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Entry tags:
FIC: Light the Bitter Dark, JJ/Emily, Criminal Minds, PG-13
TITLE: Light the Bitter Dark
FANDOM: Criminal Minds
PAIRING: JJ/Emily
RATING: PG-13
NOTES: Title and cut tag text from "When I See You Smile" by Bic Runga. Companion piece to Real Time and Colour, but you don't really need to read that one first. I feel I should mention I'm in New Zealand and we are way behind ("Elephant's Memory" is airing here tonight), so that while I am beyond spoiled for later developments I'm doing the internet equivalent of sticking my fingers in my ears and going "la la la I can't hear you". All this to say that maybe there should be an AU label on this, but I'm in denial.
Oh, and no particular spoilers.
WARNING: References rape in the context of a case.
Light the Bitter Dark
Emily's head was aching.
The florescent lights overhead were too harsh, the sounds of conversation and laughter and cutlery scraping against plates too loud. In the booth behind them a group teenagers were laughing over something that Sophie had said to Caitlin in math class. Emily had been that age a hundred years ago, and six girls lying in hospital beds had been them, a day or a week or a month ago.
She sighed.
"You okay?" JJ asked quietly, her head tilted gently to one side, letting the noise around them cover the words that Emily knew were only for her ears. There were things they didn't share with the others.
Emily shook her head a half-inch to the right and back again, a tiny acknowledgement of the conversation they weren't having. Had it been anyone else asking, she would have claimed to be fine.
JJ made a little noise that Emily understood was to convey sympathy, and pressed her leg against Emily's under the table. Emily welcomed the touch and relaxed into it, and the noise around her receded for a second or two. They'd got good at little gestures in secret, little words that meant everything to them but little to an outsider. It was probably a dangerous game to play around other profilers, but they couldn't not. In the end, it was that simple. Everyone had their secrets, after all.
Morgan addressed a comment to Emily - they were updating Reid's geographic profile based on some new evidence for the current case - pulling her away from JJ and back to the inescapable, painful present. She went reluctantly, but she went. She was good at that, too.
***
Emily had been raised a wanderer. Born in Paris, moved about from embassy to embassy, city to city, country to country, school to boarding school to summer camp, there'd never really been a home to come back to. Even in college she'd moved from dorm to dorm, lived off campus her senior year, and then there'd been the FBI. She'd wandered from one field office to another, making her home in one city after the next, always aiming for the BAU but never quite seeming to make it, never settling down but waiting for the next move.
And now that she'd found her home she flew across the country at a moment's notice, with nothing but a small bag (clothes, nightgown, toiletries, a book or two and a few photos) to call her own. She was adept at living in strange rooms and sleeping in strange beds, reorienting herself every time she arrived in a new place. The only times Emily woke up wondering what city she was in was when she was home in bed.
In all that time, she had managed few real relationships of any kind. Her constant childhood companion had been the battered teddy bear she had deliberately outgrown at twelve; in her adult years there had been men, suitable and otherwise, and more than a few women, but none of those relationships had achieved any real significance. None - until JJ, who was self-assured and confident and beautiful. Emily had never quite been in love before. She'd fancied herself in love, she'd tried to convince herself she was in love, she'd suffered from almost crippling attacks of lust, but this real, solid love, the ease with which JJ fitted into Emily's life, the way Emily found her coming to mind for no reason at all, the simple fact of finding one of JJ's bras tangled with her own in the laundry - it was new, and scary. Raised not to depend on anyone, because independence was the safest option and because there was no one to depend on anyway, Emily was out of her depth, and it was thrilling.
***
Emily spread the photos of the victims - the survivors - across her bed. Hannah Lawrence, 15. Sara Vincent, 14. Nicole Holloway, 15. Nadia Emerson, 16. Cordelia McKenzie, 14. Abigail Durham, 14. Low risk girls, brutally beaten and raped by a masked stranger. She'd seen more traumatised girls in hospital these last two days than she wanted to believe existed in the world.
Emily let her eyes flicker from photo to photo, mind churning, looking for hints, for patterns, for something - anything - that would let them catch this bastard. They'd been able to come up with a reasonably comprehensive profile, but so far they had no suspect list to match it to, no possible unsubs to eliminate. It felt like treading water.
Emily's legs and lower back were aching and she was so tired her thoughts kept slipping from her grasp, yet she was too wired to sleep. The adrenaline which had kept her going from the moment the plane touched down in Miami was apparently endless. Neither reading nor watching TV appealed. A run around the block would have been a nice distraction, but too potentially unsafe to risk. Being an FBI agent sometimes took all the adventure out of life.
There was a knock on the door. Startled, Emily flinched, and had to take a moment to compose herself before she went to answer the door. It was JJ, of course. She slipped inside quickly, and Emily shut the door behind her just as fast. They'd had plenty of practice at hiding.
After their moment in the diner, Emily should have expected JJ's visit. She would have done the same.
"Emily?"
"My head hurts." They were standing close together behind the closed door, JJ carrying her cellphone in one hand, just in case. Emily understood, and resented it anyway.
Unlike Emily, who'd spent the last ten minutes staring out the window, JJ had changed into her pajamas and braided her hair. Unlike the cell, that was a gesture Emily appreciated; she'd woken up with a mouthful of hair on more than one occasion. Whether JJ ended up staying or not (whether the comfort of not being along tonight would outweigh the guilt of straying from the narrow path of professionalism), Emily liked to think that JJ had at least considered the possibility.
"Have you taken anything?" JJ asked.
"I've got some Tylenol in my bag."
"Okay." JJ touched a hand to Emily's arm. "Sit down."
Emily sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb the photos. Her bag was on the chair in the corner of the room; JJ rummaged through it and found the Tylenol, then disappeared into the bathroom, coming back with a glass of water. "Here."
Emily took the pills gratefully, and set the empty glass down on the bedside cabinet as JJ sat down next to her, placing her cellphone beside the glass. And here they were, the two of them sitting in a sterile hotel room, ten floors above street level, Miami spread out below them. Emily wondered how many of its citizens had double-checked their doors and windows tonight, and how many believed that serial rapists were things that happened on TV, or to other people. She wondered how many were keeping tabs on their daughters tonight and how many couldn't care less.
She knew JJ wouldn't offer her platitudes. JJ wouldn't sit here and say we'll get the guy, as if that would make it okay that six girls had to suffer nightmares of the worst kind.
"Long day," JJ said.
"Yeah."
"It doesn't help, you know." JJ jerked her head in the direction of the photos.
"You do it too," Emily said, without meaning to argue. She'd seen similar displays in JJ's hotel room time and time again.
"That's how I know it doesn't work."
There was a whole big bad world out there, assaulting Emily from every direction. She had once told JJ she was good at compartmentalizing. If that had been the truth then, it wasn't any more. "What does work?"
"I wish I knew."
Emily put her head down on JJ's shoulder, remembering, somewhat belatedly, that she was allowed to touch her now. The rules in here were different to the rules out there. "This helps."
"Yeah," JJ said, wrapping her arms around Emily's waist. "And what about this?"
'Better." Emily closed her eyes and discovered that she didn't actually see battered and bruised kids in hospital beds or dumped in alleyways. That was refreshing.
"Want to talk about it?"
"No."
JJ said nothing for a few minutes, and then said "You know, if you change your mind -"
"I know," Emily said, feeling her body beginning to relax. "I will. Maybe when we get home." In all honesty, she didn't know what to say. That this case made her sick to her stomach? It had that effect on all of them, and they all coped in their own way. Apparently, Emily's way was JJ, and maybe JJ's way was Emily. Sometimes it was obvious why a case got to one of them more than to another. Other times there was no rhyme nor reason. It just was. Maybe, as a profiler, she should be looking for a reason.
If it was JJ was struggling, she probably would.
"I should get ready for bed," Emily said. She didn't want to move, but she'd make the effort of moving if it got her JJ in her bed all night.
JJ nodded, and let go. Emily found herself even less inclined to stand up, but forced herself to do so anyway. She found her nightgown in her bag and stripped with an unselfconsciousness that was new to her. JJ didn't ogle the way men did; when JJ saw her naked Emily felt admired rather than objectified. It was a very peaceful feeling.
Emily pulled the nightgown over her head and went through into the bathroom to brush her teeth and remove her make-up. These tiny, everyday rituals were just as grounding as JJ's touch. They made Emily feel real and human, as though she was taking off a mask at the end of a long day. She tied her hair up (because JJ didn't appreciate a mouthful of hers any more than she liked a mouthful of JJ's) and went back into the bedroom. JJ had closed the curtains and put away the photos and was sitting cross-legged on the bed, her braid hanging over one shoulder. "Feel better?" she asked, as Emily closed the bedroom door behind her.
"Mmmm." Emily crossed the room and joined JJ on the bed. After a minute, she asked "How are you?" They had to take care of each other, after all.
"I'm okay," JJ said. "Just tired."
"I know the feeling."
"We should get some sleep," JJ said, her voice as quiet as it had been back in the diner.
"You staying?" Emily asked, as casually as she could, trying not to let her voice betray her desperation. She didn't want to be alone tonight, but nor did she want to tell JJ just how much she needed her.
"Unless you kick me out."
Emily smiled without quite feeling it. "Only if you snore."
Settling into bed, Emily rolled over onto her stomach, her face turned towards JJ. Beside her JJ, lying on her side, slid an arm over Emily's back and snuggled closer. JJ, Emily had been surprised and delighted to find, was a cuddler; it got a little overwhelming at times but for the most part she was glad for the constant reminder of JJ's presence, glad to wake in the night and feel she wasn't alone.
"Em?" JJ already sounded half asleep.
"Yeah?"
"Sleep well."
Emily knew JJ couldn't see her, but she smiled anyway. "You too."
***
JJ was in danger. It was an undefinable menace, something Emily couldn't put mind or finger on, but the what didn't matter so much as the danger. It was close, so close, and if Emily could run fast enough, shout loud enough, she could save JJ from a horrible, painful death.
There was so much blood, and JJ was screaming...
A ringing noise pierced Emily's dream. It was a phone. JJ's cell, to be precise: Emily knew that before she was even quite awake, because it was always JJ's cell that shattered their silent nights.
JJ was leaning over her, fumbling around on the bedside table for the phone. The water glass Emily had used last night fell to the floor as JJ sat up, phone in hand. Emily blinked and rolled over, trying to calm her breathing.
"Jareau."
Another victim. Had to be. Emily thought of the dead look in Abigail Durham's eyes, and felt sick.
JJ's voice was calm and steady, wide awake, confident and professional. In the dim light Emily could see JJ nodding as she spoke, asking them to send her an address and promising to be there as soon as possible. Her free hand was on Emily's arm, stroking absentmindedly as though searching for a kind of comfort. There were a lot of things no one else would ever know about Jennifer Jareau.
Emily sat up, and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand as JJ hung up, sighing long and loud.
"Another victim."
"Yeah. I'll notify Hotch, but I think it'll be just you and me until the morning." Knees drawn up to her chest, arms propped up on them, JJ scrolled down to Hotch's number. Sitting close beside her, Emily felt obscurely as though she should get up and move away, as though Hotch would somehow sense her presence, but she made herself stay where she was. There'd be little enough time to touch JJ today.
"Hotch, I just got a call from Detective Parks. We've got another victim."
Emily could hear the tones of Hotch's voice, thin and tinny through the phone, but not his words. It was an odd sensation. She put her head down on JJ's shoulder and closed her eyes, pretending they had a normal life and trying not to listen.
"Yes, sir. I'll talk to Prentiss and we'll go down to the hospital and interview the victim. I'll let you know what we find." JJ hung up and dropped the phone onto the bed. She sighed, leaning her cheek against Emily's head, her breathing a little rushed.
Emily found and gripped JJ's fingers. Any second now they'd make themselves get out of bed. JJ would go back to her own room, and they'd shower and dress and drive through the night to make a young girl relieve the worst experience of her life. She'd managed to do it time and time again without JJ to lean on, and now that she had her Emily felt somehow more vulnerable than she'd ever been in her life. She wasn't sure how that worked, and didn't intend to study herself closely enough to find out.
"I should go," JJ said, her voice slow and reluctant. She didn't move.
"I know." It was hard to be professional at two in the morning.
"Right. I'm going." JJ pulled gently away from Emily and slipped out of bed. "Meet you in half an hour?"
"Yeah," Emily said, getting up herself and putting the light on. "Love you."
"Love you too," JJ said, and was gone.
Emily rubbed her eyes, grabbed a fresh set of clothes from her ready bag, and headed into the bathroom. She had time for a shower if she skimped on make-up and drying her hair, and it would certainly make her feel a little more awake and in control.
JJ was in the lobby, ready and waiting, when Emily got there, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She'd been in the shower as well.
Bad mental image. Well, good image, bad timing.
Okay. Professional now. Emily swallowed. "What do we know about our victim?"
***
Emily had seen dozens of nightmares come true. Whole families burned alive, children murdered and left in ditches, innocents forced to watch the deaths of those they loved. It never got easier.
Daisy Adamson was only twelve years old. She had red hair and brown eyes. According to her mother, Daisy liked playing the piano, horseback riding and the internet. She was the third of five children and she'd disappeared walking two blocks home from school, only to be found ten hours later in an alleyway, battered, unconscious, and naked.
By the time Emily and JJ were allowed in to see her, she'd regained consciousness but hadn't said a word. She lay curled in the fetal position and flinched whenever anyone, even her mother, touched her. The nurses maintained a hushed silence and her doctor spoke in a low voice, even outside the room.
There was nothing to be gained from interviewing Daisy. They got what medical information the hospital could give them, tried to comfort Daisy's mother (and what comfort was there for anyone in a situation like this?) and asked what questions they could of her, always trying to link Daisy to the other victims, to learn why the unsub had picked her, if it was simply because she'd been alone (having fought with her best friend that day) or if there was some reason they couldn't see yet. Wendy Adamson was more than happy to talk about Daisy, as if remembering better times helped her forget the things that had been done to her daughter, that maybe the Daisy she'd known would never come back. Much of the information they got from her seemed inconsequential, but every bit gave them a better picture of who Daisy was.
It was almost five a.m. by the time they left Daisy's mother. Her father was home with the other kids; sooner or later they'd have to interview them all in search of the missing piece to the puzzle. At least the others would be able to share in that. Hotch would talk to the father, she knew, and Morgan and Reid would be good with the two younger brothers. That would leave her and JJ with the teenage sisters, which would be hard enough.
"I'm going to call Hotch," JJ said, tossing Emily the keys to the SUV as they stepped out of the bright lobby into the early morning. "The field office won't be open yet; if we go back to the hotel we can write all this up."
"Good call."
JJ's conversation with Hotch was brief. She mentioned Daisy's catatonia and the extent of her injuries, the fact that (yet again) there'd been no semen or other DNA present, and a short outline of the information she'd gotten from the mother. Hotch said something to which JJ agreed, and then she hung up and sighed, propping her elbow on the window frame.
"You okay?" Emily asked.
"Yeah." JJ rubbed her forehead, and gave Emily a quick smile. "Hotch wants us to brief the others on what we found out at 8.30. Think we can get our notes done in time for a couple of hours' rest?"
"We can try."
They went almost automatically to JJ's room when they got back to the hotel. It was easier to be professional when the bedroom you were in wasn't the one where you'd just been sleeping with your girlfriend. That was among the many things Emily had never expected to learn from experience.
Sitting cross-legged on the bed, they documented the photos and information they'd got from the cops and the medical staff, and noted what they'd learned from Daisy's mother. It was six thirty by the time they'd finished, so if they wanted to have breakfast before the briefing there wasn't going to be a lot of time to sleep.
"We might as well get some rest," JJ said. "It's going to be a long day."
Emily could only agree, so they set the papers and photos on the floor, stripped down to their underwear to avoid wrinkling their clothes, and settled down on the bed. There was always a tentative moment or two where each wondered what their next move should be. "Come here," Emily whispered, and JJ shifted closer, into her arms, laying her head in the hollow below Emily's collarbone.
That was what Emily wanted: something beautiful to hold. She closed her eyes, leaning her chin against the top of JJ's head as JJ slid an arm around her waist. Visions of Daisy Adamson's mutilated body lying silent in a hospital bed taunted her, encroaching on her safe place. She held JJ closer, and knew she wasn't the only one seeing those images.
They didn't sleep, just lay quietly until passing time forced them to get up and dress again, to fix their hair and make-up, the masks that they wore every day. They skipped the hotel restaurant in favour of the IHOP down the road; it would let them avoid the others a few minutes longer and maintain the facade of a normal life. Emily had to force herself to swallow every bite of her breakfast.
JJ had been right. It was going to be a long day.
***
In the end, it was Wendy Adamson's comment about Daisy's computer skills that put them on the right path. Checking Daisy's school computer account led to a website called 'Miami Girlz' that claimed to offer support and guidance "from girlz, to girlz." She'd posted extensively about the problems she was having with her friend in the days leading up to her attack. The tension had apparently stemmed from Daisy's actions with a boyfriend about whom her parents knew nothing. She had sent and received a number of personal messages from the site's admin.
Hannah Lawrence, Cordelia McKenzie and Nadia Emerson had accessed the site from their home computers, Sara Vincent and Nicole Holloway from computers at their separate schools and Abigail Durham from a local internet cafe, explaining why no one had made the connection earlier. They'd only checked personal computers.
No one was surprised when the site admin proved to be not a girl in her late teens but a man in his early thirties. His computer contained hundreds of pornographic images of young girls and several files containing information on the victims, gathered from personal messages and forums and probably a fair amount of stalking. They also found Nadia's cellphone, Abigail's necklace and Sara's underwear. It was enough to make an arrest. The police and prosecutors would take care of the rest; the BAU's job was over.
They were on the plane back to Quantico just after nightfall, leaving behind them seven shattered young girls and their families. Some people might say they'd won, but Emily knew differently, and knew the others did too. There was no win here, just more or less loss. It was something that made her feel sick, but that she'd quickly grown accustomed to.
It had taken Emily longer to grow accustomed to sleeping on the plane, and to feel comfortable seeing the others sleep. It was an almost sacred state, at the same time private and a public statement of one's own vulnerability. Seeing her boss asleep was outside the natural order of things, and she had always worried that she snored, or drooled, or did something equally embarrassing.
Now, however, it was something she did as a matter of course, something she even appreciated and welcomed. She knew that Reid sometimes talked in his sleep, and that Morgan sometimes snored, and that Rossi preferred to remain awake as long as possible.
She knew that she liked to sit facing JJ with no one else sharing their seats, so they could drift off to sleep watching each other and wake in peace. She wondered if the others knew that about them. If they were did, they were keeping it quiet, and Emily was grateful.
They got their favourite seats tonight, and with the others at the opposite end of the jet it left Emily ample time to study JJ. She looked the way Emily felt, run-down, oppressed by the weight of the world. "What's up?" Emily asked quietly, under cover of the noise of the jet.
JJ shrugged. "The usual. Such a cliche, isn't it? Stranger danger on the internet. We make so much fuss about it that maybe it stops being real."
"Everyone thinks it won't happen to them. Because it shouldn't."
"And the worst of it is that guys like Charles McNeil take advantage of that." JJ sighed, rubbed her forehead and closed her eyes. She opened them again and looked at Emily, smiling weakly.
Emily wanted to kiss her, but all she could do was slide her foot against the floor and touch JJ's, as JJ had done for her in the diner only last night. Secrets. So many secrets. Secrets got people killed, and secrets saved lives. "You should come over when we get home."
JJ nodded. "Will you feed me ice cream for breakfast again?" It was a risky thing to say on the plane, but it made Emily smile - really smile, not just the fake one reserved for people who weren't JJ. There were good things in the world, after all.
"Breakfast and dinner and a midnight snack if that's what you want," Emily said, aware of how openly they were flirting in what was essentially a public place.
JJ met Emily's eyes with the smile usually reserved for waking up in bed together. "Believe me, I'll take whatever you're offering."
Emily was inclined to think she wasn't just talking about ice cream, or even about sex. "I'm offering a lot," she said, each word measured and considered, careful and dangerous.
"Are you now?"
"I am." Emily's heart was racing, from the promise implicit in JJ's words and in her own. Their relationship had always existed in the here and now, something too valuable to face an uncertain future. She had long suspected that JJ felt the same way she did, without quite knowing exactly how she felt. If asked to sum up her relationship with JJ (and Emily couldn't imagine why anyone would ask her to do that) she'd describe it as important. Important to them, if to no one else; something so miniscule in the scale of humanity and humanity's problems, yet something that loomed large against the backdrop of pain and suffering they saw every day.
"Well," JJ said, "good." She was looking at Emily intently now, the smile gone, as much meaning in her eyes as in her words. Emily was a profiler, but more than that she was an expert in Jennifer Jareau, and she knew what JJ was saying, and knew that JJ would count on her to understand.
Emily still wanted to kiss JJ. She wanted to hold onto her and never let go, come what may. But she'd settle for seats on a plane, too much ice cream, and crawling into bed with JJ beside her on dark, lonely nights when it hurt even to remember her own name.
In the final reckoning, Emily Prentiss had everything she needed, and with that thought she could close her eyes and sleep without fearing the nightmares that would come.
FANDOM: Criminal Minds
PAIRING: JJ/Emily
RATING: PG-13
NOTES: Title and cut tag text from "When I See You Smile" by Bic Runga. Companion piece to Real Time and Colour, but you don't really need to read that one first. I feel I should mention I'm in New Zealand and we are way behind ("Elephant's Memory" is airing here tonight), so that while I am beyond spoiled for later developments I'm doing the internet equivalent of sticking my fingers in my ears and going "la la la I can't hear you". All this to say that maybe there should be an AU label on this, but I'm in denial.
Oh, and no particular spoilers.
WARNING: References rape in the context of a case.
Light the Bitter Dark
Emily's head was aching.
The florescent lights overhead were too harsh, the sounds of conversation and laughter and cutlery scraping against plates too loud. In the booth behind them a group teenagers were laughing over something that Sophie had said to Caitlin in math class. Emily had been that age a hundred years ago, and six girls lying in hospital beds had been them, a day or a week or a month ago.
She sighed.
"You okay?" JJ asked quietly, her head tilted gently to one side, letting the noise around them cover the words that Emily knew were only for her ears. There were things they didn't share with the others.
Emily shook her head a half-inch to the right and back again, a tiny acknowledgement of the conversation they weren't having. Had it been anyone else asking, she would have claimed to be fine.
JJ made a little noise that Emily understood was to convey sympathy, and pressed her leg against Emily's under the table. Emily welcomed the touch and relaxed into it, and the noise around her receded for a second or two. They'd got good at little gestures in secret, little words that meant everything to them but little to an outsider. It was probably a dangerous game to play around other profilers, but they couldn't not. In the end, it was that simple. Everyone had their secrets, after all.
Morgan addressed a comment to Emily - they were updating Reid's geographic profile based on some new evidence for the current case - pulling her away from JJ and back to the inescapable, painful present. She went reluctantly, but she went. She was good at that, too.
***
Emily had been raised a wanderer. Born in Paris, moved about from embassy to embassy, city to city, country to country, school to boarding school to summer camp, there'd never really been a home to come back to. Even in college she'd moved from dorm to dorm, lived off campus her senior year, and then there'd been the FBI. She'd wandered from one field office to another, making her home in one city after the next, always aiming for the BAU but never quite seeming to make it, never settling down but waiting for the next move.
And now that she'd found her home she flew across the country at a moment's notice, with nothing but a small bag (clothes, nightgown, toiletries, a book or two and a few photos) to call her own. She was adept at living in strange rooms and sleeping in strange beds, reorienting herself every time she arrived in a new place. The only times Emily woke up wondering what city she was in was when she was home in bed.
In all that time, she had managed few real relationships of any kind. Her constant childhood companion had been the battered teddy bear she had deliberately outgrown at twelve; in her adult years there had been men, suitable and otherwise, and more than a few women, but none of those relationships had achieved any real significance. None - until JJ, who was self-assured and confident and beautiful. Emily had never quite been in love before. She'd fancied herself in love, she'd tried to convince herself she was in love, she'd suffered from almost crippling attacks of lust, but this real, solid love, the ease with which JJ fitted into Emily's life, the way Emily found her coming to mind for no reason at all, the simple fact of finding one of JJ's bras tangled with her own in the laundry - it was new, and scary. Raised not to depend on anyone, because independence was the safest option and because there was no one to depend on anyway, Emily was out of her depth, and it was thrilling.
***
Emily spread the photos of the victims - the survivors - across her bed. Hannah Lawrence, 15. Sara Vincent, 14. Nicole Holloway, 15. Nadia Emerson, 16. Cordelia McKenzie, 14. Abigail Durham, 14. Low risk girls, brutally beaten and raped by a masked stranger. She'd seen more traumatised girls in hospital these last two days than she wanted to believe existed in the world.
Emily let her eyes flicker from photo to photo, mind churning, looking for hints, for patterns, for something - anything - that would let them catch this bastard. They'd been able to come up with a reasonably comprehensive profile, but so far they had no suspect list to match it to, no possible unsubs to eliminate. It felt like treading water.
Emily's legs and lower back were aching and she was so tired her thoughts kept slipping from her grasp, yet she was too wired to sleep. The adrenaline which had kept her going from the moment the plane touched down in Miami was apparently endless. Neither reading nor watching TV appealed. A run around the block would have been a nice distraction, but too potentially unsafe to risk. Being an FBI agent sometimes took all the adventure out of life.
There was a knock on the door. Startled, Emily flinched, and had to take a moment to compose herself before she went to answer the door. It was JJ, of course. She slipped inside quickly, and Emily shut the door behind her just as fast. They'd had plenty of practice at hiding.
After their moment in the diner, Emily should have expected JJ's visit. She would have done the same.
"Emily?"
"My head hurts." They were standing close together behind the closed door, JJ carrying her cellphone in one hand, just in case. Emily understood, and resented it anyway.
Unlike Emily, who'd spent the last ten minutes staring out the window, JJ had changed into her pajamas and braided her hair. Unlike the cell, that was a gesture Emily appreciated; she'd woken up with a mouthful of hair on more than one occasion. Whether JJ ended up staying or not (whether the comfort of not being along tonight would outweigh the guilt of straying from the narrow path of professionalism), Emily liked to think that JJ had at least considered the possibility.
"Have you taken anything?" JJ asked.
"I've got some Tylenol in my bag."
"Okay." JJ touched a hand to Emily's arm. "Sit down."
Emily sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb the photos. Her bag was on the chair in the corner of the room; JJ rummaged through it and found the Tylenol, then disappeared into the bathroom, coming back with a glass of water. "Here."
Emily took the pills gratefully, and set the empty glass down on the bedside cabinet as JJ sat down next to her, placing her cellphone beside the glass. And here they were, the two of them sitting in a sterile hotel room, ten floors above street level, Miami spread out below them. Emily wondered how many of its citizens had double-checked their doors and windows tonight, and how many believed that serial rapists were things that happened on TV, or to other people. She wondered how many were keeping tabs on their daughters tonight and how many couldn't care less.
She knew JJ wouldn't offer her platitudes. JJ wouldn't sit here and say we'll get the guy, as if that would make it okay that six girls had to suffer nightmares of the worst kind.
"Long day," JJ said.
"Yeah."
"It doesn't help, you know." JJ jerked her head in the direction of the photos.
"You do it too," Emily said, without meaning to argue. She'd seen similar displays in JJ's hotel room time and time again.
"That's how I know it doesn't work."
There was a whole big bad world out there, assaulting Emily from every direction. She had once told JJ she was good at compartmentalizing. If that had been the truth then, it wasn't any more. "What does work?"
"I wish I knew."
Emily put her head down on JJ's shoulder, remembering, somewhat belatedly, that she was allowed to touch her now. The rules in here were different to the rules out there. "This helps."
"Yeah," JJ said, wrapping her arms around Emily's waist. "And what about this?"
'Better." Emily closed her eyes and discovered that she didn't actually see battered and bruised kids in hospital beds or dumped in alleyways. That was refreshing.
"Want to talk about it?"
"No."
JJ said nothing for a few minutes, and then said "You know, if you change your mind -"
"I know," Emily said, feeling her body beginning to relax. "I will. Maybe when we get home." In all honesty, she didn't know what to say. That this case made her sick to her stomach? It had that effect on all of them, and they all coped in their own way. Apparently, Emily's way was JJ, and maybe JJ's way was Emily. Sometimes it was obvious why a case got to one of them more than to another. Other times there was no rhyme nor reason. It just was. Maybe, as a profiler, she should be looking for a reason.
If it was JJ was struggling, she probably would.
"I should get ready for bed," Emily said. She didn't want to move, but she'd make the effort of moving if it got her JJ in her bed all night.
JJ nodded, and let go. Emily found herself even less inclined to stand up, but forced herself to do so anyway. She found her nightgown in her bag and stripped with an unselfconsciousness that was new to her. JJ didn't ogle the way men did; when JJ saw her naked Emily felt admired rather than objectified. It was a very peaceful feeling.
Emily pulled the nightgown over her head and went through into the bathroom to brush her teeth and remove her make-up. These tiny, everyday rituals were just as grounding as JJ's touch. They made Emily feel real and human, as though she was taking off a mask at the end of a long day. She tied her hair up (because JJ didn't appreciate a mouthful of hers any more than she liked a mouthful of JJ's) and went back into the bedroom. JJ had closed the curtains and put away the photos and was sitting cross-legged on the bed, her braid hanging over one shoulder. "Feel better?" she asked, as Emily closed the bedroom door behind her.
"Mmmm." Emily crossed the room and joined JJ on the bed. After a minute, she asked "How are you?" They had to take care of each other, after all.
"I'm okay," JJ said. "Just tired."
"I know the feeling."
"We should get some sleep," JJ said, her voice as quiet as it had been back in the diner.
"You staying?" Emily asked, as casually as she could, trying not to let her voice betray her desperation. She didn't want to be alone tonight, but nor did she want to tell JJ just how much she needed her.
"Unless you kick me out."
Emily smiled without quite feeling it. "Only if you snore."
Settling into bed, Emily rolled over onto her stomach, her face turned towards JJ. Beside her JJ, lying on her side, slid an arm over Emily's back and snuggled closer. JJ, Emily had been surprised and delighted to find, was a cuddler; it got a little overwhelming at times but for the most part she was glad for the constant reminder of JJ's presence, glad to wake in the night and feel she wasn't alone.
"Em?" JJ already sounded half asleep.
"Yeah?"
"Sleep well."
Emily knew JJ couldn't see her, but she smiled anyway. "You too."
***
JJ was in danger. It was an undefinable menace, something Emily couldn't put mind or finger on, but the what didn't matter so much as the danger. It was close, so close, and if Emily could run fast enough, shout loud enough, she could save JJ from a horrible, painful death.
There was so much blood, and JJ was screaming...
A ringing noise pierced Emily's dream. It was a phone. JJ's cell, to be precise: Emily knew that before she was even quite awake, because it was always JJ's cell that shattered their silent nights.
JJ was leaning over her, fumbling around on the bedside table for the phone. The water glass Emily had used last night fell to the floor as JJ sat up, phone in hand. Emily blinked and rolled over, trying to calm her breathing.
"Jareau."
Another victim. Had to be. Emily thought of the dead look in Abigail Durham's eyes, and felt sick.
JJ's voice was calm and steady, wide awake, confident and professional. In the dim light Emily could see JJ nodding as she spoke, asking them to send her an address and promising to be there as soon as possible. Her free hand was on Emily's arm, stroking absentmindedly as though searching for a kind of comfort. There were a lot of things no one else would ever know about Jennifer Jareau.
Emily sat up, and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand as JJ hung up, sighing long and loud.
"Another victim."
"Yeah. I'll notify Hotch, but I think it'll be just you and me until the morning." Knees drawn up to her chest, arms propped up on them, JJ scrolled down to Hotch's number. Sitting close beside her, Emily felt obscurely as though she should get up and move away, as though Hotch would somehow sense her presence, but she made herself stay where she was. There'd be little enough time to touch JJ today.
"Hotch, I just got a call from Detective Parks. We've got another victim."
Emily could hear the tones of Hotch's voice, thin and tinny through the phone, but not his words. It was an odd sensation. She put her head down on JJ's shoulder and closed her eyes, pretending they had a normal life and trying not to listen.
"Yes, sir. I'll talk to Prentiss and we'll go down to the hospital and interview the victim. I'll let you know what we find." JJ hung up and dropped the phone onto the bed. She sighed, leaning her cheek against Emily's head, her breathing a little rushed.
Emily found and gripped JJ's fingers. Any second now they'd make themselves get out of bed. JJ would go back to her own room, and they'd shower and dress and drive through the night to make a young girl relieve the worst experience of her life. She'd managed to do it time and time again without JJ to lean on, and now that she had her Emily felt somehow more vulnerable than she'd ever been in her life. She wasn't sure how that worked, and didn't intend to study herself closely enough to find out.
"I should go," JJ said, her voice slow and reluctant. She didn't move.
"I know." It was hard to be professional at two in the morning.
"Right. I'm going." JJ pulled gently away from Emily and slipped out of bed. "Meet you in half an hour?"
"Yeah," Emily said, getting up herself and putting the light on. "Love you."
"Love you too," JJ said, and was gone.
Emily rubbed her eyes, grabbed a fresh set of clothes from her ready bag, and headed into the bathroom. She had time for a shower if she skimped on make-up and drying her hair, and it would certainly make her feel a little more awake and in control.
JJ was in the lobby, ready and waiting, when Emily got there, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She'd been in the shower as well.
Bad mental image. Well, good image, bad timing.
Okay. Professional now. Emily swallowed. "What do we know about our victim?"
***
Emily had seen dozens of nightmares come true. Whole families burned alive, children murdered and left in ditches, innocents forced to watch the deaths of those they loved. It never got easier.
Daisy Adamson was only twelve years old. She had red hair and brown eyes. According to her mother, Daisy liked playing the piano, horseback riding and the internet. She was the third of five children and she'd disappeared walking two blocks home from school, only to be found ten hours later in an alleyway, battered, unconscious, and naked.
By the time Emily and JJ were allowed in to see her, she'd regained consciousness but hadn't said a word. She lay curled in the fetal position and flinched whenever anyone, even her mother, touched her. The nurses maintained a hushed silence and her doctor spoke in a low voice, even outside the room.
There was nothing to be gained from interviewing Daisy. They got what medical information the hospital could give them, tried to comfort Daisy's mother (and what comfort was there for anyone in a situation like this?) and asked what questions they could of her, always trying to link Daisy to the other victims, to learn why the unsub had picked her, if it was simply because she'd been alone (having fought with her best friend that day) or if there was some reason they couldn't see yet. Wendy Adamson was more than happy to talk about Daisy, as if remembering better times helped her forget the things that had been done to her daughter, that maybe the Daisy she'd known would never come back. Much of the information they got from her seemed inconsequential, but every bit gave them a better picture of who Daisy was.
It was almost five a.m. by the time they left Daisy's mother. Her father was home with the other kids; sooner or later they'd have to interview them all in search of the missing piece to the puzzle. At least the others would be able to share in that. Hotch would talk to the father, she knew, and Morgan and Reid would be good with the two younger brothers. That would leave her and JJ with the teenage sisters, which would be hard enough.
"I'm going to call Hotch," JJ said, tossing Emily the keys to the SUV as they stepped out of the bright lobby into the early morning. "The field office won't be open yet; if we go back to the hotel we can write all this up."
"Good call."
JJ's conversation with Hotch was brief. She mentioned Daisy's catatonia and the extent of her injuries, the fact that (yet again) there'd been no semen or other DNA present, and a short outline of the information she'd gotten from the mother. Hotch said something to which JJ agreed, and then she hung up and sighed, propping her elbow on the window frame.
"You okay?" Emily asked.
"Yeah." JJ rubbed her forehead, and gave Emily a quick smile. "Hotch wants us to brief the others on what we found out at 8.30. Think we can get our notes done in time for a couple of hours' rest?"
"We can try."
They went almost automatically to JJ's room when they got back to the hotel. It was easier to be professional when the bedroom you were in wasn't the one where you'd just been sleeping with your girlfriend. That was among the many things Emily had never expected to learn from experience.
Sitting cross-legged on the bed, they documented the photos and information they'd got from the cops and the medical staff, and noted what they'd learned from Daisy's mother. It was six thirty by the time they'd finished, so if they wanted to have breakfast before the briefing there wasn't going to be a lot of time to sleep.
"We might as well get some rest," JJ said. "It's going to be a long day."
Emily could only agree, so they set the papers and photos on the floor, stripped down to their underwear to avoid wrinkling their clothes, and settled down on the bed. There was always a tentative moment or two where each wondered what their next move should be. "Come here," Emily whispered, and JJ shifted closer, into her arms, laying her head in the hollow below Emily's collarbone.
That was what Emily wanted: something beautiful to hold. She closed her eyes, leaning her chin against the top of JJ's head as JJ slid an arm around her waist. Visions of Daisy Adamson's mutilated body lying silent in a hospital bed taunted her, encroaching on her safe place. She held JJ closer, and knew she wasn't the only one seeing those images.
They didn't sleep, just lay quietly until passing time forced them to get up and dress again, to fix their hair and make-up, the masks that they wore every day. They skipped the hotel restaurant in favour of the IHOP down the road; it would let them avoid the others a few minutes longer and maintain the facade of a normal life. Emily had to force herself to swallow every bite of her breakfast.
JJ had been right. It was going to be a long day.
***
In the end, it was Wendy Adamson's comment about Daisy's computer skills that put them on the right path. Checking Daisy's school computer account led to a website called 'Miami Girlz' that claimed to offer support and guidance "from girlz, to girlz." She'd posted extensively about the problems she was having with her friend in the days leading up to her attack. The tension had apparently stemmed from Daisy's actions with a boyfriend about whom her parents knew nothing. She had sent and received a number of personal messages from the site's admin.
Hannah Lawrence, Cordelia McKenzie and Nadia Emerson had accessed the site from their home computers, Sara Vincent and Nicole Holloway from computers at their separate schools and Abigail Durham from a local internet cafe, explaining why no one had made the connection earlier. They'd only checked personal computers.
No one was surprised when the site admin proved to be not a girl in her late teens but a man in his early thirties. His computer contained hundreds of pornographic images of young girls and several files containing information on the victims, gathered from personal messages and forums and probably a fair amount of stalking. They also found Nadia's cellphone, Abigail's necklace and Sara's underwear. It was enough to make an arrest. The police and prosecutors would take care of the rest; the BAU's job was over.
They were on the plane back to Quantico just after nightfall, leaving behind them seven shattered young girls and their families. Some people might say they'd won, but Emily knew differently, and knew the others did too. There was no win here, just more or less loss. It was something that made her feel sick, but that she'd quickly grown accustomed to.
It had taken Emily longer to grow accustomed to sleeping on the plane, and to feel comfortable seeing the others sleep. It was an almost sacred state, at the same time private and a public statement of one's own vulnerability. Seeing her boss asleep was outside the natural order of things, and she had always worried that she snored, or drooled, or did something equally embarrassing.
Now, however, it was something she did as a matter of course, something she even appreciated and welcomed. She knew that Reid sometimes talked in his sleep, and that Morgan sometimes snored, and that Rossi preferred to remain awake as long as possible.
She knew that she liked to sit facing JJ with no one else sharing their seats, so they could drift off to sleep watching each other and wake in peace. She wondered if the others knew that about them. If they were did, they were keeping it quiet, and Emily was grateful.
They got their favourite seats tonight, and with the others at the opposite end of the jet it left Emily ample time to study JJ. She looked the way Emily felt, run-down, oppressed by the weight of the world. "What's up?" Emily asked quietly, under cover of the noise of the jet.
JJ shrugged. "The usual. Such a cliche, isn't it? Stranger danger on the internet. We make so much fuss about it that maybe it stops being real."
"Everyone thinks it won't happen to them. Because it shouldn't."
"And the worst of it is that guys like Charles McNeil take advantage of that." JJ sighed, rubbed her forehead and closed her eyes. She opened them again and looked at Emily, smiling weakly.
Emily wanted to kiss her, but all she could do was slide her foot against the floor and touch JJ's, as JJ had done for her in the diner only last night. Secrets. So many secrets. Secrets got people killed, and secrets saved lives. "You should come over when we get home."
JJ nodded. "Will you feed me ice cream for breakfast again?" It was a risky thing to say on the plane, but it made Emily smile - really smile, not just the fake one reserved for people who weren't JJ. There were good things in the world, after all.
"Breakfast and dinner and a midnight snack if that's what you want," Emily said, aware of how openly they were flirting in what was essentially a public place.
JJ met Emily's eyes with the smile usually reserved for waking up in bed together. "Believe me, I'll take whatever you're offering."
Emily was inclined to think she wasn't just talking about ice cream, or even about sex. "I'm offering a lot," she said, each word measured and considered, careful and dangerous.
"Are you now?"
"I am." Emily's heart was racing, from the promise implicit in JJ's words and in her own. Their relationship had always existed in the here and now, something too valuable to face an uncertain future. She had long suspected that JJ felt the same way she did, without quite knowing exactly how she felt. If asked to sum up her relationship with JJ (and Emily couldn't imagine why anyone would ask her to do that) she'd describe it as important. Important to them, if to no one else; something so miniscule in the scale of humanity and humanity's problems, yet something that loomed large against the backdrop of pain and suffering they saw every day.
"Well," JJ said, "good." She was looking at Emily intently now, the smile gone, as much meaning in her eyes as in her words. Emily was a profiler, but more than that she was an expert in Jennifer Jareau, and she knew what JJ was saying, and knew that JJ would count on her to understand.
Emily still wanted to kiss JJ. She wanted to hold onto her and never let go, come what may. But she'd settle for seats on a plane, too much ice cream, and crawling into bed with JJ beside her on dark, lonely nights when it hurt even to remember her own name.
In the final reckoning, Emily Prentiss had everything she needed, and with that thought she could close her eyes and sleep without fearing the nightmares that would come.