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railingsofsorrow · 8 months

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Colorless Mountains

[BAU team x reader]

request: “Hello, hope you're having a good day/night. I was wondering if I could request BAU Team x GN reader who has Marie Antoinette syndrome?

[...] maybe reader has a dark past and that's when it first started but what if it got worst after being kidnapped and tortured by an unsub?”

A/N: based on some research, I'm using the assumption that the marie antoniette syndrome is not permanent, meaning that reader suffered from hair-whitening after something traumatic that happened and then her hair became colored again. just keep that in mind so it doesn't get confusing, okay? that's all. thank you for the request and good reading!

summary: during a case in New York, you come in contact with an unsub whose backstory hits too close to home.

pairing: platonic!BAU team x gn!reader

w.c: 6.2K

warnings/content: case related violence; explicit discussions of past trauma; mentions of sexual abuse and PTSD and being taken advantage of; the alternation in the use of pronouns to refer to the unknown subject is intended (hate that they only use He to refer to a suspect, completely ruling out women, who are just as capable of committing crimes); mention of scars and substance abuse; hurt/comfort; reader is mean at some point; recovery is not a linear path; smoking; platonic relationships are the main focus; grammar mistakes probably; for the love of god do not take!! the profile!! seriously!! I am not an expert; nerds geeking about scouting knots; friendly banter.

navi

masterpost

requested by @xweirdo101x

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

❝ some memories never

leave your bones.

like salt in the sea; they

become part of you

— and you carry them. ❞

[ paper wings ]

FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION — BEHAVIORAL ANALYSIS UNIT DEPARTMENT

Getting back to work after a traumatic event can be unnerving.

It's actually the hardest part of a recovery process; turning back on your fears — or rather facing them face to face without running to hide in a corner straight away.

You've done that a few times in your life. Running away, hiding. Although, back then, you didn't have anyone to catch you if you were falling. So why shouldn't you hide? Why shouldn't you run? It wouldn't have made a difference. Leaving the past behind is the best alternative you've got. It's not cowardice, it is a matter of protection.

That's what it was for you, anyway.

The scars don't disappear when you leave the place that broke you, they decorate your arms and scrape the skin that once was clean. They stay as a reminder. And looking yourself in the mirror becomes a rare occurrence because you fear what you're going to see is merely a shattered reflection. Which is true.

In your case — besides the white lines across your body — there is your hair.

The Marie Antoinette Syndrome is not very well-known. Despite your skepticism, you couldn't simply deny the fact that it was very much real after your hair turned sheer white overnight when you were seventeen.

The syndrome is caused by high levels of emotional stress on one's body. Surprisingly, age is not a determining factor in this case, people of all ages can be affected by this hair-whitening process.

You spent four days in the hospital, three of those had doctors coming in and out of your room, doing blood tests, repetitive questions, throwing you into MRI's and whatnot so they could attempt to figure out why your hair lost all its color.

Attempt failed. If they had done some reading, maybe, they could have spared you from being poked and prodded and exposed so much. It was a psychiatrist who cracked your case. She gave you one of many explanations, of course, and that's when you remembered reading about the condition but never giving it much thought — until it happened to you.

The Marie Antoinette syndrome, also knowns as Canities Subita, was named after Queen Marie Antoinette. According to historical facts — which Spencer rambled on and on about when you first entered the BAU — the queen's natural hair turned white the night before her execution in 1793. She was only 35 years old.

What happens is that the amount of hardships and distress a person goes through can cause the production of melanin in the color of one's hair to be compromised.

Nine years ago, in the first night you spent on the hospital after the worst day of your life, your hair had lost all the darkness it always carried. Besides the innocence that was striped from you that night, every time you looked in the mirror you saw a stranger staring back. A ghost, if you will.

Nothing had been the same.

It's a common thing to happen to a human being: you never believe something awful is going to happen to you, until it does.

And then, you end up in the hospital again. Usual hair color gone and a new trauma to add to the list. That's the nicest way to put it.

“I told you I am fine.”

You said to Penelope for the third time that morning. She had cornered you as you poured coffee in your mug in the kitchenette area.

“You weren't supposed to be back yet,” she hissed, poking your shoulder. “Hotch gave you a week off. More if needed, may I add — don't look at me like that, yes, I overheard.” She interrupts before you even said anything. “Why are you back after three days?” You ignore the way her voice softens at the last part, admitting the tone of pity. You didn't need anyone pitying you, especially people from your team.

“I'm fine,” you shrug, lifting the mug to your lips. “My leg is perfect, I'm sleeping like a princess and I'm ready to work.” You're also very good at lying but that was not your best act.

Before the blonde could call you out on your bullshit, her phone chimes with a text.

“We have a case.”

Saved by the bell.

The surprised looks you receive when you enter the conference room are enough to increase your annoyance, but you mask it. It's fine, that's expected. You'd be surprised if any of them had returned to work three days after being abducted. That's not enough time to recover, but you couldn't stay at home with the presence of intrusive thoughts looming over your brain.

You needed to do something other than laying down in fetal position on your bedroom. Anything to make your mind occupied, and working helps with that.

“Three bodies were found in Forest Park, New York. Lewis Jenkins, Mason Reeves and Caleb Marshall. And before you ask, crime fighters, yes, they did have a connection. All three went to the same university, St. John's. They even attended most of their classes together and formed a fraternity house of some sorts.” Garcia couldn't stop her disgusted expression. “I honestly think these should be extinguished.”

“Fraternity houses?” Derek chuckled softly, clicking on another page of the casefile on the tablet. “They are not that bad, sweets.”

“I can say that sorority houses can be a nightmare,” Emily mumbles under her breath. “Were all of them found in that same position? And tied up?”

“Yes,” Penelope zooms in on one of the photos that displayed one of the men's bodies with his arms tied up behind their back, as well as their feet, with a rope. “However, Lewis Jenkins...” the slide switched to a body with a slight difference in the M.O. The man's hands were tied up in front of his body and his legs were untied unlike the other two.

“What if he was the first victim?” JJ chimes in.

Rossi nods, “Jenkins could have been a trial run and then he evolved.”

“The other two clearly have a pattern.” Emily says. “Both are positioned in the same way with almost the same lacerations.”

“They used the double overhand knot.”

Spencer's head snaps into your direction. “I was about to say that.”

You clear your throat, noticing every pair of eyes fall on you. “That's one of the knots you learn when you're in scout camp. They have categories like boating and climbing...” You examine the picture more carefully, studying the threading with familiarity. At least those three summers you were forced to be on scout camp were worth something now. “The double overhand knot can be used on both situations.”

“It's also a stopper knot,” Spencer's voiced as his eyebrows knit together in mild confusion. “That's an... interesting choice.” You stare at him with amusement after hearing the slight judgy tone he let slip. He clearly did not approve the use of such knot.

When Hotch checks his wristwatch, you know it's time to head out. The discussion is interrupted and continued on the jet as you flew to New York.

QUEENS, NYC — FOREST PARK

As you arrive at the disposal site, that you, Derek and JJ were responsible to check, the heat immediately made you wish you had bring a bottle of water. When you saw the warning about a heatwave you didn't expect it to be that bad.

“This is just a dump site.” JJ observes the surroundings as the CSI professionals collected physical evidence. You quietly analyze the location of each body while pulling your strands up into a bun so your hair would stop sticking to your neck.

“The unsub may come out here to relive his work.”

“They obviously has a vehicle, most likely a truck or a van.” You agreed with Derek, not seeing any possibility of the crime actually happening there. Not the entire thing, at least.

JJ brushes a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear, “Still...” she drawls, “there are no tire marks close by. And the road is at least thirteen thousand feet far from here.”

“Maybe he had help?” Derek seems doubtful of his opinion.

“Or we could be close to where they keep the victims hostage.”

“Either that or there's something significant to him about this place. But what?”

Both JJ and Derek share hums, exhibiting they were on-board with your idea.

INTERROGATION ROOM 3 — 112th POLICE PRECINCT, NYC

Four out of the seven FBI agents watched the interrogation happen through the one-way mirror. Inside the room, Spencer and JJ conducted the interview side by side as the witness, Felicity Lance, sat in front of them. Her arms folded across her chest as she stared holes at the grey table.

She was nervous, that much was clear. What was left for you to know was the reason for her uneasiness.

Last night, Garcia gave you some interesting information on a few of St. John's students.

“So she was the last person to see Mason alive?” Emily asked.

Garcia hummed in agreement. Then a gasp echoed through the audio. “You won't believe what I just found.”

“I would be great if you shared, baby girl.”

“Okay, so remember that I told you all three belonged to the same crowd in college?” A collective yes echoed through the room. “Guess what: Caleb Marshall's brother, Riley Marshall, and Patrick Moore were also part of that disgusting crew. And why disgusting, you may ask? Because both faced harassment charges filed by Riley's ex-girlfriend, Felicity Lance.”

Thus, the witness you were currently questioning right now wasn't only the last person to see one of the victims, but also someone who had motive to hurt Lewis, Caleb and Mason. After building up the profile, she was also a suspect.

“You keep saying he but what if it's a woman?” You muttered with annoyance at their choice of words.

Derek had given you a skeptical look. “She'd have to have a lot of strength to carry out all of this herself.”

“She doesn't necessarily has to be working alone.” Emily catches your point. “What if her best friend is just as mad as she is by Riley Marshall and his friends that they decided to take justice into their own hands?”

You had stopped focusing on the interview half an hour ago. The main reason was the incessant pounding in your head that got in the way of your thinking. You didn't have the best sleep last night, tossing and turning the entire time, besides your leg, where you had been shot four days ago, was giving you trouble.

You missed the time when painkillers used to be magical. Ever since you started working in the BAU no amount of pills would diminish your migraines.

“She kept the same story she told the police,” JJ informs as they strode back into the room you were gathered in.

“She's consistent.” Spencer adds, walking forward. “But any time we mention Sylvia she gets defensive. It could be a coping mechanism for her death.”

Leaning back on the wall, you press your thumb against your forehead, taking a deep breath in for two seconds and exhaling for three.

“Does the last name Marshall carry any relevance in New York?” You blurt out, forcing the discussion in the room to halt immediately.

Deputy Ray is the one who speaks up, “Gary Marshall.” He pauses. And you don't need to have your eye on him to realize the way he's cautious about his next words. “He's a politician that has a strong influence in the city. Also part of the city council.”

You let out a scoff and the room becomes silent. Of course he's part of the city council. This is how the charges were dropped. Why wouldn't Gary Marshall fix his son's problems if he has money to spare? And you have the assumption that this wasn't Felicity's idea.

You know you should avoid reacting like this, but your body seems to be having a mind of its own and your mood is getting sour by the minute. You just really needed to lay down.

The voices again felt like far away waves in your ears and you suspect part of the dizziness in your vision is due to the lack of water in your system. There's a heatwave happening and when was the last time you hydrated yourself?

Derek's voice nagging you to drink water echoes through your mind. Okay, you would admit that he was right after you followed your gut.

“Hotch, can I try something?” You prompt, eyes glued to Felicity's fidgety frame.

You realize that the Deputy was gone and the only ones left in the room are you, Derek and your boss. The rest was probably in the other interrogation room to question Riley and Patrick.

Your eyes snap to him. Stern gaze studying you thoroughly, scrutinizing every twitch he could find in your expression. He's caught your attention drifting somewhere else. You bet he even knew where your mind wandered a minute ago, you just hoped he didn't catch the wave in your step.

“Are you alright, Y/L/N?”

Derek was about to ask the exact same question when you cut him off.

“Yes. Can I try something with her?” You bring back the focus on the real matter. You had lies to dig around here, lives at stake, certainly your well being wasn't more important than that in the moment?

Hotch seems to internally struggle but he settled for accepting your request. You ignore the look of disbelief Derek offers him before you enter the interrogation room, where Felicity is.

You introduce yourself and offer her some water. She looks hesitant but she takes a sip of the plastic cup.

Felicity has kind eyes — it's the first thing you observe when you enter the room. Her make-up is smudged and that's not the only thing that reveals she has been crying, another indication of that are the bloodshot eyes that you weren't able to see through the one-way mirror.

“So you think Felicity Lance and Sylvia Kosorog did this?”

“I think it's a way too personal and specific M.O to be ruled out.” You sigh.

“The bodies didn't have any sign of sexual assault, did they?” You ask Spencer and Rossi, who were responsible to check the coroner's reports.

“No,” Spencer said. “And the ligature marks were made post mortem. However, when the garrote was used, they were still alive.”

The wall between the two of you bothered you. But now you could analyse from the tone of her voice to every movement she makes without mistaking it for your declining senses. The fact that you were no longer standing helped on stabilizing your breathing for the moment. You feel fine.

“Am I a suspect?” Felicity gulps down the water fast. “Is that why you haven't let me go yet? Cause I was in my dormroom the entire night Caleb was killed.”

You brows raise in faux surprise. “Oh, no. Don't worry, this is just protocol. We don't think you lied in your statement.”

Her shoulders slump as she leans back, visibly relieved.

“I do have something that made me curious though,” you pull up the file that had been laying on your lap ever since you sat down. Felicity's eyes narrow at the manila folder. “was it you that filed a harassment charge against Caleb two years ago?”

She looked back up at you, frowning. “Caleb? No. I didn't file anything against him though he certainly deserved it.”

Tilting your head, your eyes scan over Felicity's statement in front of you. The silence was too much for her as you expect it would be, so she gave you the starting point you needed.

“You took what back?” You ask, folding your arms. “The charges? The ones that claimed he sexually harassed you along with Patrick Moore?”

“I used to date Riley Marshall. He's, uh, he's one of the last people that saw Caleb alive. They're friends so I'm sure he'll be here anytime now too...” She was picking at her cuticles. “We had a fight, I was mad and I wanted to get back at him. That's why I took it back.”

“He didn't do it.” You watch the clench in her jaw and how she struggle to swallow the lie she is about to say. It sounds rehearsed as if she has been repeating that out loud for a long time. “I told you, I was mad and I wanted to—”

“—get back at him. Yes, you mentioned that.” You push the crime photos towards her. It took a whole minute for Felicity to absorb what are in those images and even when her eyebrow twitches, her expression remains almost emotionless. Not looking away. “Have you seen these before?” You know she has. JJ and Reid had brought it up when they were interviewing her. She had the exact same reaction. There is hatred underneath that mask she worked hard to keep impassive. It was hard to remain numb over crime scene pictures, or feel something other than disgust for the people who have hurt you. Physically or emotionally. You could say that for sure.

Felicity gives you an unimpressed look. “What do you want me to say?”

“Nothing.” You shrug. “Well, I mean. If someone that hurt me had ended up like that... I wouldn't be sad either.”

“He deserved it.”

You give her a careful look, she pushes all of the pictures back to you harshly.

“Felicity, why do you keep saying that? You dropped the charges, right? I don't see any reason why boys like that would deserve such an awful death.”

She scoff, eyes glazing with fury. Bingo. “Boys like that. Do you have any idea how many times I've heard that? How brilliant they are. How lucky I was to be dating Riley Marshall – He is not the prince charming people claim he is! None of them are. You think my charges were dropped out of nowhere? How many girls do you think didn't do the same thing just so they could have a peace of mind? Sylvia got the worst of it!”

“Sylvia, your best friend?” You ask, offering some tissues. You have dropped the act now. There was no point in playing devil's advocate now that you got what you wanted.

Spencer tapped his pen against his knuckles. “Felicity didn't express any other emotion beside forced indifference while seeing the crime scene photos.” He paused. “Beneath the mask there was anger. More than that, rage.”

“As if she wanted to be relieved but their death brought only the despair of injustice.” You completed his train of thought.

She was seventeen. First year in college with the major that she chose and work her ass of for. Then, in a random night five assholes ruin her life because they simply wanted to have fun. Death is the least they could suffer. Hell, it's too easy. How can people escape unscathed as they destroy you?

Long story short, your theory was right. Sylvia Kosorog was responsible for the murders and Felicity Lance knew about it, but she was not involved in Sylvia's plan, which consisted on murdering Riley Marshall, the man who had raped her during a party back in her first year of college, and the rest of his friends and brother, Mason Reeves, Patrick Moore and Caleb Marshall, who had covered for him and lied when she tried to get the justice he needed.

Felicity nods, sniffling. “She... She was never the same after what happened.”

And well, Gary Marshall tried paying her off as well as he did with Felicity Lance.

Lewis Jenkins was in the wrong place at the wrong time, Sylvia never planned on hurting him because he was not involved, although he was friends with Riley's crew.

“We're going to follow a lead,” JJ approaches you as she readjusted her bulletproof vest. Her meticulous gaze laid heavily upon you and you had a suspicion it was about the cigarette dangling from your lips.

You acknowledge her with a nod, “I know, I was in the room when Garcia found the location.” And when Hotch ordered me to stay back.

“Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn't I be?” You slowly let out the smoke, turning to her.

JJ sighs, her frustration is very much explicit but that doesn't phase you.

“You're compartmentalizing.” She firmly stated, diverting her attention from your cigarette to you. “Ever since you came back, it's like you're not here. Your mind is always elsewhere—”

“I'm doing my job just like you are, JJ.” You snap, throwing the cigarette in the nearby trash can. She had hit a nerve.

“I'm not talking about your professional skills. But this is not how you heal, you avoid talking about it all together and...” Her hands clasp on both of your shoulders, bringing you closer. “I'm worried. You're not being you, Y/N.”

“What is there to talk about?” You step out of her reach, earning a hurtful look. “I was kept hostage and tortured for a day and a half, almost killed a man, I can't take off this fucking sweater or else all of the barely healed wounds on my arms will be on display and just as I was getting used to the normal color of my hair, this happens.” You pulled some of your white strands irritably. “Is that what you need me to say? Do you need be to scream it from the rooftops, JJ?”

And I can't get over my past. It follows me and it buries me beneath the earth of my sorrows. I can't crawl out of that endless mountain.

She's taken aback by your response, you can tell when she almost flinches at your jab.

“And who are you to tell me I'm compartmentalizing?” You run a hand through your face as a humourless laugh escapes you. “You were back to work not even two days after being held captive and tortured as well. You couldn't stop looking over your shoulder for more than ten minutes and your trust on anyone was definitely compromised—not that you trusted people completely before either. Don't point my flaws at me when you have no idea how to deal with your own issues too, Jennifer.”

That was a low blow and you're plenty aware of that. But you are tired of your friends trying to fix your problems. You are an adult and you've been dealing with the same things your whole life, by yourself, it is none of their concern.

MOTEL — ROOM 72, NYC

“Okay,” she says shortly, shoulders tense. “If you want to talk, you know where to find me.” She walks away when Hotch announces they are leaving.

The jet wouldn't be ready until the morning, so you were stuck in New York for one more night. Granting you one sleepless night in an itchy mattress of an old motel room. If you were at home, at least you could stare at your blue ceiling.

The case didn't end well.

They were able to find Sylvia, who had Riley Marshall as hostage. He was her endgame, had been all along. Riley Marshall was the one who took advantage of her as she was drunk. He was the one who spiked her drink as all of his friends watched the scene happened like it was a TV show on display.

Riley lured Sylvia out to the beach, tied up her arms and legs with a rope and raped her. A couple of pictures from the incident were found in his dorm room and he was finally arrested. Along with Patrick Moore. Nothing much Gary Marshall could accomplish with his strong influence now. Thankfully.

Sylvia killed herself.

You kept wondering that if you had been there, you could've talk her out of it. But ever since the beginning, her mind was set. Still, the what if's haunt you.

They have haunted you for nine years. You are aware you can't go back in time and make different choices; the only choices that matter are the ones you make in the present. But what if you had accepted your friend invitation to go to the party instead of choosing to stay reading in your college bedroom? What if you had chose to lock your room instead of leaving it unlocked for your roommate? What if you hadn't fallen asleep so quick? What if you hadn't trust him enough to let him come to your room as he pleased in the middle of the night? What if you hadn't accepted that joint?

What if...

From the moment you left your apartment, three days ago, your skin had been on fire, your brain replaying memories you didn't want to relive ever again. That night. That person who you used to call your best friend. The unsub who burned scars into your arm a few days back.

Why can't your brain repress those things as it did to childhood? Why can't it feel like a fuzzy flashback which you wonder if it is true or if you made it up? Those memories, you know they happened. You know for a fact because you can feel them everywhere.

Maybe getting back to work right away wasn't the best option. But deep down, you chose gruesome pictures and murder facts over the horrifying silence of your apartment for a reason you didn't want to admit.

Recovery is hard. But does it ever get easier?

“Penny for your thoughts?”

You flinch at the sudden disruption of silence in the room. Your breath hitches before Derek's frame cleared up for you.

“Sorry,” he says softly, inching closer to sit at the edge of his bed. The old wood creaking loudly. Right, you were divided into pairs because of the budget. “I didn't mean to scare you.”

“It's fine, I just didn't even remember we would share a room.” Your stance relaxes bit by bit. It's been a while since your trust issues bothered on sharing a bedroom with another person. Thanks to therapy. You needed to get back to that.

You can feel his stare burning on your cheek and you request him to spit it out.

“You can talk to me, you know that, right?”

Annoyance wash over you. “Did JJ put you up to this?”

Derek furrows his eyebrows, “No?” He scans you for a brief second then sighed. “I just want you to know that you can. If you want.”

“I would appreciate if you all just stop babying me.”

“We're not babying you and you know that.”

“Feels a lot like it,” you say through gritted-teeth, searching for your nightwear.

Derek leans back on the headboard, eyes slipping shut. “I'll be here when you stop being a brat about it.” He let out in a whisper, a smile curling at the edge of his mouth as if he knew you better than you knew yourself.

He probably does. He most certainly does.

Derek Morgan is the person who you are the closest to in the team. Penelope coming right after him.

At first, you had warmed up to Spencer due to you being close in age, though your interests weren't that similar. Derek had this whole flirty persona going on that intimidated you at first but you quickly became attached to each other. He understood your silence and you understood his. He didn't force you to speak up, he just reminded you that he was there, like tonight.

Sometimes, it is nice to have that reminder.

“I can't stop thinking that that could have been me.”

You don't meet his gaze, knowing for a fact he is listening because he had only one of his headphones on before you got into the bathroom to brush your teeth.

“It's not you,” the bed creaks under his shifting. “It will never be you.”

When you finally turn your attention to him, he's patiently waiting for you to carry on with a reassuring smile.

“Y/N, you're not a bad person.”

“It could have been.” You push, pulling your knees to your chest. It's such a vulnerable topic; your past. It never gets easier talking about it. It's never something you cherish in remembering. “There was a point in my life were all I could think of was revenge. Even if he went to jail. Even if he was rotting in there. I wanted him to suffer the same way that I suffered. But it still wouldn't be enough. It would never be enough.”

“I wanted to kill him.”

“Well, when you told me what happened, I wanted to kill him too.” Your best friend admits, causing your brows to shot up. He offers you a look that silently asks what? “And let me tell you something,” he pauses, completely taking off his headphones and moving to a sitting position. “If I had found the bastard, I would've ended him right there.”

Your lips twitch slightly, “You would've kicked a door in his face?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He points at you as you laugh, a grin stretching up on his face. “Keep giggling, Snow White. But I'm not joking around.”

You turn your body on the side, bringing the comforter to your torso. You take a long breath before speaking. “You know, what happened that night... What he did, doesn't bother me as much as what I could have done.” And you keep going, interrupting his protest. “I could have fought harder. I could have screamed louder. I could have— I could have— kicked or grabbed the pocket knife in my bag that was so close... but I didn't. I didn't do any of that. I couldn't move, Derek. I was— I was useless. When I look in the mirror, all I remember is how I woke up in the next morning.” The white in my strands make sure of that. It takes me back to the worst day of my life every time.

“You were seventeen, Y/N.” You shook your head, groaning. He wasn't having any of that though. “You're telling me you should have been prepared for something terrible to happen to you? For someone you trust your life with to just break you into pieces?”

“I was a coward,” you say shakily.

“Don't you ever say that. Hey, look at me. Y/N,” he calls out sternly. When you glance up at him, he's giving you a serious look. “Don't ever say that again. You are one of the bravest people I have met. And despite of everything you went through, you are nothing but kind and loveable. If you tell me that's cowardice, then I'm sorry but you're very wrong.”

“What happened that night,” he adds with caution, “it was not your fault. The only person to blame is him and him only, do you hear me? And he will rot in jail because of that. He doesn't deserve anything but that.”

His words sit in your head for a while and he allows you to bask in the comforting quietness.

“Thank you.” You whisper to the darkness after you both have turned your bedside lamp off. “You're one of the bravest people I've met too.”

“No need to thank me, Snow White.” You can hear his smile. He throws you one of his pillows and you shriek, dumbfounded. “And you're beautiful. Colorless hair or not.”

You stay quiet, smiling softly.

“Call me Snow White one more time and I'll rip the hair you don't have in your head off.” You say after a while and the sound of his chuckles is the last thing you hear before you fall into a deep slumber.

That's the first time in a long time that you sleep through the whole night.

BAU PRIVATE JET

JJ is pouring coffee in seven mugs when you approach her. You can't help thinking she should throw one of those mug at you, it's what you deserve.

“Need help with that?”

Her smile is tight and she doesn't look at you.

“That's okay, I got this.”

You bite your cheek, “JJ.” She halts as she's grabbing the tray, you take that as your cue to continue. “I'm sorry for the way I treated you, it wasn't fair. You were just trying to help and I was too in over my head to notice it. I am truly sorry.”

You feel as if you can finally breathe when your friend looks at you. “I get it, it's... it's okay. I shouldn't have pushed you to talk about it either.”

“What I said, it was way out of line.” You insist. “You're my friend and it wasn't right to throw that at your face. I know how much you struggled getting back to work, I— I was just angry. Not at you, at myself.”

JJ nods understandingly, a smile curving the corners of her mouth. “I know, Y/N. And I get it, really. If anything, I should apologize too, it wasn't my intention to make you uncomfortable.”

“I'll forgive you if you forgive me.” You give her a cheeky smile that she replies with an eye roll and promptly orders you to take everyone's coffee to them. That's when you're sure the two of you are okay.

You feel a soft squeeze in your shoulder, when you turn around you see Aaron walking past you to sit down in his seat beside Rossi. Earlier this morning, he had praised the way you conducted the interview with Felicity Lance. Then, proceeded to lecture you about your interrupted recovery process while giving a pointed look at your still unhealed leg.

You have the next few days off. And Penelope is already sending never-ending lists of options to make you busy. Your phone is blowing up.

Your head snaps up mid-typing as you feel eyes glued to you. Spencer is leaning on his hand, head tilted to the side as he lazily blinks up at you and downwards. Confused, you follow his gaze and immediately understood what he meant.

The chess board stared at you and a black piece had already moved forward.

“You know,” you turn your phone off after sending a quick reply to Penelope. “it's not fair. You already had a wide angle of the game.”

Spencer shrugged, unbothered. “You took too long to make your move.”

“I need a verbal warning, Reid. Surprisingly, I still can't use telepathy.”

“Telepathy is overestimated. The most unique and not very well-known supernatural ability is chi manipulation.” You watched amusedly as he happily gesticulates his hands to ramble about the topic. “It consists of the fortification of the mind, body and soul in order to acquire bodily functions like self-healing, pain resistance and superhuman strength. This kind of ability actually gained more recognition in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, through Doctor Strange's character.”

You gaped at him, letting the chess piece slip from your hand. “You watched the film!”

He paused, lowering his hands to his lap. “You recommended it.” He said as if it were the most obvious thing.

“Yeah, but it's Marvel. I didn't thought you'd actually watch it. What did you think? Who did you love? Who did you hate?”

“And... There we go.” Rossi mumbles a few seats back with a soft sigh.

Emily snickers. Her eyes were shut but she could hear the conversation in the seat beside hers. She stole a look at yours and Spencer's animated comments and hand gestures.

“Kids, hush!” Emily exclaims, throwing a paper ball at them. She hit Spencer's forehead and a laugh bubbles out of her. Ouch.

Their paper ball rustle made everyone let out a collective groan as you watch everything silently, your face slowly breaking into a grin.

Recovery is hard. But you haven't been the only one that went through it. And if you have these people by your side, your team, you believe you can do anything.

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❝ I can't abandon the person

I used to be,

so I carry her. ❞

[ unknown ]

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sources: [1] [2]

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A/N: sorry for taking so long to post, I hope it was worth it <3

#criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #bau team x reader #reader insert #requested #bau team x gn!reader

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