A/N: I've never written Criminal Minds fanfic before, but 'The Forever People' got to me.
It changes you, this job. Almost imperceptibly you notice yourself becoming someone else, something else. You find yourself taking risks you wouldn't usually take, doing things you never would have done when you started. You told yourself that you'd maintain your distance, that you'd always play by the rules, but somewhere along the way those rules become less important. It's why we've had such a high turnover of new agents in the past couple of years: they transfer in, lives already settled, careers already forged, and they think they're ready for the challenge. When they start slipping, losing something of themselves, they notice – the people around them notice – and they claw it back. It's why Alex chose her husband over her career, despite everything they'd agreed to the contrary: she looked in the mirror one day and realised she liked who she was more than she liked who she was becoming. For some people, the ones we save can never be enough to balance out the ones we don't. That doesn't make them weak; it just makes them different.
Spence compiled me a file on Tavon Askari because he thought it'd help. I know it would help him; I know it works for him, thinking of murderers and rapists and psychopaths as puzzles to solve, a mathematical equation of biology, psychology and socialisation that couldn't have ended any other way. But it doesn't help me. I looked at those files and all I could feel was dread, utter dread, and horror that the humanity and basic goodness in him wasn't enough to overrule the rest.
He couldn't give me a word, so it's still Tavon Askari: Tavon Askari in my dreams and in the corner of my eye, in my reflection and behind the shower curtain when I'm running my hands over that goddamn scar for the millionth time. I lived and he died. We tell our survivors that they're lucky, that with time and help they will heal. And maybe they will. Some of them do. Tracy Bell plays soccer for her school now; she sends a Christmas card to the unit every year.
I look at our team and I wonder how they survived. We've all had trauma. Hotch lost his wife, but he's still standing. Spence, he's been through so much and yet I can count on one hand the number of times I've seen him break down. When Penelope got shot, Morgan and I spent a year alternating shifts sleeping on her couch, but look at her now. And I look in the mirror – really look – and wish I could be like them.
So I ring Emily. Because Will would get it, I know, but how can I look my husband in the eye and tell him that sometimes the darkness in me is so overwhelming that I wish I'd died right there on that concrete floor? The cross-continental calls are expensive but who gives a fuck, really. She's at work usually, spends her nights working late to "nail these skeezy bastards to the wall" – her words, not mine. She'll tell me about her salsa teacher's impressive moustache and swinging hips, about the friend in the office who's trying to talk her into going on a blind date with her brother. If you didn't know her like I do, you wouldn't see the cracks. I take a deep breath and tell her everything. It's a week after Spence gave me the file and this old office is still full of his ghost, but even though it's past midnight and everyone's gone home, I needed a locked door between the outside world and my secrets.
She listens when I tell her about the darkness that won't go away, no matter how many times I scrub myself clean of his touch. I tell her about the baby I never got to know, the way I'm running myself into the ground like I haven't done since I was a teenager getting in shape for tryouts – boxing running pilates anything to take up less space, to retain some control over this situation. I tell her that for the first time, I understand my sister, and that's when I break. "I can't do this, Emily."
That's how I end up in London with nothing but a go bag and a bag of Cheetos. I left a message for Will and a note for Hotch; I'm owed leave, and Will's at his sister's with Henry. I spend the plane ride with my head against the window wondering where it all went wrong. I used to be good at smiling through the doubt and uncertainty, at convincing people that life was precious and worth living and saving. But last week I wilfully put myself in danger, and it's a line I've never crossed before but damn, it felt good. I don't know when I became so convinced that the best thing I could do for this world is to sacrifice myself for the greater good. It feels sometimes like the only power I have left is wilful surrender. We tell people not to bottle it up, but what else am I meant to do? Morgan is the champion of buried hurt. Spence is like my little brother; I've been protecting him ever since he stuttered over asking me out a decade ago, and how do I tell the kid who lost his soulmate that I'm losing my own fight? Penelope spends her life looking for the bright patches in this dark dark job, and I won't be the one to dim the sparkle for her, not now she's found it again. Rossi doesn't have the time. And Hotch… Hotch would pull me out of the field.
She's waiting for me at the airport, dark hair pale skin and relief in her eyes because even though I promised, I don't think she believed for sure I'd last the flight. Then her arms are around me and it doesn't matter anymore that I can't hold it together because Emily gets it. We're both as beaten up as each other, dark and light but mainly dark, and she doesn't comment on the dullness in my eyes because she's been here, and she survived. "You'll be okay," she whispers, and I swallow, clinging onto the conviction in her voice almost as tight as I'm clinging to her body.