Going On
Rossi looked around the aircraft. Seaver was curled up in one of the seats, asleep while Morgan sat with his ear buds in, eyes closed. What kind of music did he listen to, Rossi wondered? Whatever it was, he didn't seem to be getting any pleasure from it as his mouth seemed glued in a permanent deep scowl. Hotch had buried himself in his paperwork. He'd have to do something about that when they got back to Quantico. Reid just stared straight ahead; shoulders slumped, looking like he wasn't seeing anything at all. Emily's death had hit him hard. He seemed to function effectively in the field, do his job, but at moments like this you could see how lost he looked. Dave sighed deeply as he sipped his blended scotch.
Hotch had been successful in his negotiation with Shelley Chamberlain. He hoped he'd been as successful in his other endeavor. When you left your mike on, others could hear. Had his words reached those who needed to hear them most?
Would Derek realize that he shouldn't blame himself, because he was damn sure that's what the man was doing? Would he remember that sometimes they couldn't save everyone? It just hurt so much more when the one you couldn't save was someone you loved.
Would Reid realize that he would eventually get over this, that those who loved him would never allow him to sink into the kind of grief that had haunted that poor woman? Like Hotch had said, it would take time, they would move on, they would heal, but they'd never forget.
Would Garcia remember how she and Emily had laughed together? Would she realize what Hotch had conveyed, that although Emily had been taken from them and it wasn't fair, that while they'd been lucky enough to have her, she'd been happy.
Hotch had told Shelley Chamberlain that, although they'd move on, they'd never forget the day they failed. When would they all face the truth, that the regrets were all theirs? They'd never been Emily's. She never regretted for a moment what she'd done. She would never have blamed any of them; he almost laughed out loud, or put up with them blaming themselves.
Could they comfort themselves in the fact that Emily had done things on her own terms, always? She'd quit the bureau, Hotch had told him, before allowing herself to be used by Strauss. She hadn't let the police, the bureau, or even the church, stop her looking into the exorcisms that had robbed her of someone she loved. And she'd be damned if she'd let Doyle bring the fight to her, she'd gone to him. It was indeed how she'd lived and how she left.
They would get by, he promised her silently. Perhaps not today or tomorrow, but one day they would smile at an old picture of the team or laugh at some silly thing she used to do, or go to the bar and have a toast in her honor. She'd like that. He sipped his scotch again. She'd like that a lot.