Some stories and chapters just seem to write themselves. This was not one of those chapters. I struggled to find a way to incorporate what Emily wrote in her letter to Diana in with this chapter. When I had first decided to have Emily write the letter, I hadn't planned on telling what it said. However, after SpemilyFan asked if the readers would learn what it said, I felt somewhat compelled to include it-even if it were only in snippets. I hope it all came out okay.
Distractions are never good no matter how small, and right now, Emily is definitely distracted. They had returned from a short lunch to find Strauss waiting near Hotch's office, a manicured nail agitatedly tapping on the front of a folder bearing the FBI's insignia. Less than an hour later, Emily's crammed in the back of an SUV, sitting between JJ and Reid on the way to the airstrip.
Despite the fact that they're on their way to Philadelphia to investigate a series of deadly hate crimes, Emily's mind keeps straying to the nearly finished letter stored away in the bag resting at her feet. Other than a brief moment of hesitation where she thought about the best way to begin the letter, she had steadily written, easily finding the words needed to express her feelings.
Now, however, as she climbs out of the SUV, she's beginning to doubt those easily found words. What will Diana think, how will she react to Emily's open statement of love for her son?
All thoughts concerning Diana Reid's reaction are pushed to an available corner of Emily's mind as Hotch begins speaking, stoically relaying the facts hurriedly given to him less than an hour before. Seven victims, four of them dead, multiple unsubs. She takes it all in, trying her best to slip into the role of profiler, but no matter how hard she tries to focus, her mind still strays to the letter, random sentences making themselves known in the forefront of her mind.
…known one another for several years, and have had the privilege to have grown from colleagues, to friends, to something more…
She looks up, suddenly aware that Hotch has stopped talking, letting Morgan take the floor as he summarizes the autopsy reports aloud. She has to look down at her own copy of the file in order to catch up. Internal damage due to blunt force trauma, consistent with previous victims' reports of being shot with a potato gun.
…an amazing individual, with a good heart. I feel as though I've learned more from him…
"Emily?" Rossi's deep voice causes her to jerk her head up, pulling her eyes away from the report she hadn't really been reading. Idly tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, she tries not to panic when she sees that all eyes are resting on her, quietly waiting for an answer to an unheard question.
"Uh…" She's saved from having to admit that she hadn't been paying attention when the laptop resting on the small table pings, displaying a small screen with a frazzled looking Penelope Garcia trying her best to balance several open folders atop two separate file boxes.
"Listen up, I'm just gonna give ya the cliff-notes version, 'kay? 'Cause trust me, friends, there is all kinds of random info all up in here." She casually waves a hand above the folders now spread out amongst the desk in front of her. "First things first, you're looking at potentially a lot more victims, like, as in double digits kinda more. One of these boxes alone is full of reports waiting to be matched with an unsub. Secondly, the latest victim made it through surgery, doc says she should be awake by the time you land."
Looking towards Reid, Emily notices the slight frown decorating his brow, usually a clear indicator that he's trying to take in as much information as possible. Is it still considered profiling if you just know someone so well that you can read them without trying?
…consider myself extremely fortunate to have the opportunity to raise a family with him…
"JJ, I want you and Emily to go to the hospital. See if you can talk with Mrs. Flannery." The sound of her name once again pulls her attention back to the conversation currently happening in front of her. She nods, sharing a smile with JJ before diving into the file in order to catch up with the rest of the team.
Emily tosses her empty water bottle into the wastebasket near the nurses' station as they wait for Mrs. Flannery's surgeon to update them on her condition. Both women stand in silence, feeling the intensity of the nurses working around them, each owning a tense expression as they move from one curtained bed to another, steadily documenting vitals and administering pain medication.
Emily looks up when JJ elbows her arm, gesturing to the man approaching the nurses' desk. He's still in his surgical scrubs, a mask pulled down, half-tied around his neck rests against his chest while a surgical cap barely covers his graying blonde. As he reaches the desk, he hands one of the nurses a metal clipboard, rubbing both hands across his face before accepting a new clipboard offered to him by a separate nurse.
He takes a cursory look around the post-op area, stopping when he registers Emily and JJ standing side by side, each waiting for his attention. "Dr. Reagan?" Emily asks, smiling sympathetically at the man's exhausted stance.
"Yes," he sets the new chart on the counter, "I'm sorry, but family isn't supposed to be in this area."
"No doctor, I'm Special Agent Emily Prentiss, this is Special Agent Jennifer Jareau. We were told we could speak to you about Mrs. Wanda Flannery." Dr. Reagan looks down as they hold up their badges before he tilts his head trying to think.
"Flannery? The assault victim, yes?" At the twin nods from Emily and JJ, Dr. Reagan walks behind the counter and begins sifting through an alarming number of charts until he comes across the one labeled Flannery, W. E.
"Multiple internal injuries, two bruised kidneys, ruptured spleen—we managed to clean up the damage, but because of her age, we're going to want to watch her very closely." He reads off the chart, remembering the surgery and relaying the information with practiced detachment.
"How old is she, exactly?" JJ asks. Other than a name, they had been given no information on the latest victim, mostly due to the attack having taken place less than five hours before. Emily suddenly realizes that they're most likely the first to speak to Mrs. Flannery about what happened since the attack.
"Seventy-two years old," Dr. Reagan reads, shaking his head in disbelief. "I'll never understand where people find fun in beating up an old lady?" He sets Mrs. Flannery's chart back in its place and gestures for Emily and JJ to follow him to one of the curtained beds closest to the nurses' station.
Pushing the rest of the half-opened curtain aside, Emily follows JJ and Dr. Reagan to stand next to the bed and a nurse adjusting a blood pressure cuff on Mrs. Flannery's bony arm, careful of IVs and bruises. "Mrs. Flannery, I'm Dr. Reagan. Do you remember talking to me earlier?"
The old woman lips her dry lips as she lifts her eyes from the nurse's administrations towards Dr. Reagan. "Yes, I remember. I'm not senile, and you'll do well to remember that."
Emily smiles, reminded of Lynette's sharp humor and blunt way of communicating, but instead of a short African-American woman, Emily's faced with a tall, white woman whose face is decorated and swollen with bruises and cuts. Wanda Flannery is probably close to six feet tall, her toes scraping the foot rail of the bed as she lies down. Her white hair is long, and Emily can tell it falls past her shoulders even as it's fanned out on the hospital pillow. When she speaks again, Emily recognizes the slight trace of an Irish accent.
"You keep telling me you want me to rest, but every time I close my eyes, someone else is in here, asking me how I'm doing." The slight lilt Mrs. Flannery had spoken with did nothing to mask the annoyance she was feeling towards the hospital's staff.
Dr. Reagan lifts his eyes towards JJ and Emily, raising an eyebrow, silently wishing them good luck. "Mrs. Flannery, I understand you're tired, but these agents are with the FBI. They're here to get information about the men who did this to you."
Wanda Flannery turns her attention to the right side of the bed, taking in for the first time the two women standing there. Emily is immediately taken with Mrs. Flannery's eyes, which are a unique shade of green, bordering on yellow. The anger emanating from those yellow-green eyes tells both Emily and JJ that this woman is a force to be reckoned with, seventy-two years old or not.
"FBI, yeah? Well, get on with it. I know you've got questions." Mrs. Flannery adjusts herself in the bed as best she can. Despite her harsh words, she's still in a considerable amount of pain. Dr. Reagan and the nurse leave, pulling the curtain closed on their way out.
JJ steps forward, small notebook in one hand, pen ready for writing in the other. "Mrs. Flannery, can you—"
"Wanda. Name's Wanda. Don't go calling me Mrs. Flannery on accounts of it being rude not to. It's nothing more than a mouth full and a waste of time." Wanda smiles when she sees the slightly surprised and impressed look shared between JJ and Emily.
"Wanda," JJ continues while matching Wanda's smile, "what can you tell us about the people who did this to you?"
Wanda runs an aged finger across the tape covering her hand holding the IV port in place, and exhales deeply before speaking. "I can tell you some of them weren't but kids, younger than the two of you, that's for certain. Came out of nowhere, they did. I'm going to my car, and next thing I know some boy is shooting me with a pipe while others kick at me."
Emily feels her smile fade as she takes in the story and the tears threatening Wanda's eyes. She listens as Wanda continues to tell them about the group laughing, calling her names as they beat her with plastic PVC pipes and shoot her with heavy beanbags from a homemade cannon.
JJ tucks her notebook in her pocket before moving to recap her pen. The small movement catches Wanda's attention, causing the old woman to smile a sad smile when she captures sight of the ring adorning JJ's hand.
"Are you married, child?"
JJ looks up, surprised by the question. She looks down towards her hand, smiling shyly as she examines the ring. "Yes, newlyweds actually."
Leaning back against the pillow, Wanda closes her eyes, nodding slowly, and Emily isn't sure if it's because the meds are starting to kick in again or if the woman is starting to recall distant memories.
"My husband died a long time ago. Cancer did him in, it did." She opens her eyes, turning her head on the pillow so she's facing JJ and Emily, her accent growing thick with sleep. "He was so handsome, took after his father. His mother though, that was one witch of a woman. Never did like me, nor I her."
…I know you are very important to him, and I would be honored if you were to welcome me into your family as he has. I feel it's very important to Spencer and myself that you have an active role in our growing family…
As Wanda starts to close her eyes, letting the pain medication pull her into sleep, Emily and JJ slip through the gap in the curtain.
Reid smiles when Emily walks in and sits next to him, pulling his attention from the reports he had been reading. "How'd it go?"
Emily laughs as JJ sits opposite them saying, "When I'm seventy-two years old, I want to be like her. She's an amazing woman."
"She reminds me of an Irish Lynette," Emily tells Reid when he gives JJ a confused look. Blowing the steam from the top of her fresh coffee, JJ arches an eyebrow in confusion. "Who's Lynette?"
"My neighbor," Reid answers, reaching for JJ's abandoned notebook she had tossed on the table when first walking in.
Emily nods, trying not to stare as Reid opens the notebook. "She's amazing, JJ. Think of Wanda about two feet shorter and black." Emily knows Reid is reading over JJ's notes, she watches as the line between his eyebrows deepens and his eyes fill with sadness. "She was more pissed than anything," she tells him when he pushes the notebook back towards JJ, hoping to keep him from falling into a heavy sadness to match the look in his eyes. "She said we had better catch the bastards."
JJ taps her thumb on the notebook's cover as she remembers the anger Wanda had exhibited when describing the attack. "She might have called them a few other names, but I don't really speak Irish, or whatever it was she was saying."
"Probably Gaelic," Reid informs her, looking towards Emily to see her nodding in agreement.
"It was, and while mine's a bit rusty, I still managed to catch a few colorful phrases," she looks up and smiles. "Like JJ said, an amazing woman. She's tough, she'll get through this."
"When she's through tearing the surgical staff a new one," JJ laughs, as she sips the rest of her coffee, grimacing at the bitterness.
As the rest of the team crowds into the room, all talk of Wanda's fierceness is halted as JJ and Emily relay the details of the older woman's attack. The information is combined with that from the earlier attacks, helping to form a better idea of what's happening, a better profile.
As Emily begins to pack up to head back to the hotel, she sees the folder holding the letter resting against the lining of her bag. She pulls out the folder, rereading the two pages of slanted script before reaching for a pen.
Chancing a quick glance at Reid, smiling as he grabs an extra snack out of the complimentary bowl of treats sitting next to the window by the coffee pot, she quickly ends the letter.
With love,
Emily
AN: I want to thank everyone for their well wishes concerning my surgery. All went well, and I can almost see again without blurriness and halos.
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