AN: Quick one-shot that I started long ago and finally decided to finish. Just tossing around some random ideas and trying out different styles. Nothing special here, just semi-decent writing. *DISCLAIMER* The characters of Criminal Minds are not my own.
Her finger squeezes the trigger repeatedly. It reminds her of the stress ball sitting by her office phone. Squeeze, release, squeeze, release, squeeze, release... The first slab of fiery lead embeds itself in his left arm. The second lodges into his chest. The third clips his shoulder. He just won't stop. She keeps firing, continues peppering him with bullets, but he stays on his feet. Closer, closer... She squeezes again, but all she hears is a click.
"Shit," she shouts, backing up against the wall behind her. The gun clatters to the floor as fear shadows her face. Her crystal blue eyes are wide and unblinking. How is he not on the floor?!
His monstrous hand tightens around her neck. His lips unleash an awful cackle reminiscent of a hyena. The force behind his clutch makes her head feel like it's about to explode. Her nails dig into his hands, but he hardly flinches. She gasps for breath that won't come. She's seeing stars as her mind fades away. She tries to croak for help, but all she can manage is a faint gurgle as the breath slowly leaves her body...
/
She darts up from her bed, flinging the pillow covering her face. It collides with the blinds, causing a rattle that makes her cringe. She almost hurts her neck as she violently looks left and right in the dark, trying to see any potential intruder. Reaching toward her nightstand, she grabs her handgun, but she doesn't leave the bed. Just a dream, Jareau, she tells herself. Perspiration trickles down her back. Her white tank top is more see-through than anything at this point, but she is alone and doesn't care. It's one of DC's hottest summers, but her sweat is cold. The kind of sweat that always follows nightmares. She has dealt with it before. Deep breaths, she thinks. Deep, slow breaths.
She catches her breath and leaves the bed, placing the gun back on the nightstand. She pads to her bathroom, flicking the light switch. Snatching a washcloth and turning on the warm water, she wipes the sweat from her face. She looks at the bags under her eyes, the glint of fear still present despite her best efforts to calm herself. Night terrors had struck her three times this week. Though she hated asking for help, she finally acknowledges that she needs to talk to someone.
She takes a quick shower and dresses semi-casual. A burgundy button-down blouse with short sleeves and a pair of blue jeans. She doesn't give a damn that tomorrow is supposed to be casual. She just needs to be comfortable. Even the shoes are sensible. She sacrifices the power she feels when her heels sound like gunfire and add three inches to her stature. She holsters her gun, sticks her wallet in her back pocket, grabs her keys and locks the apartment door behind her. Pulling out her cell phone, she dials 1 and presses send. As she listens to the tone, she ponders why her boss was first on her speed dial...
"Hotchner."
"Hi, Hotch."
There's a pause. She contemplates why she's calling him when she will be at work in less than ten minutes.
"Everything okay, JJ?"
She sighs. "No. I'm coming in early today. I need to speak with you."
"Okay. I'm already in the office, so just knock when you arrive."
"Trying to make me look bad by coming in early now?"
He chuckled. "Are you jealous?"
"Not one bit. See you in ten."
/
She knocks on the walnut door and hears his steady voice beckoning her to come in. Looking up from paperwork, deadpan Hotch strikes again.
"Are your parents raccoons?" he jibes.
"Ha," JJ laughs dryly. "That's gold, Hotch. Real good stuff."
"I try," he jokes, a thin smile tickling his handsome face. "I'm assuming you feel worse than you look?"
"Thanks for the compliment," JJ quips, flicking her head to one side. "But yes, you would be right to assume."
Hotch signals to one of the chairs across from his desk. "Then please, sit."
She complies, nearly crashing into the chair before crossing her legs. Hotch steeples his fingers and leans forward on his desk.
"What's wrong?"
She sighs, thinking of how she wants to go about this conversation. She props her pounding head on her right hand as she murmurs, gesturing with her left.
"Do you still have nightmares, Hotch?"
"Sure. I think we all do."
"How often?" she presses.
"I don't know," he reflects. "Once or twice every couple of weeks."
"Three times this week, Hotch" she says weakly. "I can hardly remember the last time I've slept well. I guess I just thought I was beyond this by now."
His brow furrows as he responds.
"We've had some rough cases lately. Sometimes they carry over. Follow us home. I don't think any of us become jaded enough to not have nightmares occasionally."
She nods. "I suppose. The dreams don't really resemble any recent cases, though. Not even the ones I've reviewed that haven't been taken."
"Is it recurring?"
"Yes. I'm trapped in a corner of a dark area. The back of an alley, I guess. I have my gun pointed straight at a man's chest. He's approaching me. I fire, but he doesn't go down. He takes about six shots before he reaches me. He grips my neck and strangles me until I wake up. I mean, I know it sounds ridiculous, but I'm waking up in the middle of the night, sweaty and horrified."
"There's something trapped in your subconscious, I suppose. Talking to the psychologist here may be a good idea."
JJ smirks. "I'd rather not."
"I feel we all understand the sentiment. All you can really do is ride it out, then. Times like this come and go. Hopefully talking it out will help. I'm obviously here for you, but these sorts of things kind of just fade when we least expect it."
"So you still have your streaks?"
"Sometimes, yes. I don't think experience can protect us from the night. I think having Haley around has helped me more than anything. I'm not entirely alone."
"So you're advising me to go out and get laid?" JJ feigns shock with a raised eyebrow. Hotch chuckles.
"Not exactly where I was going with that, but sure. Whatever works for you."
JJ smiles, the first genuine one of the day.
"See," Hotch says. "There you go. Much better look for you. Even with those rings around your eyes."
"Oh, shut up," she responds.
"Better?" Hotch asks.
"I guess I won't know until tonight, but I can focus on being here now."
"Good, because we need you, Jayje."
"I know," she smirks. "Thanks."
"Always," he nods. "Case briefing in thirty?"
"Always."