An-- Here is the third installment on this adventure. While it doesn't seem like it because it took a while to update, this story has a special place in my heart. I trully enjoy being able to give JJ a voice of her own.

AN2--12/30/2009--To anybody coming back to read the story, you'll notice I finally got around to combining the two "Anger" chapters. I tried to make JJ a little more angry in this, but I'm working on a new chapter for this story, so I didn't want to devote too much time to it. Thanks for reading!

In the thirty minutes since I've written my last disclaimer, I haven't found a way to procure the elusive ownership of Criminal Minds. Who knows? Maybe next time I won't have to write a disclaimer.

"JJ? Are you going to be okay for a few minutes? I need to run to the store before work, but if you need me to wait until—" He began in his abnormally kind way. That was something I was beginning to get used to, that the Hotch I used to see everyday wasn't the Hotch he was at home. He was actually someone completely different. Unfortunately, I didn't care if Hotch was in fact nicer than usual, I wanted him to act like himself. Not some nice, but zombie like thing. Everyone tended to have that plastered smile lately that I just seemed to want to take my sledge hammer to. If I could lift a sledge hammer, maybe someone would be in danger, but seeing as I was a crippled invalid, I guess I wouldn't have been very forceful.

"Hotch, I'm fine." I insisted, realizing that I hadn't answered his question in a few minutes as I pondered whether I should feel annoyed or grateful for his over protectiveness. Ever since I had come to his house from the hospital, he had been watching me like a hawk. If I didn't take my pain killers by the time he was out the door, I was fed them. If I didn't get up as easily as he liked, he would make Morgan come and make sure that I didn't get into any trouble while he was gone. It was like I had a babysitter. But at the end of the day, I knew he was only doing it because he cared. So I tried to be understanding, not that I always was.

"Are you sure?" He asked again, not wanting to leave me to my own devices for too long. I mean, the horrors that could happen, I could have to go to the bathroom ALL BY MYSELF. I tried to quell the inner growl that seemed to rise within me.

"You should go. I will be fine." I assured him, though I didn't fail to catch the doubtful glint in his eye. "Really."

"If you need anything..." He began as I raised hy hand to him, interrupting.

"Then call your cell and you will be here in seconds. I know." I insisted. Hotch worried too much, I had taken care of myself for the first thirty years of my life, in theory you wuld think he would trust me to take care of myself for twenty minutes.

"Okay." He said, though he still seemed unconvinced. "But..."

"If you don't answer on the first ring, call Rossi immediately." I said, again finishing his thoughts. I had heard this spill nearly a thousand times and knew it by heart.

"Alright." Hotch relented. "But Henry..."

"Is with Garcia because she picked him up last night, and she is going to drop him off with the FBI daycare service where you'll pick him up after work." I finished yet again. "Hotch, really, I know."

"I'll be right back." Hotch said with a light smile. "Do you want me to pick up something tonight, like Mexican or Pizza or Chinese...."

"No Chinese." I interrupted firmly, with far too much intensity for even my own liking. "Everything else is fine." I tried to soften the response.

"Alright." He looked at me strange, apparently remembering all the times that I told him that Chinese food was my absolute favorite. But the beauty of Hotch was he allowed me to not say anything, knowing that I apparently didn't want to. "No Chinese."

"I will be back as soon as I can." He promised as though he hadn't said that a million times before. He grabbed the keys and walked out the door hurriedly, as though the faster he could get to work, the faster he could come back. Goodie. I thought to myself wryly as I silently hoped that he'd give himself an opportunity to breath in and out. He deserved it, while I was sure that living with me being an invalid and my crying child was a bundle of fun, he definitely deserved moments to himself.

He had been gone almost an hour when I couldn't stand it anymore. I couldn't stand being such an invalid. I couldn't stand being so dependent on everyone else to take care of me. I was hungry and Hotch hadn't fed me before he left. I resented that I had to be given my cereal by my grown boss, as if I couldn't pour my own.

I knew it was a bad idea the moment I stood up, I had only been doing the whole physical therapy thing for a few weeks and I could barely move without my wheel chair and so taking several steps was more difficult than I ever could have imagined. But I was determined. Reaching for the cereal, I felt my legs shake pathetically beneath me, I stumbled but caught myself on the corner of the kitchen table, I lowered myself carefully in order to avoid further injury.

I sat and rested for what felt like a mere second though the clock said it was nearly an hour and then tried again. Getting up was the struggle, I used my limited arm strength to push myself up carefully where I rested the entirety of my body weight on the table. Regaining my balance, I leaned over to the cupboard again reaching for the box of Raisin Bran which was precariously positioned on the top shelf. This had the same effect as my previous attempt, causing me to collapse like a fallen doll on the floor.

It took a little while for me to regain strength to try again, but I found it. Eventually. Almost immediatly as I tried to shift my weight I fell again. I was starting to find that playing brave didn't do anything, being courageous didn't do anything. I hurt far worse than I had originally thought I ever could.

I banged my head angrily against the cabinet. My cheeks flushing with a raw uncontrolled rage. With a sob, I steeled myself to try again. When I was trying to walk or doing some other tedious, painful physical activity, I didn't have time to think about Will. And I would take any physical injury before facing the emotional one that constantly tried to bore at my soul.

As I looked up to my initial goal, I pressed my lips into a tight, defiant line as the Raisin Bran came into view.

Before me stood the small cereal box, erect and unmoving, and I knew I was staring my enemy in the face. And I was pissed.

Because the little cereal box on the top of the shelf was mocking me, tantalizing me, goading me with its presence. It sat there laughing at me as proof of my incapability, proof that I would lose the battle of the wills.

But what Raisin Bran didn't know was that I, Jennifer Jareau, do not lose.

Ever.

It was at this point I knew two things for certain. One that I wasn't going to give up on this, no matter how badly it hurt. And number two, that I was in for a long day.

"JJ?" Hotch called as he walked into the door of his house, Henry hitched to his hip. I immediately recognized the panic in his voice, it was the tone reserved especially for me. When he walked into the kitchen and saw me sitting on his floor, I could see the worry race through his mind.

"Hey." I stared up at him, trying to concoct some reasonable explanation why I was crumpled on the floor like a piece of discarded laundry. He sat Henry down in the play pin and ran into the kitchen.

"What are you doing?" He rushed over to my side, trying to help me back to my chair before I swatted him away.

"I am not an invalid." I said firmly, turning away from his help as though he were diseased. Even I could feel the determination in my voice.

It felt nice for once to be powerful. To be in control.

"JJ, you're hurt. There's nothing to be ashamed of." He said sympathetically, the pity in his voice reverberating through the kitchen--I made a mental note that his sympathetic tone was my least favorite tone he possessed. "Here, let me help you." He held out a helping hand, but a just glared at him in response.

"I can do this myself." I insisted, trying to get to the chair myself, but collapsing on the floor.

"Argh." He moaned, battling between whether he should help me mentally or physically. "Why won't you just let me help you up?"

"Because I have to do it myself." I said firmly, letting it be known by the no nonsense tone in my voice that there was no room for compromising. "I need to do it myself."

"Can I spot you? That way when you fall I can at least let you down slowly." Hotch offered. I could tell by the look on his face that this was a huge leap for him.

Part of me insisted that I say no to him, that I do it completely on my own. But I could see from the look in his eye that this was the best deal I was going to get, so I might as well take advantage of it. "Fine." I muttered, allowing his hands to hover around me.

"On the count of three." I announced, hoisting myself to a squatting position slowly. "One, two...three." I cringed as I used the trunk of my body to carry my weight up. The moment I felt my legs buckle, I felt two strong arms surround me.

"Are you alright?" Hotch said, lowering himself with me to the ground.

"No I'm not alright." I snapped. "I can't get a stupid cereal box. Let's go again." I said, focusing my determination at the task at hand, not bothering to see his reaction

"JJ..."

"If you don't help me, I'm just going to do it myself." I whispered--though it came out as more of a grumble. He nodded reluctantly. I breathed in a few times, preparing myself for the agonizing pain I was about to endure.

"I can't believe I agreed to this." He mumbled.

The problem was, I could. Hotch was fairly easy to manipulate. I felt terrible thinking this after all he had done for me, but it was true. "On the count of three."

It took six more times. Six painful, thigh busting times, but I finally got to the box and back to my wheelchair by myself.

How pitiful. I thought to myself with disgust at how my body betrayed me. Though I couldn't help but feel a surge of victory over the cereal box.

"Well if that wasn't your work out for the day." I muttered, hating myself for being so weak. Realizing that my victory was complete, I discarded the Raisin Bran on the counter where I could reach it the next morning, though I had to fight to suppress the smug grin that I felt.

"It wasn't a problem." He said, waving his hand as if it was no big deal. "And now we have food." He went to pick Henry up and carrying to his high chair.

"What did you get?" I asked noncommittally. As long as it wasn't Chinese food, I was a happy camper. Well, not necessarily a happy camper, but not an angry one.

"Mexican." He said as a smiled tugged at his lips. "I'd like to think we're going to have a fiesta." I had to grin at this, though I rarely felt like smiling these days. While I had always known Hotch to be the classic stoic, it was moments like these that I realized that Hailey was missing out on something special.

"Whatever." I whispered, suddenly feeling a pang for Will. It should have been Will who I was having a fiesta with, not my boss. I decided that Garcia might have just been wrong, things didn't always happen for a reason. Sometimes, things just sucked because that was life.

Two weeks later

"Reach, reach." The physical therapist encouraged, and while I tried to reach, I wanted more to kick him. Sometimes, people were just begging to be kicked.

"I am reaching." I retorted, trying to keep my voice even although I could feel beads of sweat starting to pepper my brow.

"Come on, Jenny. You've got to push yourself." Pete, the physical therapist with a death wish, said condescendingly.

"I am pushing myself." I said, not bothering to hide my irritation. "And don't call me Jenny."

"Oh, what are you going to do about it Jenny? Reach at me to death?" Pete scoffed.

"One of these days I will kick you where it counts." I threatened, knowing that it would be a while until I could reach my leg that high.

"That'll be the day." Pete muttered, further inciting my rage.

And while I wanted to do nothing more than wring my hands around his skinny, little, adrenaline seeking neck, I continued to reach, playing into his desperate game.

"Come on Jenny." He taunted. "Push harder."

Groaning, I continued to reach, unsure of how this all had befallen me. One thing was for certain, when my body could handle it, Pete was a dead man.

"Good work for today." He said after a while, giving me a bright smile like we had been having fun.

I nodded, fighting the urge to shout at him, though I ached to do so. Having grown stronger in the recent months, I wobbled out of the room, looking around for Hotch who had told me that he was going to wait for me. That was until I saw Morgan sitting there, thumbing through a copy of People Magazine interestedly.

"Derek?" I said, limping lamely over to him with my crutches.

"Hey JJ." He called back, never looking up from whatever he had been reading. "A case came up and Hotch is dealing with some locals. He sent me to take you home."

"Okay." I said, slightly disappointed. I'm still not sure why, I mean, its not like the ride home would be anymore eventful with Hotch than Morgan, but I suddenly felt a little uncomfortable.

He got up from his chair and walked me to his car, hovering a few feet from me at all times. Seriously, when Reid came over to watch me when Hotch had gone to get groceries, he had done the exact same thing. Stupid men who thought I was going to collapse at any moment.

As I moved myself into the car, there was a soft pang as put on my seatbelt in the passenger seat while Morgan threw my wheelchair into the back of his car. This stupid little strap was the thin line between life and death. Had Will been wearing his, there was a chance he wouldn't have...No, my mind couldn't dwell on the thoughts of the "could have been"s of the life of me and Will. He was dead and there was nothing that could change that now.

For the most part, we drove in silence, only making time for polite conversation at red lights and stop signs, as if the end of the motion of the car indicated time for us to talk. As he inched up Hotch's driveway, I was sure that he was going to just drop me off, leaving me to a few quiet moments of peace where I could stop pleasing people.

"Thanks for the ride." I said as I nearly bolted from the car, but I wasn't going to get out so lucky.

"Not so fast." Morgan warned as he opened his door. "Hotch would kill me if I just left you here alone."

"Morgan, I am a thirty-year-old woman, I think I can handle being alone for a few hours." I said with a serious look, one that he easily brushed off.

"Be that as it may, I'm still not leaving." He maintained, ushering me into my own--Well, Hotch's--home and leading me to the couch.

"So, what do you want to do? We could play cards, we could watch a movie---" He mused.

"Oh, so now you've taken it upon yourself to entertain me too? Morgan, I don't need you." I didn't mean for it to come out caustic, but it unintentionally did. I was tired and angry, and all I wanted was to be left alone.

"So now I get to play with pissy JJ. Great." He retorted, losing all facade of chirpiness.

"Pissy JJ?" I recoiled with horror.

"This whole little 'poor, little picked on me' routine isn't exactly new with you." He said seriously. "I've known it for years and its the only act you've had for months."

"Excuse me?"

"Sorry Baby but you are a one trick pony and we are all catching on to it." If Pete had a death wish, Morgan had a gun to his head, begging me to pull the trigger. "Tell me when I can see pleasant JJ again." And that's when I saw it in his eyes, his apology for snapping, but the words he said still dug into me, probably because they were still a little true.

"Oh, I'm sorry that I'm being unpleasant, Morgan, but we can't all be Pollyanna on uppers like your current ventures." I retorted sharply. "Will only died two months ago!"

"Look JJ, you've been through a lot. I get that, but you need to start getting over it." He said softly, causing my anger to grow exponentially.

"Get over it?" I spat, ready to tackle him at any moment. "My boyfriend--the father of my son--died because a stupid car wreck, and I'm just supposed to get over it?"

"JJ, I'm not asking for much---" He began to back track, but I was now of the offensive.

"No Morgan, you are asking for a whole hell of a lot more than much." I bit out. "You are asking me to turn my back on the only person I have ever loved."

"I get that JJ." He said icily. "I just don't want Will to be the last person you ever love."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that yes, what happened to you, it sucked, but sucky things happen everyday." Morgan said evenly. "And I don't want you to turn into one of those people who blame their lack of happiness on an excuse."

"Excuse me? MY BOYFRIEND DIED!" I bellowed. "Here I was doing the best I could, I was being the attentive girlfriend, I gave money to the poor...Hell, I even recycled and Will still died! How in the world does this happen to me? When everyday I'm facing serial killers who---Why is it me who ends up with the dead boyfriend!"

"JJ, sometimes things just happen, and you have to move on--" Morgan said, and I was sure that I was going to kill him.

"AND SOMETIMES YOU DON'T WANT TO MOVE ON." I screamed at the top of my lungs, hoping that he would soon just leave it alone. "Will is dead!"

"Yeah, but you are still alive, and I think Will would have wanted you to--" He began, this time a little more rationally.

"You don't know what he would have wanted. You don't know anything Derek." I said coldly, mustering all the anger with in me. "And now I think you should go."

"JJ, shit happens to everyone." He said softly. "And while, yeah, you do deserve to catch a break and be mad about this, it isn't who you are. You aren't the bitter widow type. And while I would love to be nice to you and let it all slide, I can't. I care about you way to much to allow that."

"Get out." I reaffirmed, though this time his words fell more carefully on my hardened defenses.

"Alright." He said, reaching for the door handle.

And while the anger I felt boiled within me, a small sliver inside of me decided to make her presence known. "Derek?" She--not me-- called tentatively to the man who had just caused so much turmoil.

"Yeah" He responded, pausing only for a moment.

"Thanks." I said stiffly, though I was still furious. Part of me didn't know if I would ever forgive Derek Morgan, but the other part of me appreciated his intervention so much, that I knew I couldn't live without him.

He nodded before stepping away, as if to acknowledge me.

And it was silly really, having this moment be so important to me when I was so angry, but it was like it opened the flood gate. Because for the first time in a while, a new, unfamiliar emotion washed over me. My cheeks suddenly felt...wet. And while I still felt angry, I was much more furious with myself than Morgan. Because I wasn't mad at him, I was mad at myself for not being mad. And the anger that I had grown so accustomed to, it was suddenly gone, and the void left was full of pain, and I honestly felt like there wasn't hope any more.

I knew that I was going to actually feel it eventually, that I wouldn't always be numb or angry, but that didn't stop it from feeling like a complete kick in the gut when the affray on my weak and helpless heart began. I always thought that while when I actually faced the truth that Will wasn't coming back, that I would still find some way to cope, to pick up the pieces of my shattered life and move on. Now I was finding, however, that everyone liked to think that they were the coping type, but I unfortunately wasn't. I was blindsided, and I had no where to turn. My life had been stolen from me and the only person who would have been able to guide me was now six feet under and cold in the ground.

And so as I sat in a pathetic, fallen clump on the kitchen floor. After moments, or days, I'm still not sure, I heard a soft pattering of feet enter. I knew the breathing within a heartbeat, and felt as a pair of strong, protective arms found their way around me, lifting me to my feet. Normally, I would have shrugged them away, protesting my independence, but not then. Not when I so badly needed to know that someone was there, holding me up.

"Hotch?" I whispered softly, my mouth having a hard job of making words as my face was pressed to his chest. I already knew that his shirt was going to be stained by my running mascara, but I didn't have it in me to care. I needed him so much more than I needed any shred of dignity. "I think I'm ready to be sad."

And before I knew it, the strong arms squeezed me closer, though I previously hadn't known it possible, protecting me from the world that had so grievously betrayed me.

"Its going to be alright JJ." He responded. "Everything is going to be alright." And I knew that someday, it might be. But that was a long ways away, because right then, I was ready to be depressed, and I couldn't move on until I did sad good and well.

An--If you want to leave a review, that definitely would make me happy. But hey, if you don't want to, I can't click or type for you.