Reason is not automatic. Those who deny it cannot be conquered by it.

-Ayn Rand

…

She should be thinking about an exit strategy. She should be thinking about how to get in touch with her team and relay the information that she has unearthed. She should be seeing to her cuts.

She is a hostage, trapped on a compound with an angry religious zealot and enough C4 to blow them all away with a single match. She should be putting her training and her know how to use, and working to free herself and her partner.

But she doesn't do any of those things.

She lies on the bunk where Cyrus has left her.

And she thinks of Jane.

…

They wait, crouched in the little alleyway by the house, although Emily could not say what they are waiting for. She studies Olivia's face, trying to read the situation there. The other girl looks tense and alert, her dark eyes staring at nothing, as though all of her focus is on listening.

So Emily listens too. She tilts her head slightly to the side, and she listens hard.

And then she can hear it.

The yelling must be coming from deep inside the house, muffled by doors and walls. And they must be really shouting, Emily thinks, because she can still hear them. She can make out some of the words.

Fucking crying all day and all night….have to get up and work and that god damn….trapped me here with this, Ange….

"Olivia?" Emily breathes, but Olivia shakes her head once, and doesn't look at her, and Emily falls silent again.

They wait for thirteen minutes and fifty four seconds. Emily counts each minute out slowly, the way she has taught herself to do when combating anxiety, picturing each number as letters, writing out in her mind's eye. But as she pictures fifty five for the fourteenth time, the yelling becomes louder and Emily can hear the sound of a baby crying.

"Move back," Olivia hisses, pulling Emily against the cement of the house, out of sight of the street. "They're coming out."

Emily doesn't get a chance to ask how Olivia knows this. She hears the front door of the little house burst open, and the shouting is at its loudest now.

"Frank! Frank! They're sorry! We're sorry!" the woman yells. Emily shuts her eyes against the desperation in Jane's mother's voice. She has never heard her mother – or any of her friend's mothers – sound so fraught.

Frank, for his part, does not answer. Emily hears a car door slam, and the revving of an engine. The woman calls Frank's name one more time, plaintively, over the squeal of tires, and then there is silence. Emily starts to move forward, but Olivia continues to hold her back, offering no more explanation than a quick headshake and a finger to her lips. Emily presses back against the wall, and starts to count again but she's only up to four when a shadow passing the alley makes her look around.

A woman passes by the gap where Olivia and Emily are hiding, and Emily thinks that she must be Jane's mother. There is something familiar around the eyes and the sweep of the shoulders. Mrs. Rizzoli stops in front of the little alleyway only to zip up her coat. Then she continues on, oblivious to the two sets of eyes watching her from the shadows. Olivia watches her go, eyes bright and – Emily will decide later – a bit fierce, and then after an internal count of her own, she starts forward, pulling Emily along in her wake.

They climb the front porch steps, and Olivia pushes the front door of Jane's house open like she's done it a million times. She does not expect it to be locked, Emily realizes as she follows the brunette into the house, and she does not expect to be met with resistance.

The house is small, but furnished cozily. The hall is lined with family pictures, and as she follows Olivia down the hallway, Emily realizes that Jane is not an only child. There she is with a little boy and a baby, looking only a couple years younger than she does right now, her face shining with a sort of proud excitement, her arms tilting the infant towards the camera like, "look!"

Olivia stops half way down the hallway, in front of a coat closet, and Emily almost walks into her.

"What?" she begins, but the girl puts her finger to her lips again, and pulls the closet open slowly.

Emily just manages to stifle a gasp. There's a little boy sitting on the floor behind the door. He blinks up into the light, and as he focuses on Olivia, the fearful expression he'd had drops off his face.

"Livvie!" he cries, reaching his arms up.

"Hi Tommy," She says, picking him up off the floor and standing him on his feet. "You okay?"

The boy nods, looking up at Emily shyly. "Hi," he says.

"Hi," Emily answers, looking to Olivia to see what to do. But Olivia isn't looking at her. She's looking through the doorway towards the interior of the house, and when Emily shifts so she can look over the other girl's shoulder, her eyes widen at the sight.

Jane is in the living room, kneeling in the middle of the floor. Emily can tell by the way she's positioned that she's hurt. Next to her, is another little boy, older than the one clinging to Olivia now, but still very young. He has his hand on Jane's shoulder, but neither of them is speaking.

"You can go home," Olivia's voice makes Emily start. She turns to look at the other girl, shocked.

"What?"

"You can go home, if you want," Olivia says quietly. "I won't blame you."

This is commonplace. The understanding crashes over Emily all at once. What she has just witnessed: Jane's parents fighting, Olivia waiting it out, possibly even Jane's injuries, all of these things are events that both girls are very used to. Olivia is offering Emily an out. She does not have to stay and watch the rest of this ritual.

"I don't want to," Emily says, hoping that she sounds decided and trustworthy, rather than unsure and uneasy. Olivia looks at her for a moment longer, and then turns back to Tommy, crouching down so she can look him in the eye.

"Wait here, okay?" She says softly.

Tommy nods, and when Olivia stands up, he plops down onto his butt, sticking his thumb into his mouth.

Olivia approaches Jane slowly, like she would a wounded wild animal. Emily hangs back, watching as the older boy realizes that Olivia is there, and moves back away from his sister.

"Jane." Olivia's voice is deep and gentle.

Jane doesn't answer. She shifts to wipe her face with her forearm, and Emily sees a handprint forming on the skin near her elbow. She watches Olivia make a mental note of this, her eyes sweeping Jane's form again, carefully.

"Jane."

"We got too loud," she says, and her voice is raspy and full of unshed tears. "He works the graveyard now. I forgot." She tries to get up, and fails. The pain surprises her, pulling a weak little cry from her chest. Olivia moves closer holding out her hands.

"Get away," Jane growls. She's embarrassed, Emily realizes. She expected to be able to get up on her own. She is more injured than usual.

Olivia doesn't move. This seems to make Jane angrier.

"Go away!" she says, louder now. "Go away! I don't need you here! I don't need you to…check up on me like I'm some kind of baby. I don't!"

Olivia tilts her head to the left, just a little. "Jane," she says again. "Come here."

And Jane scoots forward and collapses against Olivia's shoulder. "Bastard," Olivia whispers, and Jane's chest heaves, but she doesn't cry. She blinks a couple times, in quick succession, and then her eyes move to look at Emily. They stare at each other, sizing each other up.

I understand you. Emily thinks. I understand you, and we do not have to be adversaries. I understand.

"Hey, Jane," Emily says, lifting her hand a little.

Jane tightens her grip on Olivia, just a little bit. Olivia squeezes back.

"Hey, Prentiss."

…

…

"Which one of you is it? Which one of you is the FBI agent?"

"Why do you think one of us is an FBI agent?" Reid makes sure not to look at her when he asks the question, but Emily is watching his profile and she can tell he is scared. They both know that Cyrus is a volatile man who will not think twice about putting a gun to either of their heads. And, like he's heard her assessment and decided to confirm her fears, he lifts the .22 and points it at a spot right between Spencer's eyes. He assumes the man, of course.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Spencer manages. He has never been good with lies.

Cyrus' calm expression doesn't waver. "One of you dies. Who is it?"

Spencer can only shake his head.

Cyrus sighs, like he's been interrogating stubborn children about the breaking of a vase. "God will forgive me for what I must do."

"Me," she speaks without thinking. "It's me."

Spencer's face is nothing but shock, which is good. It will be believable that he doesn't know.

She has to shut down her instinct to fight back when Cyrus grabs her by the hair. She has to fight the urge to call out to Spencer that it's okay. That would be too familiar. It would look suspicious. If only one of them has been found out, let it be her. Her hands fly to the back of her head, trying to lessen some of the pain in her scalp. She gets one last view of her partner. She has to settle for hoping he can read her mind with that big brain of his.

Hang in there, little brother.

….

….

They take the little boys to a neighbor's house. Like everything she has witnessed up to this point, this seems to be commonplace. Emily learns the older one's name is Frankie as she helps him into his jacket. He has his sister's wide brown eyes and deep chestnut hair, but he is still baby fat, stocky and durable looking. Emily watches Jane struggling to put on her own coat, but doesn't move to help her, knowing it would make her angrier. Their eyes meet for a second, and Jane freezes, her arm at an awkward angle as she tries to shimmy it through the arm hole. But then Emily looks away without comment, and after a second Jane joins them, double checks her brother and ushers him towards the door.

"Thanks," she mutters to Emily.

It's like winning the lottery.

It's a little chilly and a little late to be out. Jane is limping; her jaw set and determined, her eyes fixed on the pavement. Emily moves so that she is walking beside her, leaving Olivia to take Frankie's hand. Jane glances up and then back at the pavement. Emily lets the silence rest.

"I don't want to," come Frankie's plaintive voice. "Mrs. O'Leary smells like cat litter."

Jane looks over her shoulder at Frankie, and when Emily glances back too she realizes that Frankie is crying. She hadn't heard it in his voice, but Jane had.

"Can you," Jane begins, but Emily is already leaning over to take the handles of the little stroller that holds Tommy.

"Go ahead," she says quickly.
Jane circles back around to be with Frankie, and before Emily can work out the geometry of the narrow little sidewalk, Olivia has sped up to walk beside her, her expression clouded with concern.

"Emily," she speaks with the distinct air of someone who is about to press her luck.

"Olivia."

"Can we stay at your house? For the weekend? Jane and me?"

"I," Emily says automatically, and then quickly, "Yes. Yes, of course you can, the ambassador probably won't even know you're there, and she wouldn't care even if she did. So yes. Of Course…" Emily casts another look over her shoulder at Jane, who has stopped walking and has bent down to Frankie's level without so much as a wince. "Is she…"

"Did you ever love someone so much you'd do anything in the whole world for them?" Olivia cuts her off.

Emily pulls her lip between her teeth.

"No," she says finally, bracing herself for incredulity. "I don't think I have."

But Olivia doesn't say anything for a while. She wraps her arms around herself, like she's cold. "I hope you stay here for a long time, Emily Prentiss," Liv says suddenly. "I hope you stay in Boston - with us - for a long, long time."

It seems to come out of nowhere, and Emily sputters, trying to find the correct response, but then Jane is drawing level to them, Frankie's hand in her own, and she points at another identical little house.

"It's that one," she says, and she leads her brother up to the door, though it must hurt her terribly to climb the stairs.

….

….

"I can take it."

Emily knows her team is listening. They have to be. The wires they'd put on her and Spencer didn't just turn off because cover was blown. The microphones were inanimate objects designed to do their jobs, even if that included relaying every single sound when religious zealot decided to beat her.

Cyrus might know she's an FBI agent, but he doesn't know about the wire, and her perceived haughtiness enrages him. He shoves her face first into a mirror and it shatters around her. She can't stop her grunt of pain, and when she closes her eyes, she pictures Morgan's face. Her team mate. Her friend.

She can see his face as clearly as if she were standing next to him, a mask of distress as he holds the headphones to his ear, unwilling to put it down despite the way the sound of her beating must be tearing at him.

He is her brother too.

Cyrus kicks her again, and she lets out one hard grunt. She doesn't cry. They will come in if she cries.

She thinks of Jane.

"I can take it."

…

…

Hey, Frankie, listen okay? Pop is...What Pop does isn't your fault. Don't wipe your nose on your sleeve like that, Ms. O will have a tissue. Lookit. It's not your fault that you're not bigger. What happens to me...has nothing to do with you. It's my choice and I'd do it again.

I love you, okay? If you want me to stay with you at Mrs. O's til Ma comes, I will. We all will, won't we?

Hey, Frankie, look at me so I know that you hear me. Do you hear me? I'd do it again. I'd do it every time. I love you.

Thank you."

…

…...

"You're thinking pretty hard."

JJ tips Emily's head back and presses the swab to her forehead. She'd managed to get off with an EMT check up and a promise to go to the doctor the moment they touched down in Virginia, although Hotch had looked displeased with the final verdict.

Now JJ is patching her up before the plane. Media Liaison and mom, she'd joked, holding up the first aid kit. Both need to know how to patch a person up.

"Em?" The gentle fingers along Emily's hairline make her spine tingle. "Are you alright? What's going on in that head?"

Emily looks up into clear blue eyes.

"I…" But what can she say? How can she explain. "Yes," she says, and then she forces her face into neutrality. "It was the best we could have hoped for...right?"

J.J.'s brow creases slightly, but she doesn't call Emily on her avoidance. "Yes," she says gently. She holds out her hand to help Emily up, and when she hisses and nearly stumbles, J.J. loops her arms around her waist and pulls her into something that is half support and half embrace.

"I was so scared," She whispers into Emily's neckline. Their proximity seems to have shaken something loose. "I-I had to put the headphones down, and then I picked them back up because, God, what if you stopped making any noise? That would have been far worse. God, what if…"

But Emily slips her bruised fingers into J.J.'s hair who goes silent and almost limp at the touch.

"Oh God," she breathes.

It's the closest they've ever been. It's the most intimate they've ever been. Emily wants to pull away, but she can't. She doesn't want to.

She wants to.

No, she doesn't.

"I'm here, J.J." She says quietly, feeling how her breath in the other woman's ear makes her shiver. Its the most of the confession she can handle at the moment. They are out of view of the team and anyone else who might see. The open SUV offering some illusion of privacy. How easy it would be to pull back and put her lips to J.J.'s. Hadn't she been dreaming about it for months? J.J. wants it. There is no denying that now. "I'm right here."

"Are you?" J.J. asks in the same breathy whisper. Her hands contract in the small of Emily's back. "You're here?"

Emily nods, not trusting herself to speak.

…

…

Angela doesn't say anything to Jane. She glances into the living room where the three of them are bent over a scrabble board, Tommy dead weight in her arms, Frankie sleepy eyed at her hip.

"Goin home with Ma," he mumbles unnecessarily. Jane gives him a half wave, and he grins at her, sleeping on his feet.

"Alright?" Mrs. Rizzoli asks the room at large.

Jane doesn't look up at her.

"If it's alright, Mrs. Rizzoli, can Jane stay with me and Emily at Emily's house on the hill?"

'I' Emily thinks, but she keeps still.

Mrs. Rizzoli's eyes are red rimmed, she surveys them silently for a moment, and Jane turns her head away, like she can feel her mother's eyes on her, and is ashamed.

The room seems to fill slowly with unsaid sentences. The feeling is so familiar that Emily thinks she might scream in frustration.

Do all mothers misjudge their daughters so severely?

No...some of them are like Olivia's…

"Okay, girls," Mrs. Rizzoli sounds resigned and exhausted. "Okay."

Jane's shoulders tense.

Later, after Emily has called them a car ("I'll pay, I'll pay, the ambassador won't even notice. Don't worry about it. Please."), when Olivia is helping Jane into the backseat, slowly, slowly, Emily notices that the younger girl is bleeding. A dark line has appeared on her shirt between her shoulderblades, just a thin band of red, like a hash mark.

"Jane," Emily begins, but Jane shakes her head abruptly. Maybe she has felt it. Maybe she already knows.
Emily steps forward and takes her other arm, expecting Jane to pull away from her.

She doesn't.

In the blissful silence of the car, Jane slumps against Olivia's side, and the older girl takes her hand in her own, kissing her bruised fingers.

"I can take it," Jane murmurs. "I can take it."

And Emily swallows the protests. She understands suddenly why Olivia had said she wished Emily would stay in Boston for a long time. She understands and her heart feels like it's expanding.

She takes Jane's other hand.

"You are going to help so many people," she whispers. "You'll see."

Jane's eyes fall shut.

She smiles.

…

…

Emily moves to the back of the jet, sitting down across from Spencer, who is pretending to read. She reaches out and lowers his book, waiting for him to look at her before she starts talking.

He has been silent since they boarded the Jet, and had chosen the seat furthest from her when they'd settled.

"Hey," she says, pressing his book away from his face. His wide eyes meet hers. She takes a breath. "I need you to listen to me. What Cyrus did to me is not your fault. It was my decision, and I would do it again. Do you hear me?"

He nods slightly, still looking nervous and shell shocked, but not nearly as frightened as he had before.

She nods too.

"Thank you."

...

...

Hi!

Okay, basics first. This is clearly an Emily chapter, and the episode refferred to in this chapter is called Minimal Loss. It is season 4. episode 3. It is one of my favorites. Although I took some liberties with Emily and JJ at the end, the rest of the dialogue is pretty true to form. You should check it out if you have the time.
For those of you who don't know, Emily works for the FBI in the Behavioral Analysis Unit. They travel around the nation taking cases that the local PD can't solve. Usually serial killers, mass abductions, etc. That's why you will see Emily in a lot of different places for her job. Even though she is technically stationed in DC.

So...yeah. That's how Emily came to care for Jane. And she's still feeling the effect of that day years later. They will all rub off on each other in some important (or I hope I write them as important) ways. I hope you'll be able to see the connections.

Anyway, if you're still reading this. Thank you so much. Zarosguth and Matiky, softgodphase. You guys are really reading. This one, and my other one, your comments are so probing (ew. that word sucks), and interesting to think about, so thank you so much for taking time to write them. Thank you everyone who told me not to worry about the haters. You made said haters much MUCH easier to bear.

okay. chapter 5...who's ready for some Alex Cabot?

happy reading
tc