I always told her that her eyes held the secrets of the world. They varied in colour; from as blue as the sky that you look up to from your place on your picnic blanket on a perfectly clear day, to the colour of the raging ocean in the middle of a storm beneath fishermen's boats, and those eyes could captivate you in a matter of seconds. She had the power to completely captivate you just by merely looking at you, and that was what I fell in love with, first. The fact that, even if she just glanced in your general direction and you caught sight of those two blue eyes, you couldn't help but to desire to know more about this woman, to look at her and to try your hardest to find out every last detail about her, although she wouldn't let you in. She had trust issues to begin with, and more often than not, she put up her guard to protect herself without even willing to think about allowing anyone in. She internalized, shut people out, and left people in wonder, which was quite ironic considering the fact that all anyone wanted was the mysterious blonde's, whose eyes could reel you into her world in a matter of seconds.
Her blonde hair most commonly hung in her natural waves, tumbling down and giving the illusion of a wheat field on a windy day, flashes of different shades of blonde hitting your eyes in different ways each and every time you looked at it. This halo of blonde hung nearly down to the middle of her back, and every time she turned away from me, I could picture the tips of that beautiful hair tickling the birthmark just off to the right side of her spine. She hated it. She hated that damn birthmark more than anything in the world, and no matter how desperately I tried to console her mind on the silly topic, she pushed it aside and told me to mind my own business. More often than not, every single time I tried to so much as run a stubby fingernail over the mark, she would slap my hand away and immediately pull on clothing, her blue eyes evidently pooling with signs of anger and unhappiness. She was beautiful. She was perfect. She was Jennifer Jareau, and she was mine.
Henry had once again been having seizures although JJ wasn't terribly concerned about them. Or so she said. A mother always worried, and although I was never technically a mother, most of my time undercover was spent with Declan Doyle, and I suppose a few of my motherly qualities were unsurfaced during this time period. Even though Jennifer put on a brave face during the time of all of Henry's medical issues, I could see the fear that evidently laced themselves around her eyes that were already rimmed with red from loss of sleep, the way that she kept her phone in her hand every second of every day, and even the way that, no matter the circumstance, she tried to choose cases that were relatively close to home in case of emergency. On a few occasions I even tried my hardest to let JJ know that I was there for her in her time of need, but I was immediately being snapped at, the tone of voice in which the blonde spoke piercing my ears like daggers, although it didn't stop me any from asking what I could do to help. Jennifer Jareau was scared and that much was evident for I had seen the blonde in times similar to this, such as when Will started drinking again. It wasn't long after the Askari case that Will found out about the hidden miscarriage of their child, and the anger towards my friend began. Perhaps Will merely found comfort in the bottom of the bottle, but with Henry shipped away for a weekend at Sandy's house and with Jennifer on my doorstep with a blackened eye accompanied with tear stained cheeks, I could contain myself no longer.
As soon as JJ began to start coming over more regularly, I began to realize just how much of a game she thought it was. It was all for fun for her. There was no romantic connection that she felt between us, or not in the way that I felt it, at least. Time after time I would hint to JJ that I wanted to speak to her in terms of what was happening between us, but she brushed it off and always had some form of excuse as to why we couldn't speak. As much as that hurt me, I couldn't push her away. I couldn't slam my door in the woman's face, seeing as her husband was now completely cropped out of the picture, and noticing how much case work she buried herself in every single night.
If there was one thing that Jennifer Jareau hated, it was the dead silence that came when she was completely home alone. Those nights where Henry was at a friend's house killed her on the inside, and I was aware, for those were also the nights where I would receive phone calls in the middle of the night to join her. For once, I convinced the woman to open up to me. I asked her why the hell I was invited over only on these nights, and as we laid on her navy blue sheets with our naked bodies pressed against each other, and my finger twirling one of her blonde locks, she finally opened up to me. Jennifer Jareau was finally speaking to me honestly.
"Because."
"No. No, you don't get to do that, Jennifer. Just tell me, please? Just tell me…"
It must have been the euphoric state that the blonde was in that promoted her to actually speak, and her slightly raspy tone cut through the air that had been thickened with the scent of sex only moments before, which caused me to automatically pull JJ closer by her waist.
"My sister, Ros, Rosaline, she used to stay home with me often. Mom worked late in town, and dad most often than not was with the animals before he left us, so it was just the two of us. Against the world, she would always say. After Rosaline… Uhh… After Rosaline killed herself, the house was silent. Dad was gone without so much as a second word, and mom was distraught. How wouldn't she be!? She had just lost her husband and her daughter… So mom didn't come home. She did, but later… A lot later. I mean… I don't know. It was scary. The reality was real and Rosaline was gone. Her hands would never braid my hair again, she would never yell at me for using her toothbrush again, and she would never come and tuck me in at night when mom wasn't home again. It was… Silent."
I listened to each and every one of JJ's words in an attempt to permanently absorb them into my brain. It was as though I desperately had to remember these tiny facts that the blonde was hinting about herself because, no matter I tried, I cared about her. Undeniably, Emily Prentiss was in love with Jennifer Jareau. What a joke.
That was the reason that, when Morgan called me at four in the morning and I heard the words on the other end of the phone, my heart dropped into the pit of my stomach. I'd gone home early on that day because of a few mother related issues that I had to take care of. Only then did I find out that leaving early and shutting my phone off would be the worst decision of my life.
"Em… It's Henry. He had another seizure last night and… He didn't make it, Emily."
I dropped my phone, which caused it to shatter against the marble flooring beneath my feet. JJ had always hated that flooring, seeing as it was so cold on her feet, so I bought her a pair of slippers just for my house. She was supposed to be there that night. At my house. Sudden guilt washed over me like a tidal wave crashing over a rock, and my heart sunk even further. How? How could this have happened!? How could I have broken contact with JJ for one single night, and suddenly this? I loved that little boy. I would continue to love him for as long as I lived, and every single birthday that passed of his, I was there with a dozen roses to be set atop his grave. His mother wanted to do as much in the years following his burial, but at the mere sight of a graveyard, JJ began to shake uncontrollably, and particularly the cemetery where Henry was now laid to rest set her off.
The service was beautiful, although no one was paying any attention to the details of the ceremony whatsoever, instead casting all of their eyes on the miniature casket that was on display up at the front of the room. Jennifer sat next to Will, and for once the man was completely sober, although I knew that that fact would change later in the night, and occasionally the blonde would lean her head on his shoulder for some support, and her blue eyes would close as though she was trying to compose herself. Everyone in that room knew that Jennifer would not be able to collect herself to the extent that she and everyone knew she wanted, and guilt once again pricked at the depths of my soul as I watched her blue eyes once again open to look ahead to the casket. Her hands never once ceased to crease and fold at the obituary paper that had been handed to her and due to my profiler background, the only thing that I could do was watch her actions. Never once did her eyes even so much as glance to the photograph of her little boy, which was undeniably taken by herself in the earlier months of the blonde boy's life, and when the slideshow that Penelope put together flashed on a large overhead projector, JJ didn't even move. This was the only time that the small woman actually moved her eyes, and this time they landed, much to my own surprise, right onto the little boy's casket. It was as though she couldn't wrap her head around the fact that her little boy, her baby was lying in there, all dressed up in a suit and tie, with his beautiful head of hair combed back neatly on his head. I could almost imagine the sight, a small shiver making its way from the base of my spine up to where it tickled the back of my neck. It wasn't fair. Life just wasn't fair.
She sat in silence for the rest of the night, complete silence with a glass of apple juice (Henry's favourite) clutched so tightly in her hand that one would think she was going to break the glass. I supposed that the broken glass I envisioned would accurately represent the state of Jennifer Jareau's heart at this point. It was so broken that there would be no hope for anyone to piece her jagged heart back together unless the one helping was willing to get hurt as well. Hell, I would have put myself in Henry's place for the small blonde, but that wasn't quite how it worked, so I merely walked up next to her and took a seat as well. We sat in the silence, the air thick between us, and surprisingly Jennifer was the first to speak.
"His favourite colour was green. But not like pine tree green, like a… Grass on a nice summer day kinda green. That's what he always said, Em. He always said that. He wanted every single thing he owned to be 'grass on a nice summer day' green. Isn't that the most innocent thing you've ever heard? He never liked when I wore heels because he was convinced that either the bad guys would outrun me, or I would break my ankle, and he didn't like to see me when I had owchies. Only syrup was allowed on his pancakes, and Will used to special order the maple kind all the way from Canada to make his mornings extra special. I have four fucking bottles of Canadian maple syrup in my basement, Emily, and no one to eat it. My goddamn son is gone. He's gone. He's never going to make it to fourth grade, graduate, get married, have kids… He's never going to get to do any of that because I'm irresponsible and I put my work before my son. Do you know what he used to call himself, Em? He used to call himself my quiet place. My quiet place because he knew how terrified I am of staying alone. His logic was that even when he was quiet, he was always going to be there, and if it ever got too quiet, I could go snuggle him and hold him, but he would pretend to sleep like the good boy he is. That's what he did. That's what he told me he would do, Emily. He was such a good boy… I miss him already, Emily. I miss him so much…"
And without another word escaping from JJ's glossed lips, I pulled her close, her head resting against my chest with one of my hands on the back of her head and the other on the small of her back for comfort reasons. We sat in silence again with me allowing time to hush and hum the devastated woman as she cried, and as if on a timer, gentle snowflakes began to fall from the dark clouds that were illuminated in the sky above us. The two of us were too wrapped up in the sorrows that surrounded us to realize, however, while I consoled Jennifer Jareau, a single blackbird flew overhead, singing his beautiful song which echoed and sliced its way through the heavy air as he flew off into the night. He was free. He was alright. He was safe. He was our blackbird, and as soon as JJ heard the sound of that reassuring song, I felt her grip on my dress tighten, and I knew that she would be alright. And as that sense of peace came, I knew that we were going to be alright, all thanks to Jennifer's quiet place.