Love.
What does that word even mean?
Everyone remembers their first love. The first time that they looked into someone's eyes and saw the stars reflected in them, the way that they glistened with sincerity and vulnerability. The moment in which that someone enters the room and suddenly the world stops and you are the only two people in the entire universe. It's as though everyone else disappears and this living, breathing being just steals the breath straight from your lungs. It takes the form of every good thing in your life, everything that could possibly cause the smile on your face to stretch from ear to ear.
You spend your time subconsciously picking up and remembering all of the little details that define your person, from the brand of shampoo that they use and the amount of ketchup that they use with their fries to the way in which they hog the blankets at night because they get cold to the way that their feet always sneakily find a way to creep up your leg. When you love someone, you love the little things; the way in which the dishes are placed a little too far to the left, the way that they always refill the dishwasher because there is always more room for plates, the way in which they place their soggy towel back on the rack instead of replacing it with a dry one. The list is truly endless. All of these little things that don't truly matter but are noticeable are suddenly added to the list of reasons why you love that person, and that list could go on and on. The way in which, when you hear them laugh, you can't help but to ignore everything else because it is the sound of pure joy that comes from their lips, a display of pure happiness. Particularly that goofy and unintentionally loud laugh that rings through the theatre when everyone else is dead silent. The one that causes for others to turn their heads and look to the both of you as you sit in your seats, but it doesn't matter because it is them. It is that person.
The first time that she had laughed in that manner was at the theatre. Her head tilted back against the red, reclining seats and her blonde hair cascaded over it in an oddly organized mess. The corners of her eyes squinted up into a cluster of little wrinkles and she lifted one hand to cover her mouth and therefore quiet her sounds. When the others looked over to us, she shoved a handful of popcorn into her mouth to muffle another laugh that threatened to erupt, and all I could think of was the pleasure that it brought me to know the happiness that she publically displayed was because of me. JJ's other hand landed on my thigh, she turned her head to look at me and this was the first time that I had truly recognized all of the beauty that the other woman encompassed.
Jennifer Jareau. The woman caused for my heart to beat as though I had just run a marathon, the one who was comfortable with opening me up like a book and running her finger over the bindings, reading every single word between the lines. She grabbed onto my body when it felt as though I was freefalling and grounded me before I could hit the ground. JJ was the one who breathed the air into my lungs when the waves were too high for me to fight anymore, and for that I owed my life. With her blonde hair and her petite frame, the woman was the pinnacle of every woman's envy and every man's desire, and I found myself having a little of both. Jennifer Jareau was what every woman wanted to be, honestly and truthfully. The outermost part of her blue eyes shone like the sky on a clear day while the area closest to the iris was as deep and dark as the ocean. The contrast threw me from the highest point of the world to the lowest and I couldn't help but to see myself travelling from both of these places in a matter of seconds. It was magical. She ate a bagful of Cheetos in record timing and could still run a marathon with ease, all while maintaining her size and figure. Her schooling had been paid for by a soccer scholarship and she still continued to volunteer with the high school team in her spare time.
Too often I found myself admiring Jennifer Jareau. The way that her hair fell over her shoulders in blonde waves as she stood over her desk caused for my brown eyes to soften almost immediately. She held a cup of coffee in her hand, her pale fingers wrapped tenderly around the handle of the ceramic mug so as not to burn her skin, and a pile of files were placed between her slender figure and her arm. Ever so carefully she put the mug down and sat in the chair positioned behind her desk, spreading the files out in front of herself. I could see her clearly through the shutters that were often left open; the window on the other side of the office allowed for the sun to stream into the room, her blonde hair shining like a halo as she sat. Normally, her office was a monotone brown colour, nothing of substance and nothing that contrasted the woman's personality. It was an odd difference, the gruesome contents of the cases that we would be sure to open up and discuss seemed to be completely opposite of Jennifer Jareau, who shone like a light and mediated everything evil that happened at work.
Both JJ and I had been impatiently waiting for the signal to allow us to go. We had been on the pursuit of the unsub for weeks, and now we finally had the chance to surprise him. It seemed like the perfect opportunity, the element of surprise was on their side and nothing could have gone wrong. Or that's what they thought. At the last second, the unsub had gotten wind of their plan and had found out that they were in the building. I waited for the go, however, I didn't notice that JJ had slipped off and gone alone. At the time that I finally realized that my partner was gone, it was much too late.
"Jennifer!"
A singular gunshot rang out through the cement warehouse, the sound echoing off of the walls and lingering like a ghost in the air. It boomeranged back and mixed with what was left of the sound of my voice, both of them merging into one noise. And then silence. There was nothing left. At that exact moment, my heart stopped completely although my feet kept moving. It was instinct. The victim always came first.
Blonde and red. Blonde and red. The two shades merged together in a morbidly beautiful picture, the tips of JJ's blonde hair being stained the crimson colour. Her body was crumpled against the ground, her legs bent at an uncomfortable angle and one of her hands searched desperately to find the source of her pain. A gurgle came from the woman's throat, blood and saliva bubbling out of the corner of her mouth. The mouth that I had kissed on so many occasions, the one that had brought me back to my senses when I felt that all hope had been lost. This was my person, the woman that I had so desperately been in love with.
As soon as I reached JJ, my hands found their way to the source of her bleeding; her neck. I knew immediately that this was not in the slightest bit okay. The liquid spurted from the wound, her breathing becoming erratic and uneven as I pressed down to do my best to tame the amount coming from her. Jennifer's hand reached up and weakly landed on my own, her fingers grazing ever so gently over mine. It was as though a ghost was touching me, for her hands had gone a pale colour, almost giving them a ghoulish quality.
Her blood coated my hands in unruly patterns and suddenly it was as though I was taking a Rorschach test. Butterflies or bats? Faces or flowers? My eyes tried to decipher the splotches of red that painted their ways between the cracks of my fingers, the colour embedding itself in the bedding of my fingernails. It was strange, as though the crimson belonged there, as though it longed to make itself permanently present on my skin. Reminding me constantly of this moment.
Jennifer's breathing suddenly quickened and hot blood began to drip slowly from the corners of her mouth. That was when I heard the words escape through the blueing lips of my lover. My Jennifer Jareau spoke four words before taking her final breath.
"I love you, Emily."
I could hear the sirens of the ambulance in the distance, but we both knew that they were too far away to be of any help. It was too late. Of course they were too late.
"I want you to run to your sister up there and to give her the biggest hug. Squish her if you have to because I'm sure she's missed you as much as you've missed her." A smile spread across my lips as one of my tears dripped down my cheek and landed on JJ's forehead. I lifted a bloodied hand to run my thumb over her pale skin, the salty mixture smearing. With a sudden gasp in JJ's throat, I spoke the words that I knew would be spoken too late for her to hear if I waited any longer, "I love you, Jennifer Jareau. I always have and always will." With noticeable effort, Jennifer's lips lifted into a smile back and her blue eyes closed. That would be the last time I ever saw them open.
Love.
What does that word even mean?