A/N still crazy excited for JJ's PTSD episode so here's another little one shot for you. Unfortunately we don't get Paget in 10x11 so this is my way of getting over that. Enjoy!

You settle down on the couch with your freshly made spaghetti marinara. It's been your favourite ever since Rossi taught you how to make it. It's delicious and simple to make; what more could you ask for? Of course, it's something of a rarity for you as Will, despite hailing from a coastal city, does not like seafood and Henry wouldn't touch it with a ten foot barge pole.

Lucky for you, Will is working late tonight and Henry is at Hotch's for a sleepover with Jack. You love both of them to pieces but sometimes you need some alone time. Especially now.

You sigh. You had made the spaghetti as a treat for yourself. It had smelled delicious as you swirled it around in the pan. It smells delicious now as you twist it onto your fork. But you can't eat it. You haven't been able to eat all day.

As much as you loathe to admit it, you're struggling; in a few short weeks, it will have been a year since Hastings abducted you. You know it's not a good sign when you shudder slightly just at the thought of his name. You feel like you haven't coped as well as you should, like you haven't been strong enough. But you can't help how you feel, you can't even control the way your body reacts to certain things.

You were woken this morning by a car backfiring. You had shot bolt upright in bed, eyes scanning the dark for a threat. You had found none, and laid back down, your heart thumping wildly. Will had rolled over and sleepily wrapped his arm around you, mumbling something incoherent. You had tried to go back to sleep but somehow you just couldn't. You had been on edge all day. A constant tickle of nerves, often to the point of nausea, fluttering away in your stomach, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end and your muscles tense and sore.

Looking at your bowl of spaghetti, you feel ill again. You decide to eat a few mouthfuls anyway because you've barely eaten a thing since you forced down that piece of dry toast this morning. It was all you could stomach.

You chew on your food absently, closing your eyes and clenching your fist as the anxiousness rises again. You have no idea how to stop it; you tell yourself that it's unnecessary. The things you fear are dead or gone, never to return, and yet, whenever your mind wanders, the fear creeps up on you again, making your heart race and breathing quicken.

It's illogical, irrational, and that just makes it all worse.

You stew in your thoughts for a moment. You feel tearful and stressed and scared. You want to talk to someone but, whilst you love your team dearly, there are some things that you don't want to have to take to work. Besides, whoever you spoke to, news of your discomfort, however vague, would make its way back to Garcia eventually and you don't want to worry her. She doesn't deserve that.

You pick up the phone, regardless, and dial a familiar number. Your thumb is pretty much robotic as it presses the buttons. There is a lump in your throat as you hit dial but you know there is nothing else you can do, no one else you can call.

When she picks up, you can hear that the line is a little crackly, but that's what you get when you phone someone on the other side of the Atlantic.

"This is Prentiss." She says wearily. Then it hits you: whilst it's just after 9pm where you are, in the UK it's 2am. You've woken her in the middle of the night. You almost hang up there and then, then Emily can get some sleep, but your mouth stops you.

"Emily?" It says quietly. Your voice catches just slightly on the final syllable. You can imagine her rubbing her eyes tiredly and frowning, before it dawns on her who has phoned.

"JJ?" Em replies, a hint of disbelief colouring those two simple letters. She's right, it has been too long. "Are you okay? Is the team okay?"

"Yeah, we're fine. We're all okay." You say. Your voice is shaking and much higher than it should be. You're still trying to hold back tears but it's a battle you're losing. You take a couple of deep breaths to calm yourself down. Emily is waiting patiently, she knows something is wrong.

"Em," You say, your voice finally cracking, leaving the rest of your sentence little more than a whisper, "I'm not doing so well." You begin to cry quietly, unable to fight it anymore.

"Oh, JJ honey, talk to me." She says gently. How you wish she was here. You don't know what to say. Your tears flow freely down your cheeks as your feeling of helplessness grows in your chest. Sometimes you catch yourself wondering if you'll ever truly be okay again, whether everything will ever go back to the way it was before. You tell yourself not to think like that, that things will get better. They have to. You don't know for how much longer you can bear to live like this.

"How do you do it, Em?" You ask, desperation tingeing your voice. You hope she can't hear that. She knows exactly what you're talking about without even having to clarify the 'it'. You know that she's smiling ruefully, with a sad hint to her eyes, considering the events and choices that led her to have to compartmentalise as well as she does.

"A lifetime of practice." She finally says wryly. You give a small smile as well. It is a sad smile. You both know that locking everything away is not the answer either of you are looking for. Healing doesn't mean forgetting, or ignoring, it means accepting. But some things are difficult to accept; Emily understands that better than anyone.

You sit in silence for a minute. Even though she's not in the room with you, still you find her quiet companionship comforting, as you imagine she had during your many games of Scrabble together.

"I'm scared, Em." You say after a while. "I can't even explain it" You growl in frustration and clench your hair in your fist. Why do you feel like this? Everything feels so pent up, like there's nothing you can do to stop it, to the point where you wonder how it's even possible to keep this much emotion inside one body. It's all just sitting there, pushing against you, waiting for you to lose control and explode in a fit of rage. "It makes no sense!"

"And that just makes it harder doesn't it?" Em replies. Just hearing her say that gives you some of the relief you realise now that you've been craving. There's someone out there who understands, who knows how this feels. "You feel like you're being foolish, being afraid of someone who is dead. Everyone tells you that they're gone, that they can't hurt you anymore, as if somehow that should make everything that you're feeling go away.

But you're still afraid, and confused, and angry, so you just stop talking to people about it, because it's not something that they can understand and they need to believe that you're okay. They need you to be okay."

You're crying again now, but it feels good to finally let everything out. The lump in your throat is gone and the stress you've felt building within you beginning to trickle away, tear by tear. Emily just lets you cry, whether she can hear it or not, she knows it's what you need.

"After Ian died, I saw him everywhere I looked," Her voice is quiet, mournful almost. You still wonder about the depth of her relationship with Doyle sometimes. "It was as though I had lost my home, as if he had taken it from me. Everything felt tainted."

You understand how that feels, except that it's you that feels tainted, rather than your surroundings. That's because your surroundings usually include Henry and Will. Your boys have a wonderful talent for drawing you back to the present if ever your thoughts wonder. Will with soft murmur in your ear or gentle squeeze of your hand, Henry by running around the house with crayons and Mr Bowtie.

"I know it doesn't feel like it now, but it will get better. I promise you. One day you'll wake up and you won't shudder when you hear his name. You'll see your scars and you won't cringe as a ghost of that pain rushes through you again. You'll think back to what happened and know that it made you stronger."

You sniff and wipe the tears away from your eyes. "Okay," you say, your voice still shaking a little. You don't quite believe her at the moment, but you want to. You need to.

You hear the front door open and shut again. Will is home earlier than you were expecting.

"Em, I'm sorry, but I have to go, Will just got back from work." You feel guilty for hanging up on her but you know she understands.

"Okay hon, but Jayje, I want you to promise me something." She says.

"Okay?"

"Don't keep it all locked away. Whenever you need me, you call me, okay? I don't care how late it is, I don't care how small your problem might be, you pick up that phone and you call me. Promise me." You can hear in her voice how much she cares for you, how much she misses you.

"I promise." You say, and you mean it. Truly.

"Alright then. And don't just call me when you're down, we don't chat nearly enough, and I don't hear nearly enough about how you and the family are doing." You know she means more than just you, Will and Henry.

You chuckle lightly. "You got it, Em. And thank you."

"I'm just returning a favour."

You smile, and you know that she is smiling too.

"Goodnight Em, we'll speak soon."

"I'll hold you to that. Night, Jayje."

You hang up just as Will walks through to the lounge. He sees you have been crying, with the puffiness around your eyes you can't really hide it. "You okay, Chère?" He asks, concerned.

You just smile at him.

You're not okay. But you will be.

A/N well I hope you enjoyed that, I certainly enjoyed writing it. Please leave a review, they really do make my day.