Growing

Cheerfulness, it would appear, is a matter which depends fully as much on the state of things within, as on the state of things without and around us.

Charlotte Bronte

***

III

I'm fairly sure I didn't fall asleep like this. Scratch that – I'm absolutely positive I didn't fall asleep with a pounding headache and my hands cuffed to a chair.

It's hard to breathe. My neck aches; then, I remember the hands. The hands throttling me in the cool Baltimore breeze.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

I find it interesting, almost ironic. The only day in years that I've felt like dissociating myself from work, and I'm put in a position where even working at all is difficult. It's jarring. I've got all this time to think.

As long as I'm not too busy screaming.

***

He knocks on her door. He's got a wrapped gift in one hand, and a plate in the other. It took all his charm, all his flirtatious prowess, to get room service to send up just two slices of cake.

'Emily? Come on, girl, you can't hide from me forever.' He's grinning as he says it, but soon the grin fades. He expected that she would have made a sarcastic reply by now or at the very least an unintelligible moan. He knocks harder.

'Emily?' He's almost yelling now. He wants to kick down the door, but he knows the aggression may be premature. She could be asleep for all he knew. Instead, he goes to Hotch's room.

'Emily's not answering her door.' Immediately, Hotch realizes that this is serious. It's barely eight p.m. Even on the best of nights, Emily doesn't get to sleep before midnight.

'Kick it in,' he orders. Morgan nods.

'Emily?' he tries again. 'I'm kicking the door in.' He knows that if she's just being trying to be introverted, she'll answer. Not even privacy is worth the cost of a new door.

He sees her ready bag neatly placed in a corner, a few key items in strategic locations about the room. Her gun, badge and wallet on the bedside table, along with a book. There is no human presence in the room.

'No sign of a struggle,' Morgan concludes. In any case, they had heard nothing.

'Reception,' Hotch suggests, and Morgan nods.

'She went outside,' the desk clerk told them. 'About an hour and a half ago.'

'Did you see her come back in?' The desk clerk shrugs.

'I didn't see anything, but it was pretty busy for a while, so she could have slipped back in without me seeing.'

They go outside.

'Hotch…' Morgan's voice is uncharacteristically despondent. He's kneeling to the ground, picking up something. He hands his find to Hotch – it's Emily's cell. The screen is cracked, the casing falling off. As though it had been dropped.

'Fuck!' Morgan swears, exasperated. 'He's got her, Hotch.'

Hotch doesn't need to be told twice. He's had that sickening feeling ever since Morgan knocked on his door.

'Get the rest of the team down here,' he instructs. Morgan leaves hurriedly, and Hotch's next words are caught by the night air. 'Somehow I don't think we'll be sleeping tonight.'

***

I feel like I should be scared, afraid for my own life. I'm feeling frustrated, for sure, but mostly, I'm feeling boredom. I've been through enough with the team to trust them. To know that they will do whatever it takes. I feel flattered, knowing that I mean that much to them.

There's a tiny bit of doubt. A tiny bit of me that's wondering "If I die here, will I regret the things I've done?" Of course, I'd change the past if I could, but that's about fate, not about choices. I'm talking – would my life have taken a different turn if I'd bought chocolate ice-cream last week rather than vanilla? I know I don't exactly have control over what type of ice-cream the store is selling, over what choices I can make.

Like here, now. Would I have chosen to be kidnapped and cuffed to a chair in the darkness? Probably not. But could I have stopped it, not knowing that it was going to happen? No.

I think about the people who will miss me if I do die here. About the BAU, about Jordan, about my daughter. I know that she'll be in good hands, if anything should happen to me. Will she remember me? Will she know who her mother was? I doubt it.

That's one of the things I would change.

I feel a knife at my cheek. I'd been so busy thinking, that I hadn't even noticed the soft footfalls coming my way.

I know how this starts.

I know how this ends.

I'll just have to hold on for the meantime.