Jay felt groggy as she came to, squinting her eyes against the bright lights of her room. It didn't take long for her to register the pounding in her head. She blinked a little, waiting for her eyes to adjust.
Then her blood turned to ice.
Harold Morris. The man responsible for her pain, her suffering, her loss, was sat not three feet from her, watching calmly.
The ice in her veins was quickly replaced by a fiery rage. She lunged toward him, utterly intent on ripping his throat out.
But she couldn't; she was held against the bed by leather restraints. She was trapped, and entirely at his mercy. She glared at him, her eyes ablaze with fury. Her fear was returning but she refused to let it show, she refused to show him any hint of weakness.
He smiled at her.
"Well the Traders really did a number on you, didn't they?" He said softly, that smile still distorting his lips. Jay stared him down, straining against the cuffs that trapped her. "What happened to sweet, innocent, in-over-her-head Jennifer Jareau?"
It was a reflex reaction, unstoppable, "Jennifer Jareau is dead." She hissed.
"Yes, she is, isn't she?" He said smugly, a slight sneer twisting his features. He leant in very close, just by her ear, "But for what it's worth Shavka, I had always hoped Doyle would put a bullet between your eyes the second he saw you."
Without a second's thought, Jay rammed her forehead into his nose. He recoiled with a shout of pain, but the door was shut and the blinds closed so there was nobody to hear him. "Little bitch." He swore, his lips curling into a snarl.
She expected what came next but was powerless to prevent it. He tore the pillow from behind her head and pressed it against her face. She yelled into the thick material but it was futile, even when she turned her head to the side to get some air he just wrapped the pillow around her, cutting off any possible air supply.
He kept pressing, crushing. She tried to somehow take little sips of air through the pillow but it was no use. The growing tightness in her chest told her as much, the growing tightness that was beginning to burn, until the sensation overtook every other thought; she was suffocating.
Her limbs felt heavy, as though lead flowed through her veins, as she struggled against the cuffs, her lungs still burning painfully, screaming for oxygen. Her diaphragm was going into spasm, trying to force air into her. Her head hurt like hell and she wanted to scream but she couldn't afford to waste the oxygen.
Not like this. Not like this, please.
Then she could feel the world slipping away as the blackness called to her, lulling her into its gentle embrace. I'm sorry, Crow.
Morgan was first to arrive, a burst of panic fuelling his final steps as he saw Morris suffocating his friend. He crashed through the door and tore him away from her, throwing him into the wall as fury overtook him. The man cowered on the floor as he drove his fists into him over and over again.
"You. Slimy. Son. Of a. Bitch!" Morgan yelled, accentuating each syllable with a punch. He wasn't even aware as Emily ran into the room, going straight to JJ as she gasped for air, her chest heaving. Then Hotch was there, shouting at him to stop and pulling him off of Morris. Morgan almost threw a punch at Hotch but restrained himself at the last second.
Hotch shoved Morris face down on the floor, quickly cuffing his hands behind his back, tightening them until Morris grunted in pain.
Emily had JJ uncuffed in seconds.
