"No, I didn't." Emily's voice hit their ears, shortly after Bennett's. Morgan was already halfway out the car, JJ and Rossi behind him, Hotch and Reid coming from the other end of the block.
"It was that easy to walk away?" Bennett sounded heartbroken.
"No, not walk away, but stay away. It wouldn't have worked, Chris."
"Alpha Teams, check in. Does anyone have visual of the suspect or Agent Prentiss?" Hotch demanded into his the mouthpiece at his collar.
"Alpha One, negative, no visual."
"Alpha Two, negative as well. No visual."
"Negative for Alpha Three. No visual." The voices came back at them, making them worry even more.
"Bravo Team, you're on," Hotch told them, trusting their leader to position them where they needed them most. The team made it to Emily's front door, waiting for the Bravo team to get in position with them in the front and at the back exit.
"That's where you're wrong. You gave us up so I could have a career; I'd have given my career up so I could have us." He sounded sincere, and it only made Morgan want to stuff his glock down the man's throat even more.
He waited, his body hot beneath his vest, his hands tense on his weapon as HRT assembled behind them. He'd done a hundred of these, many with more danger, and heavier firepower, but he hadn't been so nervous since his early days. He could hear JJ breathing beside him, quiet, even breaths with an edge of anxious to them. He was reminded of the tremble in her voice last night, when she sent them the recording of Emily's statement.
Garcia had called him crying after she'd finished transcribing it, made him promise they'd get Bennett. He'd sworn they'd get him. Putting Prentiss back in danger wasn't part of that promise.
"Morgan," Hotch nodded to the door. His team moved, so he could do this thing, though he never planned on doing it with this door, at this house.
He brought his strong leg up, and then slammed it out in a motion too quick to see in its graceful parts. Sliding to the side, he allowed Hotch and Rossi entrance first, before sweeping behind them, JJ, Reid and HRT behind him.
"Fuck, what was that!" His ear picked it up from Emily's mic, as his other ear simultaneous heard his yell.
"Don't move, Chris."
"Shit, Em, what are you doing?" Again his voice was loud enough to hear, hers was quiet.
"Scary on this side of the barrel isn't it?" Her voice sounded…wrong. Almost detached, but not quite. Something wasn't right about it.
They creped up the stairs, nearly silent even in their combat boots, guns aimed toward the ground. HRT was already in the back door, swarming on the ground floor. Morgan's pulse was rocketing in his ears.
"What's wrong with you?"
"How does it feel?" Her voice rung out loud, hitting their ears in an unnerving stereo.
"What?" Bennett was pissed, and maybe a little confused.
"Being on the other side. Being powerless. Being helpless." Emily's voice had gone quiet again, but they were close enough to hear it. He heard it crack with emotion. He heard the anger.
Morgan could see Hotch at the top of the stairs, listening for which room held their agent and their suspect. He motioned to one of the rooms, and signaled for a silent count down, before they all started piling in.
"I don't know what you mean, Em. But, I want to help you, I really do."
Shit, was this jackass really playing hostage negotiator with her?
"You dragged me through half the fucking country, and even with my wrists raw and bleeding, you kept me in handcuffs. You hit me." Her voice was angry, clear and steady, but with an uncontrolled edge to it. "You held me down, Chris. Do you realize that? You held me down, and you pried my legs apart. Even when I begged and pled with you not to. You didn't hear it, you didn't care. Do you know what it's like to live with that, for a whole goddamned week?"
Hotch's finger's moved, three, two, one, and they were rushing up the stairs, and busting into the room.
Emily could feel her body, hot and humming with the adrenaline pouring through her. But, her hand was steady. She'd carried a gun for fifteen years, it would take more than this to destroy all her training and practice. Her body knew what to do, and how to do it, even if her mind wasn't on quite the same wavelength. Her finger was itchy on the trigger, a round already in the chamber, ready to be fired. She just needed an excuse.
She heard the team burst in, sensed them all assembling around Chris, but she didn't really see them. All she saw was Chris, a man she used to trust, use to love a lifetime ago. She saw him above her, blue eyes playful and filled with lust, felt his hands lifting up her dress, and the weight of his body holding her down. But she also felt the cold security of the glock in her hands, and finally, she wasn't powerless.
Just a little bit of pressure, and she'd be certain he'd never touch her again. He'd never be able to chain her to a door, a bed or a chair, never raise a hand to her, never hold her down again. It would be so quick. Just a squeeze of the trigger. She'd never be prosecuted for it, she knew the system well enough to know that. So easy, so quick. There was even a piece of her that wanted to do it, really wanted to watch him beg and bleed to death on the floor.
And, that's what snapped her out of it. She blinked, and suddenly her tunnel vision disappeared, and she could hear JJ beside her, trying to get her attention.
"Emily? Emily, we've got him."
She turned, the blonde had holstered her own weapon, and had her hands up, but wouldn't risk touching her and spooking her.
Prentiss nodded, and let her arms drop. Now her hands were a little shaky, as she passed the glock to JJ. She didn't want it near her, not if she might use it. Not when using it would be murder. Justifiable maybe, but murder all the same.
"Christopher Bennett, put your hands up," Hotch instructed, nodding Rossi to move toward him with handcuffs.
Instead, Bennett made to move toward Emily's right side, one hand reaching toward his waistband. Emily's eyes were wide even before the shots rang out, six high-pitched bangs over-lapping each other. Only one missed its target.
She was too busy staring at Chris's body, and his blood seeping onto her hardwood floor to acknowledge anything else. Her ears were ringing, the sounds around her suddenly hollow as she looked from his body up in front of her.
JJ and Morgan were right there, studying her, trying to make sure she was okay. She got the distinct impression that none of them could hear well. Gunfire in a small space would do that.
Reid and Hotch were lowering their weapons, body's easing out the tense shooting stance they'd taken. One of Reid's shot's had missed, and landed in the wall. The other five shots fired between the two men had hit, three going clean through, one destroying a lamp, two others implanting in the walls. That's when she noticed that blood spatter all over the grey-green of the nearest wall.
And, the warm stickiness she suddenly felt on herself. She looked at her arms, her blue blouse, and saw that she looked worse than the wall. She'd been closer, though apparently not at the correct angle to be shot. She touched her face, and her fingers came away red.
Her stomach rolled violently, and she began to shake, her breath growing faster and shallow. Emily walked backward, movements slightly awkward until she hit the bed, and then she just let her body fall onto it. She wrapped her arms around her abdomen, and hunched over, trying to just breathe. She wanted to just block the world out, dive into her head and never come out.
If they'd let her, she'd probably completely mentally check out. But JJ was right there, hands on her arms, blue eyes looking worriedly into hers.
"Are you okay?" She probably shouted it, but it sounded quiet and fuzzy.
Okay? No, she was pretty sure that's not what she was. She shook her head.
JJ eased her up off the bed, and Emily walked blankly along with her, her normally attentive mind taking in nothing. Even when they got to the bathroom, the change of location was all she really took note of, nothing else really mattered. She was sitting on the closed toilet, and JJ was crouched in front of her holding her hands, and trying to get her attention. Her mouth was moving, but Emily just wasn't home to hear it.
JJ moved suddenly, and then Morgan was in front of her face. She was replaying the last ten minutes, the last week in front of her eyes, but all she could really hear in her mind was a voice repeating, 'Too much. Too much.'
Wet warmth suddenly startled her, and she jerked back. Morgan held up his hands, one armed with a wet wash cloth, and she relaxed. He wiped the blood from her face and neck, and when his fingers went to the buttons on her blouse, she didn't react. Emily moved her arms so he could get it off, and shove it into an evidence bag. He pulled off the straps on her vest, and lifted it over her head.
Maybe it was that she was suddenly cold, or that she realized she was sitting in front of Derek Morgan in just her bra. Or maybe it was the look of pain in his eyes, but she the shock-induced haze dulling her sense suddenly lifted.
"I wanted to kill him," she said.
He nodded. "Me too."
Emily shook her head. "No, I wanted to watch him beg and suffer."
Morgan put a gentle hand to her cheek, and his voice cracked. "Me too."
And, she was suddenly hugging him. It didn't matter that she was half-naked, or that the rest of the team was right outside the door. She just had to let it all go. She kept herself together longer than anyone had right to expect, but even she had her limits. And sitting there, pressed into the warmth of his chest, his thick arms wrapped tightly around her, she didn't feel claustrophobic. She felt truly safe for the first time in over a week.
She pressed her face into the crook of his neck, and held him so tight her fingers would probably leave bruises. She didn't sob loudly; rather she cried a quiet, but furious torrent into his t-shirt. As if with the tears, she was shedding all the emotions she'd stored up since the moment they took the case in Albany. And Morgan just held her, one arm wrapped around her back, the other stroking her head gently.
JJ rested the clean shirt on the bathroom counter, and made brief eye-contact with Morgan. He nodded to the evidence bag on the floor, Emily's bloody blouse tucked into it. Well, that explained why she was in nothing except her bra. She grabbed the bag, and nodded at Morgan, one last pained glance at her crying friend, before heading out the door. This nightmare was finally, finally over. At least the worst of it.
Emily was probably going to need therapy, and JJ knew her well enough to know she'd be extremely resistant to it. No matter how messed up she was from the ordeal. Maybe Morgan could coax her into it, they seemed to have gotten very close-bathroom scene aside.
She walked back into the bedroom, where the medical examiner and her assistant were lifting Bennett into a thick black body bag. The Bureau's forensic team was still taking photos and pulling bullets from the walls. Reid was watching the scene, his face completely blank, like he wasn't feeling much.
"You okay?" she asked, standing beside him.
The young man turned to her. "Yeah, I think so. It's not the first time I shot an unsub."
No, it was far from the first time he'd shot an unsub, but this was more personal than all those times, save one. JJ simply squeezed his hand.
Hotch walked over to them, shutting his phone, as Rossi walked back into the room, and followed him over.
"Ambassador Prentiss is at Quantico, Garcia is trying to entertain her until we get back," the Unit Chief informed them.
"Morgan's in with Emily. She's out of shock, but upset. When she's ready, she'll come out."
He nodded.
"We've got a bit of a problem," Rossi said, looking specifically at JJ. "The press heard about this, and there's an ocean of them outside."
"Great," she sighed. Of course they knew, half of them kept scanners tuned to police frequencies. "You feel like using your charm and fame to distract them?"
Rossi smiled. "I think I can manage that."
She nodded gratefully. She could distract them a little, but introducing them to the famous author, David Rossi, would be much more effective. Especially since this would be the first glimpse the press would get of Emily, a small miracle that was not easy for her to pull off. JJ knew that the press would be all over her for weeks. And when they ran out of new information to print, they'd start digging around to do character-study pieces. She'd bet there were already people looking into Yale's records, and trying to grease a palm in their HR department to get Emily's personnel file.
The bathroom door opened then, and Emily came out, Morgan close behind her, her vest in one hand. She looked like hell. Exhausted, emotionally drained, and traumatized. She was a grayish pale and drawn, her eyes looked a little sunken from lack of sleep and proper food, and the red from the tears and darkness beneath didn't help much. The bruises were still dark, a stark contrast on her face, and the white bandages still covered her wrists. In fact, they should be cleaned and changed when they got back to Quantico.
"I'm just going to pack up some clothes," she said, gesturing to the master bedroom.
"Your mother's at Quantico, Garcia's entertaining her," Hotch said.
Emily's eyebrows rose. "Good luck to her."
Apparently, all she needed was a good cry to pull herself back together. They waited while Emily threw some clothes in a bag, and then all six of them headed downstairs together. They explained the situation to Emily and Morgan, though it was actually the latter who was more visibly upset by it. Emily had slipped on her mental armor; nothing would effect her until she was good and ready for another breakdown.
Hotch and Reid went out first, and were immediately accosted by reporters, who forgot all about them two seconds later when Emily appeared. Morgan kept an arm around her, and guided her through, while Reid and Hotch made a path to one of the SUVs across the street. Cameras were flashing everywhere, microphones were dangerously close to hitting them, and video cameras were held up high, trying to get footage. There was a loud rumble of people shouting questions at her-asking about her hair, the bruising on her face, if she was true that she'd been raped, and what happened at her apartment.
JJ and Rossi went outside then, closing the door to the house. "Excuse me everyone, I'm SSA Jennifer Jareau, this is SSA David Rossi, if you'll give us a minute, we've got a statement for you."
The reporters were visibly torn, but most did sway toward JJ and Rossi. She watched Hotch open the back door of the SUV, and Morgan usher Emily in, before getting in himself. Reid got in on her other side, and Hotch got into the driver's seat, and practically sped off. Then she turned to Rossi, and nodded.
He smiled at the crowd, and began to work them in the way only a celebrity could.
So, this is not as I originally started writing it. My first ending was the team and local PD surrounding Bennett at the ranch in Texas, and the bastard going down in hale of bullets. I was unhappy with that ending, something just didn't feel right about it. Ultimately, I decided that Emily was entitled to her moment of crazy, that I needed to see her taking her power back from Bennett. That's the moment where she begins to heal. So, I wrote this, and this ending feels right.
I'm working on one more chapter to end this, which I'll post Wednesday. I feel like their can be more to this story, concerning Emily's recovery, since that's too much to get into here. It would revolve around her first case back, but be heavily centered on Emily coping, and with more attention on the Morgan/Prentiss arch. So, if you're interested, give a shout.
On that note, thank you for reading and reviewing!