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We go home right after drinks, which I didn't think was the greatest idea to begin with. Who wants to celebrate after facing death? But JJ went along, never seemed to protest, until she admitted to me that she was tired and wanted to go home; and then we made our exit. She received hugs from every member of our team; I could tell they were all sorry. Sorry we couldn't have found her sooner, sorry we hadn't been there to reach out when she needed it. I know they were all even more on edge once they remembered that three years ago they'd almost lost me. I feel the worst, however; I was there for her in every moment leading up to it all, and still, I failed to notice.
Once at home, I draw a bath, and without a word she takes off her clothes and lowers herself in. If anything hurts, she doesn't say so, but her eyes are closed.
"I'm okay," she says, her voice a faint whisper. "I can do this myself."
I understand immediately. As much as I want to be there if she needs me, she’s had to hold herself up all night, a façade in front of the others. She hasn't had a single moment alone; to let herself break down, to gather her thoughts without being wary of someone's reactions. I leave her alone in the bathroom, and once in the bedroom, I gather her pajamas; an old Yale sweatshirt of mine and cotton shorts, and I fold them and lay them on the bed.
A little while later, she emerges from the bathroom, wrapped in our biggest towel and with her hair pulled up. I am unsure now of how much help she wants, if any at all. She changes silently; pulls the sweatshirt on over her head and puts on socks one by one. She's quieter than I've ever seen her before and every movement she makes is gentle and almost tentative. Soft footsteps pad across the carpet and then she crawls into bed, leaving me unsure of what to do next. Does she want distance or comfort? I do a couple of things before I join her, hang up her towel, change into my own pajamas, and turn off all of the lights. Her back is to me but I wait to see if she'll move. When she doesn't, I curve into her so that she is the little spoon. If I hadn't gone into hiding after my ordeal with Doyle, this is what I would have wanted directly afterwards. My gesture appears to be welcomed: she doesn't reject my touch and I hear a gentle sigh and the soft sounds of her breathing. It isn't until I'm sure she's asleep that I allow myself to close my eyes, and even then I'm reluctant to leave her.
But she makes it through the night, and I know that this first night of sleep was out of pure exhaustion more than anything else. It's in future nights that the nightmares will come, but for now, she's okay. If anyone can bounce back, it's JJ. I'm afraid, though, that she'll learn too much from me and compartmentalise it all, never allow herself to deal with any of it. But just as much as I can't help her through everything, I can't tell her how to grieve.
That will come on its own, in time; and once it does, it might never leave.