This work is an Emily/JJ femslash that is set in season 7 but also features flashbacks beginning from when Emily started with the BAU. However, without giving too much away, the storyline will cross a bit into season 8 and feature season 9's episode 200. It's actually an idea I've been toying with for a while but have put on the back burner because this story is a little different from any of my other works. However, I wouldn't be me if there wasn't some comedic and lighter scenes in it too.

There will be drama, there will be angst, and there will be tragedy featured in this story. If you're looking for a traditional 'You complete me' sappy love story this might not be the story for you. I will also warn that there will be strong language and possibly consensual sexual content in this work. I've never written a "scene" between two women before, but there's a first time for everything right?

Oh and I don't own Criminal Minds. If I did Paget Brewster would still be on the show, Emily would be with JJ, Will would be gone, and Jennifer Love Hewitt would still be doing whatever the hell Jennifer Love Hewitt has been doing since Party of Five. Stupid CBS…but, you know, please don't sue me.

There is a slight breeze, the trees barely rustling from the movement of air through their branches. The setting is eerily calm until the quiet is disturbed by the sound of heavy panting and branches breaking, upsetting the sense of tranquility. The cold air burns her lungs, but she doesn't care because she's determined.

She's aimlessly running, unsure if she has been moving at that pace for minutes, hours, days? Time is relative and her exhaustion doesn't even register. It doesn't matter, because she has to have it. She's not even sure why it's so important, what it truly means, but that's irrelevant because she's possessed by the need to find it again. Somehow it's become an inherent need, like breathing. She has to find it.

Her chest is heaving as she desperately cuts through the forestry frantically, experiencing a gratifying sense of relief as she begins to progressively remember her surroundings. She can't help but smile; however, the smile quickly fades when she finally reaches the place that looks so similar to before but tortuously different. It's an idyllic place, one that she still can't believe she happened upon by accident. She doesn't even know where she is. The snow-capped Mountains and a line of pine trees surround a daisy filled meadow, the sight almost Edenic. But the beauty of the place doesn't matter because it's not there. She's sure this is where she saw it last time.

Her breathing becomes impossibly more rapid as she runs her hands through her hair and shakes her head in disbelief. "No no no, please no" she merely whispers as she bits her bottom lip, trying to choke back a sob, for some reason having an inexplicable need to cry.

Because the, her, black rose is nowhere to be found.

The setting sun glared through the large glass windows, hitting Emily's eyes at the perfect angle, prompting the brunette to groan and move to another chair. This really wasn't her day, scratch that, this really wasn't her year. She audibly sighed as she rubbed her temples, futilely trying to fend off an impending migraine. There she is, sitting in airport terminal, on one of those obligatory faded grey chair-bench airport seats, nervously picking her nails again. She said she had stopped, and technically she had, but the situation warrants it. Plus, what's the point of trying to hide it anymore? Who cares that she's an absolute disaster? Who's going to notice now? She's leaving, she's running. She's running like she always had, like probably half the people sitting in the same airport chair had.

And that's when she realizes how many people must have sat on that chair before her, and it's kind of gross to think about. Were they all wearing clean pants? Were they wearing pants at all? Emily slightly chuckles at the image of a pant less man in the airport, even though she knows what she's doing. She's distracting herself, trying to calm her nerves over the fact that she's unsure of whether or not she wants to get on the plane. Well, that's a lie. It's all a lie.

"It's always been a lie" Emily remarks in a low voice, scanning the airport to make sure that no one had heard her just talk to herself.

If she's being honest it's the same sort of lies that she's built her life on, which is why its foundation is crumbling beneath her now. It's a funny, see pathetic, thing for one to find themselves sitting in an airport terminal, the plane beginning to board, the ticket getting slightly crinkled in her hand as her internal debate continues, unsure of whether or not she wants to get on the plane. Because, yes, there is a part of her that knows that she doesn't want to get on that plane at all. She doesn't want to leave. Because what is there for her in London?

However, in the same breath the wiser part of her knows she has to get on that plane. She has to leave. It's not a question or matter of opinion. It's not an option because she has to. She has to because it, being there, being with her is destroying her. She has to because as much as she craves it, desires it, yearns for it, fights for it, she can't take the pain anymore. Plus, what is really there for her in D.C. anyway?

Contentment with the past was all she had before, because any resemblance of happiness had left her a long time ago. She can no longer be content with the gentle brushes of their hands when exchanging case files or the memories of what they once shared. Memories which both comfort and taunt her at the same time. Did they have a great love? Well, maybe, that point is moot because it's not like you can let the idea of 'love' rule your life.

I don't want to live. I want to love first and live incidentally. Emily rolled her eyes at the quote that popped into her head. "A troubled alcoholic who was institutionalized, what a great aspiration Prentiss" she sarcastically stated as she looked down to her now bloody stumps of nails and sighed. Another sign of her failings…another remembrance of every mistake and misgiving that haunts her.

There are studies created by people who have devoted their entire lives to studying the difference between physical and emotional pain. There are those who have spent years and hundred of thousands of dollars researching, hoping to confirm what Emily Prentiss could have told them in fifteen minutes. Emotional pain hurts more than physical pain. What she wouldn't give for a stake to the abdomen right then. Which is why she found herself in the fairly empty Dulles Airport on a Tuesday night. Tuesday, Emily internally scoffed. What a joke, it's almost as bad as a Citrine ring because he wouldn't spring for topaz.

It's the final boarding call when she finally rises from the seat, checking her watch as she slowly trudges over to the ticket counter. She can't help but feel sick when she sees the time, maybe her fucking ulcer is returning. Ha, who's she kidding? It never really went away.

If it was anyone else Emily wouldn't care. If it was anyone else this day, this hour, this minute would be insignificant to her. But it wasn't anyone else and it wasn't anyone else's wedding.

It was JJ's.

Five and a Half Years Earlier

The BAU was quiet, half of the beaming florescence lights turned off as JJ silently read through a stack of case files, every few seconds glancing over at the book resting on her desk. The blonde placed the case file down and slightly smiled as she picked up the book, thoroughly engrossed in it until hearing a knock at the door.

"Spence?" She asked with an eyebrow raised as Reid offered her a smile.

"I wanted to get my files" he replied as he held out his hands. "I have developed a cycle where I complete at least 4 consults a day so they don't pile up and I need my four" the young man hinted with a nod.

"Spence you literally just got back from Guantanamo Bay. You didn't want to, I don't know take a break or something?" JJ asked with a small smile that turned into a grin when Reid merely shook his head 'no.' "Okay then" JJ stated as she took out a stack of files to hand over to the genius. "How was it?"

"How was what?" Reid asked as he stuffed the files into his messenger bag. "The prison? Considering that I was there only on a temporary basis it was fine."

The blonde nodded at the description before nervously moving on to her next inquiry. She wasn't sure why she was so unnerved by the simple question, but she was nonetheless. "How did the new agent do?"

Reid shrugged at the question, "She was helpful, but the subject did speak English so she wasn't that helpful. Gideon played chess with her on the plane."

"Really?" JJ questioned as she leaned forward in her chair. "Who won?"

"Gideon" Reid answered as he brushed a few strands of hair out of his eyes. "She was good though."

"Do you think she let him win?"

"No" the man scoffed as JJ bit her bottom lip and tried to cover the smile that was caused the man's almost offended reaction.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because he's Gideon and he even beats me…"

"So" JJ interjected with a grin. "Maybe she could beat you too."

"No" Reid quickly answered as he shook his head, prompting the blonde to laugh again. "JJ, is something wrong?"

"No, why?" JJ curiously questioned with a perplexed look. Was she giving off any signs that she was upset? Because she wasn't. She was genuinely happy, which was strange considering that she was still at work at nine o'clock at night. In theory she should have been a little upset, but she just wasn't.

Reid sat down on the chair across from JJ as he began to answer her, "Before I entered into your office I noticed that you were reading. I observed you through the window. Currently, you are reading at approximately 220 words per minute. Now while the average adult reads between 250 and 300 words per minute, you typically read 326 words per minute. So you're reading at a deficiency of 106 words a minute. Now keeping in the mind that the book you're reading is Wurthering Heights by Emily Bronte and it contains 107,945 words, if you keep up this current pace it would take you 8 hours, without breaks, to finish the book. Whereas, if you read at normal pace…"

"Spence" JJ interrupted the babbling man with a chuckle "There's nothing wrong with me just because I'm reading a little slower than usual. It's just because, unlike case files, this time I don't want to jump to the end. I want to enjoy the story. So you can relax" She encouraged with a smile before giving him a bewildered look. "You know the exact word count of Wurthering Heights?"

"Yeah, I read it when I was seven. But I don't want to ruin the ending for you."

"Too late for that" JJ laughed as she shook her head. "Emily, Agent Prentiss, already did that."

Reid slightly titled his head as he furrowed his brow, "You've known her for only fourteen hours and she already ruined the book for you?"

"Apparently she has a knack for theses kind of things" JJ shrugged with a smile before sighing when she looked down to her watch. She had to be back at work in less that nine hours. Maybe Garcia was on to something with her whole 'Murphy Bed-Desk' idea. All she needed was a bed, bag of Cheetos, and the Ally McBeal box set and she'd be good to go. Having a home was so overrated. "I'm sorry Spence, but I probably should head home for the night."

"Okay, me too."

"See you tomorrow" She warmly offered as he nodded and smiled at her.

"See you" Reid concluded as he rose from the chair and headed out the office door.

JJ couldn't help but laugh at the memory of Emily awkwardly spoiling the book's ending as she gazed at the novel, sticking an old receipt in the book to mark her place before closing its cover. "Emily Prentiss" The media liaison merely stated with a noticeable grin as she packed up her belongings and headed home.

Should I continue this story? Let me know in the reviews.

If I continue the significance of the flashback and the 'black rose' will be explained. And we will get to Emily and JJ's first meeting eventually...

Also, it's your reviews that encourage me to continue, so please leave one or I will probably just delete this story and move on to another idea.