Chapter Text
"Okay, I've got eyes on the target." Hotch's gravelly voice echoed through the coms, "Is everyone in place? Prentiss?"
Loud club music defeated any conversation inside the bar, but it was the unsub’s hunting ground so they made do.
She shuffled and began stirring the drink she was nursing in her far corner of the bar. "Check," she muttered into the straw.
"Morgan?"
He turned away from the women he was dancing with and pretending to sigh, the breath morphing into a "Check."
"Reid?"
His bar stool creaked as he leaned back and sipped his club soda, "Check."
"And JJ?" Hotch's voice was imperceptibly softer and they all knew why.
She walked through the bar, "Check..."
"Are you sure you're up for this?" He asked again.
“Hotch, I can do it.”
"We could find another way. We could get SWAT to lock this place down as soon as we spot him."
"Hotch. It's okay. This plan works. I can do this."
"I just-"
"Come on, Hotch. This isn't blondie's first time as bait, right? This is easy."
"Right." She shook herself off. Easy, she thought. This is easy. Morgan's interruption instilled more confidence than he'd intended.
"Come to the dance floor. Premtiss' got your 6."
"On it," she murmured. She walked from the door over to the sea of strangers and slipped under.
She danced with Derek for a while, whist he whispered tips, "Chill out. Let go, you're all tense."
"Gotta keep my wits about me." She smiled, like she was flirting.
"No, this guy is going for easy targets. There's gotta be a million drunk blondes in this bar you gotta be the easiest." She nodded, absorbing his words. Easy. Loose. “We will keep your wits. You? Keep his focus.” She nodded.
"He's in." Rossi's voice chimed. She didn't let it slow her down. Drunk, she thought, think drunk thoughts.
"Morgan, drift, you're intimidating him." She chanced a look to the edges of the bar. In one, Emily applied lip gloss in a compact mirror that ensured she could see the entire back of the bar.
In the other, a man shifted, glaring at Morgan's towering stature and matching the witness' description perfectly. Dead grey eyes. It was starting to make sense.
"Go, I got this. Loose, right?" She even closed her eyes, letting the music do the work for her.
Draw him in. Hook him like the expensive, well-trained live bait she was. She felt hands around her waist pretty quickly. Bold guy. She turned and sighed in disappointment. It wasn't him.
She pushed his chest lightly, glancing around the room for their unsub. His arms around her only tightened. "Get off me."
"Aw, come on, sweetness."
"Get off..."
She let her voice slur, conscious of who may be watching. He released his arms around her waist but grabbed her arm.
"Come on," he cooed.
Her voice turned steely cold, "Stop-"
"Hey!" An arm slipped around her shoulders. She looked up. Dead and grey. Bingo. He stared before looking away. "Is this man bothering you?"
With her voice as octave higher, she nodded enthusiastically, "Yeah.”
"Sorry. My girlfriend's uninterested. She smiled dazed up at him. "My hero..."
"Good, JJ, keep him engaged."
"What's a pretty girl like you doing all by yourself?"
"Waiting for a handsome guy like you to pick me up."
He grinned, his teeth bright and bared. "Why don't we take this somewhere more private?"
She giggled, "So soon? I barely know anything about you. I don't even know your name."
"When has that ever stopped girls like you?"
"Hey!" she giggled with mock offence.
He groaned, "Alright, alright. I'm Frederick. Frederick Jones."
She smiled sweetly, waiting for the typing to halt so Garcia could say, "Frederick Jones. ID is a match. That's him."
"I'm Paige. Donnahugh."
"Nice to meet you, Paige Donnahugh. Now, can we take this somewhere more personal?"
"Sure. I'll just get my bag." She sauntered over to where Reid held onto her purse.
"He's eyeing the South-West exit."
Rossi said, "Copy that."
"Thanks for taking care of it for me."
"Oh, no problem. You heading out?"
"Yeah, got a date."
"What are you guys doing?" Emily muttered.
"Quit stalling. You're making him angry."
JJ murmured, "We know."
The man grabbed her upper arm, "Hey, what the hell is taking so long?!"
"I'm just thanking this guy for looking after my bag."
"Thank you. Let's go?"
"Sure." She giggled again. God, playing bait was mind numbing.
He unlocked his van from across the lot, "We hang out in there."
She slowed down a bit. His van was 30 feet away and back up was nowhere to be seen.
Was this the southwest exit? "Hurry up."
"It's these heels. They hurt like a crazy," she smiled lazily.
"You want me to carry you?"
Her mind flooded with vivid images of being hurled over a serial killer's shoulder and instead Paige's soft lilting voice, she barked, "No!" Shit. "I mean... no thanks. Not yet anyway." She batted her lids.
"God, what is it with you people?" Her smile faded slightly.
“Wha…?”
"You're hot and you're fucking cold again. Bitches!" He took a firm grip of her wrist and twisted. She tried to aim her other hand to punch him in the nose. He dodged it and further twisted her wrist. She dropped to the ground.
"AH!" she yelped. This time, when he yanked her arm, she had no choice, lest she dislocate her own shoulder. "Ow! Let go!"
"You think you can just throw me away, like I'm nothing?!" He dragged her, like a bag of trash.
"I haven't! I didn't! Ow!" He twisted her wrist again and they both heard the grind of her bone. She gagged. “Oh, god…”
"Shut up!"
"Hotch!" She broke, screaming, "Hotch!"
Then he faltered, "Hotch?"
A fist swung into his cheek, an audible crack echoed in the quiet night. He released her arm and she scrambled back, clutching her swelling arm.
He writhed on the ground as gentle arms helped her up. "Hotch," she sighed.
"I'm so sorry. We expected him to- I'm sorry."
She bared her teeth, seething with agony. "It's, it's fine. Thank you."
"No need. Are you okay?"
She nodded, biting her lip as tears sprung up. She looked past him to Rossi reading the man his Miranda Rights. He just spat at him.
"Emily's gonna take you to the hospital, alright?" He had a look in his eyes she couldn't decipher, guilt mixed with anger.
"I'm sorry I couldn't do it. I can do better."
"What? No, JJ, you were perfect. Don't worry about this, about any of it, just feel better, alright?"
She nodded. Emily took her arm and led her towards one of the black SUVs.
She climbed in the back with her and mercifully said nothing about her cries as Derek drove them to the hospital.
She rubbed her back all the way there, and in the waiting room.
"Small wrist fracture," the nurse said. "RICE it and you should be good as new in no time."
"RICE it?"
"Rest, ice, compress, elevate," Emily filled in, squeezing her good hand, "You're gonna be fine."
"I'll get you some pain killers and you can be on your way."
"Thank you," she croaked.
Derek nudged her shoulder gently, "See, you're all good."
She sniffled, smiling slightly.
"Let's go home. We'll watch some old movies and chill, alright?"
She nodded.
"Ooh, am I invited?" He asked. "Did you hear an invitation?" Emily turned. He hissed, wincing, "Ice cold, Prentiss."
She laughed, happy to be distracted.
The journey home was quiet. Despite being last on the jet, she got the couch and lay down, her arm lay delicately on her stomach.
"Close call today," commented Rossi.
"Too close." Emily shuddered.
"At least everyone's okay," chimed Garcia from the open laptop.
JJ groaned, putting her good arm over her eyes.
She winced from the computer, apologetic, "You okay, Jayje?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry, I could've messed up the case." Rushed, everyone scrambled to give their reassurances. "It's fine; I did. Next time I'll be better."
"You shouldn't have been in the field anyway," Hotch shook his head. "It's not your job."
"I was happy to help."
Emily scoffed, "If this is your idea of helping, please, never do it again."
"I'm fine."
"You're icing it wrong."
JJ rolled her eyes. Emily climbed over Hotch, straddling him without so much as a blush. She tapped JJ's legs and she lifted them, so she could sit where they were. She placed JJ's legs onto her lap and gently took her injured arm.
With JJ's nod of approval, she pressed down on the limb. She hissed. "I know, but the ice isn't doing anything if it can't get past the splint."
"What happened back there?" Emily asked finally.
"I got my ass beat, what do you mean?”
"You were rash. You waited with Spencer too long. You got him mad on purpose."
"We were worried he wouldn't try anything if no one had gotten him mad. He went on three dates since his last murder and he was unreactive."
"So you put yourself in danger?"
"You guys were right there." Emily shot her a look. "Okay. You guys were supposed to be right there."
"Just, just don't do it again."
She rolled her eyes, "Yes, sir."
She blinked, then realised, "Hotch already asked you about it."
She gestured and Emily followed her finger to where Hotch and Reid were having a (seemingly) serious conversation. He looked sufficiently reprimanded.
"He knew straight away." She sounded almost bitter.
"I'm an open book.”
"That's a good thing."
"It's just another thing you guys can do. And I can't."
"Is that what this is about?" Emily scrutinised her. "You think, what, you're not as good?"
"I know it." She snapped. She sighed, realising her mistake. "Whatever."
"You are essential to this team."
"Yeah, yeah." She was already drifting, tired out of her mind.
She was so exhausted, if asked, she wasn't 100% sure on how she got back into the office. She was sure Emily had something to do with it. She dumped the files on her desk, and nearly drifted over the letter already resting there.
Nearly.
It was eggshell white and had a weird scrawl, like it was written in a panic or a hurry.
To Agent Jennifer Jareau,