"Want another, Jo?"

She looks up to see a waiter standing next to her booth.

The young man, who simultaneously looks and acts like a golden retriever, brushes sandy hair from his forehead as holds a second beer out to Jo.

He is cute, she thinks, but he knows it. Far too full of himself.

"I almost thought you forgot about me, Harv. You didn't come over to say hi when I walked in. I know you saw me."

He smiles at her bashfully and his coy demeanor is almost enough to make her roll her eyes.

"I could never forget you, Jo. What brings you back into town?"

He takes a small step toward her booth to let another waiter pass behind him. But he doesn't step back.

"I am here for work."

She smirks happily, flashing off her pristine new credentials linked to a shiny gold badge by a zip-tie.

Harvey leans down far enough to be able to read the small print on the cards.

"FBI, huh? Your daddy finally drag you back to town?"

"He wishes. No, I just have some business to tend to."

"You FBI types are always so secretive."

"That's why we should stop talking about my job and you should bring me another plate of cheese fries."

Ten minutes later her stomach is full of carbs and she is satisfied. The feeling doesn't last long.

She checks her wristwatch, it's face reading 11:13 pm. That's when she notices the sound of a rain shower, and she cranes her neck to the wide windows situated at the front of the diner.

Sure enough a torrential downpour wreaks havoc on the Quantico streets.

She sighs when she realizes he's going to be even later than he already is. She knows he hates walking in the rain.

Another fifteen minutes, another beer, a lot more waiting. Oh, and another basket of fries.

But when cold air prickles her ankles and the bell above the diner door chimes, she wishes she could go back to her idle waiting.

She stops chewing when she sees him. She swallows quickly and wipes the corners of her mouth before wiping the grease and salt onto her jeans.

His shoulders are still broad and strong, but they're rigidly pinched up to his ears in a way she doesn't recognize.

She wonders how much of that physical stress is due to his job, and how much of it is due to his insufferable wife.

His brows are knit together as he rigidly shakes out the umbrella he's gripping steadily.

A hostess tries to talk to him, but he brushes past her pointedly and walks straight to Jo's booth.

She would normally think this behavior is rude, but she is too anxious to think any bad thoughts about Hotch.

She sits up straight as a way to prepare herself, and a second later she feels stupid for trying so hard to impress him.

He makes it to her table in a few large strides.

The creases that have always riddled his face are darker now, the pinch between his eyebrows makes her wonder what exactly he's been up to all these years.

Most noticeably to Jo, he still gives off the energy of five children stacked under a trench coat.

Stiff and trepidatious. He doesn't look happy.

He slides into the booth seat across from her, eyeing the drink in her hand before he laces his hands in front of himself on the table.

"Fancy seeing you here," Is what she thinks to say to him.

"You asked me to meet you here."

Oh, wow. He really is not in a good mood.

"Coming in a little hot, aren't you Hotchner?"

"Sorry," He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes together tightly. He opens them again, hoping to gain a little more patience when he looks at her.

"I'm so happy to see you Jo, I am. Really. I'm sorry that I'm not more..."

"Hotch," She leans toward him slightly, "It's all good. Really. I'm just happy to see you."

It's now his turn to drink in how time has changed her.

She's as beautiful as ever, anyone could have guessed that. But she is vacant, and the specific certain unique brightness that used to cloud her being has completely vanished.

She looks tired and overworked. Hotch had assumed that she would be when he saw her tonight.

He nods and clears his throat, "How was Chicago? Was undercover anything like you thought it would be?"

She shakes her head, "No. Not at all, actually. I learned a lot."

"Good."

He looks at her blankly and she wants to slap him across the face when he doesn't say anything else. Why is he being so solemn and stoic?

Why isn't he more happy to see her?

"Why is this weird?" She breaks whatever messed-up decorum she was trying to maintain in front of him.

"You tell me. Why did you ask me to meet you like this, here of all places?" He assesses the the diner with a haughty glance over his shoulder.

"Hey! This was one of my absolute favorite drinking spots during second high school."

"You can't keep calling college second high school."

When his stony demeanor cracks with a slight smile for the briefest of moments, all of the air escapes her lungs with relief.

"I went there when I was fifteen, it's second high school to me."

There is another momentary lag in conversation. Hotch is waiting for Jo to open her mouth, and Jo is tapping her fingers on the booth.

Stubborn as always, he thinks.

"I just wanted to get this out of the way before I start on Monday," She relents, but doesn't continue.

Hotch's eyebrows raise, "Now would be a good time to get it out of the way, then."

"Right, yeah," she laces her fingers together on the table and looks down at them.

"So, I saw your car parked outside of my dad's house yesterday," She speaks cautiously, waiting for Hotch to interject and tell her immediately that it's not what she thinks.

"I figured that's what this was about," He nods and leans his back against the booth.

Jo takes it as a sign that he wasn't going to say anything else when he crosses his arms over his chest, so she sucks in a breath.

"So, I guess what my question would be to you, is why the hell were you at my dad's house?" Her tone becomes accusatory, and in this moment realizes she has every right to be.

The situation looks shady, even he would admit.

Hotch sighs, "Look Jo--"

"Oh my god, are you guys like buddy-buddy now?"

He squeezes his hand together so as to not raise his voice at her. She is like his daughter, and the fact that he hasn't seen her in seven years makes him question everything he knew about her.

Does he even know her anymore?

"Jolene, he is my boss. No, we are not all buddy-buddy. I don't think I could ever be friendly with that man again," He confuses earnestly.

Jo's gaze flickers between his eyes before deciding he is telling the truth, "Good."

She leans back in the booth as well, feeling the defensiveness in her her attitude weaken.

"He did want to talk to me about you, though."

"And what did he say, exactly?"

"He's worried about you, and though we both know he is not a good man, I can't help but see where he's coming from. I worry about you, too."

"Alright," She sips the beer in her left hand, "Let's hear it, then."

"He's worried about your past, um..."

"Issues?"

"Sure," Hotch agrees quickly, "And, before I tell you this, I want you to know I told him this whole thing is ridiculous."

She resents the way he's talking to her the way he would talk to an unsub who is holding hostages inside of a bank.

"Let's hear it, then," She grinds out.

"He wants your firearm certification rescinded," He speaks carefully, watching her for any reaction.

She gives none.

"He always wants you to be issued a bi-weekly drug test, and a monthly psych eval administered by me."

"Is this man out of his fucking mind?" She asks earnestly.

"I tried to fell him this is ridiculous--"

"Doesn't sound like you tried hard enough, honestly," She laughs bitterly, sipping her beer to distract her from Hotch's brazen demeanor.

"It's very unprofessional, what he's trying to do to you. It isn't--"

"I'm clean, okay? Have been for two years. So if that's what he's worried about, he can kindly fuck off--"

"Jolene--"

"Secondly, you and I both know I will be the best shot in the BAU, so if he wants to take my gun certification he can also take responsibility for the casualties that will cause in the field. God."

Jo laughs breathlessly, as if she were just told some cosmic joke, "Next you'll be telling me he doesn't want me in the field."

"Well..."

"Fuck Hotch. Really?!"

"Lower your voice, now."

"You know what?" Jo grabs her small black purse from the booth seat and fishes out a few bills, leaving them on the table.

"Jo, don't do this. You can't always just..."

"You wanna finish that thought?"

"No. I'm sorry."

"Whatever Hotch--"

"I won't let you go through all that. You know I won't, right?" He has a grip on her wrist, preventing her from leaving.

She pulls her hand free.

Jo stands from the booth, "Thanks for sticking up for me, but you know my father is the one thing I can't and won't take lightly. I'll see you at work on Monday."

Hotch doesn't watch her as she leaves. The only signifier of her absence from the diner now is the little bell that chimes atop the front door as she exits.

Soon she's alone on the balcony of her apartment with cigarette burning in her hand.

Elbows draped on the railing, she observes the bland skyline in front of her apartment building.

Quantico certainly isn't Chicago, or anywhere else she's worked for that matter. It moves at a different pace.

It's slower. The dust has more time to settle here, so after a catastrophe, you can see the destruction left in its wake a little too clearly.

In Chicago, there's no time to stop and think about anything. You always have to be on the move. And undercover work is a completely different story.

"Fuck," Smoke burns her throat. Her face scrunches in disgust.

"I gotta give this up," The cig drops to the ground, her platform boot crushing it in twisting motions.

Jo lays in bed still as a statue and stiff as a board. She stares at the ceiling, too anxious to fall asleep. Partly she is ancious about her father, and separately, but just as dauntingly, her nightmares.

The nightmares happen every time she sleeps, and they always depict the same scenarios--different versions of the night of her mother died.

Even though the pair had never discussed it, Jo knew her father knew of her nightmares. It would be impossible for him not to, considering she woke up every night screaming bloody murder while living under his roof for four years after the accidentally.

He knew that being in Quantico is detrimental to her, as it reminded her of everything she worked so hard to forget.

But, he still asked her to come back, despite it all.

She resents him for it, almost as much as she resents him for being an emotionless, apathetic fuck.

She bites her fingernails in the blue-black night of her room, thoughts of her father and Hotch swimming in her head. The incense still smoking on the windowsill fills the room with a dark haze and a bitter smell.

Jolene knows she is lost, being thrust back into the horrid treachery that was life connected to the BAU.

She knows there will be a lot of pain and confusion in her future. That comes with this job.

Maybe tomorrow will be better. Maybe tomorrow will roll around, she'll start work at the BAU, and everything will be fine--great even. Maybe tomorrow, the nightmares will stop, and she'll know peace.

Maybe tomorrow will be the best day of her life. For all she knows, tomorrow could be the day that makes her want to push through to the next tomorrow.

She knows this will not be true, but the tiny part of her that wants to feel whole again will keep up hope, a hope that will only last until she has to remind herself to hope again tomorrow.

Maybe.

a/n sorry this chapter is so long, it was originally two separate drafts of the same thing that I made one. I hope you all enjoyed it :)

super open to feedback/suggestions. If there's something you want to see in this story, or an element that you think could be stronger, let me know.

contact:

Jo's story is so personal to me because it reflects my own in terms of grief and depression/healing. I hope you can find some solace in her story as well, she's a reflection of prevailing through the ugly parts of life.

Sending so much love to whoever needs it.

I hope you have a great rest of your day!