Epiphany

16

Clara's first day back at the BAU had an air of weightiness that she couldn't quite shake. The office, bustling with familiar faces and murmurs of ongoing cases, seemed unchanged since she'd last been there. But to Clara, everything felt different—she felt different. The physical and emotional scars from her recent ordeal, compounded by the guilt of running away, left her feeling raw and exposed. As she walked through the double doors, a wave of silence swept over the room. Colleagues paused mid-conversation, their eyes darting towards her, then away, as if uncertain whether to approach or give her space.

Derek Morgan was the first to move, striding over with an easy smile that didn't fully mask the concern in his eyes. "Well, look who's back," he said, his voice warm as he pulled her into a tight hug. For a moment, the weight on Clara's chest lifted, and she let herself feel the comfort of his presence.

"Good to see you, Morgan," she said, her voice a little hoarse but steady. She pulled back, offering a small smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

Garcia appeared next, her brightly colored dress a burst of color in the otherwise muted space. Tears shimmered in her eyes as she took Clara's hands. "We missed you, you know that?" she said, her voice trembling with sincerity.

"I know," Clara whispered, squeezing Garcia's hands before letting go.

Around the bullpen, familiar eyes watched her with a mix of relief and curiosity. Spencer Reid, with his typically observant gaze, nodded subtly from across the room, a gesture that conveyed his understanding without words. Emily Prentiss and JJ exchanged a brief glance before approaching with cautious smiles.

JJ placed a comforting hand on Clara's shoulder. "It's good to have you back, Clara. Take your time settling in," she said gently.

Clara nodded, grateful for their patience. But as she made her way to her desk, the gravity of being back threatened to overwhelm her. She sat down, her fingers brushing over the framed photo of the team that sat beside her computer. It was taken during happier days, when the BAU felt more like a family and less like a reminder of everything she'd nearly lost.

The morning passed slowly. Files and reports lay untouched as Clara tried to acclimate to the steady hum of voices, the ringing of phones, and the familiar click of keyboards. Her concentration wavered, the memories of her time in captivity clashing with the present. Each laugh or sudden noise made her flinch, drawing concerned glances from her teammates.

Hotch, who had been watching her from his office, finally stepped out. His expression was composed but softened by concern. He approached with a quiet authority that demanded attention without words. "Clara, could I see you in my office for a moment?" he asked.

She stood, feeling the weight of every gaze following her as she walked across the room. The office door clicked shut behind her, sealing them in a bubble of silence.

"Have a seat," Hotch said, gesturing to the chair opposite his desk.

Clara sat, her hands twisting nervously in her lap. She met his eyes, seeing in them the unspoken worry that mirrored her own.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, a question loaded with layers of meaning.

"Better," she said, the word coming out clipped. "It's... it's good to be back."

Hotch nodded, his gaze steady. "I want you to know that no one expects you to jump right back into things. We're all here for you."

"I know," she said, the lump in her throat making it difficult to speak. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to look him in the eyes. "I'm ready to work, Hotch. I need to."