Only you | Derek Morgan

Jesus christ. Who died?

L A Y L A ' S   P O V

When I was six I got the chicken pox and my birthday party had to be cancelled and at the time, I thought it was the end of my world. I would have said that that was my worst birthday.

Up until today.

I'm completely numb.

The news is still on.

Everyone is here now.

The room is dead quiet.

I haven't moved from the couch.

I can't even speak.

I feel like a part of me has died and isn't coming back.

The tv is showing the scene in live time from a helicopter arial view. The emergency services are spraying water, trying to put out the flames and have been searching through the ruble for survivors.

I've never been religious but I'm hoping, praying that this is all a misunderstanding because I can't bare the thought that this is real. Derek has to be okay. He has to be. But that hope I'm holding out is dwindling with each second that passes and each time I try his phone and it doesn't even ring.

I can't even remember the last thing I said to him.

Isn't that something I'm supposed to remember right now? But I can't. I don't feel anything other than empty inside. And broken. Nothing else seems like it matters.

"This can't be happening." Penelope is in floods of tears on JJ's shoulder. I want to, but I can't even find it in me to comfort her right now because I can't let myself believe that this is happening either.

Averie's hand gently covers mine, putting a stop to where I've been snapping my hair tie against my wrist constantly. I look down and my skin is red raw. I didn't even notice.

There hasn't been much said since everyone showed up. I don't even know how they found out. I completely shut down after Penelope called me. Nothing even has to be said to tell how scared everyone in this room is right now. We're all scared shitless while we wait for any news.

Except Aidan who is peacefully sleeping in Spencer's arms, completely oblivious to the seriousness of what's going on around him. I wish I could be that blissfully unaware too.

The back door slides open and Hotch steps back into the living room. He's been making calls to everyone and anyone he has connections with, trying to find out something, any information at all on the plane crash. I search his face for any sign of good news or an update but when he shakes his head at me, my heart sinks even further.

"Maybe he missed the flight," Emily says. She's been pacing the floor the past ten minutes, nervously biting on her thumb. "He could have missed the flight," She says again, looking at all of us for any type of agreement. "That's a possibility. Right?"

"He wouldn't have missed that flight," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. My throat is scratchy and dry so I swallow harshly. I squeeze my eyes shut, tears rimming my lids. "He wanted to be home by midnight."

Before Derek left on this trip he spent hours on the phone with the airline seeing if there was an earlier flight so he could get here right when it turned to my birthday. In fact, I'm sitting right were we were when we had that conversation.