I'm aware this is really late, but a tag for episode "100", I own nothing and no one, all of Criminal Minds belongs to CBS. Thank You for reading.

It wasn't until Dave left to go talk to the doctor that it hit me. No matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried. I couldn't breathe.

They were gone.

Just like that.

My family was gone, no matter the divorce or the distance, my family was gone, and I still couldn't breathe.

I didn't notice it at first. I took small hungry breaths, starved for air in my lungs, feeling dizzy with the sudden deprivation.

I thought it was the pain, I thought it was the wounds; I thought it was the fear.

I don't know what I thought it was, but I was wrong.

I couldn't physically pull enough air in my lungs for my eyes to clear, my heart to beat, or my brain to work. I was drowning on dry land and I had no hope for survival. I couldn't save anyone; I couldn't stop anything, hell I couldn't even breathe.

And so it went on.

I was stabbed nine times in various parts of my body. Each stab was a reminder of the 'one that got away', the reason my family was no longer close to me; the reason I couldn't see my little boy.

And I tried.

I tried so hard.

I've never tried that hard at anything in my life, and I give my all to one-hundred percent of the cases that we take, one-hundred percent to the victims that we see, and one-hundred percent to stop the monsters in the dark, but I tried harder for them.

It took so long, each day in and out, I wasn't breathing like I should have, I wasn't focused like I could have been, I was trying so hard to save them that I realized that I hadn't stopped for air, but it didn't matter because I couldn't breathe anyway.

The others noticed, of course they did. A team of highly skilled FBI profilers and I was under the misguided impression that not one of them would notice that I wasn't breathing properly. I spent more time on a yearly basis with these people than anybody else in my entire life, and they weren't going to notice that I couldn't breathe?

When would it end?

A person simply could not go for very long without air, could they?

I shouldn't have said anything.

I could have gone my entire life without breath if it meant that they were safe and that he wouldn't have gotten to them.

I should have stopped breathing, but I was too late.

I sat there, with blood on my hands, cradling my little boy, trying not to think about everything we lost, everything he lost; everything that was taken from him.

I sat there and I cried, and I rocked, and I lost myself for a little while, but when I came back I was still there with Jack, which was good because his mother just died and he was going to need somebody. I looked up and saw my team, they were there, and everyone was there.

I thought it would be easier; it was over, no matter the cost.

It was over, but I still couldn't breathe.

And so it went on.

The hurt was like a shroud of darkness that was fluttering just overhead and I could swear that it was covering the sun the day that we buried her. I don't remember what it was like outside, but I do remember struggling to breathe. I couldn't be weak though, I couldn't be weak. My little boy was there, and he just lost his mother so he was in need of someone to look like they knew what the hell they were doing, because he needed someone.

We said our goodbyes, we left— we left her there, and I still couldn't breathe.

Everyone was together afterward.

My team.

My family.

Everyone was there, and they were there for us. They were there for me. They'd always been there for me, and something changed.

I was still a mess, Jack still lost his mother, I still couldn't breathe, but I looked over and Dave was standing beside me, and Derek was walking toward us, and JJ and Will were at the table with Penelope, Kevin, Emily, and Spencer.

They said they had to go, Rossi asked me a question, but I don't remember what it was, because I was standing on that balcony thinking of everything that I lost, that we lost, and I could feel the weighted gaze of my family as they said their silent goodbyes, and I sort of wanted to go with them, but I knew that was just the part of me that was familiar with leaving things early, and I'm sure Haley wouldn't have been surprised.

I would have remembered what Rossi asked me, but my son was there, my family was there; it wasn't over yet, but I could see the finish line.

I looked out over that balcony…

And I could breathe.

And so it went on.

-fin-

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