Disclaimer: It all belongs to CBS, I just like playing in the sandbox.

Author's Note: This is something that I have yet to come across and this idea won't leave me alone. I will say that this is only the beginning and I am testing the waters to see what kind of reaction this particular pairing shall receive. Here is to SSA Aaron Hotchner and George Foyet...

At the End of the Day
By C.K. Blake

His eyes narrow on his prey, his head tilts. Obviously the woman has yet to learn about what has happened to her ex-husband. The blonde woman, her hair chopped, probably a post-divorce make-over, grasps the hand of the small boy at her side, equally blonde like her. They are easy targets, a mother and her child heading out to the park. He reaches into his pocket, his hand tightening around the handle of his favorite knife. He knows this is the next best way to get to the man who has plagued his thoughts for the last ten years. That Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner has risen so far in the FBI as to be the agent in charge of the Behavioral Analysis Unit is impressive. The fact that the agent would refuse his more than generous offer is an insult, more so than the profile implying that his preference for a knife is because of an inability to perform.

He snorts at the thought, remembering how well he performed before delivering the agent to the hospital. Agent Morgan's credentials certainly came in handy for that particular task. He shakes his head to clear his mind and returns his focus to the woman and child as the woman takes a seat on one of the benches near the playground, and the boy makes his way toward the slides and swings. Now is the time to make his move. He may not have his regular clothes or mask, but this hunt is about subtlety. He doesn't want her to see him coming.

He pulls his tan overcoat a little tighter, hunching his shoulders as though warding off the cold. He makes his way toward the bench and sits down on the end furthest from the woman. He lets out a carefully calculated, mournful sigh, hunches forward, and slowly lifts his head to watch the children on the playground, his gaze easily keeping up with the young boy. He bites his lip, careful in how he makes his next move. He releases the handle of the knife and pulls his hands from his coat pockets. He brings them to his mouth and blows into them to warm them. He's perfected being unassuming and timid, and he trembles. The woman notices him, he can feel her blue eyes on him. He rubs his hands together, knowing that he's gained her attention.

"Excuse me," she says. "Are you all right?"

He jolts, and then looks up at her, careful to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose and he takes in a sharp breath, almost like he's startled. He timidly shakes his head, but then says, "I… I'm okay."

"Are you sure?" she asks.

That is his cue. He shudders, brings his right hand up to his face and takes his glasses off as he wipes at his eyes. "No…"

"I'm sorry… Is there something I can do or someone I could call for you?" she asks, the concern evident, and she is making this too damn easy.

"No, I don't have anyone… A month ago I was checking this park to make sure it was safe for my son come play in, and two weeks ago I was picking out his headstone," he said and his body convulsed from suppressing sobs.

He had to fight to hide the grin when she dropped a hand on his shoulder and then reached down for his hand to give it a squeeze. He looks up, meets her concerned gaze, and then he says, "He was going to be four years old next week. It was a wreck, he was in the car with his mother, I was driving the moving van, and they were following behind me in the minivan. I had to stop for gas, it was late, we were an hour away from the new house, and I sent them ahead. Twenty minutes after filling up the tank I drove until I came across the wreckage. Police sirens were in the distance, but it was too late. My wife and my boy were gone because of a drunk driver."

There is sincerity in her tone as she says, "I'm sorry for your loss…"

"George… George Floyd," he says. "My boy, his name was Aaron."

"I'm Hayley," she responds gently, and then they are interrupted as her little boy comes running over.

"Mommy," he says, and then he comes to a halt in front of her and looks at the sad looking man.

George's eyes widen as he gets a close look at the little boy. While the child has his mother's coloring, the child's face, and more importantly his dark eyes belong to his father. George can clearly see the features of Aaron Hotchner in the boy. He takes in a deep breath, composing himself, wiping his eyes, and then he forces a smile as he says, "You're a lucky woman Hayley, to have such a great kid. You enjoy every moment you have with him, and do what you can to keep him safe."

He doesn't wait for a reply. He gets to his feet, brushes his right hand gently over the boy's light blonde hair, and quickly leaves the park, heading toward his car as a new plan begins to form in his mind. As he gets behind the wheel of the dark blue sedan and turns the engine over a sharp smile pulls at his mouth. He now has the leverage he needs to gain the one thing he's lacked for so many years. He looks down at the clock in the dashboard, and he knows that by now Agent Hotchner has been identified. He decides on a small café for brunch, and then he will pay his agent a little visit.


A sigh of relief escapes him as SSA Emily Prentiss finally leaves his room. He appreciates the concern, he's touched by it, but he needs time to collect himself, gather his composure and assume control again, the control robbed from him by nine stab wounds and a sociopath. He hears the door click, and releases a grunt, wondering if he will have to deal with Agent Derek Morgan's guilt, Dr. Spencer Reid's awkward attempts at empathy or David Rossi's special brand of poorly thought out bedside humor. He opens his dark eyes, they widen for a moment, and he quickly reaches for the call button. He wonders why he wasn't immediately given a security detail considering the nature of his attack. The intruder smiles, almost a leer, at him, and there is something telling in that expression, and Aaron Hotchner refrains from pressing the call button.

"Wise decision, Agent Hotchner. Listen to my terms before deciding which game we play," George Foyet says, his voice soft, cool, calm, even. He doesn't sound threatening at all, and Hotchner is wary at the sudden spark of expression in the man's hazel eyes.

The man's smile morphs from a leer to something almost warm and congenial. "You know, I met some interesting people today. To be honest I was tempted to just kill that bitch of an ex-wife of yours, but then your little boy came running over. He looks a lot like you Aaron, he has your chin, your nose, your eyes. Hopefully he smiles more than you do. I can't imagine with the kind of work that you do that you smile a lot."

Hotchner's fingers twitch and then his hands curl into fists. "I'm the one you want. Leave them out of it. You want to kill me, fine. Now is probably your best chance. I'm at your mercy, all I ask is that you leave them alone."

"Now why would I go through the trouble of making sure I didn't mark anywhere that would cause irreparable damage, if I just ended up killing you. We are a matching set now, Aaron. Our scars mirror each other. I went through a lot of trouble to show you that the act of stabbing my victims is not about getting off. That's not what you do to excite me Aaron. You think you have me down, a profile that fits me. I like young girls, that's why I touch them, and get into trouble? I'll admit, a nice, young supple body is nice, but it tempts me, makes me want to see that flesh split beneath my blade, blood welling up. That's the only appeal of young women. Not an altogether unpleasant sensation, but I've been at this game for a long time. It gets lonely. Ten years of isolation and careful planning, and it's you Aaron. You were the one he brought into the game. I never knew how much I came to mean to you. You never did stop working my case, did you? That kind of dedication, I have admit I'm flattered. You wanted to catch me, you liked the hunt, as much I do. We aren't so different," Foyet says with a shrug as he crosses the room and sits down in the chair by Hotchner's bed, he leans forward, his elbows on his knees and his hands massaging his temples. This is the first time in a long time that he's ever felt so tired, his hazel eyes slip shut and he can see those dark eyes, Aaron's eyes, in that little boy's face, steeped in innocence.

Hotchner sighs, closes his eyes. "What do you want Foyet? Why'd you come here?"

Foyet chuckles, looks up, his hands dropping to hang clasped between his knees as he leans forward. "Ten years I was quiet, what you behavior analysts would call my cooling down period. The truth is I'm just tired. Killing has its moments, but it's fleeting and I'm still alone. You're unique Aaron. You're just like me, just a different side of the same coin. Your eyes, they're like mine, a predator. When I met your son earlier today, he has your eyes, but they aren't like ours. He's innocent, truly innocent. What are you willing to do to ensure that he stays that way?"

"Anything. I would do anything for my son," Hotchner declares.

"Really?" Foyet says, tilting his head with a smirk. "Even join me, leave this life behind, become my companion? We live together, get to know each other, move away from here. We can disappear easily. In exchange, your family, all of your family the BAU and Hayley, cheating bitch that she is, and Jack are safe from me. I'll stop hunting, and you get the opportunity to interview me to your heart's content. Get to the bottom of what makes me what I am. There are conditions, you don't try to get away or kill me, and you'll have a certain amount of freedom, and I'll even allow you to see Jack on special occasions. This is a one-time offer. You refused my last offer. I strongly suggest you accept this one. I'll give you twenty-four hours to make your decision. I'll be back tomorrow evening. Don't get a detail, and make sure you're alone tomorrow, around this time. If not, well, any blood spilled getting to you will be on your hands. We wouldn't want another bus incident on our hands would we?"

"I'm nothing like you," Hotchner growls.

Foyet laughs, gets to his feet and then leans over the bed. He draws closer to Hotchner, his mouth brushing against the agent's ear as he whispers huskily, "We're more alike than you care to admit. Just wait and see."

As Foyet pulls back he pauses, and then rushes forward, his mouth against Hotch's for a moment before he pulls back, smirking at how he's managed to stun the FBI agent. "I'll be back tomorrow Aaron, make sure you say all of your goodbyes. Once we're gone, we'll only come back to visit on special occasions, birthdays, and holidays, and time with Jack. Or we come back for funerals. I leave that up to you, Special Agent Aaron Hotchner. I hope you don't disappoint me. I'm kind getting tired of wearing so much black."


AN- I hope that you've enjoyed this story. I plan to continue it from this point onward. Let me know what you guys think! Please review. Be constructive, this ain't my first rodeo, just my first foray into this fandom! BTW I like exploring dark themes... Mindgames are even better, and my baby boy is actually going to start working on a masters in Criminology starting in the Summer, so if I get anything wrong, well I was getting information from him. LOL. We'll see where this goes...