A/N: Would you look at that! My muse came back! FINALLY! It started this story near the end of season six, then abandoned me. But she's back. Yay! As I said, I've had this in the works since season six. This is a post-ep for both "Hanley Waters" (6x20) and "The Stranger" (6x21). I did tinker with canon just a bit, which you'll see very early on in this story. I do hope you all enjoy it!

A/N 2: I have to give special thanks to Ahmose Inarus. Participating in a few fun, exciting brainstorming sessions with her helped me find my motivation to get back to writing. It reminded me how much fun I had when I first began this adventure into the land of fanfiction. It feels so good to be back at it. Thank you, my friend. Thank you.

A LEADER'S STRENGTH: AN EVALUATION OF GRIEF

Chapter 1

Aaron Hotchner sat in his SUV in the parking garage contemplating the ultimatum delivered to him by his Section Chief. The SUV was cranked, heat on low, radio tuned to a classic rock station to which he wasn't paying any attention. He knew the grief assessments for his team in the wake of Prentiss' death were unwelcome but necessary. And he thought the team were all handling the situation as well as could be expected given the circumstances. But according to Strauss, the assessments were incomplete. One was missing. His own.

He needed to speak to someone about his own grief. He knew this. But the ultimatum she was laying down grated on his nerves. He'd speak with someone on his own terms, when he was mentally and emotionally ready. But now he had no choice. According to Chief Strauss, he had one week.

He debated going home, but Jack was with his aunt tonight and it was too late to pick him up. He'd be sound asleep by now. Better to leave him and pick him up in the morning. He contemplated the nearest bar but immediately threw that idea out the window. Absolutely no good would come from trying to drink this away. It wasn't going away any time soon.

Option three was the better alternative. Option three meant he'd be in the company of a good friend. There would be alcohol but not enough to get him into trouble. He could talk if he wanted, but it wouldn't be forced upon him. He could take his time, do this his way, and still be comfortable. Deciding on option three, he put the SUV in reverse, backed out of his parking space, and drove twenty miles in the opposite direction of his home to his best friend's place.

At 11:00 in the evening David Rossi was startled by the unexpected knock at his door. He could only think of one person brave enough to come knocking on his door at such a late hour, but it did not dissuade him from checking the peep hole to be sure.

"Relax Mudg," he called to his barking dog as he opened the door. "It's just Aaron."

"I probably should have called first," Hotch said once the door was opened. "I hope I didn't wake you."

"Nah. I'm never asleep before midnight these days." He stood aside to allow Hotch into his home. "I think he may be a bit miffed at you, though."

Hotch looked to his right to see Mudgie trying to once again get comfortable in his favorite spot on the floor by the couch near the fireplace. "Sorry bud." Mudg simply snorted and flopped on his belly.

Dave took in his friend's appearance. He was still in his suit and tie but he looked tired. Well, more so than usual. Something was weighing down his friend. He could see it in the slump of his shoulders. "Is everything all right?"

Hotch rubbed his hand over his tired face and scratched at the stubble on his jawline. "Strauss was right."

Dave's eyebrows shot up as he stared at his friend in wide-eyed disbelief. "I'm sorry. You want to run that by me again? I thought I heard you say 'Strauss was right'."

Hotch chuckled but still looked somber. "You heard correct."

Dave shook his head. "I think I'm going to need a drink for this conversation."

"Me, too."

While Dave poured two glasses of scotch, Hotch took off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and tiredly flopped down onto the sofa. He propped his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands in front of him. He kept his head down, staring at the floor but not really seeing anything except the crest fallen faces of his team during their grief assessments playing over and over again in his mind.

Derek's righteous anger.

Penelope's mournful sadness.

Spencer's utter despair.

Dave's sorrowful understanding.

How would they ever be able to forgive him if, or more likely when, they found out the truth? How would he ever be able to regain their trust?

"Aaron?"

Hotch looked up to see Dave standing over him holding out a glass of scotch. He'd been so lost in thought he hadn't heard him walk up. He took the offered glass.

"Thanks."

Dave sat on the other end of the sofa and eyed his friend warily. "You going to tell me what's going on?"

"The grief assessments," he sighed. "Strauss feels they are incomplete because my own assessment was missing."

Dave nodded knowingly. "This is about that phone call the other night while we were on the case, right?"

"Yeah. I had to meet with her when we got back. Strauss gave me an ultimatum. Talk to someone on my own by Monday or she'll order me to see one of the Bureau shrinks and pull my field credentials until the session is complete and the assessment is evaluated."

"Wow." Rossi took a deep breath and shook his head. Strauss wasn't pulling any punches. He'd half expected for her to make Hotch talk to someone, but threatening to pull his field credentials was a low blow. Low… but effective. "So what are you going to do?"

"We both know talking to a Bureau shrink would be completely unproductive. I'll be uncomfortable. They'll be uncomfortable. I'll throw up my walls, put on my Unit Chief face, tell them what they want to hear and be done with it."

"And Strauss will know that's exactly how it happened," Dave countered. "So that leaves talking to someone on your own."

Hotch nodded. "I'm comfortable talking to you."

Dave sat his glass on the coffee table in front of the couch. "You can always talk to me, Hotch. You know that."

"I know. But this is a little more official than a simple chat. You'll have to do the report, possibly meet with Strauss after she evaluates it. I didn't want to throw that at you without your consent."

Rossi chuckled. "I appreciate that. A little warning before dealing with her is always nice. I'll be glad to do it. Maybe you'll actually tell me the truth and get a few things off your chest instead of bottling everything up like we both know you'd do with a Bureau shrink."

He rubbed his goatee before speaking again. "I can't believe I'm about to say this. And if you ever repeat it I'll deny it to my dying breath. But Strauss was right."

It was Hotch's turn to raise his eyebrows and stare dumbfounded at his friend. Dave continued. "You do need to talk to someone, Aaron. You've let a lot of grief build up over the past two and a half years, all the way back to Kate Joyner's death. It's time you let go of some of it."

"It goes much farther back than Kate Joyner." Hotch stared off toward the fireplace and let his mind wander back through a painful period of not only death, but of loss in general.

His immediate thoughts, of course, went to Haley and Emily; both losses still as fresh and painful as if they happened only yesterday. The pain and guilt he carried still felt as heavy as it had on the days they'd buried them. Maybe one day he would be able to forgive himself for not being able to save Emily. But Haley's death, he would blame himself for that for the rest of his life. He would carry that guilt forever. He thought back a little further, to Kate Joyner and the explosion in New York that eventually took her life, and should have taken his as well. He remembered how hard he'd fought to save her life in the middle of the street in front of Federal Plaza only to fall short.

He was flooded with memories of just how many times he'd come close to death himself: Vincent Perrotta, the mafia hitman, who caught him from behind and wrapped a cord around his neck, cutting off his air supply. Gideon's taser saved him that night. Being locked in a room with Chester Hardwick, trying to lure the convicted killer and death row inmate into a fight knowing full well that Hardwick still had the ability to do to him what he'd done to countless others. Reid had been with him that day. He could have gotten Reid killed. Yet Reid had saved them both by getting into Hardwick's head, making the killer believe there were real psychological reasons for his actions. That was the second time Reid had saved his life, he recalled, as visions of being held hostage in a hospital waiting room by Philip Dowd, the LDSK who'd terrorized Des Plaines, Illinois, cycled through his tired mind.

And of course, there was George Foyet. The memory of that man would haunt him until the day he died: The continual searing pain of his knife. The unquenchable fear of the two loves of his life being in danger. The unbearable emotional agony of hearing Haley's death and not being able to save her. And the sheer panic he'd felt until he was absolutely certain his little boy was physically unharmed. Memories of Foyet caused him to absently caress the scar on his forearm with his thumb.

He also thought of Elle and Gideon. How they'd left the team with no knowledge of the damage they'd done. They had no idea how abandoned and betrayed the team had felt. Especially Reid. He couldn't help but wonder how deeply betrayed they would all feel again if ("when!" his mind screamed) they found out the truth about Emily.

"Aaron?"

"Hm?"

"What are you thinking about?"

He sighed and leaned his head back against the couch cushion and closed his eyes, speaking very softly. "I don't know how much more loss this team can take before we all fall apart."

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