It took them twenty minutes to get him into a wheelchair, Aaron bit his lip the entire time, knew if he showed one sign of weakness that he'd be back into that bed and sedated before he could argue. But then he was being wheeled across the hallway. As they approached the door, the doctor was trying to tell him what to expect, but his concentration was still all over the place, the only words he held onto were 'critical', 'hasn't regained consciousness' and 'you should talk to her'. There he was, being parked next to the bed of a still and quiet blonde girl, a sleeping beauty. But this couldn't be JJ? JJ, who was funny and vibrant, who never stopped moving and was so full of life, could it?

Her fair hair was fanned across the pillow and her features were peaceful. Blessedly, there was no mask or tube to obstruct her beauty. Aaron caught himself, not that he should ever be thinking of her like that – no matter that she was. Her chest was rising and falling in small degrees, silently - as though with too little effort. He thought he might have been reassured if her breath was rattling a little more, if she was showing some outward sign of battle. The only signs, besides her pallor, that there was anything wrong were the gauze wrapped thick around her neck and the IVs that hugged her arms.

Aaron heard the door shut behind the medical staff and he was alone with her. He was suddenly struck by self-doubt, and the room began to swirl. What was he doing out of bed mere hours after being shot, major surgery? Why had they left them alone? But he caught sight of that pale face again and his composure returned. He managed to edge the wheelchair a little closer to her, so he could grasp her hand, touch that golden hair. He laid his hand on top of her head and wondered at how young she really was: fourteen years his junior.

"I'm sorry, JJ." He wasn't even aware that he'd said the words for a moment, blamed it on the drugs. But he knew it was true: he was going to carry the guilt of not properly clearing that room for the rest of his life – he should have known the suspect was there, should have been able to protect her. He stroked her hair, absently, as he wondered what to do, what to say now. He resorted to what he had been doing before and talked of their sons, about how he was going to make sure the four of them spent more time together. He tried to express, whilst remaining his usual stoic self, how much she meant to him, and failed.

The image that kept coming back to him, haunting him, flickered in his mind's eye once more, and he knew what to tell her. He leant forwards against the bed, resting his head as he felt weariness start to take him.

"I remember a few days after Hayley died, you were staying at the apartment. You were incredible. You came up with some sort of roster to make sure that Jack and I were never left alone. You had Dave coming over with lasagnes, Garcia with cake and everyone just there to keep me company, or to play with Jacky..."

The lights were bright. She wanted to open her eyes, but she let herself adjust. She could hear a steady, slow beeping, was that her own heart? Then the sound of someone speaking washed over her, whoever it was held her hand in theirs and the words were soothing. She managed to open one eye for a moment, before tears came forth. It was enough to see the shock of black hair against white sheets and she knew who it belonged to immediately.

What am I doing here? She wondered. She couldn't remember. She wasn't sure that she could move and the thought terrified her. She wanted to try, to test the theory but she was too afraid to, too afraid that she wouldn't be able. She felt a tear slip away, down her face. The light didn't seem to be getting any less bright, but she supposed it didn't hurt so much now. JJ could make out what he was saying now. She listened as she tried to adjust to wakefulness, strangely unwilling to let him know she was listening: this conversation sounded strangely private, though he was obviously speaking to her.

"...But there was one night, I think the day of the funeral? I managed to find the scotch, once Jack was asleep and in between your shifts. I was a mess. You managed to sober me up when you got there, got me into bed and stayed there all night, holding my hand and listening to the ramblings of a mad man," Aaron traced her fingers with his thumb, "I remember worrying about waking up and finding you in my bed in the morning. I was afraid I would think you were her. Or worst, that I wouldn't, and it would seem disloyal somehow. I was even more afraid of waking up without you, though. The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was the sun coming through your hair. You woke up and smiled at me and I thought you looked like the closest thing to an angel I'd ever seen." His admission shocked him, and he felt vaguely embarrassed by the sentimental language. There were no more words now and he felt himself drifting off.

JJ felt Hotch's grip tighten on hers, as if mirroring the lump in her throat, before she felt his weight shift beside her and his breathing even out. Time seemed to be moving too fast. Her neck was throbbing now. It was as though some pain medicine or adrenaline were wearing off and all the feeling was coming back to her, bit by bit. She wasn't sure that was a good thing. She tried to distract herself by casting her memory back. She remembered that they were in Tennessee. That was a start. The case had to do with missing children. It was a bad one. An image came back to her, of her and Hotch standing in front of the board at the police station. Two kids were still missing. Hotch's face was grim and she was pretty sure hers was too. It was definitely a bad one.

They had gone to the UNSUB's house. That much she knew, or guessed at least. But the fog was holding fast over that last period, completely impenetrable. JJ made a noise of frustration and felt the man sitting beside her stir. Maybe it was time for answers.

Her free hand automatically moved to brush down the tufts of hair she knew would be sticking up. She let out a sigh of relief at the action: she could move her arms at least. Not paralysed, then. She cracked her eyes open again. Who the hell decided to make hospital lights this bright? She squeezed Hotch's hand and he lifted his head at her, all bleary eyed. He looked confused for a moment, before his eyes cleared and he tried to rise in his seat before falling back down. She tried to smile him with dry lips: "Hey there."

AN: Before everyone gets their hopes up, I urge you to reread the story summary! SW1984: please don't get sacked! Thank you to all my lovely reviewers - I hope you still like me when I'm done with this story!