CHAPTER 23: Jones (Season 2, episode 18)

Character(s): JJ, Will, Reid (and Prentiss, briefly)

A/N: You know the drill – some spoilers regarding the case and JJ/Will and Reid storylines. Some of the dialogue in here is, as always, courtesy of the episode writer, who in this case is Andi Bushell.

Both this chapter and the next one are on the lengthy side! But hopefully, as always, you all enjoy them!

"To the world you might be one person, but to one person you might be the world." - Author Unknown

JJ scanned the cabin. The plane ride home seemed quieter than usual.

She knew the case was weighing on everyone. It'd been a nasty one in terms of killings, but it was also one of those instances where everyone felt some level of sympathy for the unsub. Especially once they'd heard about some of the attitudes displayed by certain…people…towards the killer.

Kinda makes me wish Elle were still here. No doubt she would've had a thing or two to say to Smith and those other guys. JJ smiled wistfully at the thought of her former colleague.

Course, Emily did a pretty great job in handling those guys during the interrogations. As did Will – JJ had been really impressed with him at certain notable points during this case. For many reasons.

Will… Another smile, this one more secretive and almost…giggly…crossed JJ's face at the thought of his name. William LaMontange.

She liked his last name. Strong, revolutionary-sounding, romantic. It was French – that's always sexy.

Sexy?

Well…yes. JJ couldn't deny the truth, after all. He was sexy. That shaggy, messy hair. The scruffy beard – beards could be hit or miss with her, but on him, the scruff worked. Made him look a little rugged. And she was pretty sure she could get lost in those gentle eyes, too, the kind that said you had his full attention when he looked at you.

She could still hear his voice in her head, too. That slow, laid-back, lazy drawl. Every time she'd heard that voice she briefly imagined the two of them lounging in a hammock, or curled up together on a front porch, on a summer afternoon. And every time, the images made her feel all "fluttery". He would've charmed the women back home in Pennsylvania with that southern accent, that was for sure.

Good-looking, with a sexy voice. Check and check. JJ ticked off the boxes on her little mental "things I like in a man" list. It was something silly she'd thought up when talking with Prentiss and Garcia about what qualities they liked in men one night, and ever since then she'd think back to it from time to time, more so for fun than anything else. Now seemed the right time to pull out that "list" again.

JJ closed her eyes, pretending to fall asleep. Instead, she let her mind begin drifting back to her time with Will in New Orleans.

It had all started so innocently. She extended her hand, introduced herself the way she always did when meeting with local officers.

She'd been immediately thrown off by his first words to her. "Pictured you different," he'd said, giving her a good once-over.

How had he pictured me?

The ringing of a phone shook Will back into the present. He flailed his arms about for a moment before realizing it wasn't his desk phone that was ringing.

Whew. That was close. You gotta snap out of it, Will.

Easier said than done, though. This was the second time today he'd found himself daydreaming about JJ. He was less stressed when he did so, he'd found. And even if he had a non-stressful job, the truth was…she was hard to forget no matter what.

He never really thought about the idea of people in the FBI being so…attractive. A silly thought to have, he realized that now – one could find attractive people anywhere they looked. Beauty was in the eye of the beholder, and all that. But he still couldn't help being taken aback upon meeting her anyway.

Her. Will smiled as his thoughts turned back to where they'd been earlier. Jennifer Jareau. JJ. Jennifer was a pretty name in and of itself. To have a cute nickname as well? It seemed to fit her perfectly.

That flowing, golden hair. Those bright blue eyes. That kind, comforting smile. For fear of sounding lame or cheesy, she was almost like what one would expect an angel to look like. The comparison seemed even more appropriate given that she'd come to help him with a difficult situation. Anytime he'd started to despair that he wouldn't solve the case, anytime he found himself in mourning over his father, there she was to give him a sympathetic look or lend her encouragement and aid.

They hadn't spent all their time talking about the case, though. They talked a little bit about their personal lives, where they were from, discussed the differences in Louisiana culture versus Pennsylvania culture. Will chuckled in amusement at the memory.

"Why haven't you married?"

It'd been two days since that night in the bar, and that moment in their otherwise interesting discussion still made him cringe. Smooth, LaMontange… How many mere hours had he known her at that point?

At least she hadn't fled the bar upon hearing that question, thank goodness. She actually seemed adorably flustered, and that made him want to be even more playful with her. Her nervousness had shown up again when another woman had brought him a drink, and he could swear he saw a hint of jealousy in those gorgeous blue eyes. He didn't want her to feel bad, but he couldn't help but tease her just a bit about that supposed jealousy regardless.

Not that she would have needed to worry, of course. Drink or no drink, he'd definitely ceased to notice any other woman that night.

The hairs on the back of Reid's neck stood up. He didn't have to turn around in his seat to figure out what was causing such a reaction – he knew.

She was staring at him. He could state the exact number of times Emily had been staring at him lately…but that was a number he preferred not to think about too much.

Reid had become snippy with Emily. Again. Another exact number he knew, and didn't want to think about. This latest tiff had been in regards to his mention of a friend, Ethan. Reid had told the team about how Ethan had planned to join the BAU alongside him, only to drop out after one day.

"He probably just couldn't take the heat," Emily had joked. Yes. Reid knew it was a joke. The smile on Emily's face told him as such.

Still, at that moment, all Reid could think was, You don't know him. You don't understand his reasons.

He knew, deep down, why her comment had affected him, of course. It was the same reason his visit with Ethan had affected him.

Normally Reid was thrilled to meet up with his old friend. He would never cease to be amused by the fact that, though the two were around the same age, Ethan would always look like he had at least five, ten years on him. He would never turn down a chance to listen to Ethan play his music, enthralled at being able to do something he genuinely loved (and, luckily, had the talent for). And he always wound up having stimulating conversations about everything under the sun with his longtime friend as well.

This time, though, it wasn't quite the same. He was still glad to see Ethan, of course, happy to see he was doing much better.

But therein lay the problem. He was happy. Reid was clearly not. He was tired, rundown, irritated (he'd very nearly considered breaking his phone after the fourth time Emily had tried to get a hold of him). Ethan knew this, saw this, and called him out on it. He reminded Reid that his friends, who actually were paid to notice this stuff, knew and saw what was going on, too.

The "stimulating discussion" had involved Reid and his problems this time, and he wasn't really eager to delve into that topic. It had already been weighing on his mind throughout the recent case as it was.

Like with every other case lately, especially those involving young men in their twenties as this one did, Reid immediately found those images coming back into his head. The shed. Hankel. The graveyard. The beatings… And the vicious cycle would start up again, just like it always did. The images would lead to the cravings, the cravings would bring back the images, and so on and so on.

But now a whole new issue was thrown into the mix.

This was a case involving sexual assault, with similarities to notable criminals such as Jack the Ripper. Reid, as always, was right there to rattle off the usual statistics about sexual assaults, shared the condensed bios about infamous serial killers and their specific signatures and motives. Almost as though he were a robot. Find the right moment for the information, press a button, and watch him go. Look at the nerd, full of strange facts! That's what he's there for!

Reid almost felt guilty about his interest in the more unusual aspects of the case. The note stuck in a victim's mouth. Their unsub being a woman. It threw him for a bit of a loop, forced him to actually exercise his brain a little more. He'd even felt a slight rush when he and Morgan had followed a lady into an alleyway. Just the idea of actually being involved in the hunt (and thankfully, in that particular instance, the whole thing had turned out to be a false alarm), instead of stuck back at the local police station staring at a map or looking up information…it was different. Exciting. He didn't have to spend nearly as much time in the criminals' minds when running around, and by the same token, it also meant he didn't have to spend so much time in his.

Such a strange contradiction. He wanted the thrill, the action this job brought. But in order to get that, it meant he'd have to see the ugliness, the death. He could dig around in a psycho's mind, or he could witness the aftermath of their disturbed mentalities. He could put on an affected air and pretend not to care, or he could get too emotionally involved, and drag himself down into the insanity (literally and figuratively).

That debate was made all the scarier by Reid's admission to Gideon that he'd never had the chance to explore other options. If what he had now was all that was on offer to him, if this was what he had to deal with day in and day out for who knows how many years, and all of it was already getting to him…

He understood what Ethan had been worried about far, far too well now.

The more time JJ had spent with Will, the more she'd learned about him.

He idolized his father. He liked a good, strong drink or two. A "culture thing", he'd told her.

And he had a really strange sense of timing. Which, she'd noticed, had affected her sense of timing.

Her heart broke a little more every time Will mentioned his father. It'd only been a little over a year since he'd died. JJ knew from experience that the pain wasn't even close to healing, and she wondered if she shouldn't give him her number when she went back home. Just in case he ever needed someone to talk to about his loss.

She did love the reverence with which he spoke of his father, though. A good relationship with one's parents was definitely on her "list". And, on a much lighter note, she was enjoying hearing his funny stories and fond rememberances of his father, and the wonderful childhood he'd given his son. She'd be more than happy to listen to his stories for hours. They always made her smile.

He'd seemed to be trying his damndest to make her do that, smile. She'd tried to shrug it off at first. He was just trying to lighten the mood during an otherwise tough, disturbing case. Being friendly. That's all.

At least, that's what she'd thought until that night in the bar. He was flirting with her. And she liked it. A lot. She knew then she didn't want to lose her chance with him.

Revisiting his childhood home, Will had understood much more clearly why people were so hesitant to come back to New Orleans since the hurricane. Why bother going home when there's no home to go back to? The fact that the city now had a serial killer to deal with only made them even more scared, and had left Will frustrated. It was his job to keep this place safe, and he felt he was failing at it.

This frustration was how he soon found himself actually arguing with JJ one day, over the idea of holding a press conference regarding their case. It was a minor argument in the grand scheme of things, but he'd clearly hit a nerve with her. "I'm not trying to go above your head here…" she'd told him, in a tone that indicated she'd dealt with this problem far more times than she liked, with local officers who didn't react to her the way he…reacted to her.

It hasn't even been, what, a couple days that I've known her, and I've already made her mad at me.

She was in the right here, and he knew it. Her attitude towards him had warmed again later that day, but he made a mental note to properly apologize to her later anyway. Maybe buy her some flowers or something.

JJ arrived on the scene just as Hotch was leading the now handcuffed Sarah Devlin out of the hotel, with Will following behind. She saw their latest victim being wheeled away on a stretcher, moaning all the while.

"Is he going to be okay?" she asked, nodding towards the man as she met up with Morgan.

"Yeah, he'll be fine. We got there just in time."

"What happened?"

"We tried talking her down, but she wasn't listening to us. Finally, Will came up to her and told her who he was, and mentioned his father as well. That seemed to get her attention and calm her down."

Really? JJ glanced over at Will, who was now talking with Hotch. Morgan's gaze followed hers.

She immediately thought back to how Will had reacted to Detective Smith's obnoxious comments about Sarah, the anger in his eyes when he listened to the men who had raped Sarah brag about their actions. She thought back to what she'd heard about how Will's father had fought hard on Sarah's behalf, to the point where he risked his career over the case.

Will was now leaning into the window of the police car. JJ couldn't hear what he was saying, but judging from his stance, and the way he was leaning in to speak to Sarah, it seemed as though he was trying to comfort her, to let her know everything would be all right. Like father, like son, apparently.

"He's a good man, that Will." Morgan's voice sounded very distant to JJ all of a sudden.

Yeah. He is.

Check.

Reid shifted in his seat, hearing Emily tiptoe ever closer until she was sat across from him. She lowered her head, forcing herself directly into his line of vision. The two had something of a staring contest for a few moments. Emily tried not to look irritated, Reid tried not to look like he wanted to bolt from his seat.

"…Gideon told you, didn't he?" Reid finally asked, breaking the silence.

"Told me what?" Emily's voice was flat, neutral. Do not yell. You will wake the others if you do.

"About why I really missed that plane."

"Nope."

Damn.

"I'm a profiler, remember?" Emily's eyes softened a little as she took in the man sitting across from her, noticing the embarrassment written all over his thin, drawn face. Any lingering anger she'd had towards him was quickly dissipating, so desperate was she to help her friend. "Reid? Talk to me."

Reid simply folded his arms and stared at the table in response.

"Please?" Emily pleaded. When Reid still didn't answer, she continued. "Can you at least explain to me why you felt the need to disappear on Morgan and me back in New Orleans?"

Reid let out a tired sigh. "I bailed on purpose, and I shouldn't have. I failed at my job. I know that."

Wow. He's even less focused than I thought. "You think that's what bothered me about the whole thing?" Emily asked incredulously.

Reid snapped his gaze back up toward her, brows knit in confusion. "Isn't it?"

"No." She leaned across the table slightly, hands clasped together. "We were dealing with a serial killer, Reid. Who attacked men. And then there's the fact that you haven't been well lately." Emily noticed a flash of anger in Reid's eyes at that last statement, but pressed on anyway. Now it was her turn to sneak a glance at the table. "When Morgan got on the plane, and told me he hadn't seen you around…I got scared."

The young man's eyebrows shot up in surprise at the admission.

"I just kept thinking, what if you had been…'sick', and wound up lost and alone in that city? Surrounded by all that danger?" Emily tried to control the shudder that went through her at the thought. "If we hadn't had a job to do at that very moment, I would've walked right off that plane and gone looking for you, to make sure you were safe. I very nearly did do that, actually."

Reid wanted to kick himself right then. How had he not considered that? "I'm sorry." His voice was barely a whisper.

"You'd better be. That plane ride got really boring – we could've played cards or something." She let a small smile slip, and silently cheered when Reid responded in kind. "Seriously, Reid…I know you've been struggling." She frowned when her friend seemed to immediately shut down again. "This isn't an easy thing to deal with. Believe me, I know."

Reid's curiosity piqued at that comment. He warily glanced back up at Emily again. She sounds sincere…

"But I just want you to know that we are here for you, if you need anything. You can come to the others anytime you want. You can come to me anytime you want. I hope you understand that."

He's nodding. It's a start. "I do," he responded, his voice still soft.

"And if you ever pull anything similar to that stunt with the plane again…"

Reid grimaced. "You don't have to worry about that. I already told Gideon I wouldn't do that again."

Emily nodded resolutely, feeling a sense of relief flood through her. "Good," she said. "I'm glad to hear that." She went to get up from her seat.

"Emily?" His voice pulled her back to face him.

"I - I really am sorry."

"I know that, Reid, I already said –"

"No, no, I got that. I mean, I'm sorry for, you know…being so hostile lately." He looked her square in the eyes. "You didn't deserve that."

Emily had to restrain herself from leaping across the table to wrap the younger agent in a hug. Instead, she settled for grabbing one of his hands in hers and giving it a firm, comforting squeeze. "Water under the bridge, Reid." She gave him a reassuring smile before standing up and starting to walk away.

"And Emily?"

"Yeah?" She spun back around.

"…thanks."

Was that the fourth or fifth time she'd smiled in the past five minutes? Emily couldn't tell. All she knew was it felt good to finally do such a thing. "Anytime." She couldn't resist ruffling Reid's hair a little, before finally returning to her seat.

Once she'd left, Reid began fishing around in his pocket, soon pulling out what he'd been searching for.

It was a card Gideon had given him back at the bar. The phrase "Narcotics Anonymous" was all in caps and bolded at the top, the phone number typed out in simple, plain font below. Reid had wanted to ask Gideon how he'd gotten hold of such a card, but he sensed the older man didn't want to go into details. All he'd told Reid was, "They're good people. They'll know how to help you."

Reid stared at the card for a good five minutes or so, occasionally turning it over in his fingers.

He knew what his first order of business would be upon returning home.

Will trudged into the hallway of his house, feeling a strong urge to collapse right where he stood and not move for hours, or days.

It'd been one hell of a week at work. He hadn't been able to catch a break after the "Jones" case – the city still seemed to demand his time and attention. He loved it here, he really did, but weeks like this reminded him that there was always a darker side lurking.

He relished the thought of his upcoming two days off. It wasn't much, no, but one took what they could get in this job. Fighting sleep a little while longer, he changed quickly into a pair of shorts and a tank top, and finally flopped down onto his bed. He was just about to turn out the light when he saw it.

The little white slip of paper was lying next to his badge on the nightstand. Seven numbers, in neat, readable handwriting.

Will snuck a peek at his alarm clock. Nine-thirty pm.

Ten-thirty in Virginia. She'd still be up, wouldn't she? It sure would be nice to hear her voice right now…

Will sat on the side of his bed, his mind now wandering off to much more pleasant thoughts. He pictured the two of them being able to spend some time having fun in his hometown. Showing her the historic sites. Imagined her finding neat little trinkets she could buy and take back home. Fantasized about taking her out somewhere other than a noisy bar, and for non-case related reasons. A fancy restaurant or something. Someplace quiet. Intimate. Romantic.

Will began to feel much more alert and awake now. Funny thing, that. He looked down at those seven numbers once again.

It couldn't hurt, could it? Holding the piece of paper in one hand, he nervously began punching those numbers into his phone.

JJ glanced up at the big, circular clock on the wall. The little red hand took its leisurely 360 degree stroll. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick…

She rubbed her temples, groaning as she turned back to face the mounds of paperwork on her desk. One more file, maybe two, and she might be lucky enough to get out of here by eleven. The rest of this could be put off until tomorrow.

JJ had barely opened the top file in the stack when she heard her phone ring. Upon grabbing it, she frowned. The number was unrecognizable. But it could be important, one never knew. Just so long as it has nothing to do with a new case.

"Hello, this is Jennifer Jareau of the BAU speaking," she answered, immediately tuned to "professional" mode.

Her face suddenly reddened and brightened, however, once she heard the voice on the other end.

Play it cool, JJ.

"Oh. Will. Um…hi…"

"Basically, the only thing we need is a hand that rests on our own, that wishes it well, that sometimes guides us." - Hector Bianciotti, Sans La Misericorde du Christ

As always, reviews/critiques/etc. are very much appreciated!