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They say the fifth anniversary of a traumatic event can stir up negative emotions, memories, things you've buried so deep you don't even recognize that it's crept up on you until it's too late and the force of it all pulls you back under with it. And of course they're right, the team has seen enough, experienced enough, to know it to be true.
So when the fifth anniversary of Emily's death starts inching closer the team keeps a watchful eye out.
First it's Morgan and Reid. They bring the woman coffee every morning in the week leading up, using the warm beverage as an excuse to stop and chat before the work day begins. Emily of course knows what they're doing and lets them carry on with it, knowing that while she's surprisingly fine with the approaching date it'll make them feel better if they believe themselves to be helping her cope.
And she doesn't mind the gifted coffee from the café down the street either.
Then it's Penelope, ushering her into her lair or taking her out for lunch where she indulges her in sweet treats and enthusiasm for random things that'll take her mind off the anniversary.
Even Hotch and Rossi join in, pulling her into the Unit Chief's office for drinks. That though isn't entirely new, they're affectionately called the Whiskey Trio for a reason and she rather enjoys the slight smooth burn down her throat while they chat amongst themselves. They're the most guarded of the group, the ones with the most haunted eyes because they've seen - and in Emily's case done - more than the rest.
It's easy to be around them, easy to let some of her barriers drop and for softly spoken truths to come out. Sometimes she talks about nightmares or about long lost lovers or hints to things she can't actually talk about because she doesn't want to go to prison for spilling international secrets.
Hotch talks about Haley and Jack, the guilt he still carries years later and sometimes he talks about feeling like an inadequate leader - although she and Rossi immediately assure him that he's doing just fine. Rossi for the most part talks about cases long past, wives he's lost, things he regrets like not having children of his own and for letting the job rule his relationships because back then he and Gideon had been the driving force and if he'd taken a step back the BAU wouldn't be what it is now.
But the job has left him jaded, even now when he's fully committed to it all once more he still feels an underlying bitterness for everything he's given up in exchange for the unit he's created.
Sometimes they take turns sharing everything all in one night, comforted by the people in the room who are least likely to judge them for their actions and their thoughts. Sometimes only one of them shares, and sometimes they sit in a comfortable silence when none of them feel the weight of the world resting on their shoulders as it so often does.
This time they give her the floor, leaving her space to share if she feels the need because they all have anniversaries of their most painful memories and they know what that particular pain feels like. An ache you'd thought had been soothed, a memory you hadn't even known you remembered because it had been overshadowed by something more painful.
But this time she has nothing to share and tells them as much, tells them that she's doing quite well and her therapist - who she now sees voluntarily - agrees and is yes, equally surprised.
So, yes, the rest of the team keeps an eye out at work and when they have team dinners.
But J.J. is with Emily at home every night and they wake up together every morning and of course she pays attention but outside of that nothing changes because Emily is fine.
She's actually doing really well, expressing some of her grief about the fact that the only members of her former team are her and Clyde and that she thinks part of her will always feel empty because of that. They'd been a family almost as much as the BAU is now and she misses them, even the piece of shit that Jeremy turned out to be because once upon a time they'd been friends and she wonders what exactly drove him to the point of selling them all out.
And if nothing else she truly believes he hadn't meant for so many of them to end up dead. He weighed Emily's life alone against the lives of the rest of the team in the hope that Ian would be satisfied taking Emily's life alone.
She thinks if the roles had been reversed she would've made the same choice.
She knows that if Ian had requested her life alone to save the lives of her old team she would've given herself up willingly before the hunt had started.
J.J. listens to those thoughts with a heavy heart and moist eyes and comforts her wife, but Emily seems to have finally made piece with what transpired. She doesn't flinch when she looks in the mirror and sees the scars, doesn't hide when she's changing and her wife or the kids walk in, doesn't stare at her own reflection and find herself unrecognizable after years of pretending to be Lauren or Samantha or Kate or Natalie.
With this anniversary approaching J.J. thinks she's never seen Emily so sure of herself, so at peace with her past and confident in her present and excited for her future.
Their future.
So you'd expect that this year everything would go smoothly, that the anniversary would come and go with minimal distress and hopefully no tears shed.
Unfortunately things don't go quite as well as expected.
J.J. - as a general statement - considers herself fairly put together, strong even compared to the vast majority of the population. It's a job requirement really, the turnover rate in the BAU pretty high because even the most seasoned agents struggle when they come face to face with the worst of humanity. She can separate herself from most of it, and push down the rest.
And of course the fifth anniversary of Emily's death should impact the older woman a great deal more than anyone else, after all she'd been the one to suffer through death and come out the other side with the scars to prove it.
Emily though seems fine aside from a little extra tenderness where the scars on her chest and stomach are still raised from the rest of her skin even all these years later. But she seems fine, smiling and laughing and getting her work done and really they don't have any reason to worry because the year before hadn't been bad either. Years of therapy had finally allowed her to settle, to come to terms with her death, to acknowledge that she'd never be the same but that the changes didn't have to be a bad thing.
But every time J.J. looks at her wife, smiling and laughing, she remembers seeing her on the floor of the warehouse with a table leg shoved damn near in one side of her body and out the other. She recalls the look on her face when she'd told Derek to let her go, to let her die. She hears those words on a loop instead of the full belly laughter that her wife lets out when Morgan makes a joke and Reid blushes a deep red.
Let me go.
Let me go.
Let me go.
She wonders if she'd played a part in that, if maybe if she'd chosen Emily all that time ago that maybe she wouldn't have taken off after Doyle herself. Maybe she wouldn't have been so prepared to die, maybe she would've found J.J. the thing she needed to live for.
In the week leading up to the date she's slept only a few hours, instead choosing to lie awake next to her wife to ensure her chest continues to rise and fall because when she'd walked into the hospital room the night she'd fabricated her death Emily's chest rose and fell only with the help of a tube shoved down her throat and machines whirring and beeping around her.
And before she knows it it's the night before the anniversary, the night before the anniversary of the worst day of her life and the worst seven months that followed and she can't hold it together.
She lays awake staring at the ceiling, feeling an occasional twitch from Emily while she sleeps and the rare nonsensical stream of words because Emily sometimes talks in her sleep although she'd never admit it. But then for a while things are completely silent from the other side of the bed and there's no movement beyond the steady rising and falling of her chest and that sends her over the edge.
Because she's terrified that one day sooner rather than later maybe Emily will die for real, and she'll be alone. She'll be alone with their beautiful children and their big beautiful home without her wife.
And it's not an irrational fear, not really, because she knows what life without Emily looks like. She knows how it feels to bury a casket under a beautifully carved headstone with Emily Elizabeth Prentiss scrawled across it.
Except now it's Emily Elizabeth Jareau and she thinks that would make the death of her wife that much harder to handle.
But this isn't Emily's problem. She doesn't need the reminder of her death on a day that's painful enough as it is so she slowly climbs out of bed and heads into the bathroom, not bothering to turn the light on when she grabs the hand towel from beside the sink and slides down to the floor with the rag shoved in her mouth and grasped tightly in her hands to muffle the sobs that try their best to break free.
Let me go.
Let me go.
Let me go, let me go, let me go, letmego letmego letmegoletmegoletmego.
The words start blending together and she can hear herself gasping for air around the cloth in her mouth but she can't seem to stop, can't seem to keep the tears in or her heart together.
And it appears she's louder than she thinks because moments later the bathroom light is on and a pair of strong arms wrap around her, hands gently prying the rag from her mouth and tossing it away before pulling her shaking body against her own.
J.J. knows she's being loud, that her gasps are choked and she's sobbing openly on every exhale and that she's leaving tears and snot on Emily's favorite sleep shirt but the older woman doesn't seem to mind. Instead her grip around her tightens and a hand finds its way to the back of her head, fingers gently massaging her scalp and letting her cry it out because neither of them have to say what this is about.
She knows Emily is saying something, her voice soothing some of her terror but for a while she can't make out a single word. The only thing she can focus on is the feeling of her wife wrapped around her, feeling her heart pumping away in her chest and the warmth from her body that tells her she's still alive and well.
"Breathe, baby, that's all you have to do." She makes out, realizing that that's already a hard enough task and she's going to throw up if she doesn't get a grip soon.
It's another few minutes before she can finally take in a decent breath of air, turning her face into Emily's neck and feeling her pulse against her lips. "I'm sorry."
"You're sorry? There's nothing to be sorry for, Jen, nothing at all." Emily tells her softly, voice barely above a whisper. J.J. thinks maybe she'll drag her up and back to bed, maybe she'll drag her to the window seat they love to sit in together and make her talk it out. But she doesn't, doesn't do more than sit on the floor with her running her fingers through blonde hair while her other arm keep her from slipping even an inch away.
She thinks maybe that's why it's usually so easy to fall apart in the presence of her wife, because she's the only person who doesn't expect more from her. She doesn't expect vulnerability, she only accepts it when it's given, she doesn't expect any explanation but she'll listen if one is offered.
She doesn't expect J.J. to be ready to pick herself up off the floor, so she merely stays with her and exhales warm air onto her skin that ward off the chill of the bathroom they're in.
And eventually J.J. is ready to get off the floor and says as much and Emily helps her slowly to her feet, standing still when J.J. doesn't make any move toward the bedroom. It's like her feet have been planted in the floor, roots digging into the titled floor and securing her where she stands and Emily seems to understand and rests her chin on J.J.'s head and waits for a signal that she's able to do more than simply exist.
When Emily pulls away though J.J. grabs her by the waist, staring down at the scars on her body that are a reminder of the series of events they both wish they could forget.
"Do you want me to put something else on?" Emily asks softly, knowing that in an old cropped tank she loves she might be making things worse because of course this is about Ian, everything circles back to Ian even now and sometimes she wishes she could take it all back.
"No." She breathes out, rolling her shoulders back and shaking her head. "No, don't." This time she says it firmly. "Can you do something for me?"
"Anything." Emily answers immediately, meaning it with every fiber of her being.
"Just, stay still." She says softly and when Emily nods J.J.'s fingers find the bottom of the tank top and she slowly pulls it over Emily's head. Usually she'd smirk and make a comment about the way Emily's skin breaks out in goosebumps and her nipples harden in the cool bathroom but this time she barely even notices.
Because other things haver her attention.
The brand on her chest is still there despite Emily's initial desire to have it removed or covered with ink, now a proud reminder to the older woman of her own resilience. She starts there, barely brushing a finger over the clover because she knows on occasion Emily doesn't want it touched, especially when this date rolls around and a psychosomatic ache settles in the scar tissue.
Now though she rests her hands on J.J.'s hips and nods at the silent question, letting her wife know it's okay to touch her.
So J.J. traces the edges of the clover with the tip of her finger, giving a barely there chuckle when Emily shivers and a blush colors her cheeks and she gives her an apologetic smile.
And then her touch becomes more purposeful, tracing the scar with the pads of her fingers until she can close her eyes and make out the shape even in the darkness behind her lids. She traces it for what feels like hours, her forehead resting against Emily's, simply existing in this moment that's heavy and loaded and somehow more important than anything else in the world because this is her wife and she refuses to hate any part of her body regardless of the traumatic memories tied to the scar.
After a while she seems to make peace with it and Emily shivers when J.J.'s head ducks down and she traces the scar with her tongue, mapping the slightly raised tissue a few times before she leaves a soft whisper of a kiss to the brand on her chest.
And then one of J.J.'s hands splays across the scar on her stomach and they both suck in a breath of air and then let it out like they've been holding it in for ages.
And maybe they have.
She drops to her knees right in front of her wife and this time she doesn't waste time with feather-light touches, instead firmly tracing the pattern of the scar tissue. It runs from her left hip bone diagonal to her bellybutton. She know Emily isn't particularly fond of the way this scar has turned out, the purpose of the emergency surgery to save her life rather than give her the smallest and prettiest scar possible.
So the skin is pulled a little tight where they stitched her up, the skin pulled tighter on the left side of her body. Her ribs and her hipbone are noticeably sharper on that side than they are on the other and the scar is admittedly a little scary looking. Not for her, but because scars like that only result from life threatening injuries, cosmetic considerations thrown out the window because they're not even sure she'll make it through the operation let alone live for the wound to heal into a scar.
Emily has become more comfortable with it over the years, one-piece bathing suits and cover ups at BAU pool parties traded in for bikinis and sun tan lotion in the last two years. But she remembers how hard it had been for Emily to learn to love that scar, to wear it as a sign of her strength in life rather than a reminder of death.
It hadn't been easy getting to this point but now J.J. dislikes it more than Emily does.
She hadn't known it, had never had issues with it until today.
So her fingers press firmly against the raised skin, eyes following the path her fingers take and Emily rests a hand on her head and runs her fingers through her hair and gives her the time she needs to learn to love this part of her.
This is her wife who she worships, and she wants to love every inch of her body.
Scars included.
She trails soft kisses along the jagged scar and meets Emily's eyes as she does it, seeing the love and patience radiated back at her and suddenly the words in her head fade away and the 'let me go' she's been hearing on loop for hours changes to other things, more important things, the most important things Emily has ever said to her.
I love you.
Those are my sons too!
Of course I want to marry you.
I do.
I'm pregnant.
I'll love you until the very last breath leaves my body.