The Cabinet Room, Washington DC
May 7
th, 12:30 PM

Jennifer Jareau glanced down at the list before her.

The Cabinet:

Secretary of State: Emily Prentiss

Secretary of the Treasury: Dr. Spencer Reid

Secretary of Defense: Derek Morgan

Attorney General: Mateo Cruz

Secretary of the Interior: Max Ryan

Secretary of Education: Dr. Alex Blake

Secretary of Agriculture: Ashley Seaver

Secretary of Commerce: Gina Sharp

Secretary of Health and Human Services: Tara Lewis

Secretary of Transportation: Kate Joyner

Secretary of Energy: Kevin Lynch

Ambassador to the United Nations: Clara Seger

Administrator of the EPA: Mae Jarvis

Director of National Intelligence: Russ Montgomery

Office of Management and Budget: Matthew Simmons

Director of the Central Intelligence Agency: Samuel Cooper

Administrator of the Small Business Administration: Matt Spicer

Awaiting Confirmation:

Secretary of Housing and Urban Development: Andi Swann

Secretary of Labor: Kate Callahan

Secretary of Veterans Affairs: Luke Alvez

Secretary of Homeland Security: Stephen Walker

There were still a few positions that had recently opened, two immediately after the announcement of Gideon's death, that needed to be filled. JJ had confidence that the Senate would confirm all of them – in a time like this, nobody wanted to stall things. There was too much grief for the past, too much worry for the future. Besides, they needed to present a united front, and she was willing to say whatever she had to in order to sway any last minute holdouts who refused to cross party lines. Until the measures passed, she wouldn't be able to meet with their newest additions, but as Chief of Staff she was ready to get down to business with those she could officially meet with.

Seventeen Cabinet members, along with Press Secretary Jordan Todd, sat around a long table, staring up at her. Some people would have been unnerved in that situation, but Jennifer Jareau was nothing if not cool under pressure. She met their stares coolly, taking them in, letting them know she was more than capable in this position.

"I know the situation we're in is unconventional," she said. "You began your term with one president, and will finish it with another. President Hotchner has chosen to keep most of Gideon's Cabinet intact, a move which I agree with. You all work well together, and there's no reason you can't continue to perform your jobs effectively. If anyone believes this to be false, I suggest you leave now." Seventeen pairs of eyes didn't look away. "Good. In that case, let's get to it. The country is watching. Right now, they need reassurance that things will be fine. They want to know that their government can still function. It's our job to prove that it can. In the next few weeks, Hotch will be releasing statements regarding his plans for the administration. I expect you to listen, to learn, and to provide your full support."

"With all due respect," said Secretary Sharp, "are we supposed to just pretend like nothing has happened? Carry on like this is normal?"

"As much as possible," she answered. "Gideon is gone. Everything in regards to him is now on a strict need-to-know basis, and you can bet that if anyone who doesn't need to know finds out, I'll find whoever let it slip." Rustles of unsettlement filled the air as people shifted in their seats. JJ didn't like playing the bad guy, but she had a job to do. At times, she felt like a glorified babysitter, wrangling Secretaries and other members of the staff into place and keeping them all in line. When she wanted to, she could be caring, gentle. But this position demanded a no-nonsense attitude, and that's exactly what she gave them.

After answering any and all questions they had, she finally dismissed the Cabinet, watching them all file out one by one. Only a handful lingered back. The "inner circle" so to speak, the very closest members of the cabinet. The "Cupboard" as she'd taken to calling them. Secretaries Reid, Morgan, and Prentiss; occasionally joined by Lewis, Blake, and Director Garcia. As Lewis and Blake both had meetings to get to, it was only the three who stood there with her.

"So that's it, huh?" Morgan asked. "That's how an era ends."

"That's politics," Emily answered, shrugging. With a mother who was an ambassador, she spoke from decades of experience. "One empire falls, and another rises."

The four of them filed out of the room together. "What happens now?" asked Reid.

JJ gazed out a window, onto the Rose Garden. They were in full bloom now. Politics was sometimes like perennials, cycling through the seasons. Sometimes leaving only the most jaded evergreens behind in its wake. Those who were sensitive, delicate, requiring more care were often the ones who vanished.

"Now, we move forward," she answered. "We work through policy. We do our jobs. Business as usual."


DuPont Circle, Washington DC
June 1
st, 8:17 PM

It wasn't long until the administration was faced with their first crisis. And in the middle of the briefing, Emily forgot how to breathe. A threat had been detected abroad, and American citizens visiting Galicia, Spain were in danger. Hotch was working to notify the American Embassy in Spain, as well as local law enforcement in the city in the hopes of saving lives.

Matthew was in Galicia.

He was taking a trip to the Santiago de Compostello, she'd heard so from their mutual friends. It had been months since she and Matthew had talked in person – his health was getting worse, and no doubt his parents still hated her. But she could never forget him.

What were the odds he could be in harm's way? They didn't have a location. Only a range of possibility. Maybe Matthew was out of the city that day. Maybe he would stay indoors. On the other hand, what if he didn't? What if he was hurt.

Emily stared down at the legal pad in front of her, notes she'd scribbled down half-heartedly. It would only take one phone call. What would she even say? To give details would be a breach of confidentiality. A vague plea would only confuse him, and given her position he'd likely know something was up. She was Secretary of State. It was her job to put the country first, to maintain foreign relations, to do the most good. If she called him, all of their covert operations could be put at risk.

"Prentiss." Morgan was staring at her, eyebrows raised. Living so close to each other, he'd been brought in for a joint briefing in her apartment before they each headed off to their respective departments. They were at the top of the priority list, as were Hotch and Rossi. The other secretaries and advisors would be told throughout the day as needed based on developing intelligence information. "What's on your mind?"

During briefings, she had always been the picture of composure. Cool, calm, collected. Walking the fine line between poise and emotion. Politics was a tough game for a woman, a great balancing act in which one had to be perfect. Veer too far in any direction and wind up in headlines questioning your ability.

"It's just…" The words caught in her throat. Could she be honest with him? This was Morgan. They had seen each other and their best and worst. He'd stood by her appointment even when Hotch had his reservations. They gave each other Vonnegut books for Christmas. "A friend of mine is in Galicia right now. I'm worried about him," she said.

He sighed, standing from the table. "We still don't have enough information. Alerting anyone now would-"

"I know, I know. I'm not going to risk that." Her fingers clenched into a fist under the table. She wasn't stupid, the rules were clear. Though she wouldn't have been the first Cabinet member to bend them in order to fit her own agenda. Gideon was notorious for doing so, and she had no doubt Hotch had skirted them as well. At any other time, perhaps the temptation would have been enough for her to take action, but with the transition between administrations, there was too much risk. Reporters were watching the White House closer than ever. Communications were monitored, security protocols were tight. A digression like this could cost her her career. On the other hand, staying silent could cost her her friend.

With a stoic determination, she threw on her coat and grabbed her black bag, stepping out into the chilly rain. Puddles were already forming from the downpour, which she quickly hopped over to reach the waiting car. The driver was quiet, never spoke unless spoken too. For that she was grateful. The backseat of the car offered her a particular kind of privacy. Tinted windows and isolation, nobody to see her break down or panic. Emily lay her head back against the cool leather of the seat and watched rainwater stream down the windows. DC moved past in a blur, but her mind was miles away, across the ocean.

Inside the walls of the State Department, she tried to busy herself with routine. Notebook, files, paperwork. Calls to be made, diplomatic missions to approve. At noon, Emily leaned against the doorway and stared out at the office. Listened to the murmurs and scraps of conversation floating through the air, watched her colleagues running back and forth between desks and doors. All these people going about their lives with no idea that somewhere, a storm was brewing.

When the phone rang at 3 PM, she jumped. Emily forced herself to take a deep breath and exhaled before answering the call.

"There's a car out front," came JJ's voice from the other end. "Come straight to the situation room."

Please let this be something else, she prayed silently. Was it praying if she wasn't sure who she was talking to? It had been years since she willingly set foot in a church. That was another thing she and Morgan shared. An extreme aversion to religious ceremonies and buildings. What had shaped his hesitation? In a matter of minutes she was back at the White House, piling into a room with the rest of the Cabinet and some of the National Securities Advisors.

Hotch sat at the head of the table beside Director Cooper, head of the CIA. He was a tall, bald man, dressed in a jacket emblazoned with medals and pins, who spoke with a low voice. "I'm going to get straight to the point. Some of you were updated on a situation we were monitoring in Spain. There was an attack in Galicia. It'll be on the news shortly."

Her chest tightened.

"Four people were shot in the lobby of a hostel that catered to American travelers. Three of them have been pronounced dead, the third is recovering in the hospital."

"And the suspect?" asked Rossi.

"Apprehended and in custody. He seems to be a lone wolf terrorist," replied Cooper. "His name is Paul Silvano."

Hotch flipped over one of the papers in front of him. "It's only a matter of time before questions begin coming in. We don't have information on motivations or much of Silvano's background, but you'll be updated as soon as we do. You may receive questions from reporters or citizens – refer to the second page of the packet for answers to give. Secretaries Prentiss and Morgan will pass on the later information we receive. Refer people with specific concerns to the State Department." Barely a month in and he was able to command the presence of the entire room at ease.

"Do we have the names of the victims?" asked Morgan.

"We do," said Cooper. "Thomas Valentine, Patrick Cavanaugh, and Matthew Benton."

The pain those four syllables caused was palpable. All the air left her lungs in an exhale she could barely restrain from becoming a sob. Not him. Not Matthew. She was acutely aware of heads turning her way.

"I – I'm sorry." Before any questions could be asked she rushed out of the room, shoving the door shut behind her. The interior of the White House suddenly felt too stifling and her feet carried her out to the lawn. She ran through the rain to a sheltered overhang on the South Lawn. The lawn was vibrant in summer green, everything alive. It didn't feel right, with the cold she felt upon hearing the news. Snow would feel right. Frozen, empty. The end of something, not the blooming beginning.

"You want to talk about it?" Emily turned to see the Vice President, holding a black umbrella. "You don't have to," Rossi added. "But if you do, I'm all in."

She weighed her options. Bare her soul to a man she knew little of? Or suffer in silence in the rain? The truth was threatening to drown her, she had to tell someone.

Her voice was strained when she finally managed to speak up. "He was… he was one of my best friends. Matthew Benton. We haven't spoken in years."

"What happened?"

Emily stared down at her boots, covered in mud from the lawn. It was the only way she could tell the story without shaking. Rossi stood there, perfect poker face, as she explained how her family had moved around frequently as a kid. How in Italy, she was desperate to make friends, to be accepted. How she would have done anything for that. At fifteen, she found herself staring at a pregnancy test in the school bathroom.

"Was Matthew the father?" he asked. Rossi's tone was gentle, which surprised her. Sarcasm and skepticism were typical for him, and given his faith, she'd expected more judgment from him. Maybe she had the wrong impression.

"No. But he was there for me when nobody else was." He was the one who went with her to talk to Father Gamino, and helped her find a doctor. Stayed with her after the procedure. And never would she forget that Sunday when they returned. Tears stung at the corners of her eyes. "Father Gamino actually stopped his sermon, but Matthew told me to hold my head up, and we walked to the front pew."

The tears began to fall freely now, her shoulders shaking. "Matthew saved my life. He made me feel like I was worthy… of love. And – and friendship," she sobbed. Things she would never be able to tell him in person again. He knew, didn't he? Oh, Matthew had to know how much she still cared for him. Her best friend. "I should have called him! I should have warned him! This is my – it's my fault!"

To her surprise, she found herself in a hug. "It's not your fault," said Rossi. "It's not. You don't know if that call would have changed anything."

"I could have saved his life. I owed him that."

"I don't think Matthew would have seen it that way. That's now how life works, Emily. We don't do things like that for people because we want them to owe us. We do it because we love them."

"It's not fair!" she cried, grateful for the sound of the rain to drown out her voice.

Rossi squeezed her shoulder. "No, it's not. It's not fair, bella. Sometimes there are no answers. But you wanna talk, you come find me." They stood there in the rain in silence, until Emily finally stepped back, ready to return inside. They walked together into the Oval Office, soaked to the bone. Cooper had additional briefing information she would need to hear, along with Rossi and Hotch. It took almost an hour to go over everything they knew.

Silvano was a former priest, retaliating for what he believed was a murder committed by American tourists. Unable to take out the potential suspects, he'd decided to make a statement on Americans in general. Authorities had found a long note from him, claiming Americans were possessed by evil, that this was the only way to rid the world of its demons. Matthew happened to be in the line of fire.

After Cooper finally left, the three sat alone in the dim light of in the office. Rossi grabbed an old bottle of red wine from beneath a desk, pouring it into three glasses.

"I just don't believe in all that demonology rhetoric," Emily muttered. Rossi made a face, and Emily quirked an eyebrow. "Come on, don't tell me you believe in evil."

"Don't tell me you do this job and you don't," he responded, without missing a beat. The VP leaned over to hand each of them a glass.

Emily shrugged. "Evil acts, maybe. But those are choices, brain chemistry. Not some omnipotent force of the universe. What do you think, Hotch?" For a second, she thought he might not answer her. After all, things were different now. Being Vice President still allowed a certain degree of familiarity, but now that he had assumed a new role, they were all still trying to figure out where the boundaries were.

Then he said, "I think deep down, we're all capable of unspeakable things. Where it starts or what you call it, I don't know." With that, he took a long drink of wine, Rossi following suit.

The wine was dark, deeply scented. She stared into it, imagining some sort of answer would rise from it that might make sense of the chaos of the day. Was it all worth it, this job? Was it worth risking friendships, making decisions that might save or take lives. What were they giving up to be sitting in this office right now?

I'm sorry, Matthew.

Maybe Rossi was right. Maybe there were no clear answers sometimes.

Emily tipped back her glass, the bitter taste lingering on her tongue.


The President's Bedroom
June 19
th, 8:40 PM

Haley sat on the plush armchair by the window, having put Jack to bed, and stared out the window. The lawn was green, perfectly trimmed. Everything was perfect in the White House. That perfection was just a cover though. An illusion that everything happening inside was just as cheerful as the building's exterior.

What a lie that was. The White House was full of secrets, dark ones at that.

She had secrets of her own. Since her husband first snagged the spotlight as a young Senator from Virginia, she'd learned to keep her composure in public and keep her thoughts to herself. In the weeks before Gideon's death, she'd been planning to leave Aaron. Things were too tense between them, and though she still loved him, they hadn't been a proper family in a long time. She wanted Jack to have a normal, happy childhood, and a father who was around to see it happen. The only person she'd confided in was Jessica, her sister.

Now that Aaron was President, her plans had changed. The desire to leave was still there, but she knew how bad it would look if the First Lady left the White House only a few months into the term. She had to play the press game, and keep her chin up even when she had no more strength left to do so. When things quieted down, perhaps she could quietly separate, slip away from the tabloids and the pressure. "Reclaim" her life. That was a phrase her sister Jessica used whenever they spoke.

"You need to reclaim your life Haley," she'd say. "You and Jack aren't some prop for him to use when it's convenient." And while she wanted to defend Aaron, assure Jessica that their relationship wasn't just one of convenience, she couldn't deny that Aaron's absence wasn't strongly felt. Jack was always asking for his dad, and what was she supposed to tell him?

In part, she blamed Gideon. It had shocked her that the strongest feeling she had upon hearing of his death was resentment. Aaron had always been a workaholic, but Gideon had encouraged it. The late president's own family had fallen apart, he'd been divorced before he began his campaign for president. Even Aaron didn't know when he had last spoken to his son, Stephen. The only person he loved had been killed. Did the thought of living that life ever frighten Aaron? She was afraid of losing him, in one way or another.

Leaving him was supposed to be a wake-up call, a reminder that there were other people in his life who needed him. Now more than ever, it seemed he belonged to the country. To the public.

Wasn't that how he'd rationalized it to her once, after leaving on Jack's first birthday to work on policy? "They need me," he'd said.

"What about us? We need you, too!"

"Haley, this is who I am."

"No, Aaron, it's not!" she'd cried. "This is what you do." That hadn't stopped him though. He thought she didn't understand the pressures, the forces at play behind the scenes in this political abyss.

She knew more than she let on. There were other spouses in Washington, husbands and wives, partners and nannies. There were channels of gossip that floated between various staff and reporters, bits and pieces she learned to glean from the grapevine because for some reason, they never assumed she was listening.

There were rumors about the real reason Secretary Greenaway left DC. About what had really happened during Secretary Reid's mysterious absences. That the government had made a deal with Frank Brietkopf. Rumors about Gideon himself. There were ghosts in this house, skeletons behind every door, carrying secrets heavy enough to bring the District to its knees.

It was only a matter of time before things came out about her. Nothing stayed secret here, not for long.

Wasn't it Nietzsche who said that? If you look long into an abyss, the abyss also looks into you.

Haley Hotchner had been staring into the abyss long enough to know that something wasn't right.


Author's Note:

Thank you to JediKnightoftheRogueSquadron, chenryrn1, iluvhotchme, krusherlover, mggublergal, tazluver2001, zhangxinna, mcleagan, and Ellie61 for following/favoriting this story.

And thank you so much to mggublergal (thank you! It was a hard choice figuring out where I wanted JJ to be, but I felt like it was right to have her sort of managing the "team" so to speak), Guest (they are quite similar, aren't they?), krusherlover (why thank you! I'm glad you've enjoyed it thus far!), zhangxinna (thank you! Sorry it's taken this long tpo update!) for leaving reviews. I really appreciate all your feedback. Sorry it's taken this long to post an update! Real-world politics has left me stressed enough, haha.