Heartfelt thanks for the reads and reviews.
We're tackling a heavy episode (season 6's "JJ") with this one, but not with the character you'd expect. The song featured at the end of that episode ("Let It Be Me" by Ray LaMontagne) served as my inspiration for this conversation, and does rather well to set the mood for this conversation. Give it a listen if you'd like.
As always, happy reading. (=
"Never say goodbye because goodbye means going away and going away means forgetting." –J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan
I squeeze my eyes shut and try in vain to hold back the tears. I swallow, trying to dislodge the lump that has formed in my throat. I feel my head shake in disbelief. She can't be gone. She can't be. There has to be something that I could do. There just has to.
Her words echo in my head. "It's not up to me, or Hotch."
I can hear the faint sounds of her footsteps as she disappears down the hallway, and I'm consumed by sadness and disbelief. She was the glue that held us together, the one who made us feel safe, and the one who helped keep us human. How are we supposed to work without her here? How are we supposed to go on every single day, knowing they tore our family apart? How am I supposed to make it through a day without my blonde gumdrop?
I try to busy myself with finishing up turning off my systems and monitors, but it's to no avail. My thoughts are still swirling dangerously. I feel more tears make their way down my face and I choke on the sobs shaking my body to its very core. My mind flits to the team and how broken and dejected they'd looked when they found out.
Boy wonder had looked rather like a kicked puppy, unable to say anything but "They can't just take you away" in an almost broken voice. Rossi had shaken his head sadly, no doubt having been around long enough to have seen this kind of thing before. My Chocolate Adonis had just stared in utter disbelief, apparently still clinging to the hope of Hotch's chances at fixing this. And our raven-haired warrior had shaken her head and blinked furiously. I'd wager those boxes in her mind were beginning to overflow, leaving her unable to lock this emotion away. She'd averted her gaze, refusing to meet JJ's sad eyes, and had stiffened when the blonde had wrapped her arms around her in a hug. They'd all stood still, unable or maybe unwilling to move, and unable to believe it. I'd hurried off to my lair, just as Emily had grabbed her bag and walked with quick and heavy steps toward the elevator.
After flipping the switch for the lights in my office, I close the door, making sure it's safely locked behind me and made my way down to the bullpen. Derek is still there, and had begun to pick up some paperclips that had spilled on the ground. He looks up and meets my gaze, rising immediately to his feet and wrapping his arms around me in a hug meant to comfort me.
"It's not fair. Don't they get we're a family? How the heck are we supposed to do this without her, Derek?" I say through my tears.
"I don't know, Baby Girl," he murmurs, squeezing me tighter and rubbing his hand soothingly on my back. I feel a fresh wave of sobs rising and I bury my face in his shirt. "But she's not leaving the family."
"They just took her away from us. They're separating my crime-fighters. How am I supposed to know you're safe if they break us up? I don't like change," I say, my tone turning to a wail by the end.
Derek appears to be at a loss of what to say, so he just keeps a hold of me. When I finally feel composed enough to break our embrace, he tips my chin up and wipes away a few stray tears gently with his thumb. "We'll get through this, Baby Girl. You can believe that. And we'll get her back. Hotch'll figure out a way, or Rossi can call in some favours. Hell, maybe Prentiss can talk to her mother and get her to pull some strings. We'll sort this out," he says, his tone telling me he believes every word he's saying.
At the mention of the rest of the team my eyes sweep across the room questioningly. Rossi's office light is on, and two figures are sitting in the chairs – that's Hotch and Rossi, no doubt breaking into the big boy beverages. Reid's token messenger bag is missing, so he's no doubt headed home already. I remember seeing Emily leave the bullpen shortly after JJ had, but I spy her keys and purse still on her desk.
"Where's Emily?" I ask.
"Oh. I think she went to the gym to blow off some steam. She ran outta here pretty quick after JJ left. Pretty sure there are scorch marks on the carpet from her," he chuckles half-heartedly, his eyes glancing to the paperclips still strewn about on the ground, no doubt victims of Em's hasty departure.
"I'm gonna go see if she's okay," I say, determination filling my tone.
"Baby girl, maybe you should just leave her-"
"No. She needs some girl talk."
"Are we talking about the same Emily Prentiss?" he asks, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.
"She may be the queen of compartmentalizing, but those boxes fill up sometimes, Derek. She's still a human being."
"Yeah, I know," he says, a hint of shame gracing his features. "You want me to come? She's got a pretty nasty right hook. And left hook, come to think of it."
I offer a half chuckle in slight amusement. "Derek, I love you, but a woman you are not, and ergo that disqualifies you from girl talk. You want to do something? Go make sure our resident genius is okay."
"Yeah, okay," he says before pulling me into a quick hug and pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead. "We'll get through this. We'll make this right."
When the doors open, I step out of the elevator quickly, making my way through the doors to the gym. It's not terribly late, and there's usually a pretty steady stream of people making their way in and out of the gym, not to mention the gym itself is usually pretty busy. But tonight it only houses one lone occupant. One very feisty occupant. Suddenly it's not so surprising that the gym's empty.
She had changed out of her work attire, donning tight workout clothes instead. On any other day I probably would comment on the general sexiness of her outfit, or how it accentuates her badass nature. But my eyes are entirely focused on her wrapped hands that are launching a violent assault on the heavy bag hanging from the ceiling. It sways a bit more with each punch as she circles it slowly, her feet dancing across the floor while her fists slice through the air.
Her skin is flushed and I can see the layer of sweat she'd worked up glistening on her face, chest, and arms. I can faintly hear the intermittent grunts and consistent quick exhales escaping her mouth as she unleashes her frustration on the bag. Given the fervour with which she's attacking the bag, it wouldn't surprise me if her knuckles were bloodied and bruised already. Hell, I've seen Derek go easier on unsubs he held some seriously deep disdain for.
I let out a sigh of sympathy. She may be the most stubborn person I've ever met, a woman shrouded in mystery and intrigue, a damn good agent, and a compartmentalizing extraordinaire, but she is far from emotionless. I've seen ups and downs of Emily over the years – from the despair over losing a childhood friend, to her glee when Jack climbs into her lap and demands to be read a story. But I've never seen her quite so frustrated and broken at the same time.
I tentatively move forward, unsurprised that she doesn't notice my approach. She's completely engrossed in her assault. Her very being seems to be intently focused on her current task of beating the crap out of the bag. I drop my bag on a nearby bench and swallow nervously. I've seen her in action, and Derek wasn't kidding, she's got quite the right hook. Spooking her is the last thing I want to do considering I'm a mere arm's length away.
"Em?" I call out, hoping it snaps her out of her trance. She doesn't respond and I call out "Em?" in a firmer and louder voice. My voice apparently reaches her ears this time and she whips her head around, her fists still poised for the offensive.
"Whoa," I say, holding my hands up in surrender. "I just came to check on you. Morgan said you'd practically left scorch marks on the floor from your exit."
She drops her hands to her side. "Sorry," she says sheepishly. "I just needed to work some stuff out."
"Did you?"
"Not really," she admits with a shrug and wipes the sweat (or is that wetness from tears?) from her face. "How are you? I know you two are really close."
"We're all close," I say, noting her weak efforts at distancing herself from the situation. "But I'm sad, and in disbelief, and wishing desperately to wake up from this nightmare, or at least switch to a dream of deliciously hunky guys or unicorns or rainbows or something."
"I know what you mean. Want to have a go with this?" she asks, gesturing to the heavy bag.
I shake my head. "No thanks, love. You know I don't do violence. That's your thing."
She shrugs again. "Suit yourself."
"Why is this hitting you so hard?" I ask.
She looks surprised and a bit offended at my question. "She's my friend too, Penelope," she says coolly, a stark contrast to her efforts at distancing herself just a moment ago.
"Oh god, hold your horses, Em. I didn't mean it that way. I just meant that you're usually the calm, cool, collected, complete with stylish sunglasses, cucumber."
"I hate politics," she says, disdain and hate laced in her tone.
"We all do, sweet cheeks."
"No," she says as something flares in her eyes. "I've seen what politics does to people, Pen. I grew up with it being the ruling force in my life. It drove a wedge between me and my mother, and now it's tearing this family apart."
I step forward and wrap an arm around her shoulders, squeezing her to me. I don't have any coherent words to respond, but hope my actions give the comfort I can see she needs. The comfort she wants, if I'm not entirely mistaken.
"It's not fair," she says quietly.
"I know, Em. I know," I say as I pull her into a tight very Penelope Garcia hug. I feel her arms wrap around me and her head settle onto my shoulder. We break the embrace after a moment, which isn't shocking to me since Emily's never really been one for affection. Whatever the hell's in her past certainly did a number on her.
"Ugh," she groans. "What am I gonna do with all those boys when we're in the field? I'm gonna be surrounded by testosterone."
"Oh, I'm sure you and I can cook up something. I'll just have to make sure we keep the jet stocked with Cosmo," I say with a wink.
She smiles and laughs, but there's no twinkle in her eyes. I don't blame her. There isn't any twinkling in my eyes either.
"You and I, we're not gonna let her forget her family. Ladies' nights, and lunches, and playdates with Henry in the park," I say.
"You'll bring both child and adult grape juice, right?" she deadpans before cracking a small smile.
"Oh, you better believe it, Miss Prentiss. Now let's go. You look like you could use some grape juice."
"You know me too well, Garcia," she says and leans over to grab my bag and hand it to me. I start walking toward the door but pause when I realize she hasn't followed. I turn to find her looking thoughtfully at the heavy bag. A look of determination crosses her face and I see her muscles tense before she delivers a final roundhouse kick to the bag, which begins swinging from the impact.
She exhales heavily. "Okay, let's go," she says with a smile. My eyes take in the still swinging bag and I count my lucky stars this woman's fighting in our corner.
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