It isn't the things that happen to us in our lives that cause us to suffer, it's how we relate to the things that happen to us that causes us to suffer. - Pema Chodron

…...

Jack sat up on the air mattress. John was still asleep on the fold-out couch.Jack could feel the worry eating him up inside. He couldn't lose his dad, too. He just couldn't. He got up and walked over to John's room to see if Aunt Garcia was awake yet. She was awake and sitting on the side of the bed her head in her hands.

Jack walked over to her and tapped her on the shoulder. Aunt Garcia jumped and spun around. Jack was surprised; he didn't think he'd hurt her.

"Oh, it's you Jack. You scared me to death."

Jack couldn't see how he'd been scary and she didn't look very dead to him. But Jack didn't ask, as he had learned that some questions were better left unanswered.

Instead he asked, "Should we wake up John?"

She looked up at the clock on the wall.

"Well, it's not too early and I don't know what we'll be doing today, so I guess there's no harm in waking him."

Jack's instincts urged him to run in and jump right onto John's sleeping body. But, after his mom died, he had learned many things, including that grownups, had to be woken up with care. So instead of running, he let Aunt Garcia walk ahead of him and shake John on the shoulder.

"Ugh," John moaned while he sat up. At first he looked confused, but then he seemed to recognize them.

"What time is?" he asked. His voice still sounded tiered.

"Almost 8:30," Garcia answered.

"Are we going to see Aunt Emily?" Jack asked. It had made him worry when she had to leave again. Every time someone he loved left, he was afraid they wouldn't come back.

"I am," John replied, "But you're going to stay here with Garcia and help her set up her computers." Jack was disappointed, but computers were fun, too.

"Computers?" Garcia's voice lit up when she said the word.

"Yeah," John answered. "I have a desktop and a laptop, I also brought my work laptop. Hopefully you'll be able to do something with them. Emily spoke pretty highly of your computer skills."

"Will I ever!" Garcia grinned. "You will not be disappointed, Mr. Emily's cool friend. A few software downloads and they'll be fully functional."

Jack saw John raise his eyebrows. He remembered his dad talking about Aunt Garcia "being just the way she was."

"Well, I better start getting ready, and leave you two to it." John walked into the bathroom and shut the door.

It didn't take long for Garcia to find the computers. She began to fiddle with them grumbling about outdated systems and before he knew it John was gone, too. Again, Jack felt that nervous twist in his stomach.

…...

Emily couldn't help pacing. The weekend was now over and today was the day they decided where to put her. She hoped that John could influence them into putting her someplace where it was possible for her to sneak out of. A little voice in the back of her mind told her that if places like that existed, that the people she had devoted her life to catching would be back on the street in no time.

She ate her cold breakfast, as she'd woken up late today. She hoped that John would come and explain the situation to her. Since she had nothing better to do, Emily decided to probe her mind some more, looking for clues of what she'd known. At first it was the same old thing; she was in Quantico, in the middle of the night, in a bullpen full of counter terrorism. Then the next thing she could remember solidly was waking up in the interrogation room.

Emily relaxed and let her mind wander. She hated the feeling of almost being able to remember something but not quite. It gave her a headache, although there was something.

She was by herself, and she was in the weird clothes that she'd been wearing in the interrogation room. She was on a bench. She seemed to be waiting for someone. She knew she'd felt nervous. But for what? She couldn't remember, but a car pulled up to the curb. A middle eastern man got out. She couldn't remember what they'd been talking about. She had just kept nodding and then she'd gotten in the car.

It was useless. Emily couldn't remember anything else, but it was obvious that she was missing something vital. She was jerked out of her thoughts by someone coming up to the door of the cell. It was the older detective that had questioned her with John,and she recalled that John had told her his name was Burns. He was accompanied by two men in white clothes. It looked like they'd decided on mental hospital.

"Hello Reilly," One of the men said in a soothing voice.

Emily gritted her teeth to keep herself from telling him her real name, but she knew that wouldn't help anything.

"Hello," Emily answered calmly.

Burns looked surprised that she hadn't argued.

"Alright," Said the other man. "We're going to take you to your new home."

Burns unlocked the door and slipped a pair of zip-lock cuffs onto her wrists. It took Emily a second to remember that they thought she'd killed people. Burns grabbed her by the elbow and brought her to a white van.

She decided that she might as well talk to these people. Underneath those weird voices and overly enthusiastic attitudes they were probably perfectly normal people. She now knew what it was like to be talked to like a mental patient, and it made her very uncomfortable.

"So, where are we going?" Emily asked.

They tried to hide their surprise at her addressing them like a normal person, but they quickly recovered their composure and said:

"A special hospital where you're going to stay until you're better."

"I know we're going to an insane asylum, but which one?"

"St. Charles." The man answered. This time his surprise was etched across his face.

St. Charles was bad news though. It was where the really mentally insane people went. Considering they thought she'd killed multiple people, she guessed she was considered a serial killer, too. St. Charles was where they'd sent Ronald Weems. He had been one of her first cases. She remembered the poor teen-aged boy crying desperately for help, and she was glad it had been Weems, not the kid.

The van pulled into the parking lot of the St. Charles Mental Institution. It was a big gray building with only tiny windows.

"Come on," one of the men ordered, pulling her out of the van.

Emily smiled to herself. That weird tone of voice was much weaker in his voice. They walked across the parking lot and through the main doors. They walked up to a reception desk where a blonde woman stood.

"Hello, how can I help you?"

"We're back with McDougle. Do you have her cell ready?" one of the men said.

"Yes, it's ready. May I have a look at the files?"

"Alright," the man handed over the file acquiescently and raised one of his eyebrows, suggesting that this wasn't routine.

The woman flipped through the files and her hands started to shake. "Ok-okay I can take it from here." There was a tremor in the womans voice.

"We'll help get her up to her cell. You look overworked."

"Ye-yes, thank you."

The woman gestured for another woman to take her place and led them down a hallway. As they headed up the elevator, the woman said, almost as if she were a robot:

"Welcome to the St. Charles Mental Institution, and you will be staying here until you get better. You will have three meals, one designated outside time, and two sessions with your psychiatrist a day. At first you will be accompanied everywhere, but if you exhibit good behavior, you will be granted your own freedom provided you show up for all scheduled activities."

Emily nodded and followed the woman down the corridor to her room. As soon as Burns and the idiots left, she could find out what the nurse was so scared about.

"This is you room." The nurse continued. "It's number 227 don't forget. If at any time you exhibit behavior that is harmful to ether yourself or others, you will be moved to a more secure area."

Emily knew that meant a padded cell and a strait jacket. She walked into her room and the door clicked behind her. The room had two beds, one already occupied by a strawberry-blonde girl making knots with a piece of rope much to short to make a noose. She didn't look up when Emily entered.

Emily went over and sat on her bed. She wasn't going to waste time on getting inside the head of a unimportant mental patient who probably wouldn't be much help anyways. Now all she had to do was wait for the nurse to come back, and Emily knew she would.

Almost on cue, the door opened and the nurse came back in followed by a balding man.

"Prentiss? Emily Prentiss?"

Emily's heart leaped with excitement, but she tried to not let it show. This could still be a test to gage her reaction. "Yes, that's my name, but you think it's not true. You read in my file that I'm delusional."

The man and the woman exchanged frightened looks. The man started, "Emily... do you know Spencer Reid?"

Emily couldn't stop her face from braking into a smile. "You know him? Oh my god, is he okay?"

"Yes, he's fine. He's in this mental institution, though it says in his file that his name is Dennis Klane. His story was just so convincing that we were starting to believe him. When Darcie saw your file, she realized that he had been telling the truth and we rushed right up here."

Emily beamed. So she wasn't the only one who had found people smart enough to see through the holes in the story. But this hadn't just provided her with a way out of the mental institution, it had also confirmed the well-being of another one of her teammates. And every single one of her friends that were safe was a weight off her shoulders.

"Can I see him?" Emily was almost to afraid to ask.

"Sure," The woman, that Emily had learned was Darcie, said. "I'm sure that can be arranged."

"I think he's down in the rec room right now," added the man, who she hadn't learned the name of yet. "We could probably authorize you to go down."

"Screw authorization, let her see her friend." said Darcie, Emily was starting to like the woman.

"Alright," Sighed the older man. "I'll take her down. You go back to the desk."

Darcie nodded. "Thanks, Keith."

So that was his name. He gestured for her to follow him.

"Prentiss is it?" Keith asked

"Yes, and your Keith."

He nodded, "I've been looking through your file and it says you have amnesia. Is that true, or just something they concocted?"

"No, sadly it's the truth. I hope that Reid can help fill in some of the blanks."

Keith looked conflicted for a second then said, "I might as well let him tell you the whole story."

"Don't worry, I've figured out about the bombs."

"Bombs? I guess there'll be time for explanations later, but right now you have someone to be reunited with."

He gestured toward a door. Emily walked toward it as if she was in a trance. She opened the door and there he was sitting on the sofa. Reid.

We do not remember days; we remember moments.

-Cesare Pavese, The Burning Brand

A/N: Sorry for shortness

next chapter no Emily all other characters! yaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyy

Also please try to find to hidden message its sooooo obvious its killing me

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ive noticed theres been a lot less reviewing lately... have you all stopped reading?