Strength and Healing
Chapter 14
AN: I'm posting chapter 14 early because I feel like it, haha. I really appreciate the positive feedback last chapter. It means a lot to me. I wrote in a previous chapter Amanda telling JJ that the Moore case was in spring, but I need to correct that and say it was in winter. Also, I want to take a minute to say that I have not forgotten about my one-shot series. I have a bunch of prompts, but I haven't felt inspired to write one, but I will when my muse arrives. The purpose of the flashback in this chapter is to delve into JJ's thoughts right after her abduction. Because of that, there are some graphic descriptions.
Disclaimer: I do not own CM characters. They belong to ABC, CBS, etc., but not me. If I did own them, neither actress playing these women would have been fired and Jemily would be an actual canon thing.
I also want to add that I fortunately do not suffer from PTSD. I don't know exactly how it works, but I want to do my best to treat JJ's situation with care. So, please correct any mistakes I make, particularly involving this subject. TRIGGER WARNING for conversations about rape and violence.
–Gabby
"Never be ashamed of a scar. It simply means you were stronger than whatever tried to hurt you."
-Unknown
Step. Wince. Step. Wince. Step. Wince.
Squat. Wince. Sit. Wince.
Stand. Wince.
Step. Wince. Step. Wince. Step. Wince.
And so went the circle of Jennifer Jareau's life. Well, at least for the past several days. And if that wasn't bad enough, what followed was an anguished whisper of the word "baby", filled with pity, filled with concern.
JJ would have none of it. It's not that a reminder of her wife's love wasn't always welcome, but the fear that laced Emily's voice with the utterance of the term of endearment, the fear that despite the efforts of copious amounts of Motrin, Ibuprofen, and Tylenol on rotation paired with desperate words of comfort and reassurance, the blonde woman was still in an unbearable amount of distress-hearing Emily's fears and knowing they were founded…well, that was not welcome.
And let's not even start with the guilt. Each whispered question, declaration of love, phrase of pity, reminded JJ that the distress her wife was in was her fault. JJ did that to Emily. And whatever logical argument that the profiler could muster about how nothing that JJ consciously did caused her wife to lie awake in anguish every night paled in comparison to the fact that JJ knew that if she hadn't been abducted, Emily would be reading peacefully at that very moment. But she wasn't. Nope. Instead, Emily was helping her broken wife use the bathroom. When sitting in any place, JJ needed a controlled, guided landing to keep ribs from rattling and stitches from ripping and angry bruises from worsening.
While Emily attempted to fill up the painful silence with optimistic small talk and the occasional praise of a job well done-Really? JJ could still pee!-the blonde was already too humiliated by what had been done to her to add salt to her wounds by validating the situation with a mere verbal recognition that she had, indeed, used the bathroom a pleasing four times that day.
It wasn't often that JJ kept secrets from Emily. In fact, it wasn't often that JJ kept secrets from anyone. The blonde had come out to her mother at thirteen, she had disclosed to Emily in the only way that she could that she was an abuse survivor on their first date, and had even confided in Hotch about her sister's suicide the day she realized that her boss noticed her acting oddly in response to suicide cases. It wasn't even all that difficult for her really; the blonde naturally an honest person—no shame, no regrets, no secrets. It was a pretty easy motto for someone who believed she had nothing to be ashamed of. Now, knowing there were things about her abduction and response to it that she was keeping from Emily dug the dagger inside her deeper and deeper each time she heard the words "I love you" from that sweet, angelic voice.
To the brunette's credit, her enthusiasm never curbed; each time JJ overcame a hurdle, even one as simple as sitting up without screaming, Emily didn't miss a beat before acknowledging it. It was imperative to her that her wife never forgot that a feat as simple as bringing a spoonful of cereal to her lips, chewing it, and swallowing it without vomiting was worthy of a celebration.
JJ didn't want to be celebrated. In fact, the first two weeks after her abduction was the only time in the blonde's life that she ever truly understood why her sister believed death would be less painful. It was the thought of Emily losing her after she had just saved her that kept JJ going second after second. Hour after hour. Day after day.
Stand. Wince. Step. Wince. Squat. Wince. Sit. Wince. Breathe. Wince.
There was nothing that didn't hurt.
One would think the sensation of shooting up in your bed in response to a nightmare wouldn't be shocking anymore. One would also think that a person's response to a nightmare would become less severe. One would be incorrect.
Case and point: JJ was thrust from a nightmare at two twenty-seven a.m. on November twenty-eighth, days after Thanksgiving, a holiday JJ had decided to not celebrate in the immediate aftermath of Erin's suicide. It had been just hours since JJ had tearfully confessed to Emily information about her most recent rape that she believed to be self-incriminating in some way. Emily, a pro, had been expecting the shame-induced nightmare. It happened sometimes.
Though the strangled scream that escaped JJ's lips each time she was launched out of a nightmare never failed to pull Emily's heart into her stomach, her reaction to the sound each time was calculated, robotic almost. It was a situation she had known how to respond to for almost ten years. Each nightmare required the same key element: patience.
The main difference between nightmares was the immediate proactive plan that needed to initiate. Depending on the information Emily had become aware of in the last few seconds, the brunette had to decide whether to begin comfort with words or with touch. JJ had the potential to react with fear to both equally. Emily had to decide which one was less risky on any given night.
That night, November twenty-eighth, Emily decided physical contact was her best bet. Any touch when JJ was triggered had to begin slowly and be maneuvered gently while being firm enough to bring the blonde back to reality. It was a delicate balance, with possible disastrous consequences. And tonight especially, patience would mean the difference between failure and success.
With a methodic movement, Emily sat up parallel to her wife's form, meanwhile reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder. The blonde shuddered. "Emily. I'm sorry."
It was time for words. "Baby."
JJ flinched slightly. There it was again. That tone. "I know I shouldn't be sorry," invaded the atmosphere of the Prentisses' bedroom. JJ, unlike her wife, did not have patience for her nightmares. "I'm okay." And though it was delivered with a whisper, the declaration was sincere. JJ knew where she was, she was awake, and she wasn't having a panic attack. A promising start.
Emily moved nominally closer to JJ, moving her arm to wrap fully around her wife. "I knew this would happen," the blonde spat, frustrated with herself.
The older profiler moved to sit behind JJ, curling her damp braid up to separate it from her sweaty skin. "We can't always prevent it though," Emily whispered softly. "I understand why you're frustrated. So am I. But remember what I said—no more shame." Of course the woman knew it was easier said than done, but she hoped to verbal encouragement would assist her wife in understanding she was guilty of nothing.
"Stay right here," she gently commanded before padding into the bathroom to retrieve some small towels. The brunette wet each with cold water before ringing them to get rid of the excess moisture. She reentered the bedroom with towels in hand.
JJ knew what was happening. It was the same routine each time. The blonde took a wet towel from her wife and wrapped it around her neck. Emily motioned for her to lie down and the next towel occupied the space of the blonde's forehead. Emily brushed JJ's hair out of the way so her hairline wouldn't get too wet. The younger woman always got hot after a nightmare, but Emily knew it wouldn't take a lot of cold water to cool her off too much. JJ sighed. "Thanks," she whispered.
Emily nodded. "Of course." The brunette laid on her side next to her wife, propping her head up on her hand. "Do you want to talk about it?" she offered, linking her fingers with the fingers of JJ's right hand resting on her abdomen.
"It was about Shaffer." The blonde swallowed. "You know how he injected me with some paralytic type drug before…?" She trailed off. Emily nodded with a light squeeze of JJ's hand. "Well, I was dreaming that it didn't wear off. You came to rescue me and all I had to do was come to you. You weren't even ten meters away, but I couldn't get there. I couldn't get to you. And you couldn't get to me." Her voice broke and she made a desperate attempt to wipe her tears away.
Emily didn't hesitate to gently move her hand away. "Shhh, that's my job," she cooed, brushing away each individual tear, which proved difficult when they came faster. "It was only a dream. I got to you and you're safe now."
"I had absolutely no control over my own body," JJ sobbed, and Emily knew she was no longer referring to her nightmare.
For the next few minutes, JJ didn't speak. The only sounds in the room were JJ attempting to calm herself down interspersed with Emily's reassurance that she could cry for as long as she needed to, that she had total control over their present situation.
Finally, JJ provided verbal validation to the thoughts that had been haunting her. "I can't imagine how confused all those survivors must be." Emily wasn't exactly sure what her wife was referring too—what did she mean she couldn't imagine? "I mean," she continued, somehow understanding Emily needed some explanation, "I have all this training and understanding about how sexual assault works and the reasons behind it and people's reaction to it and recovery and all of that." Suddenly, the blonde became more lucid than before and her words, though fraught with emotion, were clear and to the point. "And I still had a hard time stopping myself from believing that because my body reacted, what Shaffer did to me was technically consensual. I can't even imagine what it would have been like if I didn't have that education….In the past, when survivors who'd had similar experiences would tell me confidentially that they had climaxed during their assault and then ask if they could still send their rapist to prison, I didn't understand it. Of course they could. It was still rape, obviously. It seemed like a no-brainer to me." JJ, whose eyes had been closed lightly during her statement, looked up to make eye contact with Emily who was listening intently. JJ shook her head. "It isn't a no-brainer," the blonde whispered tearfully. "Not by a long shot."
Emily smiled sadly in response, communicating to JJ that she had followed her train of thought as best she could. Emily knew she would never truly understand. It was still her duty as someone who loved JJ to listen. "I know it's not," she replied eventually. "And that's okay. We'll talk. We'll heal. We'll get there." The brunette wiped one last remaining tear from her wife's cheek gingerly. "That's just what we do." There was no question in Emily's voice, no hesitation. Only a level of absolute sincerity and truth.
JJ sniffed, using her free hand to take the almost dry towel off her forehead and then sitting up, removed the one around her neck. "One step forward, two steps back, huh?"
Emily shook her head, retrieving the two towels from her wife's hands and throwing them in the corner to be placed in the laundry later. "That's not true," the brunette disagreed. "I think the last twenty-four hours has encompassed the most progress you've ever made in your healing journey. Erin's ashes, befriending Amanda, deciding to go to Sarah Vaughn's support group, releasing toxic shame, and this conversation—all steps forward. Every step is a step forward, my love," Emily declared, cradling her wife's face lovingly between both her hands. "The only step back is no step at all."
A/N: I love making myself cry at midnight! I'm almost at 100 reviews for this story and it would mean so much to me if I could get them with this chapter. It's very, very important plot wise, so it would be a great milestone for the Prentisses as well as me! Haha—I love you guys and appreciate each one of you and all your support and feedback.
-Gabby