"The true test of a leader is whether his followers will adhere to his cause from their own volition, enduring the most arduous hardships without being forced to do so, and remaining steadfast in the moments of greatest peril."
Xenophon.

February sixth.
Same day.
Sunday.
08.59

The shrill sound of Hotch' mobile phone hung in the air like thunder after lightning. Perhaps the device knew the awkwardness of its timing because the sound was different. It was slightly off. Or perhaps it was just because seven persons in one room suddenly felt that hand around their hearts, the leash around their chests, the rope around their necks. They knew. Instantly.

It was something bad.

Hotch answered the phone and his team glanced at each other. "Agent Hotchner."

Silence. Two minutes passed as nobody dared to say a word. Their fears were confirmed because Hotch did not leave the room. He kept standing there, like had been standing for the last hour or so. If it had been a private call, he would have left. If it had been an official call, he would have left. However, if it was personal call, personal for the team, he would stay. And so each of the profilers – including JJ – realised it could not be good news.

"Okay, thank you. I'll be there."

Hotch hung up, avoided the stares of his team for a few seconds before looking up. "That was McCallister."

Supervisory Special Agent David 'Mac' McCallister ran the Special Crimes Unit department in Atlanta. Abby had worked for him for several years before her team leader, SSA Angie Wills, decided she wanted to 'loose' Abby and she was transferred to the BAU. When Scott was – as it later turned out, wrongfully - arrested for the murder of her best friend's fiancé, Hotch and his team discovered that Mac hadn't just been Abby's boss at the SCU; he had also been the team leader of a specialised group in the Army that tracked down wanted faces during the war in Africa and Iraq.

Despite the fact that nobody in that room, at that point, knew of the whereabouts of Abby Scott, nor if she had been able to return to the SCU as an agent, the way Hotch spoke and the manner in which he uttered words were enough reasons for concern. Reid in particular was looking at his supervisor with big, pleading, awaiting eyes.

Hotch sighed. "Three SCU agents were killed half an hour ago. Executed. They need our help."

Prentiss softly gasped for air and she covered her mouth. Rossi's mouth parted and his usual stern glare made way for a trace of shock. Reid could only stare at Hotch, patiently waiting when he would end this stage of abrupt, devastating panic by telling him she was okay. Garcia had exclaimed a small squeal and her eyes widened, whispering 'Oh my God'. Morgan looked down and away, his mind too caught up with the news that he forgot to play his role and continue to act unfazed by everything that concerned her. Hotch' eyes had flashed fear, but determination quickly set in and he stared at JJ.

"Abby?" She asked.

He waited, seconds became years and everything slowed down. Reid leant forward. Garcia caught Morgan covering his mouth with his hand, rotating his chair from the group, his eyes closed and a profuse upset frown on his once gentle face.

"No." He took a deep breath, as if he too had been waiting for to hear that. "Wills, Pinõ and Lewis. But Abby and Bronckovic couldn't be reached. They're still on leave." So she is back.

Morgan sighed secretively, like Reid did. The thought that rose in Hotch' mind was startling and confusing, but he needed the thought right now. So he chose to muse about it later. Right now, someone had killed three FBI agents and hurt Abby Scott, the devil that was once part of his team. He kept repeating the sentence in his head whilst he spoke to his team. Garcia gasped for air and the tension in the room burst like a forceful bubble.

"I understand if you can't go or don't want to. I called you here because we need to talk about what happened or else we're going down. What just happened, as tragic and terrible as it is, struck at a wrong time for us. We're all still licking our wounds, pretending we don't or covering it up. Going to Atlanta, going back to Scott now, will probably only make it worse. So I understand if you can't or don't want to go. But I can't stay here, knowing that now, of all times, they need my help. She needs my help. I resent her for what she did, to me, to us, to the team, but I won't allow that to keep me here. If you decide not to go to Atlanta, I won't think of you any less. Quite the opposite, I would consider that an extremely wise decision, wiser than my own. If you, however, do decide to come, I will wait at the airport. Plane leaves in twenty."

Solemnly, Hotch hurried out of the room, his phone already pressed against his ear – probably calling section chief Strauss – as he headed towards his office. The rest of the team was left behind, flabbergasted, looking at each other, hoping to find a sign of what to do. JJ had covered her mouth with her hand, in her head going on about what to do. They had just started to process everything, they just started to melt back together after being viciously torn apart. Were they really supposed to leave it all behind and hurry back towards the place that had started it all to begin with?

The sound of Morgan putting his coffee mug on the table was the first sound they heard after Hotch' departure. Some might have called him wise, some might have called him desperate, others might call him stupid, but determination was set on Morgan's face as he left the room to get ready to fly back to Atlanta. Rossi followed soon, as did Prentiss. Garcia lingered, smiling weakly at her other best friend, whom was still unsure of what to do. The technical analyst briefly placed her hand on JJ's arm before going to Hotch to ask for orders. It was then that JJ recollected herself and just before she wanted to leave the conference room, she noticed the young genius. He was still sitting there.

"Spence?"

He looked up at her, his eyes still wide and confused.

"Are you okay?" She asked.

"I don't know what to do."

And there it was; the reason why it had been Reid whom was causing all the trouble, Reid who had been disclosed about the whole situation, angry at his team for not believing Abby Scott. It had not been because he believed her or because he missed her, not completely. But it had been because he was too afraid to admit the hurt he felt by the betrayal of his former best friend. Whilst he was fighting against his supervisor, delivering snappy remarks and acting poorly, it had been because he didn't know what to be: angry, sad or defensive? If he admitted his hurt, would that mean he betrayed her? If he allowed his colleagues their anger towards her, would that mean he let her down? If he didn't defend her honour, would that mean that he failed her?

And so JJ, finally understanding her importance to the team and without liking it, understanding what Abby meant with 'you're the glue' as she had said months ago. She decided for him, because she knew, somehow, what they wanted. Because that was what she did, behind the curtains, without much knowledge or awareness of her actions; she was the mother, she kept them together and somehow, she always knew what was best for her team.

"C'mon. Let's go."

Reid's lips formed a small line on his face and his eyes returned to a normal size. He nodded to himself, once, and then he stood up and left the room before JJ to get ready for one of the shortest flights in his life.

Because no matter how they looked at her, for whatever reason they were leaving Quantico behind them, the flight to Atlanta could not be long enough - they would be there before actually, really, wanted to be.

"This city now doth, like a garment, wear the beauty of the morning; silent, bare, ships, towers, domes, theatres and temples lie open unto the fields, and to the sky; all bright and glittering in the smokeless air."
William Wordsworth.