Chapter Text
Jennifer Jareau brushed one hand through her long blonde hair, her blue eyes scanning her office one last time before she left on vacation. Satisfied that she had done everything humanly possible to leave the team in good shape for a week, she closed her office door, locked up, and headed out.
It was very late - she had stayed long past the rest of the team, and now there was only the usual late-night skeleton crew. She waved as she left; they were used to seeing her, but even she usually made it home before this. She had been working to make the office as clean and easy to navigate as possible, since Emily Prentiss would be using her office in her absence, and handling anything urgent that came up.
Just the thought of the brunette was enough to lighten JJ's face slightly -- a regrettably rare occurrence these days, as she seemed to be spiraling into a blacker and blacker mood. Hence the vacation.
Something about the last case had apparently been the proverbial straw, as she was unable to shrug it off. She was slowly losing her ability to keep the delicate balance they needed: to care enough to be able to comfort the victims; but to keep enough distance that she wasn't emotionally devastated by every case. And she was slowly sinking under the bleak reality of the team's work.
Lately, just coming to work was a chore. When she first joined, she was buoyed by the belief that they were making a difference. Now it all seemed so pointless. How could she continue coming to work each day, knowing every day there'd be more cases and more victims? There would always be another killer to catch; they would never be done. She wasn't sure she could keep it up.
So the day after they wrapped up the case, she had asked the team's leader, Special Agent Hotchner, if she could take some leave. And since you couldn't plan for the next serial killer, he had let her take off the following week. That gave her a couple of days to prep Emily on the basics of what she did - more specifically, the review method she used to triage which cases they should take. Since Emily was a profiler, it was easy enough to give her the basic checklist; she knew Emily would know the difference between an unfortunate but coincidental series of attacks and a budding or full-fledged predator.
She also took that time to decide where to go. Because she had realized that what she really needed was time away. Away from the images, away from the murders, away from the team, away from the pressure, and even away from Emily. Because that was becoming a problem of its own.
She went to Garcia, of course.
"So, I'm taking next week off. Where should I go?" she said, as she breezed into the office of their self-proclaimed tech goddess.
Garcia eyed her. "That's sudden -- is everything okay?" JJ had expected Garcia to be inquisitive, but she didn't want to bring down her friend and lay bare all of her issues right now.
"I just need some time away to recharge. I'm thinking someplace warmer than here," she interrupted Garcia, whose eyes had lit up, "and no, I'm not looking for any vacation flings. I just want a nice place where I can be outside, and enjoy the surroundings, but I don't want to feel like I'm the latest steak at a meat market."
"Are you sure?" asked Garcia, wheedling. "Because there's nothing like some hot action to fix whatever ails ya."
JJ sighed.
"No, really. Just someplace... away. But not TOO far, because I don't want to be jet lagged. And not TOO hot, because I can get that here. Maybe someplace with interesting places to walk, or history, or something."
"Well, if you're sure you're not interested in hot bodies and hot nights..." Garcia's fingers began flying over her keyboard.
"Oh, and absolutely, positively no place I've been on a case," JJ added. Garcia's fingers hesitated just briefly, and then soon enough she was obviously reviewing results.
"Too far away... Ugh, nasty place! Not there... Not there..." Finally, "Oh, here's one! How about Savannah?" Garcia asked brightly.
"Savannah... Hmm... " JJ mused.
"Great historical landmark district, near the ocean, an eight hour drive... Only a couple hours by air... Let's see, nothing direct from here, so you could change in Atlanta..." Garcia saw JJ's shoulders tense and added smoothly, "or Cincinnati. What's your preference?"
"You know, I think I'll drive," decided JJ. "Any chance you could find me a place to stay?" She turned her best puppy dog eyes onto Garcia.
"No need to pull out the big guns there, missy!" Garcia huffed. "Although I will say, it's lucky it's not tourist season, or even I, the mighty goddess of all before her, could have trouble finding you a place to rest your head. However, since it's not... any preference? Big hotel? Bed and breakfast?"
"Let's go big - I'd rather be anonymous this trip."
"Alright, let's see. Here we go, nice large hotel, view of the river, Garcia discount in play. Check-in?"
"Saturday. And can you make it a late check-in? I can give you my credit card."
"No need, I have it already."
"Penelope!"
"What, you know it's safe with me. As long as you don't mind a little extra on each bill; a girl's got to shop somehow. ANYWAY," she added hurriedly, "Checking out?"
"Hmm. Friday. That'll give me a weekend to relax at home before I have to come back to work."
"And... voila! There you go. I just sent an email to you with the information."
"Great, thanks Garcia. You're the best." Stooping, JJ gave her friend a quick hug. "But that doesn't mean you can use my card for your perverted ends!"
"Rats."
* * *
And just like that, JJ was on her way to Savannah.
She headed out at a leisurely hour on Saturday, indulging herself by sleeping as late as she liked. The trip down was, in fact, exactly what she needed. She mostly let her mind wander; and when it wandered in uncomfortable directions, she turned on music as loudly as she could stand, singing along at the top her lungs. It felt great. And if the people in cars around her thought she looked odd... well, that was their problem, not hers.
She sped south on I-95, a straight shot to Savannah. It wasn't particularly picturesque, but at least it was quick. The highpoint of the trip -- if you could call it that -- was her brief stop at "South of the Border' -- the tackiest, loudest, most neon tourist trap she had ever encountered. She thoroughly enjoyed it, and got souvenirs for the team. Simply because everything on display was too... something... to pass up.
JJ pulled into Savannah after dark, but was able to easily find her hotel. She checked in, tossed her bags onto her bed, and headed out to get something to eat. The city was still bustling and Saturday night was in full swing. She wandered along the Riverfront, and eventually had a pleasant dinner overlooking the river. She thought about how romantic the evening would have been with the right person. Say, a tall brunette, she thought to herself wryly, with an intense stare and a killer smile. And finally, fortified by a nice glass of wine, she allowed herself to examine her feelings toward her teammate, Emily Prentiss.
Recently, JJ had come to realize that her feelings about Emily had been shifting. What she originally believed to be a budding friendship was developing into a serious crush. Well, to be fair, it already was a serious crush. She was just happy being around Emily. She seemed to spend her time either looking for ways to spend more time with Emily; or worrying that when she was around the other agent she was acting like an idiot; or wondering whether the other woman felt the same way.
Basically, any brain time not spent on work or basic survival tended to fill with Emily-related thoughts.
Of course, the problem was she had no idea whether she had any chance at all with the other agent. Emily said she was particularly good at 'compartmentalizing' -- but later conversations with the brunette had revealed that as much as anything, her apparent ease at handling their cases came from having parents in the diplomatic corps.
From her childhood, Emily had been basically trained to present a certain, unwavering image to the world, whatever she might really think. And that friendly, impenetrable front was what made it so hard for JJ to tell if maybe, just maybe, Emily might be open to more than just friendship.
The not knowing was endlessly frustrating, and one of the things that she didn't want to obsess over, but did anyway. Sometimes JJ felt sure that Emily was interested in her: The way they worked together so seamlessly when they were paired up. Emily's tendency to touch her shoulder or arm in passing. The special smile that she thought Emily gave only to her, and not others on the team. Sometimes she was positive there was a spark.
Plus Emily had been so supportive during the whole nightmare of Garcia's shooting. If she thought about it, JJ could still feel Emily's hand on hers in the hospital. The other agent hadn't said anything, hadn't uttered meaningless platitudes. They were both too knowledgeable about hospitals and shootings and fatalities for that to help. No, Emily just sat next to JJ and took her hand, offering silent but sincere support, knowing how close JJ was to the IT tech.
But maybe she would have done that for any good friend, thought JJ. Gah, it was so frustrating! And what was worse, she didn't have anyone to hash it over with. If it had been someone outside the agency (who was she kidding, she didn't have time to meet someone outside the agency) she might have talked to Garcia about it. But she couldn't in this case -- the thought of someone on the team knowing about her crush made her skin crawl.
In fact, her bigger worry was that Garcia probably knew already. The woman was frighteningly observant. Which is what made her such a valuable friend - she always helped JJ with insightful, blunt assessments of whatever situation JJ brought to her. But in this case, JJ was working hard to make sure Garcia didn't have anything to comment on.
When Emily first joined the team, she and Garcia had naturally assessed their new coworker - at that point, Emily was still an outsider. But they had warmed up to her quickly -- they still laughed about the guy who tried to pick her up claiming to be an FBI agent! -- and talking about her after a certain point had seemed wrong.
So here she was. Left to stew in her own thoughts, running in circles, unable to get an objective viewpoint from anyone else.
In addition to just needing time away from her job, that's what this week was about. First and foremost, she had to regain her perspective on the seemingly endless parade of horrors they confronted daily. That was first. But she also had to decide how she could continue to work with someone for whom she had much more than 'friendly' feelings. And if she couldn't figure it out... JJ couldn't even bear to consider that. So she'd use this time to get her head together, and back in the game. Focused on work, not her miserable and misery-inducing love life. Or lack thereof.
But for now, I won't think about it anymore, JJ decided. Back to the hotel so I can get a fresh start tomorrow.
* * *
Emily Prentiss poked her head into Garcia's office -- her earthly domain, as she liked to call it -- first thing Monday morning.
"Welcome to the abode of all information. What can the goddess do for you?" Garcia asked brightly.
"Actually... I was just wondering if you had a chance to talk to JJ before she left?" Emily asked diffidently. "I was just... Well, I've been a bit worried about her." The normally cool agent seemed a little flustered to the discerning eye of the team's tech expert.
Garcia sobered.
"Yeah, I've been a little worried, too. But I think she was feeling a lot better, just knowing she wouldn't be coming in for a week."
Prentiss looked relieved.
"Oh, great. Good. Just with everything going on, she seemed... well, great, I hope she has a good time. Okay, yeah, talk to you later - thanks."
And Emily was out the door before Garcia had time for more than a nod and a wave. Garcia looked after her, a calculating gleam in her eye, as she began adding up two and two and coming up with her usual accurate four.
* * *
JJ woke slowly, muzzily coming awake to light in her eyes. Her mouth was dry and her head was pounding. She groaned slightly and put one arm over her eyes.
As she became more aware, she realized she wasn't in her own bed. Right, I'm on vacation, she remembered. But why was that damned light right in her eyes? Had she forgotten to turn off the light before she went to bed? She moved her arm slightly and peered through one slitted eye at the offending light source. At the sight of a bare light bulb hanging from a unpainted cement ceiling, her brow furrowed in confusion, and then the rest of her senses chimed in.
She couldn't hear anything but her own breathing. She felt cold and clammy and she was lying on something hard and lumpy, not her hotel room's comfortable bed. And she noticed now a musty, damp smell to the air as well. Oh my god, she thought in panic, and sat upright abruptly.
Too abruptly, as it turned out. Her head started spinning crazily, and a mild queasiness she hadn't noticed previously manifested itself abruptly with a series of gags. She glanced around wildly -- and saw in the corner what appeared to be a primitive toilet. She staggered over, fell to her hands and knees, and after emptying her stomach of what little was in it, continued dry heaving until finally the spasms stopped.
Shakily, but carefully, she leaned back on her heels. It was then she noticed that she had a manacle around one wrist. She lifted her right arm, and could see that the chain attached to her wrist was bolted into the corner farthest from the door. She staggered back to the bed -- or rather the cot -- and sat down.
She took in her surroundings. She was in a small, windowless cell. The walls were made of cement block, the floor was cement, and the ceiling appeared to be made of cement as well. There was a door in the wall across from where her cot was, and, of course, the bare light bulb.
JJ rolled onto her back again to ease her still roiling stomach. Closing her eyes, she again threw one arm across her face to keep the light from pounding on her sensitive eyelids. How had she gotten here?
She cast her mind back. She remembered arriving Saturday night, dinner out, going back to the hotel. Sunday morning she had explored the River Front, doing some light shopping, basically acting like the tourist she was, exploring her new home for the week. She had picked up a book of self-guided walking tours of the city, among other odds and ends.
After a light lunch, she had put the new book to the test, doing the first walking tour. If the book was informative enough, then she would skip the various guided tours Garcia had forwarded to her. She wasn't interested in company.
Designed for someone who was going to be in Savannah for several days, the first tour was intended to provide an overview of the entire historical district. Later tours focused on specific interests, whether architectural or historical. She recalled reading about James Edward Oglethorpe, and his role in laying out the city's distinctive and internationally lauded design.
She had started the tour and after a pleasant few hours was close to wrapping up. She was as far as she was going to get from the Riverfront, visiting... what was it, Calhoun Square? For whatever reason - because it was the off season? because it was not one of the famous squares? because it didn't have a statue? because she just had shitty, shitty luck? -- there hadn't been many people around.
It was a gorgeous, sunny afternoon, so she had taken a seat on one of the benches, intent on doing just what her book suggested, and enjoying the tranquillity and peace. She had her guidebook out and was leafing through it, reading ahead for which tour to take next day.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw someone take the next bench, and pull out the newspaper. She glanced over as he snapped it open and straightened it out, and their eyes met briefly.
He was older than she was and seemed utterly nondescript. Brown hair, average height, wearing glasses. Not unattractive, but not likely to be on anyone's bathing suit beauty calendar any time soon. Ordinary. He had smiled, and nodded at her book, and said it was one of the better ones. She didn't really want to talk to anyone, but she was by nature polite, so she responded pleasantly enough. He mentioned he lived near the square, and that actually piqued her interest, because she thought it must be fascinating to live in the midst of such amazing architecture and design.
After a few moments of conversation, he politely apologized for interrupting her quiet time. He got up - to move to another bench she thought - and then she heard a pop and felt a few seconds of literally paralyzing pain. She couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything but be awash in pain. She thought she might have passed out.
When she was aware of what was happening again, he was asking her if she was okay, and helping her to walk. He got her into a car, and then she felt a sting in her arm, and she faded out again. Looking back, she wondered if perhaps she had been tasered and then drugged. It certainly would explain how he had managed to get her into his car. She just couldn't believe no one had seen it. But more to the point, why had he taken her? And what would happen next?
* * *
JJ awoke again, but this time she remembered far too quickly where she was. How long had she been here? She was inclined to think it was certainly Monday, if not later, because now that the queasiness was gone, she was ravenously hungry.
She looked around, and this time she noticed a bottle by the door. Had it been there before? By stretching the chain to its full length, she could reach the bottle with her free hand. Pulling it closer, she realized it looked like water. Was it poisoned or drugged? She finally shrugged -- without water, she'd die anyway, so she uncapped the bottle and took a sip. She just managed to keep from gulping down all the water. She didn't know how long she'd been here, but she shouldn't assume she was getting more.
JJ took a more careful look around the room. Now that she wasn't woozy from the drugs, she was discouraged to discover that it was still a plain cell with no windows and only one door. She tentatively shook the bed, to see if the frame moved, but it appeared to be bolted to the floor.
And of course, she now realized her purse was gone - which included her phone, gun and FBI ID. She wondered if his knowing that she was an FBI agent helped or hurt her case.
JJ forced herself to apply what she knew about crime to her situation. Obviously, this wasn't a simple purse-snatching, or she'd still be in the park. Kidnappings usually involved money or leverage; she wasn't from money, and she couldn't see why anyone would think she provided special leverage. She forced herself to think of other possibilities. She saw dozens of cases every day where women were kidnapped. What was it Hotch had said? "Most of our cases involve young women your age." And then she stopped thinking about what could happen. It wouldn't do her any good. She instead focused on the basics: she was trapped in this cell and needed to get out before whatever could happen, did. She carefully looked over the cell again, this time trying to figure out whether she was being watched.
Tentatively, she said aloud, "Hello? Can anyone hear me?"
And then louder, "Hello??"
And finally she shouted, "HELLO! CAN ANYONE HEAR ME! I NEED HELP!"
She felt the sudden nearly overwhelming urge to shout and shout and shout, and just barely managed to recognize it as panic. Resolutely, she turned and sat down on the bed.
And waited.
* * *
JJ's sense was that she had been waiting all day -- and that it was now evening. She had no way of knowing, because there were no windows, but that's what her bodyclock was telling her.
Over the course of the day, she had prowled over every inch of the cell -- every inch that she could reach, at least. And there was... nothing. No convenient cracks in the wall, no loose bolts or parts of the metal cot she could pry loose. He hadn't left anything in her pockets - and even if he had left her something, what could she do? Manacled to the wall, she couldn't reach the door, or the light fixture.
The day had been a long struggle to maintain her composure; wondering what was going to happen was excruciating. A slide show of every horrific image she had seen over the past few years was on autoplay in her mind. A part of her blackly wished that he would just show up so she could get it over with; and the rational part of was dreading that moment.
Suddenly, she heard a key in the lock of the door.
JJ stood without realizing it, and backed into the corner of the room, where the chain was attached.
The door swung inward, and there stood the man from the park. He smiled politely at her, and said, "Hello, my dear."
And then he raised his hand and this time at least she saw the taser before she was again in excruciating agony. Dimly, she felt herself jerk backwards. Her head slammed against the wall behind her and then she slid to the floor. He grabbed her arms and pulled them together and snapped cuffs onto them. When she feebly tried to jerk away, still unable to control her movements, he said chidingly, "Now, now."
He stepped back, briskly brought in a wheelchair, and manhandled her into it efficiently. The chair was equipped with ankle cuffs, which he snapped shut, and similar cuffs around her upper arms. He had worked so quickly that JJ still hadn't recovered enough from the taser to even keep her head up by the time he had her strapped in. Then he wheeled her around, and they left the cell.
"You know," her captor started conversationally, "you're very nearly perfect, compared to the other girls. I thought they would be perfect, too, but they had flaws. I worked really hard with them to make them perfect, but in the end, it just didn't work out." He sighed. "It's too bad. I mean, it shouldn't be that hard."
He pushed her into the center of a large room. Windowless and with cement walls, similar to the one she was being kept in, but furnished like a sitting room. There was a small sofa on one side, bookshelves, a coffee table, side chair -- even a carpet on the floor.
There was an open area to one side, and it was here that he stopped her chair. JJ had recovered enough to now be aware and started to turn her head around to try to see what he was doing.
"Don't turn around!" she heard, followed by a heavy, stinging smack on the back of her head -- not enough to knock her unconscious but enough to bring tears in her eyes and, in her weakened state, to make her lose focus for a moment. She shook her head, and then felt something being buckled around her neck.
Instinctively, she tried to raise her hands to prevent it, but buckled as her upper arms were, she could only flail at the elbow. And this time she saw what he was using - a cane of some kind -- as he brought it down sharply across her forearms. JJ couldn't stop the exclamation of pain and the tears that ran down her face.
Her captor came around in front her.
"Now, I didn't want to have to do that but you're going to have to be a little better behaved. A lady wouldn't show such unseemly interest in something that's not really any of her business." JJ thought that something being put on her neck most certainly was her business, but decided that discretion was the better part of valor in this case.
"That's our first lesson. That wasn't so bad, was it?" He smiled at her, cheerily. "My name is Charles Shrader. You may call me Mr. Shrader.
"Ms. Jarreau -- and may I say what a lovely name that is! -- I'll set some ground rules for us, and we should get along just fine. We're here because I'm looking for just the right girl to introduce to my mother. I noticed you in the park and thought maybe I had finally met the right person. But before you can meet her, I need to be sure that you are up to her standards. So we're going to have a few lessons." He pulled over a chair and sat down.
"I just fastened a little collar around your neck." His face fell sorrowfully. "I hate to have to do that, but some people just don't seem interested in learning to be a lady.
"Today's lesson is about moving gracefully, in a ladylike manner." And by movement, he apparently meant walking. He unbuckled one of her arms - though her hands were still cuffed together - and then stepping back out of reach, leveled the taser at her and told her to release herself from the chair.
And so JJ walked, back and forth across the small open area, while Shrader hovered behind her or to one side. Just out of her reach and generally out of her view.
As she walked, Shrader barked out instructions and corrections. "You're walking too quickly, it's not a race." "Don't stride, shorten your step!" "Don't swing your arms like that!" "Back straight, head up!" Of course being dizzy with hunger wasn't helping. When had she last eaten, anyway? She thought longingly of the sandwich she had picked up Sunday afternoon before her walking tour.
But she quickly learned not to let herself get distracted. If she didn't respond quickly enough, or made a mistake, she got another sharp rap with the cane. Along her shoulder blades, or on the back of her legs. Each a hard, precise strike that brought tears to her eyes, but didn't break skin or bones. "Don't make me tell you again to keep your head up," Shrader said, with an odd note of anticipation in his voice. It seemed only moments later that he said, "For the third time, keep your head up!" That was the last thing she heard before paralyzing pain rocketed through her, this time starting from her neck.
Involuntarily, she grabbed at the collar -- which was all too obviously electrified -- and received a series of hard strikes on her forearms, as he shouted, "Put your hands down!" The end result was long, agonizing moments on the floor, helpless tears running down her face, as she waited for the shocks and bruises to stop aching. But she got no reprieve -- as soon as he could see she was coherent, he was urging her to her feet again. "Quickly, now, I wouldn't want to have to encourage you with the collar." Knowing that her collar was electrified, JJ was glad now she had not attempted to escape earlier.
Then they continued as if nothing had happened. Shrader added other activities. Standing and sitting gracefully. Picking up pieces of paper from the floor or from the coffee table, or from the desk. And all had to be accomplished in his pre-approved 'ladylike' fashion.
JJ couldn't just passively continue. Thinking she might be able to negotiate her own way out of this mess, she attempted to start a conversation. "You know, Mr. Shrader, I'm an FBI agent."
"Don't drag your feet" was her only response.
"I have friends who'll be looking for me. Why don't you just let me go?"
This time the response was another shock. Another face to face with the hard floor, more cane strikes all over. Not the result she was hoping for.
After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably only a few hours, JJ was so tired that she was having trouble even standing, let alone carrying out his precise movements. Even sitting, which of course required a straight back and head held high, and legs and arms just so, was exhausting.
Shrader finally said in disgust, "Alright, you may sit down in your chair. We're done for the day. I'm disappointed, but you're clearly not paying enough attention."
She sat down as she had been instructed, and suddenly, again, was in the grip of blinding pain. This time, she must have actually passed out - when she came to, she was back in her cell. The collar was gone, and she was chained to the wall again.
* * *
Thus began JJ's training. That night, she lay on her cot, too hungry and in too much pain to fall asleep immediately, even though she was thoroughly exhausted. Her neck was tender, and her throat was raw. And everywhere he had hit her was throbbing -- and that was pretty much everywhere. She could see red welts over her arms and legs, and given how sore her back was, figured that was more of the same.
JJ was in despair over surviving this. She more than anyone knew how easy it was to make someone disappear. Her mind filled involuntarily with pictures - hundreds of horrifying images of mutilated women they had found. Women brutalized beyond any sane comprehension.
Involuntarily, she jerked upright on the bed, shaking her head. The movement was rewarded with a reawakening of every ache in her body, but at least it cleared her mind.
Okay, he's obviously deranged -- sane people don't kidnap other people to be their fiancees -- but no need to go straight to worst case scenario,, JJ chided herself. Think about something happy.
Immediately, Emily Prentiss filled her mind. JJ constructed an image to ward off other, less appealing images. Of course, the brunette would be wearing those sexy, sexy jeans -- the ones that hugged her curves tight, and hung low on her hips. Mmmmm, sighed JJ. Let's see, how about that red t-shirt she wears, with the v-neck, I love her in red. Done. And she's laughing, because I just said something funny. And she's looking at me with that look, the one that makes me think that maybe she likes me as more than just a friendly co-worker.
JJ let the image firm and solidify in her mind. It's my own 'happy place' she thought, a little bitterly. But it gave her a little peace as she finally, fitfully drifted off.