CHAPTER 32: Normal (Season 4, episode 11)

Character(s): Todd

A/N: Usual spoiler warnings for the case and its outcome apply here.

"Unfortunately, the balance of nature decrees that a super-abundance of dreams is paid for by a growing potential for nightmares." – Peter Ustinov

She stands in front of the camera, straightening her dress shirt one last time. Just deliver the important information. That's all she has to do. Tell the people what they need to know.

The cameraman's fingers signal the "on air" countdown. Five. Four. Three. Two…

Jordan lets in a deep breath before carefully exhaling. She puts on what she hopes is a serious yet concerned face, and opens her mouth.

Wait. Why isn't there any sound? Is the volume down? Jordan briefly places a hand to her chest, just below her throat, swallowing as she tries to speak again.

Nothing.

Her eyes flicker, panic settling in, as she looks at the disapproving glances from Hotch, from Rossi, both of whom are standing nearby. Morgan and Reid are off to their left, staring at her as though she were an alien. JJ's not even there and yet Jordan can feel her disappointment from…somewhere.

The cameraman pries his face away from the camera in his hands…

…no. It's not a him. It's a her. A young her. A beautiful girl with light, sun-kissed blonde hair, streaked with red highlights…

…which are now trickling down her face, and she's walking up to Jordan, her expression a mixture of horror and anger. She's yelling something at her, something about help and being scared, but Jordan can't hear very clearly, and the girl's face is slowly, literally falling apart in front of her.

Jordan spins around, ready to run.

BANG!

Jordan yelped as her eyes flew open and her legs made a violent, jolting motion. She briefly lifted her head, throwing a glance down the length of her bed, before falling back onto her pillow. Her breathing was now coming out in short gasps, and she burrowed herself further under her blankets, trying to ward off the sudden cold sweat she felt.

She glanced over at the digital clock. 3:17 am. Told you you shouldn't have stayed up until midnight.

There was more to it than that, though. So much more.

Jordan remained in bed for about a half hour after waking up, letting her eyes close as she attempted to slow and steady her breathing. Hoping. Praying. Pleading. Just this once? Give me at least another hour?

It wasn't working, though. It never did.

With a frustrated growl, Jordan yanked the covers off, practically launching herself out of bed. She stormed into the kitchen, made some warm milk, and settled herself at her table. Just like she'd done last night. And the night before that. And the night before that. All the way back to her first night home after…

Jordan downed a big gulp of her drink, ignoring the sudden churning in her stomach.

She'd heard the stories from JJ when she was doing her job training, of course. The two women went over case files together, she caught a glimpse of some of the photos she'd have to look at on a regular basis. Jordan had introduced a few rather grotesque cases of her own as well during her time on the job. The man who made women clean up their own murder scenes, for instance – if she hadn't been witness to that case, she would've sworn somebody made that story up.

She'd also raced the clock with the team on a couple cases involving children in danger. Jordan would never forget the horrible bout of nervousness she'd felt going to that house where the kids were held captive and holding gas masks. What if they'd been too late?

But they weren't. Every case involving young victims that she'd dealt with thus far had, thankfully, turned out fine.

Until this one. Deep down, she knew a day like this was coming, JJ had warned her about how increasingly dark and tragic the cases would become. But she'd chose to ignore that persistent nagging voice. Instead, Jordan had preferred to just breeze on through and focus on throwing herself into her job, doing everything in her power to prove herself to the team. After all, if they could handle this stuff, so could she. She'd worked counterterrorism, for God's sake! Terrorism. Not exactly a walk in the park. She could totally handle this.

"Tell me you can do this job." Hotch had studied her, waiting to see her reaction.

"Damn right, I can do this job." She'd sounded so firm, so certain then.

Thank God he isn't here to ask me that now.

The house had looked so ordinary. For some reason, that was what struck her the most out of everything. It wasn't elegant and elaborate like Rothchild's place. It didn't have the obvious decorations that might as well have been advertising that an unsub lived there, like the Seventies-style bachelor pad of their pickup artist creep.

No, this place was neat. Everything was in in its right place, properly organized by various categories. The home was coated in neutral colors – tans, whites, off-whites…something which Jordan had found a little unnerving, for reasons she couldn't quite put her finger on. Knick-knacks and furniture were all settled precisely where they should be. Presents lay around the Christmas tree. Coats draped on the coat rack, the little clock in the kitchen ticking out a steady rhythm, a bowl full of snacks on the counter. All of it seemed to be saying, "Oh, yeah, the family just stepped out for a few hours. Don't worry, they'll be back soon."

The moment Jordan stepped into the main area of the house, however, the moment a very strong, very familiar smell assaulted her nose, her stomach dropped and her hand flew up to shield her mouth and nostrils. The others who'd come along barged on ahead with little to no reaction to the disgusting odor. Either they were used to it, or they'd become quite well versed in the art of discretion.

Jordan was half tempted to turn around and head back outside right then and there.

The others don't flinch and walk away. Why should I?

She'd never forget the three doors adorned with little plaques proclaiming various girls' names, informing whose rooms these were. Frilly, delicate, lightly colored decorations surrounded the plaques. Was there a girl out there who didn't have something like that on her door at one point? Jordan had thought ruefully.

In reality, it had only taken her a few seconds to get to one of the bedroom doors, but in her mind's eye she walked slowly, cautiously, nervously. That smell was getting increasingly strong, too. Maybe someone should've handed out clothespins.

She turned the handle. Opened the door. Took one step forward, maybe two at most. And…and…

Jordan ran to the sink, dumping the rest of her milk out, bending forward and dry heaving as she did so. She sank down against the kitchen cabinets, head buried in her hands, as the entire scene played out for what seemed like the millionth time.

She was the typical teenager. Posters of celebrities on her walls, what looked to be a fairly new computer in the corner, stuffed animals on her bed… Some of them were sprinkled with flecks of red, she'd noticed. They'll have to scrub that out.

If Jordan closed her eyes, she could almost convince herself the girl was merely sleeping.

She had wandered back towards the living room in a stupefied daze after making her tragic discovery. Voices floated in and out of her ears at that point, and she only caught snippets of conversation. She had the vague memory of someone running by her and heading towards the very room she'd just left, but who that person was, she couldn't tell. One line from all the discussion going on finally grabbed her attention, though.

"They're all gone."

Her vision began to swim as she swayed slightly from side to side. She had to leave. Now. Had to go…somewhere. Anywhere. Jordan remembered running outside, remembered her knees giving out, remembered Rossi's footsteps quickly following behind hers (please just leave me alone. Please). He'd tried to talk to her, tried to reassure her. You didn't cause this. It's not your fault.

For a man who prided himself on honesty, Rossi sure knew how to spout phrases that felt good at the moment, but which ultimately meant nothing. She supposed she knew what that was like, though – she'd done similar things during the case as well.

"Do not hurt any more people. Please. Turn yourself in."

What on earth had made her think the guy would listen to her plea? He'd shot his family while they slept, the victims on the road he'd caught by surprise, all so he could avoid having to hear or see any of them beg for mercy. Emotion and appeals to reason were lost on this guy.

"He's violent and troubled, but he must be capable of some level of compassion."

Jordan very nearly laughed as she sat back against the cupboards. How could she have been so naïve? Compassionate people don't murder their families in cold blood. She'd heard Morgan mention Norman Hill's breakdown once they'd pried him from his car after the accident, but that still didn't seem like enough evidence of his remorse for her. Robert Parker took care of his ailing mother, after all, and yet Jordan wouldn't have called him compassionate, either. If there was any compassion in any of those people at some point, it had been snuffed out by their extremely violent tendencies.

She knew the team's strategy was to study a case and avoid passing judgment on the unsubs as much as humanly possible. But she'd worked counterterrorism. Even if that unit had shared the same policy in theory, it was often rarer to put it into actual practice. Jordan recalled many a rant from her colleagues in her old job about "the bastards" that were threatening the country, or the world, at large. And she knew that the BAU team was no different in that regard. They were just generally better at hiding their disgust, was all – and even then, they'd been slipping on that front at times from what she could see. Emily with the classes Parker had taken, Morgan with the cop killer in Phoenix, Reid and JJ with the Riley case.

Surely they had to have nightmares, too? She'd seen the others at their desks a time or two, heads practically drooping, bags under the eyes, and she sensed that wasn't just because of the long, grueling hours they worked. Did she dare broach the subject with them? Would they deny it? Would they want to talk about it?

They'd probably just advise her to find some way to deal with the scary thoughts, though, not knowing that she'd already tried. She even considered using one of the others' means of de-stressing.

There was Hotch and his paperwork – and Jordan ruled that out right away. She understood why he did so much of it, of course. Take care of what he could on the way home, in the hopes he didn't have as much to do at the office, thus meaning he could go home to his son much more quickly. Fine for him, but she didn't have the patience for that.

Rossi often slept, or wrote. For someone like him, who'd been around the block a few times, he was definitely embodying the immortal phrase, "I'm getting too old for this shit" more and more every day. If it wasn't his attempts at reenergizing himself through sleep, it was writing, trying to put the demons and nightmares down on paper so they hopefully wouldn't linger on in his head. But it was hard for Jordan to sleep on the jet, and she wasn't much of a writer.

Morgan often had headphones on. Music was always a great way to ease stress, that much was obvious. She'd considered bringing music along as well, but she wasn't much of a pop fan, and many of the artists she did like were old jazz and blues singers from the twenties and thirties. Yeah. That ruled that out.

Reid, as was typical, would follow his namesake and have his nose in a book. Something long, obscure, tough to understand. Anything that would keep that gray matter of his moving, anything that could help him with a future case or that would lead him to a new discovery or interest. Like he was terrified if he let his brain rest for even a moment, if he let any of what they'd encountered on a case linger in his mind for too long, it would take root and his mind would slowly begin to rot. Jordan loved to read – not the kind of stuff Reid was into, but still substantial enough. She tried her hand at bringing a book along…only to encounter motion sickness.

Thankfully, Emily was good for a chat or two. Jordan had found herself becoming quite friendly with the woman these last few months, and their fun, silly conversations were quite the pick-me-up. But then there were days when Emily would be engrossed in a game with Reid, or deep in thought about something, her body language indicating she wanted to be by herself for a while. So Jordan would merely sit and wait patiently in case Emily changed her mind, or had a free moment. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't.

Garcia, of course, had her dolls – Jordan remembered them from the time she'd spent in the tech analyst's cave of wonders. She'd spent half a day once, shortly after she'd started, listening to Garcia go on about all the little decorations and photos she had set up in her office, detailing why they were so meaningful to her. The photos of her parents and her teammates, the cute animal pictures stored in a file on her computer, the brightly colored lights, the romance novels buried in a drawer…

Jordan had considered asking Garcia if she wanted to trade jobs. Then she saw the footage of those children trapped in Rothchild's house on Garcia's computer, and realized it wouldn't make a difference.

Not that it would last if she had taken Garcia's job, of course. After all, JJ would be back soon. Jordan had noticed the rest of the team heading up to the conference room once they'd returned from the case, almost considering following them. Once she saw them all huddled together, though, she chose to keep walking out the door. This was their time. No need to intrude. She'd heard plenty about their meeting the following day anyway, when everyone was gushing over JJ's new son and how cute he was and how well-rested JJ looked and god, they couldn't wait to have her back…

A couple of the others had fallen silent when they'd noticed Jordan was in earshot then. She didn't mind, though. Really, she didn't. JJ was a wonderful person, and it was obvious how much she loved her friends, and how much they loved her. And Jordan was happy for JJ. Truly. She now had another reason to look forward to coming home, now had something else to help distract her and cheer her up at the end of the day. Just like all the others.

Jordan would find her own stress reliever, too. In fact, she suspected she already had.

Finally, she stretched, pushing herself up off the floor, grimacing as she rubbed her back and neck. She may not have been tired, but being in her soft bed had to be better than this. Plus, she could take the opportunity to prepare herself for the conversation she'd decided to have with Hotch the next day. She knew Rossi had kept their conversation confidential from Hotch, knew it was up to her to broach the subject with her boss. All it took was eight words, words that didn't sound as scary to her now as they did when she'd said them aloud to Rossi.

"I'm not sure I can do this job."

"To study the abnormal is the best way of understanding the normal." – William James