FF: What the Rain Washes Away 9/13 (Criminal Minds) JJ/Emily NC-17
Chapter Eight…
Where do you go when the day is long?
Where does your heart beat and who is wrong?
Why do I feel this way?
Why do I kneel?
How can I let it go?
Why do I feel?
A day spent alone in a stifling hot room gave a person plenty of time to think, which was both a blessing and a curse for Emily Prentiss. Her body still ached from the beating, her jaw and face swollen, but the pain had receded enough to let her think clearly again, which was possibly the worst punishment of all.
Two days of fighting memories had worn down all her inner defenses; two days of trying to keep one step ahead of Benjamin Cyrus had exhausted her mentally and physically. She felt raw and hollowed out. Oh, she put on a good face for Reid, told him it wasn't as bad as it looked, but it was a lie. A lie she'd gotten very good at telling over the years.
No, it hadn't been that bad when she'd had to leave childhood friend after friend to go traipsing after her parents on diplomatic missions.
No, it hadn't been that bad getting pregnant at fifteen, after all, no one had found out about it, so that was all for the best.
No, it hadn't been that bad as a daughter of privilege, living with expectations she'd never reach and had eventually tried to stop living up to altogether.
No, it hadn't been that bad. Nothing ever was.
So she put on a happy face, she shoved the pain and the stress and the memories into little boxes and filed them away. She got good at pretending, one of the many reasons she'd been so damn good at undercover work.
Now all those little boxes were scattered and littered about, everything out of place, and as she sat there waiting for night to fall, waiting for the raid she knew would come eventually, she had nothing to do but sit and think and try to sort out all those little boxes again.
Some were easy to put away: she'd resolved, as best she could, her issues with her parents, especially her mother. The only expectations she lived up to anymore were her own. She'd even come to accept what had happened as a teenager, desperate to fit in, and while she still carried some guilt - she was Catholic after all - she knew she'd made the right decision.
Some memories, however, refused to be put into a box, refused to be filed away.
Montana was one of those memories.
She'd spent years feeling guilty for Jenny's death and had carried that guilt as an ever-present warning. Always cautioning her to see the whole picture, to look beyond immediate consequences, to challenge perceptions and opinions and authority. Jenny had died, Emily had reasoned, because of her own failures, mistakes she'd vowed to never make again. One thing she'd never stopped to consider before coming to Liberty Ranch was that Jenny had died because of her own errors in judgment.
Jenny knew who her father was, knew what he was doing, and had stayed anyway. Jenny knew what she was doing when she'd snuck out with Emily to kiss under the starlight next to what Emily eventually learned was the shed where the weapons cache was kept.
Jenny knew what she was doing when she threw herself in front of the bullets meant for Emily.
Jenny knew.
Just like the people of Liberty Ranch knew what they were doing.
Oh, they could blame it on the charisma of Benjamin Cyrus, could blame it on societal conditioning, group paranoia, but that didn't change anything. They knew about the weapons. They knew about the girls. They knew, and if they all weren't careful, they'd end up exactly like the people of the Mt. Zion Resurrection Church.
And that, Emily knew, she could change this time around. She would change this time around.
Little by little, she put Montana back into its box and stored it away in her mind, feeling the burden lift piece by piece. When it was done, she sat back on the bed and took a deep breath, wincing at the catch in her side. They'd given her some time in the bathroom to clean up and take care of her business, but there wasn't enough aspirin in the world to heal her ribs. It wasn't the first time she'd broken them but at least last time she'd been at a ski chalet in the Alps enjoying a hell of a vacation - right up until taking a tumble down the mountain. She'd wanted to take JJ on a vacation like that - minus the broken bones - but they'd never gotten the chance. The closest they'd ever gotten was a weekend off, spent in Emily's townhouse watching cheesy Eighties movies and eating Thai food.
JJ…
The last little box that refused to be put away.
She'd tried, God knew she'd tried, but in the end everything came back to Jennifer Jareau.
Emily had never loved anyone until she met JJ. She'd had dalliances, dated, even had a torrid affair with a college professor, but she'd never been in love. Little by little she pieced it together. In the morning she woke up and reached for the pink blouse that JJ always complemented her on, at night she always double-checked her phone to see if JJ had sent a text or e-mail she might've missed. At lunch she'd set aside her extra pickles for JJ, threatening Reid with a mere look when he reached for them. There were so many little things it took her by surprise when she finally understood what they all added up to.
That realization had nearly cut her off at the knees.
It was too complicated, she'd told herself. There were rules against FBI agents dating and good reasons for them. Besides, she didn't even know if JJ was interested…
But - God - the way JJ looked at her sometimes, she swore the blonde felt it too; that she wanted Emily as much as Emily wanted her. Still, she'd ignored it, choosing JJ's friendship over the possibility of something more. After all, it was easier all around that way. Except it wasn't, at least for Emily, because she still walked into work every day and felt a flutter of excitement in her chest when she saw JJ, felt a slow burn deep in her belly when JJ smiled.
And then that night at the bar she took a chance. A foolish, stupid chance, but JJ took that chance with her. She'd leaned in, eyes heavy with want, and Emily had closed the distance between them, taken that one little step to bring their lips together and that had been it. There was no questioning it anymore after that kiss, no possibility of fighting her feelings. She let them fill her, overwhelm her, and dove in head first.
She could still remember the way JJ tasted that night, the hint of alcohol in her mouth, the sweat on her skin. She could still remember the way JJ had felt under her hands, soft, unmarred skin warm and pliant, so unlike Emily's own body marked with scars. She could still remember the soft moan of pleasure JJ had made when she'd finally touched her, finally slid her fingers deep inside, joining them in a way both achingly familiar and completely new. And she still remembered with blinding clarity how it had felt when JJ had touched her, had made her moan, had made her come with a sharp, resounding cry of pleasure.
They'd made love for hours, everything else forgotten. There was no BAU, no team and consequences, no serial killers - just the two of them finding each other, discovering what made the other sigh, what made the other beg. It had been perfect, and lying there in bed, her arms around JJ she'd wanted to admit everything. To tell her she loved her, had loved her it seemed from the very start, but she'd held back because she knew JJ, and she knew the other woman wasn't ready for that yet.
She'd planned on a long courtship.
She'd gotten a month before everything had fallen apart.
And still, she'd never told JJ how she'd felt. No, she'd put on a brave face and shoved everything away in her mind, and pretended she was fine. Pretended that they could go back to being friends. Pretended her heart didn't break every time she saw the other woman, every time she heard her laugh.
Emily had gotten very good at pretending over the years, and as she sat there, a hostage at the Liberty Ranch, a victim of her own skills of misperception, she knew that she couldn't pretend any longer.
If she made it out of this things needed to change. She would tell JJ how she felt, consequences be damned. She would stop shoving away what she didn't want to deal with and actually let herself feel for once. It was going to hurt, of that she had no doubt, but it was better than a life spent only half-living. Better than a life of pretend.
Absently, she realized night had fallen. Cyrus, apparently, hadn't had time to deal with her in his rush to expel the disloyal members of the church and make preparations for his final showdown. She guessed the raid would happen in the middle of the night, but without a firm time there was no way to judge when would be the right time to try an escape.
She heard voices outside the door, smelled food, and felt her stomach growl in response. Lunch, if she could call it that, had been cornbread and water. She wasn't sure if they'd run out of soup - a failure on Cyrus part to properly stock up - or if she simply didn't deserve any as a federal agent. The door opened, and to her surprise, instead of Kathy it was Jessie.
"We had plenty, so Cyrus said I should bring you some."
"Can you untie my hands?" Jessie looked uncertainly between her and Billy standing guard at the door. "Really, where am I gonna go?"
Relenting, Billy came over and untied her, ordering, "Eat quick." Emily felt her shoulders relax and stretched them out as Jessie set down the tray. Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, corn on the cob - as last meals went it was low on her list, but she was too hungry to care.
"Thank you," she said sincerely, digging into the potatoes. "You've been very kind through all of this."
"I practice the charity your government refuses to show."
"It's your government too," Emily reasoned, taking a large gulp of water.
"I recognize no government but the sovereign realm of my lord, God. He will be my judge."
"'Then the trees of the forest will sing, they will sing for joy before the Lord, for He comes to judge the earth,'" Emily quoted from memory. "See, I know my Bible verses too."
"Even the Devil knows the scriptures. He twists God's words to lead men astray."
"You mean like how Cyrus is twisting God's words to justify what he's doing here? What he's doing to you?" Jessie glared at her, but Emily pressed on. "Did he tell you this was how it was in Jesus' time? Did he tell you Mary was probably no older than you are right now when she was blessed with the Son of God? Cyrus tells a good story with pretty words but it means nothing. He loves no one. He's using you, all of you, and when you get too old to be useful, he'll move onto another young girl-"
"-Shut up! Shut up," Jessie seethed, knocking the plate out of Prentiss' hands. "Cyrus loves me. He chose me over all the others-"
"What's going on in here," Billy demanded, barreling through the door at Jessie's raised voice.
"Just having a little conversation," Prentiss answered calmly.
"Tie her back up," Jessie ordered. "There's no hope for her."
Emily watched Jessie leave as Billy bound her hands once more behind her back. I'm not the hopeless one. Billy shoved her back onto the bed and left, slamming the door behind him. Emily listened as Jessie and Billy argued back and forth, their muffled voices growing louder and louder before she heard Jessie stomp away. She might've been Cyrus' wife, but she was still a fifteen year old girl and knew how to sulk with the best of them. To Prentiss' surprise, she heard someone call for Billy a few minutes later and listened as he tromped away, no one else coming to take his place.
Emily rolled and stood up, walking as silently as she could to the door and listening for any sign of a new guard, but none came. With over half the church dismissed for their disloyalty, Cyrus must've been running short on eager hands to do his bidding. It wasn't much of an opportunity, but it was all Emily had and she was going to take it.
Hurrying back to the bed, she tried to maneuver close enough to lift the blinds with her hands but couldn't manage with the extra tight knots Billy had made sure to tie. Cursing her under breath, she lay back down, and wedged her foot up against the window, using her heel to shove as many blinds as she could up and off the window, hoping it was enough for the parabolic microphones to pick up.
"If you can hear me, I know you're coming. I can try and get the women and children down to the tunnel, but I need to know when you're coming." She waited, hoping for a sign, a flash of light, anything, but nothing came. She started again. "If you can hear me, I know you're coming. I can try and get the women and children down to the tunnel, but I need to know when you're coming."
Over and over she repeated herself, starting again halfway through when her foot slipped and the blinds dropped. "I need to know when you're coming." She took a breath and started again. "If you can hear me, I know you're coming. I can-" her recitation faltered as a red laser light pinged against the window, just where her foot was holding up the blinds and then tracked to the blank wall. Emily had never seen anything so wonderful in her entire life. "Okay, okay, I got you. What time?" The light flashed three times on the wall. "Three a.m.?" It ran up and down the wall, as if the person holding the light was nodding. "Okay, understood." She relaxed back against the bed, sighing in relief. "Reid is on the first floor somewhere with Cyrus. And please remember there are children here." She heard the tell-tale squeak of boots on stairs and dropped the blinds even as she tried to explain, "Someone's coming."
The door opened. One of the men, Tom she thought, stuck his head in. "I heard voices."
"I was praying," Emily answered, looking from Tom to the cross on the wall.
"Do it silently."
The door shut again. Emily dropped back to the bed. They'd had dinner the first night around eight p.m.; she guessed based on how cold the food was that it was somewhere around nine-thirty now. She had less than six hours to make her move. She looked back up at the cross on the wall, saying an actual prayer that this time she wouldn't fail.
*
The bullets that had done such a good job of ending Jenny Scott's life had apparently gone out of their way not to do much damage at all to Emily Prentiss. A nicked spleen had been the worst of it, something the doctors managed to repair quite nicely with no lasting damage. There would be scars of course, twin holes bisecting her mid-drift, skin sewn back together, but the doctors were confident she'd make a full-recovery and be back on the job in a few weeks.
For now, she drifted on a haze of morphine, the television on although she couldn't even tell what was playing. She thought it might be Telemundo.
Only Mahoney had come to visit; it hadn't occurred to him to bring flowers or a card. Her parents were in Dubai on a diplomatic mission, and although her mother had promised to be on the next plane, Emily had insisted she stay. There was no danger now, there was no reason to interrupt the mission, the worst was over…
The worst was over.
The thought nearly made her laugh. The worst, she knew, hadn't even begun - at least for her. Berringer and a contingent of internal affairs agents had already been to see her, grilling her on the details of the raid and shooting, asking her questions again and again to see where she deviated. It didn't matter to them she was in pain, didn't matter she was drugged up, all that mattered was closing the after-action report quickly and quietly, with as few of their asses in the fire as possible. Civilians had died after all. Agents too. They'd need a scapegoat.
A scapegoat, Emily thought. A beast to bear all your sins, its life given in atonement. What perfect irony.
She would be the scapegoat, she would take the blame, but never again would she let Agency politics dictate her choices. She would find out why James Scott had acted the way he had, why Jenny was so prone to his manipulation. She would learn how he could control dozens of free-thinking adults, how he'd managed to get them to vow their fortunes and their lives to his bidding.
She would learn how monsters thought and then she would stop as many of them as she could for the rest of her life.
It wasn't enough, but as far as atonement went, it was the best she had.
Chapter Nine