It's quiet on the plane today.
Not completely quiet, but close enough to it that it's disturbing, to an extent. Yet, nobody makes a move or sound to break it; not even to call a Code Y, for the situation desperately calls for it.
But, if one took the time and effort to listen and observe, they'd learn the whole story.
Morgan listens to his music, headphones on and eyes closed. His music is louder than usual today. On any other day, Reid would probably say that it wasn't actually any louder, that it only seemed that way compared to the inherent lack of sound surrounding all of them. But today is not one of those days.
Though his eyes are closed, and he gives the impression of sleeping, Morgan is very much awake. The music helps to remind him that he is here, and not there. It helps ground him from what happened in his childhood. The music also serves the purpose of drowning out the screams and cries of the children they had saved earlier that day. The children who hadn't been wanted, who had been put up for adoption, who had been placed in the care of a sick son of a bitch who enjoyed hurting them and violating them in the worst way. Who had taken away their positive outlooks on life, taken away their innocence, taken away their smiles and bright eyes. Had taken away everything that made them children.
Morgan turns up his music just a little bit more.
JJ sits across from him. She can't stop remembering the faces. They had been young, too young; and they swim around in her mind, all sixteen of them with their wide eyes and bright smiles. All brimming with innocence; none sad, not yet. She can't help but be reminded of Henry, of her little toddler waiting for his mommy to come home. She shudders, hoping beyond hope that he would never have to suffer what these kids had, because the pictures hadn't quite prepared her for what they had found.
They had been shells of their former shelves. They thought that everyone hated them and that everyone wanted to hurt them. They had accepted it almost as a fact of life, flinching away when she tried to lead them out, crying and begging for them not to hurt them.
And she had reassured them, whispering nothings and rocking them back and forth. It's okay, it's okay. Nobody's going to hurt you ever again. You're safe, and you're loved. She soon realizes that she was whispering it out loud in the jet.
Whispering the words that meant nothing because, with the foster system, who really knew if they were really safe?
Hotch sits in another section of the jet, attempting to finish his paperwork.
The scratching of a pen hasn't been heard for the past hour.
His stoic facade was breaking, and he really didn't care, because all he saw was Jack in those faces. Jack with his missing teeth, who viewed him as a hero. Was he really a hero if he couldn't even save those kids?
Sure, they had taken them away from the unsub (and killed him in the process), but the memories and the trauma would still be there. Shooting the unsub point blank in the head did not change this. He wanted to see their smiles again. He wanted to see them play like innocent little kids again. He wanted them to grow up in a world that wasn't cruel, with people who loved them so much that their hearts almost burst whenever they saw them.
But his wishes would not be granted, because they had been too far broken. Maybe the local police would help coax those smiles back on their faces in a few months, or a few years (regrettably without their help, because the BAU was needed around the country); but he knew that it was a bit late for that. He had known that as soon as Mia, the bright young girl with the pigtails and dimples and pink glasses in the pictures had turned out to be a trembling and fragile little girl with uneven, dirty, and matted hair. With enough scars and bruises covering her cheeks and arms to last a lifetime. With eyes that had lost their innocence and hope and had turned dark with sorrow.
No glasses had been in sight.
Rossi sits next to him, closing his eyes against the memories that threaten to overtake him. He and JJ had found the kids first, shackled to the walls in the basement. The fear in their eyes was very evident; but when Rossi had looked closer at some of the older ones, he found emptiness instead.
They had been trying to calm them down enough to bring them to the ambulances, when Dale had tugged on his sleeve. The little boy couldn't have looked more than nine, but from the files, Rossi knew that he was actually 13. He had begged for Rossi to kill him so he wouldn't have to suffer anymore, had wanted to go to heaven with Sammy (the third kid killed). He hadn't wanted to live anymore.
A 13-year-old shouldn't be able to think this way.
And yet, he had.
Rossi had tried to reassure him that life was worth living, that the world wasn't as cruel as he thought. Some of the children surrounding them (Madeleine, Amie, Cal), had stared at him with a renewed hope in their eyes. The feeling was infectious, and soon most of the other children had begun to accept their help and walk slowly out to the waiting ambulances.
But not Dale. He had truly given up.
Rossi gasps as the memory loses its hold. They'd come back soon enough, though.
Reid sleeps on the couch. Sleeps, only because he had overworked himself during the case; not taking the time to rest and drinking copious amounts of coffee in order to find the kids as soon as possible.
His dreams are not without nightmares, for he twists and turns, muttering under his breath and kicking his blanket to the ground. Normally Hotch would walk over, pick it up, and tuck him in (not mentioning anything when he wakes). But not today. They're all in their own nightmares, even though they're awake.
Reid wonders if this is what could have happened to him, had his mom not protected him. He guesses he'll never really know, but it doesn't stop his subconscious from bringing out all the terrible possibilities.
He had accompanied one of the children, Joy (an irony, for sure), to the hospital. Had watched her as she slept, had read the clipboard detailing all of her injuries. Had hugged and comforted her when she woke up and begged, crying for her mommy (who was currently buried three feet underground, but she didn't need to know that). Reid had never thought of himself as good with children, but the little girl had clung to his shirt with a surprising strength.
They would've stayed for at least a week longer; but other cases awaited, and Strauss was already at her breaking point.
Joy hadn't wanted him to leave, had become attached to him because he was the first person who had actually cared about her in years. At seven years old, he was worth holding onto. So he had gently wiped her tears away, swallowing as he tried to figure out what to do.
Eventually, he settled with a be brave for me, okay? She had nodded and gradually stopped crying, straightening out her back and shoulders ever so slightly.
Doing a bit of a magic trick, he had made a card appear seemingly out of thin air. A card with his name and number on it. He had given it to her, told her to keep it and not lose it. He had smiled faintly at her surprise and reverence towards the piece of paper.
He had broken down as soon as he left the hospital, sobbing into his knees until Hotch had found him after leaving a certain other little girl's hospital room.
Emily's sitting alone, in her own corner of the jet. She's crying quietly, looking out the window at the dark expanse that encompasses them. Her famed compartmentalization skills had evidently not worked this time around.
She wonders if the unsub ever let them go outside, at least for a little bit. She wonders if they ever saw the stars and constellations during their captivity, if these celestial objects had given them any amount of wonder or hope. Had they even seen the sun and felt its warm rays? Or the rainbow after a storm? Maybe the light, fluffy clouds that could be so many different things? That would've allowed them to imagine and escape reality for a little while?
Had they even breathed any fresh air?
And so, Emily paints a picture in her mind, one so vivid that she could almost touch it.
A picture of a place for the nine children they had been too late for. A place with trees that they could climb until they were tired, and a lake that always shown with a bright blue brilliance. A place with fields so vast one would think that they went on forever. A place where the moon smiled at them as they slept on the soft grass, and the sun tickled them with its rays until they woke up and started running around.
A place where they were loved, where they had each other.
Although Emily was never really religious, she believes in this one thing with all her being.
And amidst all of this sadness, that's a happy thought, isn't it?