AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry that it's taken so long, but once again I plead life. I will say that at this time, I'm not sure if THE BIG EMPTY will be completed. Mostly because this story seems to be covering the ground that I was dealing with in that one and I don't wish to be repetitive. I apologize for that.

That said, I hope you continue to enjoy this one. I love JJ's story and am having a blast with it.

As always, thanks for the kind words.

Your turn, J.

-Shawn


March, 2007

Jennifer Jareau couldn't sleep. Something was bothering her. Something was wrong.

Very wrong.

But for the life of her, she couldn't figure out what.

Mentally she ticked through the list.

No active cases that demanded immediate attention. Her family was okay. Her love life was non existent.

So what…what?

A toss to the left, a toss to the right. Face in the pillow, face up towards the ceiling.

Still nothing.

Counting sheep, counting backwards, deep breaths in and out.

Just about Lamaze.

And still she was awake.

She pushed herself to her feet and paced around the room. Tried to exhaust herself.

Jumping jacks, sit-ups, push-ups.

Hell, even a few suicides.

A little bit of pain in her thighs and quads, but no sleep.

Dressed in a pair of black and blue plaid flannel pants and white wifebeater, She made her way downstairs and poured herself a mug of milk. Half a minute in the microwave and then a quick sip.
Two violent gags later, she dumped the rest of the foul liquid down the drain.

She was about to make her way back upstairs when she heard her cell ringing. After a few moments of wondering where the sound was coming from, her eyes managed to finally spot her purse.

On the kitchen table. Haphazardly discarded on the way in.

She made her way to it and plucked the phone up. A quick look at the Caller ID showed it be Reid's cell. She frowned. It was almost midnight. A call from Reid likely meant something bad had happened.

It likely meant that a case had come up.

"Let me guess," she sighed as she answered it. "Emergency case in Alaska and we have to fly out right away."

She waited for his cheerful voice to reply. Even the dryly sarcastic one that he tended to get late at night.

But there was nothing.

Just silence.

"Reid?"

This time she heard the sound of breathing. Heavy, almost choking.

Almost like he was crying.

But that didn't make sense.


Still, quietly, now a bit worried, "Spence?"

"I…" he stammered, then stopped. She thought she heard him gulp and then once again, there was silence.

"Spence, what's wrong?"

"I'm sorry," he replied and then the line went dead.

She moved quicker than she had ever thought possible, one hand reaching out for the keys to her SUV, the other grabbing a sweatshirt that had been previously thrown across the back of her couch.. She pulled it down over her wifebeater, slipped her feet into a pair of cheap rubber flipflops in the entryway and quickly exited her townhouse.

She spent the drive to his house deep in thought, wondering if she should call Hotch, knowing that she probably should, but feeling like this was something that Reid needed her to do.

Just her.

Whatever the hell it was.

Her mind whirled hysterically as she drove, throwing a thousand ideas out of what could be wrong with him. Most she rejected for lack of realism, some because she couldn't cope with the chance that the could actually happen.

But one stuck one.

One refused to go away.

What if he had called her to say goodbye?

What if that was what he had meant by apologizing to her.

What if the hell of the last few months had finally overwhelmed him?

And if that was true, how then could she possibly begin to deal with what she was about to see?

She swallowed hard, feeling a bit of wetness in the corner of her eyes.

She took a deep breath, prayed for control. Demanded it.

He was okay. He was fine.

There was a logical explanation for his call.

Obviously.

Something they'd laugh about.

Well at least they would once Reid started laughing again.

Things had been so different lately. So dark and emotional.

So painful.

For both of them. More for him than her, but she acutely felt the fear of their experience. That and the guilt of it.

The guilt was the worst part. The fear she could cope with, but the guilt, well that was something that she couldn't quite control.

Everytime she saw the bags under his eyes, dark and shadowy.

Everytime she saw him staring off into the distance, his mind surely replaying his torture at the hands of a madman.

Everytime he snapped in impatient anger instead of smiling boyishly and spewing out some random and utterly nonsensical statistic.

She missed that Reid.

Missed him terribly.

She turned her big SUV down a street that was flanked by trees on both sides. She pulled up in front of Reid's apartment building and parked.

Getting out, she looked around, noticing how terribly quiet it was. Which of course was why Spence loved to live here. He easily could have afforded a better place, something larger and more modern.

But, no. That wasn't his style at all.

She made her way up a stone walkway, to an apartment nestled way in the back, far away from the pool, a good distance from the front office. In fact, if you didn't know how to find his place, you probably wouldn't.

She approached his door and slammed on it. As the seconds passed without a response, she could feel her stomach seizing. She could feel panic rising in her chest, choking her.

She knocked again, her fist shaking. "Spence, open the door," she called out, her voice breaking just a bit. "Please," she added on.

Still nothing. She tested the door and found it locked. And so she knocked again.

And again there was no response.

"Reid?" Hysterical now.

Silence.

She stepped back, closed her eyes, took a breath and then kicked out.

A long time previous, Morgan had insisted that she take one of his self-defense classes. Somehow or another, he'd ended up showing her a view of his favorite moves.

Namely tackling and kicking doors in.

Finding the weak spot.

Making it give.

Her foot connected solidly with the wood of Reid's front door. It gave instantly and she silently thanked whatever entity was out there for the cheapness of the lumber.

"Spence?" she called out as she stormed inside.

Once again, silence.

Suffocating silence.

She moved towards the back, towards his bedroom.

She'd been here a couple of times, but always in either his kitchen or his living room.

She'd even slept on his couch one night.

when there'd been concern for her safety during a local case.

She'd never been into his bedroom.

Because despite their date, despite their strange and often indefinable relationship, they'd never come close to crossing that line.

Now wasn't a time to worry about crossing lines.

Because all she could hear, echoing in her ear, were the words, "I'm sorry."

And she was so damn scared of what she was about to see.

Still, she knew she had to see it.

She stepped into his room, cautiously, her steps slowing as the fear began to once again choke her. The absolute stillness of the room only made it that much worse.

Because she couldn't hear anything.

Not even breathing.

"Sp..Spence?"

She thought she heard a gasp then.

Or maybe a sob.

Her hand reached out against the wall and groped, searching desperately for a light switch that she knew had to be there.

Somewhere.

Oh, there.

She flipped the switch and bright yellow light flooded the strangely eclectic room. It was painted two different colors and there were books and magazines everywhere.

And there…there he was.

On the ground next to the bed, on his side, shaking.

Gasping like he couldn't breath.

His cell phone next to his hand.

His hand which was spasming.

She took a step towards him, her knees locking as she moved. And that was when she saw the needle. And just barely avoided stepping on it.

She picked it up, saw that it was still full of some kind of clear liquid. Fear surged through her again.

And one word screeched through her brain.

Overdose.

Oh, God, overdose.

She bent down next to him, her hand reaching out to touch his neck. She found his pulse, found it. Not quite steady, but there.

He was alive.

She exhaled and felt her legs turn to jelly. She collapsed down next to him.

"JJ," he gasped suddenly.

"I'm here, Reid."

"JJ," he whispered again..

She dropped her head down towards him, brought her lips close to his ear. "I'm here, Spence. Tell me what's going on, okay?"

"Go away," he pleaded.

"No," she replied sharply. "I'm not going anywhere, but I'll call an ambulance, okay? It'll be okay."

"No," he rolled over and looked up at him and to her horror, she saw how sunken his eyes were. She flinched involuntarily, but didn't retreat. "I'm…I'm fine. Just leave me alone."

"You called me," she reminded him. "So I came running. And now I'm going to get you help. I'll call Hotch and-"

"No!" he reached up and grabbed her wrist. "Please, no." He took a breath. "I…I don't want him to see me like this." He met her eyes. "I don't want you to see this."

"Then you shouldn't have called me," she replied, the slightest bit of irritation entering her voice. She could tell that her original fear was unfounded; he hadn't overdosed. But he was still drugged out of his mind. And that needed to be dealt with. "So I guess you have a choice then, she told him, sliding an arm under him and lifting him up to the bed. He was light, making her wonder how much weight he'd lost as of late.

Probably way too much.

"Go away," he mumbled, once he was settled on the mattress.

"That's not the choice."

"JJ…"

"The choice is this: either you let me help you or I call Hotch and let him help you. And if I call Hotch, it's from the hospital."

She met his eyes again, let him know that she wasn't bluffing. This wasn't a card game and she wasn't playing.

Still, desperately, "I'm okay."

"You're not. You're high as a fucking kite," she snapped. "And I don't think that's all you intended tonight, is it?"

"No..."

"No, what? No, you weren't planning on killing yourself or no, you weren't planning on having me find you?"

He swallowed, then, "I wasn't going to kill myself."

She nodded, "But you didn't really care if you died either."

He tried to turn away from her, but she reached out and grabbed his arm. "Damn you," she said, anger sparking in her blue eyes. "Damn you, Reid, how could you do that to me?"

Tears filled his eyes, "I'm sorry. I just…I don't want to see him anymore. I just want to…JJ, I want to sleep. Please."

And just like that, her anger melted away. Because he looked so sad and broken. And because she knew what he meant.

"I know," she said softly. She cupped his cheek, ran her thumb across his slightly stubled cheek. "But this isn't the way." She held up the syringe. "What is this? What's in here?"

"Sleep," he said. "Peace."

She closed her eyes for a beat, then repeated, "What is this?"

"Dilaudid."

She blinked. "The drug that Tobias was addicted to?"

He said nothing, confirming it.

"Oh, Reid."

"I didn't want to, but he was right, it does make it better. Or it did. But then it stopped making me feel good. So I took more. And that helped…"

"Until it didn't," she said softly.

He nodded.

"Did you already take some tonight?"

He shook his head in the negative. "I was going to take that, but my hands, I couldn't get a vein…I…" he looked up at her, a degree of madness in his eyes. "Will you help me? Help me get it in?"

For a moment she couldn't reply, so horrified was she. Then, "No." And then she stood up and held up the needle in front of him. "No." She pressed the plunger, forcing the liquid out. It sprayed upwards, into the air. He gasped and one of his hands moved towards her.

"Stop."

"Where's the rest of it?"

"Please…"

"Where?"

He shook his head. She nodded. "Okay, I'll find it myself."

"Please don't do this."

She started to open his drawers, started to go through his clothes.

"JJ, I need you."

"I know," she answered, moving on to the next drawer.

"You owe me," he insisted.

"I know," she said again. "Consider this repaying my debt."

Using what little strength he had, he reached out and grabbed her arm. She turned to face him and steeled herself against the emptiness in his face. "I need you to do this for me," he said. And then he held out his arm to her, a look of madness in his eyes. "I need you to make me feel better. You owe me. You have to do this."

For a moment, she did nothing. And then suddenly, she bent forward and hugged him tightly, pressing her cheek against his. "No."

For a moment he tensed up against her and then slowly, his body began to uncoil. "Please," he gasped.

"I won't do that. But I will stay here. I'll stay right here with, Spence," she whispered. "I'll help you through this."

His body sagged and then he began to shake.

And then he broke.

And for a few moments, so did she.

He cried himself to sleep.

In her life, she'd only seen one other man do that.

Her brother.

While he'd been waiting to find out if his son, who had been born three months premature, was going to survive his first night of life.

It had been one of the most horrible things that she'd even seen.

Until now.

This was worse.

Noah Jareau had survived.

She wasn't terribly sure that Spencer Reid was going to.

Still, his exhaustion allowed her time to search his house. Top to bottom. Every room. Every cupboard. Everywhere.

She found three vials hidden in the sugar jar in the kitchen and two more taped to the back of the toilet. Two syringes were in his closet and another one zipped up tight inside his saddlebag.

The final vial, well that one she found in the pocket of the pants he'd worn to work that day.

And that had caused her a dilemma. Because Hotch had to know, but maybe if they could all pretend that he had just used at home, then maybe they could just deal with it and be done with it.

Detox, rehab, whatever.

But if he'd been using on the job, if they could prove it, well that was another problem all together.

And so Jennifer Jareau did something that she never did. Something that was against every fiber in her body.

She intentionally covered up the truth.

She cleaned out his bag, washed it out just to ensure that there would be no trace of either the drug or the needle.

Ensured that no one would ever know the truth.

And then to be absolutely sure, while he was sound asleep on his bed, rolling around fitfully, she'd driven all the way to the BAU and cleaned out his desk, removing two more vials and another syringe.

She hoped to God that that was it.

She wondered if she'd gone completely mad.

All of the drugs were gone now, dumped out. The syringes were taped up and secured inside a plastic baggie. She'd give those to Hotch in the morning.

Because he had to know.

Because getting Reid better went beyond one night.

Because come morning, the rest of the group would have to know the truth.

And that broke her heart because God only knew what that could mean for him.

Not the end of his career exactly. The FBI didn't just throws addicts out on their asses. They worked to get their people better, forced them into rehab. Still, they might also demand that Reid be reassigned to a team with less stress. Less danger.

And for Reid, that might be as bad as being fired.

Trying desperately not to dwell on those thoughts, she crossed back into his bedroom and moved over to his bed. He was curled up on it, knees tight against his chest. She sat down next to him. "Spence?"

His eyes opened and she saw how bloodshot they were. She realized immediately that he was going through withdrawals.

She wondered if she should call Hotch now.

No, she decided.

She had it under control.

And he deserved to face Hotch on his feet.

So for now, this would be between them.

Just them.

He let out a short sob. She reached out and pulled him into her arms. "Tomorrow," she whispered into his ear. "You'll tell me why you called me, okay?"

He didn't reply, just held onto her, as if for dear life.

Current Day.

Detective Palmer sat down at the table, a cup of coffee clutched tight in his hand. He looked a bit pale, more than a little tired.

He also looked like he was wondering if maybe he hadn't chosen the wrong line of work.

JJ rather knew the feeling.

She'd joined the FBI for many reasons. Justice. Revenge. Absolution.

Because she owed her parents more than a pointless life.

She owed them to make a difference.

"The Maroney's," Palmer said, putting a picture down in front of the assembled team. The only one who was missing was Gideon's former mentor, Oscar Baron. They'd paged him, but he hadn't yet responded.

Hotch reached out and picked up the photo. It showed a happy family. Mother, father, seven year old brown haired boy, five year old blonde haired girl. Picture perfect.

A dream come true gone horribly bad.

"Anna Maroney is severely asthmatic, "Palmer told them. "It appears that the…" he paused, searching for the word.

"Unsub," Gideon offered.

Palmer nodded. "Unsub. It appears the Unsub took the inhaler that was stored in her room."

"So he's not planning to kill her immediately," Morgan noted.

"That's something," Prentiss said. She turned to look over at JJ, saw that she was staring at the picture.

No, not at, through.

She was staring through the picture, her mind completely elsewhere.

In her past, more than likely.

"All right, but that still means we're on a timeline. Anna's probably scared which will likely exacerbate her asthma."

"She'll be okay," JJ said suddenly.

"JJ?" Hotch asked.

"He needs her alive."

"Are you sure about that?"

She opened her mouth to reply, but then stopped. "No, because…I mean…if he thinks he has me…then maybe she's already dead, but if he wants me to come to him, then she's alive. I think."

Under the table she felt a hand reach out and take hers. It squeezed.

She looked to her side, met Reid's deeply concerned eyes.

"JJ, I think we need to put you on the bench for this one," Hotch said. To his side, Gideon nodded his agreement. JJ avoided both of their eyes. She hated the idea of letting them down.

Letting them think that she couldn't handle this.

Even if it was the truth.

She couldn't.

And so she replied, "Okay."

Hotch blinked. Morgan frowned. Gideon cocked his head to the side.

Prentiss's look said that she didn't believe it.

Not for a minute.

But before anyone could challenge her acceptance, she got up from the table and exited the room. Hotch started to get up to follow her, but before he could, Reid stood up.

"I…I got it," he said and then exited the room.

He found her standing just outside the front door of the precinct, breathing in the cool San Diego air. There was a faint wisp of seawater in the air.

"You ever smoke?" she asked him as he stood next to her.

He nodded slowly. "Once. In High School. When I was trying to find a way to fit in. Guys on the football team offered me one. I thought they were accepting me. They just wanted to laugh." He shrugged, like it didn't really matter.

But of course she knew better.

"I dated a football player in college," she told him. "For three years."

"Three years is a long time."

She nodded. "Yeah. He was a good guy. Dumb. Cute, but really dumb."

"Why'd you break up?"

"Because I changed. I became obsessed with finding out who killed my parents. I didn't tell him that. I just…well I just changed. I should have tried to explain, but I didn't. I just…I don't know, we grew apart. Eventually he broke up with me. He said he didn't know what had gotten into me. Said he missed the old me."

"He was a fool."

She smiled. "Yeah, but Spence, he was the kind of guy I could have married back then. You know, he's playing in the NFL now. For Tampa Bay. I could have been ridiculously rich. And happy, you know? Staying at home and watching my five children pad around the house. I could have done that."

He shook his head, "No, you wouldn't have. That's not you."

"Not me, now, but back then, yeah."

"I don't think you give yourself enough credit."

She turned towards him and smiled. "You're sweet."

"But not ridiculously rich."

She laughed. "No."

"JJ, we're all here." He paused. "I'm here."

"I know and don't…don't think I'm not grateful. I just…that little girl, Spence. She shouldn't be going through this."

"No, she shouldn't be, but I'll tell you something, she has a better chance of getting through this with you than without you."

"Hotch benched me."

He shook his head. "If you had said 'no', he wouldn't have said another word. He said what he was supposed to as your boss. We both know that. And we both know that he was surprised when you agreed."

"Yeah," she admitted.

"We'll get him, JJ. I promise."

"You know better, Spence. Promises are for fools."

He shrugged. "I promise."

Grateful for his words, words she still didn't quite believe, she nodded. He reached out with an arm and pulled her close. She dropped her head against his shoulder.

And for a long moment, they just stood there. Then she asked, "Did you like smoking?"

"Nah, tasted horribly."

"I thought so, too."

"You smoked?"

"Not me, my boyfriend. I had asthma as a kid…" she stopped and cocked her head to the side. "I had asthma as a kid. God, Spence, he really does think she's me. She's gonna die because he thinks she's me."

"Maybe not," he suggested. "We don't actually know what he wants with her..."

"You mean me."

He nodded. "You."

When JJ and Reid re-entered the room, Hotch looked almost relieved. And not at all surprised to see them. As soon as they were seated, he nodded for Morgan to start.

"Okay," Morgan said. "We know that the Unsub is nearby, we know that he's watching us. That means that he has a job that gives him easy access to us."

"But he's in a delusional state," Prentiss picked up. "With one eye he sees the real JJ, knows who she is. With the other, he's still confusing these children with the little girl from twenty-four years ago."

"Can we use that?" Reid asked. When all eyes turned towards him, he continued. "I mean can we maybe put JJ on TV, show him that the real her is right here."

"That could work," Gideon said thoughtfully. "After all we have no reason to believe that he wishes any harm upon Anna Maroney. He might just abandon her."

"Or he could kill her," Palmer said. "I'm not sure that's a risk I want to take."

Hotch nodded. "We might be able to get him to show his hand if we can punch through the pseudo-reality he's created."

"Or we could get him to completely snap and de-evolve," JJ said.

Hotch met her eyes, the smallest bit of a smile playing on his lips. But it faded quickly and he pushed on, "That's a possibility."

"It's your call, Detective," Gideon told him.

Palmer frowned and some of the color drained from his face. "I…what do, what do you guys think?"

"I think, son, sometimes you have to task a risk," Oscar Baron said as he entered the room. He was limping a bit, wincing in pain with each step.

Gideon stood to help him, but Baron waved him away.

"So you think we need to do the press conference," Palmer asked.

"I think If we don't, that little girl will most certainly die. I think a small chance of him abandoning her is better than no chance of finding her before he murders her."

Palmer swallowed. "Okay."

JJ stood up, "I'll start gathering the press."

And with that, she was out of the room, Reid just a few steps behind her.

"Okay," Derek said, pointing around the room. "We have cops there, there and there. If anyone even looks at you the wrong way, we will plant him."

JJ smiled. "You do know that reporters glare at me all the time, right?"

"Not today. Not unless they want my knee in their back."

Again, JJ smiled, touched by his words. "I'll be okay. I'm okay, now."

"I know you are. You're tough like that."

He gave her a small shove and an impish grin. It reminded her a little bit of David.

She wondered where David was now.

Wondered what he'd think when he found out what was going on.

Would he want to do the same think she wanted to do? Would he want to kill the bastard who had ripped their family apart?

Would he be willing to sacrifice his soul if it meant avenging their parents?

Would he even be willing to entertain the dark thoughts that she was?

God, she hoped not.

"Hey," Hotch said, coming to her side. "You're on in five." Then, "Are you sure you want to do this."

She nodded. "If he wants me, I want him to see me."

Inwardly, Hotch winced, hating the coldness in her voice. Outwardly, he nodded curtly. "Okay, Detective Palmer will be at your side. I'll be in the front row. Gideon and Morgan will be against the wall. Prentiss and Reid will be behind you."

"He's not here, Hotch."

"Just in case…"

"There's no need, trust me, he's not here."

"Okay. Then you're on in three."

She nodded and moved towards the podium. The room was already full of reporters. It was late at night which meant that the earliest this conference could air was on the morning news.

That alone was a risk.

Anna Maroney could be well dead by then.

But really, what choice did they have?

A cameraman to the side held up one finger. She slapped her hand lightly against the mic. It vibrated and squealed. She took a breath and studied the notes that she had thrown together.

Usually she went in a bit more prepared.

But it hardly mattered how prepared she was right now.

Because she wasn't trying to impress anyone with her style.

She was trying to challenge a madman.

Her madman.

Ten fingers. Ten seconds.

She looked around the room, found Morgan's eyes. He smiled slightly. She turned behind her, saw Prentiss and Reid there. Prentiss had a hand on her gun. Reid was watching her.

She turned back to the mic.

Five fingers. Five seconds.

Gideon was standing next to Baron, who was looking around the room, no doubt silently profiling everyone in attendance.

Three.

Two.

One.

Live.

Deep breath.

And then she began.

Slowly, effortlessly.

Her heart beating hard enough to break right through her chest.

To her credit, the reporters had no idea.

"She did good," Baron said.

Gideon nodded. "She always does good."

"She's scared," Baron continued.

"So would we both be," Gideon replied.

"Point taken."

"So tell me, why are you still doing this?"

Baron smiled slightly. "For the same reason that she's on that stage challenging the man who murdered her family, knowing that he's going to come after her, knowing that he will kill her if he gets her." He paused, then finished, "Because I don't know anything else to do."

"Retire. Enjoy the tropics."

"I am retired, Jason."

"So I see."

"Why did you return to a job that you know is killing you?"

"I don't know," Gideon admitted.

"Neither do I."

She returned to her hotel room and against her will, fell into a deep sleep.

A sleep where she dreamt about Rory Stone, the tall and handsome football player that she'd dated while she'd been in college. The dumb, but cute jock that she'd lost her virginity to on a stormy November night. Right after he'd had the game of his life.

Right after he'd told her that he loved her.

In the dream, as on that night, she'd been certain that she was going to marry him.

And it had been a perfect dream.

From there she'd found herself in a massive mansion that overlooked Tampa Bay. And all around her, she'd heard the sound of children playing.

And laughing.

And calling her mommy.

And then the dream had turned.

And twisted.

And she'd been standing above a faceless man, a gun in her hand.

Her gun.

And she'd shot him.

Not once.

Not twice.

But until she'd had no more bullets.

She'd woken up with a violent, but silent start.

Shaking just a bit, she pushed herself to her feet and quickly exited the room.

The room which her parents killer had been in earlier that same night.

She made her way down the hall and knocked on Reid's door.

He opened it within seconds. "JJ? Are you okay?"

She shook her head, "No." Then, meeting his eyes, "Can I…can I stay here tonight?" her voice was small and uncertain.

He opened the door wider and she entered.

TBC…