Title: Falling Awake

Rating: T for the first two parts… if I continue with a part three, it might change to a mild M (depending on where my muse takes me)

Pairing: Jennifer Jareau/Spencer Reid

Spoilers/Timeline: I was inspired after season 3's Birthright – anything before and including this episode is fair game.

Author's Note: Here is chapter two. This has been a chapter literally a month in the making (with many fights with my muse and my sanity), and I put a lot into it. Any feedback would be seriously appreciated, as I'm unsure if I should continue or leave it finished here. If I did continue with a final chapter, it would potentially change in rating to a mild M… so any thoughts on that would be heartily welcomed. Also, I have to especially thank those that reviewed, alerted, or favorite'd this story. It means so much to me… thank you.

Disclaimer: If I owned Criminal Minds, Spencer and JJ would act on the mutual attraction that is, to me, tangible between them. But alas… I own the show naught. So don't sue. Please.

--Slipping through the bars

Aware of the danger

Of riding in the cars

Taking candy from strangers --

He arrives at her apartment complex fifteen minutes later – he's sure that he's broken more than a few traffic laws during the drive, but he could not care less. The clock on his dash reads 12:16, but not even the late hour will stop him.

He flashes his badge at her doorman, who lets him by, wide-eyed, without a word. He's only been to her apartment once before, when he picked her up before the Redskins game, but he remembers the path to her door like he's walked it one hundred times. He knocks impatiently, worried for a moment that she isn't home, or worse, that she isn't alone, or one hundred other scenarios that are playing through his mind. He curses his overactive brain.

The door swings open, and he suddenly wishes for his brain to work. Reid is taken aback by this JJ, this side of her that he's never met. There is something strangely childlike about her appearance: her bare feet and haphazard ponytail are the only accessories to her oversized flannel pajama bottoms and thin tank top. The pants droop low on her hips, and it reminds him of a little girl playing dress up, swimming in clothes that are five sizes too big. He wants to laugh, but then he meets her eyes.

Her eyes don't match the innocence and gaiety he's conjured in his head of tea parties and princess crowns. It is one of the few times, if not the first time, that he has seen her without any makeup on her face – he wonders if that's why she looks so different. He's spent enough time studying her features, but he can't pinpoint what seems to have magically changed in the few hours since he last laid eyes on her. The contours of her face are the same, but there is no glow, no brightness emanating from her.

Her gaze will not fix on him; instead, her eyes are skittish, darting from side to side. Her face betrays the feelings she's paid to hide so well: shock, fear, and sheer vulnerability.

And Reid has never been so terrified, because as her eyes finally lock with his for one fleeting moment, he is hit with one simple truth: this is not his JJ.

Here they stand, just after midnight, silent, save the rustling of her pajamas as she fidgets; he thinks he can hear the sound of a ticking clock from deep within her apartment, a dull, static metronome, but there's a good chance it's just the blood pounding in his ears. They stand like this, surrounded by the unbearable near-silence, until she can no longer bear the weight of his wordless scrutiny and is the first to disrupt the quiet. Her voice is low, edgy, almost dangerous as she says, "It's after 12 o'clock, Reid."

Reid. His wheels spin as he hears her try to distance herself from him in the simplest way. At this, he takes action.

"Can I come in?" he asks, a formality, as he enters her apartment without waiting for an answer.

She is taken aback, to say the least. He is in her living room, now, and she is frozen at the open door to her home, still facing the hallway as if this bold man in Spencer Reid's body hadn't just pushed his way past her, uninvited.

He feels like he needs to bring her back, bring JJ back to Spence. His voice is quiet, uncharacteristically steady as he speaks. "This is a beautiful place, JJ," he starts, cautiously, as if he's trying to coax a wild animal to him. "We really don't live that far apart. I could even let you pick me up on your way to work."

His attempt at a joke is feeble, but it seems to remind her that, well, he's Spencer Reid, because she closes the door (and deliberately locks each bolt, he notes) and leans her head against the doorframe with a heavy sigh. "Spencer… what are you doing here?"

Her words are still quiet, too quiet, but her use of his first name gives him courage. Slowly, he moves closer to her. "JJ," he starts, slow and soothing, "the past few weeks – months, really… JJ, you've been fading away."

She turns around, and suddenly, it's all business. The façade she's mastered for her work at the BAU is back up, a cheerless smile on her face. "I don't know what you mean, Spence. Things have been stressful, but with Gideon leaving, and Garcia, that's to be expected." Her response is diplomatic, rehearsed, and completely valid.

Reid doesn't buy it for a second. "Come on, JJ," he counters softly, looking her straight in the eye. "You haven't been yourself for a while now. You've been slipping."

She's the picture of professionalism, save her pajamas and bed-mussed hair. She's grasping for control, the guarded smile that will not leave her face incongruous with her demeanor. "Honestly, it's sweet of you to be concerned, but I'm fine." She looks him dead in the eye as she adds, "Really."

It is a desperate plea, almost a warning, to drop it, to let it go, let her deal with her demons on her own terms, and he is so close to acquiescing at the desperation in her voice, but when her eyes lock on his, they are not pleading; they are not desperate.

They are empty.

He has to look away, because it's killing him to see her so broken. She takes this as his defeat, his retreat, and she moves towards the door, making to let him out and bid him good night. Her posture is poised and stiff, but he can almost feel the relief flowing off of her.

He hates to do it, but he plays along, moving closer to her as if to leave; JJ's guard is down, now, and once he is right behind her, he takes his chance.

She had turned away to unlock the deadbolts, to free him from the prison she's trapped herself in, but she's startled out of her task when she senses that he is so close to her. She reels around in a panic, but is seemingly stunned into silence when she looks up at him, and now he feels the panic, too, because they are almost touching, and it is all too much.

He isn't used to this, to being so near to her, so close that one slight movement would make them collide, so close that he can smell the intoxicating aroma of JJ, the lingering scent of the lilac that is her shampoo mixed with something that is unclassifiable. He is looking down at her; she seems smaller, tonight, and he knows that it isn't just the absence of her typical high heels. The absolute reality of this moment, what he's doing, where he is, who he's with… it all hits him in one second, and he has to close his eyes, because it is all too overwhelming.

"JJ," he starts, his eyes opening and his voice barely above a whisper, "do you consider me a friend?"

She is still looking up at him, like a deer caught in the headlights, but she nods. "Do you trust me?"

Again, she nods mutely, but he will not accept this. He leans in closer, even closer, and finds the courage to bring a shaky hand up to her cheek. "I need you to say it, JJ," he says, and his voice is low and dangerous, just barely above a whisper.

Her eyes are wide and bright, staring at him with such raw emotion that he can't help but think that he might love her. Her eyes drift shut as she leans into his palm, her entire body shifting toward his with the motion. Their foreheads are almost touching now, and she breathes a shaky sigh as she whispers, "I trust you."

"Then let me help you." He's not used to this pleading desperation that has crept into his voice, but he knows the road she's heading down, hell, he could draw the map, and he knows in that moment, as she opens her eyes to look into his and nods tiredly, that he'll do anything to keep her from falling.

She delicately steps away from his embrace and sits down on her couch, seemingly unaware of the dichotomous picture of grace and vulnerability she presents to him. He sits next to her, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her, the outside of their arms and legs just barely touching. She is facing straight ahead, as if gathering her thoughts and the strength to let him in, so he mimics the pose, giving her the space she needs.

The only sound he hears for a long while is the soft inhales and exhales of her breathing as she tries to calm herself; the ticking of the clock from somewhere in her home seems quieter than it had when he arrived, but it is just as relentless in its monotony. He supposes he should take comfort in it, in the scientific predictability that comes with knowing each tick will be followed by another – but tonight, time is his bitter enemy, each successive second mocking him more than the last.

"I think I'm going crazy."

It is so quiet that he thinks he may have imagined it, but sure enough, JJ's voice interrupts his thoughts, and the torturous silence.

"I think I'm going crazy," she repeats, a bit louder. There is an eerie calm in her voice – he wants to question her, reassure her, give her something, but he knows her well enough that what she needs in no interruption. In consolation to his own nerves, Reid just leans into her a little more, silently telling her, 'I'm here.'

A shaky inhale of breath propels her to continue. "It's… the things we see… we experience the absolute evil in the world, and I just…" She goes silent again, her gaze still fixed straight ahead. "It seems like the more we see, the more I'm finding the leap from good to evil is so much narrower than I ever thought. Some of the worst people we've seen – it wasn't long ago that they were innocent victims. How does that… how can that be fair?" she asks, not really to him, but to the air in front of her. "I mean, God. Does it ever stop? It's like there's no hope for any of us – some of the most innocent are turned into animals, and where does it end?" She finally turns to him. "God, Spencer. Where does it end?"

He opens his mouth to answer her, but she continues over him. "And it terrifies me, because I feel like I'm losing my humanity. I close my eyes at night, and all that I see is blood. All that I see are the empty eyes of the victims staring back at me." She's looking at him with a tangible panic in her eyes, and suddenly shame enters them as well. Her voice softens to a shaky whisper, and he can tell that she's fighting back tears; her words sound like a confession. "And God forgive me, Spence, but I can't take it. I don't remember the last time I slept through the night. So I've been trying to make myself hard, to push it away… but I feel like I'm losing myself, and I don't know how to make it stop." Her hands come up to cover her face, as if she's trying to shield herself from the harsh brutality of the world.

"JJ," he breathes. He splays his hand on her back; at the contact, she collapses into him and begins to cry. He eagerly draws her to him, threading his free hand through her hair and using the other to rub slow circles into her back.

He waits until she calms before he pulls back enough to take her face in his hands and fix his eyes with hers. His thumbs wipe away the tears that are still falling down her cheeks. "JJ, listen to me," he implores softly. She is staring at him with absolute desperation, so he continues, his voice full of emotion. "Trying to cope with… with this life, with the things that we see… JJ, there's nothing wrong with that. And it doesn't make you less human…" He pauses, trying to figure out how to translate his thoughts into words. "I think… I think that it proves just how incredible you are."

The confusion is written on her face. Pushing a stray lock of hair from her messy ponytail behind her ear, he explains, "God, JJ, the simple fact that you… that you care enough to be so affected by the horror we see, that shows just how much empathy and compassion you possess."

He thinks, from the look on her face, that she finds his thesis is sound but finds fault in its application to her. "It really hit me after I shot Battle; I told Garcia that I didn't even think twice, and at first, I thought I said it to make her feel better." Looking away from him, she sounds ashamed as she confesses, "But then I realized that it was true. I didn't think twice – I shot the man between the eyes and I didn't think twice." Incredulous, she adds, "How does that make me any better than the monsters we face every day?"

"Look at me, JJ," he urges. "You didn't think twice because your instincts compel you to protect people in peril. If anything, that itself is evidence of your humanity." She begins to protest, but he cuts her off. "No, JJ. Would you have even considered shooting him if he weren't holding a hostage in a crowded office? I know that you wouldn't. You don't hurt people to watch them suffer. And even when you shot a narcissistic murderer like Battle, to save your co-workers – your friends – you felt remorse." He lets his thumbs brush her tears away in order to make sure she's listening. "You think that makes you a monster? I think that makes you admirable."

He takes a deep breath and musters up the courage to be as honest with her as she's been with him. "JJ… your capacity for compassion, for empathy… your ability to question the world around you… these are the things that have always drawn me to you," he admits. "I know that you've been doubting yourself, but looking from the outside in at your life, I can tell you with absolute certainty that these parts of you have only grown over the past two years."

Reid smiles sadly at her, wanting to say so much more, but aware of her weariness. As if sensing his thoughts, she rests her forehead against his, roughly exhaling, "Spencer, I'm just so tired."

He nods against her forehead, reveling in the silence of the moment. Eventually, he takes her hands and guides her to stand. At her questioning look, he reassures her, "Come with me."

For a moment, she looks doubtful, but her exhaustion quickly takes over and she follows.

He's only been in her home once before, so as he leads her down the unfamiliar terrain of the back hallway, he has to guess as to the location of his destination. Eventually, he reaches her open bedroom door and guides her inside.

He puts a conscious effort into ignoring the fact that he is in Jennifer Jareau's bedroom, distractedly noticing how the bed sheets are disheveled from her obviously tortured sleep. He directs her to lie down, and she practically sinks into the bed. He brings the covers up around her, allowing his fingers to linger at her cheek. "Sleep, JJ."

As he starts to walk away, she grabs his hand. "Spence… please stay."

He crouches next to her and smiles. "I was planning on it." For the first time, she smiles back at him, and he can see his JJ again. "Sleep," he repeats.

He settles into the easy chair across from her bed, comforted that he can watch over her, provide her with some sense of peace. It's not long before she drifts off into sleep.

And all that he can hear is her slow, steady breathing, and the endless metronome of the ticking clock.

I have strong ideas of where I want to take a potential part 3. If you would like to read a final chapter, please let me know. It would potentially be raised to a mild M raiting... your thoughts on this would help me out! Any other encouragement, criticisms, or feedback would be, by me, greatly appreciated and inspirational. Thanks for reading!