"What is family? They were the people who claimed you. In good, in bad, in parts or in whole, they were the ones who showed up, who stayed in there, regardless. It wasn't just about blood relations or shared chromosomes, but something wider, bigger. We had many families over time. Our family of origin, the family we created, and the groups you moved through while all of this was happening: friends, lovers, sometimes even strangers. None of them perfect, and we couldn't expect them to be. You can't make any one person your world. The trick was to take what each could give you and build your world from it."
Sarah Dessen.
February sixth.
Sixty days later.
Sunday.
08.04
It had been a total of two months. Exactly sixty days. Sixty days that their world had been spun around and was heading for a crash. For those sixty days, he tried to convince himself that he saved them, his team. That by eliminating the biggest threat to the integrity of the team, the impact would have been less, that they could walk away with just a few cuts and bruises. As per usual, beliefs are always different from reality. The balance among them had shaken, disrupted. Things weren't the same anymore.
Some dealt with betrayal. Others dealt with their sudden ability to see and felt stupid for being so eternally blind. Two of them dealt with a certain feeling of loss of a loved one. He tried to deny it, pretend he was fine like he always did, be the steady rock and the unbreakable tough-ass he always was, but he could see it in his eyes. He was hurting, both ways. Hurt by the stabs that had been forced into his body, and hurt by the absence of her presence. It was all too ambivalent, too ambivalent to be discussed, to ethereal to consider and there was no justice to be find to talk about it. They weren't supposed to utter words about a subject no one wanted to talk about, because they were all drowning in their own feelings.
At first, they had been driven by the anger of her treason and falseness. Their eyes had hardened, boundaries had been protected and mile high walls had been created. All because of what one person could do. And none of them had seen it coming. Perhaps that was what hurt the most. She was nothing but a disguise, a pretender; a con artist, almost. She left them wondering, ruminating about what she had said in the time she was with them and the honesty of those words was measured.
Truth was, they couldn't know what was true and what a lie. They could and would search for eternity, seeking behind the shadows, looking under the fog, but they would nor could never know. Because that was who she was. Nothing. The wind that tickles your chin but when you look up, there is nothing there. And now she was gone and she left him to clean up the mess. She left them all behind to ponder and cogitate; knowing that nothing was the truth and everything could be a lie. When had he let this happen?
Then, the most unthinkable happened. Despite their grudges, despite their feelings of faint hatred towards her, they never wished this upon her. Yet, history repeated itself and she fought against them with anger and masked despair, rash and bold. She fought them like she had done all those months that she was with them, pretending, faking. In the end, whether she had been shattered and broken and kicked until she couldn't bleed anymore, she kept pushing them away. She accepted no help, not from them, not from old friends or colleagues. Nothing.
She like the statue of Liberty and she hopelessly tried to keep herself together, not being able to stop the rubble from pouring from the cracks. It was only a matter of time - not how but when the statue that represented her would collapse. He hated it, he truly did, but he couldn't help but wonder what would be left of her, what she would become if the outside fell and she could only rely on the horror, the blood, the morbid images, the death and terror inside her head.
She screwed them over and now she screwed them up. And he despised her for that. And then yet again, he didn't.
It had been sixty days since he fired her, the look on her face still vividly burnt into his eyes. For a short period of time, he could see actual feelings. But they made no sense, like nothing regarding her ever did.
Sixty days is a long time for someone to work and go home, no longer socializing with the rest of the team. He wasn't sure if it was a grudge the young doctor Reid held against him, but he knew that Reid held him accountable for her French leave. He was, after all, the one that fired her. The one that sent her away.
Late at night, the thoughts would become too wild and he found himself blaming himself for her downward spiral and all the distress that had been caused. When he would wake up the next morning, he would tell himself that it was stupid and of course not true; she had caused the havoc. She had been tearing them apart long before. Reid had lost a good friend and whilst others tried to talk to him, he refused to believe everything that was said. His unconditional trust in this one person was worrying, yet he wouldn't listen. Reid's mind was set. He mused when that had happened but the answers were, once again, left and hidden somewhere in the dark. The dark that she had created and none dared to enter.
Then there was JJ. Sixty days was a long time to beat yourself up over and over again. Even Will had approached him and spoke his concerns out loud. Sixty days was a hell of a long time. Once again, it all revolved about her. Sixty days. It was too long and the longer he waited, the stronger the current became and the faster they would go under, sinking like the Titanic. The weight on JJ's shoulders must be near unbearable. She always considered herself an outsider of the team, not being an actual profiler. She had trusted her, perhaps even more than the rest of them, for she had shown her a world that she could be part of and she had created a respectful bond. JJ worried too much, she always did.
His biggest concern was, however, his right hand. The one he knew he could always rely on, the Spartan warrior. They could all see it, in his eyes, how he tried to pretend, make them believe what they saw was not real, just like everything else. But nobody dared to talk to Morgan, not even Garcia. Worst part was, he had seen her crawl under his skin, he had seen the way they looked at each other, interacted and bickered like husband and wife, an old married couple – worse than he did with Reid.
Whenever they were in the room, the air pulsed with electricity. Hotch had hoped, had praised to God that he was smart enough not to take it any further than stealing glances and accidental touches, but he feared the worst. After all, he had seen them. Would they really be able to resist the reciprocal lust that built between them faster than a fire could spread itself? Atlanta gave him the answer, like Atlanta had given them many answers, but just as much questions in return.
Like he always did, he stored it inside his head, the lies, the words, the beliefs, the pain and the hurt, stored away in his own black box until the poison that ran through his veins would kill him. She was in fact, already killing him, torturing him, slowly and vehement.
It took Aaron Hotchner sixty days to reach the end of the line and pull the trigger. He had been brooding for weeks, a month even. He had it all planned out and he was ready to take the blows. Or deal them out, if he had to. After a horrendous case, they were all tired and longed for long, hot showers and warm beds. Instead, he ordered them into the conference room, receiving looks and quiet protests, but he knew that he needed to push his team over the edge in order for them to start healing. For them to start fixing themselves.
Reid positioned himself in the chair furthest away from the rest of the group – furthest away from Hotch. His skin was pale and bleak, the circles underneath his eyes almost black. There was distance in his eyes. The kind of distance that you couldn't touch. He wore his 'annoyance' face; he probably didn't want to stay in the same room with them any longer than he needed. The fact that Hotch was lingering, halting, waiting, if only for a few seconds, bothered the young doctor enough to cross his arms and look at the ceiling.
Morgan was wearing his frown. Even Hotch would have to agree with the ladies that he was a handsome man, but the older man also wondered what the ladies would think of the permanently plastered frown of worry on his forehead. It didn't suit him. It shouldn't suit him. Expectantly, Morgan was looking at his supervisor because that was what Morgan would do. He was merely keeping up appearances. Nobody needed to know that he craved for a long shower and some darkness. Perhaps he would ride his bike to clear his head.
Prentiss' face had been carefully stroked with arrogance. It was something new – something that had started shortly after the fiasco called 'Scott'. It wasn't as much arrogance as it was annoyance; it was irritation because she knew what was about to happen next. Like all the times frustration and emotions ran high within the team and snappy comments and unspoken thoughts would drive them apart – it was once again all about her.
JJ pretended to be oblivious. Denial. First stage of grief. It's meant to be only for a short period of time, but two months was too long. JJ was slowly tormenting herself because she believed a woman that appeared so damned believable. JJ forgot that she wasn't the only one who fell for her lies. They had been fooled too. But because the pretty blonde was not an actual profiler, she felt like it was more stupid of her to fall for it than it was for Hotch. It should be the other way around, but JJ would agrue that it was their job to hunt for the monsters and her job to keep them safe. For hours, Hotch sat behind his desk, his phone in his hand, ready to call her but unsure of what to say to her. He had tried, but failed miserably time after time. He didn't know what to do in order to shake his faithful communications liaison awake. This was not your fault.
Garcia was the one they forgot about. She would hide in her computer room, quietly contemplating on the things she could have done. She would ponder over all the ways she could think of in order to help her friends, mostly Morgan, and yet feeling as if she failed every time she would speak to them. She tried to brighten the world and make jokes, but she wasn't able to pull her closest friends out of the mud.
Rossi seemed to be the only one able to pull through. He and Hotch had talked a lot and Rossi's comments and insightful quotes helped Hotch believe that there was nothing they could do. And more importantly: that there was nothing better Hotch could have done, other than firing the culprit. Or as Rossi said; 'She has to learn that there are consequences to her actions. As long as she turns a blind eye to those and just goes on, she'll never do anything except running in circles'. At times like these, Hotch wondered what he would do without Rossi. Jason Gideon was an exceptional profiler and a hell of a man, but he too would probably bury himself underneath stupidity and guilt.
Hotch rubbed his eyes, sighing, wondering where the hell to start. He decided to cut the crap and just get on with it. "Guys, we can't do this anymore."
Six pairs of eyes glanced in his direction, each with their own type of emotion.
"We cannot function if we are too afraid to look each other in the eye. What happened with Abby Scott is something that happened. It is no tragedy, it is not the end of the world. We need to get over ourselves otherwise we'll have to be looking for a new job. The director and Strauss are all over us, especially after what happened with Atlanta with one of our own, they are scrutinising every decision, every move we make and we can't stand behind our opinions if we can't stand behind each other."
"He's right guys." Rossi said, glaring at his colleagues from underneath his brushy eyebrows.
"Easy for you to say." Reid snapped back.
"Okay then, tell me how you are planning on functioning properly with the attitude you have?!" Hotch suddenly felt like exploding. His raised his voice towards the young man, his eyes burning and pleading. "How do you think your colleagues can share their thoughts with you when you act like this?"
Finally, it seemed like Hotch was getting through to the genius. He had never expected raw emotion to crack the genius doctor, who relied so heavily on math, science and logic.
He bowed his head and mumbled. "Sorry."
"Reid." Hotch' voice was sharp. He waited until the person spoken to would look at him. "We made a deal, no more apologies." He remembered Reid of the agreement they had made in Atlanta. Hotch hoped it would do what it was intended to do.
"I miss her." Reid said defensively and strong, almost daring. "And I know that you don't. It makes it hard to talk about it."
"Reid, we all miss her." Morgan confessed. But he would only look at Reid and not at Hotch. Morgan stared down at his cup again.
"It's true." Prentiss suddenly said. "It's just... A different kind of 'missing of' for each of us."
"You don't miss her." Reid replied snappy.
"I do, Reid, I do. Abby took me for a drink a few of times. I don't think I've laughed more than I did those nights. I miss that and that's my kind of missing. But I also feel like she betrayed me. Because she took me to those bars and we laughed and she joked around and all this time she knew things we didn't and she knew she was telling me lies as she looked me right in the face."
This time, Reid didn't comment but only meekly looked at the dark-haired woman that talked to him.
"We're going to have to find a way to deal with this." Hotch started. "We can't chase the darkest criminals in the world if we're divided. And we don't have to solve it by the end of the week but we have to work on it."
Slowly, acknowledgement in the form of small nods found its way into the room and carefully lifted their spirits. Morgan felt the knife in his chest twitch and he left it there, if only because he had grown accustomed to the feeling. A small voice in Reid's head humbly entered his head and suggested that anger might also be a suited companion for his current emotion. By the way Prentiss swung her arm around JJ shoulders as Rossi cracked a misplaced joke and they laughed, JJ carefully realised that it was not because of Abby Scott that she was part of this team. And just as Hotch dared to look over the edge and attempt to let go of his constant state of panic, the phone rang.
It's February. February brings the end, darling. It always does.
"Between two evils, I always pick the one I never tried before."
Mae West
