All of her breath got knocked out of her in an instant.

She's immediately on the defensive, eyes blown wide and fists coming up to cover her face – or, at least she tries to but her arms are held back and —

Bleary eyes land on mischievous blue, and she throws her head back into the couch cushion in defeat.

"AaAaroN," She yells, ignoring the giggling ball of chaos bouncing on her sternum and warbling her voice. "We're going on a bear hunt!"

The giggling intensifies, and tiny hands pull at the arm she'd freed and slung across her eyes.

"Shhhhhhhh," Jack loudly shushes her, a hand pressed to her lips. "Dad's sleeping."

"So was I, Little Bear," She doesn't growl, thank you very much. Mostly doesn't. Gah.

"But you were on the couch," The blonde menace insists with the surety of a little kid. "So I could wake you."

Groaning, she scoops Jack up and throws him over her shoulder – still giggling – and picks her way through Aaron's apartment till she reaches his bedroom door. She doesn't hesitate before throwing the door open, her only concession being not slamming it too loudly.

Hotch – sweet, lovely, resting Hotch – is sprawled face down across his bed, legs tangled in the covers and glorious back bare as anything.

And rather than taking the time to admire the view and therefore behave like the people they hunt, she lifted Jack from her shoulder and dropped him right on Aaron's back.

He startles awake, sputtering, and Jane cackles as she goes to get herself breakfast.


"That was unnecessary," Aaron grumbles as he sets Jack in his chair a few minutes later, the both of them dressed for the day. "You could've given me another half hour, at least."

"And deprive you of the fatherly experience?" She shoots back, a spatula digging around the food processor – meticulously getting the last of her fresh acuka off the edges. "Stop whining and make sure I didn't burn the bagels."

He moves to comply, and she scrapes the last of the acuka into a tupperware that she honestly did not know the origin of. Aaron probably stole it from Penny, or something. She couldn't picture him just buying tupperware. It'd be like Strauss buying crayons, strange and unnatural.

"Acuka?" Hotch deadpans, watching as she spreads it liberally across a poppy seed bagel. "For breakfast."

"Hush from the peanut gallery," She snaps back with a mischievous grin, plopping a bagel in front of Jack for him to demolish. "And acuka is good at any time. Every time. All the time."

"You are one odd woman," Hotch tilts an eyebrow at her, reaching around her to grab a fork –

Their eyes are locked, their breath mingles. Time freezes.

He quickly pulls away. She turns back to pop the lid onto the walnut spread.

"When's Jessica coming over?" She makes conversation stiltedly. "We'll need to head out soon if we want to keep Morgan from stealing his title back."

"Soon," Hotch shoots a glance at the clock. "Another half hour, tops."

"Dad? Jane?" Jack interrupts them, eyes on full puppy-dog. "Can I pick?"

They exchange glances, and Aaron tilts his head in a 'your choice' kind of concession. Jane's lips twitch.

"Sure, Little Bear," She shrugs, nodding to where her go bag was sitting next to Hotch's couch. "Go pick."

She turns to Hotch as Jack scrambles off his chair towards the couch, rolling her eyes and pulling back her hair. "So we have a case?"

"JJ said she wanted to pitch one to us," Hotch answers, sitting down next to Jack's abandoned seat and crunching into his bagel. "But otherwise nothing immediately pressing."

"Well, that's good at least," She frowns, licking a bit of acuka off the side of her palm. "But you don't sound so good with it all."

He shrugs, eyes wandering to her face. To her cheek.

To her scars.

She levels the spatula at him.

"Rin, if you tell me you're restless because you're not throwing every second of your waking time into hunting down Foyet, I'm shoving acuka up your nose."

He winces, and is about to reply when Jack pops back up with a sweater held proudly in his hands up for her to take.

"Purple today!" He exclaims, clambering up back on his chair and digging into his bagel.

"Purple it is," She smiles at him, tugging it on. "Good choice, buddy."

"You should stay here all the time!" Jack insists through a cheekful of bagel and butter. "So I can pick every day!"

Jane stiffens, and forces herself to keep her smile on her face – and not to look at Hotch. "Well, buddy, I can't."

"Why not?" Jack asks, all innocently, and goddamnit how is she supposed to answer that –

A knock at the door, followed by the sound of the door swinging open and a called greeting.

Oh thank god. Saved by the Jessica.


"So I'm going to snoop through dead kids' computers?" Garcia summarizes, and Hotch can see her discomfort – but it was necessary. They needed to investigate these suicides fully, and that involved some discomfort on their part.

"This plane seldom makes pleasure trips," Rossi quips darkly.

"We've all been over the files," Hotch redirects. "Let's talk about victimology."

"Ok," Rossi parses through his file. "All 4 kids were decent students; from different neighboring towns but the same school and the same county."

"Active in sports and community," Morgan chimes in.

"Intact families, no mental disorders," Emily adds. "No precipitating events."

"These are just average good kids," Morgan grimaces. "There has to be some underlying issue."

"Besides relative proximity, there's no obvious connection between any of them," Reid twines his fingers together.

"It seems to rule out an overt suicide pact," Hotch nods, and finds his eyes returning to JJ. Something wasn't right with her.

"And even if there was a pact, none of this behavior lines up," Jane pulls her legs under her. "How someone acts in the days right before they kill themselves is full of indicator after indicator. If you're gonna kill yourself, you broadcast plenty of signs beforehand, whether you mean to or not."

Okay, now Aaron was watching JJ and Jane.

"Yeah, but the most common don't exist here," JJ contributes for the first time, toying with a necklace as she met none of their eyes. "There's no prior attempts, no period of deep depression, no withdrawal from family members – no spontaneous proclamations of love."

"Spontaneous proclamations of love?" Emily turns to face her, voice incredulous. Hotch felt his stomach drop at the expression on JJ's face – it didn't suit their Liaison.

"Sometimes a suicidal person, in the days leading up to the act, will just blurt out 'I love you' to family," JJ parses out her words carefully. "Sort of like a goodbye."

"Because you gotta say it to someone, even if they don't realize it," Jane nods, fingers curling around her satchel's strap. "Because you can't stand to think that you'll be gone and no one will notice, no one will know."

JJ and Jane lock eyes, and there's so much more there – a conversation there – that Hotch really doesn't like the implications of.


"So when did you try?" Jane asked outright, propping herself against a wall as they waited for Morgan and Prentiss to get their car.

"What?" JJ asked, turning to face her – face strained, yes, but not guilty or disgusted or angry or anything like that. Mournful.

Huh.

"So not you, then," Jane nodded, scanning the terminal. "Someone you loved, then."

"I don't –" JJ started to protest, before cutting herself off and sighing, fingers going back to her neck.

"That necklace was hers, wasn't it?" Jane kicked her go bag closer to JJ's, not facing the Liaison. "So she succeeded?"

"How'd you know?" JJ asked quietly.

"You wouldn't wear that necklace like it's spun from glass and grip it like it's your only lifeline if she was still alive," Jane commented wryly, watching as JJ forced herself to drop her hand. "Who was she?"

"My sister," JJ answered after a moment, her eyes blinking furiously. "What about you?"

Jane had to take a sec to figure what her friend was asking.

"Oh, Jayje I've never loved anyone enough to lose them like you did," Jane smiled sadly – even as in the back of her mind she reminds herself that that's not necessarily true anymore.

"So …" JJ swallowed, fingers creeping back to her neck. "So you tried."

"Nearly succeeded, too," Jane shrugs, blase. "I haven't tried for years."

"And when was the last time you tried?" Hotch's voice sounds from beside them, and JJ jumps. Jane just curses her inattention.

"Not a conversation for now," Jane dismisses as Emily turns to wave them over. "We've got some equivocal death investigations to get down to."

Neither Aaron nor JJ looked at all satisfied, but Jane snagged her bag and left them behind before they could pin her down and make her explain herself.


"I think that you should go with Reid and Morgan to the schools."

Jane pauses in where she's going over the Leake file, looking up at Hotch. She flips it shut, dropping it on the table to face him fully.

"You're most likely to spot the signs we're looking for, of this Choking Game," Hotch expands at her expression. "You're of more use there than here."

"I thought you wanted me putting together recommended treatment plans to give to parents and school staff," She crossed her arms, perching on the table. "And I suck at interacting with kids, Rin, you know that."

"You do fine with Jack," He counters, and it's such a pathetic deflection she has to snort.

"I'm not dignifying that with a response," She shakes her head, giving him her back as she repacks her satchel. "And I thought we were past this."

Past keeping secrets.

"Jane …" He sighs, and she can hear him angle himself towards her. "Fine, Jane it's because I don't want you alone right now."

"Hotch, this is a police station," She caps a pen with more force than strictly necessary. "I'm not going to be alone."

"Fine, you want it in plain English?" He grabs her shoulder and turns her to face him. "Jane, I found out four hours ago that you have been or are suicidal, and I don't like that. And, as you well know, we all get reckless when it comes to cases that we relate to."

She opens her mouth to protest, to cut in, but he plows through her.

"I won't allow you to be alone right now," Hotch declares loudly, getting in her face. "I can't be the one to stay with you – for a multitude of reasons, the chief of which being my worry about JJ – but I can have you around people who remind you how much you have to live for. So do you want to keep arguing? Or do you want to go to the schools with Reid and Morgan and find a teen that needs your help?"

Their eyes are locked, their breath mingles.

"That's playing dirty, Hotchner," Jane finds her voice, forcing her eyes not to drop to his lips. "Fine."

There's the sound of someone clearing their throat, and Hotch steps back as they both turn to see Rossi standing with a cocked eyebrow aside a very awkward looking Reid.

"You know, the kids shouldn't have to see Mom and Dad fighting," Rossi quips, and Spinner looks like he would rather just sink into the floor than still be there. "Or do anything … else."

"Nasty," Jane pulls a face at him, grabbing her satchel and then Spinner's arm. "C'mon, we've some schools to visit. Where's LeFay?"

Reid begins to formulate some kind of response, and Jane tries to pay attention – even as she feels the heat of Hotch's gaze on her neck.

And the phantom feeling of his warmth on hers.


As Reid stumbled his way through a presentation on the mechanics of strangulation and the like, Jane was studying the kids.

Or, more specifically, she was studying the kids' health. The blonde girl in the front row needed to lay off the cigarettes, and the boy two seats down from her most likely had an eating disorder – bulimia nervosa, she'd bet. Probably had something to do with the wrestling patch he had on his bomber jacket.

She made a note to talk to the school's health services before she left, scribbling something on the seating chart the teacher had passed her.

At least three of the kids, including the punk that Morgan and then Reid were verbally beating the piss out of, had probably strangled themselves two, three times.

But the kid in the back …

They locked eyes, her and him.

He reminded her off … well, of her. Black nails, black clothes. A silver earring and a 'fuck you' attitude. She cocked her head, and he mirrored the gesture unconsciously.

And then he ran his mouth off at Morgan – and promptly ran.

Lefay went after him, and Jane sent a level gaze at the rest of the class before she followed.

"Christopher Summers," She read off the chart, crouching to eye the bruises he hid beneath his choker (a dark pun). She studied his eyes, the disproportion of his pupils. The frantic searching of his gaze. "You need to get that neck looked at."

They lock eyes again, and Christopher looks like he was about to say something before Morgan pulls him off the floor and begins to walk him out of the building.

Torn, Jane decides to drop by the principal's on her way out. Morgan and Reid had it handled.


Hotch studied the teenager – kid, really – through the blinds. His eyes land on the black nail polish, the black clothing. The dark hair and the thick eyeliner.

Disconcerting, how sometimes a complete stranger can remind you so strongly of someone you love.

An idea hits him.

"Garcia, I think that this kid will relate to you better than anybody else," Hotch voicalizes, mind racing. "I want you to talk to him, see if you can get him to open up."

"Um. Sir, I have never done that before," Garcia looks nervous, colorfully lined eyes wide. "What if I mess up?"

"You'll be fine," He assures her, shooting a glance at Jane. "Jane will be in there with you."


"Hi there," Garcia steps in, feeling Jane follow in behind her. "I'm Penelope."

Introducing yourself, that's a thing, right? That's normal?

Yeah, in polite conversation. This was practically an interrogation.

"Good for you," Christopher dismisses, looking between her and Jane. Disinterested – and Penelope really doesn't want to do this.

But then Jane's hand is in the small of her back, and Garcia forces herself forward.

"Can I sit down?"

"You're the cop," Chrisopher dismisses again – he really does a lot of that, typical teen angst – and then his words hit and Penelope has to stop herself from running fingers over the blue feathers in her bright red hair.

"Um, I look like a cop to you?" She asks as she sits primmly, pretending that she isn't gripping her knees with nerves. "I mean, Janey maybe looks like a cop – but she looks more like a really rebellious robot."

"Robot?" Jane repeats, settling to stand beside her chair. "And what part of me, exactly, is robotic?"

"When's the last time you made a facial expression that required more than three muscles?" She counters, feeling herself relax.

A snort, and the both of them turn to face Christopher as he tried to hide his amusement.

"No, I'm not a cop," She got them back on track. "FBI Tech Analyst. I just have some administrative cyber-crub to go over with you."

"And I'm just here so the two of you don't get distracted tearing apart the most recent season of Lost," Jane drawls, and Garcia isn't the only one who squawks – she and Christopher lock eyes in a silent agreement that no, of course they wouldn't but also we totally should.

Jane reads their expressions like the freaking physic she is and thwaps her across the back of her head.

Then Christopher settles back into his morose mulling, and Garcia can't stop herself before words are coming out of her mouth.

"You are glum," She comments, thinking back on the death of his mom. "Time is a great healer."

Christopher scoffs at her, all traces of earlier humor gone. "You have no idea how I feel."

"I lost my mom and dad when I was about your age, though," Garcia tells him, an offer of kinship. "I don't know. I think I have a pretty good idea."

Jane shifted, but Garcia kept her eyes on Christopher, who had his eyes on the wall.

"And I felt totally alone," Penelope pressed, trying not to let old feelings bowl her over. "Till I found the Netizens."

"BTDT," Christopher quirks a lip at her.

"Hey, I'm … " She took a breath, steadying herself. "I'm not lying. It'll totally get better."

Something she wishes she had heard, all those years ago. From anyone.

"And even if you think you've hit max shittiness," Jane chimes in, switching her weight to her other leg. "That means that the shit level can only go down."

Christopher's smile grows; amused by the mix of Jane's dry tone and crass language, no doubt. No wonder Hotch sent them both in.

"BTW, I like your nails," Penelope adds. And she did – they reminded her of Jane's.

"Thanks," He glances between the two of them. "You into goth?"

"You know, I don't think I'm supposed to be anymore, but the love is still there," She holds up her hands to display her glorious charcoal lacquer. "And Janey here only ever wears color that I force her into."

"Oi," Her doc halfheartedly protests. "You know, Jack picked this out this morning, not you."

That completely sidelined anything else that Garcia could've been focused on.

"Jack?" She repeats, sending a grin Jane's way. "Oh boy. Jack?"

"Who's Jack?" Christopher asks, looking surprised that he did.

"My boss's five year old son," Garcia grinned at him mischievously. "But that means that if Jack picked out that sweater then this morning you were –"

"O-kay –" Jane cut her off, and now Christopher was smirking too. "You know what? I just remembered that I need to grow a field of rice or twenty. See you in three to four years."

And then Jane did an about-face, headed straight out of the room – leaving Garica and Christopher grinning like madmen.


"Munchausen's," Jane growls, hopping into the car after Hotch. "Fucking Munchausen's."

"Jane," Hotch cut in, derailing her inevitable tirade. "Save it."

"I need a punching bag," She muttered to herself, eying the road ahead of them. "Abusive father, Munchausen's –"

"Jane …"

"Fine, yes, stopping," She took a deep breath. "Let's just get to this chapel before that kid dies, yeah?"

Instead of responding, Hotch turns on the lights and hits the gas.


Casting a glance over her shoulder to Hotch, Jane waited until he made eye contact with her before climbing into the ambulance after Christopher.

The poor kid.

She checks him over, and he's silent for maybe half of the ride.

"Why didn't you let me die?" He croaks, and she pulls her fingers away from where they were investigating the bruising on his neck.

"Because it's my job to save you," She answers, eying the EMT that was studiously ignoring the both of them. "I couldn't let you."

"You don't know what it's like," He counters, turning away from her even as he winced at the strain on his neck.

"Oh?" She tilts her head, darkly amused. "And how are you so sure of that?"

"Because if you felt like I do then you wouldn't be here right now," He shoots back, adrenaline from his anger arching his back and strengthening his voice. "You'd have killed yourself and gotten it over with already."

"It?" She repeats, dropping his chart at the foot of his gurney. "What 'it,' Christopher? Life? Suffering? Having your bastard father tossing you around like a rag doll?"

The goth teen rolled his eyes, turning away from her again.

"You see, the difference between you and me is nothing –" She continued, reaching out to tilt his face towards her to bore her eyes into his. "– but time. I used to be just like you."

They continue to stare, him with defiance and her with determination. He didn't believe her? Fine.

She removed her hand from his jaw and shrugged off her jacket, then her sweater. Christopher watched as she pulled her undershirt's neck down, and stared as he saw her scars.

"You're not the only one with scars," She repeats, pulling her hair off her neck and leaning forward, not caring about how the EMT was staring – only focused on the boy whose eyes were on her neck.

"You have …" He spoke, trailing off as his fingers rose to brush his neck as his gaze was locked on hers.

"You're not the only one," She stressed, knowing what he was looking at. The furrows where the nails of some monster she can't remember wrapped their fingers around her neck and squeezed.

"How?" Chrisopher asked – pleaded. "How do you stand to keep on going?"

"Because they took everything from me," She bared her teeth in a mockery of a smile. "And I refuse to give them any more."

He tore his eyes away from hers, and she turned her focus onto the pile of clothes she discarded.


Jane eyed where JJ and Hotch were talking, and couldn't bring herself to join them.

Instead she reached over and stole Emily's star puzzle, breaking it apart and trying to put it back together again, ignoring the other woman's grumbling.

She didn't know how much time passed, but eventually –

"Oh for fuck's sake," Prentiss growled, snatching the completed star puzzle from her and turning it over in her hands. "Are you kidding me?"


Hotch stops the car outside her house, pulling the parking brake. She undoes her seatbelt, but doesn't get out.

"I don't like the thought that I could've never met you."

Jane smiled wryly at him, pulling her jacket closer around her as she scanned her yard – it didn't look like there were any more … packages on her porch.

"Do you know how many times I've nearly died?" She asks, digging her fingers into the seat's upholstery. "The number of times you have?"

"I've never contemplated suicide," Aaron counters.

"Well I have," She turns to face him, fingers tugging at her flyaways. "And I'm not going to pretend that I haven't. Hell, I've tried – nearly succeeded."

He reached over to lace his fingers through hers. She couldn't look at him, not with that pathetically sympathetic look on his face.

"Rin, you need to understand that I've been closer to death than life for all of the years I remember," She sighs, gritting her teeth. "With Them, I was only alive because I had to pay off a debt. After, I was only alive because I had to prove that I was more without Them. And with the Bureau … well, I was only alive because I couldn't allow anyone else to die because I wasn't there to save them."

His fingers tighten, and she still can't look at him.

"Even now?" He murmurs, voice so soft it's barely a whisper. She still can't look at him.

"I'm alive right now," Jane finds her voice, wrapping both her hands around his – pulling his hand close to her chest. "Because I am … because I can't leave you."

"The team?" He asks, and his eyes are wary and calculating and so very vulnerable. "Or me?"

She swallows roughly. Clears her throat.

Faces him.

Their eyes are locked, their breath mingles.

No.

She loses her nerve, flashes him a smile, and gets out of his car.

And when she hears his car drive away, she pretends that she doesn't want to watch as he pulls away.