Little Lies We Tell
"Sometimes it's best to hide in plain sight."
~David Estes.
*Author's Note: I'm still catching up on replies to pms and reviews-thanks to everyone for continued patience and for all the awesome reviews/follows/adds/etc so far! We've only got a few more chapters to go on this ride, so hang on tight!
Harry's Diner. Dumfries, Virginia.
"Wait, so what does that mean, exactly?" Jack Dawson held out his hand in questioning—an action that seemed less austere due to the french fry dangling from his fingertips (Judith had already berated him from his breakfast choice—fries, really, Jack, what are you, a college student?).
Jessalyn Keller pushed her glasses up her nose again, leaning forward as she inspected her notepad, "According to both of the mail clerks' statements—"
"No, no, I gotcha on that part," Jack waved away the explanation. "Skip to the part where it rules out David Rossi."
Jess blinked, as if surprised that the answer wasn't completely obvious. "Well, it's simple, really—if you were going to blow up the building, wouldn't you at least try not to be in the area of the bomb when it went off?"
"Well, yeah—but we've already established that there was no way for our UNSUB to know," Jack reminded her.
"But he would have a basic time-frame," Jess pushed back. She tapped her notepad with her index finger, as if emphasizing her point. "Mail was delivered in the afternoon, every day—yesterday was the only exception. So if you knew the bomb would explode when handled, and you knew that it wouldn't be handled til mid-afternoon—"
"Then you would have some idea of when to not be around," Sura Roza finished, giving a curt nod of understanding. She was currently tucked into the corner of the booth, on Jack's left side—Jess was directly across the table from her, and the blonde spared a quick smile of gratitude for seeing her point.
"So…what?" Jonas Shostakovich looked up from his eggs benedict for the first time. He'd commandeered a chair, which he'd set at the end of the booth (oh, honey, you can stay in my way as much as you want, the waitress had flirtily informed him, and they'd all had a good laugh about that when she'd left). "You're saying that the fact that Rossi wasn't there when the bomb went off is no longer in play here?"
"Pretty much, yeah." Keller nodded.
"OK," Jonas shrugged easily, surprising most of the people at the table. He looked up, noting their expressions, "What? That was a major point against him—if it doesn't fit, it doesn't fit. Now he's basically got equal ranking with Agent Hotchner on the suspect list. I'm not saying he's not guilty, I'm just saying he looks a little less guilty."
Judith Eden sat back in the booth, folding her arms over her chest to give him a long look down the length of her nose before she quietly intoned, "Someone woke up on the forgiving side of the bed this morning."
"And what side did you wake up on, Jude?" His question was quick, pointed—and whatever it implied, it certainly hit the mark, because the Englishwoman blinked as if she'd been slapped in the face.
Under the table, Sura Roza nudged Jack's side (I told you I told you I told you something's up between them).
They were too busy watching Jude and Jonas to notice Jess, who gently reached under the table to lightly press the back of her left hand against Jude's outer right thigh (let it go, Jude, let it go).
From his vantage point, Jonas didn't actually see Jessalyn touching Judith, but he saw the shift in her shoulder as her hand moved, saw how she kept her attention on her berry-topped steel-cut oats as if they were the most fascinating thing in the world.
Damn, they were good.
"Look, I'd prefer not to start this day off on the wrong note," Jack Dawson broke the tension with a weary tone. "So if you two are going to spend the day bickering, for the love of god, just go out into the parking lot and have a brawl—get it out of your systems now so that the rest of us don't have to spend the day playing emotional dodgeball between you."
Jonas looked chagrined and Judith simply laughed.
"We'll be fine, Jackie boy," she assured him, giving a deep, genuine smile as she reached over to pat Jonas' upper arm. "Now that Vichie's come back from the dark side, we'll get on like lambs."
"What's your take on this?" Jack zeroed in on Judith again, in a different manner. "You're the most pro-Rossi at this table, yet you haven't said a word about this new development."
She appeared slightly flummoxed at the query, though he knew it was mostly for show, "Considering that I've always maintained the man's innocence, I see no reason to be particularly shocked by this revelation, or even particularly gleeful—the truth will out, as they say, so I've never doubted that he'd be proven innocent. Besides, Mummy always said it was bad form to gloat."
The last line was dripping in a heightened English accent, which everyone knew was for comedic effect—Judith gave a light toss of her hair to emphasize her satisfied superiority. Jonas merely rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he returned to his breakfast.
"We need to figure out who this Maeve is," Jonas announced, to no one in particular. "Then we might have three suspects on equal footing."
Dawson turned back to Keller, "So your line of reasoning lets one suspect off the hook—any way we can turn it around to find a suspect?"
Now she looked apologetic, "Maybe? Maybe not."
Sura gave two quick taps on the tabletop, as if calling attention to herself, "We could look at people who called in sick for the day—that's an easy excuse to not be in the building—"
Dawson nodded in agreement. "But wouldn't that look too guilty?"
"So…someone who was there in the morning, to cover his ass, but who planned to be away during the actual blast?" Jonas looked up again, face skewed in confusion. "How do you tell what someone was planning to do, though? I mean, if we go back, interview people and ask 'where did you plan to be at 2pm yesterday afternoon?', I'm pretty sure most won't be able to accurately answer, and our UNSUB will be smart enough not to say 'Oh, well, I was gonna take a late lunch to avoid being blown up by the bomb I planted in the mail.'"
Judith hummed in agreement—her mouth was full, so she simply pointed her fork at him, silently decreeing, I'm with this guy.
"So, we're back at square one." Dawson announced, sinking back in the pleather booth. He glanced up at the ceiling, taking a deep breath. Quietly, he admitted, "We really need something to turn this whole case around."
"We'll find it," Sura assured him, popping another forkful of french toast into her mouth. Taking a moment to chew, she added, "C'mon, you haven't even finished your first cup of coffee for the day. Give it time, Jack."
"Time is a luxury we can't afford," he informed her, though he did return to his coffee with renewed interest.
"Look, we'll figure out who this Maeve is, and I'll go back over the list of people who called in sick—"
"Wait," Keller bolted upright. She looked over at Sura, eyes shining with a sudden epiphany. "Look and see who doesn't show up today."
"What?" Judith shifted slightly, turning her full attention to the younger woman seated next to her. "So…our guy shows up yesterday, gets questioned, realizes that the net's getting closer—"
"And skips town the second he's allowed to leave Quantico," Jonas finished, his voice heavy with knowing.
"God, we sent dozens of people home," Sura's eyes were the size of saucers. "I mean, I don't know if anyone was actually detained—there were a few last interviews still going on by the time we left last night, but I just seriously doubt that O'Donnell kept anyone overnight."
"It may actually be a point in our favor," Jack mused. "I mean, if we find a runner, we've all but got our guy."
"Fingers crossed he didn't already have a ticket to Timbuktu stashed away," Jude intoned somberly.
Jack Dawson was moving to exit the booth—Sura Roza reached out to gently stop him.
"Jack, let's finish our breakfast. If our guy's flown the coop, five extra minutes isn't going to change anything now."
"I suppose you're right," he conceded, slipping back to his plate again.
Jude was grinning at her team leader now. "Look at him—excited as a kid on Christmas morning."
"Well, ya gotta admit—if the theory's right, it could be one helluva present," Jonas drawled, glancing up from his breakfast with a slight smile of amusement.
Jude hummed in agreement. "Amen to that."
Derek & Savannah's House. Washington, D.C.
All in all, the light touch of someone gently kissing their way up your spine was not a bad way to wake up. Derek Morgan gave a hum of appreciation at his girlfriend's efforts, smiling sleepily as he simply allowed her to continue.
"Hey, stranger," she teased, once she was sure that he was fully awake (she'd only started touching him because he'd been shifting around, signaling that he was slowly returning to the waking world).
"Hey, yourself," he returned warmly, still not turning over.
"How ya feeling?" She kept her tone playful, but she held her breath as she waited for his reply.
"Right now? Pretty damn good." He reached out blindly for her, giving her hip an affectionately grateful rub.
"That's what I like to hear," she grinned again. She sat up fully, pulling the warmth of her own body away (at which he gave a slight groan of protest). "C'mon. My shift starts in an hour—let's do breakfast together, like normal people."
He gave another groan, but he was pushing himself up, following her lead by slipping on a t-shirt. She offered one last kiss before padding barefoot down the hallway. She was already in her scrub bottoms and a tank—a sure sign that a good-morning rumble in the sack wasn't happening. Not that Derek felt up to much at this point anyways—he was pretty sure he'd only slept about four hours last night, and his body needed way more than that to recover the stress and strain of the previous' days antics.
By the time he'd made it into the kitchen, Savannah had already brewed the coffee and had his mug ready. The granola and yogurt were already out, with some blueberries that she must have picked up the night before.
However, Savannah's earlier playfulness had vanished—she was frowning slightly as she handed his cellphone to him. "I'm sorry, I just grabbed it, thinking it was mine—I think something must've happened, because you've got a ton of texts."
A ton was actually six—one from each of his sisters (Please tell me you're alright from Sarah, and You dead, bro? from Desi), one from a contractor on his latest renovation project which he completely ignored, one from Will LaMontagne, and two from Penelope.
He skipped Will's, checking Penelope's instead.
It's been a rough night. Meet up for coffee at Brew-Ha-Ha?
There was so much more that she wasn't saying. Babygirl loved her daily java fix, but if she was asking for a pre-work meet-up, it meant that she had some serious baggage to unload.
However, her next text sent a chill down his spine. It was sent several hours later.
Did Will text you?
Oh god.
He went to the text from Will.
JJ in surgery again—Doc says bleeding on the brain. She should be done around 8am. I'll be at hospital then. Will keep everyone posted.
He must have made some kind of noise at the news, because Savannah perked up again, her face filing with concern. "Babe? What's wrong?"
"JJ," he felt a wave of slight panic rolling through his chest. "She—Will says that she had some kind of bleeding on the brain?"
He looked up, silently asking for some kind of medical confirmation.
She felt helpless, but she gave a shrug, "Yeah, I mean—if JJ's injuries are as traumatic as they seem, it's totally possible that her head injury caused something like that."
"They had to take her back into surgery, apparently sometime last night."
"Probably to relieve the pressure from the build-up of fluids. And to stop the bleeding, if they can." She hated herself for adding those last three words, but she'd learned long ago not to instill false hope. It was best to add as many modifiers as possible—people were often so desperate for a good outcome that they misconstrued things, clung to words and gave them deeper meaning than they really had.
"This surgeon friend of yours—she's the best, right?" The worry in her lover's face was so disconcerting that she felt a sudden urge to walk over and hold him (though she tamped it down, because she felt he wouldn't like feeling weak and helpless in a moment like this).
"Of course." Her voice was quiet, gentle, reassuring. "Candy Mellinger is one of the best surgeons in the country, let alone D.C. Every other doctor in this city would have recommended her as the specialist to send JJ to, I promise. She's in good hands."
He gave a slow, small nod, wanting so desperately to find some kind of comfort in her words, yet feeling nothing but emptiness.
After a beat, he cleared his throat, spoke again, "I'm…I have to go, hon. I wanna stop in, see Will and hopefully JJ, too, if they let me."
"Of course." She fought back the urge to tell him that he probably wouldn't see his teammate, and that there wasn't anything he could do to ease Will's suffering—that was her lover, a man who did the noble thing, no matter how pointless it seemed. Briefly, she realized that her job had made her much more jaded than he could ever hope to be, a thought both amusing and strange, given how much darker his field of work tended to be.
He was dressed and out the door in record time.
The normal people breakfast was long forgotten. Savannah shook her head with a wry smile, That's what you get for thinking that you could be like a normal couple, even for one morning.
Ninth Floor, FBI Main Building. Quantico, Virginia.
Rowena Lewis gave a heavy sigh as she sank down into a crouch—the day had just begun, and she was already dreading every second of it. She was in good physical shape, but her knees didn't exactly sing at the thought of spending another twelve to sixteen hours crawling around in debris with a pair of tweezers.
"The BAU still hasn't arrived," Macaraeg announced to no one in particular as she entered the containment zone, pulling the ties of her forensic hood tight so that her own hair wouldn't contaminate the scene. She slipped on her magnifying glasses and donned her gloves before joining Rowena in what used to be a small office.
Rowena merely hummed in slight interest at the news.
"Since when did you start keeping tabs on the BAU?" Masterson asked, merely curious. He had the camera out, snapping photos of the room before they began processing it.
"It's not keeping tabs, per se," Mac shrugged, her tone neutral and unaffected. "Just…an observation."
"Uh-huh," Masterson didn't sound entirely convinced.
Mac glanced up at him, as if gauging his reaction. He noticed, taking a moment to return her scrutiny.
"So…ya gonna take the day off tomorrow?" He changed the subject easily.
"That's not really even a question, is it?" Mac returned easily.
"I guess not."
She smiled, trying to soften the edge, "I'm still trying to work out the details. But I will definitely be in Madison for Emma's graduation. I trust you two can hold down the fort while I'm out."
"Absolutely," Jeff assured her. "Hell, we'll even cover for you with Impastoli, if we need to."
She grinned wryly at that, arching her brow, "Casey knows I'm doing it. Besides, I think we've had enough skirting around authority and protocol for one case."
That was jokingly directed at Rowena's slip-up the day before. Agent Lewis merely smiled in response.
"Y'Okay?" Mac asked, her voice dipping lower into a tone of concern.
"I'm not a morning person," Rowena confessed.
"Ah, I see. So it's not because you're upset over anything?"
"Nope."
"But if you were, you'd say something, wouldn't you?"
"Of course."
"Good," Mac gave a curt nod, returning her attention to the task at hand. She was gingerly moving chunks of plaster and ceiling tile and setting them in a trash bin. "Because I want you both to feel like you can trust me—and you can talk to me, point-blank, about anything. If I say or do something that bothers you, speak up. I think by now you can both see I'm no delicate flower—I can handle criticism, and I'm much rather prefer it than to have crossed wires and hurt feelings."
"Understood," Jeff informed her, and Rowena nodded in agreement. Silence fell over the three agents, but at least it wasn't awkward or strained.
"It does seem odd that the BAU isn't already here," Jeff commented, picking up the earlier thread of conversation. "They're usually some of the first ones back on the scene."
Again, Rowena Lewis hummed in agreement. She didn't have to ask what Jeff was thinking—she'd heard the concern in his voice, and she knew, because she felt it, too.
It would have to be something very big to keep the BAU from already being here. It didn't seem like a good sign. She hoped she was wrong.
Fairfax Medical Center. Washington, D.C.
In a scene that he'd re-enacted way too many times, Derek Morgan found himself pushing his legs double-time down the hall, all but sprinting into the waiting room, where he could already see the rest of his team assembled.
Hotch turned to see him as he walked in—Will and Penelope were quietly conferring with the unit chief, and all three looked rather worse for wear. Rossi and Reid were seated in the corner, both looking as if they might actually still be asleep (though in reality, Morgan knew their vacant stares were merely their way of trying to process everything).
"Where's Henry?" Morgan glanced around, concerned.
"He's back at home with JJ's mama," Will answered, scrubbing the side of his unshaven face with a tired hand. "I thought—it's probably best if I go in first, alone—you know, to see how she's doing…"
He didn't finish the thought, merely looking down at the ground with a heavy sigh. Penelope's arm was around him in a flash, giving him a comforting squeeze.
"Is there anything we can do, anything at all?" Hotch's voice was gentle, lined with heartbroken compassion.
"Not that I know of," Will looked up again, giving a slight shake of his head. Matt Cruz had already been here, though he'd already left for Quantico—and like Hotch, he'd asked the same thing. It was comforting and overwhelming, knowing so many people were ready to help at a moment's notice. "Just—having you all here, it means a lot. I know JJ thinks of y'all as family, and knowing the feeling's mutual…well, it's good to know."
Penelope made a small noise of understanding. She was rubbing his back in small circles, trying to infuse any kind of reassurance that she could.
"When will she be allowed to see people?" Morgan asked, setting his hands on his hips.
Another shrug from Will, "Doc says it depends on how quickly she wakes up from the anesthesia, and how she seems when she is awake. They took her back into recovery a little over an hour ago—so far, she seems to be doing OK, the nurses say."
Suddenly Will turned to Morgan with the air of a man who's just remembered something, "By the way, I owe a debt of gratitude to your girlfriend, Savannah—apparently, she's good friends with Dr. Mellinger, and she made them all promise to go 'above and beyond', they told me. I can't tell you how much that's helped."
Morgan was slightly taken aback by the news—it sounded just like something Savannah would do and she'd even offered to talk to Dr. Mellinger yesterday, but he hadn't expected it to be this big of a professional pull and to top it off, she hadn't even mentioned it this morning. Though, honestly, she really hadn't had the time to mention it. He'd been out the door as soon as he'd gotten the text about JJ.
He needed to call her. For many reasons.
Will glanced back at Hotch again, "I know you've still got a job to do, but I do appreciate y'all coming down here—even if JJ can't see you just yet, I know that hearing you were here will still mean a lot to her."
Hotch nodded in agreement, reaching out to offer one last pat on the arm as he looked at Penelope, "You'll be staying, won't you?"
"Of course, sir." Penelope looked surprised that he even had to ask.
Hotch quietly guided Morgan away from the others, gently intoning, "Don't get upset, but—"
"But what?" Morgan felt his blood pressure immediately skyrocket.
"Apparently JJ suffered her seizure while she was being questioned by the Flying J's."
"What?" Morgan's entire body stiffened, and he turned slightly, as if he were looking for the people responsible for putting his team mate in further danger.
"Don't overreact," Hotch kept his tone low, but there was enough weight to give a sense of warning to his words.
"Hotch, these people think we're guilty as hell, and now they're putting our own in danger—"
"You and I both know that JJ's condition wasn't caused by them. They might have exacerbated it, but the doctors have said that she would've suffered seizures eventually—"
"So, what? You want me to be all smiles and hearts when we see them in the briefing room?"
"I want you to do your job, without personal bias." The words had bite, and Morgan didn't miss the stern reprimand in his boss' tone.
Morgan glanced down at the ground, letting out a heavy breath.
"I didn't want you to be blindsided, in case this came up in conversation later today," Hotch informed him.
Morgan nodded. "Thank you."
"Of course," came the simple reply. If anyone knew firsthand just how deeply Derek Morgan's trust issues ran, it was Aaron Hotchner—and even now, when the world was collapsing around them, he took the time to make sure that Morgan never felt lied to or otherwise left out of the loop.
Morgan glanced back to the waiting room, to his little rag-tag family, all tired and drawn and burdened with their mutually shared life.
There was a beat of silence as Hotch stood beside him, surveying the room as well. He quietly announced, "I've told Prentiss. About the latest development with JJ."
Morgan arched his brow in surprise (so Hotch has been chatting with Prentiss, huh?), "How'd she take that?"
Hotch made a small noise, something between amusement and sympathy. "I wouldn't be surprised if she's already on a flight to D.C."
Morgan smiled in agreement—he could see Emily's eyes as wide as saucers with worry even now. When she'd first shown up at the BAU, he'd gotten the very distinct lone wolf feeling from her—but like all wolves, she'd really wanted to be part of a pack, and she'd finally found that in the BAU. Although she wasn't physically with them anymore, the tie had never been truly severed. She was still one of them—and when a member of her pack was in trouble, Emily Prentiss would fight tooth and nail to save them, no matter the distance or the silliness of job titles and protocols.
Speaking of taking care of fellow pack members—Morgan disengaged from Hotch, "I need to talk to Penelope for a moment."
Hotch merely nodded.
Penelope was still at Will's side, but she wasn't holding him anymore—mainly because Will was stepping forward to greet Dr. Mellinger.
Candace Mellinger's eyes were wide with surprise as she glanced around the waiting room at the number of people assembled for Jennifer Jareau. "Um, I'm sorry, Mr. LaMontagne—but I don't think—Jennifer might be a bit overwhelmed by all the company—"
"We can wait," Penelope assured her quickly.
Dr. Mellinger gave a slight nod of relief. Then she resumed a more reserved air, "Well, you'll all be glad to know that Jennifer did wonderfully. No complications, no unforeseen issues—as far as brain surgery goes, hers was a walk in the park. She's a very lucky lady. She seems to be responding well, but she's still a little foggy from the anesthesia. It's quite possible that she won't remember a lot of what's happened in the past few days—even events that happened before the trauma, things that she might have even remembered yesterday. I cannot stress enough just how much trauma her brain has endured over the last twenty-four hours—so remember that, and be kind, be patient, and for god's sake, be calm when you're around her. It's best not to ask questions or prompt her in any way. Our main goal right now is to keep her on an even keel, emotionally and physically. Everybody got that?"
Everyone nodded in understanding. The doctor gave a bright smile, "Good. Now you guys have to wait here while Mr. LaMontagne and I go see how she's doing."
With one last smile of bravado, Will gave a small wave to the others as he followed the doctor back into the ICU.
"She's gonna be just fine," David Rossi announced, to no one in particular. Penelope hummed in agreement. Spencer Reid wondered if that was a statement of fact or a mere prayer of hope. Hotch, who'd returned for the doctor's pronouncement, went back into the hallway, phone in hand.
There was a rapid staccato of boots on linoleum, and Kate Callahan appeared, breathless and worried, "I got here as soon as I could—what's the word?"
Rossi and Reid began filling her in, Rossi reaching out to give her a reassuring rub on the arm. Morgan took the moment to shift closer to Garcia, gently touching her elbow to get her attention.
"Hey, Babygirl," he guided her further away from the others, into some semblance of privacy. "Let's take a minute to talk about that cryptic SOS you sent me this morning."
"What? Oh," she suddenly remembered. "Yeah, that—you know, it's not important, not right now."
"Not important? Penelope Garcia, you've never sent out a false alarm."
"Derek, it's just…" she sighed, looked away, shook her head, then turned back with a smile. "First time for everything, mi amore. It's really not important—we should just focus on JJ."
"Are you sure?" He asked, each word weighted and enunciated.
"Of course," she tried to smile, failed in a way that almost broke his heart.
"Look, I'm gonna let you slide for now." He pointed a finger at her in semi-serious accusation, "But you best believe that the second we know JJ's out of the woods, I'm coming back to this. I don't like seeing my favorite girl without her million-dollar smile—I need it like the earth needs the sun, and I won't let it stay gone for too long."
She wrapped him into a deep hug. When she pulled away, she was smiling again—truly, brightly, in the way that set the world just a little bit closer to right.
"There it is," he was smiling, too, now—softly, though he was certain his concern was still showing underneath. "Now I can face whatever the world throws my way today."
"You're too good to me sometimes, ya know that?" She gave another crooked grin, the one that always reminded him of a lead in some black-and-white 1950s film—a firecracker bombshell with the eyes of a soulful siren and wit like a razor.
"Absolutely not." He informed her. "I'm like that karma you love so much—I give you exactly what you deserve."
She laughed at this, giving him a playful pat on the chest.
"But, really, you're OK?"
She sobered at the question, giving a small nod. "I'm…it's all going to be alright. I really just don't want to focus on anything but JJ and catching this creep right now."
"But as soon as it's over—"
"Chocolate therapy, for sure."
"It's a date, Dollface." He offered his most winning suave smile—only to be surprised at the brief flash of hurt in her eyes.
However, she recovered quickly, offering a smile of her own. "Count on it, Hot Stuff."
This time, it didn't reach her eyes.
"The story you choose to tell isn't always the story you believe."
~Nova Ren Suma.