Title: Pieces of Ourselves
Warning: Talk of rape in future chapters
Disclaimer: If I owned Criminal Minds JJ would have been in all of the season six.
Author's note: Going into the season six finale I didn't know anything except that JJ was going to be in the episode: I was hyper aware every time I saw blond hair. One of those times was in a scene with Renee, just the back of the head of a woman standing at a chain link fence, a woman who had been kidnapped. Obviously this wasn't JJ, but what if it was? What if working for the Justice Department was a ruse so the team didn't worry when the truth was that JJ was undercover trying to break a human trafficking ring? This idea has been simmering in my brain for awhile, and now it's a fully formed story that wants to be told. Canon until the middle of Supply and Demand. The title comes from Hotch's monologue in ...And Back when he asks "And what about my team? How many more times will they be able to look into the abyss, how many times before they won't ever recover the pieces of themselves that this job takes?"
Two more were gone. Jake and Paige were both dragged out of their cells last night, as they'd been two nights ago. This time they didn't come back. She knew what that meant; someone had paid for the power to choose life or death, and their choice had been death. She hoped that it had been quick.
She was moving too slowly; a hand grabbed her hair roughly and pulled her forward until her legs hit the side of the van, layering bruises on top of her bruises. She fell forward onto a man too doped up to protest, and rolled over just in time to watch the door slam shut. They were on the move again, making it harder for anyone to track them down. Tonight they'd be someplace new and the cycle of torture, kidnapping and killing would continue. She closed her eyes, knowing that there was nothing she could do right now but sleep in the hope that there came a moment when being well rested mattered.
It was chain link this time, instead of bars. The cells on either side of her were empty; they didn't encourage talking and didn't allow whispering. Just like the last place, she had a mattress and a pillow. Just like the last place she had no blanket or sheet, which had nothing to do with denying them warmth and everything to do with not giving them a way to commit suicide.
"Let me out of here."
Somewhere in the room a woman was shouting, railing against her fate. Maybe she didn't understand what was happening, or understood it too well. Either way she must be new; anyone who'd been here for more than a few days learned quickly that shouting only drew attention, and all attention in this place was bad. For the woman's sake she hoped the shouting ended soon. She hoped, too, that Andi was closer to figuring out what was happening than she had been the last time they'd talked.