He shouldn't have let her go alone.
That's all that's going through Spencer's brain as he races towards the lake, where he can hear his best friend screaming for her life. They never should have split up. They know what happens when they split up. But they'd found the children the unsub had been keeping hostage in his farmhouse, and when the sobbing kids said the man had run for the lake to escape in his boat, JJ had taken off in a flash. At least one of the three kids was wounded, and Reid did as quick of a triage job as he could manage before radioing Hotch and telling the kids to stay put. Then he ran for JJ like his life depended on it – or hers did.
It should have been him.
Spencer tries to narrow his focus, to not let the fear and guilt creep in and dull his senses. He can't afford for it to, not now. But JJ's screaming for him, and he can't think of anything else.
Until the screaming stops.
No. No, no, no.
Spencer races over the uneven ground, through thick trees, thorns, and brambles, launching himself over tangling tree roots that seem to reach for him. As the lake comes into view, he can see the unsub in his fishing boat, back to him, kneeling. He hasn't made it more than 15 to 20 feet off from the dock, and Reid assumes JJ must have either jumped into the boat with him or swam after him before being subdued. He hopes against hope that JJ's on the floor of the boat, unconscious or incapacitated; it's the best-case scenario in a worst-case situation. But Reid races onto the dock, he sees the unsub turn and smile. The man's arms are in the water, and as they lock eyes, the unsub shakes off the long blonde hair tangled around his wrists and stands to his full height.
Spencer doesn't think twice. He shoots, neutralizing the threat, before dropping his gun, diving into the icy lake and swimming towards where JJ must be. He doesn't believe in a God, never has. But in this moment he comes as close to prayer as he ever has.
As he rounds the boat, Spencer can't see any sign of JJ. So he takes his best approximation of where she went down and dives below the surface, struggling to see anything in the murky water of the lake. He propels himself down, sweeping blindly with his arms until he feels a tendril of her hair. Lungs screaming but refusing to surface, Spencer kicks down another few feet and wraps his arms around JJ's waist. Then he's fighting like hell to bring them both to the surface, gasping for air when he breaks the water line. There's absolutely no response from JJ, limp in his arms. An icy stab of terror pierces his heart as Spencer brushes the hair away from her face. Nothing. Eyes shut, skin pale and lips turning a sick, hypoxic blue.
Spencer suppresses a sob, putting all his strength into dragging JJ from the lake. It feels like an eternity before his feet reach solid ground and he's shifting his grip to carry her from the water. He makes it just out of the shallows before lowering JJ onto the shore and feeling for her pulse.
"JJ, please."
Nothing.
Breath hitching, Spencer immediately launches into CPR. "Come on, JJ, breathe." He wants to cry as he hears JJ's ribs cracking under his force. As many times as he's been trained that this can happen, it does nothing to dull the horror of hurting her. He's not sure how many cycles of CPR he makes it through before he vaguely registers pounding footsteps and Hotch is suddenly hovering over him.
Hotch finally kneels down and starts to physically remove Spencer from her to take his place. Before Spencer can fight him on it, JJ chokes out a breath beneath them, spitting up what seems like gallons of lake water. Both men rush to turn JJ onto her side, easing her into the recovery position and whispering reassurances.
"Thank god," Spencer breaths, blinking back the tears still threatening to fall.
"The ambulance is 20 minutes out, it'll be faster if we take her," Hotch tells Spencer. He reaches for JJ, ready to grab her and run to the SUVs, but Spencer is faster. He makes sure JJ's breathing at least somewhat regular before he lifts her as gently as he can, settling her into his arms. Even the basic notion that JJ's not limp and blue helps Spencer ground himself a bit, and he tries to focus on that and not her body wracked with shivers. As gentle as he is, JJ still winces, blue eyes cracking open in the most heartbreaking expression of pain Spencer's ever seen.
"I've got you, Jayje. I'm here," Spencer tries to soothe her as the men rush back through the woods. As they approach the farmhouse, Spencer spots Morgan and Rossi taking the children away in one SUV. Both men freeze in horror before snapping back into action and shielding the kids from the sight of JJ. Hotch and Spencer rush for the other SUV, Hotch jumping into the driver's seat while Spencer sits in the back with JJ's head in his lap. Her breathing is ragged and choppy, and Spencer rubs his hands up and down her arms in an attempt to warm her and distract himself from the fear that she'll stop breathing again. Hotch breaks a hell of a lot of speeding laws in their rush to get JJ to the hospital, but they make it.
"Federal agents, we need help," Hotch loudly announces as Spencer rushes JJ into the ER. He's reluctant to put her down on a gurney, to let her out of his sight. But when Hotch puts a gentle hand on his shoulder, Spencer does. He informs the nurses and doctors of everything they need to know, instructs them to investigate the possibility of dry drowning, and gets more than a few glares (mixed with at least one sympathetic look) in the process. Then the two agents are left alone in the ER lobby, Spencer still dripping wet.
"Come sit down, Reid," Hotch prompts, leading Spencer to the waiting room. Spencer lets himself be lead, allowing the numbness to seep into his veins. He's vaguely aware of Hotch calling the others, asking someone to stop by Spencer's hotel room and get him some dry clothes. As if it even matters right now. He knows the statistics, knows that JJ should be alright. But should isn't good enough when it comes to her life.
They sit in silence until Hotch speaks again, minutes or hours or years later. "You saved her life, you know." He's trying to get Spencer to make eye contact, trying to impress upon him the gravity of what he's saying.
Spencer does meet his gaze, eyes flashing. "Hotch, if I hadn't let her go alone-"
"Do you honestly think any of us let Jennifer Jareau do anything?" Hotch asks pointedly, raising an eyebrow. "Your priority was to make sure the children were stable before going to the rescue of a trained federal agent. I know it hurts, but you made the right decision, and you saved her life."
Anger bubbles up in Spencer's gut, but he doesn't have a retort. And so he sits, soaking wet, silently cursing the case and their jobs and this damn hospital waiting room, because anger is so much easier than fear.
When the rest of the team arrives, questions in their eyes and on their lips, Spencer lets Hotch answer. He takes the change of clothes Morgan is handing him and goes to the nearest bathroom to change. When he comes out of the stall, Morgan is leaning against the wall, waiting.
"You okay, Pretty Boy?" There's no snark in his tone, only sympathy.
"Yeah, I'm…" Spencer starts, before the anger comes back and boils over. "Actually, no, Morgan, I'm not fine. I don't know how anyone could be fine after dragging their drowned best friend out of a lake and hearing her ribs crack as you resuscitate her."
"I don't think anyone would be," Morgan replies. His voice is gentle, like he's soothing a spooked animal. And maybe he is. "I don't think anyone should be."
The wet clothes in Spencer's hand make the only sound for a few moments, an arrhythmic drip, drip, drip.
Spencer opens his mouth to reply, but Hotch barges in and lets them know that JJ is awake. The words on Spencer's lips stay there in the ether.
I'm never going to get that sound out of my mind.
