There Will Be Stars In Heaven Tonight

Jason Gideon has done everything on his bucket list, all three of them to be exact.
Except for one last thing, something that he promises himself he'll do every year.
Something that he chickens out of every year. Return to the BAU.

OneShot - Drabble

This is my entry for Challenge 17: New Year's Resolution for Chit Chat on Authors Corner! I do hope you enjoy it! I've made my resolution, what's yours?

. . .

Irish author, Robert Lynd said; there is nothing in which birds differ more from man than the way in which they can build and yet leave a landscape as it was before.

The bar is dingy, not his normal type of hang out. The tables are rickety, creaking on aged legs and covered with scratches that build character and resistance to the brawls of men and the slamming of glasses upon its top. The chairs are stiff, straight backed and distinctly uncomfortable but tonight it's a blessing, the pain that sits in his back from sitting on the infernal thing distracts him from his thoughts, if only for a moment. It smells in here; a heavy mix of alcohol, bad cologne and distinct body odour. His mind tells him what kinds of people are sure to hang out here, those of the broken souls and shattered minds. Those of wilted hearts and crushed imaginations. Just like he is. He's not exactly sure what category he comes under. He lifts the glass of bourbon to his lips and sips slowly, wanting to make the fire last for as long as possible. The bartender, a large man with a tangled beard, had given him the bottle when he showed up. He wonders how obvious the pain on his face is if this bartender can see it. But he realises that bartenders are profilers themselves, they had to read behaviour of the drunk and broken. It makes him laugh; that even though he left the BAU nearly five years ago he is still surrounded by people can read his every move and predict his every thought.

Yet Jason Gideon is a long way away from the BAU now.

He's sitting in a bar at the backend of Ashland, a two hour drive from Quantico. He's Jason Gideon, one the Bureau's top criminal profilers, and he's sitting in a rundown bar drinking bad bourbon. He chuckles at the irony of it all. Five years ago the only alcohol he touched was wine, red with dinner and white for after dinner drinks. Sometimes scotch if he was at home and feeling the particular aftermath of a case. Never bourbon, which was a younger man's drink. Something that Morgan would drink. But never in his life would Jason Gideon have drunk bourbon. Yet here he was, sculling it like it was his last drink before a hot dry dessert. He's got his head so far buried in his drink that when the door to the bar opens, allowing a blast of cool air to dance over him. He ignores it and pours himself another drink. He doesn't notice the newest addition to the bar until she throws herself into the booth opposite him with a deep sigh.

Gideon looked up into the face of the woman and nearly fell off his chair. It was just his luck of course. Of all the people in the world to walk into his hangout it had to be her? God seriously had a fucked up sense of humour because it was just his luck to be joined at his table by none other than blonde media liaison Jennifer-damned-Jareau. He groaned inwardly to himself. Just his luck of course. She didn't appear to have noticed him because she was gripping handfuls of her own straw coloured locks in her tight hands, knuckles nearly white. Her cheeks were stained with mascara that had run down her cheeks and she looked pale, even in the dim light of the bar. The profiler in him knows instantly that something is wrong. But then he hasn't been a profiler for years so he knows he has no place to go profiling Jennifer Jareau. She looks up, she must have sensed him staring at her, and her mouth goes slack once her eyes focus on him. Sure his facial hair has grown a fair amount over time and his clothes are ragged and dirty but he can tell by the widening of her eyes that she recognised him.

"It's . . . you" she breathed out. "G. . . Gideon"

He inclined his head. "It's good to see you JJ". Even as the words leave his mouth they sound pathetic, stupid even. He cringes to himself but it's too late to take it back now.

The look of incredulity on her face doesn't' shift. Even when the barman puts a glass and another bottle of bourbon on their table she doesn't move a muscle. She just stares at him, and he knows why. He can tell that he's the last person she expected to run into at a dilapidated bar in Ashland. He suspects that he's the last person she wants to see. Not after he left them all cold, all high and dry. He knows he deserves anything and everything she could say to him. He knows he's a bastard for leaving and he kicks himself for doing it every morning when he looks in the mirror and sees just how much he's changed. Finally, after what seems like hours, she clicks her mouth shut and pours herself a glass of bourbon. He watches her pour the drink with a steady hand, a feat he admires of her especially in her current state. It's a wonder her hands aren't shaking. He sips idly at his drink, waiting for her to speak. After she's downed a glass of bourbon she looks back at him.

"How long has it been?" she asks him.

He sends his mind back, trying to remember the date. After about a minute he gives up. "Too long" he supplies.

She inclines her head with a look that clearly reads; well duh. She traces her glass with the tip of one slender finger. "You shouldn't have left" she mutters. "We've needed you over the years"

He leans back in his chair and cocks his head at her. "I don't think I would have been much good" he admits, checking his watch. Twenty past eleven screams back at him.

"Bullshit Gideon, that is total bullshit" JJ muttered, swigging from her bourbon.

"What could I have done?" he counters, one eyebrow raised. He knows they've needed him but right now he wants to hear her reasons why he was needed so badly. Because that selfish part inside him wants to feel needed, to feel wanted.

"You could have fixed everything" she says belligerently. The alcohol is making her lucid. "Do you even know what's happened whilst you've been off soul searching you bastard?"

He keeps his gaze steady, ignoring the lash that her words bring to him. He swallows his glass of bourbon and pours another from his bottle. "JJ, the team are all fully capable profilers that can take care of . . ."

"Fuck you Gideon" she snarls. She's gripping her glass so hard the knuckles are white. Her hands are still steady. "You know that our team is like a family, or didn't you care at all?"

I do care, he wants to tell her. But he doesn't, because even in his mind the words sound so fake, translucent like the lies woven by many a sociopath. Instead he sips his drink and looks down at the table. "JJ I . . ." he begins.

She cuts him off. "Don't even start. For once in your life you are going to listen and I am going to tell you about everything that has happened since you went off on your fairy hunt"

Fairy hunt? He chuckles to himself. He nods his head at her and her eyes narrow. She doesn't trust him anymore, and to be frank he's not surprised. They aren't at the BAU anymore and in the real world, trust is earned.

JJ swigs from her glass. "I hate bourbon" she mutters, rubbing her temples. "Okay where to start? Well Hotch seems like the best place to start I guess"

Hotch, the stoic Unit Chief and man of a few words. Gideon wonders whether Erin Strauss has stopped her vendetta against him yet. The woman was like a dog with a bone once she started on someone. The thought makes him frown and he sets his glass down to look at JJ. Her eyes have glazed over and she seems to be fighting tears.

"Hotch is. . ." she began, taking a deep breath. "He's a single dad now"

He frowned. "Haley gave up custody?" The idea is foreign to him. Haley Hotchner didn't seem like the type of woman who would give over her child willingly.

JJ laughed; a hollow sound that sends chills down his spine. "I wish it was that" she mutters. "She's dead Gideon"

His world tilts and he almost stumbles. He can feel his eyes going wide and he wipes his sweaty palms on his filthy jeans. "How?" he manages.

"The Boston Reaper" JJ whispers hoarsely.

It feels like an ice cube has slipped down his shirt. He knows the case inside out and back to front. As far as he was aware the Boston Reaper was still uncaught and at large. He rubbed the bridge of his nose; Hotch must be in so much pain he knew. For even though the two had separated he knew that Hotch had never stopped loving Haley.

"You caught him?" he asked gauntly.

JJ shrugged. "In a manner of speaking" she said. "The Reaper had been targeting Hotch ever since his return in Boston. And when we did figure out who was the Reaper, he only escaped from prison. We realised he'd been planning for a long time"

"Who was . . .?"

"George Foyet" JJ spat. The name seemed to be like poison to her. Gideon remembered Foyet, the only victim to survive. He chuckles at how obvious it had been, but the laughter means nothing. "He stabbed himself to get the police off his trail" JJ continued.

"I hate it when they get smart" he grumbled.

JJ's face twitched with a smile before falling back into lines of misery. "Then after we got back from a particularly horrific case which I won't go into Foyet was waiting for Hotch at his apartment. He st-stabbed him and left him at a hospital with Morgan's credentials which he had taken back in Boston"

"Christ" he swore under his breath, shaking his head.

"It gets worse" she snapped. There is no pity for him in her eyes. He knows she wants to hurt him as much as possible. She sighs and then continues. "Foyet went after Haley and Jack, and they were put under witness protection. Somehow Foyet found out who their martial was and killed him, before going after Haley and Jack"

He sucks in a breath. "Was Jack . . .?"

"No" she said shortly, massaging her temple. "He shot Haley and then laid in wait for Hotch. Once Hotch saw what Foyet had done he did the only thing he could. Defended his son"

"He killed Foyet?" Gideon asked, feeling the ice cube melt into his veins chilling him rapidly.

"It was declared as self-defence" JJ bristled.

He focused his gaze on her, narrowing his eyes. If she wanted to be angry at him, fine, he could deal with that. What he didn't like was the assumption that he no longer cared about the team. She stared back at him, face impassive.

"You think that I believe Hotch murdered that man?" Gideon asked in a low voice.

"You've been gone so long I don't know what to think anymore" JJ snapped.

He sighs ruefully. "Go on" he allows, unable to think of anything to say.

"Morgan took over as Unit Chief for a while" JJ said. Gideon's mind unwittingly played Morgan's face and he ran a hand over his beard. "He didn't want to but he did it for Hotch. He lost his cousin too"

"How?"

"She disappeared after an ex-boyfriend wouldn't leave her alone. Morgan suggested she just leave and not tell anyone where she was going"

"A good plan"

"Which failed" JJ said waspishly.

Gideon nodded heavily. He knew for someone like Morgan who adored his family losing his cousin that way was bound to strike a sensitive chord with him. Especially if Morgan got it into his brain that it was his fault, something that was very easy to achieve when it came to Morgan. He wondered if anyone had tried to slap that notion out of him. Though he knew that the only one who could get through to him was either Hotch or Reid. The second name cut through his heart like a knife. Reid, he had thought about the kid every day but it didn't abject that feeling of guilt that had wedged itself into his heart permanently. He didn't dare ask JJ about Reid, he didn't think he could handle it. So he suited himself to asking;

"How is Garcia?"

JJ smiled softly, the rare sight sending him down memory lane. It was the first time she had smiled at him since her arrival. Albeit it wasn't directed at him but it was a start.

"You know Garcia, happy as Larry and still answering the phone in the most inappropriate of manners. Not that I'd have it any other way" she hastened to add, downing the bourbon and pouring yet another glass. "She was shot once by a dirty cop but that's the most exciting bit really"

"Excuse me, she was shot?" Gideon asked shortly. An irate line set itself into his forehead at her casual tone.

"She almost died" JJ whispered. She shook her head and took a swig of alcohol. "We caught the son-of-a-bitch if it makes you feel any better. Not that I care how you feel"

Gideon winced at the steel in her voice. It didn't surprise him that Garcia hadn't changed. She was the constant variable in the team. Whilst team members left and new members joined it was always fiery Penelope Garcia that was there with a snappy remark or a way to make you feel better on a bad day. It killed him to realise that not everyone in the BAU appreciated her work, nor did they tell her they did. It shamed him to admit that he had been one of those people. He took a sip of bourbon, realising that he no longer tasted the bitterness and took another swig to be safe. He checks his watch. One hour to go.

"How is Spencer?" the words slip off his tongue before he can stop them. He wants to grab at the words and force them back down his own throat, he doesn't care if he chokes on them because it was the last thing he wanted to say. The pained look that flashes across JJ's face makes him feel worse and his inner self has effectively taken a hack saw and is sawing off his tongue for such a stupid question.

"Gideon . . ." JJ began, the pity seeping into her voice. Why would she pity him? A minute ago she was pissed off at him and to be honest, Gideon liked it better when she was. He could deal with anger, pity he detested. "I'm not going to lie to you" JJ said. "He went downhill for a while after you left. Took us awhile to pull him out of it. He's doing alright now but every so often he'll retract into his shell"

Fuck. Gideon hates swearing but in his mind all he can hear is that same word over and over again. He'd made a royal mess of things and he had no clue on how to go about fixing it. JJ doesn't say anything, just watches him and sips at her bourbon. Even as a media liaison she picked up on profiling skills and had seemed to have learnt when to let sleeping dogs lie.

"If I had known another way to do what I needed to do then I would have" he says throatily.

She looked at him with a critical eye. "Didn't really succeed in finding that way I see" she said, shaking her head, making the loose blonde strands dance.

"You cannot, I repeat, cannot hate me more than I hate myself right now" Gideon snapped. He can feel a heavy weight sitting on his shoulder. A demon of filth, called shame and guilt.

JJ cocked her head to one side. Then she let out an emphatic sigh and leant forward, entwining her fingers. "I know someone who thinks like that" she told him.

"Who?"

"David Rossi"

The name makes his face shift into a mask of confusion. Rossi? How the hell did JJ know how David Rossi, legendary profiler really felt . . . Oh hell no. He looked at JJ, letting his mouth fall open.

"He came back?"

She nodded. "He was a bit of lone wolf at first. Acted like a world class prat but he appears to have grown out of it"

Prat? Had she been reading British literature or something? He smirked to himself. Jennifer Jareau was something else entirely. He checked his watch again. Forty five minutes to go.

JJ poured herself yet another glass, waving over the barmen. The burly man set down another bottle of bourbon with a quick nod. She chuckled self-depreciatingly. "You know" she said to Gideon, running her fingers over the chip in her glass. "I'm surprised I haven't been kicked off the team"

"Why would that be?" Gideon asked, confused.

JJ looks at him strangely for a second. "Emily" she said simply.

He frowned at her, not understanding. So she tells him. The whole story and he can sense that it's the first time she's told anyone the story. It wasn't hers to tell. He listens because he can't do anything else. A multitude of emotions course through him. Anger for what some bastard called Ian Doyle did to Emily, did to the team. Sadness for hearing that Emily nearly died. Pity for the male members of the team for having to carry Emily's coffin, not knowing the object of their grief lay in a hospital bed in Belfast. Pity for JJ for having to carry the burden of Emily's secret and thus being ostracised for it upon Emily's return. The whole situation makes him want to talk some sense, literally, into Reid for his immature behaviour. Then when JJ stops talking he realises that there are tears in her eyes.

"I had no choice. Reid always understands but I don't get why he won't understand this" JJ whispered to herself.

Gideon ran his fingers through his tangled beard. "I'm sure you've heard this from a lot of people but he's hurting JJ. He lost a friend. A very close one and that will take a while for him to come to terms that he's actually got her back"

"It's not just that" JJ admitted.

"Tell me" he instructed, swallowing the bourbon and pouring yet another glass.

He can see the guarded look that comes across her face. He can almost read her thoughts. Why should she tell him? He gives her a look that clearly says; because I'm the only one you can tell who has no one to blab to. She throws her glass in the air as a toast and downs it, sloshing some onto the table. They're both tipsy but they don't care.

"My partner, Will, and my son Henry" she explained to him, throwing a photo onto the table. A smiling blonde haired little boy and a man who had a distinct Southern look smiled up at him. "Will hates that I'm at work so much. He thinks I need to stay at home and be a full time mother to Henry" she said bitterly. "If he had his way we'd be married with a whole lot of kids about the place"

"That's not what you want" Gideon said bluntly. Though he knew JJ was probably a wonderful mother he doubted she could be a dutiful house wife at the beck and call of a dominant husband. Equality was her thing.

"Of course not" she sulked. She pouted. "I love Henry but I can be a mother and have my career. I am not a Barbie doll housewife"

He laughed; an alcoholic one at that. "No I definitely wouldn't picture you like that"

She pinned him with a gaze. "Pervert" she snapped. "By the way I really hate the beard"

Gideon rolled his eyes. "It stays. I'm not seeing anyone I know this year, again, so what's the point?"

A cloud rolled over her features. Her eyes narrowed in anger and he almost regrets his words. She calmly sets the glass down on the table.

"Then why?" she asked. "Why are you in Virginia if you weren't coming back?" Her voice is calm, too calm.

He shrugged. "I don't really know"

It was clearly the wrong thing to say because JJ's lips came together in a thin white line before she let loose with an angry whisper; "You sick, lying son-of-a-bitch"

"I deserved that"

"Self-centred, mission-oriented bastard" she hurled, her voice getting louder.

"And that I guess"

"Weak, egotistical and a complete wanker!" she shouted.

The bar fell silent just as the word wanker passed through her lips. He could feel the heat of their gazes on his back and he wanted to turn around and give them that glare he gave to Unsubs. The one that said; I am not buying your bullshit so back off. But he's tired, he's sore and he doesn't give a damn. So he lets them stare but JJ fixes them all with a dirty look and a sharp;

"Don't you have something better to do than listen in on the conversations of others?" she barked. "Nosy wankers" she added under her breath.

"Listen" Gideon began.

"Why are you here?" she interrupted. "Why are you here if you weren't going to come back?"

Gideon leant back in his chair, considering her. In all the time that he had known Jennifer Jareau she had been polite, professional and kept her emotions out of the office as much as possible. It appeared that she couldn't handle her emotions once an alcoholic beverage was in her. It intrigued him that a collected woman such as JJ could lose control so easily. He checked his watch again. Fifteen minutes. He sighed deeply and dug into his pockets, producing three slips of paper and he passed them to her. She frowned and ran her eyes over the papers.

"These are . . .?"

"My bucket lists" he finished for her.

JJ frowned. "The only thing not ticked off is . . ." she began and laughed. "Oh this is rich. You've done everything but the easiest thing on here. How hard is it to come back and say you're sorry?"

"Harder than you think" he mumbled. "How hard was it for you to live with Emily's supposed death?"

She recoiled as though he had slapped her. "That's not the same"

"True but still, different things can be difficult for people. It's a fact of life" he said softly. He checked his watch yet again. Less than ten minutes to go.

"Are you ever going to come back? It could be your resolution you know" she said pointedly.

"Are you asking me for the team? Or for yourself?" he asked and raised one eyebrow.

She laughed bitterly. "Gideon – I'm asking for everyone" she told him bluntly. "I don't do anything for myself"

"What about Will and Henry?"

"That's different" she snapped mulishly. She folded her arms and stuck out her bottom lip, a clear pout. "My personal life stays out of this if you please"

"Yet the main topic of our conversation is how I let my personal life ruin everyone else's" Gideon mused softly. "Fitting"

JJ swallowed her drink, gave the last bourbon bottle a shake and upon hearing that there was no slosh left in the bottle got unsteadily to her feet. She swayed for a moment but then righted herself and moved to leave. She paused as she passed Gideon and grabbed at his watch, checking the time. She smirked and he looked up at her, confused. She quickly pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. He stared at her, dumbstruck.

"Your watch is five minutes slow" she whispered.

"You . . ."

"You should come back Gideon. For the right reasons" she told him.

"JJ . . ."

"Happy New Year Jason"