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She can’t do this anymore.
She can’t, she can’t, she can’t.
Her lungs feel three sizes too small as she struggles for air with every breath. Her arms lost all feeling hours ago, and her head is throbbing, full of a constant buzz like a nest of wasps. Her midsection is nothing but staccato pain, like her ribs have splintered and lodged in her organs. Like a bomb was placed in her abdomen and shrapnel tore through her on the way out.
She cries.
She’s done screaming. She’s done fighting.
Fighting was for the start, with the beating, with the suffocation and the hose.
The screaming came after, with the electricity that burned her, that swept all the way to her brain and wiped the conscious thoughts from her mind.
All she has left is crying.
Not because she thinks it’ll affect him. No, she knows very well Askari gets off on every sob, every admission of weakness and defeat she can’t hold back any more. She cries because it’s all she has left.
She cries because she knows she’s about to die.
She cries because she’ll never see Henry again, or Will, or Garcia or Reid or any of them, and she cries because she tried, she tried goddamnit, she hopes they know how hard she tried, and it’s too late now, Jennifer Jareau has nothing left, she hopes someone will tell her parents how much she loves them, how she thought of them all in the end, because this is it, isn’t it? This must be the end? As her vision blurs in and out of focus and the harsh lights on the ceiling bleed across her field of view, she almost smiles because everyone knows, anyone can tell you, you’re supposed to go into the big light in the sky when it’s your time, right?
Only, the pain doesn’t fade, and her body doesn’t dissolve, and she hasn’t escaped from this cold concrete floor on her back. She shakes, hard, as the cool air of the dungeon saps the heat from her soaked bones. Her mind, loose and wandering in her skull, casts about for any memory to cling to, to be present and ground herself and stay strong. That’s what they would tell her, each and every one of them.
Stay strong.
They’ll find her. She knows they must be looking by now. They have to find her. Stay strong. This will all go away once they find her, and they will, this is what they’re good at.
Stay strong, JJ.
JJ...
“JJ? God, you’re freezing.”
It takes real effort for JJ’s rolling eyes to focus on the figure leaning over her, but once she does, a laugh escapes from her mouth because it’s over now, it must be all over because it’s–
“Emily,” the sound that leaves her mouth can only be described as pathetic. JJ can’t even pretend to care though, because it’s Emily.
It’s Emily talking to her, and caressing her sweaty forehead, it’s Emily blocking the lights beckoning her into sweet, sweet oblivion. It’s Emily here to save her, and, and–
“How did you find me?” JJ’s voice cracks, weak and whispery but it’s ok, it’s all ok now.
“Doesn’t matter,” is Emily’s simple reply, immediate, and she’s right of course, why would it matter? Nothing matters except that Emily is here .
“He’s taking everything,” JJ whispers, helpless. “I c...I can’t, I think I might break,” and what she wants, what she’s begging for, is for Emily to lend her some strength, some of that trademark Prentiss steel to keep her in this fight, for Emily to fight with her, because if Emily is with her then nothing could ever break her, not ever–
“You have to break,” Emily’s mouth forms the words, but it’s not her voice that comes out. JJ shivers even more violently, not from the cold so much as the fear that shoots through her. Emily would never say that. Emily would never tell her to give up. Which can only mean one thing–
And Emily’s face fades into the bloody features of Mateo Cruz, and JJ loses.
No, no, please , and the world comes rushing back, her vision and hearing sharpening with a rush of blood to her head as Cruz strokes her hair and looks down at her with such kindness, and sorrow.
Emily is gone. Emily was never there.
“I’m seeing things,” she tells him, trying to rationalize the words that he is saying to her, urging her to give up her access codes.
“You can’t take much more of this,” he’s saying, and she knows in her heart of hearts that he’s right. She can’t do this anymore. Not alone.
So she types.
Backwards. One more chance, because she may be out of fight, but she’ll be dead and in the ground before she ever gives up faith in her team.
And Mat resists.
He saves her life in that moment, by refusing to enter his code, because Mateo Cruz is a good man. And it comes to her so quickly, she can’t believe she didn’t realize it sooner.
And suddenly she’s not alone. With the strength of her unborn child running through her veins, a boldness overcomes her weakened, beaten body. She spits for her real captor. She demands to see Hastings, the hollowness inside filled with a raging anger that demands she do something .
And Hastings, that smug son of a bitch, reveals himself from where he must have been watching them in sadistic glee. JJ seethes as he cranks her upright by her manacled wrists again, revulsion spreading from where he touches her.
And then he’s using her against Cruz, rubbing his hand against her bare abdomen, working at the buttons on her destroyed shirt, and she’s trying to be strong and she’s saying “I’m ok, I’m ok, Mat,” but her voice is going raspy because oh god , this is really going to happen, there’s nothing she can do about it and she has to let this happen, Cruz can’t give up his codes, not for her, not for anyone, terror is knotting her gut as Hastings slips free the button on her jeans–
“I’ll do it! I’ll do it, just leave her alone!”
JJ doesn’t let him see the relief the floods through her. It’s counteracted almost immediately by guilt. Guilt that she is such a weakness to him. Guilt that she herself isn’t strong enough. Horrible, gut-wrenching fear that they’ve just betrayed their country in an unfixable way, that they’ve just jeopardized countless innocent lives. Cruz types his codes. It works.
And the power goes out.
There is a moment of pure, total silence.
And the lights come back.
JJ almost doesn’t let herself hope. But there’s a flurry of activity as Hasting’s men depart, and she knows. The abrupt sound of gunfire sends her stomach plummeting to her feet, but they’re here .
Askari stabs Cruz.
JJ can’t stop the scream of “No!” as he is cut down from the ceiling, collapsing in a rapidly growing pool of blood.
She struggles against the chains, but what hasn’t worked for hours isn’t about to start working now. Askari turns his sick, twisted grin to her, brandishing the knife and JJ can’t even think straight, this can’t be happening, not now, not when they’re so close , they must have seen the message, they must have gotten word to the only person who would have understood it, she has to be here–
Askari lunges forward–
Emily–
BANG–
And it’s Hotch and it’s Emily and she’s sobbing and oh god, oh god, it’s Emily and “I knew they’d call you, I knew it,” Emily is real and cutting her down and asking “are you ok?” and JJ forces a response because this isn’t over yet, she still has things to do, time for everything else after, she has to call on every last minute of field experience she’s ever had if she’s going to be functional for this.
“I’m fine,” she lies, quickly covering with “Help Mat, please, he’s injured,” and she can stand on her own two feet and that’s enough, and she’s out the door before her body can listen to every single goddamned impulse in her brain telling her to cling to Emily and never let go.
She’s running unsteadily through the deserted corridors with one goal: to find Michael Hastings. To stop him. And, with any luck, to kill him.
She doesn’t dwell on the last part too long. She’s never been one to entertain revenge fantasies, but she gives herself a free pass on this one.
Echoing footsteps ring out behind her as she makes her way to the top of the building, the one place where Hastings might have hope of extraction.
She bursts into the cool night air, breathing heavily, and spots him climbing a ladder to the highest part of the roof.
And things start to happen very quickly.
She empties her entire clip almost without thinking, arms trembling from fatigue, and she curses them as every shot misses. She becomes aware of another body next to her, doesn’t allow herself to admire the way Emily covers her like second nature as she, too, unloads all her rounds, ducking back behind cover as Hastings returns fire.
Then they’re chasing him, up the ladder, and Emily, faster, tries to take him down and he knocks her back, and JJ’s on him, fighting like a banshee as the wind whips around them, she doesn’t even feel his clumsy blows as her body reacts to the stimulus of pure adrenaline that’s fueling her right now, and he catches her kick and she’s shoving and they’re at the edge of the roof and he rolls back and he’s falling and he has a hold on her and oh–
her fingers are slipping on the slick surface of smooth metal-
fuck
there’s nothing beneath her feet but air–
Emily’s hands slam down on her arms, her fatal slide stopping all at once. “I got you,” she breathes, grip like iron. “I got you,” and it sounds like a promise.
Her heart is beating so fast it’s more like one constant seizing of her chest. Emily braces herself and pulls, and JJ’s scrambling, and her feet are back on the right side of the abyss, and they’re stumbling back away from the edge, and finally, finally, Emily is holding her.
Emily wraps her arms around the blonde and squeezes, and JJ buries her face in Emily’s neck and lets the tears flow as she shivers violently. Emily’s murmuring, “It’s over, it’s over, Jayje. I got you. It’s over,” and has one hand stroking JJ’s hair, the other tightly around her back, fingers against her rib cage, and JJ falls apart, and Emily holds her pieces together.
“Don’t let me go,” she whispers, and Emily says, “Never.”
This is real.
The nighttime chill cuts through her, or maybe it’s just the adrenaline leaving her system, but Emily is the warmest thing she’s ever felt and if she just stays here, nothing bad can happen to her, so she doesn’t move, just keeps taking deep, shaky breaths against the other woman’s collarbone. She focuses on nothing by the moment, grounds herself in the roughness of Emily’s kevlar vest, the feeling of Emily’s fingers, gentle on her scalp, the smell of gunpowder and perfume and sweat and blood and fresh air and someone she hasn’t touched in almost a full year.
This is real.
Emily presses a kiss to her temple and this is real, and she’s safe, and they found her just like she knew they would.
Eventually, JJ stops shaking enough to push back from Emily’s embrace just a little, to tilt her head back and meet deep brown eyes with pale blue. Emily just looks at her, and there are so many words floating in the air between them and JJ can’t pick through them right now, and she’s suddenly realizing how heavy her eyelids are, and the pain is seeping back to replace fear and adrenaline, so she opens her mouth and, “We should–“ she starts, but her voice dry cracks and she swallows and Emily takes over, setting one of JJ’s arms over her own shoulders, supporting the blonde’s weight.
“Can you walk?”
JJ nods, and that’s how the team meets them in the lobby, shuffling together. JJ catches sight of Cruz in the ambulance, and Emily knows she has to release her at some point, that point is probably now, but damn, she really doesn’t want to.
It’s only after JJ smiles at her softly, nods that she’s okay, that Emily disentangles them. “I’ll be right over here,” she says, squeezing JJ’s shoulder and going to find Hotch.
It almost physically hurts when Emily pulls away.