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THE MOURNING
It hurts. Losing someone you love.
It hurts more when they never knew you loved them.
I watched Spencer walk into the building from my car. His shoulders were hunched, like the air was trying to blow him away. I had been in the parking lot since six in the morning. Awake since six yesterday morning. Hotch was the one who told me to go home, but even when I took my leave, I saw him in his office, still at his desk.
It was odd. Yesterday, I was desperate for the work to distract myself. And now I dreaded walking in. I wanted to believe that the team would be understanding if I couldn’t show up, but I knew that was wrong. Knew because I had watched every single one of my coworkers pull in and go inside, starting with Hotch, ending with Spencer. They could all do it. Why couldn’t I?
Because I knew what was waiting for me. The empty desk. All her things were still on it.
Emily.
The name rang in my head like a bell. I counted it as an accomplishment. It had been a week since Doyle, which meant it had been a week since I let myself think the name.
Em-ill-ee.
How many times had I slept? Didn’t matter, they were all accidental. I fell asleep in the bathtub and only woke up when the water went down my throat. For that brief moment, when my eyes were open underwater and my lungs were burning, I wondered how long I could stay under. But then instinct forced me out, coughing up water over the side of the tub.
My phone was ringing. I picked it up, still staring at the building. It looked different before the sun rose. Calmer. More welcoming. No one passing by would ever suspect the dramatic stories held within. “Hello?”
“Hey, it’s JJ. Are you coming in today? I can talk to Hotch for you, tell him you’re sick if … if it’s too much.”
JJ. Sweet, golden, beautiful JJ. I didn’t have the right to be mad at her. “I’m coming. Traffic held me up. Um, I’ll be in in a sec.”
I knew she wouldn’t believe that. None of them would, not when they had all walked past my car going in. But they would allow it. Just like they allowed Penelope to run not entirely authorized deep checks into every single employee in the building. Like they allowed Morgan to get away with the mysteriously broken coffee pot, and Spencer with his complete disinterest in work. This was the most lenient the BAU had ever been, and for the worst reason.
She sighed. “You don’t have to come in. We all know how close you two—”
“I’ll be there,” I snapped. Because she was right. Emily and I were close.
But not as close as she and JJ.
THE FIRST CONTACT
I joined the team from the terrorism unit. The transfer was as much out of my hands as it was theirs. The BAU was a famously tight-knit division, and it showed the second I walked in the doors.
The first one I met was SSA Aaron Hotchner, a solemn faced man who told me to get set up quickly, as a new case could take up time out of nowhere.
The next was David Rossi, who stepped out of his office just as I passed by. He was kind enough to show to the coffee machine while asking me about my transfer. “To be completely honest,” I said, “I think they just wanted to throw me into the darkest hole possible. No offense! I don’t mean that your team is a dark hole, I just meant—”
“I understand.” He held up a hand to cut off my rambling. “We aren’t a very well-known presence. We like to stay on the down-low, you see? Easier to get away with all the money laundering.” Rossi winked. He had the kind of voice that made everything seem like a joke, even when it wasn’t funny.
I laughed, pressing cautiously at the buttons on the machine. It was different to the one I worked with, but nothing too complicated. At least, I didn’t think it was too complicated, until it made a jarring noise and started to smell like burnt paper.
“Uh, Rossi?” I looked up, and he was already halfway across the bullpen. “Rossi!” That fucker knew I was doing it wrong! But he was already engaged in a conversation with someone else, acting like he hadn’t left a panicking newbie in the kitchen.
The coffee machine was now rumbling ominously. “Shit. Shit, shit, shit,” I muttered. Was it supposed to be shaking? Most coffee makers don’t shake. I hit the top of it with a closed fist, but that only made it angrier.
What did I do? Should I walk away? No, that would be fleeing the scene. There were cameras in the kitchen, was someone watching me and laughing right now? This was it. I had to quit the FBI. Sure, I would still be the hallowed tale of the employee who broke a fucking coffee machine on their first day, but at least I wouldn’t have to be around to hear it.
“What did you to do the poor thing?”
I turned quickly, eyes wide, caught red-handed in the act of what must have looked like abusing the evil creation.
The lady who spoke looked unnecessarily concerned. Her eyebrows were drawn together, creating a little dip in the middle, but her lips twitched with amusement.
“What did I do to it? You should be asking it that question!” I pointed accusingly at the machine. It had, of course, gone silent now that someone else had shown up.
She raised an eyebrow, moving in closer. In her hands was a to-go cup of coffee. “Well, no offense, but it kind of looks like you’re the one in the wrong. What did the machine ever do to you?”
“I …” I sighed. “I don’t actually know. It just sort of started—smelling weird, and then it made this, like, this growling noise. And now, now it’s quiet, because you’re here and it’s evil and wants to make me look bad. So. That’s what happened.” I finished lamely.
“I don’t know what kind of funding you think the BAU has, but we can’t afford sentient coffee machines. Not yet, anyways, though I’m sure if you talk to Reid, he can probably hook you up with one.”
“Reid?”
“Oh, uh, our resident genius.” She checked the time on the microwave while setting her coffee down on the counter. She was sort of chuckling, but it seemed she was at least trying not to.
“I’ll have to meet him.” All I could do was watch as she took to the coffee machine, pulling off the lid and peering inside.
“Let me guess. Morgan leave you here?”
“Uh, no, actually. Rossi. Why, is this some sort of initiation?” I chuckled nervously. Her cream sweater hugged her waist prettily. I tried not to look too hard—no one likes the one lesbian who can’t keep her eyes off the straight women.
She looked up, grinning. “Must be. He didn’t tell you that this one is broken—the water doesn’t filter through, so all it does is burn the coffee grounds. To be honest, the Bureau has probably saved money since buying this.” She reached in and delicately extracted the filter, which was indeed singed on the edges. “I’m Emily, by the way. I heard we were getting a new agent. You must be Y/N?”
“That’s me. Thank you so much, Emily, I really think you saved my ass from setting the place on fire.” My voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. I shook her hand, looking behind me to see the man Rossi himself already looking, grinning like the cat who caught the canary. Alright. I could take a little bit of hazing.
Emily grinned and nodded. “Don’t worry about him. I’ll help you get him back later,” she whispered.
And my heart thumped.
THE GRIEF
I didn’t go to the funeral. I didn’t even leave my house. When I finally checked my phone, I saw that I had ten voicemails, and double the texts. Most of them were from Penelope.
Morgan was mad at me. That was fair. But he didn’t understand. The team loved Emily, yes, but I loved her in a different way. I loved her in the only way I wasn’t supposed to, the only way I knew how. Deeply, quietly, painfully.
I had always meant to tell her. Well, no, that was a fucking lie. I never meant …
I never meant to not have the chance to love her. I saw Emily the same way I saw air. Just there. Undying, unending, untouchably there. In my mind, there was no way she could be hurt. No way she could leave us. Leave me. She was always the strongest of us all.
So, when the day came to say goodbye, I couldn’t. The team had to let go of their one version of her, I had two. Team Emily and my Emily.
My Emily. I would never get to call her that. I never had the chance, anyways. She was never mine, never as much as she was someone else’s. She was just a version that lived in my head, a version that never existed. I never even got to fully say hello to that version. How could I say goodbye?
Spencer understood. He came by after the service and let himself in.
“You awake?”
I pulled the covers off my head to glare at him. “How did you get in?”
“The door wasn’t locked.”
“Oh.” Thought I had done that.
When I didn’t move, he sighed and sat on the edge of my bed, facing away from me. “We missed you.”
“No, you didn’t. You’re mad at me.” I sat up, scooching to the top of my bed to lean against the headboard.
Spencer ran a hand through his hair. His tie was undone, jacket crooked. “I’m not mad. I think Derek is. JJ, maybe. Garcia, definitely. Hotch understands, though.”
“That’s nice.” My voice was small. What were we supposed to talk about now that she was gone? How do you carry on talking like everything is normal and not feel guilty?
Out of nowhere, he turned to face me. His cheeks were flushed, eyes red, voice raw. “I know, you know.”
“Know what?”
“You. And Emily.”
My heart, which I had thought already stopped, stopped again. “I don’t kn—”
“You loved her.” He stopped. Examining my reaction. Taking in my micro-expressions.
I cleared my throat. The room felt too hot. I wanted to open a window, but it was so noisy outside. “We all did.”
So easy to switch over from do to did, is to was, love to loved.
Spencer shook his head. He didn’t look mad, didn’t look accusatory. He just looked tired. And sad. “No, Y/N. Don’t—don’t try and say you loved her like the rest of us. I saw you two. I saw you at the hospital.”
My throat closed. At the hospital? Did he mean—no, he couldn’t have, no one saw us. He would have mentioned it sooner.
“When JJ told us, you—I’ve never seen you look like that. And you just … you just walked out. I heard you, in the stairwell.”
Huh. I hadn’t heard him following. I guess sound travels.
“No one cries like that over a friend. I know, alright? You cried like Hotch did.”
“Don’t,” I whispered. I was almost crying now. “Don’t compare us.”
Hotch and Hayley were the perfect couple. They had never stopped loving each other. Emily and I—we never started. It was a lie, an insult in itself to pretend we came anything close to them.
The next part, I had to force out through gritted teeth, ignoring the way my tears fell down my cheeks. “All it was, was a stupid crush that I never got over, alright? I loved her and I liked her. That’s it.” It probably didn’t help my case that my chest was hitching, unevenly jerking in breaths and unable to force them back out. “We would never work out, I knew that. Don’t think I deluded myself into thinking anything more of it.”
Spencer’s eyes were soft. But not soft in the kind, understanding way. These were soft in the I’m sorry you still have to lie way. Soft like rotten fruit. He whispered my name. He was crying, too.
But I couldn’t shut up. I kept going, sitting up straighter, leaning forward. “I didn’t show up because I couldn’t stop throwing up, alright? I loved her, but not like that. I’m sorry you think you’re so smart that you’ve got me all figured out, but you’re wrong. So just drop it, Reid.”
He flinched, like his surname was a slap. He looked away. The tips of his ears were red. Hands balled into fists.
So were mine. How easy it was, to turn from sympathy to anger. We were instinctively fighting, because anything was easier than feeling what we had to feel. Even for him. Spencer had lost a sister. All I lost was a dream of a possibility.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered. I moved down the bed to be closer to him, placing my forehead on his shoulder. “I … you were right, I did like her. Just not in the way you saw. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”
I felt the warmth from his hand hover over my leg for a second before he set it on my knee. Trying to help me the best he knew how. It wasn’t fair for me to be mad at him. I didn’t own Emily. We all grieved differently, but we all grieved, nonetheless.
But still, I couldn’t stop myself from adding, “It was just a crush, that’s it. You don’t need to worry about me.”
Because even next to one of the kindest men I had ever known, I still couldn’t admit to myself that this was heartbreak for a woman who never gave me hers in the first place.
THE CONNECTION
The bar was loud, crowded, hot, and too busy for me to relax.
Morgan had melted into the crowd with ease as soon as we arrived. JJ, Emily, and Penelope all fought through the mass to perch out at the bar. Spencer and I had taken one look at each other and immediately fell to the sides, walking against the wall until we found an almost secluded booth tucked away on a platform.
We made base there, making sure at least one person was always sitting so it wouldn’t be stolen. The rest of the team came and went, leaving empty glasses, napkins, and wallets.
Emily approached when I was sitting by myself, nursing a vodka soda.
“Hey!” She greeted, falling into the space opposite me. “Why aren’t you dancing?”
I scrunched my nose, looking over the crowd. “Not really my scene. I don’t like … touching, I guess.”
“Ah. So, you’re like Spencer. Speaking of the genius, where did he disappear off to? You didn’t let him get kidnapped, did you?” She was tipsy, that much was certain. Emily was all silky hair, red dress, sparkling earrings, a living spotlight deigning to talk to me for a moment. I feared I would go blind if I stared for too long. I hadn’t ever actually seen her this unwound. It was a captivating sight.
“Uh, no, I don’t think so. He ran to the bathroom.” I leaned over the table so I could speak quieter, propping myself on my elbows. “What about you? Why aren’t you out there living it up?”
She smelled like apples. When she smiled, it felt like a present just for me. “Saw you over here. You looked lonely.” Emily grabbed my drink and sipped it delicately. “Realized that we haven’t actually talked a lot, so …”
I raised my eyebrows, clueless.
“So, let’s talk!” She laughed at me. With me? Towards me? “You’ve gotta have something you wanna ask.”
I leaned back in my seat, blowing air out through my teeth. “I don’t know, Prentiss. I think I’ve got you figured out.”
“Me?”
“Yeah. You’re an open book.”
Was this flirting? Or was this playful banter?
Emily mimicked my pose, raising her eyebrows. A gentle challenge. “Alright, then, big girl, go ahead. Tell me what you know.”
I couldn’t help but grin back. “Okay, well, for starters—you’re definitely a secret nerd, but you don’t want to people to know because you want to be the badass. I’m gonna guess Star Trek or something like that. Uh, you have bangs because you don’t like your forehead. But, to be fair, no one gets bangs because they have a stellar one. And your biggest secret is that you sing karaoke to your cat.” I leaned forward, whispering dramatically. “And it’s all Disney.”
“Wow. I—I’m amazed, really, because that’s all spot on—”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, except for one little detail.” Out of nowhere, Emily came so close her breath brushed my face. “I don’t sing Disney.”
“No?”
“I stick to the classics. Paul Anka. Little bit of this, little bit of that. If I don’t keep it interesting for him, then he yowls at me.” She held her serious face for a second before breaking, giggling in the way only tipsy women do. “Better be careful, you’re going to steal Hotch’s job.”
I blindly reached for my vodka soda, shrugging. “What can I say? Guess I’m just a natural.”
Emily stood up—only stumbling once—and started shuffling out of the booth. “Well, this has been fun. I feel like we’ve bonded an appropriate amount, and I must now take my leave.” She bowed, holding onto the table for balance. “And Y/N?”
“Yeah?” I looked up at her, raising an eyebrow.
She winked. “When you start liking dancing, come find me.”
It was all I could do not to melt then and there. I stuttered out some dimwitted response, but she was already gone.
I looked down at my drink. Her lipstick stain was still there, right on the rim.
THE THERAPY
It was easy to go to bars after Emily died. I had a mission, now. An objective.
Forget. Just forget.
And I loved forgetting.
I threw myself into the crowds, wearing dresses that teased my thighs, threatened my cleavage, danced with anyone who came close enough. I wasn’t the life of the party—I became the party.
This meant rolling into work with a massive hangover more than once. And it showed—but I didn’t care. Couldn’t make myself feel anything beyond the cold numbness in my stomach.
I lost my nights in blurry movements, dark-haired girls and their tongues, hands slipping under dresses in dimly lit allies. I fell into soft sheets and run-down couches again
and again
and again.
Woke up in rooms I didn’t recognize long before the other woman had the chance. I pulled on my clothes over skin that felt unfamiliar and dirty and left without a second look, washed off smudged numbers on my wrist, went to work and did it all over again the second I got home.
They tried to talk to me—or maybe they didn’t. Words passed through my head without snagging on the jagged edges inside. The job that once meant the world to me now no longer interested me long enough to look by the glaze over my eyes.
It wasn’t much different for anyone else. I looked around on the plane, in the round table room, in the elevator, and all I saw were wavering figures pretending to be my coworkers. No one else was here, no one else knew how to deal with this. Hotch preached about therapy and growth and moving on, but the words lost their edge the thirtieth time around, until he was just another broken record doomed to repeat the same thing over and over again.
I covered hickies with makeup, tear marks with makeup, dark bags under my eyes with makeup. Concealer became my new best friend, my shrine to my coping painted on my face.
And if I said It helped long enough, it was going to start eventually.
JJ tried to talk to me. She approached me on my way out, caught me in the elevator. Said my name so softly it made me angry.
“Jesus, JJ, what do you want?”
She stepped forward, hand coming out to rub my arm. “I’m worried about you. I know you and her were close, and it doesn’t look like you’re handling this in a healthy way. You know, we can find a therapist for you.”
I rolled my eyes. “How benevolent of you. I’m fine. Besides, you’re one to talk. I know a drowning woman when I see it.”
“Drowning?” She stuffed her hands in her coat pockets and look out, to our reflections in the elevator doors. “I’m handling it, just like you. But therapy could be a big help, you never know ‘till you try it.”
All of a sudden, I felt angry. Pissed, actually, because she was standing there lying to me like none of us had ever fucking noticed the way she and Emily acted around each other. “You know, I think you would’ve been handling this a lot worse. Good for you. I wonder, is Will helping you deal? Does he ever question why it hurts so badly for you?”
“Stop it.” Her eyes were turning red.
“Don’t patronize me, Jennifer. Don’t fucking… don’t act like you two were nothing. We all saw. Congratulations, you win the biggest depression, biggest wisdom for being the married woman in love with her cowork—”
“Shut up!” JJ stepped towards me, hands coming out of her pockets like she was about to shove me but couldn’t.
“It’s so obvious, JJ! Just fucking admit it already!” I threw my hands up, shaking my head at her. “At least I know better than to act like I get to fucking counsel everyone just because I knew her the best. I’m not your kid. I don’t need you to help me get over this. Deal with yourself first.”
I walked past her, out the doors, through the lobby. She didn’t follow.
I had the right to mourn my own way. JJ—she didn’t get to tell me I was doing it wrong. She didn’t.
THE DROP
I woke up in the hospital bed. This wasn’t entirely unusual for me. I winced away from the harsh overheads and rolled onto my side. It was always so strange, seeing my pulse on the screen making mountains out of green lines. So weird, making the connection that my insides controlled all those machines connected to me. Reid had once told me he found it kind of beautiful, the way technology has merged with humanity over the years.
“Hey, you’re awake!”
“Jesus—fuck!” I shot up, fumbling for a gun I knew wasn’t there before realizing it was just Emily, sitting in the chair next to my bed, half-standing already and holding her hands up placentally.
“It’s okay, Y/N, it’s just me. You’re in the hospital, you’re safe here.”
I sighed, dropping back down onto my pillows. I ran my hands down my face, listening to the heart monitor slow. “Fuck, Emily, you can’t scare me like that. I would’ve punched you.”
She smiled half-heartedly. “I’m sure I would have deserved it. How you feeling?”
When I got the chance to look at her fully, I winced. She had dark circles under her eyes, bedhead, sweats and a discarded water bottle at her feet. “Forget me, what about you? You look like shit.”
Emily slouched into her chair. I might have been imagining it, but she looked relieved. She waved a hand and said, “Someone had to stay and make sure you didn’t die in your sleep. Figured I wouldn’t be able to rest anyways, so. Volunteered.”
That was a lie. Hotch never made anyone stay with one of the team members when they were in the hospital. He almost never said no to anyone who requested to stay, however. “Uh-huh. You know, they do have nurses here to do that. I’m pretty sure they’re actually known for that, in fact.”
“Yeah, well, you can never be too careful.” She rubbed her wrists while leaning forward to look through the glass windows of my door. “Did you know you talk in your sleep?”
Diverting the subject. Fidgeting. Avoiding eye contact. If I didn’t know better, I would say Emily was embarrassed. “Yes, actually. I lost a roommate that way.” When she looked over, confused, I grinned and added, “Told her she was a sloppy bitch in the middle of my nap.”
She barked a laugh, looking surprised at herself.
“You look fucking exhausted, Emily. Come on, you can lay down here. We’ll both fit.” I don’t know what possessed me to say it—the drugs they must have been pumping into me, the fact that she looked so adorable when she was tired, the sheer boldness that came from cheating death.
Her eyes popped open, mouth moving to protests before words could even come out. “I—no, no way, you need to rest, and—”
I cut her off. “Emily.”
She looked away from her hands, laced together.
“Come on. I don’t mind. I sleep with a body pillow anyways, so this would probably only help me get more sleep. You don’t want to be the reason for me losing rest, do you? Because I will file a formal complaint with HR if that’s the case.” I skooched to the side and patted the empty area next to me.
She looked between me and the door, like anyone could come bursting in, demanding to know what two women were doing lying next to each other in a cramped hospital bed. “I don’t know, I…”
“Oh, please, no one’s gonna care. I’m an FBI agent, I get to bend the rules a little. Perks of being friends with me, you know.”
Emily laughed again. She always laughed like she wasn’t sure she was supposed to, a high little sequence always cut short too soon. “Oh, really? I hadn’t noticed.”
I shrugged, all sheepish. “Well, stick around and I’ll show you some things. Now, come on. You need rest, I need rest, it’s a perfect deal.”
She chewed on her lip, but eventually—reluctantly—pulled back my thin hospital blankets and gingerly laid down next to me.
Her body warmth felt a hell of a lot better, anyways.
“You know,” she said, staring at the ceiling. “If anyone sees us like this, they are going to ask some serious questions.”
“Ah, well. Let them ask.” I turned my head to look at her, eyes flickering between every individual rise and fall of her face. The point of her nose, drifting down to the dip between her lips. The two soft mountains of her lips, which then merged into the planes of her chin and jaw.
Her head fell to the side as well, looking at me. She was dangerously close. I could feel the soft puffs of her breath against my face, saw the way her pupils adjusted to the new angle. Her eyes darted down and then back up. “I was really worried about you, you know.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Just… just promise me you won’t die, okay? I don’t… you mean a lot to me.”
“You mean a lot to me, too. You’re the only person on the team I feel genuinely close with, sometimes. I trust you.”
Her eyes saddened. “You shouldn’t. I mean, you should, but you shouldn’t depend on me.”
“Neither should you, but look who crawled into my bed.”
She snorted. “Touché. I want you to know that seeing you like this—passed out, bleeding like that—was terrifying. And it made me realize.”
“Yeah?” My heart was trying to break my ribcage, I knew it was.
“I don’t want you to ever get hurt—or die, God forbid—without knowing that… you’re kind of my best friend.”
And it deflated again.
“Oh.” I forced a smile. “You, too, Emily. Now go to sleep. You still look like shit.”
So she did. She slept right there, right next to me, her leg pressed to mine, aligned all the way up to our heads. She was warm.
And she smelled like apples.
THE AWARENESS
It hurts. Losing someone you loved.
Especially when they were never yours to love in the first place.
I stood at the top of the stairs, leaning over the railing, watching Emily and JJ hug each other.
She had been back for two days, now. The shock was still there. The pain was still there. The love was still there.
Just not with me.
I was realizing, now. The same thing I started realizing slowly, since the very first day I met Emily.
She was never mine to love.
She was JJ’s.
But sometimes people align too late, make their move at the wrong time, never seem to quite get it right.
I could tell they knew it, too. Saw the way their eyes softened in a way they just didn’t do with anyone else when they looked at each other. All like, God, we missed something. You know. You feel it, too.
But JJ was married, and she had a kid, and Emily just wouldn’t ever ask her to change that. She knew it would hurt her. Couldn’t make herself do it. Even if JJ might actually do it.
They would never know. Too slow, too scared, too aware of everything that could go wrong if they took the risk.
I never had a chance. I was, if anything, an entertained possibility, a distraction from Emily’s own personal pain. And god, did that fucking hurt me.
The truth was it was never going to be me. JJ and Emily were the great, tragically star-crossed lovers of this story. I was just a side character.
Part of the story.
Never making it to the epilogue.
“You okay?”
Spencer, leaning next to me, eyes fixed on the unhappy uncouple down below. On JJ, more specifically. Poor Spencer. He always understood. I should have realized why sooner.
I nodded. Then paused. Then shook my head. “No. You?”
“No.”
We watched them walk out together. They always stood just a bit closer than everyone else. JJ reached out, brushed off Emily’s shoulder, let her hand linger, then retracted it.
In another universe, they were happy. In another universe, everyone was happy.
“Do you want to talk about it?” His voice was rough. Strained.
“No. You?”
“No. I’ve got all the seasons of Doctor Who at my place. You mentioned wanting to get into the series. You can come over tonight, if you like.”
He was hurting just as bad as I was. Neither of us wanted to be alone.
“Sure, Spence. Sounds great.”
THE END