She felt nauseous as she stepped into the hotel restaurant and saw her entire team by a table in the far end of the room. For a moment she swayed on her heels, certain she would pass out and make the humiliation complete.

Not a chance, Superwoman, she told herself, deliberately using the nickname Garcia once gave her. But she certainly didn't feel much like a superwoman right now; she felt small, pitiful, stupid. It was ridiculous; she was a grown woman, an FBI agent, a profiler, a linguist, an author - a doctor, for crying out loud! And yet she felt like a frightened little girl who had no place in the world where she could feel safe.

She bit the inside of her lip so hard she could taste blood. Oh, how she hated the taste of her own blood. She had tasted it so many times; she had even choked on it on several occasions. The most terrifying thing she could think of was not being able to breathe, and James took advantage of it in any way he could. He rarely choke her with his hands because he was too careful about leaving marks, but holding her head down underwater left no marks, nor did pulling a plastic bag over her head until she nearly passed out from lack of oxygen. No, those actions didn't leave any marks. Except for in the soul. There, it left scars that would never fully heal.

Things would inevitably change from this moment. She had enjoyed being a member of this team, a part of something, but from now she would no longer be Alex, she would be The Abused Wife. Sitting through the breakfast having to endure their curiosity, and, ironically, even worse, their kindness, would be torture.

Oh God, I can't do this, she thought, took a deep breath, and then went ahead and proved herself wrong.

"Good morning," she said. "I'm not overly enthusiastic about the topic I assume we're going to address."

She heard how formal she sounded, but she was unable to help herself. This was how she dealt with things. Reid and Morgan exchanged uncomfortable glances. Blake tilted her head to the side, jaws clenching in a strained smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"What? If it is to be discussed, by all means, go on. I know that you know. After all, you had Garcia hacking into my medical records without my permission, did you not?"

She sat down and shoved the hair out of her face in a gesture that could be taken for defiant if her eyes hadn't betrayed her. It was the eyes of a wounded doe being circled by wolves.

"For how long?" Hotch asked. His voice was very calm and very soft. Blake's lips pressed together for a moment.

"Since the first time he hit me? Sixteen years, two months, one week and four days. Since the first time he threatened to? Eighteen years, four months, two weeks and six days."

"Oh my God," JJ said, almost inaudibly.

"And you never told anyone?" Hotch asked.

"How could I?" She shook her head and cleared her throat. "I'm sorry, I just… I can't, this isn't working," she said and began to stand up again.

"Alex, please sit down," Rossi said, taking great care to sound as gentle as possible, knowing that a loud male voice would be a terrifying experience in the state she was in at the moment. "Please, just sit down and have breakfast with us. We need your opinion on the messages written on the crime scenes."

Blake knew that she was being reeled in, but part of her was aching for their companionship, at least for a little longer. And sometimes it doesn't matter how thinly veiled our excuses are, the only important thing is that they're there at all.

So she sat down again, and for a little while she felt like normal. But in the back of her mind, she knew she wouldn't get off the hook that easily.

As they went to the cars to head off to the police station, Blake caught up with JJ and said close to her ear;

"I want my gun back, now."

JJ blushed.

"Alex…"

"I think I know the reason you took it. Sweet of you. Very protective. Now give it back, okay?"

JJ obeyed, searching for words but finding none that fit. Blake checked the weapon's magazine, put it back in place with a satisfying click and holstered it, looking much more confident when armed again.

"I'm sorry," JJ mumbled, feeling awful for betraying her friend. Blake only glanced at her, saying nothing. She then chose to get into the other car. JJ tried not to feel hurt, but she couldn't help feeling the sting to her heart.

"Sweet of you. Very protective."

Blake's words had been practically coated with contempt. She wasn't the type who would lash out in anger; she was - as much as she'd probably hate it if anyone were to point it out to her - a rather passive-aggressive person. Which only made matters worse; if Blake made an effort to use words and tone that conflicted, she was really attempting to hurt you. It was her equivalent of throwing things.

I wasn't trying to offend you, JJ thought and glared at her colleague who just closed the car door behind her. I was afraid for your life. I still am, for fuck's sake!

"You okay, Blake?" Morgan asked as she fastened the seat belt. She nodded curtly.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"You know, JJ was just…"

She raised a hand in protest and briefly closed her eyes.

"Not now. Please, Derek. Not now. Let's focus on the case, okay?"

"Okay."

She turned away from him and stared out the window, thinking of the façade that came crashing down after so many years of careful maintenance. Where would she go from here? She couldn't see herself going through all that lay ahead. Even if she chose to quietly go back to James and never say a word about it, the team knew now and they would act if she so much as broke a nail. And the ironic thing was; what if an accident happened? What if she actually did fall down the stairs or slipped in the shower? What if they acted on it and there was no evidence to back up the claims? Then he'd punish her; punish her all the way to the grave. Not to mention, what would happen if she really got sick and had to stay home from work? Would someone from the team come over and check on her? Sure they would. In that event too, James would surely beat her to death. If he so much as suspected that she had told anyone… well, there was a reason she had distanced herself from her remaining family and had no friends outside of the job.

She wasn't aware that her hand once again had come to rest on the gun and that her fingers played with the button of the holster. But Morgan, sitting next to her in the back seat, noticed.

Shit, he thought. Maybe JJ wasn't just being paranoid after all.

Blake whipped her head around almost as if she had heard his thoughts, but instead of calling him out on it, she merely snapped;

"Quit staring at me, Derek. I'm not made of glass, I don't break that easily, got that?"

He did a double take. Blake wasn't exactly his favourite person; he couldn't forget how snarky she had been towards Garcia the first time the two had met, and even though Garcia had forgiven Blake quickly, he still wasn't entirely sure what to make of this hotshot linguist with her soft voice and piercing eyes. But she didn't usually snap at people like this. Then again, she was under a lot of pressure.

"Got it, ma'am," he replied in a mild voice.

But he thought of how she fondled her gun, and he wondered just how broken she really was.

A/N

You know guys, the more I think of it, the more warning signs of "abused wife" I see in Blake. The writers really messed up this chance, damn it.

Also, warning on beforehand, the next chapter is going to contain serious triggers when it comes to suicide thoughts. I'll probably stick a little note in the beginning of it as well, but be advised.