Chapter Text
Jennifer Jareau gripped the straps of her backpack tightly in either hand, steeling herself. A two-story cabin-like house loomed before her—her new home, for the foreseeable future.
(Probably for the next year or so until she turned 18. There wasn’t exactly a super high adoption rate for 17-year-old kids in the foster system.)
The social worker Karen—a middle-aged woman with a slight Southern accent who kept calling JJ ‘honey’—gave her a tight lipstick-red smile that JJ didn’t bother returning before the woman was reaching out a hand to press the doorbell. Faint ringing noises sounded from the inside in a generic pattern.
JJ fidgeted uncomfortably with her hands as they stood on the front stoop in silence. Fortunately, they didn’t have to wait long.
Half a second later, the door swung open to reveal a scary-looking middle-aged man with short black hair, chocolate brown eyes, and a very unfortunate case of what Ros would call 'Resting Bitch Face.’ Instantly, JJ shrunk even further into herself—a reaction to both the unwelcoming look on his features and the unwitting resurgence of her long-dead older sister into her thoughts—even as she painstakingly forced herself not to be obvious about it.
“Hello!” Karen said cheerfully from beside JJ in her high-pitched voice, and JJ withheld a shiver when the scary man didn’t smile back. Instead, he gave a sharp nod of acknowledgement, dark eyes coming to hover on JJ. “This,” Karen chirped, gesturing towards JJ, “is Jennifer.”
JJ, she corrected in her head.
“It’s nice to meet you, Jennifer,” the man said, his voice surprisingly gentle as he reached out a hand for her to shake. “I’m Aaron Hotchner. Most of the kids just call me Hotch."
After a moment’s hesitation, she took it. His hand dwarfed hers in alarming fashion, but his touch was warm and soft, his palms rough and calloused, just like JJ’s.
She’d worked on her parents’ farm for the majority of her life—instead of sweeping and washing dishes for her chores like most other kids in the ‘burbs and the city, she mucked stalls and cleaned the horses and, when she was old enough to swing an axe, chopped wood.
Honestly, JJ didn’t much mind the manual labor after a while—it became comforting, almost, though heaven knew the stink of an uncleaned horse's stall never got any easier to endure over the years.
“Nice to meet you, too,” she mumbled, eyes darting up to meet his for a brief moment. She was slightly alarmed at what she saw there, because it was something that looked a hell of a lot like… like kindness. Compassion.
JJ knew damn well not to trust that. If anything, this man was probably the most dangerous kind of scary: the kind that could hide his cruelty to gain her trust, lure her into a false sense of security before hurting her in the worst way possible.
Punches and kicks and being forced into sex always hurt a hell of a lot worse when you weren’t expecting it.
So no, she didn’t trust this ‘Hotch’ character or the suspicious kindness sparkling in his eyes; if anything, she just made a mental note to avoid getting on his bad side, because she most certainly didn’t want to know what he’d do once he got angry.
“Oh!” Karen exclaimed, bright green eyes focused on the fake designer watch on her wrist. “Look at the time,” she chuckled, like she’d just made an especially funny joke. Neither Hotch nor JJ laughed. “I have to be heading back. Are you okay here, honey?” she asked, turning to JJ with overly theatric pity on her features.
JJ fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Yes, Ma’am,” is what she settled on instead, quiet and unassuming.
Karen beamed, then turned on her heel to patter down the steps and towards her '85 Chevrolet station wagon parked neatly against the curb, though not before throwing an enthusiastic “Toodles!” over her shoulder along with a raucous giggle that made JJ’s skin crawl.
“She’s… nice,” Mr. Hotchn—Hotch, JJ corrected herself—intoned, his voice dry and almost… wry, though JJ was sure she was hearing things.
JJ nodded wordlessly, her gaze purposely downcast so as not to appear resistant towards the man's authority.
“Come in,” Hotch said then, a gentle smile on his features as he moved aside and gestured for her to enter.
Resisting the urge to show her nerves, she took a slow deep before flashing Hotch a smile and carefully approaching the doorway.
Here goes nothing.
— —
Five minutes later, the man named Hotch showed her to a modest cream-colored bedroom (one of five she could see in the hall) on the second floor with two twin beds and rectangular wooden desks on either side, presumably where she would be staying until she aged out of the system.
One side of the room was clearly well lived-in, if the various technicolored doodads sitting atop one desk and the bright pink Herschel messenger bag sprawled haphazardly upon the nicked hardwood flooring was anything to go by.
“This will be your new room, Jennifer,” he informed her quietly (JJ, she corrected mentally), keeping a surprisingly respectful distance between the two of them.
Again, JJ reminded herself not to get her hopes up that this man might be decent, after all—it was about a hundred times more likely that the polar opposite was true.
“Your roommate will be a girl your age, Penelope—though she likes to go by Garcia. Is there anything I can get you while you get settled in?”
JJ gripped the straps of her backpack even tighter, knots forming in her stomach.
“No, I’m okay. Thank you,” she mumbled, purposefully avoiding eye contact with the intense man.
If it bothered him at all, Hotch certainly didn’t show it. “Okay. Dinner is at 5:30, so you have about an hour and a half to get unpacked.”
Dazedly, JJ nodded, silently observing her… colorful roommate’s rather bright stylistic design: a coffee mug upon the desk emblazoned with the words ‘World’s Cutest Babygirl’ in pink sparkly block letters, which held an abundance of glittery pens and pencils topped with multicolored frill; a cutesy pink PowerPuff Girls alarm clock on the nightstand that looked like it’d come from Target; and perhaps most confusing, a matte-black poster embellished with a bold Satanic star on the walls just above the bed.
She barely registered as Hotch’s footsteps retreated through the hall and down the staircase, walking in a zombie-like fashion to the plain empty bed across from her roommate’s with navy blue sheets tucked securely into the mattress; almost military-like in its neatness.
JJ privately suspected that that scrupulous tidiness was probably Hotch’s doing. The overtly solemn man looked like he hadn’t loosened up since the late 60’s, at least.
Sighing to herself, she dropped her book bag carelessly to the floor then plopped herself down on the bed. s halfway-house accommodations went, this didn’t look to be too shabby.
She sat there for a while in the golden afternoon sunlight just fiddling with the straps of her bag, biting her bottom lip hard as everything she’d been trying to avoid came rushing back into her mind like an untapped flood of bad things and worse remembrances. Her whiskey-drunk father yelling slurs and provocation while she cowered in fear, the rough hands of Dale (employed by JJ’s father to work on the farm) on her bare skin who stank of cigarettes and beer, the nightmare-inducing image of 17-year-old Rosaline lying lifeless in the tub, blood everywhere and the 11-year-old JJ who found her there—suddenly her eyes began to burn with tears, her body trembling upon the bedspread—
“You okay?” came a hesitant voice from the doorway, and JJ whipped around to see—
Wow, she's pretty, JJ thought.
The ‘she’ in question was a tall pale girl with a willowy frame and jet-black hair that ended just beneath her shoulders, dressed in cargo pants (her belt buckle devastatingly off-center) and a grey V-neck tee, combat boots laced tightly on either foot, and her eyes… a beautiful shade of brown—like chocolate, or mahogany; she was stunning.
“I-I—Yeah,” JJ managed, letting out an amused huff of air and shaking her head ruefully at herself. “Fine. Just… taking it all in, I guess.”
The girl tilted her head and narrowed her eyes, like she didn’t quite believe that. JJ resisted the urge to squirm on the bedspread as the beautiful girl entered the room, then casually flopped herself down onto the bed opposite (the one with light-pink sheets and an adorable stuffed teddy bear against the headboard), feet spread, elbows on her knees, hands clasped together as she leaned comfortably forward.
“Well, if you ever change your mind about that… I’m here,” she offered, her voice deep and rich and Christ, JJ really needed to get it together.
“Thanks,” she mumbled quietly, then began to fiddle with her hands, looking at the girl thoughtfully. “I’m assuming you aren’t Garcia?”
Immediately, the breathtaking girl smiled to reveal straight white teeth, chuckling dryly to herself—the sound made JJ’s heart skip a beat.
“No, no… " she trailed off, still grinning. “She’s rather colorful, isn’t she?”
JJ simply nodded, still not quite—
“Oh! I’m Emily.”
Fitting, she thought. A beautiful name for a beautiful girl, and all that.
“I’m JJ,” she introduced herself, struggling against the powerful urge to lose herself in the coffee-bean-brown of Emily’s soft twinkling irises. “How long have you been here?”
Emily bit her lip, face scrunched in thoughtful concentration. It was adorable. “It’ll be… 6 months next Tuesday, I do believe.”
JJ let out a low whistle through her teeth (something Dale had taught her back on the farm). “Long time.”
Emily shrugged. “Better than the alternatives.”
“True,” JJ acquiesced. “Who else lives here?”
“So, Morgan’s my roommate, Garcia’s yours, obviously, and there’s Reid down the hall. He gets his own room cause he loses the plot sometimes… he’s the smartest kid you’ll ever meet, though, and probably the cutest,” Emily mused and JJ chuckled at that. “Next to him, Kevin is roomed with the new guy, Luke, who just got here a little while back. But I guess you’re the new guy now, huh?”
Anxiety curled in JJ’s chest. “Yeah,” she agreed, then forced a laugh. “Guess so.”
Instantly, Emily’s smile dropped, her face growing more solemn as she observed JJ thoughtfully with those gorgeous brown eyes. Clearly, JJ hadn’t done as well as she’d thought to hide her misgivings.
“Hey, don’t stress about it,” she encouraged, leaning almost imperceptibly forward. “You’re not alone, yeah? You have me.”
A smile quirked at JJ’s lips, warmth fluttering in her chest. “Is that so?”
A rosy blush spread across Emily’s pale angular cheeks as she ducked her head bashfully, and JJ reveled at the sight.
“Yeah,” Emily replied eventually, shyly darting her gaze back up to meet JJ’s. “I think we’re gonna be close.”
JJ was smiling now, wide and unrestrained, as she replied, “Yeah. I think so, too.”
Emily’s blush deepened, and JJ giggled.
Maybe this place wouldn’t be so bad after all.
— —
At 5:21pm, JJ met her roommate: a round bubbly girl with dyed-blonde hair (darker roots peeking out at her scalp), dark brown eyes (visible through pointy magenta-colored horn-rimmed glasses) wearing a bright pink dress and black high-top Converse on either foot.
“Greetings, roomie!” she chirped, forcibly dragging a dark-skinned and very well-toned boy in a V-neck tee and jeans behind her. He had a very intense look on his features, with strong dark brows and a buzzcut that made his black hair look like a shadow on his scalp. “I’m Garcia! This is Morgan, my dreamy chocolate Adonis.”
JJ quirked a brow. “I see.”
The chocolate Adonis in question rolled his eyes, a reluctant but blinding smile creeping its way across his features. “Cool it, babydolll… you’re scaring her,” he chastised teasingly with a chuckle before turning his attentions to JJ, more or less ignoring Garcia’s indignant huffs. “What’s up?”
JJ smirked. “Not much. I’m JJ, by the way.”
Morgan nodded, dark eyes sparkling with something like sincerity. JJ wasn’t sure that she trusted it. “Nice to meet you, JJ.”
“Likewise.”
“Okay, enough chit-chat,” Garcia announced with determination, brown-eyed gaze narrowing intently at JJ. “Do Satanic rituals offend you?”
JJ blinked. “Um… no?”
“Lovely. What about animal cruelty?”
“Uh… I don’t like it?”
Garcia crossed her arms indignantly, the very picture of disapproval even as Morgan flashed JJ an empathetic look over Garcia's shoulder. “Are you asking me or are you telling me?”
JJ gulped. “Telling you. Definitely.”
“Uh-huh,” Garcia intoned solemnly, her features wrought with palpable suspicion. “Lastly: shower sex.”
“Ew,” JJ found herself replying before she could think, her features scrunched with clear dislike. “Definitely not. Seriously, at one point or another, a girl’s just gotta—“
“Wash her own hair!” “Wash her own hair!” Garcia and JJ finished in unison, a charged sort of energy between them as Garcia eyed JJ up and down with a new sort of respect.
A second later, Garcia squealed, “Morgan, I like this girl!”
“I see that, mama,” Morgan replied, amusement evident in his tone. “Welcome to the team.”
JJ raised her brows. “‘Team’?"
Morgan shrugged. “We stick together, I guess. We’re close. More so than in most of the group homes I’ve been in.”
“And he’s been through a lot of them,” Garcia added, stroking at the boy’s well-defined arm. “I love your arms,” she told him dreamily, as something of an afterthought.
Morgan chuckled. “Thanks, babygirl.” Then he turned to JJ, who had her lips pursed tightly in a desperate attempt not to laugh at the sight of them. “Ready for dinner? It’s Taco Tuesday.”
JJ smirked, something inexplicable warming in her chest at the prospect of ’Taco Tuesday’ with kids like her, kids who didn’t have a home anymore. “Absolutely.”
— —