There were some cases that found a way into your soul. Cut a hole, burrowed way in deep and then settled down for the winter. Others found a way to fade away. Not into nothing, never into nothing, but rather into a grey smudge against a wall. Like a burn mark on carpet. Massaged down to a place where it didn't look so out of place, but always there just the same. Always distorted. Always wrecked.
This case had been the former as opposed to the latter. This one, well this one had hurt like hell.
Three young girls, all under ten, the youngest one a day over seven when she'd been taken. All three had been brutalized beyond human comprehension. Only one had survived and her eyes, God, her eyes. Small and sea green, but so lost. A look a child of eight should never have.
And she had sat with the girl, not knowing what to say to her, at a loss for a way to heal the wounds that had been so horrifically inflicted upon her tiny body. Forged against a soul that had no right to be not be innocent any longer.
The girls had been orphans, children of the mean streets of Los Angeles. They'd just been kids that everyone had assumed would die uncared about anyway.
But someone had cared. She and her team. They had come riding to the rescue because one young cop - a man named Nick Gage - had managed to convince his boss that this was a cause worth fighting for. That these were children worth saving.
But they'd been too late. So late.
Only one had been recovered alive. Amy was her name. At least she thought so. It seemed that in her eight years she'd gone by several names, been adopted by various families, all who had found her mental issues, her feelings of hurt and loss just far to difficult to deal with. And so like a too-small fish, they'd thrown her back. They'd let her be someone else's problem. Let someone else be responsible for saving her.
Only that White Knight had never come for little Amy. She'd just slipped through, somehow found her way to a dark place under a bridge. Eight years old and already lost. Eight years old and surviving in a way that no child ever should.
"JJ," a voice said from above her. She blinked and looked up at her friend and co-worker, Doctor Spencer Reid. His eyes were wide and worried, but his jaw was set, refusing to show too much emotion. She wondered for a moment if that was his curse. His mind, it was too analytical at times. It broke everything down, even emotions, to pure mathematics. Statics. It wasn't a matter of him being cold. It was a matter of his mind having more power than his hurt.
But still, he was a good man. A good friend.
Someone who cared and underneath it all, she knew he shared her pain.
So she smiled at him. Or rather forced one. It didn't meet her bright blue eyes and he noticed. Of course he did. He noticed everything.
"Mind if I sit?" he asked her, seeming not quite sure how she'd reply.
And again, she smiled. "Course not. Gin?"
He nodded. "Sure." And took a seat opposite her. As he did so, he glanced across the interior of the plane, saw the eyes of Aaron Hotchner on him. On her. He knew Hotch was worried. Knew that Hotch had seen that moment where she'd cracked.
They'd all seen it.
But now JJ wanted to pretend that it had never happened.
And normally, normally he would have let her have that. But for some reason, it seemed important that they share it. That she realize that she wasn't alone. That this one had affected them all. That this one had cut into each and every one of them.
"I deal," Reid said, reaching for the deck of cards. She lifted an eyebrow, forced another smile. This one meant to convey a joke. This one failing miserably to do so. He slid the red-backed cards out of the carton and shuffled them, the sound of each slapping against the other making an almost rhythmic noise. He watched as her eyes tracked the flight of each card. He watched as she lost herself in the movement.
Then, she said, as if in that same trance, "Are you gonna deal or make me fall asleep?"
This time he forced a laugh. And had she been paying attention, she would have noticed. But her eyes never left the cards. "If you're tired, the couch in the..."
"I'm not tired," she said quickly, the very thought of sleep, of dreaming, abhorrent to her.
He nodded and began to deal.
"So," he started, feeling a bit awkward, realizing suddenly that this really wasn't his forte. He wasn't usually the one who comforted people, who sought to soothe their souls. That was...well, that was her job.
"So," she repeated, as she swept up her cards and glanced at them, her eyes seeing the numbers, doing the simple math and then joylessly coming up with a half-assed plan to win. Normally this was a battle of spirit and pride for her. Beat Genius Doctor Reid. Make him babble out weak excuses about how he'd let her win. Right now though, it was an exercise being used to keep her hands moving and her mind off the horrific images of that damaged little girl.
That baby girl.
God, how could no one have wanted her?
"Are you...are you..." Reid stammered, wondering a bit why this was so hard.
"Am I okay?" JJ asked, lifting her eyebrow just a bit. A smile quirked the edge of her lip and though it wasn't joy, it was bemusement and perhaps that was better than the heavy misery she'd been wearing in her expression ever since they'd left Los Angeles.
"Yeah," Reid confirmed, moving his cards around, putting them in order, frowning almost imperceptibly as he took in his furiously bad hand.
"Sure," JJ replied with a shrug that was probably meant to be unemotional. And it might have even worked if her voice hadn't cracked just a bit. Hadn't wavered in it's resolve.
But then, JJ wasn't hard. She wasn't broken by the job. Not yet, at least. Not like Gideon. Not like Hotch. Not like Morgan. All of them wore their scar tissue under their body armor. All them had long ago learned how to bury the pain beneath a wall of procedure and duty.
He was getting there.
He didn't ever want her there.
"JJ," Reid said softly. "It's...it's okay if you're not."
"I'm okay, Spence. Really."
He chuckled a bit, more to himself than outwardly. Spence, she'd called him Spence. She was the only one who did and normally, it was a bit of a thrill for him. Something just between them. But now, now he knew that she was trying to manipulate him. She was attempting to create a personal moment between them, something that said "look, we're one on one and I can let you in. And hey, I'm letting you in so leave me alone, okay?"
But he knew better. He knew her. She was a master of manipulation. No, not usually with her friends and co-workers, but with the media. With those animals that she had to corral and herd every day. She worked them like putty, made them do exactly as she so chose. Made them think they'd won and got a story from her even when she was only allowing them carefully created scraps of information.
She was good. No, she was damned good.
But then, so was he. He knew damn well that she hadn't given any ground, hadn't let him in even a bit.
He knew that he'd have to push, have to force some of the pain out, a thought which revolted him to his core. And still.
"JJ," he started again.
"What, Reid? Did you not get the hand you wanted? Want to surrender now?" she asked innocently, eyes down on the cards. She was refusing to look at him, refusing to allow him to see if there were tears in her eyes. He rather suspected that there were.
"No," he said, shaking his head, a bit amazed by how deft she was at trying to change the subject. "Gage...Detective Gage...he cared."
JJ nodded again, still wouldn't lift her eyes. "I know," she forced out. He saw her hand raise a bit, a motion meant to indicate scratching an itch on her cheek. He didn't miss, however, her fingers straying close to her eyes, flicking away water that had gathered there. Tears.
"Gage said he'd watch out for her," Reid tried again. "I...I think he meant it."
"I'm sure he did," JJ said tightly. Her hands clenched a bit, crushing one of the cards. Without acknowledging what she'd done, she straightened the red-back and reshuffled it into her hand. "But he's a cop, Reid. Like you and me. Only so much he can do, right?"
"He can try," Reid offered, realizing that despite his best efforts, he was failing badly. And realizing that somehow failing badly with JJ hurt worse than doing the same with just about anyone else.
"We all try," JJ replied, a sarcastic edge in her voice. "Not sure that means much to Amy."
Realizing that this wasn't going the way he wanted it to, understanding that he needed to bring the focus back to her, Reid said softly, "JJ, we saw, I saw what happened at the hospital."
"That was a misunderstanding," she answered back, refusing to give him an inch, even if it meant lying through her teeth. Only in a bizarro world could her yelling at a reporter, telling him off for daring to ask how Amy was doing, be called a misunderstanding.
No, quite simply, for a few seconds, the normally chronically calm and controlled Jennifer Jareau had snapped. And while Reid hadn't much use for reporters, her reaction had shaken him up. Perhaps even more than it had the reporter, who had scrambled away.
"JJ," Reid insisted. "JJ, I saw you angry."
And then she looked up at him and for the second time in a day, he saw her angry. He saw the fury spark through her blue eyes, ignite like petroleum fuel, explode within her. "You saw me angry?" she snapped. "God, why would I be angry, Reid? Why? I mean, why?"
"JJ..."
"Oh! You mean because some evil bastard kidnapped three little girls...three tiny little girls, mind you, that nobody wanted...and he raped them and he beat them and then he raped them again..."
"JJ..."
"And when he was done, when he finally had broken their bodies beyond what even he could tolerate, he murdered two of them. He murdered them in front of each other, let them see how each of them died, let them hear each other's screams..."
"JJ," and this time it was Hotch standing above her. Worried. Maybe even a bit scared. His hand settled on her shoulder, tried to squeeze, but she shrugged it off of her, didn't want to be touched. Suddenly couldn't stand the thought of being comforted.
"And in the end, what did we do?" JJ asked, meeting Reid's eyes. "What good did we do?"
"We brought Amy home," Reid said feebly, knowing that that could never be enough. Knowing that despite his words, despite his attempts to comfort her with them, they weren't even enough for him.
"To what, Spence?" JJ snorted derisively. And this time when she said his name, she actually was making a connection. Between their pain. This time she was letting him see it all. And it was ugly and raw. And it killed him to see it inside of her.
"What did we bring that little girl back to?" JJ continued on, shaking a bit. "Nothing. Because there was nothing before and now...now all she has is a cop whose life won't allow him to actually be there for her. You and I both know what's going to happen to her. He'll try, but eventually he'll be forced to give up. And then the system, she'll get thrown back through the system again. And in a month, maybe two, we'll find out she died. Won't matter how because no one will have cared."
"We can't save everyone, JJ," Hotch inserted, dropping down to a knee so he could look at her. His tone was strong and demanded her attention. And of course, in spite of everything, she found herself meeting his eyes.
And what she saw in them was compassion and understanding, which was almost too much to take.
"We don't need to save everyone, Hotch," JJ insisted, her voice wobbling just a bit. Afraid of shattering, she resorted to over-annunciating each word. "Just them. Just...those ones." A stray tear slipped down her cheek.
"Were it that easy," Jason Gideon murmured quietly from behind her. He hadn't moved closer, seemed to know this pain too well. Seemed to understand that she was entitled to it. No matter how dangerous it be. "But there will always be a new 'those ones', JJ. We do the best we can. Sometimes it's not good enough. It's still the best we can do."
JJ turned to look at him and for a moment, the anger in her eyes burst again. And her mouth opened as if to say something, as if to tell him that she couldn't possibly accept that answer, couldn't allow it.
But then, quickly, common sense overrode that desire and she stilled her tongue and retreated back within herself. Falling back to a safe position behind her mental walls, she furiously reminded herself that as an agent, as the liaison assigned to this division, she had to keep her emotions in check.
She had to be cold.
And so she turned away. And looking down at her cards said quietly, "I'm sorry. That was...I'm sorry. It's just…it's been a long day. I'm fine. Really, I'm fine."
No one was buying a bit of it.
Hotch turned slightly, looked straight at Gideon, looked towards the back of the plane where Prentiss and Morgan were standing, waiting to come over and offer whatever help they could if need be. Both of them were wearing matching expressions.
A little bit of fear mixed with a whole lot of worry.
And a great deal of "been there, felt that".
Seeing Hotch's silent question "should we let her retreat or should we go after her", Gideon inclined his head gently, as if to say, "for now, no. For now, let her have this. Let her have this pain for her."
Hotch frowned a bit, but acquiesced. "Okay," he said. Something in his tone promised that this was not over.
JJ nodded, eyes still down, her lips pursed as much in anger as embarrassment. The tips of her ears flushed red as she became overwhelmingly aware of the fact that all eyes were on her.
Hotch stepped away, moved back towards Morgan and Prentiss, touched each of their arms and moved them inwards, forming a half circle so that he could speak to them. But JJ didn't see this, she still was refusing to lift her eyes from the cards. She didn't see Morgan turn, take a step, get pulled back and then with disgust agree to let her have her space. She didn't see Prentiss's look of compassion.
Wouldn't have wanted to see it anyway.
Because that might have broken her clean in half.
Reid turned a bit, met eyes with Gideon, who nodded him towards JJ. He swallowed and turned his attention back to the blonde, not that he ever needed to be told to be there for her.
"JJ," he started.
"Please," she begged him, her voice cracking a bit, a small gasp accompanying an even smaller sniffle. "Please just play, Spence."
And for the third time, she manipulated him. As much with her voice as with her words.
"Yeah," he responded, reaching out to put cards face-down on the table. As he did so, his fingers slipped forward and very gently, he could have even claimed accidentally, grazed against the back of her hand. "Three sevens," he managed to push out.
She looked up at him, smiled feebly and met his eyes, hers glistening brightly. "You can't have three sevens."
He offered her his best impish smile. "Oh, why not?"
"I have two sevens," she said, placing a seven of hearts and a seven of clubs down on the table. He grinned then and shrugged.
"Hm, my mistake. I miscounted." And he took the cards back, slyly shuffling the extra seven of hearts into the sleeve of his shirt.
"Right, Dr. Reid miscounted" she chuckled a bit, far from okay, but trying to pull it all back inside, trying to control it, trying to be strong. And then she said, "Gin." And placed her entire hand down on the table.
He lifted an eyebrow, jokingly said, "Well that's awfully convenient."
She shrugged and turned the cards over. The sevens she had were both part of numerical runs. Just the same, looking down at his own cards, he saw that they both had a King of Hearts.
And he almost laughed because like always, even in her unbelievable pain, JJ was as much a cheater as he was.
"Indeed," Reid said with a nod, shuffling his hand back into the deck before she could see his cards, before she could see that he knew that she had cheated. "Shall we play again?"
She inclined her head and nodded, thankful for the distraction.
Even if it meant placing a piece of body armor above a new patch of scar tissue.
Even if it hurt like hell.
And so Reid dealt.
Because that hurt less.
-FIN