When the Levee Breaks

Human pain does not let go of its grip at one point in time. Rather, it works its way out of our consciousness over time. There is a season of sadness. A season of anger. A season of tranquility. A season of hope.

Robert Veninga

NINE

It was sad times for the Behavioural Analysis Unit, and not simply because of all the victims piling up. No, for the BAU, desperation occurred when they could accurately quantify the day by the type of takeout they ordered. Last night had been pizza, tonight it was Indian. The entire team had spent the last seven hours examining case files, and cross referencing them with other files, tip-line calls, and witness statements. There were only so many connections that Garcia's equipment could find. In depth examinations took a keen human eye.

It was almost nine o'clock, though, and most eyes were not so much keen as heavy. Emily had fallen asleep atop her pile of cases a good hour and a half ago.

'I might head back to the hotel,' said Morgan, after he had yawned for what felt like the hundredth time.

'Take Emily with you,' suggested Hotch. He threw a quick glance at JJ. 'I can keep going,' she responded with a grim smile.

Morgan stood, unsure of how to approach the situation at hand. She would freak if she found out he had carried her to the car, and yet it seemed wrong to wake her. The decision was made for him, when she woke suddenly, wary of her surroundings.

'Nightmare?' asked Hotch.

'No,' she replied with some finality. The second or so of hesitation made Hotch sure that she was lying.

It didn't take much persuasion for Emily to accompany Morgan back to the hotel. Her stubbornness was weakened by the same exhaustion that fuelled her irritability. She tried so hard to hide it, but trained profilers were useful for something after all.

'How're you doing?' He broke the silence as they drove the dark Ridgeview streets.

'I'll be better when people stop asking,' she replied bluntly.

'You'll feel better if you talk about it,' he persisted, trying to maintain a comforting demeanour.

'What's that supposed to mean?' she shot daggers at him.

'Every time someone asks you if you're okay, you avoid the question. Like you don't want anyone to know what you're really thinking.'

'I don't need looking after.'

'It's not about trying to protect you; it's about being there for you.'

'And when was the last time you let anyone be there for you?'

The argument stopped as quickly as it had started, without another word spoken. For the rest of the short drive, the two avoided eye contact.

The next morning, Emily drove with Rossi again. She didn't particularly feel like discussing things with Morgan yet. As Rossi got there, she was hanging up her phone for the second morning in a row.

'Was that Reid?' Rossi asked.

'Yeah.' She seemed a little restrained. To Rossi, this was unsurprising.

'How's he doing?'

'He's doing well,' she said, 'I got to hear about the health properties of soy milk, so I think we'll have our Reid back soon enough.' She left unspoken the words "not like last time".

There was a brief moment where only the radio and the humming of the engine could be heard. And then:

'I've been having nightmares,' she said abruptly. 'I hadn't had any in a while, and then...after the thing with Cyrus, they just came flooding back. It wasn't the pain so much as the fact that the pain didn't bother me.'

He didn't say anything, so she continued. The fact that he hadn't pressured her was the reason she felt so comfortable talking to him.

'It was fourteen years ago, but I can still remember every single moment. Political relations were still tenuous. I was there to visit my mother. I hadn't seen her in over six months, but the plane lands and no-one is waiting. I tried calling, but the phone lines to an embassy are engaged at the best of times. It was getting dark, and the airport was a fair way from the embassy, so I asked if there was a hotel nearby. An American in a Middle-Eastern country that speaks fluent Arabic – their first impression is spy.'

She stopped.

'How long?' asked Rossi.

'Four months. Growing up, she always made me hide my pain – it's bad PR to have a kid that cries all the time, I guess. When you're being tortured...it's the same principle. Disassociation. You separate the side that feels pain, and focus on the rest. The problem is, the pain is what makes us human. Four months later...I'm regaining consciousness, and I see my mother's face. I'd been taken by a splinter group. The real radicals. People who weren't even going to bother checking if I'm actually a spy or not. The first thing she says to me is "we need to get you out of here before the media sees."' She had tears rolling down her cheeks now, but she didn't even notice. They had reached the police station, but neither made a move to get out of the car.

'It took me...a long time to remember how to be human. And even longer to remember that I'm not always going to be alone. I think...the thing with Cyrus dredged up things that would be best left buried.'

Rossi nodded, understanding. 'You should speak to Morgan,' he said, finally. 'He really does care.'

They left the car, and noticed almost immediately that the atmosphere around the police station had changed.

'Something happened,' said Rossi, and they both reverted to work mode. He found Hotch in the conference room. 'What's going on?'

'Steven Carmichael's body was found this morning,' said Hotch, and grim didn't even begin to describe the look on his face.

A/N: Well that's that chapter. It took a little longer than the others – I had some troubles with the characterisation, but hopefully I got them all acting the way they should be. Tell me if you think otherwise. All reviews are much appreciated, so keep it up, and, most importantly, enjoy it. Cheers, tfm.

Edit to say that I'm concerned some people forgot to read chapter seven. The stats page shows that more people have read 8 than 7, which is clearly absurd unless some of you missed 7. You should go back and read it.