AN: Written for Jekkah. A little one shot based on the last episode, "Divining Rod". I hope I did these two justice!...

More Precious than Gold by Kricket Williams

Hotch had a system that made him a good team leader. After every case, when his team entered the plane to go home, he watched them and kept his comments to a minimal. He watched how they decompressed, made sure that they could handle the horrors that they'd seen out in the field. Most of the time, they relaxed and joked, relieving their tension with each other before they went on to their real lives.

However, if he noticed problems with their coping, he'd take them aside, talk to them—they were always surprised he'd noticed—and then would change their pattern to help them cope. It was simple things: assign a different task that they normally wouldn't do, put them with another member of the team that might have insight to help change their thinking, or working internal research. He did this quietly, without their notice, taking care of them without outward emotion and without recognition.

He knew after this case, JJ was upset.

This case, everyone had returned, talked about the case for a moment, before thoughts shifted to Prentiss's home purchase. JJ hadn't made that shift with them. He could tell by how vehement she had been when she'd talked of flinging that wig off that she'd somehow taken the case to heart, and even after group discussion, she'd seemed uneasy.

The team had disembarked from the plane, and had departed the BAU in rapid fashion. However, Hotch made an assumption that JJ hadn't left. As a fellow parent, he knew she wouldn't want to bring home feelings of unease to Henry as much as he liked to leave work behind for Jack's sake. Sure enough, as he stepped out of his office, he saw the light on in hers.

Walking to her doorway, he saw her standing there, looking in the mirror near her desk. She was combing out her long, blonde hair, working out the end of the day tangles that were there with no mercy. For a moment, Hotch was spellbound; he'd always had a preference for blondes. He lost himself in remembrance of the sweet smell of a woman's hair as she'd brush, and how soft it was as he'd pick up the strands and then let them stream through his fingers. Yes, Haley's hair had been beautiful, but if hadn't been anywhere near as brilliant as JJ's golden locks.

Shaking off his inappropriate thoughts, he knocked on the door frame. She turned and then she gave him the slightest smile. "Hey."

"Is everything alright?" he asked.

"Yeah. I'm just gathering things, and getting ready to go home." She smiled, took a deep inhale, and then let it out with a huff.

"You seemed upset after the case."

Her blue eyes were wide with surprise. "I did?"

He nodded. "Anything we need to discuss?"

"No, I'll be all right," she said, shaking her head. Absentmindedly, she glanced down at her comb, watching as she continuously ran her fingertip across the spiky teeth. She'd been doing that the entire time he'd been in the room. Slowly, he'd started to come to some ideas about what was troubling her.

"JJ…no matter how many times you brush your hair, you're not going to get that feeling out," he began softly.

Her gaze shot up to his. "What feeling?" she asked warily.

"Like you are wearing that bloody wig," he said softly.

Her eyes widened. "How did you…?" She stopped herself, and then shook her head. "Never mind. "

"It's called projection empathy," he explained. "We find characteristics and project it onto ourselves, as a way to lessen the victim's pain."

JJ nodded, her cheeks flushing a dull red. "That wig…it had my hair color in it, a perfect match in many ways. I can't stop thinking… All those women…all those lives destroyed…over a hair color!" By the time she'd finished speaking, her hands were shaking, and she was biting her cheek in a sign of frustration while she stared at that comb. "I feel crazy, getting this upset."

"You're not crazy," he objected, but softly. "It was a natural progression for you in this case. The victims were all blonde, fit, in their late twenties, early thirties. A comparison could easily have been drawn."

"Thanks," she said as some understanding dawned on her. She took a deep breath, and then tossed aside the comb as if in disgust.

"What else is bothering you, JJ?"

She hesitated, and then she took a seat in front of her desk. He followed, sitting next to her.

"I really let this get to me, Hotch," she said, her blue eyes troubled. "I feel like I am doing what a profiler shouldn't, getting involved, losing my perspective... but I can't shake this."

"You didn't lose your perspective because you feel," he said. "You gain a new perspective."

She smiled and then gave him a sad smile. "I wish I could get over this. I just can't understand why the victim kept that wig on. Why she didn't instinctively throw it aside."

"Not everyone has an urge for self-preservation; some are born without it and others lose it due to life circumstances," he explained.

"I know...but it seems so wrong," she said. "So degrading to the other victims."

He didn't say another word; there was no explanation for the senselessness of the violence that they saw and would continue to see. He knew all he could really do is listen and be there.

"You are right...I do feel a connection to them, my fellow blonde sisters." She took a deep breath and then released it, like she had the weight of the world on her shoulders. "I can't help but feel close, and deep down, I feel like I failed them somehow."

"JJ, you didn't fail them. You fought for them, and you brought them justice by capturing their killer," he said softly. "You will continue to do that as you learn, grow and become the best profiler you can be."

She smirked a self-depreciating grin. "I don't feel like the best profiler I can be."

"You will be," he said reassuringly.

She returned his smile that time. "Thanks, Hotch."

Not the most demonstrative man, he couldn't help himself. He reached for her hand and squeezed it. "My pleasure."

JJ grinned brilliantly at him and squeezed his hand in return, and then said softly, "I suppose we should go home...but I am kind of hungry..."

He chuckled. "Now that you mention it..."

"JC's diner is open twenty-four hours?" she replied hopefully in a questioning tone.

"They have great pancakes."

"Coffee, too," she said.

"What are we waiting for?" He stood, and then helped her to her feet.

On instinct, JJ reached for her purse from her desk. She paused for a moment, and then reached for her comb to put it away. "That itchy scalp feeling is gone, by the way."

"I'm glad."

"Me, too. I was a afraid I was going to have to dye my hair red or brown," she teased, flicking the light off as they exited the office

"That would've been a shame," he said before he realized what that revealed. He hoped she didn't notice his slip, but smart profiler that she was, she'd caught it.

Her eyebrows shot up a little, and then she smiled, blushed prettily, and said, "Coffee does sound really good...and more conversation. Lots more conversation."

And as she strolled forward, she tossed her golden mane over her shoulders.