JJ jolted awake, riding out the last waves of the panic attack that had started in her sleep and carried over into consciousness. Phantom pains radiated from her abdomen and for the briefest most agonizing moment, she had no idea where she was and feared the worst. Her heart was thundering in her ears, rapid as the shallow breaths coming out of her mouth that she was trying to slow and she could feel her pulse slamming uncomfortably in her throat. Blinking rapidly as the abject terror started to ebb slightly along with the intense pain, she managed to calm her breathing down a bit as the darkness around her coalesced into the familiarity of her bedroom. She was safe. She was at home. Nothing was happening to her. She was safe. JJ closed her eyes tightly and forced herself to drag in a long steadying breath through her nose and let it out of her mouth as slowly as possible before opening her eyes again and glancing at the clock on her nightstand. Ten-thirty. She'd been asleep less than an hour this time.
She looked over at the other occupant of the bed where Will was slumbering, blissfully unaware. Part of JJ is relieved that she hasn't woken him with another of her night terrors and part of her is guiltily annoyed that he sleeps through most of them now. She resisted the urge to wake him up and set her feet on the carpet. What would be the point in waking him anyway? He never knew what to do and she didn't know what to tell him to do in the first place. Inevitably, his solution was always just to lay back down and try to get some rest and she'd spend hours staring unseeingly at the bedroom ceiling with her racing thoughts, troubled mind, and Will's arm pressing heavily across her as he immediately fell asleep again. The deadweight of his arm felt more oppressive than comforting these days and even the gentle snoring that would assure her someone was close by seemed to just grate on her more and more.
Sighing noiselessly, JJ got out of bed and reached for her cellphone with a still shaky hand before shuffling quietly out of the bedroom. Passing by Henry's room, she softly pushed open the already ajar door to glimpse in on her son. It was habit to check on him every time she went by his room, but on nights like tonight, it was more for her own wellbeing than anything else. She wanted nothing more at that moment then to crawl into bed next to the sleeping boy and be comforted by his peacefulness, his deep and even breathing, his tousled hair that he refused to let anyone cut. It was a selfish want though; the twin bed was certainly large enough for a nearly seven-year-old boy, but not much else besides. JJ doesn't even allow herself to go into her son's room just to peek at him, feeling in her gut that if she did, she'd burst into tears. The oddest things made her break down now and she was so sick of crying.
Making her way downstairs, JJ tried not to chastise herself for moving through the house overly cautiously or for checking the locks on the doors and windows before setting about getting a glass of water. Hypervigilance is a symptom of PTSD. She reminded herself. I don't have to be hard on myself. I'm recovering. This is a symptom, not anything to be punished about. I'm safe. I'm home. Nothing is happening. I'm safe. She took several more deep, rhythmic breaths as she tried to shake the vestiges of panic and the creeping shame away from her, wiping at her mouth as it filled with the taste of blood she already knew wasn't actually there. Resigning to the fact that she wasn't going to go back to sleep any time soon and not wanting to lay awake morosely next to Will; JJ padded into the living room to lay awake morosely in front of the television. Flipping on the TV and turning down the volume low, she lay on her side with her back pressed firmly against the backrest of the couch, her right hand still gripping her phone.
JJ tended to withdraw while working through things emotionally; she wanted to do things on her own, to prove she wasn't so broken she couldn't fix herself. But she'd learnt that she couldn't do this herself. She wasn't supposed to do it herself. The blonde still fought against her natural inclination to emotionally isolate herself but she'd been getting better at reaching out lately with some positive results. Baby steps. She often repeated to herself the mantra her therapist had been trying to drill into her: recovery is a marathon, not a race. Some days were good. Some days were so good, JJ felt like everything was back to normal and everything would be fine, but then she'd have a bad day. She'd have…what had Spence called it? Dysphoric hyperarousal. That sounded so much more clinical than 'flashbacks.' The technical nature of the term let her depersonalize the experience, sanitize it, remove herself from the times where she relived her torture in a way that faded out the present world and made her believe in time travel. And hell. Some days she could get through better than fine only to be violently thrust into consciousness after a night terror.
She knew she needed to talk to people, to her 'support structure' and the irony was that she wanted to, particularly right now, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. The boys were fixers, they wanted to come up with solutions, they wanted desperately to help her but sometimes she didn't need problem solving. She didn't want to see the anxious helplessness and worry on their faces or hear it in their voices or feel like she was being pitied when all she wanted sometimes was someone to stay next to her—not clear the way in front of her. Garcia was always helpful to talk to; she was gentle, loving, and let JJ go at her own pace without offering suggestions but Garcia was too empathetic. It hurt her too much to see JJ in such a state. It wasn't fair to slap away the hand being offered to her but JJ couldn't bare the thought of Penelope crying because she was the one hurting right now. And Will…she and Will were more frequently becoming people that haunted each other's lives than anything else. Friendly ghosts, but ghosts just the same. He would regularly cut her off and say she didn't have to talk about it, didn't have to explain anything and she knew he was trying to be helpful, trying to keep her from drifting off or spiraling out but JJ did have to talk about it and she did have to explain. For herself or to herself, she wasn't quite sure but sometimes she just wanted someone she loved and trusted to bear witness to how she was thinking, what she was feeling and to tell her she was going to be okay. Things were going to be all right. Remind her that she was still her, that it didn't rain every day. Really, the only person she felt comfortable talking to, the only person she really wanted to talk to, was Emily.
Emily had always been able to get through to JJ. Even when they barely knew each other somehow she'd still always known what to say, somehow the low timbre of her voice kept JJ present, somehow looking into her dark eyes tethered JJ. Maybe not to reality, but to Emily, and that always seemed to be more than enough. Emily understood what she was going through in a way no one else JJ knew did. Emily had been there, Emily had literally saved her life and it seemed the brunette was more than agreeable to go on saving her in a more figurative sense. Emily always seemed to know when she just wanted to just air out a nightmare, needed to be talked out of her head, or when she was in a funk and wanted the comfort of lighthearted conversation. JJ still wasn't sure if it was because Emily had gone through similar things before or if that was just the nature of their relationship. Things had always been easy with Emily; even when they were fighting with each other, it wouldn't last for long.
JJ wanted very badly to call Emily now. She knew that just knowing the other woman was there would do wonders to pull her from the blanket of anxiety she'd woken up with, that was still refusing to let her heart beat regularly and take her senses out of the state of hyperfocus where every settling of the house or car passing on the street made her pulse spike and her palms clammy, but she wouldn't allow herself to call. They talked to each other somewhat regularly but with the time difference and their jobs, most of their communication was through texts, emails, and games of online Scrabble that had been started in a fit of nostalgia several months ago and they'd kept up. They'd always find time at least once a week for a video call—JJ always told herself it was so Henry could talk to his 'favourite Aunt Em'ly' but she was keenly aware that she simply missed her. Missed seeing her all the time, missed being able to read her body language and expressions while they spoke.
JJ sighed and looked at the time on her phone for the third time since she'd lain down. Eleven o'clock. She wasn't sure what she was checking the time for. She used to try to calculate how much sleep she could get if she fell asleep right that second but it was a terrible game in the long run since these days; she rarely slept except from exhaustion. Wearing herself out seemed to be the best defense against night terrors. She added up hours in her head to see what time it was in London. Four o'clock in the morning there. It was still entirely too early to call. Emily had always been very insistent and very clear on the fact that she didn't care what time it was: if JJ needed her, she was to call and if Emily wasn't in the field or otherwise unable to answer, she'd always pick up. On some really bad nights, JJ'd taken her up on that—even Will had called her a few times when JJ was shivering and incoherent with anxiety and couldn't speak for all the hyperventilating she was doing, but it didn't seem fair.
JJ knew that Emily worked hard. She'd always worked hard. She got up early, went to bed late, and still found time to maintain the bonds she'd forged in the BAU from a different continent. Although Emily would and had fought her about such notions before, JJ hated feeling like she was taking advantage of her. Hated how fiercely she wanted to beg Emily to come back, to come home. Hated that she hadn't fully comprehended how much and in how many ways she needed her until it was too late. JJ let her eyes water, knowing that she wasn't going to cry, and stared blankly at the TV trying to will her body into catching up to her mental fatigue and send her back to sleep for a little while. It seemed like when she was home, she spent more nights on the couch than not. The buzzing of her phone startled her out of her intense zoning out session and she groaned inwardly. They'd just gotten back from a two-week case in Oregon last night. She wasn't ready to go out again, but if serial killers never took a break, neither did she.
JJ answered the call without looking as she squeezed her eyes shut momentarily to stave off an oncoming migraine and a fresh wave of anxiety in equal measure. "Jareau."
What answered her wasn't Garcia or Hotch, who she'd been expecting. The voice saying her name—her full name—on the other end of the line is low and cracked and heavy with sleep that clearly had been barely shaken off. Jennifer would recognize Emily's voice anywhere, even if she heard it underwater and she was already halfway off the couch when she responded.
"Emily," she breathed worriedly. "Are you okay?" It was early there, she glanced at the clock on the cable box: eleven fifteen. It was too early there. What if something happened? She's more than ready to throw some clothes together and swim to England if she had to when Emily's sleepy melodic chuckling soothed her immediately and caused an unconscious smile to touch her lips.
"Yeah," Emily said, her voice more awake. "Yeah I'm fine. I just…I don't know. This is going to sound…" she let out a gentle, embarrassed sounding sigh as she trails off. "I just woke up suddenly and needed to hear you. Are you okay?"
JJ couldn't stop the stupid grin that blossomed on her face and it didn't occur to her to try. She laid back down on the couch, one hand pressed to her chest that feels like it's going to burst in the most pleasant of ways. "I am now," she said, and meant it.