Chapter Text
Emily calls.
Exactly like she promised.
Though almost an entire week comes and goes during which JJ doesn’t get to hear her voice. The weekend passes so fast, she never quite manages to come down from the high that is meeting Emily Prentiss, London-based Interpol agent extraordinaire and star in most of JJ’s recent fantasies. It’s only on Monday morning when she’s dropped Henry off at pre-school and steps into her tiny, crammed office at Quantico, that her rose-tinted glasses come off. Right before Emily left on Friday, JJ pressed a business card into her hands with the number printed on it of the decades-old landline on the desk in front of her. For two days, she didn’t have to face the reality of that promised phone-call actually happening. Now the uncertainty of waiting might actually kill her.
The first thing she googles is the time difference between Quantico and London, relieved to find out it’s something laughable like five hours. Which means JJ probably has to wait until lunch before her phone rings. If it rings. A coffee in hand which she doesn’t remember making and which is slowly getting cold, JJ stares holes into her landline. On some tiny rational level, she is aware how pointless that is. Emily said she’ll call. She promised. So, she will. Though it’s not like they actually know each other. Emily could have promised her anything under the sun and it could have all been a lie. She must be exceptional at it based on the way she told JJ she was in publishing without batting an eye. JJ keeps staring, doesn’t blink until her vision grows hazy. The voice of reason is quietening, softens to a whisper, drowned out by the much louder sirens of doubt and anxiety which are telling her Emily has already forgotten about her. She charmed her way under JJ’s skin, kissed her silly with one foot literally out the door and would now reduce JJ to an anecdote she could brag about to her British friends.
JJ draws her bottom lip between her teeth. Plays with her necklace. No, she is getting too far into her head. The callous picture painted there in the dull colors of fear doesn’t fit the woman she met at all. Yes, Emily was a shameless flirt all night during their blind-date-meets-sting-operation, but she was just as sweet and attentive and listened to JJ ramble about Henry for half an hour with shining eyes full of wonder. The way she kissed JJ good-bye was so full of yearning as if she was preparing herself for when they had to be apart. Just from remembering the feeling of Emily’s tongue brushing against her own, JJ’s pulse ticks up. Heat rushes into her cheeks.
Okay, she’s being ridiculous.
Emily will call.
By lunch.
Probably.
The only problem is that by the time lunch rolls around, JJ has long abandoned her office. A new unsub requires all her attention who isn’t just a run-of-the-mill psychopath but someone who thinks himself smart enough to play games with the BAU. What follows is one of the hardest cases of JJ’s entire career and not just because it almost sends one of her colleagues into an early grave. What starts with a headless body in Jamaica ends with a house blowing up in Shiloh and Elle Greenaway surviving a brutal knife-attack by a hairsbreadth.
JJ doesn’t get to set foot into her office again before Thursday night, the phone-call not quite forgotten but pushed to the back of her mind by exhaustion, shock and missing Henry so much waiting two more days until she can pick him up from Will’s is torture. The reluctance to return to an apartment which always is too still without her son is the only reason why JJ flips through the files of new potential cases rather than processing the trauma of the last one. And when the phone rings as the arms on her watch creep past ten, she is relieved about the excuse to keep working. She reaches for the receiver without thinking.
“Agent Jareau.”
“Good evening, this is Interpol speaking.” JJ recognizes the voice in a second and her heart starts pounding so hard she fears it could leap out of her chest. “We require your help in an international matter of the outmost importance. What’s your take on milk in tea?”
“Emily…”
“Hello, love.”
She sounds like she’s smiling, big and dopey. Or maybe JJ is just projecting. Because the grin in her own face is definitely of the idiotic lovesick kind. Emily kept her promise, picked up the phone, dialed the number on the business card and risked something regardless of the late hour. After a quick glance at her watch, JJ’s eyebrows shoot into her hairline.
“Wait, are you crazy, what time is it in London?”
Emily clicks her tongue. “Irrelevant. I wanted to hear your voice all week, but I kept missing you.”
Something flutters behind JJ’s ribcage that is hopeful and delicate in the face of Emily’s simple admission. It’s nice to know she wasn’t the only one who couldn’t stop thinking about their not-date. Well, that isn’t entirely true. JJ spent a good part of her week distracted because she was worrying about Elle dying at the hands of their delusional unsub. Not to forget the case itself. She collapses back into her chair with a sigh. Rubs a hand over her forehead.
“Yeah, we got called to a case and it’s been…”
“Rough?” Emily supplies softly after the silence stretches on for a tad too long.
JJ leans her head back, debates how much of Elle’s pain or Reid’s embarrassment over his institutionalized mother she can share. Eventually, she settles for a non-committal hum, too reluctant to have the horrors of her job overshadow the rest of their conversation. Instead, she closes her eyes and imagines Emily in her own office on the other side of the world.
“I’m really glad you called.”
“Yeah, me too.” Emily chuckles and the sound is so lovely JJ feels some tension of the week draining out of her at last. “I was getting really distracted at work from thinking about you all the time.”
“Oh? Did you get in trouble?”
“Constantly,” comes the dry answer. “But luckily the guy we were after was a complete tosser.”
“There you go again with your British charm.”
“It’s not on purpose, you live here long enough, it just rubs off on you, though now I’m wondering…” Emily’s voice shifts into something dangerously alluring. It’s the kind of tone that has no business outside of the bedroom and, if Emily used it there to whisper in her ear, JJ would do anything she asked of. “Is it working?”
“Unfortunately. Don’t let it get to your head.”
“Too late,” Emily says and JJ can practically hear the obnoxiously smug grin in her voice.
They keep talking for a while longer, mostly about Emily’s idiotic German suspect who tried recruiting supporters of the monarchy in the UK to bring back the German Reich. JJ could have listened to her all night, the cadence of her voice, the throaty timbre of her laugh, the dry, deadpan delivery of her humor. If Emily didn’t say eventually that she had to go home, JJ would have never ended that call. Before they hang up, she passes on the number of her private cell, unwilling to spend another week without hearing from Emily.
The next morning, she wakes up much more rested than usually after a terrible case, no doubt because she dreamt of soulful brown eyes and long dark hair. A single text message from an unknown number sits in the inbox of her cell. Instead of using a name, JJ saves it in her contacts as a plethora of cheesy emojis.
After that first night, the calls quickly become a permanent fixture in JJ’s life. Not every day, of course, which isn’t due to any lack of wanting. JJ wants with an intensity that’s startling. One she can’t even remember from the early days with Will. It’s reality which is thoroughly lacking – the unpredictability of their jobs, the entire goddamn Atlantic ocean between them. Not to forget that wanting to talk to Emily every day would be asking for too much, too soon. It’s that fear of coming on too strong that keeps JJ’s near constant craving to call Emily in check. And it’s the breathlessly eager greeting, every time JJ gives into that craving, which makes her think Emily wants this just as much her.
So, JJ takes what she can get without caring much for what that actually is. They aren’t dating in any sense of the word, that much is clear, but Emily manages, through late-night calls and countless text messages scattered throughout JJ’s days, to make her laugh, make her feel seen, make her feel desired. One day, she sends a picture of Columbine flowers she spots in St. James Park, the blue petals basically shining in the rare rays of British sun. JJ reads the simple caption over and over that day.
I saw these and they made me think of you. They remind me of your eyes.
After a gruesome case that had the BAU racing against time to stop a child being literally sold on the dark net and Elle lashing out at everyone who uttered a kind word to her, JJ tucks herself into a corner of the jet and opens her chat history with Emily to find another picture waiting for her. It’s a 3D-puzzle for children in the form of an Ankylosaurus. Henry’s favorite. The plushie he never goes to sleep without, and which Emily only saw once for approximately a minute, is the same kind.
Would Henry like this, the caption reads.
Knowing that Emily thinks about her in her daily life like this, extends those thoughts to Henry too, so much it made her halt in front of a shop window to check out dinosaur toys, is doing all kinds of things to JJ. Most of them are good. But occasionally she is harshly reminded of the fact that the biggest part of Emily’s life happens without her.
One of those reminders occurs some three weeks after they met. April brings milder temperatures to Virginia which JJ sees as good of an excuse as any to dust of her running shoes. It’s just past seven when she kicks them off in her tiny hallway, calves burning, shirt stuck to her sweaty skin and so thirsty she drinks straight from the tap in the kitchen. Henry is spending the weekend with Will and JJ doesn’t stop to think about it before she picks up her cell and finds Emily’s number. It takes far longer than usually for the click in the line to sound. That there is a base for what constitutes as usually after a mere three weeks and that she picks up on the delay is not something JJ dares to dwell on. If she did, she’d have to admit that she’s in way too deep already. Instead, she pushes a lone banana around the fruit bowl with one hand and cradles the cell tighter against her cheek with the other.
“Hey, it’s JJ. Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“Jennifer…” She picks up on how strange Emily sounds right away, too cheerful in the way that is never genuine. She hasn’t called JJ by her full name either since the night they met. “Nope, not at all. Now is a great time.”
JJ doesn’t believe a word she’s saying. Noises erupt in the background. Several muffled pops and a lot of angry shouting. Emily keeps on pretending there’s no reason to be concerned. “How was Henry’s soccer game? He’s showing any of his mother’s talent yet?”
The other day they talked about the life choices which led both of them to having careers in law enforcement. For JJ one of them was spending her formative years on a soccer field in the hopes it would secure her a ticket out of her tiny hometown in Pennsylvania. Naturally, Emily tucked that information away with the same care with which she remembers everything else JJ tells her.
“The kids are five, Emily, they chase the ball like they’re a herd of sheep. As long as we get through a whole game without anyone peeing their pants, I count that as a win.”
Emily snorts inelegantly. “Peeing your pants still sounds better than taking a–Shite!”
A loud crack fills the line with static followed by another round of pops. They sound sharper now. Dangerous. JJ stops playing with the banana. Dread climbs up her throat.
“Emily…”
“Yes, love?”
“Are those gunshots?”
The brief ensuing silence says it all. That it’s followed by what sounds like a whole hail of bullets is almost comical. Almost because objectively, Emily getting shot at is not funny under any circumstance.
“Uhm, well…” Emily winces between the telltale sound of splintering wood. “That would be a member of the Cosa Nostra who thought he could murder some ex-mates in England without us noticing.”
“Cosa Nostra…” JJ frowns while she tries to sort out the foreign words. “Are you in Italy?”
“I’m afraid if I told you that, I’d have to kill you.”
JJ lets out a strangled grumble of pure frustration and drops her head into her free hand. “You are unbelievable…”
“Unbelievably cool?”
“No,” JJ huffs without any heat behind it. It’s good Emily can’t see her right now or she’d notice the necklace clenched between her fingers. One night must have been enough for someone as smart as Emily to figure out it’s a nervous tick. She exhales long through her nose, hopes to sound a lot calmer than she feels. “I will hang up now. Call me when I don’t have to be afraid anymore, you’ll get shot. Please.”
Then she throws the cell at the couch accompanied by another, far louder groan.
Emily calls her back four hours later. JJ is at the grocery store, debating which type of tomato to buy, probably looking like a lunatic because of how fast she drops the vegetable to reach for her cell. Emily apologizes about a dozen times and doesn’t protest when JJ makes her promise to never pick up the phone again in the middle of a shootout. She slinks away from the fresh produce for some privacy and into the deserted aisle with breakfast spreads. Lost in thought, her mind thousands of miles away wherever Emily is, she trails a hand along the shelf. One particular label catches her attention and brings her to a slow halt. Wilkins & Sons ‘Tawny Orange’. Emily must be the only person she knows who likes the strange blend of sweet and tart and suddenly JJ misses her so much it’s like someone shoved a knife between her ribs.
It’s stupid how much it hurts.
“Everything alright?” Emily asks in a soft, hesitant voice.
“Yeah…” The word comes out raw and wet and she quickly clears her throat. “Yeah, I’m okay. I just wish I could see for myself that you are alright.”
A pause.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
“Don’t be.”
Silence settles over them. Not the kind which is particularly uncomfortable. Or the one which tends to make JJ’s skin itch from how awkward it is. This kind of silence speaks louder than the words JJ doesn’t know how to articulate. Really, how do you say, The sight of orange jam has me tearing up on a random Saturday afternoon which is dumb because we’ve only met each other once, but it feels like I’ve waited for you all my life.
She thinks Emily comes pretty close when she says, “I wish you were here.”
JJ brushes her thumb over the old-fashioned label of the jam, grabs the glass and says, “Me too.”
Whatever it is they are doing and of which JJ can only dream about where it might go, she is not making a big fuzz about it. It’s not her style. Not what was bred into her by her family which has hidden entire acts of tragedies behind a smile. Does that make her job as a media liaison the pinnacle of irony? JJ doesn’t know. What she knows is how she cherishes what meager private life she has, likes to neatly divide the two halves of it like it’s the segregation of church and state. A good system, she thinks, which only failed her once.
It took a year until the team learned about her dating Will and she would have kept her pregnancy to herself for much longer than ten weeks if it had been up to her. Both times Will made those decisions, over her head, in her name, and while she has forgiven him for a lot of the things which went wrong between them, a part of her will always resent him for that. This thing blossoming between her and Emily she wants to share on her own terms. When the time is right, that is.
She isn’t keeping Emily a secret out of anything awful like shame. Quite the opposite in fact. She wants to keep this gorgeous, witty, mysterious woman all to herself. It’s rather selfish, she supposes, because Emily would fit right in at the BAU – talk nerdy with Reid, becoming Morgan’s wingman, forming a heated rivalry with Elle. Then again JJ can count the times she’s been selfish in her life on one hand, always being expected to be the bigger person, to do better, to silence herself instead of demanding her needs to be met. Maybe it’s okay, for once, to want someone to be only hers.
It’s a bit of a futile wish since none other than Penelope Garcia is the one responsible for JJ and Emily crossing paths. JJ knows her for so many years and how she’s a romantic at heart and snooping into other people’s business comes as natural to her as breathing that she should have seen it coming. Penelope is invested in their happiness. Like, invested. To the point she comes over with a bottle of wine to hedge out elaborate plans which would require Interpol and the BAU to work together. They are all doomed to fail and involve highly questionable if not outright illegal actions. But JJ could never hold being a good friend against Penelope not even when she asks between tipsy giggles if JJ and Emily tried phone-sex yet. They haven’t, for the record.
As reluctant as JJ is to open up to anyone, the truth is, being able to share this with Penelope is nice. She is a good listener if she wants to be. Doesn’t laugh off JJ’s insecurities or tells her she’s being naïve for staying in touch with Emily. Most of the time, when JJ is helplessly spiraling, Penelope offers heartfelt advice. And if that occasionally involves urging JJ to be bold and reckless and take all her personal time at work to chase Emily to London, it makes her a terrible enabler and JJ loves her all the more for it. That Penelope knows about Emily and the growing importance she plays in JJ’s life is something good then. What is terrible, horrible, no good and actually very bad is Henry finding out about Emily. For the second time.
If she thinks about it, it’s entirely Will’s fault.
It’s his week with Henry but the sitter called in sick and Will is neck deep in a case and JJ is actually at Quantico for a change. Emily is supposed to face-time her later, the kind of interaction still so new between them, they actually agreed on a time beforehand. The annoyance over Will’s last-minute change is replaced the moment Henry is strapped in his car seat by discussing plans for the afternoon and dinner. Lately he’s been obsessed with round food and JJ wonders how many greens she can hide in a hearty pancake without him noticing. Swept up in the routine Henry brings to her day – play time, getting food into him, catching up on what he’s been up to with his father – the call with Emily slips her mind. As of itself that would not have been an issue. Emily would have called. JJ might have pressed red instead of green and explained the situation in a text or they could have spoken briefly. As the saying goes though, when it rains it pours. In JJ’s particularly unfortunate case that means she is in the bathroom when her phone goes off somewhere else in the flat.
One thing no one prepared her for is how during the first couple of years when you have a child you do not get to use the bathroom in peace and quiet. Least of all in privacy. Ever. Henry isn’t old enough yet for locked doors but in recent months she’s been trying to get him to knock first and better yet stay outside altogether. The knocking part he got down that afternoon, an incredible improvement compared to walking in on her twice a day.
“Mommy?”
“Whatever it is sweetie, mommy needs a moment, okay?”
“Okay,” he says in that uncertain way he often uses when he doesn’t really agree with her. “Your phone is playing music.”
“What kind of music?”
“Like when daddy calls.”
JJ runs a hand over her face. “Do not do anything with it, you hear me? We do not talk to strangers.”
“But I know who it is.”
“You know the rules, Henry.”
“But–”
“Henry, no.”
“But she’s going to be sad.” JJ can hear the pout through the door followed by the light thud of children’s feet on the floor.
“Henry, are you still there?” Silence. “Henry?!”
JJ curses under her breath. Finishes and taps the flushing without looking and so fast all it offers in return is a wet gurgle. She hurries into the living room, drawn there by Henry’s curious voice.
“Why are you in a phone?”
“I’m not in the phone, I’m in London.”
Emily sounds perfectly calm for talking to her son instead of JJ. If not mildly amused.
“Where is London?”
“In a land far, far away.”
JJ comes hurtling around the corner of the hallway with the awareness of someone who knows they are too late. Henry is sitting on the floor in front of the couch, elbows resting on the cushions and JJ’s phone held crookedly between both of his hands. For a moment, JJ is so angry at him, perhaps at Emily too, all she can do is breathe through it. Henry hasn’t even looked up once, his expression one of intense concentration. He is Will’s spitting image and the reminder of him is not exactly helping JJ to calm down.
“Is London in New Orleans?” Henry tilts his head to the side and the phone with it.
“No, buddy, it’s on the other side of the ocean. You have to take a plane.”
When JJ is certain she will not raise her voice by accident, she steps behind the couch, across from her son and makes her presence known. “Henry, what did I tell you?”
He has the decency to finally lift his gaze, eyes round and wide from getting caught. The guilt in his baby-blue eyes, however genuine it might be, quickly shifts into something more defiant as he waves the cell into her face.
“But look, mommy, it’s Emily.”
This time JJ is not softened up by his butchering of Emily’s name. She curls her fingers over the couch. That way she restrains herself from snatching the phone away, gives Henry a chance to hand it over by himself.
“This is your rule. It doesn’t change no matter who is calling.”
“Why?”
“I know you know why,” she says firmly, which is not some kind harsh parenting tactic. He does know why this rule is in place. JJ and Will sat down with him more than once to explain that not all people on the phone are nice. The kind of work they do makes no exception for children and between the two of them they must have heard every false promise and every lie under the sun used on children to steal them away. This, protecting their son for as long as they can, is something they always agreed on. Henry does too. In theory. In reality he pulls the phone back against his chest, an angry frown settles over his features.
“I don’t care. I want to talk to Emi. She’s not dumb, like your dumb rule.”
“Have you even asked Emily if she wants to talk to you?”
“I know she does!”
Henry protests, true offense sparking in his eyes. Under different circumstances she would think it’s adorable how quickly Henry is taken with Emily. Like mother like son perhaps. Given that the circumstances are what they are JJ cannot allow herself to melt over Henry’s fascination with the woman she is pretty sure she’s having a crush on. He took her phone without permission. Talked back to her. Now refuses to as much as meet her eye. She hates being the strict parent, prefers it much more when Henry does as he’s told out of his own free will and a true understanding for the rules he’s supposed to follow. As far as a five-year-old is capable of that. When it comes to strangers, though, JJ doesn’t have the patience for him to work things through by himself. Her fear of losing him, of him getting hurt, doesn’t allow it. She is saved from having to dive across the couch to wrestle the phone back by Emily’s muffled voice.
“Hey, Henry, I think your mother’s rule is pretty smart. Maybe we should both listen to it.”
“No!” He shakes his head wildly, his voice pitches into a whine, always a sign of an imminent meltdown.
“Henry…”
“No, no, no, no!” he screams and throws the phone in a corner of the couch before running off into his room.
JJ counts to ten under her breath and follows his wet angry wailing.
Well, that went fucking great.
Henry does calm down after a good cry. Apologizes and if it’s a bit reluctantly with his small face smushed against her neck, it’s at least sincere. JJ rubs his back and kisses his hair, her lingering frustration soothed by the knowledge that she raised a good, kind boy. After fights, Henry sometimes becomes extra clingy, like he was a few years back and JJ soaks up those moments, the smell of his hair, his weight in her arms, as best as she can. She knows there will only be fewer of them the older he gets. It’s hard to tell how much time has passed before she returns to the living room, but her phone is dark and silent when JJ pulls it from between the couch cushions together with a lonely sock and two plastic dinosaurs.
JJ falls onto the couch with a heavy sigh. The afternoon drained her and the exhaustion from it fills her limbs with lead. She’d prefer it if it was all physical, the heaviness in her arms, the tightness in her shoulders caused by a hard workout in the gym at Quantico or from one of the hikes Will used to drag her to. It’s not just her body which is tired, though. It’s her heart too. It quivers in the grip of all the emotions JJ hasn’t allowed herself to sort through yet. One, quite obviously, is guilt. For ruining her plans with Emily and lacking the foresight of telling her not to call. Almost as strong as the guilt is the stab of disappointment. JJ has been looking forward to their video-call ever since they first talked about it. As much as she enjoys all of their conversations, it’s been almost a month since she saw Emily in person, and she doesn’t even have a picture of her because Emily always painfully avoids being in any she sends.
JJ doesn’t want to forget the exact shade of her dark eyes or the difference in her smile when she blatantly flirts and when that expression settles over her features, that mixture of quite disbelief and raw awe, like she’d fall to her knees any moment to worship. If anything, no matter that it would only be through a phone-screen, seeing Emily’s face again would sharpen her features in JJ’s late-night fantasies where she is doing exactly that – worshipping JJ.
Her gaze falls to the phone in her hands, and she smooths her thumb over its back. She chews on her bottom lip while she tries to sort out what she should do. What she wants is easy, the urge to give in made stronger by the longing itching under her skin like a fever. The only thing holding her back is that somewhere buried under her yearning hides a flicker of anger. Yes, Henry clearly broke the rules by taking JJ’s phone, but Emily is the adult, should have known better. JJ lets that thought sit for a moment, examines it from all angles like she’d do with an unsub. Comes to the conclusion that Emily has no nuclear family of her own and perhaps lacks any sense of paranoia in regard to phones and children. And then it’s not even a question anymore. JJ is pulling up her contacts faster than she can come up with any other reason not to. Presses her index finger on the small icon of a video camera as her breath gets stuck somewhere in her throat, held in place there by the thundering behind her ribs.
“Hey…”
Emily’s face suddenly appears on the screen and she’s even more beautiful than JJ remembered. It could be because of something sentimental like absence makes the heart grow fonder or it’s simply because the depth of those dark eyes has always had this effect on JJ. Head empty. Heart throbbing. Among other things.
“Hi, Emily.”
Her mouth curls up at the sound of her name in JJ’s totally too breathless voice but her gaze is flat. Darts away. “I didn’t think I’d hear from you again today. Is Henry… uhm… is everything okay?”
The bitter taste of guilt and acrimony spreads on her tongue again and JJ hurries to respond to dispel the taste in favor of something sweeter. Lingering on the events of the afternoon is the last she thing wants, she’d much rather enjoy the sight of Emily in a loose shirt and a messy ponytail that makes her ears stick out and with her bottom lip stained in the color of Merlot red. JJ wonders what it would taste like if she licked it clean. Then she blinks. Clears her throat.
“He came around after a while and apologized.”
“Good… That’s good.” Emily’s gaze keeps flickering away, her throats bops from a swallow. She is so obviously nervous JJ is endlessly endeared by her struggle for words. “I uh… I guess he isn’t the only to blame. I feel like I crossed a line by talking to him without you. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“No, you shouldn’t have,” JJ agrees, feeling instantly bad at how fast Emily’s face falls. “But you could now.”
“Are you sure?”
JJ nods. “He has to get ready for bed soon, and he’s been asking about you. You could read him a story… if you want to.”
Emily’s eyes light up first quickly followed by a smile spreading over her face so bright it’s blinding even through the phone. “Yeah, sounds good… I’d like that.”
Maybe Henry finding out is not so terrible, horrible, very bad after all and JJ does a pretty good job keeping Emily a secret from anyone else for the next couple of months. In June, though, she is really in the soup. Neck deep. No land in sight. This time she can’t even blame Will.
The case starts like any other. One morning, JJ receives a call from a detective with the Metropolitan Police Department about two dead sex workers that were found within three days in Eckington along train tracks. Theories fly as soon as JJ is done presenting the gruesome facts in the conference room. Morgan is the first to state the obvious, how the sheer violence, the mutilation, the victims suffered speaks of a deep hatred for women. Rossi thinks, due to their names and facial features, they all must have come from Eastern Europe and were forced into prostitution by human traffickers. Reid points out that while they were all disposed of like trash, the unsub took care to position their right hand in a peculiar way – thumb, index and middle finger touching while the remaining two fingers rest against the palm. He says it’s typically associated with Jesus giving a blessing. A sickening comparison. The position of the hand itself, however, how it rests over the heart, is contradictory to his assumption, which means they promptly lose Reid to that mystery as he starts muttering under his breath. Hotch ends their briefing by saying they should dig deeper into any MPD cases related to human trafficking from Eastern Europe and that Elle will catch up with them in D.C. due to a psych evaluation making her run late.
She joins up with the rest of the team in the early afternoon looking like shit. If Elle is actually going to the mandated therapy, a consequence from an unsub attempting to kill her and coming really close to succeeding, it is apparently not helping. Her face is gaunt, the usually warm bronze of her skin dulled into a color that resembles a wet newspaper. Ever since the Fisher King Elle carries tension in her shoulders and a haunted look in her eyes wherever she goes. Not for the first time JJ wishes she knew how to reach out a helping hand to the other woman. She is clearly struggling, at times reminding JJ of someone lost at sea, treading water out of sheer desperation long after their body should have given up. It’s only a matter of time until they drown. JJ doesn’t want that to happen and, while bringing Elle up to speed on their newest unsub, she is shamefully frustrated by her own inadequacy to do anything about it.
It comes as a relief, therefore, seeing Elle diving right into the case before she even sat down properly. Where JJ hides her disgust for the unsub’s misogyny behind a carefully crafted mask of professionalism, Elle is not making a secret out of it – the sneer tugging at her lips, the brief roll of her shoulders, a loud and clear statement. So far, she’s been reading through autopsy reports and witness statements with practiced efficiency but now she’s staring at the crime-scene pictures with such intensity it gives JJ reason to pause her own reading.
“What is it?”
“This positioning of the hands,” Elle says and taps her index on a close-up shot of the Christian blessing sign, “is it the same with all the victims?”
“Yeah, why do you ask?”
“Our unsub is a follower of the Eastern Orthodox Church, maybe Ukrainian. More likely Romanian.”
JJ’s eyes dart between the photos and Elle’s hardened expression, doubt creeps into her voice. “How do you know that?”
Elle pushes her chair back and spreads the photos in an arch on the table. “This gesture is used by members of that church to make the sign of the cross,” she explains and proceeds to hold her hand up in the same way as in the crime-scene photos. Starting from her forehead, Elle crosses herself and ends by resting her palm over her heart.
“Also has no one noticed that the victims were cut up in the form of an orthodox cross?”
JJ gapes at her.
“Oh, don’t look at me like I’m Boy Genius. I had a Ukrainian boyfriend in high school. He crossed himself every time someone only thought of Jesus.”
“You’re brilliant,” JJ says already reaching for her cell with a small smile in responds to Elle’s pleased expression. “Hotch needs to know about this.”
Elle’s observation paired with Penelope finding nine other cases from the past three years in the MPD database which could be linked to their unsub is what leads them to a Romanian crime lord nicknamed Câine which according to Reid roughly translates to beast or dog. It’s a lot of progress for one day and JJ is happy when Hotch sends them home a bit earlier, meaning before midnight. Of course, he is the only one who drives back to the office to make some calls. JJ wouldn’t be surprised if he’d stay there all night.
A plausible theory because the next morning, he calls them all into Quantico instead of telling them to head straight to the precinct in D.C. JJ is the last one to arrive because she spent too long hunting for a clean pair of slacks only to curse her past self for forgetting the laundry and having to settle for a skirt. Everyone else is gathered around Morgan’s desk, eyes trained on Hotch’s closed office door.
“Anyone’s seen him already today?” JJ asks and comes to a halt next to Penelope who offers her steaming mug of coffee in greeting.
“I met Hotch in the breakroom earlier and he said he called in reinforcements from overseas,” Reid supplies and while his voice is perfectly normal his tightly interlocked hands are a dead giveaway about what he thinks of someone external joining their investigation.
JJ lets out a thin laugh unaware of where her thoughts immediately drifted to until the words tumble out of her mouth. “What, like Interpol or something?”
“Exactly like Interpol.”
At first, JJ thinks she’s having some kind of stroke. Or that, in fact, her alarm never went off, and she is still in bed, having a bittersweet dream about one of Penelope’s many plans and schemes. It’s more likely than the person behind her really being who JJ desperately wants, needs, her to be. Her body catches up first and not just because Penelope grabs her wrist so tightly, JJ must suppress a wince. It’s the prickle in the back of her neck and the warm gooey sensation spreading behind her navel and if that wasn’t enough it’s Penelope's airy whisper which seals the deal.
“Holy wow.”
And then JJ finally turns around, feels her heart leaping into her throat because Emily Prentiss is standing in the entry of the bullpen. She’s really here. In America. At the BAU. Less than twenty feet away from where JJ is struggling to not leap into her arms.