A/N – My first Criminal Minds fanfic! Well, the first one that I'm brave enough to post anyway.

Disclaimer – I most definitely do not own Criminal Minds because certain series six developments would not have developed if I did

David Rossi always hummed a Dean Martin song whilst he was brushing his teeth. He didn't know why, couldn't even remember when he started, but it was as important a part of his routine now as anything else. With a flourish, he ended the song and spat unceremoniously into the sink. It was only then that he heard the unmistakeable sound of Reid doing the same thing next door, and remembered that the walls of the inn were pretty thin. He hoped that Aaron hadn't heard him from the bedroom – if the younger man was in the right mood, he wouldn't hear the end of it for days.

But then, that was a pretty big if, especially with things as they were. Dave knew how hard Aaron was working to move on with his life, settle with Jack and get things back to normal. He also knew it was much easier said than done. Aaron was used to being the strong one, the one who didn't snap however difficult the case got or however many times someone on the team lost it and needed a shoulder to lean on. He didn't cope well with weakness, especially from himself, and Dave could tell from the little things he was saying and doing that he was close to the edge.

Take tonight, for example. Dave ambled through to the bedroom and was surprised to find the younger man already sleeping. Once Derek insisted on rooming with Garcia, Aaron could have insisted on a room of his own and have Dave room with the boy – wonder. It made sense. But then Aaron had said, before anyone else could speak, that he would share with Dave. It didn't bother Rossi one bit who he shared with but he knew that Aaron wasn't right. And now he was asleep as well; Aaron Hotchner, the walking advertisement for insomnia, was asleep in record time. Something wasn't right and Dave was determined to find out what it was.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, Dave said a quick prayer and crossed himself before slipping under the covers. Sometimes it bothered him that he spent more time on Dean Martin at night than his faith but it didn't that night. He had other things on his mind. Rolling over onto his side, he looked at Aaron. The younger man had set his bedside table in much the same way that Dave had seen it in a thousand different hotel rooms over the years, save for one small difference. The photograph angled so carefully in the middle had changed; whereas before it was a framed image of Aaron and his son, now only the little boy watched over his father. Dave noted this but didn't really think about it; he watched Aaron for a few moments more and then switched off his bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness.

It was a good dream, by the normal standards. In the years since finally solving the Galen case, the screams that had echoed in his slumber as well as his waking hours had been silenced and David Rossi was finally free to dream of more pleasant things.

He was stood in the middle of beautiful looking forest, shotgun in hand, waiting for something. The sun was speckled on the lush green leaves and he moved to get a better view of the light pouring in through the canopy. An odd looking bird shadow suddenly shot across the sun and he raised the gun, about to fire, when he heard a strange sound. It was almost a whimper. Dismissing it as an animal going about its business, he shrugged and raised the gun again, waiting for the bird, which seemed to have other ideas and kept away. He stood patiently for a while, but then he heard the noise again, louder and definitely a creature in distress. He dropped the gun and moved off in the direction that it was coming from, noting that it was getting louder and louder until he could hear nothing else. He began to run, crashing through the trees until he came to a clearing. A clearing where a deer – a buck – was led on its side. It was screaming, and as he knelt down beside it, the terrible sound pistol whipped through his head and –

With a start, Dave woke and sat up immediately. He looked over at Aaron and noticed through the fuzzy haze in his brain that the whimpers were coming from the younger man. He rolled out of bed and shook Aaron gently, ignoring the moans of what he guessed was fear. Aaron's eyes snapped open and he gasped, his hands brought up to hover around his face, as though he were protecting himself. He panted for breath, his eyes flickering around the room as he woke up properly and noticed Dave kneeling besides him.

"Wh-what happened?"

"You were having a nightmare," Dave said, "You OK?"

"I need a drink," Aaron rasped, moving to stand up. Dave pushed him gently back and went to the bathroom himself, bringing back a large glass of water that Aaron downed gratefully. Sat on the edge of his bed, Dave noticed that the younger man was avoiding his eyes.

"You want to talk, Aaron?" he said softly as the glass was placed on the bedside table.

"Not really," Aaron grimaced, "Sorry that I woke you up."

"No problem," Dave replied, making no moved to get back into bed even as Aaron did, "It helps to talk, you know."

"I don't want to, Dave," Aaron said through gritted teeth, laying down pointedly and turning away.

"Is it Hayley or Foyet?"

Dave didn't really expect an answer but he thought that Aaron's body language might tell him something. Sure enough, he noticed Aaron's back tense and decided to push further.

"Or maybe Jack. It would make sense –"

"It's not Jack," Aaron snapped, flipping over and training his intense gaze on his friend, "Just leave it, please."

"OK," Dave raised his hands in defeat, "Just so you know I'm here if you want me."

He switched off his bedside lamp and swung his legs under the covers. There was silence.

In his head, Dave began to count.

He got to eight.

"It's me."

"What is, Aaron?" he asked innocently, hoping that the smirk in his voice wasn't too obvious.

"Don't give me that, Dave. Do you want to know or not?"

"You already know that I do."

Aaron took a deep breath, and then didn't speak for a long time.

"It's me," he eventually repeated, "I'm in the house and I'm the one with the gun and –"

"Go on."

"I'm the one who shoots her," he growled, "And then it changes and I'm watching myself."

"Doing what?" Dave asked, although he suspected that he already knew.

"Watching myself beat him to death. Pounding his head into the floor until I feel his skull snap and then still-"

His voice was getting louder and louder and, afraid that they'd disturb Reid or Morgan, Dave clambered out of bed once again, flipped the light on and put his hand on Aaron's shoulder.

"You don't have to relive it, Aaron. I get the idea."

The younger man looked like hell; pale, his dark hair plastered to his head with sweat and his face screwed up in an inhuman effort to control himself. You couldn't really blame him of course, Dave noted sadly. He'd got a front row seat to the aftermath of Foyet's death and it wasn't something he'd like to repeat at any time in the near future. If he hadn't seen Morgan dragging Aaron away from the mess, he would have struggled to believe that his friend was capable of such a thing. But then, Aaron was never one to shy away from a battle; it was only the paperwork and the politics that stopped him being the one to do Morgan's job; kicking the door down and wrestling the unsub into submission. He was a prime example of what happened when rage was suppressed for so long that only a bomb could set it off. You could put a Neanderthal in a suit but, deep down, he was still a Neanderthal. And Foyet had forced Aaron to confront that fact once and for all. He was still torturing him, even after he was gone.

"Aaron, you did what you had to do. You saved Jack's life."

"But what did I give him for a father? A man who could do something like…like what I did."

Realisation suddenly dawned and Dave looked at the photograph of Jack.

"Is that why you've got a different picture?"

"Yes. I can't look at myself, Dave. Every time I look in the mirror, I feel like being sick."

"Aaron, you've got-"

"Whatever you're about to say, don't," Aaron snapped, the heels of his hands resting over his eyes, "I've tried to think about it differently. I've tried to forgive myself. I think that I have, and then I go to sleep and it happens again."

"Well, I can see why you didn't want to room with Reid," Dave said wryly, brushing his chin thoughtfully, "But you could have had your own room and I'd be none the wiser."

"Jack's slept in my room every night that I've been home and I've slept too. When we've been on a case, I haven't. I figured I might get some rest if someone else was here."

Dave nodded slowly. He'd got more from Aaron, who was now gazing almost anxiously at him, than he'd expected to but there was something else that he thought should get done. He knew, better than most, that until Aaron could forgive himself he would never be able to move on. And he didn't want it to take twenty years like it had with him. Aaron and Jack both deserved better than that. His mind made up, he stood up sharply.

"Get up, Aaron."

"Why?"

"We're going to get over this. Get up."

With virtually no argument, Aaron got out of bed. Dave pushed him gently towards the bathroom. As soon as Aaron saw the mirror on the wall, he tried to protest. Dave hushed him and pushed him until he was stood in front of it.

"Dave, please-"

"This is the first step, Aaron. You need to do this. Look up."

With a sigh, Aaron dragged his eyes up from the sink and glanced at the mirror before dropping them again.

"I can't, Dave," he whispered.

"Yes you can," the older man coaxed, standing next to him so they were both reflected, "Trust me."

Aaron braced himself on the sink and looked up again. This time, he didn't look away, but the expression of disgust on his face was evident. Dave let him look for a while before he spoke.

"Every time you look in the mirror, I want you to think about your little boy and how much he loves you. He needs you, Aaron."

"I know."

"You have to be strong for him but not for me. You have to be Captain America for Jack and then come and rage and shout at me all you want until you feel better."

"Dave," Aaron's voice threatened to crack, "You don't-"

"I do actually," the older man said simply, "Because I'm your friend and that's my job."

Apparently lost for words, Aaron mumbled, "Thank you." He was still looking at himself but his shoulders and face had loosened up a little. It wasn't much but it was a start. Dave put his hand on Aaron's trembling arm, just for a moment, and they stood, gazing at their reflections, until a frantic hammering at the door made them both jump.

"Hotch, Rossi!" Morgan yelled, "It's happened again. Garcia saw-"

Dave wrenched the door open, catching Morgan's arm before he fell through the suddenly open door.

"We're up. There in two."

He slammed the door shut and hurried to get dressed. Aaron was already rifling through his cupboard, pulling out clothes with his more typical closed expression. Work mode was switched on.

Dave just had time to notice though, that Aaron purposefully looked in the mirror on the inside of the cupboard door before he sat down to pull his boots on. Dave barrelled past, already ready to go and held the door for his friend. As he left the room, Aaron briefly made eye contact and nodded before jogging away.

Dave followed him down the landing, a grim smile flickering momentarily over his face. If this job ever relented, he'd drag Aaron out of this.

"You won't win, Foyet," he muttered to himself, "No bloody way."