CBS owns Criminal Minds, not me. If I did, Emily Prentiss would be mine!

A new project for me, something completely different. I'm going to start off slowly and get a feeling for the characters since this is my first Criminal Minds fic, so give me lots of feedback and let me know what you think.

*****

Safe Ground

I'm running.

My legs burn with lactic acid, my lungs from the cold night air. I'm running.

And I'm terrified.

There are footsteps close behind, and I know that I'm being followed. Known for a while now.

I'm being followed.

I can't remember who, I don't know who, but he's fast, and he's right behind me, and I'm scared. I'm in the woods, dodging trees at every step and leaping over falling logs and wading through brush. I don't feel the cuts that are inevitably accumulating on the skin of my neck and forearms, most likely from the adrenaline. I'm panicking, which is not good. I stumble over a log, rip my pants, but get up and keep running as fast as my flagging energy will keep me. Tired, my body says, but my mind is screaming, run!

After minutes that seem like hours, I run into a wall. A solid red brick wall, no hand holds or steps. Just too tall for me to climb. Now I'm really panicking.

"Oh God," I think. "I'm going to die."

I run along the wall, looking behind me for the assailant chasing me. I can hear him but not see him, so I keep running, yelling at the top of my lungs for help.

Someone for the love of God, please help me!

This cannot be happening. I think briefly of Henry not having his mother, and if I wasn't so exhausted right now I think I might cry.

Then, dark, cold, wet.

I've fallen, I've sunk. It is water, I've fallen into water, and I can't touch the bottom. I kick my legs furiously, beat the water with a fierce tattoo and claw for the surface. But I'm not going up, and I swallow only water. I am drowning.

God, no.

I'm dying, I can't breathe.

But, just then, I see a hand. Pale, small, and white, and moving through the water to grab mine. A strong arm pulls me back to the surface, where I gulp great big breaths of precious air as soon as my head breaches the film between water and atmosphere.

I am alive. The arm is joined by a second, and they haul me from the water onto muddy ground, I cough and gasp and shiver from the cold water.

"You're safe, Jennifer. Don't worry."

I look for the face of my savior, but can't see it. Where?

"You're safe, don't worry…"

I reach out for the person that saved me…

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep….

"Where are you? I can't see you!"

Beep, beep, beep…

"Jennifer…"

The alarm.

I was asleep.

Now I'm not. Shit.

Morning. 6:30. Too early. The information filters into my mind that it is time to get up and get ready for work. I stretch and rub sleep from my eyes, allow them to get adjusted to the light that flows through the cracks in the blinds and into the bedroom. The sun has just risen.

I stretch my arms and legs to get my body moving, expecting to hit Will.

But nothing. The bed is empty. I frown and turn out, feel the spot where he is supposed to be, expecting a warmth to tell me that he is already awake and up. But the bed clothes are unruffled, the sheets are cold. He was never home last night.

"Hmm."

I should feel panicked, or sad, but instead I am just confused. But in all honesty, I've woken up alone several days in the past few months to find cold sheets, and just felt confusion instead of jealously, or anger, or fear. So Will is not home. Not a big surprise, sadly, as he's been absent from this home for more than a few nights in the past few months.

I ease myself out of the bed and stumble into the bathroom to get ready for the work day. A hot shower helps me shake the grogginess from my head. I dry myself and step out of the shower, wrap my robe around my body and pull my wet hair into an untidy bun. I wander out of the bedroom and down the hall to where my son should still be peacefully sleeping. I ease the door to his room open and creep inside, move to crib. My son sleeps peacefully, his tiny chest rising and falling steadily with easy breathing. I'm overwhelmed with love as I watch him. I could stand here and watch him for hours, but I only have a few minutes. After a little time passes, I turn back around and make my way downstairs. It's time for a little coffee.

As the coffee brews downstairs, I dress and fix my hair for the day. I grimace a bit as I apply foundation underneath my eyes to try and hide the dark circles that have become regular visitors there. All of a sudden, I feel old. As I finish applying the mascara my cell phone goes off. I check the caller. Will's cell.

"Will?"

"Hey, JJ."

I don't bother to hide the annoyance in my voice. "Where are you?"

"Stuck in traffic. The boys and I stayed out too late at the bars last night, so I crashed on Fletcher's couch."

"Oh. You could have called."

He sighs. "I know. I should have. I'm sorry, babe." As much as I like that southern drawl of his, it is really starting to get on my nerves.

"Are you going to be home soon? I've got to go to work in half in hour, Henry just got up, and I don't have time to take him to the babysitter this morning."

"20 minutes at the most. I can take him to the babysitter, don't worry babe."

"Don't call me babe. Just get home." With this snap I hang up. A little harsh, perhaps, but I'm not in the mood to deal with Will's excuses. This has happened too often in recent history. I check on Henry one more time (still sound asleep in his crib), so I head back into the bedroom to finish getting ready.

DC traffic sucks. I say the same thing to myself every time I make the commute to work. I hit the backup from a horrific three car pileup, and subsequently am later to work than I should be. Commuting from so far out makes life more stressful, that's for damn sure. But being alone in the car gives me time to think about my dream. Bad dreams are fairly commonplace, considering that I'm an agent that works for the Behavioral Analysis Unit for the FBI. I've seen the most terrible, the most awful things, things most people couldn't imagine in their worst nightmares. Despite my training and experience with the job, it still does get to me from time to time. Was there something that happened recently, that could have triggered this?

We just came back from an assignment in New Mexico, a typical sicko serial murderer with an extreme oedipal complex and a penchant for carving women up with a hunting knife. Not one of the smarter killers we've tracked, but very mobile and difficult to track. But that doesn't explain the dream. We weren't near any lakes in New Mexico, I don't remember seeing any brick walls. It was cold in my dream, not hot. I frown in concentration, trying to remember more details. The hand was small, too small to be Will's, and it was pale, but very strong.

I'm fairly certain I've had dreams like this before, too. But then again, I'm not a profiler like my colleagues; don't have the background in psychology.

As I finally pull into the Quantico parking lot, I realize that turning down Hotch's offer to become a profiler was one of my better moves. They were all brilliant people, but you give up something to do what they do. Garcia and I shield ourselves from what we can, but only so much can be kept out. Reid was in many ways emotionally retarded, Morgan couldn't trust anyone, Hotch had an impenetrable mask, and Rossi withdrew from certain parts of the world. And then there was Emily Prentiss.

Although Emily was no longer new with the team, she was the choice that I had agonized over after Elle left. Brilliant, multilingual, paper perfect. She burdened incredible emotional pain like the rest of the team, but she seemed the most vulnerable to it. Even though she is an amazingly capable woman, there are some days that I just look into her eyes and want to give her a hug. Perhaps she was too much like me in some ways.

I gather my things and make my way through the security checkpoint before I make my way to the BAU offices. Home sweet home. As I push open the door I see that I'm not the only one running a bit late.

"Agent Jareau," Hotch greets me in the hallway with his trademark even tone and serious countenance.

"Morning, Hotch. Traffic was terrible today."

He nods in agreement. "I only just got in myself."

"Anything new for us today?"

He shakes his head. "Not yet. I'm hoping we can clear up most of the paperwork from the New Mexico case today, its been piling up this week and I'd like to get it out of the way while we have a bit of quiet times on our hands."

He stops at the coffee pot on his way through the bullpen, and offers me a clean cup. "Want some?"

I wave it away. "Already had mine. I guess I'll get on it, then, I'm a little behind."

He nods.

I make my way to my desk, wishing my coworkers a good morning as I go. Reid is trying to look absorbed in a case file, but I see that he's really reading some book on psychology. I chuckle and tap his shoulder. He smiles a sly smile before an object goes whizzing by me and whacks Reid on the head.

"Hey!"

The culprit, Morgan, is grinning like a Cheshire cat and waving from his desk. "Good morning, JJ. What's up with you girl, I never beat you to work!"

I groan and roll my eyes. "Don't get too used to it, Morgan. Bad traffic, just one of those days."

Reid throws the object (now identified as a foam stress ball) back at Morgan, who catches it easily.

"Now boys," I chide gently, and move past them. Emily sits at her desk, absorbed in filling out some paperwork. I smile and pat her shoulder gently as I walk around her desk.

"Hey, Em, how's it going?"

She looks up from her paperwork and smiles at me, setting down the pen and stretching. "Oh, you know. Only like the best day of my life filling out paperwork and closing case files and talking to our inept friends at the Albuquerque field office. How's little Henry?"

I can't help but beam. "He's great. Growing like a weed." I wonder, briefly, if Will had made it back before Henry had woken up. This makes me scowl.

Emily notices. "What's wrong?"

What had Garcia said? "I hate profilers."

I try to shrug it off, but Emily is smarter than that, knows me better than that. "What?" she repeats patiently.

"Will's been annoying me lately. Maybe I'm being unreasonable."

She shakes her head, and I can read the scowl on her face at the mention of Will's name. She's never liked him. "I doubt that, JJ."

I half smile. "Well," I say with another pat on Emily's shoulder, "I've got paperwork to do. And Morgan and Reid aren't getting anything done, so someone's got to work."

I can feel her eyes examining my features for any tells, or whatever profilers look for, but she eventually agrees, "yeah, someone's got to earn their pay."

With that I finally reach my own desk. I thumb through the stack of papers that have been placed on my desk and let out a groan.

It's going to be a long, long day.