A/N – Set in the AU future dystopia that I have been planning for a while. Call this a tester for that. Warning for AU future character death(s)
Disclaimer – Not mine, only playing. Title taken from the song 'Defying Gravity'
She stood at the back of the crowd, grateful for the snow fall which meant she could wear a hood and not look suspicious. She'd been worried that the poor weather would result in a small turnout, one that might make her presence conspicuous, but she needn't have worried. There was always a good turn-out for the public executions, especially when it was one of the semi-famous band of rogue FBI agents who worked out of DC and the surrounding area.
It was so cold that Emily's breath clouded in front of her face, and even with her thick coat she had borrowed from Rossi she was freezing, so she couldn't imagine how Anderson was feeling as he was led out onto the platform. He was wearing nothing more than a pair of slacks and a thin shirt, his hands bound in front of him. He walked a little stiffly, probably a result of his confinement, and he was a little thinner than he had been the last time she saw him. Apart from that he was remarkably untouched, but she knew they had hidden the evidence of their 'persuasive methods' so the entire world would believe that the prisoners of The Regime were treated fairly.
As the executioner read off Anderson's charges, Emily could see that her friend was searching the crowd for a familiar face. When his eyes reached her, she inched the hood back, just enough that he could see her face. His eyes flickered but apart from that his face didn't change. It was too dangerous, they both knew. There were soldiers lining the courtyard, soldiers who wouldn't hesitate to arrest her if they realised who she was; she was in doubt that hers was one of the faces they had all been drilled to recognise. Garcia had tried to persuade her not to come, practically begged her, but Emily had known all along she would still be coming. She'd made a promise.
-SOMEONEELSE'SGAME-
14th July 2015.
She'd never forget the date.
The day that life had changed for good. No going back. She'd switched on the television to early morning news of bombs and confusion and bloody, bloody horror.
She took the first plane out of London, took the first plane home. They said she was mad. She said she needed to be there. She needed to be with her family.
-SOMEONEELSE'SGAME-
They sacked Rossi first, said he was getting too old. Then Diana Reid disappeared, and Rossi's friend Jimmy was shot dead and they heard about groups of rebels who were gathering against The Regime and suddenly it didn't seem like such a bad idea.
Their beloved FBI wasn't the same. Not anymore.
And so they ran.
No one was supposed to know, but on that last day Emily was in the break are of the bullpen and Anderson came in and she could tell from the way he was looking at her that he knew something.
"Please," he said, whispered so quietly under his breath that she was almost sure she was hearing things, "Let me come with you."
She'd never heard him speak desperately before, and she didn't like it, but then a lot of things had changed. Gina had told Kevin who told Garcia that Anderson's brother had been shot only a few weeks before, for the crime of being homosexual. Emily took one more look at his face and nodded.
"Be ready."
-SOMEONEELSE'SGAME-
"This is the worst part," Garcia murmured, stroking Henry's hair as he slept in her lap, "Waiting for you all to get back."
"They'll be alright," Emily said, her mind running over the mission plans again and again, "And they'll be back any-"
The sound of a car outside the safe house had her racing to the window. Four shadows got out of the car.
Four.
One short of the five who had set out.
They came stumbling in, Rossi wild eyed, Reid with dried tears on his face, Morgan carrying a half conscious Anderson.
"They got Hotch," Reid squeaked, "The Guard got him."
Derek laid Anderson out on the table, careful of the wound on his head.
"He tried to fight them," Derek said, "He was with Hotch and he tried to fight them off."
Emily stroked the hair back from Anderson's face, and he groaned.
"I'm sorry," he rasped, "I tried to stop them."
"It's okay," she murmured, "It's okay. Let me clean you up."
And there amid the tears and the rage of their team mates, Emily's only focus was the man on the table, because her hands were shaking enough as it was and she knew if she thought about Hotch too then Anderson would only suffer more than he was already.
-SOMEONEELSE'SGAME-
She liked the garden. It was the only quiet place in the whole house. A barren place, where nothing would grow. She'd tried, in a rare moment of downtime. Tried to make something grow in the dirt and the ashes.
There was a sound behind her.
It was Anderson. It was always him.
"I got you something," he said.
She turned.
A bunch of flowers was held towards her, and Anderson blushed when he saw the wide smile on her face as she reached out and cradled the delicate life in her arms.
"It's not as good as a whole garden."
"They're beautiful."
-SOMEONEELSE'SGAME-
"What are you most afraid of?"
"That there won't be an end to this. That this is all Jack and Henry will ever know. What about you?"
Joel ducked his head. Somewhere along the line Anderson had become Joel and none of them had even noticed when.
"I'm most afraid of dying by myself. Dying like Hotch did up on that scaffold and being no-where near as brave as he was."
"You won't die alone," she said simply.
"Can you promise me that?"
"I can try."
-SOMEONEELSE'SGAME-
That had been two years ago, but Emily didn't forget.
She didn't forget when Derek was captured or when he was killed, and she didn't forget when she became the leader of their little faction because Rossi had been shot on a mission and couldn't walk for more than ten minutes at a time because his knee was shattered and they couldn't find a doctor they could trust.
And she didn't forget when Joel was captured and sentenced to death.
"Joel Edward Anderson, you stand accused of treachery against this great state and for that you have been sentenced to death," the executioner finished, handing the papers he was holding to a soldier at his side, "Have you any last words?"
Just for a second, Joel looked at her again, and when he looked to his executioner, he was smiling.
"I am not afraid."
She made herself watch as they put the hood over his head, and put the noose around his neck. He'd never been a particularly big man, and he looked smaller somehow up on that scaffold. Smaller, maybe, but no less defiant than he had been the last few years. His shoulders were squared and he did not bow his head, and when the trap door opened he did not struggle.
Emily made herself watch through the film of tears in her eyes, those she had already spilled frozen on her cheeks.
She'd promised she be there.
She'd promised.