trust your judgment in doing what's best for the kids.”
“Thank you, baby, I did the only thing I knew to do.”
A companionable silence settled between them. Neither wanted to discuss George Foyet; they had their own reasons. This was their together time…they had been planning it all week. Nothing was going to ruin it. Work had been so busy it hadn’t been easy to carve out ‘couple’ time even on the weekend.
“How do you think I’d look with a nose ring?” Emily asked.
“Um…strange.” Hotch laughed. “Beautiful, but surely strange. It doesn’t matter what you do, Emily, you're always going to be beautiful.”
“Sweet talker.”
“Don’t they say the truth shall set you free?”
“I think I have heard that somewhere.”
Hotch smiled and Emily did as well. He took a deep breath, kissed her temple, and they continued walking side by side
Note: Emily is in her 50's and Hotch in his 60's.
They have teenage children.
Sabrina "Bree" is their daughter and about 15 years old.
The One Where Hotch is Forced to Let the Demons In
“Knock, knock,” Bree poked her head into her parents’ bedroom. “Hey Daddy, can we…oh my God, what happened to you?”
Hotch stood beside his bed with his back to his daughter. He turned to see the horrified look in her hazel eyes. Sighing, he slipped the tee shirt he’d been holding in his hand over his head.
“What do you need, sweetie?” he tried to sound nonchalant.
“Daddy, what happened to you?”
He could hear the tears in her voice. There was a reason his children had never seen him topless. While they didn’t seem to think anything strange about that, what kid ever thought about their parents topless, Hotch had a very good reason for it. He was facing that reason right now.
“Come in here, sweetie; sit down.”
Bree did as he asked, sitting on the side of her parents’ bed. She looked at her father and he saw so much of the woman he loved in her face. Hotch couldn’t help but take her face in his hands and hold onto it. He knew he had a tendency to be paranoid and overbearing but if anything ever happened to her, he was sure he and Emily would never recover from it. He loved all of his children, would never pick a favorite, but Sabrina was so special to him. Maybe it was because she was a pint-sized version of Emily.
“It was a long time ago.” Hotch sat down on the bed beside her.
“How long ago?”
“It happened before you were born; even before I met your mother. It started in 1998 when I was new to the BAU. It was my very first case. They called him The Reaper; he was working out of Boston. I got the assignment and tried to construct a profile but it wasn’t an easy task.”
“Why not?” Bree asked. “You do profiles all the time.”
“Well it was my first case but it wasn’t just that. The Reaper is what behavioral analysts call an Omnivore. That means he doesn’t have a specific victim type. Everyone has the potential to be a victim so it’s hard to nail down the Unsub based on victimology. Right in the middle of the case, the killings stopped. The Reaper disappeared.”
“Uncle Dave says serial killers never stop…they’re compulsive.”
“He’s right, but control is what gets them high and a decade later I found out just what kind of control he was wielding. I went to Boston at the request of the lead detective on the old case. He was dying and needed to talk to me. He received a letter from The Reaper in 1998 saying if the police stopped hunting him he would stop the killings. The detective, Tom Shaunessy, decided he couldn’t pass it up. Now he was dying and knew The Reaper would come back. He wanted me to stop him.”
“Did you?”
“I tried, sweetie. I took the team to Boston and we worked the case. Unfortunately, more people had to die while we did our best to construct a profile. One night at the hotel, I got a phone call telling me that if I stopped hunting him…”
“No, Daddy,” Bree looked at him again. “You don’t make deals with scum.”
“That’s right, baby,” Hotch stroked her cheek. “I told him to shove his deal…I was coming to get him. We worked night and day and finally figured out his identity. George Foyet was ironically the only survivor of the Reaper attacks a decade before.”
“He attacked himself?”
“Yeah. His injuries were so severe, he nearly died. Foyet had gone into hiding, supposedly deathly afraid of what the Reaper might do to him. We caught him and put him in prison.”
“If he’s in prison then how did he hurt you?” Bree asked.
“He escaped and came after me. He feared me, Sabrina, because I never gave him the control he desperately needed. He tried to break me by stabbing me nine times.”
She started to cry and that broke Hotch’s heart. He took her into his arms, holding her until the tears subsided.
“He knew exactly what he was doing…knew it wouldn’t kill me. He dropped me off at a hospital and that’s where your mom found me. Then he went after my family.”
“Mom?”
“No,” Hotch shook his head. “We weren't married yet though I spent many sleepless nights worrying she might be a target. He went after Jack and his mom. We had to put them in protective custody so they wouldn’t be hurt. I couldn’t talk to him, see him, or even know where he was for months. I missed his fourth birthday. It was an agonizing time.”
“Just tell me that you caught that bastard.” Bree let her anger overshadow her use of a profane word in front of her father.
“George Foyet is dead. He is never going to hurt another family and that’s worth the scars I bear.”
“They look awful.”
“They felt that way too. I know sometimes you think that I'm overprotective and possibly crazy but that’s some of the reason why. I know there are people out there who hurt others just because; no rhyme or reason. Sociopaths are real, baby, and I know their pathology first hand.”
The teenager nodded, wiping the tears from her eyes and face. She looked at him again.
“That’s why I can't call you Daddy when I answer my cell phone, isn’t it?” She asked. She always wondered where that strange rule that Hotch enforced came from.
“Exactly. Someone could’ve stolen my cell and be trying to find you. I know this is a lot to take in…I never wanted to tell you about this.”
“I promise not to complain anymore when I think you're being crazy. I promise never to make fun of Georgeann Hawkins again.”
“Hey, hey,” Hotch held her hand. “The only thing you need to promise me is that you're always going to be you. If that changes then these stab wounds are in vain.”
“What do you mean?”
“Mom and I do the working and the worrying. We do it so you guys can feel happy and safe. Of course we want you to know there are bad people out there. We want you to know the signs and follow your instincts but we never want to scare you out of living. We did what we did for all those years, sacrificed, to make the world a safer place for you guys.”
“I know.” Bree nodded.
“So you came to talk to me and I know you didn’t want to discuss that.” Hotch put on a smile. “What’s happening?”
“Well, my birthday is coming up and I was hoping…”
“That you could mutilate your face with a nose ring?”
“Daddy!”
Hotch was grateful to see the grin spread across her face. He knew his daughter well; she was moving everything around in her head. She was placing things in appropriate boxes and putting away what she didn’t want to look at anymore. Sabrina was definitely her mother’s child. He watched the light come back to her eyes and that made him feel better. He never wanted to tell her that story but he had and it was over. How they moved on from it was most important.
“I've had a little time to think about it. Your mom said it was all you wanted.”
“It really is.” Bree’s voice was hopeful.
“If it’s all you want, I find it difficult to say no. If you really want the nose ring, you can get the nose ring.”
“Oh my God!” his daughter squealed, throwing herself in his arms. “Oh my God, Daddy, oh my God! Thank you, thank you, thank you. I love you so much. I really, really do.”
“I love you too, Sabrina. I'm just going to ask for a little concession.”
“Anything.” She promised, not caring what it was.
“Don’t even think about another piercing or any other form of body modification until after your 18th birthday.” Hotch replied.
“Deal.” Bree hugged him again. Hotch held her tight, kissing her cheeks and forehead. “I love you, Daddy.”
“I love you too.”
“Hey, I thought we were going for a walk.” Emily came into the bedroom. She wore sneakers, jeans, and an American University tee shirt. In her hands was a windbreaker.
“Sorry Mom, I just came to talk.” Sabrina jumped into her mother’s arms. “Daddy’s going to let me get my nose ring.”
“Really? You're excited, huh?”
“I'm stoked! I need to call Blair and Tina.” She turned again to her father. “Thanks, Daddy, I love you; for this and everything else.”
“You're welcome, love.”
Bree rushed down the hall and Emily smiled at her husband.
“I don’t think I've ever seen her so animated. You might have made her millennium, Hotch.”
“I told her about George Foyet.” He replied, his smile fading.
“What? We made a promise…we do not bring demons into this house. What were you thinking?”
“She walked in on me without a shirt. It upset her; she asked me what happened.”
“You could’ve…” Emily stopped herself before saying he could’ve made something up. They didn’t do that with their kids. Even the hard truths were better than making things up. What could he have said anyway? Foyet seriously scarred him, and not just physically. While it was a sight Emily was used to, for better or worse, she shuddered imagining how it mortified their child. “That’s why you said yes to the nose ring?”
“It hurt me to the pit of my stomach but it was the least I could do. If I had to snatch away a little piece of her idyllic childhood I could live with the silly nose ring. Seeing her happy face made it worth it.”
“I need to talk to her.” Emily said, turning to leave the room.
“No,” Hotch came over, put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around. “Give her time to be excited with her friends and to let it all process. We’ll go out for our walk as planned; you can talk to Bree when we come back. I think the both of us could use some cool air.” He took the windbreaker, slipped her arms through it, and grabbed his jacket from the chair.
“Alright.” Emily held his hand. She kissed it as they went downstairs and out the door. It was a beautiful late April afternoon. They could smell the rain in the air but for now it was partly cloudy with a cool spring breeze blowing through the tree-lined streets of Glover Park. “Aaron?”
“Hmm?” He glanced at his wife.
“I know that you did what you thought was best with Bree. I will always trust your judgment in doing what's best for the kids.”
“Thank you, baby, I did the only thing I knew to do.”
A companionable silence settled between them. Neither wanted to discuss George Foyet; they had their own reasons. This was their together time…they had been planning it all week. Nothing was going to ruin it. Work had been so busy it hadn’t been easy to carve out ‘couple’ time even on the weekend.
“How do you think I’d look with a nose ring?” Emily asked.
“Um…strange.” Hotch laughed. “Beautiful, but surely strange. It doesn’t matter what you do, Emily, you're always going to be beautiful.”
“Sweet talker.”
“Don’t they say the truth shall set you free?”
“I think I have heard that somewhere.”
Hotch smiled and Emily did as well. He took a deep breath, kissed her temple, and they continued walking side by side
