There was some kind of drab, near funereal, music coming from the television set that looked as though it had survived from the 1970s. Prentiss' heels were clacking noisily, even as she tried to shift her weight onto the balls of her feet. She should just sit down but all of her frustration seemed to have backed up into some kind of manic energy – sitting down made her feel nearly itchy with helplessness. She needed to do something to keep from thinking about her friends stretched out, still and cold beneath the scalpel. She could take off the boots, but they were lace-up nightmares and she didn't like the look of the floor in here. So she paced. Staying away from Derek at the other end of the waiting room, who looked as though he might thump her, when the clacking got too much.

Derek sat with his elbows on his knees, head resting on his hands, nearly slumped in half at the waist. He couldn't understand how Prentiss had so much energy. He felt like he might be ready to check himself in. All the adrenaline he had earlier, chasing JJ's gurney into the hospital, until he had been nearly tackled by the orderlies, is gone, leaving him feeling brittle and dry. He checked his phone every few minutes to see whether or not Garcia had landed. He didn't know how he was going to manage her when she got here. He didn't know how many more times she could take this sort of thing. How long any of them could.

A vision in purple and scarlet thundered into the lobby of the hospital and it took her hardly a minute to get to where she needed to be. She flashed her credentials for the fourth time that night (she could hardly keep track now, she vaguely recalled using it to disembark before the rest of the passengers and to push to the front of the line for cabs). It got her access to the private room that they'd shunted all the FBI agents into. All her momentum took her to the door, but no further. She saw the drawn faces of her friends and she was suddenly exhausted, overwhelmed by her own worst fears being reflected back at her. She wanted nothing more than to go home to bed and wake up tomorrow with nothing but the slipping grains of sand that were a bad dream. Rossi was the first to notice her, stood across from the door, leant against the wall. She didn't think he'd be the first to go to, but he saw her and opened his arms, and it seemed obvious to stumble into them, choking on the new torrent of tears.

Reid stirred for the first time in 47 minutes to note the new arrival. He felt some kind of twinge deep down. He wasn't entirely certain what it was. Sympathy? No. Not quite empathic enough. Sadness? That's there, but not entirely encompassing of the sentiment. No, he thought, this was more akin to rage. The quiet kind, borne of a sense of injustice, of things, the world, being wholly unfair. Hotch is his hero. He's all the things he'd ever wanted to be (minus the failed marriage): strong; passionate and commanding of respect. And Jayje… He could hardly bring himself to think of her. He'd heard the words "serious trauma" and "GSW to the neck" and knew, deep down, that he wouldn't be seeing the small town girl, former mean girl turned best friend, the only one who called him 'Spence' again. He went back to counting the ceiling tiles. One by one, this time.

Dave steered the colourful mess into the seat besides Morgan, who wrapped his arm around her shoulders and nodded at him in some kind of silent thanks. He looked around at the shattered remnants of his BAU. He leant back against the wall that faced the wall clock. They had been in surgery for just over an hour and a half now. It was nearly 1am now. He was tracing the buttons of his phone in his pocket. He had told the hospital to hold off on calling Jessica and Will respectively. There was no good in upsetting the children now, when there was no news. Let them have one last good night, he thought. He chastised himself, reciting a prayer internally, keep faith: let them have many good nights.

The door swung open at a little before 2am. A pretty nurse in grey scrubs and a clipboard entered, timidly. Her eyes scanned the pale faces, trying to seek out a leader in the group. The oldest stepped forwards and motioned for her to speak. She told them she had no news on her patient, Mr Hotchner, as of yet, and that she just needed some clarification on his emergency contacts. She saw the younger members switch off again, retreating to some faraway place. The older man took the clipboard as she explained that she wasn't certain who to call: the patient's first emergency contact's number was out of service. The man's face darkened.

"That was his wife. Ex-wife."

"Oh, well-"

"She died." The words came out kindly, but his face didn't seem to match it, too weary to muster up his usual charm.

She turned the pages until she found the secondary contact and showed it to him. What little colour was left in his face drained and he let the clipboard drop to the floor with a clatter as he sagged into the nearest seat.

"That's Jennifer Jareau – she's your other patient tonight."

The nurse knew she had fucked up. All she could do was apologise and watch the group huddle closer together, hope that they wouldn't complain to the administrators.

Rossi sat, stunned and a little saddened. Why was it that one of his best friends had a co-worker as his only remaining emergency contact – did he have so little to choose from in terms of other people? JJ and Hotch were close, anyone could see that, but he didn't think they were necessarily friends outside of work – were they somehow close enough that he trusted her to make medical decisions on his behalf, had he missed something?

"She's my emergency contact as well." Reid spoke for the first time in hours. Dave looked up at him, slightly confused.

"Mine too." Prentiss added sadly and Garcia put her hand up, as if to throw in her two cents.

"But why? Dave asked them, genuinely curious now.

"Because," Prentiss hesitated.

"-she takes care of us." Reid looked as though he might cry and the pieces finally slotted in for Rossi. Deliberately or not, JJ had taken up the role of mother figure in their team. She watched out for Reid, kept Morgan in line with a gentle hand – smiling at their antics all the while – she checked up on Prentiss and Garcia, making sure they were alright after the fallout of the numerous traumatic events of the last few years. She was the one who rallied everyone around Aaron and Jack after Hayley died, even drafted up a schedule to make sure that the two were never left alone for more than an hour in the days before her funeral. Hell, she was even the only one who could be relied on to turn up to everyone one of his own book events, dragging Henry along if she had to – always the first to her feet in applause. Rossi's eyes stung as he reflected on the enormity of what JJ contributed to the team – to all their lives.

It was nearly 3 am when the news came.

Again, I hope you're all sticking with me! I enjoyed writing this chapter, being able to jump from character to character. I'm hoping that the dialogue sounded authentic too, but suggestions are always welcome!

I think there are actually five chapters left now, and they're about 80% written. Hopefully it will be finished before the end of the weekend. Please keep feeding the author, though! The more reviews I get, the more inclined I feel to write/edit/upload quickly.