#next post should be mcqueen’s side of the timeline

[x-eightball]

before i post the Look on the Darkside AU timeline, i gotta actually post about a character in it that i don’t think i’ve shown before for some reason????

this is Azzy Modeus, they’re a shapeshifting demon yaaaaay!!! they enable mcqueen’s drinking habits and are generally not a good friend. they do care about mcqueen though, but being a demon they don’t really know how to show it in any healthy ways

let it be known that francis is very much not innocent in this either, they’re using Azzy as a replacement/placeholder for Dooley.

they met at a bar in the Darkside while McQueen was drunk as hell and Azzy made a point to steer him away from trouble with other demons and monsters. they became friends after that, hanging out and drinking together and generally making really morally gray choices.

Sorry about the shitty image quality, i had to scavenge for any drawings i had of them, so the scanning is kinda bad </3

and here’s a quick colored ver of them:

[builder051]

Everything that kills me

A commission for an anonymous client.  Criminal Minds.

_______________________________________

take that money

 watch it burn

sink in the river 

the lessons I learned

everything that kills me 

makes me feel alive

The plane ride is uncomfortable.  Usually JJ has no problem reading or writing while in motion, letting her eyes and hand move gently with the turbulence, but today, the legal pad in her lap seems to be swimming.  The green lines fuzz over and disappear into a blur of the yellow paper, leaving her pen marks looking stark and dreary.  A subtle throb has developed behind her right eye and invited a streak of bright aura with it.  Some of her letters stand out in three dimensions while others seem to retract into the page.

“The local PD is still calling him a serial rapist,” Hotch says, flipping around his iPad to show the battered faces of four young women.  “But with one found dead at the scene and one failing to survive her injuries, we’re probably looking for a serial killer.  His time between victims is short, bordering on a spree.”  He glances around at the other members of the team.  “Time is really of the essence here.”

JJ nods and copies down the note.  She scans over what she has so far, as if reading it again will press the bit of information into her brain.  She only gets a moment, though, before her vision starts to cross again.  JJ rubs her eyes with her knuckle and brings the butt of the pen up to tap against her teeth.  

Come on, she tells herself.  Concentrate.

It’s been like this on and off for a while now, not that she wants to admit it.  If anyone asks, she’s fine.  No problems.  She’s good to work.  And truly, she is.  She has more good days than bad ones, sleepless nights notwithstanding.  The insomnia probably isn’t even related to post-traumatic stress.  JJ lies awake next to Will as often as she does when she’s away on a case.  The migraines are a different story, but not one she’s ready to tell anyone else about.  At least not yet.  

She blinks hard and starts over, re-reading the first line on the page.  Her forehead throbs before she finishes the first line of text..  

Four young women, raped and battered.  Patsy Michaelsen.  Age 22.  Found at the mouth of a bike trail with two punctured lungs, a miraculously non-lethal slash across her throat, and a used condom in her mouth.  The scar will show for the rest of her life; the raspy whisper of her voice is supposedly temporary.  The BAU has a file of notes from an interview with local law enforcement, but it’s none too enlightening.  A man.  A dark hood.  A knife.  JJ could have guessed the details.  She imagines the specter of the unsub leaning over her; large, sweaty hands finding her neck.  It makes a line of cold sweat run down her spine.

Then Lydia King, a 24-year-old grad student with a UK passport, dead and buried in a pile of leaves just off the road in front of a playground.  Kids found her on their way out to play.  Not that she was much more than a kid herself.  JJ examines Lydia’s photo, taking in her unblemished chubby face.  If she didn’t know better, JJ would have pegged her for an innocent 16.  She finds herself wondering if Lydia was a virgin.  Then her stomach knots as she feels guilty, so instead hopes the abuse was at least post-mortem.

Jersey Jones was found fewer than twelve hours later.  Technically it was the next day, but the accelerated timeline between victims two and three means a spree.  The unsub is unravelling.  Possibly getting sloppy.  He left semen in the vic this time.  He’d forgotten the condom, or disregarded it.  The 27-year-old Jersey looked closer to 30, another departure from the previous MO.  They won’t know for sure it’s the same perp until DNA results come in, but JJ has little doubt.  

Then there was Sarah McQueen, the one who got away.  She managed to pick her way across six lanes of traffic and into a 24-hour diner where the owner called for an ambulance.  The authorities thought she’d been hit by a car until she started vomiting up strips of latex.  Local PD put two and two together and called the feds within the hour.  Hotch accepted the case as soon as Penelope finished downloading the files, and the team was on the jet before Sarah was out of surgery.

“She’ll be in a delicate position.  Traumatized and probably having trouble expressing herself.  She has head injuries in addition to slashes on her torso and neck,” Hotch warns. 

“That’s another difference from the last three,” Emily points out.  “Are we sure she’s not number three?  Is this all the same guy?”

“Lexington isn’t that big of a city,” Spencer supplies.  “It’s unlikely to have more than one active at a time with that population density.  Killer or rapist.”

JJ nods absently in agreement, still scanning her notes. 

“Anything to add?” Hotch asks, looking at her. 

“Um.”  JJ struggles to focus for an uncomfortable moment.  

“You ok?”  This time, it’s Emily, glancing her way with a concerned expression.

“Yeah.  Of course.”  JJ clears her throat and swallows.  “Looks like he’s escalating.  Jersey might have been a victim of opportunity, but things didn’t go as expected, so he went after Sarah before he cooled off?”

“Sarah does have more defensive wounds,” Spencer says.  “And the blows to the head might have been an attempt to incapacitate her.”

JJ nods again, glad the spotlight is off her.  Focus, she tells herself again.  What is with you?  You’ve worked while feeling this bad before, no problem.

Hotch starts to lay out plans.  As soon as JJ’s instructed to visit the victims in the hospital with Spencer, she lets her mind wander.  She taps her pen again, absently counting the dull clicks of the plastic against her teeth.  

Five.  The number of Patsy’s broken ribs.  

Twelve.  The number of hours between vics two and three.  

Eighteen.  The age of Sarah McQueen. 

“Hey.” 

JJ jumps, instinctively bringing her hand to her chest.

Spencer appears at her shoulder.  “Sorry,” he says.  “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s fine.”  JJ smiles and drops her defensive position.  “Want to compare notes?”  She looks back to her tight cursive spread over the first page of her legal pad.  As usual, Spencer’s written about five times as much, his untidy scrawl marching across several crumpled-edged sheets.

He quickly reads over her shoulder.  “No, I think you got everything important.”

“Good.”  JJ runs her fingers through her hair, embarrassed of being put on the spot, even though she and Spencer are close.  Her nails catch and pull on a few strands, making her wince.

“You ok?”

“Oh, yeah,”  JJ repeats.  For a second she thinks considers saying headache, but she thinks better of it.  All that’ll do is put another worry in her friend’s mind, one that he certainly doesn’t need.

Spencer pauses and squints slightly.  “Tell me if you’re not?”

“Of course.”

JJ’s glad when the pilot’s tinny prep for landing announcement sounds.  Spencer sits beside her, and she’s relieved to be taken off the spot.  He can’t look at her now without being awkward. 

The silence between them still feels odd, though, so she takes a bottle of water from her bag.  JJ makes to unscrew the cap, but finds her hands trembling too hard to hold it steady.  Luckily the jet hits a patch of turbulence to cover the movement, but she feels caught either way.  Her mouth is full of thick saliva, and she isn’t thirsty anymore.  JJ settles for picking distractedly at the label until the plane touches down on the runway.

The drive to the hospital is downright painful.  JJ’s knees ache as she pulls herself up into the front passenger seat of the shiny black SUV.  She’s not sure how she wound up riding shotgun, but she’s grateful for the bit of good fortune.  The stiff leather seat feels hard and lumpy behind her back, and the air conditioning all but makes her teeth chatter.  Clammy sweat gathers on her forehead, but she wipes it away before the local detective behind the wheel has the chance to notice.

“How far to the hospital?” JJ asks, swallowing hard and trying to smile.  Her stomach twists uncomfortably again as her mind flickers backward to other times she held pain between her teeth like this.

It’s nothing like those other times.  No one is hissing in your ear.  No one is holding you against your will.

“Fifteen, twenty minutes?” the detective says, his voice thick with an Appalachian accent.  “Not too far.”

Not long for you, but a long time for those girls.  A long time when you’re the one tied up.

JJ shakes her head to clear it, but all it does is reignite the throb.  “Good,” she says, though her voice sounds anything but..

Spencer asks a question from the backseat, taking control of the conversation.  JJ silently thanks him, though he probably has no idea.

Or does he?  Guilt joins the noxious brew churning in her gut.  They aren’t supposed to profile each other, but they’re not supposed to keep secrets, either.  However she puts it, JJ knows she’s in the wrong. 

But what’s wrong about hiding a headache? she asks herself.  That’s all it is.  Just a little headache.

The hospital smells of antiseptic.  One whiff practically makes JJ’s eyes burn.  Cold discomfort rises in her stomach again as she picks up something else, something like salt and copper hovering just under the pervasive curtain of alcohol-based sanitizer.

The local cop leads them through a maze of hallways to Sarah McQueen’s room.  Through the window JJ sees her on her back in the bed, a layer of bandages wrapped tightly around her head, giving the impression of a snowy white ski cap pulled over curtains of icy blonde hair.  It looks like a dye job to JJ, maybe even one of those at-home bleach kits.  She makes a mental note to check the details of the other girls’ hair and see if that’s part of the pattern.

You should already know, the voice in her head tells her.  You’re falling behind.

JJ sighs and shakes her head slightly, her own blonde waves moving on either side of her face.  Her eyes feel wet, and she blinks a few times to get a handle on herself.  A pool of tears threatens to loose itself down her cheek, so she quickly swipes her thumb across her lower lash line. 

When JJ lifts her head, Spencer’s staring at her.  He narrows his eyes to a concerned squint, but Sarah begins to cough, and he focuses his attention on her instead.

“Hi, Sarah,” JJ says.  She clears her throat, bursting what feels like a bubble of mucous blocking the top of her esophagus.  “My name is Jennifer, and this is Spencer.  We’re with the FBI.” 

The girl doesn’t even have her eyes open, but if the doctors and local PD are letting them question her, JJ assumes Sarah is up to the challenge. 

“Mmph.”  The girl makes a little groaning sound.  Her lashes flutter slightly, but other than that she remains motionless.

JJ swallows.  She can’t decide if she needs to cough again.  Her vocal cords feel tight, as if an invisible hand is pressing down on the front of her throat. 

Spencer picks up where she left off.  “Do you remember how somebody attacked you?  When you were—Were you walking last night?”

Sarah’s eyelids move again as she squints up at them.  A litany of facts and figures flick at the back of JJ’s mind.  Don’t walk to your car by yourself.  Don’t go out alone after dark.

Don’t give up information no matter how hard you’re questioned.

Don’t let men have their way with you.

Sarah starts to say something, her voice low and raspy.  Only a few sounds come out before she moves her head painfully to the side to hack and sputter into her shoulder.  A few flecks of blood spatter on the pale green fabric of her hospital gown.

JJ can taste the copper from across the room.  She swallows quickly, but cold sweat gathers on the back of her neck as her gag reflex moves jerkily up and down.  She practically feels thick fingers reaching for her shoulder, then her throat.

“It—“ JJ starts, desperate to shake the feeling.  “You’re not in trouble.” 

Too much spit froths under her tongue.  Of course Sarah’s not in trouble.  Why would she even think that?

Maybe you’re the one in trouble.

Guilt bubbles in her stomach again, combining with something hotter and angrier that sends sickly tendrils up into JJ’s chest.  She crosses her arms in front of her, hoping the pressure will at least give her a momentary hold. 

“Just, anything you remember can be helpful.”

Sarah opens her mouth.  It makes a wet sound, and somehow that’s the last straw for JJ.  Oh god, she prays silently, please no.  Please not now. 

Sourness rises in the back of her throat, and not the kind that can be swallowed back down.  Her jawline prickles as her gut presses upward into her chest.

“I’m—excuse me—“ JJ delicately touches her lips with the tips of her fingers, then turns on her heel and hurries from the room.  There has to be a bathroom, a trash can, even a mop bucket.  Something she can get to before she completely destroys her dignity. 

There are emesis basins stacked neatly on the counter at the nurse’s station.  JJ snags one and hurries down a deserted hallway.  She slows, her breathing ragged, as a heave makes her stomach contract and her shoulders jerk forward.  She holds the basin against her chest and backs into the wall, slowly sliding down into a crouch.  Stars flicker in the corners of JJ’s vision.  Nausea rises up in her, and sourness blossoms across her tongue as she vomits, bringing up bitter coffee and orange juice along with the remnants of last night’s dinner. 

The basin trembles in her grip, sending ripples through the disgusting fluid.  A drip runs to the end of JJ’s nose.  She sniffles, getting a good whiff of the odor of her own sick, and gags painfully again. 

“JJ?”

She hears her name from the end of the hall.  It sounds miles away, echoing and hazy, but it brings an icy jolt of panic over her anyway. 

“No,” she says in a choked whisper, but whoever it is doesn’t hear her. Either that or he doesn’t listen.  

Footsteps approach.  Spencer’s hand drops onto her shoulder, and JJ jumps, the basin sliding from its loose position in her arms and clattering to the floor.  She swears under her breath as the pool of vomit seeps into her shoes.

“I’m so sorry.  I didn’t mean to—again, you know,” Spencer stutters, grasping at her arm to keep her from falling.

“I—it’s—”  JJ can’t control the retch that bursts from her chest, and she throws up a third time, bile dribbling in strings hanging from her lower lip.  “Oh my god.  Sorry.”

“It’s ok,” Spencer says quickly.  “It’s ok.  You’re alright.”  He pauses, cringing, to correct himself.  “Well, you’re not, but, it’s fine.  You have to breathe, JJ.”  He pats her on the back a few times, the soft percussive movement forcing air into her lungs. 

JJ’s throat burns with acid.  Her mouth waters, and she goes through the motions with a fourth, tiny heave.  She stands bent at the waist with her hands on her knees, her hair obscuring her burning face.  Spencer tries to help her upright, but JJ resists.  “No,” she murmurs.  “Just—just a second—”

“Of course.”  Spencer gently touches the back of her neck.  “I—you feel really warm,” he says.  “Do you think you have a fever?”

“No,” JJ says automatically.  She whips her hand behind her head to catch Spencer’s wrist.  His touch is nothing but soft, but she still can’t stand it.  “I’m sorry.”  She slowly begins to straighten, retracting her hand into her sleeve and dragging it across her lips. Tears prickle at the corners of her eyes again.

“Don’t worry about it.”  Spencer’s eyes are huge and glassy with concern.  A soft wrinkle forms between his brows.  JJ wants to reach up to smooth it out, but that would require touching him, and she isn’t ready for that yet.  “You’re really sick.”

“I’m…”  JJ plans on saying fine, but she knows she can’t continue to lie.  “Yeah.”  It comes out as the tiniest whisper, quiet and crackling with the physical and emotional strain of pushing out the word.  “I guess.  Yeah.”

“Should I get a doctor?”  Spencer glances around.  “A nurse, maybe?”

JJ shakes her head.  They are in a hospital after all, but she can’t accept help.  She can’t let the team see her like this.  Fever be damned, she’s been through much worse.  She isn’t supposed to fall apart.

“No, I just—”  JJ pauses to swallow.  “Let me just—back to the hotel.  Or the police station.  If I just lie down for a minute, I’ll be fine.” 

Speaking leaves her fatigued and short of breath.  JJ feels herself sway on her feet, and Spencer gently catches her shoulders.

“Please don’t…” JJ murmurs.  She can’t stand his touch anymore; it’s as if his long fingers are leaving red-hot furrows that burn away her sweater and blister her delicate skin.  “I’m sorry.”

“Ok.”  Spencer slowly nods.  His face blurs, and JJ isn’t sure if it’s the vertigo finally taking over or a fresh round of tears.  “Should I call someone?  Hotch?”

“No—”

“Emily, then?”  It’s clear what he’s not saying.  JJ hates to admit it, but she would feel more comfortable with a woman.

“I—”  JJ wavers.  “I don’t know.  I guess.” 

“Alright.  Here.”  Spencer reaches for the disgusting basin she still has clutched to her chest.  “Are you, uh, done?”

“Yes, I think so.  Sorry, that’s…”  She shakes her head, reigniting the nauseating pain throbbing behind her eyes. 

“A natural process of the human body,” Spencer finishes.  “I won’t give you any more facts, I promise.”

JJ tries to smile, but her face feels heavy and frozen in a pained expression.  “Thanks.”

They drop the basin on an abandoned nurse’s cart and slip out a back door, then down the steps to the parking lot.  As soon as Spencer helps her into the car, he dials Emily and puts the phone on speaker.

“Prentiss,” the other woman answers on the first ring.  “Did you get anything from Sarah McQueen?”

“Oh.”  JJ’s practically forgotten about the girl.  Another swoop of guilt rises in her stomach, and she has to swallow hard to keep it from turning into something worse.  “Um…”

“You have any luck with the victims’ online presence?” Spencer asks, covering for her effortlessly.

“Actually, yes.  Garcia’s pulled what she can from all their accounts, and it looks like they were all into fitness.”

“What, same gym?”  The words sear on the way out of her throat, but JJ’s desperate to participate.

“No, more like trail running.”

“That’s really dangerous,” Spencer pipes up.  “Women going out alone after dark.  Probably wore their hair up.  Ponytails are easy to grab, making them more appealing targets…”  JJ sees the cogs turning in his head. 

“Could it really be that simple?” Emily asks.

“Talk to their friends.  See if you can recreate their running routes,” JJ suggests.  The last word sticks, and she covers her mouth before the resulting cough can turn into a gag.

“You ok?” Spencer reaches for her again, but retracts his hand quickly.

“JJ?”

“I’m fine, I just—”  Nausea rises in her, sending sweat trailing down from her temples.  “Oh god.”  JJ scrambles to open her door and hang her head out of the car.  She barely frees herself from her seatbelt when she throws up a weak stream of bile, almost all of it running sideways into her hair. 

“What was that?” JJ hears Emily ask, panic plain in her voice.

“I, um,” Spencer waffles.  “Actually why I was calling.  JJ’s sick, and I was wondering if you could meet us…  I don’t… I just…” he loses steam and begins to stutter.

“What’s wrong?  What happened?”

“An anxiety attack, maybe?” Spencer guesses.  He undoes his seatbelt and scrambles out and around the car.  “She’s vomiting, and I think she has a fever.”

“You’re still at the hospital, aren’t you?  Try urgent care—”

“No!” JJ says firmly.  She wipes her mouth with a shaking hand and uses the car door to push herself upright again.  “I just spooked.  I’m fine.”

“If you need a rest, you can take one,” Emily says.  “Hotch will let you—”

“Please don’t tell him.” JJ presses her fingertips into the corners of her eyes.  “I can’t let this get in the way.  What if someone else gets attacked tonight?”

“That’s not on you.”  Spencer shakes his head emphatically.  “We need you at your best.  Even just a little sleep will help.”

JJ sighs.  Guilt and sickness weigh heavily with the excess saliva running under her tongue.  He has a point.  She’s not at her best.  She hasn’t been at her best for weeks, and a nap isn’t going to make much of a difference.  “I’m sorry.”  JJ shakes her head.  She’s not even sure what she’s apologizing for, but she feels she needs to.  Badly. 

“JJ…”  Spencer looks from her to the phone.  “I know there’s something you’re not telling us.”

She shoots him a venomous look, and he quickly continues with, “You don’t have to say anything.  And I promise I won’t profile you any more.  But, just, you have to know we’re here for you.”

JJ swallows.  Her throat feels tight, and she isn’t sure if it’s more or less comfortable than it was before. 

“That’s,” she rasps, “I mean, thank you.”  She wants to explain more, but at the same time, she’s glad to remain silent.  “I will.  Sometime.”  A hiccup forces its way up, and she covers her mouth.  “Sorry.”

“Forget the police station, ok?” Emily says.  “I’ll meet you at the hotel.”

“Don’t—” JJ starts

“No, I’ll have Garcia load up some files.  I’ll look at them while you rest.  Then maybe we can put our heads together once you’re feeling a little better.

“I…”  JJ knows she can’t protest.  “Thank you.  You’re… Just, thank you.”

“You’re just welcome,” Spencer says at the same moment Emily says, “Of course.”

Spencer drives back to the hotel.  He appears to do his best to move the car smoothly, only skidding through one dangerously short yellow light.  “Ok, here we are,” he says after a few minutes of silence.

Thank god, JJ thinks.  She opens her door with trembling fingers, pausing to breathe through a queasy hiccup before attempting to exit the vehicle.

“Let me help you--”  Spencer runs around the back of the car and meets her on the passenger side.

“No!” JJ squeals before she can stop herself.  “I--I’m sorry.”  She covers her mouth with one hand and holds the other up to stop him.  “I just--I can’t.”

“That’s alright.”  Spencer stops in his tracks and holds the car door open instead.  “I won’t touch you.  Is it fever aches?”

The kid has to know that isn’t it.  He’s offering you an out, JJ thinks.  Take it.

“Um.  Yes,” she says with more formality than she means.  She wraps her arms around her chest as she stands up, a shiver wracking her thin frame.  

“Here.”  Spencer holds his hand an inch or so off the back of her shoulder, ready to catch her should she fall.  “We have rooms on the ground floor this time.  No elevator ride.”  He offers a wan smile.

“Good,” JJ manages.

They walk to the end of the hall.  Spencer taps on the last door in the row, and Emily opens the door.  “Oh, my god,” she says upon seeing them.  Then, “I’m sorry.  That’s--you look--”

“Dead?” JJ suggests with a dark smile.  It’s so inappropriate that she wonders if she’s getting close to delirium.

“Well, that’s not what I was going to say, but now that you mention it…”  Emily trails off, shaking her head.  “Get in here and take your shoes off.”  She points to JJ’s vomit-covered loafers.  

“Looks like you’ve got it from here,” Spencer says.  He lifts his hand in thanks to Emily, then gives JJ a hard stare.  “Take care of yourself, ok?  We’re all here for you to lean on.”

“Yes, exactly,” Emily echoes.  She looks to Spencer.  “Hotch wanted you back at the police station.”

Spencer nods.  “Ok.  See you later?  Hope you feel better, JJ.”

“Thanks,” JJ whispers.  

Now that she’s in a room where she can relax, her energy seems to be draining out of her along with her guard.  She divests herself of her shoes and gingerly moves toward one of the beds.  Emily helps her sit, then slips into the bathroom to run a washcloth under the tap.  

“Did you bring files from the station?” JJ asks.  “I thought Penelope was putting some on a laptop for us.”

“Yes,” Emily answers.  “But for me.  You need to rest.”

“I--”  JJ starts, but her train of thought leaves her as a wave of exhaustion crushes over her.  Tears prickle at the corners of her eyes as she feels tired and frightened and thankful all at once.  

“Hey.”  Emily sits on the edge of the bed and begins to carefully sponge JJ’s face.  “It’s ok, you know?  We all have our days when we need a little help.”

“Hm.”  JJ nods and presses her lips together.  “Yeah,” she whispers.  “Thank you.”