The Uncharted Territory

"We learn the deepest things in unknown territory."

~Jack Kornfield.

*Author's Note: The second section of this chapter mentions Hotch and Emily's first meeting—you can find my imagining of that particular event in Out of Africa (Ch 31).*

Fairfaix Medical Center. Washington, D.C.

"Dawson."

Jack Dawson turned around, too drained to be surprised by the familiar voice or its owner.

"Hotchner." He returned, his face impassive and expressionless. Over the BAU agent's shoulder, he could see a huddle of people, thirty yards down the hallway, all watching with worried expressions.

"What's happened?" Aaron Hotchner didn't pretend as if he wasn't aware that something was going on, and Dawson appreciated the directness. He had neither the time nor the energy for a game of coy round-robin.

Dawson turned down another corridor, towards the surgical ward, motioning for Hotch to follow. His voice matched the quick, low beat of his footsteps on the waxed tiled floors, "We found the woman responsible for Linnea Charles' abduction. Dr. Maura Morrow, who—get ready for a real rug-puller—was also a civilian consultant on the Amerithrax case. We went to Dr. Morrow's house early this morning, but no one was there. However, someone left behind a nasty little surprise—the doctor's SUV was rigged to blow, which is exactly what it did, when Agent Eden tried to open the back hatch."

"How bad was it?" Hotch was almost afraid to ask—but if they were here instead of the morgue, that had to be some sign of hope.

Dawson rubbed his face, a sign of frustration and fatigue. "Jude's in surgery now. She had to have realized that there was a bomb, because she tried to get away before…still, she did have burn damage on her left leg and arm, maybe some on her neck. Luckily it was cold and she was wearing a lot of layers, plus a Kevlar vest. Agent Keller's hands are pretty messed up—she was the first one to Eden's side; she tried to put the flames out with her bare hands."

Jack now understood that it wasn't just the actions of an agent trying to save her teammate, but that was a kettle of fish for another day's frying.

"Was anyone else injured?" Hotch asked, his voice lined with concern and empathy.

Dawson gave a weary shake of his head, "No, thankfully. But Eden's having a time of it. She's been concussed, and the main reason for taking her into surgery was that they detected internal bleeding—they're thinking a piece of shrapnel from the SUV must've hit her in the lower abdomen and done some damage. I'm hoping Keller has an update."

Hotch mentally added all the ailments he'd endured after surviving a similar blast in New York—ruptured eardrums, bruises and contusions, the general feeling of having been thrown about like a ragdoll. He felt a pang of empathy for Agent Eden.

They rounded another corner, coming into the waiting room outside the surgical ward. Jessalyn Keller saw them and rose to her feet. Hotch immediately noticed the bandages covering her hands, swaddling from fingertips to wrist—obviously she'd lost some of her own skin, trying to save Eden's.

The blonde didn't even wait for them to ask, "A nurse came by a few minutes ago—they're bringing her out of surgery now, but it could be awhile before they let us see her. There were several pieces of shrapnel in her lower back, just where her Kevlar vest ended. Luckily, the vest gave her added protection—they're saying it looks like she had enough time to tuck her head in before she hit, so the main impact was on the back of her neck and shoulders. It's not nearly as bad as it could've been."

The relief in her words and expression were unmistakable.

"Thank heaven for little miracles," Dawson breathed in agreement. He returned his attention to the BAU Chief. "Macaraeg and her team are already on site, collecting what's left of the IED. The bomb wasn't well-constructed, and it didn't do as much damage as it should've—there wasn't a body in the garage, but any trace of Linnea that might have been in the back of the SUV is long gone."

"But no body means there's still a chance that Linnea's alive," Keller pointed out.

"Possibly," Dawson didn't seem too hopeful. "The evidence recovery team is also going to scour the house for any evidence that Linnea was there."

"I don't think they'll find anything," Hotch admitted.

Dawson shrugged, as if to imply that he didn't either. Then he added, "Sura Roza's been on Dr. Morrow's trail all morning. She wasn't logged on any flights, domestic or international, and she hasn't used her credit cards in two days. There's a good chance that she's hit the road in Linnea's car, since we still haven't found it."

"Which means she could be just about anywhere now." Hotch surmised.

Dawson didn't comment. His phone rang, and he quickly answered, "Dawson."

His face dawned with surprise. Turning back to the two agents standing next to him, he put the call on speakerphone and announced, "Sura, repeat what you just told me."

The technical analyst's voice came over the line, "Well, I dug a little deeper into Maura Morrow's life. She has a sister, who lives in England. They grew up there, actually—anyways, this sister is on the flight manifest for a flight which left D.C. last night, headed for London. But here's the crazy thing: there's no documentation that the sister ever flew over to America—not in the last six months, anyways. And if you want to get even crazier, get this: the ticket was paid for in cash."

"Cash keeps Morrow's credit cards off the grid," Dawson pointed out.

"She'd be subject to additional screenings at the airport," Keller added. "Last-minute cash purchase of an international flight ticket? The TSA was definitely alerted."

"Yeah, but why wouldn't she pass all the checkpoints?" Sura piped up. "At that point, she wasn't connected to anything or anyone suspicious."

"When did she land in London?" Dawson asked.

Sura was obviously checking the flight information, because there was a slight pause before she stated, "Flight was nonstop, seven and a half hours, and with the time change…she landed around ten in London, which was five o'clock in the morning, our time."

Dawson glanced at his watch, "She's had hours to move on since then."

"Well, neither her nor her sister are on any more flight manifests, so if she's on the move, she's not flying. Not yet, anyways."

"Do we have enough to extradite her?" Jess asked quietly, her big green eyes filled with concern.

Aaron Hotchner spoke up, returning to the question that had been on his mind ever since Dawson had informed him of the new development, "What about Spencer Reid?"

Dawson gave a small shake of his head, "O'Donnell's not gonna release him, not until we talk to Maura Morrow. Besides, there's the fact that the first handwriting analyst confirmed the list was Dr. Reid's handwriting. By the way, Callahan never got back to me with your nominee for an analyst, so Macaraeg sent it to a friend of hers in New York—I'm still willing to send it to a third, if you just gimme a name."

"I'll do that right now," Hotch informed him. He took a step back, quietly wished Keller a speedy recovery and told them that Eden would be in his team's thoughts, and hurried back down the hall.

A wave of appreciation washed over him as he approached JJ's room—the BAU past and present were still waiting for him, and he felt the relief of knowing that he wasn't alone. Callahan, Rossi, and Blake were slumped into a bank of chairs along the wall, with Garcia's wheelchair parked beside them. Morgan was the only one still standing, arms folded in a gesture that implied his attempt to be patient. Once he saw Hotch, the younger man sprang forward, meeting him halfway, "So, what's the news?"

Hotch waited until everyone was in a huddle around him before turning his attention to Alex Blake, "During the Amerithrax case, did you ever meet Dr. Maura Morrow?"

Alex blinked, taken off-guard by the question. "Yes, she…we handled the linguistics on the letters together. She was the person I called yesterday to help with the handwriting analysis, but she said she couldn't help."

She frowned slightly as she added, "She was supposed to send over a list of analysts who could possibly help, but she never did—I had planned to follow up with her later this morning."

Hotch's expression informed her that was the least of their worries. "The Flying Js have pretty solid evidence that Dr. Morrow abducted Linnea Charles."

"Are you sure?" Alex was incredulous. "I mean—why?"

"They're still figuring that out," Hotch admitted.

"If she is somehow connected to this, then she already knows we're on to her," Rossi pointed out gravely. "She knows that we're not buying the frame on Reid—we called her to prove it."

Hotch held up his hands, trying to stop the train of thought. "She's definitely aware that we're on to her. Her sister's passport was used on a flight to London last night—Sura Roza is still trying to verify that it's actually Morrow."

David Rossi tucked his hands into his pockets, "Well, then, it's a good thing we happen to know someone who has a great working relationship with the London PD."

Instinctively, Hotch turned to JJ's door, behind which Emily remained oblivious to unfolding events.

"That was my next move," he admitted.

"So, Emily gets London to confirm it's actually Maura Morrow—then what?" Callahan spoke up for the first time, holding out her hands in a gesture of helpless confusion. "Do they send her back on the next flight to D.C.? I mean, do we even have enough to extradite her?"

"One step at a time," Hotch informed her.

"She rigged her own car with explosives," Morgan pointed out.

"We don't know that for sure yet," Blake countered, more out of a need to play devil's advocate than actual belief.

"There's this American concept of innocent until proven guilty," Rossi added, his tone edged with mild snark (because of course Derek Morgan was well aware of said concept).

"Rossi, it's early and I still haven't had my coffee," Morgan warned.

"What about Reid?" Penelope piped up, her big Bambi eyes wide with fear.

Hotch gave another curt shake of his head. "They still won't release Reid—Morrow's involvement doesn't exonerate him."

"So we need to get Morrow back here ASAP," Morgan surmised, setting his hands on his hips.

"Once she confesses, it'll clear Reid," Callahan added with a nod.

"That's only if she doesn't try to name him as a co-conspirator," Blake pointed out in a low tone, as if she regretted her words.

"Either way, we need Maura Morrow," Hotch redirected, moving past them towards JJ's room.

Emily was in a chair beside JJ's bed, Henry curled up in her lap as Will sat on the edge of the bed and Sandy took the chair in the corner. Even in the few minutes since Hotch had last seen JJ, he could have sworn that she'd already improved. Of course, it made sense. Of all his agents, Jennifer Jareau was the most tribal—she needed to be a part of a tribe, to have an active role in its survival and protection, and she did best when she was surrounded by her fellow members. Humans were pack creatures by nature, and JJ was the epitome of their evolutionary complex, the best and brightest example of how that mentality could benefit an individual and its society.

"Hey, you," JJ noticed him first, her tone tinged with surprise. "I figured you guys had left by now."

"Well, that was the plan," he admitted. By now, Emily had turned to face him, her expression etched with concern. With a motion to the hallway, he said, "I need to speak with you."

Henry easily slid out of her lap, happily climbing into his mother's arms again—however, that didn't distract JJ, who was watching the two with intense curiosity and a modicum of concern.

Will LaMontagne clenched his jaw and wished that his wife wasn't so damned perceptive sometimes.

Emily waited until they were out of earshot before quietly asking, "Hotch, what's happened?"

Again, he repeated what he'd told the others.

"We need to get Morrow back to the US, now," Emily decreed.

"I know."

Emily frowned, "There's a chance that she could fight extradition—you could have the Brits question her, but until you have enough solid evidence to create reasonable suspicion that she definitely kidnapped Linnea Charles and that she definitely set that bomb in her vehicle—"

"I know," he repeated, his tone emphasizing the words more pointedly. After all, he was the one who'd been to law school.

"Of course. I know you know," Emily ducked her head slightly. "I'm just…thinking out loud."

Aaron felt a wave of contrition, but he fought the urge to reach out and physically reassure her—the others were still watching, waiting less than fifty feet away. So instead, he merely infused his tone with the regret that he couldn't express, gently continuing. "Right now, all we need is confirmation that Maura Morrow was the one who took the flight to London. I'm sure Dawson is already working on building enough of a case for an extradition warrant as we speak."

She gave a slight nod, "We have access to all the CCTVs at Heathrow—we can have a facial recognition match within an hour, most likely."

"Good," he mimicked her nod. He glanced over her shoulder, where Penelope Garcia was watching them with rapt fascination.

Emily, who had her back turned to the others, still read his expression easily enough, "They're watching our every move, aren't they?"

"Garcia is."

Emily sighed. "Yeah, she might be…aware. I didn't say anything, but I think she knows, anyways."

"Is that a bad thing?" He asked, his gaze zeroing in on her face, scrutinizing her reaction for any hint of an answer.

"I don't know," she admitted. Her dark eyes flicked upwards to meet his, "Is it?"

Sometimes, he forgot how vulnerable and uncertain she was, underneath it all—it was easy to forget, considering how often she blazed onto the scene, ready to take on any battle, capable and witty and safely encased in her mental armor. But every now and again, she revealed flashes of the same uncertain young woman he'd met at Elizabeth Prentiss' brownstone almost twenty-four years ago. And while he didn't particularly enjoy seeing her in such a fragile state, he knew the fact that she'd allowed him to see this side of her was a gift—a gift made out of her trust in him, a gift he'd do his damnedest to prove worthy of.

He took a half-step closer to her, quietly confessing, "I don't care if the whole world knows, Emily. We have nothing to hide."

She looked away, both pleased and embarrassed. Of course, Aaron was right—they weren't doing anything wrong, they had no reason to hide or feel guilty. Still, there were so many other things tied to this new variation of their relationship, and none of it could or should be dealt with at this particular moment. So she cleared her throat, and kept her tone low, "I think we should talk about this later."

"Agreed," his tone was filled with warmth, as if his idea of talking might be something a little more physical. "You should stop by, tonight."

His tone may have changed, but his face remained impassive and unreadable—Emily realized that it was for the benefit of the curious eyes still watching them down the hallway. However, his eyes were shining with a mischief that made her stomach flutter.

"Just remember what I said last night—next time you show up on my doorstep, you'd better be prepared to stay until morning," he informed her, heading back to the others. He didn't stay to watch her reaction, but he could feel her smile.

Emily bit her lip to keep from grinning like a fool. That man. That. Man.

She slid her phone out of her back pocket and returned her attention to helping the case—she felt a pang of guilt for the fact that she'd wasted a few precious seconds flirting with Aaron, when she could have been on the phone, tracking down the woman responsible for Spencer Reid's current situation. However, it was easy to overcome—and again, she felt a wave of fear at just how easily she pushed aside her guilt, simply because it had given her a chance to see Aaron Hotchner's eyes light up.

Emily, Emily, you're playing with fire—and things are already beginning to burn.

"Emily's going to contact authorities in London," Hotch announced, casting one last doleful glance to JJ's closed door. "We need to get as much info as we can on Maura Morrow—she's been on the ground in London for hours now, so we're already behind."

Penelope waved her hand, motioning for Derek Morgan to get behind her wheelchair, "Onward, noble steed—let's rock, rattle, and roll."

He rolled his eyes at his newest moniker, although he still obeyed, easily pushing her towards the exit. Alex Blake fell into step beside him, ducking her head to hide her amusement, although he was still keenly aware of it.

Hotch hung back for a moment, pulling out his phone again to call Dawson. Rossi waited as well, watching the others trek down the hall. Once he was sure that they were out of earshot, he quietly intoned, "So, I take it you and Emily have had some time to catch up."

"Not now, Dave."

The older man held up his hands in a sign of surrender, "I just want to say, for future reference—if you ever need some advice, I'm here. I know how Emily thinks—she's basically the female version of me, when it comes to—"

"That's really not an image I want in my head. Ever."

"I know," he smiled smugly. "That's why I mentioned it."

"You're a really horrible friend, you know that?"

He gave a nonchalant shrug, as if waving away high praise. "I try, you know."

Hotch was smiling, deep down on the inside, Rossi could tell. However, the Italian became serious again, "I mean it though, Aaron—you two are entering new territory, so if you need a sounding board, I'm here."

"New territory?"

Rossi grinned again. "You really think you can keep this from the rest of the gang? Whatever this is, it's about to go official—or at least officially on-record."

He began to walk away, turning to backpedal as he held out his hands in a grand gesture, "You're not in Kenya anymore, Toto."

You could have driven a train through the long, awkward silence that reigned between Jack Dawson and Jessalyn Keller as they stiffly took their seats in the hospital waiting room. Dawson had prided himself on being the kind of boss who didn't meddle in his agents' private lives, and whose agents had never made it necessary to do so. Of course, there was the added unpleasantness of realizing that the rest of his team had kept a secret from him, and the lack of trust such an omission had implied.

He wasn't mad—he was sure of that much. But in a way, he wished that he could be. It'd certainly feel less awful than the gut-clenching sensation of disappointment, both with himself and his agents. And yes, there was a sting of hurt in there, too—a thing deeper and more personal, from the place of a man who'd considered these people his friends.

He glanced at his hands, unsure of how to begin such a conversation (briefly, he wondered if this was why Keller and Eden hadn't told him—because it was just too strange a conversation to simply begin, much less continue).

Mercifully, it was Jess who broke the silence, with the lightest of sighs.

"I'm just so tired," she admitted.

"I, um—I'm sure they would let us have an empty room," Jack looked around, as if searching for hospital personnel. "You could crash in one of their spare beds—"

She smiled softly at his sweetness, shaking her head again. "Not that kind of tired, Jack."

A beat passed. Keller searched for the words she wanted; Dawson quietly let her.

"Jude and I—from the beginning, it's been this kind of waiting game, I guess. Waiting for the other shoe to drop, wondering who's gonna find out next. And it's been so…exhausting. I never could quite imagine how or when it would all come out, but now that it's here, I don't even care. I'm just exhausted. Just—done."

"How long?" Jack cleared his throat, trying to keep his tone as neutral as possible. "How long has this…waiting game been going on?"

Jess ducked her head, ashamed at her own answer. "Since Lynchburg—that case with the missing girl whose classmate—"

He waved his hand, signaling that he remembered the case and didn't care for a recap. Then he frowned, "Jesus, that was…two…three years ago."

"Thirty-one months, sixteen days," Jess offered. Then, she corrected, "Seventeen days. I—today counts, doesn't it?"

On that last question, she turned to him, her eyes pricked with the terrible thought that this day, and every day after it, may not become part of her count—a count that revolved around the woman still fighting for her life after a hard blow and an equally grueling surgery.

He reached out, gently clasping her wrist, just below the bandages that swaddled her hands. "Of course it does."

She gave a small nod of agreement, pressing her lips into a thin line as she looked away again. She seemed embarrassed, but Dawson couldn't tell if it was because of her emotional outburst or the fact that she'd just inadvertently confessed to counting the days of her relationship with Judith, like some lovesick high-schooler.

Dawson looked away as well, quietly intoning, "That's…that's a pretty long time."

From the corner of his eye, he saw Keller nod in agreement.

"Sometimes, it felt like longer than that," she admitted. "But now—now, it seems as if it wasn't that long at all."

"She's going to be just fine," Dawson reminded her gently.

Another slight nod from his blonde companion, followed by a sniffle.

"I wanted to tell you, you know—from the beginning," she confessed. Dawson sat back, looking at her in surprise. Noting his expression, she gave a small smile, "Ah, c'mon, Chief. I'm by-the-books Keller, remember? I thought it was our duty to at least tell our supervising agent that we were…emotionally entangled."

"But Jude said no," Dawson guessed. And really, it made sense. Of course Keller would want to keep things above-board. She was a younger generation, one that didn't quite see the same stigma in office relationships, regardless of their orientation—and of course Jude, being from the old school, would have been diametrically opposed. In a way, their years-long façade of polar opposites had been based in a higher truth.

"Jude said no," Jess repeated.

"But you did tell Shostakovich." Dawson really wanted to ask why they'd trusted Jonas and not him, but he knew how petulant it would sound—besides, in a way, he understood. Joe and Jude were the best of friends, and Joe had a pretty amicable relationship with Jess as well.

Now Jess frowned. "No, he—we had rules, from the beginning. We didn't—we don't touch in the field, physically or even emotionally, really. We both knew that we couldn't let our personal relationship jeopardize our professional working relationship, so we just steered clear of each other during cases, for the most part."

Jack nodded, though he wondered how a relationship could survive being switched on-and-off, like a light switch. Jess continued, "And it worked, for the most part. But the last night of the Tyler Harrison investigation, it just—we slipped up. Jonas saw her leaving my room at the hotel, and he confronted her about it. That's what they've really been on about, for most of this case."

If Jack couldn't detect the guilt in Jessalyn's tone, the downward tilt of her chin and the shameful slump of her shoulders were clear markers. They both knew how close Jude and Jonas were, and obviously Jess didn't relish the fact that she'd been the cause of such discord between the two friends.

"So he only just found out," Dawson reiterated, surprised that Jude had kept such a whopping secret from her beloved Vichie for so long. He also was floored by just how off the mark Sura Roza's suppositions about those two and their relationship had been.

"Yeah," Jess gave a small nod. "Jude knew that he'd object—which he did, whenever he finally found out."

Jack hummed at the statement—it wasn't hard to imagine Jonas' indignation, although his objections were probably less about rule-breaking and more about the moral impropriety of Jude sleeping with someone who was technically beneath her in the Bureau hierarchy. Abuse of power, all that jazz. And still, it would be more about Jude putting herself in danger of a potential career-ruining lawsuit or something of a similar sordid nature.

"After Jonas, we knew it would only be a matter of time," she admitted quietly, lightly turning her bandaged hands, as if inspecting them. "And I know—I know I should be worrying about repercussions and what's-gonna-happen-now, but I have to admit, I feel relieved. Exhausted, but relieved."

Jack glanced over at her in askance. With a mirthless smile, she reminded him, "I told you, it's been absolutely draining, waiting for all of this to finally come up. Years of lying about how I spent my weekend, or fielding questions about why I won't go on a date with that guy from Cyber division—"

"He's a tool and he wears wingtips like he's a G-man from 1963," Dawson interrupted, quoting Jessalyn's usual excuse (a reason that her team had agreed was valid).

Now she grinned. "Exactly."

However, her expression became serious once more as she admitted, "And, there's the biggest drain of all, spending all my time pretending that I don't give a damn about Judith Eden when…"

She trailed off, as if lost in thought. Then Jack saw the stillness of her expression and realized that she was almost frozen with something akin to fear. Gently, he prompted, "When what?"

"I wanna marry her, Jack." Her voice shook with the confession. She kept her eyes locked straight ahead, as if she feared looking over to see his reaction. "I want to officially say I want to spend the rest of my life with her, and I want everyone to know it. I want to walk around the office wearing her ring and knowing that everyone knows it's her ring, and that the ring on her finger is mine. I want to be able to look at her without having to constantly remind myself to turn off the stars in my eyes because god forbid, someone might see it and realize that she's the light of my life."

"Jesus, Keller. That's absolutely beautiful."

The blonde blushed, waving away the praise. "That's not the point. The point is…I'm afraid she'll say no."

"Why would she say no?" By now, Jack knew the answer, yet still he asked the question. He'd only been aware of their relationship for a relatively short time, but he'd gotten a pretty clear view of its dynamics, for the most part.

"Because she's too damn noble. She thinks she's protecting me. There are a few people who suspect that she's gay—or at least bi or pan or something like that—but I don't think anyone else really knows about me. At least not at work, I mean. My family knows, my friends outside the office know, I'm not in any kind of closet—but she's afraid it will hurt my chances. She says the Bureau is still a boys club, and they get threatened by women whom they know won't sleep with them. She's afraid they'll split us up, ship one of us to a different office—and I'll be the one that goes, since I'm the youngest and the newest member of the team." Jess took a deep breath, "And she knows how much this means to me—this job, this unit, this work that we do. I couldn't survive in white collar or cyber division. Then again, neither could she, and she knows I'd fall on my sword rather than let her get transferred."

Now it was Dawson's turn to look away. At this point, he couldn't entirely reassure her that such a thing wouldn't happen—as much as he cared about both women, he also had a duty to ensure their safety, and if that meant keeping them from working together to avoid emotionally compromising the team's ability, then it would be a tough but necessary call.

"Don't feel bad, if that's exactly what you have to do," Jess informed him, and he knew that she'd already forgiven him of his potential sins. "I will say that we've never let our relationship affect a case, and I think if nothing else, our hiding in plain sight for almost three years is proof of that."

He fought back a smile—yes, they'd hid it brilliantly. Perhaps that was what kept him from being angry over it all—he was overcome by the sheer amazement of how well and how long they'd kept up the charade. He was fully aware of the fact that Jude's injury had put him in a much more sympathetic and forgiving mood, but still, he was certain that he would've been amazed, regardless of how the news had finally come about.

Now wasn't the time to discuss transfers or who-broke-which-rules. Jessalyn was running on fumes and Jude was still in the woods, medically speaking. So Jack Dawson opted for distraction, switching back to a lighter subject as he asked the question that had been burning the tip of his tongue, "Does Jude know that you want to get married?"

Jess sat back, "Heavens, no. She'd get nervous even thinking about informing you and the other higher-ups that we're dating. Could you imagine her reaction to knowing that I wanted to make it legally binding?"

Jack had to laugh at the comparison. However, he shook his head slightly, "I think you're underestimating the hopeful romantic within, Keller. I've known Judith Eden for a long time now—not on the same level as you have, obviously, but well enough. You are right, she's noble, as noble as a white knight from some long-lost fairytale. But that's the thing about knights, isn't it?"

She looked at him, both curious and quizzical.

"They do it all for love, Keller. They search for it, they fight for it, they defend it—everything they do, it's in the name of some kind of love or another. Even Jude's fight to keep you two a secret—I think that was out of love, too, don't you?"

Jess nodded solemnly. Dawson leaned over slightly, bumping her shoulder with his own. "That battle's over now, isn't it?"

A flicker of comprehension shot through Jessalyn's green eyes like a bolt of lightning. He was right—whatever she and Jude did next, it wouldn't be as part of a clandestine relationship.

Dawson felt a measure of satisfaction in seeing Keller's smile. There would still be plenty to unpack, in regards to why they hadn't trusted him in the first place, and what the next step forward would be, but right now, that wasn't what mattered. What mattered was that he was here, waiting for the white knight to wake, and comforting her partner during the interim.

That was the thing about Jessalyn Keller, too, he realized. She was just as much a noble knight as Jude was. He could forgive them for the decisions they'd made, because it was done with the best of intentions, and firmly rooted in who they were. And honestly, he couldn't imagine them continuing without each other, in whatever mutual quest they'd begun.

"If I have learned anything in this long life of mine, it is this: in love we find out who we want to be; in war we find out who we are."
~Kristin Hannah.