Title: Feelings
Summary: After a case, JJ grows attached to a victim and promises to herself that she's going to help him put his life back together
Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds and am in no way profiting from this story.
Rating: T
This fan-fiction was part of "Challenge Within Other Challenges" on CCOAC. The original challenge it was part of was the "The Original Character Challenge".
My assignment is: Jennifer Jareau & Mark Horton (a victim rescued by the BAU).
This is my first fan-fiction to be written in either first person perspective or present tense.
This story is taking place in season two, around the time of episodes "Lessons Learned" and "Sex, Birth, Death". JJ has not met Will, therefore Henry is out of the picture.
Reviews are always welcome.
"Promises are the uniquely human way of ordering the future, making it predictable and reliable to the extent that this is humanly possible," as said by Hannah Arendt.
JJ POV
I've always considered myself the type of person that can channel their emotions in different ways. I never had problems keeping my personal relationships separate from the ones I had at work. I'm a liaison, and I work with the public. My job itself is knowing how to keep my thoughts to myself and my emotions at bay.
When we aren't on a case somewhere around the country, I allow myself some leniency, but not much. When I let my emotions out, they get the best of me and I'm not able to perform.
Once or twice the problem had arose that I needed to put my brain into my job, but not my heart. People had said that if I let my feelings affect me so much – especially that the point that I wasn't able to function – I needed to find a job that my tender heart could handle.
That was never an option for me. This is what I wanted, no what I needed to do. The BAU is my calling and my position as a media liaison is my home away from home.
In high school, I was always one for public speaking. While most of the kids my age were trembling, writhing really, behind the podium, I was standing in front of the hunk of hollowed oak bearing a grin on my face. I was the poster child for Speech Communications and actually helped a lot of my peers with getting over mild stage fright and working around social awkwardness.
It was nice feeling that I could help someone through a problem, even if it was for a class that was only worth half a credit.
Things changed a little later in high school, back during my final season on the Varsity soccer team; my last time being team caption. Our awards night came around the corner shortly after we ended the season with a 19-0-2 record, and I was fully prepared to deliver the "thank you" speech from the team to our coaches and the parents of all the team members. Until I found myself tripping onto the stage and dropping the card to the ground twice, that is. I stumbled my way through the entire thing, stuttering and fisting my fingers together as my hands continued to grow clammy. I was shaking. Social-speaking prodigy Jennifer Jareau was trembling on stage. I couldn't help but wonder why I was so scared. Maybe it was the way I was fumbling with my hands that made the card drop or that the fact that I tripped was because I was wearing new heels.
I stopped making excuses a long ago, and simply vowed to myself to keep speaking and emotions on separate playing fields, knowing that if I let myself do that again, I wouldn't be able to stop; that I'd be socially awkward and not be able to do what I wanted with my life. One time was more than enough to let me know I never wanted to do that again.
But now, here I am, pulling all my emotions and digging up my heart to help someone I met literally seconds ago. I can't stop the melting feeling that is being sent through me. I sit in the back of an ambulance with a man who's shaking more than me on awards night.
I hear him choke out another broken sob as his head bounces into the crevice between my neck and shoulder. I can feel his tears soaking my sweater and I know that I don't care. I plan on holding him until he pulls away – if he pulls away.
There's no way I'm leaving him now, not when he needs someone the most.
I close my eyes for a second and feel him hold me tighter, closer to him. I do the same thing, pulling him even closer to my chest, and I can feel the faint hummingbird thump of his heart resonating through his entire body. My eyes open and I run my hand in his damp tawny hair, matting it down against his scalp.
Another bone rattling shake is sent through him and I can feel his fingers quavering on my shoulders as his head is buried in my sodden locks. His jaw is jittering and I can hear each time his teeth jar against one another. I hear his sniffle before I feel one arm leave me to wipe away the waterworks.
After a moment of letting a few more silent tears fall, he pulls away from me and wipes away his wet cheeks with the backs of both his hands.
I can't help but watch him as he stares at his knees. I want to make all of this go away for him, like I feel with every victim we get back alive. I want to protect him and hold him and let him hug me as tight as he wants until he falls asleep against me, just so he knows there is someone that cares. He pulls his arms to his chest, shaking as they may, and the EMT pipes up like C. R. Avery on a radio receiver.
"If you're ready, sir, would you mind if I took a look?"
When he glances up to the medic, I finally get a chance to see the devastation hovering back in his malachite eyes. I see him nod solemnly and I stand to get up, ut the vibrating warmth on my hand causes me to look back at him. I hate seeing his eyes shake like that, like little rattling saucers on a plane table. I feel like if I touch him, he's going to crack into a million little pieces.
"Please," he says softly, his voice throbbing with each tremor. He seems so broken.
I nod and offer him a small smile as I sit back down, but he doesn't look at me again. The medic asks him to take his shirt off so that he can get a better look.
He lets go of my hand, reluctantly I might add, and places his fluttering fingers along the hem of his t-shirt, and starts to pull up. He lets out an agonized gasp and bites down on his lips, trying to persevere through the pain.
The EMT places a hand gently on his shoulder and the other on his arm, lowering it back to his side. "Don't worry," he assures him. I never noticed how calm and tender medics talked to people before. "We can cut it off."
He nods slowly and the medic lets go and turns around, moving back to face him with a pair of fabric scissors. I see him tense and his hand reaches for me. I take it, holding it tightly. This time he turns to face him, and I can only give him a grim smile. "It's okay." Calm, I tell myself. My voice needs to be calm. "You're safe here."
I think my words reassure him because after he stares at me for a few seconds, he faces the medic again and gives him a light bob of the head.
He's compliant and moves every way that the medic asks of him, but with each new movement the medic makes to get closer, I can see his shoulders tense up and the breath hitch in his throat. Every time, though, he glances towards his hand intertwined with mine and takes a shaky breath, and manages to calm himself down.
I can't help the small smile that crawls onto my lips each time he puts himself back together. The feeling of euphoric joy I'm getting from his is immense, and confusing. He's just another victim, already picking up the pieces of his broken life, so why do I have this feeling nagging at me – telling me that I should help this man put the puzzle of his existence back together?
No. It's not telling me that I should. It's telling me that I have to.
And now I know what I'm going to do.
I don't care what it takes for me to get there, or what I'm going to have to sacrifice along the way. I'm going to help Mark Horton put his life back in order – whatever it takes.
I'm not planning on having every chapter this short, put this is the first; I figured this was a job place as any to stop. I hope I'm writing JJ well enough that she's not OOC, but I don't think of her as such a weak person. A lot of writers have her almost like a little girl, and she's not. She's a strong, independent, and calculating woman. She's not calculating to the fact that she's not manipulative in a bad way, though. Just doing what she has to to get the job done.
If you have any thoughts or questions, please let me know!
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