Work Text:
JJ
She's barely looked at me.
It's been six weeks. Six empty, arid weeks. She's hardly even spoken to me.
All she thinks about is him. And what's so surprising about that? All any of us think about is him.
I could flay Foyet. I mean it literally. If they want a volunteer to administer cruel and unusual – torturous – punishment, I'm their woman. I'll do it with a blunt knife and a dirty rolling pin. I'll peel him by inches and wind his skin around the wood like a scroll, fresh and bloody...
Yes, I could torture Foyet to death with methodical ease. I could shred his sick hide for focusing all our attention on him.
Rossi should know better, surely. He's all 'We have to let Hotch know we're here for him'. Garcia lets Hotch verbally smack her around. Reid hardly notices his own crippled knee. Morgan... Morgan has gone alpha but looks like he might swoon. I think he's fighting Emily for him.
Emily. My Emily. She's groomed herself into Hotch's bodyguard. She drives him to work, she hovers at his apartment, she doesn't let him out of her sight here or in the field. No wonder Morgan's wound up like a spring. His testosterone spill can't compete with her.
It's a mess. It's upside down. He's our boss. He's the one who's supposed to be looking after us, not the other way round. He can't. Am I the only one who sees it?
Why doesn't Emily see me?
Morgan told me what Hotch did at the unsub's house. My God, if one of us ran in like that, Hotch would have us keelhauled. Why didn't they call him on it? What about the next time?
But they don't, and I can't. I feel peripheral.
It takes every last ounce of my tact and guile to get Emily alone. I persuade her she needs to relax for an hour. A quiet drink, that's all. As I guide her down into the dim alcove I brush my lips against hers, reminding her of what I taste like, reminding her that I'm here. She smiles, distracted, as though she really had forgotten for a while; but as her eyes find mine over the glass of wine I see the familiar flicker of desire.
I wonder if Morgan knows he owes me now.
We drink and talk. I control the subjects carefully. I don't want any glimmer of Hotch here, and if we discuss anything work-related he will be, somehow. I make sure she has another glass but I don't touch my own refill - I want to drive her home.
"It's ok." She waves my offer aside. "I promised Hotch I'd check on him before I go home."
I can feel my jaw tighten. Something prickles behind my eyes. I point to her large empty glass on the table.
"You shouldn't drive. I'll take you to him."
I know what I'm doing as I negotiate the dark streets to Hotch's building, with Emily relaxed in the passenger seat beside me. I know exactly what I'm capable of. I could skin Foyet alive, so this should be easy. I park close to the street light and I'm out of the car first – she's not quite sober, after all. I move round quickly to open the door for her, but I don't step back as she stands. I place my hands on her shoulders, and hers rest on my waist in response with practised ease. Our hips draw together instinctively. Our kiss is unhurried, tender... and unmistakeably familiar.
Tiny hairs rise on the back of my neck. It's him. I smile into her mouth when I feel his eyes pierce me between my shoulder blades. I deepen our kiss, prolonging our caresses. It's several long, sweet moments before I slip back and release her from the confines of the car. She whispers as she slides past.
"I've missed you, JJ."
"Yeah."
Emily trots towards the building a few moments later and I turn around lazily. I lean back against the vehicle, folding my arms with a confident air. I let my gaze drift up towards his window and linger on his silhouette. For once his stare doesn't faze me.
I wait for her outside the car. The cool night air is refreshing, and she's not going to be long.
Morgan
He doesn't even see me.
It's been six weeks and six hours. I've been counting – better than Rossi realised.
"He's only had a month off, Rossi."
"Technically, thirty-four days."
Since then just another eight days... and six hours. He's hardly spoken to me.
"You think that's long enough?"
"You don't? Tell him."
Why won't Rossi?
I could smash Foyet's face in. I mean it literally. If they want a volunteer to drive his nasal bone into his cerebellum, I'm their man. I'll do it with my bare fist and a smile. I'll do it with a single blow, leave him crushed and bloody...
Yes, I could pound Foyet to death with simple ease. I could shatter his sick skull for ripping apart the focus we need and smearing what's left of it on him.
No one will tell him.
Hotch made Garcia cry. Damn it, the bastard made her cry. I don't want to forgive him. Reid doesn't have a clue what to do – how could he? And Emily... Jesus Emily. What are you doing? Do you think bringing him to work when he should be on leave is helping? You're making this dangerous farce possible.
He doesn't need a god-damn bodyguard. Screw you, Emily.
Why doesn't Hotch see me?
When he took off into the unsub's house I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Neither could Emily. He would have our asses for the same, before we got ourselves or anyone else killed. We should have said something then. We should have done something that same day.
But if Rossi won't, how can we?
I'm going to stop him. Even if I have to yell. Even if I have to punch him.
Even though I want to hold him. Even though I want him in my arms like before.
It takes every last ounce of my control to drive safely to his building. I want to floor the accelerator. I want to challenge and beat every other driver on the road. As I pull in I recognise another car there – it's JJ's vehicle. I feel my throat tighten, a silent snarl forming on my lips. Damn it, her too now? I thought she knew better.
If Hotch is our helmsman, JJ is our anchor. She keeps us grounded with the rest of the world. She sees all of us from another angle. While we're focusing on killers and victims, she keeps one eye on the team. She sees what we don't always see.
So I wouldn't blame her for coming to yell and punch him either. But if she's pulling a stunt like Emily's, so help me...
But JJ's not inside with Hotch. As I rise up out of my car I see her on the other side of her vehicle, leaning back against an open door, looking up at the building. Her arms are folded across her chest and one ankle is crossed casually over the other. I'm confused. Is she watching him?
She sees me approach.
"Hey, Morgan."
She doesn't seem surprised to see me. She isn't threatened either.
"What's going on?" I ask, a little too bluntly.
"Emily wanted to check on him."
She notices my frown at that, and then my puzzlement. Her smile is relaxed, generous.
"She had half a bottle, so I'm driving her home." She winks at me, and the clueless man in me finally gets one. Oh my. Emily and JJ. Her expression turns reassuring. "She won't be long."
My mouth dries. God. She knows.
I turn away, struggling to form words that don't sound like a nervous kid's.
"Ok. Well, if he's ok, I'll just give him some space-"
Her hand lands on my forearm, preventing me from leaving. She doesn't have to exert much pressure.
"Morgan." Her eyes are unblinking on me. "He shouldn't be at work with us, but neither should he be alone."
I could kiss her. I could plant one on her right there, without a shred of feeling except my gratitude.
"Go on up," she encourages.
I pass Emily in the corridor. She's on her way out and I dare to believe she's come to her senses. How ironic if I'm the one who's losing mine, but I don't care.
He answers the door in a crisp white shirt, already half unbuttoned. It looks like he was about to take a shower.
"Morgan..." He seems a little distracted, as though he'd half-forgotten who I am. Then he opens the door wide. "Come in."
I can see the uppermost scar. It marks his chest with a reddened line. One day those scars will be almost white, but there will be years of fading in between.
All the loud words I had are gone. I'm no better than Rossi, even here with Hotch alone. I can't tell him. I'm no different to Emily, no different to JJ. Like them I can only act out, give selfish purpose to the frustration.
So I touch the scar with my finger.
I hear him breathe. I inhale him.
His hands touch me, under my t-shirt. Hotch looks like his touch should be cool – icy even – but it never is. He's always warm. His fingertips are fiery on my back and his breath is hot against my neck.
I taste his cologne. I notice something else – someone. I can't help my growl against his ear.
"Hotch, I can smell Emily on you."
"Shut up, Morgan."
His aggression surfaces at my jealousy, ripping my shirt up over my head, shoving me back against the closed door. I feel the roughness of his chin against my cheek, his tongue pushing between my lips and swirling inside, seeking possession. I sense his hardness growing against me seconds before he pulls me forward and propels me to the bedroom.
He sees me again.
I owe you, JJ.
~~~