A/N: I've always hoped for a canon reunion with Elle, some closure.

I knock on the door of her (apartment) once, twice. I texted, rang, when she left, but she never returned a thing - never spoke to any of us. She moved away, cut all contacts. I'd asked Garcia to find her address for me years ago, but it never seemed right to turn up on her doorstep when she obviously didn't want to be found. I don't know what's different now. Maybe it's that we're in New York for a case with a day spare before our flight, or that this unsub was a woman with PTSD, or maybe it's just that I really, really miss my friend.

She opens the door and I'm expecting the face from my memories - shutters pulled down on hazel eyes, shadows and lines and the defiant set of her brow that characterised her time in the BAU, but she's changed, we both have. She looks genuinely pleased to see me, so much so that I bitterly regret not coming here sooner. "JJ!" She pulls me in for a hug as her smile splits her face in two, and I laugh as I return the embrace. When she pulls back to look me in the eye, I think, I miss you. But what I say is, "You look good, Elle."

She's got kids now, two of them. They grin out at me from frames on the mantelpiece as she hands me a cup of coffee, milk and no sugar. "Maria is four, Daniel is two," she tells me, and I can hear the pride in her voice. "James took them to his mom's for the day." I remember when we were the two girls on the team, when she swore blind that she would never, ever have kids - "this job is my baby," she'd joked, feet up on the desk.

"They're beautiful. Just like their parents," I tell her, and I don't know anyone who deserves it more. "I'm sorry I didn't fight for you to stay," I say, but the truth is that we needed Elle more than she ever needed us, anyway.

Elle raises an eyebrow in the same way she always used to when Spence said something she disagreed with. "There was nothing you could've done, JJ," and maybe she's right, but there's a lot I'd do differently now, eight years down the line.

I don't realise we've lapsed into silence until she breaks it. "Jen..." I look up, and she's biting her lip. "I'm really sorry about what happened to you."

My hand goes to my scar automatically. I guess I'm not surprised that she's heard: Elle left the FBI in a flurry of gunfire, but she never left law enforcement. I manage a weak smile. "It happens, right?"

"Perk of the job," she shrugs, showing me the scar on her chest. I catch her eye and we can't help laughing. "I can't believe you're all still there," she confesses. "A year on that job was enough for me."

My phone rings. I sigh when I see the name. "Elle..."

"No rest for the wicked, right?" she grins, getting to her feet. "Thank you for coming," she tells me. "Don't be a stranger. And give my love to everyone."

I walk down her front path back to the SUV, and I swear I've never felt lighter.