Losing Control

Summery: Rossi knows that everyone breaks eventually, especially in this line of work. So, when Hotch finally snaps, he is there to help pick up the pieces.

A/N: This is my first ever fanfic, but not my first shot at writing short stories, so... *shruggs* We'll see how it goes. I'd love to hear what y'all think. This will be at least a double shot with the next chapter being uploaded no later that Tuesday. If the story lends itself in such a way I'll see about continuing it beyond. R&R? Here we gooooooo! XD

Disclaimer: Sometimes in the wee hours of the morning, I feel so close, as though I could reach out and touch them, but, alas, I own them not.

Part 1

David Rossi glanced at the Unit Chief's office as he flipped off the light and locked his own. Through the blinds, Hotch appeared to be slumped over his desk, asleep. He knocked on the door, but Hotch didn't stir, so he slipped inside and gently shook his friend.

In one fluid motion, Hotch had him pinned against the wall by his throat, index finger and thumb applying pressure to his jugular vein, slowing blood flow to his brain. Before Rossi had a chance to process what was happening, Hotch cocked his other arm back and Rossi saw lights explode in his sight as the other man's fist connected with his face. He raised his hands, palms out in surrender.

"Aaron! It's Dave! We're at the BAU; your safe! It's okay!" Hotch's arm was cocked back for another hit, but he stopped. Slowly, the haze faded from his eyes and his gripped loosened. Suddenly, he pushed himself backwards, stumbling, eyes wide with realization as he stared at his hands like he had never seen them before. He almost fell, but Rossi caught him, guiding him back to his desk chair. Hotch's head was in his hands and he was trembling as the sobs ripped through him.

"Dave, I..." He couldn't finish the sentence. No words could mend him. Hesitantly Dave laid a hand on Hotch's shoulder, silently terrified by his friend's uncharacteristic brokenness and loss of control. The room grew quiet and neither man moved for a long moment.

"Dave..." Aaron let out a breath like 12 years of weariness collapsing inside of his chest. He shook his head. Rossi remained quiet, waiting. Hotch finally looked up with eyes pooled with fear.

"I don't think I can keep going," he whispered. "It's one thing to be afraid of everyone else, but I can't run from what's inside me." There was long pause. "Every time we enter a building, with our guns drawn, I..." Deep breath. "I hope I never come out. I'm not afraid to die; I'm afraid to keep living like this." Hotch put his head down again, weakened by his confession.

"Aaron, we're going to get you some help. Where is Jack tonight?" Aaron started, as if the sound of his young son's name was a blow to his stomach.

"Jessica has him this weekend. They're going to the fair tomorrow. I told her I need a few days to pull myself together after..." He couldn't bring himself to say his late wife's name. I had been 4 months and he still couldn't say her name. Rossi gently grabbed Hotch's arm and stood him up to face him. Hotch looked into Rossi's eyes. A bruise was starting to form under the right one. He tried to asses what emotion he saw there. Pain, concern, determination...and something bittersweet he couldn't put his finger on.

"Dave, I'm so sorry." Rossi nodded.

"I get it, Aaron. Everyone breaks eventually. If it was anyone else..." He shook his head. "But it wasn't. We're going to get you some help. Let's face it, you'll probably always be a hopeless tight-ass, but it'll be okay again. You'll see." Hotch offered up a small, tired smile. "Come on. You're staying with me tonight, no arguments. Besides, my scotch is better than that cheap shit you have." Aaron dropped his head back and roared out a laugh, though it wasn't really that funny. Maybe he was going hysterical. He didn't care anymore. He felt Rossi's hand on his shoulder, guiding him out of the office before he had a chance to grab any paperwork, and for once, he just didn't give a fuck. It felt good.