Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Emily frowned at herself in the mirror. She’d tried, really she had, but the angry purple bruises on her face were unwilling to be hidden away by her meagre attempts at powdered make-up. She barely knew how to use the stuff anyway, so it was no wonder it had barely made a difference.

Sighing, she threw her brush down where it clattered across her coffee table. The mirror in her other hand barely made it onto the sofa in one piece.

At this point, it was easier not to go.

Just as she was about to collapse into the sofa and call it a day, there was a gentle knock on her door. Emily sat up, eyed the door suspiciously. But the knock came again, more insistent this time.

“Emily, it’s me, Penelope. Can I come in?”

Her shoulders relaxed at Penelope’s voice, chirpy as ever.

“I have coffee!” The blonde added by way of bribery, still on the other side of the door, and Emily smiled a little to herself. She quickly wiped her eyes and took a deep breath before opening the door. Penelope stood there, holding the promised tray of two coffees in one hand and a small pink bag in the other.

“Hey,” she said softly, eyes scanning Emily’s bruised face. “I heard you were having a rough time. Thought I might come over and help.”

“I appreciate that, Penelope,” Emily tilted her head in defeat, “but, I think this is a hopeless case. I’m just going to keep my old I.D photo.”

“No!” Penelope pushed past her into the apartments without invitation, “It’s picture day!”

Staring incredulously at her friend, Emily let the door swing shut behind her and shook her head, her brows tilted downwards. “We aren’t in kindergarten, Pen. My mommy isn’t going to proudly buy the photo and put it on her office wall.”

Penelope set the coffee tray down on the coffee table and put her hands firmly on her hips. Her face was more stern than Emily thought she had ever seen it.

“That’s not the point,” she said, her tone firm yet gentle. “Picture day is about more than just the photos. It’s a chance to feel good about yourself, to see yourself in a different light. And, as women, I think it’s important that we keep these,” she grabbed the FBI badge at her chest, “updated. I don’t know about you, but I don’t buy into society’s crap about having to look twenty-five forever. I’m getting older, and everyday, in our line of work, I'm reminded that that’s a privilege. We should celebrate it.”

Emily, who’d had her fair share of near misses in recent years, not the least of which was their most recent case, couldn’t agree more. Taking a metal pole to the face will do that to a girl. 

She sighed, her resistance crumbling, well aware that when Penelope dug her heels in, she could be even more stubborn than Emily herself. “Alright,” she shook her head, resigned to her fate, “But please be careful, I’m in a lot of pain.”

“Say no more, mi amore,” Emily pursed her lips in a smile at Penelope’s Americanized, accentless Italian, “I’ve got you, buttercup.” She added, in little more than a whisper as she held Emily's arms and guided her to sit down on the sofa.

Penelope pushed one of the coffee cups into Emily's hand. It was still warm and Emily sipped it gratefully as Penelope began to gently apply something cool to her face, her touch careful and considerate but efficient and sure. As she worked away, she chatted constantly, a stream-of-consciousness style rambling that Emily had come to associate with her friend — everything from funny stories from work, a new movie she wanted to see, that new crime TV show that had just started, with the subordinate agent who was totally in love with her boss. As Emily listened to her speak, she found she wasn’t just tolerating Penelope’s rambling, she was actually engaging, her mind being pulled further and further away from the pain, from the case. Slowly, Emily had begun to relax. Penelope’s presence was comforting, and her light-hearted chatter made Emily smile despite everything. 

“There,” Penelope said, finally, and Emily opened her eyes. “You’ll have to do your own mascara because…eyes,” Penelope gave a little squirm, “But…”

She held up Emily’s mirror, and the older agent blinked at her own reflection. It wasn’t perfect, but it was almost there. Whatever creams and concoctions Penelope had used had mostly covered the ugly purple bruising that climbed her cheek and surrounded her eye, leaving only the faintest shadow that Emily was almost sure she could see because she already knew it was there. Her eyes playing tricks on her, she thought.

For the first time in a while, she felt a glimmer of confidence. 

“Thanks, Penelope,” she said, smiling up at her friend. 

“Anytime,” the blonde beamed back at her from behind her red-rimmed glasses, “Now, here,” she held out the mascara wand to Emily, “Finish up and lets go show that photographer what we’re made of.” 

Chapter Text

  They were grounded.

 The case was closed, the children returned to their families a little worse for wear. But all in all, a positive ending to their week.

Then the snow started.

“New York, New York, indeed,” Emily muttered to herself as she stared out of her hotel window. 

“Could be worse,” JJ muttered, from her bed on the other side of the room.

“Yeah, but I’m still going to complain about it,” Emily turned away from the window and wandered back to her own double bed, flopping down onto her back to stare up at the mottled ceiling. 

At the table, Spencer was beating Derek at cards again . 

“That’s eight in a row!” The younger agent exclaimed, gleefully, as Derek threw his cards down in defeat.

“I don’t know why you bother,” JJ rolled her eyes, concentrating on her toenails as she painted them a pretty shade of baby pink, “He can literally count cards. This is a well established Reid-factoid.”

The door swung open and Hotch and Rossi walked in. They all looked expectantly and hopefully at their boss. Even Morgan, whose fear of flying in bad weather was well known to them all - Emily suspected he had a hot date to get back to this Friday evening.

“Sorry,” Hotch shook his head, “I called every airport. JFK, Laguardia, Newark. They’re all on lockdown until the storm passes.”

Emily sighed, propping herself up on her elbows. "So, what’s the plan now? We’re snowed in with nothing but the mini bar and room service."

“Mini bar’s on me,” Rossi said, “And grab me a vodka while you’re there.”

Emily was on her feet instantly, and dropped to her knees in front of the little bar, investigating the merchendise. She passed around a few small vodka bottles. Only Reid and Hotch refused them.

Derek sighed, shaking his head. "We could always watch a movie. I saw there’s a marathon of classic horror films on TV."

"Count me in," JJ said, blowing on her freshly painted nails. "Anything to keep my mind off this blizzard." 

“Just hope they aren’t showing The Shining, then,” Emily grinned, tipping her bottle into a plastic cup. JJ rolled her eyes, smirking.

Spencer shuffled the deck of cards again, a thoughtful look on his face. "Or we could play a game”

“No games-” JJ, Emily and Derek all said, as one.

“One that doesn't rely on my unfair advantage." Spencer insisted, looking slightly wounded.

Rossi raised an eyebrow. "Like what, chess?"

"No, I still have the advantage there," Spencer replied.

“Hey, I’ve beated you before.” Emily insisted.

“Yes, but you’re the only one.” A mischievous smile was forming on Spencer’s face. "I was thinking something more interactive. Like a murder mystery game."

Derek’s eyes narrowed, a little judgmentally, not yet convinced by Spencer’s idea of fun . "You mean like one of those live-action role-playing games?"

"Exactly," Spencer nodded. "I’ve got a kit in my bag. It could be fun, and it would definitely kill some time."

“Haven’t we had enough murder for one weekend?” Hotch said, running a hand over his tired face.

“Come on,” Rossi clapped a hand on his back, “None of us are going anywhere. Might as well waste a few hours, entertain the kids.”

JJ clapped her hands together, smudging her nail polish slightly. "I’m in! Anything to keep us from going stir-crazy."

Derek groaned but ultimately relented. "Alright, fine. But if I end up being the murderer, I’m taking you all down with me."

They laughed, the sound echoing softly in the room, a stark contrast to the howling wind outside. As they gathered around to start the game, the blizzard continued to rage, but inside, they found warmth in each other's company and the thrill of the mystery ahead.

Chapter Text

They’re all exhausted, and yet their eyes are open and fixed and even blinking is an effort. The only one not at the hospital is Penelope; she’s doing a final check of the cameras, making sure they didn’t miss anything, making sure there are no loose ends. She’ll tighten up their security, set up alerts where she can, and then she’ll be here. But none of them expects something like this to happen again any time soon. 

New York may only have been on lock down for a night, but they’ll be on high alert for months to come. Years. 

New York knows tragedy too well.

The BAU does, too. 

The silence stretches on as they sit at Aaron’s bedside, waiting. Derek leans against the wall, his arms folded tightly across his chest, and broods. Emily is curled up in the chair beside his head, her legs tucked into her chest, watching the rise and fall of his. Rossi sits at the end of his bed, his chin resting on his hands, and even though he’s looking at Aaron, he’s not really seeing him. Spencer stares at the place where his leg used to be and wonders what will happen now.

There’s an empty chair.

JJ walks in a few moments later and that draws their attention. Nobody asks a question, but she shakes her head, anyway.

Kate’s dead. 

A collective breath is released, each of them processing the news in their own way. Derek’s fists clench and unclench as he fights to keep his emotions in check. Emily's eyes, already glistening, spill over with fresh tears, and she quickly wipes them away, trying to maintain her composure. Rossi lowers his head, the weight of another loss pressing down on him. Spencer’s expression remains distant, his mind racing with thoughts of the past, the present, and the uncertain future.

JJ takes the empty chair, her face pale and drawn. She’s been the bearer of bad news too many times, but this feels different. Heavier. The room, already heavy with grief and fatigue, seems to grow even more oppressive.

Again, they lapse into a heavy silence. Penelope arrives a while later and Rossi gives her his chair. The nurses notice, bring another. They bring two, but Derek stays standing. There’s very little room to move around, but the nurses manage it. They don’t even attempt to ask them to leave, and if they had, they’d be met with six FBI badges, abused only in times like this. Besides, apart from monitoring him, there’s very little they’re doing for Aaron right now. What needed to be done has been done. Now there is only recovery. 

He wakes several hours later, his eyes fluttering open. It’s JJ who notices

“Guys,” she says, softly, drawing their attention. Derek stands up straight, Emily drops her feet to the floor and reaches for his hand, Rossi gets to his feet, comes to his bedside. JJ and Penelope lean in closer.

Aaron’s eyes slowly focus, and he takes in the sight of his team surrounding him. His voice is hoarse and barely audible when he speaks. “What... happened?”

Emily squeezes his hand gently. “You were hurt in the bomb, but you’re going to be okay.”

Aaron’s gaze shifts, confusion and concern flickering in his eyes. “Kate...?”

The room falls silent again, the weight of the question hanging heavily in the air. Of course, it’s Rossi who finally finds the strength to answer. “She’s gone, Aaron. I’m so sorry.”

A pained expression crosses Aaron’s face, and he closes his eyes, taking a shuddering breath. The loss is a fresh wound for all of them, but for now, they focus on the fact that he’s awake, that he’s alive.

“Aaron,” Rossi says gently, “There’s something else.”

Emily looks at him sharply, because she doesn’t think this is the time, but says nothing, only holds Aaron’s hand tighter in both of her own.

“You were hurt badly,” The room seems to hold its breath as Rossi speaks, a heaviness weighing down on them all. JJ is crying silent tears that race down her face, and it’s on her that Aaron focuses.

“JJ…” he mutters, and only then does she realise she’s crying, lifting a hand to her face as though surprised by her own tears.

“I’m sorry,” she stands, has to leave the room. Reid follows, then Penelope.

Aaron watches them go, and then looks at Rossi, swallowing, hard. Afraid.

“Dave?” he prompts, in that hoarse voice. Rossi opens his mouth to speak, and no words come out.

Emily lifts his hand, presses it to her lips. He looks at her, then, and her eyes are shining with unshed tears, too.

“You... you lost your leg.” She whispers against his skin, skin that still smells like the explosion, “I’m so sorry, Aaron.”

Aaron’s eyes widen in shock, and he instinctively tries to move his legs, only to feel the absence of one. The reality crashes down on him, and he grits his teeth, fighting back the wave of emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

“We’re here for you, boss” Derek says, finally approaching his bedside. “Every step of the way, we’re here.”

They stay by his side all night, drawing strength from one another. They’ve faced unimaginable darkness, and they know there’s more to come, but in this moment, they are united. They’re family. Even if he can’t be their Unit Chief anymore, he’s their family.

Chapter Text

The team had just wrapped up a particularly grueling case, going for a drink afterwards had been Rossi’s idea, as it so often was. They found themselves at O’Keefe’s and what was supposed to be one nightcap rolled into a second, a third, and so on and so forth until it was the early hours of the morning and they were all a little worse for wear. The drinks flowed, laughter echoed, music thumped around them and, for a while, the weight of their job seemed to lift.

It was late. The bar had started to empty and JJ found her friend slouched over a booth, giggling at nothing in particular.

"Hey, Em," JJ said softly, sliding into the seat next to her. She was buzzed, but Emily was a whole different level of intoxicated. "You okay?"

Emily's head bobbed up, her eyes struggling to focus. "JJ!” She exclaimed with excitement, her face lighting up with a smile that, even though her eyes were glazed and hazy, was dazzling. “You're so pretty, do you know that?" she slurred, reaching out to poke JJ's cheek.

JJ caught Emily's hand, smiling warmly, and shook her head with affection. "I think you've had enough for tonight, missy. Let's get you home."

Emily pouted but didn't put up much resistance as JJ helped her out of the booth. They bid a tipsy goodbye to Penelope and Derek, the only members of the team who were still going, and the chilly night air hit them as they stepped outside.

Beside her, Emily immediately started shivering and JJ quickly shrugged off her jacket and draped it over Emily's shoulders. 

They walked slowly to the cab station, JJ linking her arm through Emily’s for support. There was a line of cabs waiting and JJ loaded Emily into the back of the first one. She leaned into the back, over Emily, to reach for her belt. Emily, even in her drunken haze, held her breath as JJ’s soft, blonde hair swept across her chest, the proximity unexpected but not unwelcome. She didn’t exhale until JJ had snapped the belt into place and then smiled as she straightened back up and slammed Emily’s door closed.

Emily half expected JJ to let her head home alone, and was surprised when the other door opened and the blonde slid into the backseat.

“You live on the other side of town,” Emily frowned at her, as though JJ might have forgotten that fact about herself. JJ gave a shrug, though.

“I need to make sure you get home alright,” she said, simply, and gave Emily’s address to the cab driver. 

He was the silent type, which JJ usually appreciated, but the silence in the car was heavy, almost loaded, as they drove.

"You're really great, JJ," Emily said suddenly. "Like, really great."

JJ rolled her eyes, a tender smile on her face as she glanced across at the older agent. "Thanks, Em. You're pretty great too."

"No, I mean it," Emily insisted, turning her face towards JJ. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

JJ's heart warmed at the sincerity in Emily's voice and she felt a familiar ache in her chest. "Well, you don't have to find out.” She said, reaching across the seats and taking Emily’s hand in her own, “I'm always here for you, Em."

They arrived at Emily's building, and JJ paid for the cab. Somehow, though stumbling and giggling the whole way, they made it to the elevator and along the corridor and, although there was a stressful moment where JJ thought Emily had lost her key, they made it into the apartment. JJ guided Emily to the bedroom, where Emily collapsed in a heap and smiled, dazed, up at her.

"Sit tight, I'll get you some water," JJ smiled back at her before disappearing into the kitchen. 

JJ rummaged through Emily's cabinets, finally finding a glass and filling it with water. She grabbed some aspirin from her bag and returned to the bedroom.

Emily was standing in the middle of her room in just her shirt and underwear, slacks in a pile near the foot of the bed. JJ paused in the doorway and tilted her head as Emily bent over her chest of drawers.

“Pajamas,” she said, pulling a pair out of the top draw and stumbling a little as she tried to step into them. JJ set the glass down on the desk near the door and walked to Emily, gripping her arm.

“Sit,” she said, firmly, and Emily obeyed, sitting on the edge of the bed. She was quiet as she let JJ lift her feet and place them into her pajama bottoms, put a gentle hand on JJ’s shoulder when the blonde told her to stand up and tugged the soft, plaid fabric up over her legs, all the way up until they settled low on her lips, a size too big for her because that’s how she liked them. 

“Top?” JJ asked, and Emily indicated the same drawer, sitting back down on the bed and rubbing at her temple with the palm of her hand, trying to ignore the way the room was slowly spinning around her. JJ rummaged for a moment in the drawer before finding the top that matched. She turned to Emily and then paused, her eyes skimming the collar of Emily’s shirt, to where it dipped at her cleavage. “I’ll let you…” she trailed off, handing Emily the top and stepping away, heading to where she had left the glass of water and aspirin on the desk. 

When she turned back around, it was to a sliver of skin as Emily pulled the white t-shirt down over her abs. She sighed, happily, and fell back against the comforter, her eyes closed and a soft smile playing on her lips.

"Better?” JJ asked, with a soft smile, and Emily nodded without opening her eyes. "Here, drink this and take this.” Emily's eyes fluttered open, then, and she sat back up slowly, taking the glass from JJ with both hands. She sipped the water obediently, then popped the aspirin into her mouth, grimacing slightly.

"You're a lifesaver, JJ," Emily murmured, leaning back against the pillows. Her gaze softened as she looked at JJ, who sat down next to her, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from Emily's body.

JJ reached out, tucking a strand of Emily's hair behind her ear. "You really need to take better care of yourself," she chided gently.

Emily sighed, her eyes closing briefly. "It's just been...a lot lately, you know?" 

JJ stared, blue eyes studying Emily’s features. Her black eyeliner had been smudged and the only remnants of the red lipstick she’d applied hours ago was a faint outline at the very edge of her lips. Her curls had all but fallen out, and the soft waves around her face definitely needed a brush. JJ smiled a little, and leaned back against the pillows beside her.

“Don’t ever let me drink like that again,” Emily mumbled, and JJ nodded even though she couldn’t see.

“You try and stop you, on a night like tonight, then ask me that again,” she teased, “You’re going to be fine. A little worse for wear in the morning, but fine.”

Emily's eyes fluttered open, and she reached out, grabbing JJ's hand. Her grip was surprisingly firm, as if she was afraid JJ might slip away. "Stay with me?"

JJ squeezed her hand, her own emotions swirling. The intensity of Emily's gaze, even in her inebriated state, spoke volumes. "Of course. I'll stay as long as you need."

Emily's hand tightened around JJ's, and she slowly sat up, her face inches from JJ's. There was a moment of silence, the air thick with unspoken words and hidden desires. Then, before JJ could react, Emily leaned in and pressed her lips against JJ's.

The kiss was soft and tentative, tasting of alcohol and something sweet that was purely Emily. JJ's eyes widened in surprise, but she quickly melted into the kiss, her hand coming up to cup Emily's cheek. Emily's lips were warm and inviting, and JJ's heart pounded in her chest as she responded, her own lips moving gently against Emily's.

The kiss deepened, filled with all the unspoken emotions and longing that had built up between them over the years. JJ felt a rush of feelings she'd kept buried, now bubbling to the surface. She felt Emily's hands grip the fabric of her shirt, pulling her closer, and JJ's other hand found its way to Emily's waist, holding her steady.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathless, their foreheads resting against each other. Emily's eyes were wide and clear, despite her intoxication, and JJ could see the vulnerability and hope in them.

"Emily," JJ breathed, her voice shaky. She lifted her hand to her lips, fingers pressed to them, in disbelief.  "We can't..."

“I know what I’m doing JJ,” Emily cut her off, her voice steady, no longer playful or laughing, but deadly serious. Her dark eyes strayed from JJ’s, to where her fingers traced her pink, kiss-bruised lips, and back again.

JJ swallowed hard, her thumb gently tracing circles on the back of Emily's hand. "That might be true,” she said, softly, “But I don’t feel comfortable doing this when I know you’ve had so much to drink. We'll talk about this tomorrow, yeah?” she promised, her voice soft, quiet, gentle but firm. "When you're sober."

Emily looked like she might want to argue, the hand gripping the front of JJ’s shirt tightening for a moment, but then she let go, fingertips grazing the soft skin of JJ’s throat as she withdrew her hand and brushed her own hair back out of her face. She nodded, clearing her throat.

“You’re right,” Emily conceded, though there was a hint of reluctance in her voice. She took a deep breath, her shoulders slumping slightly as she leaned back against the pillows. "Tomorrow, then."

"Why don't you lie down and try to get some rest?" JJ suggested, her voice soothing. Emily looked at her, her eyes flaring slightly wider than usual, and JJ read the panic there easily. "I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be right here,” she said, settling down against the pillows on the other side of the huge bed and curling into herself, facing towards Emily.

Emily nodded, watching JJ settle comfortably onto her bed. She lay down, rolled onto her side and tucked one hand beneath her cheek. JJ watched her for a moment, her expression softening as she saw the exhaustion etched on Emily's face. Emily tried to keep her eyes open, tried to hold JJ’s gaze, but tiredness was swooping over her, making her eyelids heavy as she sank deeper into her pillows, her body relaxing into the mattress. 

"You're really fucking great, JJ," Emily murmured, her eyes fluttering closed.

JJ smiled. She shuffled closer, close enough that if she tilted her head, her nose brushed Emily’s forehead. She pressed a soft kiss to Emily’s dark hair. "So are you, Em."

Chapter Text

Somewhere nearby, a baby was crying.

“Is she alright?”

Of all the things that were bothering Emily right now - her horizontal position, the pain in her leg, the cold, wetness covering her neck, the fact that the very last thing she remembered was seeing the tail end of the jet torn away from the rest of the plane, before she heard JJ’s bloodcurdling scream and then lost consciousness as they began to hurtle towards the ocean - it was the roundness of the vowels, the distinct Australian accent, that threw her the most.

“She’s waking up, that’s a good sign,” that voice was closer, male, and also accented, and even in her confused state, Emily could identify the middle Eastern twang, “Give her some room, Hurley.”

The groan that came from her throat was involuntary, the throbbing at the back of her skull intensifying as she came to her senses.

“Should we move her?” Another male voice, nervous and uncertain.

“No,” a woman, not the Australian woman, “We should wait for Jack.” That voice held authority, and whoever Jack was, so did he.

Emily pulled her eyebrows together, bracing herself as she blinked and the sun assaulted her eyes. She hissed and squeezed her eyes closed again.

“Hey, hey,” the middle Eastern voice said again, “Take it easy, take it slow.”

She tried again, opening her eyes a fraction, letting them adjust to the bright sunshine. It blinked from between leaves above her, and Emily saw that there was a hole in the canopy of the trees. A hole that, later when her mind cleared, she would realise denoted her fall from the skies. She blinked, the pain in her head beginning to spread across her skull, but forced herself to concentrate on the faces around her.

Beside her knelt a bearded man, the one who had told her to take it easy. Behind him stood a woman, brown hair damp and curling across her shoulders. She stood with her arms folded across her chest - protecting something? Wary of her? In her confused state, Emily couldn’t tell. She blinked, turned her head and hissed as she scraped it across what she now understood was the undergrowth.

“You’ve hurt your head,” the man at her side told her, gently, “We don’t want to move you just yet, not until our Doctor arrives. Try not to move too much.”

Emily grit her teeth, swallowed hard against the nausea that had risen, and focused her eyes once more. Another man, larger in stature, his hair as long as the brunette woman’s and his beard longer than the other mans, stood nearby, gazing at her with an open expression of concern. At his elbow stood a petite blonde woman and, in her arms, a crying baby.

“I’m Em-Emily Prentiss,” she hissed, and she was about to give her title, about to say the usual, FBI , but something - whether confusion or self-preservation - stopped her, and she halted there.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Emily,” the man at her side smiled down at her, making an attempt to be reassuring, “I’m Sayid, this is Kate,” he gestured to the brunette woman behind him, whose smile was tight and didn’t quite reach her eyes, “Hurley,” the concerned guy gave her a half-hearted wave, “And Claire.”

“And this is Aaron,” Claire said, her accent dragging out the vowels once again.

“Aaron,” Emily repeated, confusion clouding her brain once more, “Aaron. Aaron!” Her eyes went wide, adrenaline coursing through her veins, and without thinking, she shoved herself into a seated position. Sayid flinched backwards out of her space, his eyebrows shooting up.

“Emily, I don’t think you should-” but she was already standing, ignoring the pain that shot through her knee as she stumbled through the greenery.

Twirling around on herself, she called out again and again.

“Aaron! Aaron!” The baby in Claire’s arms cried harder, and she crowded him close to her chest, as though to shield him from Emily’s yelling.

God, Aaron. He’d been in the plane - she’d seen…oh, god. He’d been in the back, in the tail end of the plane. She didn’t know if he’d been far enough back to…when the tail…god her head hurt so badly.

“Hey,” Kate was keeping pace with her, and she reached out to put a hand on her shoulder, to grab her and pull her back, perhaps. Emily made to twist out of her grip, caught her ankle on a bent tree root and crashed to the ground with a sickening thud.

“Oh, shit, are you okay?” Kate’s concern certainly sounded genuine, but Emily’s panic and adrenaline made her distrustful and her hand went automatically to her waist, to her firearm, concealed beneath her white shirt. She dragged it out of its holster, one-handed, and held it out in front of her, “Oh, fuck , okay-”

Kate stepped backwards, holding her hands up. “You can put that away.” She said, eyeing the gun, “Nobody here is going to hurt you.”

“Back up,” Emily spat, breathless as she lay on the ground, too aware of the pain in her head and in her leg.

“Emily,” Sayid had caught up to them and was eyeing her gun with the same wariness as Kate had, although there was a calm in his eyes that Kate lacked, and his tone remained gentle, “Emily, you don’t need that. You’re confused and you’re in pain. You’re not thinking right, and you don’t want to do something you’ll regret.”

Emily’s hand was shaking as she held out her glock. Tears pooled in the corner of her eyes.

She could hear the ocean nearby.

“Aaron!” She yelled out, again, but she lacked volume and conviction and it came out as a pathetic plea as Hurley and Claire came crashing through the bushes, accompanied by a new man,

The new man put a hand on Sayid’s shoulder, and Sayid got fluidly to his feet, as the new guy replaced him.

“I’m Jack,” he introduced himself, assertively, “I’m a doctor. Are you going to put the gun down and let me help you?”

She didn’t, but her hand shook even harder.

“Emily,” Sayid knelt down beside her once again, “Look at your leg. You need to let us help you.”

She followed his gaze to her leg, to where her black slacks were torn and bloodied, revealing a deep gash to her calf. Ordinarily, Emily could handle gore, but something about seeing her own tissue and sinew and muscle sliced so neatly, like a piece of beef at a butchers, turned her stomach.

“That explains the pain,” she breathed, and then her gun slipped from her hand as she promptly passed out.

Reid could remember the entire crash.

He remembered the first judder of turbulence that they all ignored because they flew enough that it took more than a little turbulence to spook them - even Rossi, who was a notoriously bad flier when things got a little bumpy, barely lifted an eyebrow at the first wobble.

He remembered the turbulence growing worse, remembered the slightly concerned tilt of JJ’s brows as she glanced out of the window. He remembered the way Emily had smirked at the way Rossi crossed himself subtly, muttering a Hail Mary to himself as he often did when they hit bad turbulence - but, again, that was nothing unusual, and Reid didn’t think anything of it. He remembered Hotch moving from the sofa to a seat, buckling himself in towards the back of the cabin.

He could remember noticing the slight tone of panic in their pilot’s voice as he spoke over the tannoy. “Not to worry, folks, just a touch of choppiness.”

He was sitting opposite Emily, so he didn’t just hear - he also saw - the jagged tearing of metal as the back of the plane was ripped off as though by the great, invisible hand of a vengeful God. Perhaps the same God Rossi had prayed to.

He could see the panic in everyone’s eyes, felt the wind whipping through the cabin, and heard the screams—JJ’s scream piercing through the chaos. He remembered gripping the armrests so tightly that his knuckles turned white, and the sense of helplessness that settled in his chest as they plummeted towards the ocean.

When he hit the water, the impact was like slamming into a concrete wall. Everything went dark for a moment, and when Reid came to, he was submerged, the icy water shocking his system into overdrive. He kicked and struggled, finally breaking the surface, gasping for breath. Around him, pieces of the plane floated, some on fire, others sinking into the depths.

His first thought was of his team. He scanned the wreckage frantically, calling out their names, his voice barely audible over the roar of the waves and the crackling of the burning debris.

“Emily! Hotch! JJ! Rossi!”

Panic clawed at him as he swam towards a piece of floating debris, pulling himself onto it and looking around. His mind raced through the possibilities, the statistical likelihood of survival in a crash like this. He knew the odds weren’t in their favor, but he clung to hope, refusing to believe that they were gone.

He remembered the others, the new team members who had joined them recently. Tara, who had been sitting near the front of the plane, and Luke, who had been next to Rossi. Were they all right? Were they even alive?

Hours seemed to pass in a blur as Reid clung to the wreckage, scanning the horizon for any sign of his friends, the raging sun above burning his skin. 

Finally, as the sun began to set, casting an eerie glow over the ocean, and just when despair started to creep in, he saw movement. A small group of survivors had made it to a nearby island, their silhouettes barely visible against the fading light.

With renewed determination, Reid paddled towards the shore, every stroke bringing him closer to the possibility of finding his team. When he finally washed up onto the beach, exhausted and disoriented, the surf choking him, making him splutter and cough, he didn’t have a moment to orient himself before he was being roughly dragged to his feet.

“Reid!” Hotch dragged the younger agent into his chest in a rare display, holding him tightly, relief flooding through the Unit Chief. 

Tara’s voice was a mix of relief and worry as she rushed over to them, “Thank God you’re okay.”

“The others? Emily, Morgan?” Reid painted, his eyes wide with desperation, as Hotch let him go. Panic twisted his throat, made his words little more than a croak. “JJ?”

He looked at his other teammates. They were bloodied and scratched, bruised and their clothes were torn and dirtied. Luke was missing his shoes. But overall, they looked unhurt. Their faces, though, were grim.

“We haven’t found them yet,” Hotch said, his tone not masking the stress and worry he was feeling. “But we will. We won’t stop until we find everyone.”

Reid nodded, swallowing hard as he tried to push down the rising tide of fear. They had survived the crash, but now they faced a new challenge—finding their friends and making it off the island alive.

JJ's first memory after the crash was of pain. She felt it radiating from her side, where a piece of debris had embedded itself, and from her head, which had struck something hard during the crash. She was disoriented, the world spinning around her as she tried to make sense of her surroundings.

She remembered hearing a horrific, bloodcurdling scream. A scream she hadn’t realised was her own until the force of the fall clamped her jaw shut, her teeth going straight through her tongue. She didn’t remember hitting the water, must have blacked out. The next thing she knew, the water was rushing into the cabin. She had blacked out again.

The sun blinded her, so all JJ could do was blink up at the silhouetted person with wild hair standing over her. It took a long minute before JJ could focus at all, and when she did, she saw that this person was a woman. And that she had a firearm strapped to her back.

“Where am I?” JJ croaked, trying to sit up but finding herself too weak to move.

“Easy,” the woman said, and she felt a hand on her shoulder, gently pushing her back down. “You’re safe now. Just rest.”

JJ turned her head as the woman stood beside her. She had that wild, curly hair and a weathered face, with eyes that held a mix of wariness and compassion. She wore clothes that looked homemade, rough and practical.

“Who are you?” JJ asked, her voice barely a whisper.

“My name is Danielle Rousseau,” the woman said, her voice calm and reassuring. JJ watched as she stepped away from her, and she realised that it wasn’t the sun blinding her, but a light.  A singular lamp in whatever this place was. JJ scrunched her nose, inhaled. Kerosene. She watched as Danielle Rousseau took the firearm from her back and stood it up against the wall. “You’re safe with me. You’re on an island,” Rousseau continued without prompting. “My island. I found you washed up on the shore and brought you here.”

JJ tried to push herself to sit up from the hard, wooden surface she lay upon, but Rousseau’s hand on her shoulder was firm. Not unkind, but firm.

“You shouldn’t,” Rousseau said, in the accent that JJ now recognised as distinctly French, “You were injured. I had to stitch you up. And I’m not a doctor.”

JJ’s mind raced as she tried to piece together what had happened. The crash, the water, Roussseau. She felt a surge of panic, because it hurt to think so hard and her brain wouldn’t let her reach for the things she needed. There were people…people who needed her. She was sure of it. Weren’t there? 

“I have to get out of here,” JJ tried, weakly, to push herself up again. Rousseau’s hang pushed her down harder this time, and the blonde glared up at her. “I appreciate your help, but I have to go.”

“Where?” Rousseau challenged, although her voice remained soft and steady, “To where do you have to go?”

And, though she tried, JJ couldn’t remember. 

"What is this place?" She blinked at her surroundings. It looked like a bunker.

"It is a safe place that my team and I built when we arrived to the island. We are underground, protected." 

"Your team?" That scratched something in JJ's brain...something she couldn't reach. It hurt to try. "Protected from what?" JJ frowned, focusing on what she could, finding herself more disoriented and confused by the second, "What's outside?"

“Jungle,” Rousseau shrugged, “Jungle, and more jungle. And then the ocean. Nothing and nobody between. It’s just you and I.”

Just you and I. JJ lay back onto the table, stopped fighting, and Rousseau, sensing her submission, finally took her hand away from her shoulder and sat on a nearby chair. 

Staring at the ceiling, tears pooled in JJ’s eyes. She felt she'd been overwhelmed by information. Rousseau. Her team. A bunker. Jungle, jungle and more jungle...“How long have you been here?” JJ whispered, afraid to ask the question. Rousseau's answer was devastating.

“Sixteen years.” 

The weight of Rousseau’s words hit JJ hard. Sixteen years, alone, underground. It sounded like a lifetime, and it filled her with a sense of despair.

“I feel like… like someone needs me,” JJ said, her voice trembling, because there was an urgency in her mind that she couldn't place.

Rousseau’s gaze softened slightly. “I have seen nobody else. If there were others, they might be far away. The island is vast and dangerous. You’re too weak to go anywhere right now,” Rousseau said firmly. “Moving would only worsen your injuries. You need to recover first. If you push yourself too hard, you might not be able to help anyone.”

JJ’s sense of isolation and uncertainty deepened as she stared up at the ceiling, struggling to hold on to the fragments of her fading memories and the vague feeling of someone needing her. It seemed that the more she tried to reach, the further away everything got. Her head had begun to hurt again, so, exhausted, injured and traumatized, JJ closed her eyes and let it all go. 

Chapter Text

JJ stood in the middle of the room. Stood was an exaggeration. The tight chains around her wrists bound her to the ceiling. Her feet barely touched the ground and her body trembled from the strain and the cold and the stress. The adrenaline came and went, but right now she was exhausted and the fight or flight that was keeping her alive, keeping her conscious, had ebbed into a weakness she felt in her bones. The room was barely lit, eerie shadows dancing on the walls. The silence was broken by sudden movement, sudden clanging and footsteps she had learned quickly to fear. She knew it was Askari by the stench of him, and when he came to face her, there was a smile on his face. A menacing, sadistic smile.

"Look at you," he said, circling her slowly, the chains rattling with every step. "Still hanging in there."

JJ didn't respond. She kept her eyes on the ground, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her fear.

Askari reached out and lifted her chin with a rough hand, forcing her to meet his gaze. "You're a tough one," he said, almost admiringly. "But everyone has their breaking point."

Still, JJ said nothing. She levelled him with her eyes, blue and clear, and willed herself not to cry. She wouldn’t give him the pleasure of seeing it. She waited, moved the spit around her mouth and then, in a hateful act that was both stupid and satisfying, she spat in his face.

"I'm not afraid of you," she said, more for her own benefit than his.

He glared, the smile gone, replaced by a snarl as he swiped at his face with his sleeve.

Askari's eyes narrowed, his rage evident as he wiped the spit from his face. For a moment, JJ felt a flicker of triumph.. But she knew the price of her defiance would be steep.

"You'll regret that," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. He stepped back, looking her up and down with cold calculation. "I'll make sure of it."

He stepped back, retrieving a cloth and a plastic bucket from a nearby table. JJ's heart sank as she recognized the tools of her impending torment. Her breathing quickened, as though to take in as much air as she could, while she could.

Askari moved with deliberate calmness, spreading the cloth over her face. The plastic bucket was filled with cold water, the liquid sloshing ominously as he carried it toward her. He slapped the damp cloth over her face, the cold fabric stinging her cold skin, positioned it so that it covered her face completely. JJ shook her head, as though she could shake it off. It was pointless, but she had to try.
With a cold, detached efficiency, he poured the water over the cloth. JJ's world turned into a suffocating haze as the water soaked through, the cloth pressing tightly against her face. Her initial instinct was to hold her breath, but the pressure and the need for air quickly overwhelmed her. Panic surged through her, her lungs burning as she fought for even the smallest gasp of air.

“Be calm, JJ,” the voice is familiar, warm and soft and rich. “ You’re stronger than he is.”
It’s Emily’s voice that reaches out to her through the darkness, that comes from deep within her as her salvation, as her body fights to stay alive it’s Emily that keeps her mind from breaking, too.

“Remember who you are, JJ,” Her voice is like honey, like a warm hug, like the sun on her skin, “ You can endure this.”

She knew she didn’t have a choice.

The water continued to pour, the cloth pressing down harder, but Emily’s voice persisted. JJ’s mind raced, pushing through the panic.

“You are not alone, JJ , we’re coming.” She knew it was true; knew they’d be looking for her. Knew Emily would be looking for her. “I’m coming.”

Desperate, JJ tries to stay calm, tries to focus on anything but the fact that she can’t breathe, tries to focus on the phantom Emily in her mind, who whispers, “ Stay alive.” and then she’s gone.
The bucket was empty, the water stopped flowing. JJ’s body, trembling and strained from the unrelenting pressure, sagged with the sudden absence of pressure, her lungs desperately trying to draw in air. The cloth, once pressed tightly against her face, was pulled away, and she gasped for the precious air that had been denied to her. The first breath she takes is a mix of agony and ecstasy, her lungs burning as they expand, greedy for oxygen.

Askari looked at her with a mixture of disgust, and something more dangerous. She watched him, warily, as his eyes skimmed over her, over the blouse that was soaked and clinging to her skin.
“Good job you’re needed alive,” his tone was low and dangerous, and it was the last thing he said to her before dropping the bucket onto the stone floor with a clang, and leaving her in the darkness.
Her eyes, blurred and stinging, blinked rapidly as they adjusted to the dim light of the room. The shadows on the walls seemed to waver and shift, but the immediate, pressing fear of drowning had receded. The ache in her muscles, a relentless reminder of her predicament, was still there, but the immediate threat had been momentarily paused.

In the silence that followed, JJ’s senses began to clear. The frantic pounding of her heart slowed to a more manageable rhythm, though the echoes of her fear still lingered. The cold sweat on her skin started to chill, but it was a welcome sensation compared to the suffocating heat of her previous ordeal.

She tilted her head, feeling the rough texture of the chains against her skin, and forced herself to focus on the present moment. The overpowering fear receded slightly, replaced by a cautious hope. She drew in deep breaths, each inhale a precious reminder that she’s still alive, that she could still fight.

As the room remains eerily quiet, JJ's mind replayed Emily’s soothing voice, a lifeline that kept her anchored through the harrowing experience. She used that strength to steady herself, preparing for whatever came next, knowing that she’d survived the worst of it. For now.

Knowing that somewhere, out there, Emily was looking for her. 

Chapter Text

The day Spencer Reid died was the day the BAU fractured beyond compare. They had been through so much by that point that they never thought it would happen, but losing Reid was what finally broke them. The office that had once been full of laughter and camaraderie was now empty, a silent testament to the team’s grief. When the whole team left, the unit collapsed in on itself.

Emily was the first to go. She left almost immediately; her departure was a quiet one and she took up a different role in a different city and tried not to think everyday of the things she could have done differently, trying to escape the echo of Reid’s voice that haunted her in every corner of every room. She couldn’t even turn on the TV for months afterwards; fear of a movie or documentary she had watched with him playing.

Aaron, the team's steadfast leader, lost his passion. The weight of Reid’s death fell heavily on his shoulders. Unable to cope with the reminders of the loss, Hotch decided to step away from the BAU. He took a position in a less visible role within the FBI, focusing on administrative duties. It was a quieter, more isolated job, but it gave him the space to process his grief.

Derek initially threw himself into his work, the gym, renovations. He kept his body moving 24/7, made himself sick with it, and barely slept. The pressure of it all eventually got to him and he had to resign, unable to cope with the memories of Reid and the weight of his absence.

Penelope was the most changed by it; she who used to be the smile they all needed could barely bring herself to grimace, now. She struggled to find any joy in life. She left the BAU to work in private investigations, chasing cases that felt less personal and worked as little distraction from her grief.

JJ and Will faced different challenges. JJ was heartbroken and took a job with a non-profit organization focusing on the victims of sexual violence. Will, her rock, supported her through this time but their relationship was strained by grief and the weight of their shared sorrow.

And so the BAU was dismantled. Without its youngest member, the rest lost the will to carry on, and being around each other only reminded them of the vital piece that was missing. Their family was missing its beating heart, and so their family was no more.