CM Fic: Empty Allegiance: Emily/JJ: Chapter 18
Title : Empty Allegiance
Author: Carly Carter
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Pairing: Emily JJ
Rating: PG for now
Summary: When you open your eyes, JJ is standing before you again. You can’t help but smile when you see her there, see that she has come back for you even though you gave her every reason to run. You try to tell yourself not to smile, not to let her see how much you want her, need her. It only makes you look foolish and vulnerable; it only gives her power to hurt you. But you can’t help it, the way your eyes light up when you look up and see her there....
**A story for Emily and JJ. A story about loyalties, priorities and choices. What could be so important that Emily chooses to sacrifice her career in the BAU? Her decisions threaten to shatter the team forever. Will JJ discover where her true loyalties lie?**
Disclaimer: I don't own anything!
Dedication: For kassandra_luem who introduced me to CM and Emily/JJ, and inspired me to start this fic oh so long ago when she was here with me in Australia, for frenhu my dearest dearest friend who is a constant support and encouragement in everything i write, and for lynders11 for reminding me about this fic after so long, and also the incredible, amazing kind words of encouragement. Also for each and every person who has taken time to read and leave feedback, you guys rock my world. So, enjoy :)
A/N: I know it's been forever since I updated this, and even aside from the lengthy time between updates it was already messy and confusing and bizarre. But for all the wonderful people that found a reason to read it anyway, this is for you guys :) I generally tend not to finish any fic i start, as I find my writing deteriorates towards the end and I get increasingly insecure and nervous about posting. But for once i've decided to try writing something to the end- no matter how terrible the result is! Apologies for any character inconsistencies, just my take on things, all written in fun. Hope you will enjoy. My beta reader disappeared so all errors are mine, apologies.
Prologue
carlyisnot.livejournal.com/4993.html
Chapter 1
carlyisnot.livejournal.com/6163.html
Chapter 2&3
carlyisnot.livejournal.com/6883.html
Chapter 4&5
carlyisnot.livejournal.com/7059.html
Chapter 6,7,8,9
carlyisnot.livejournal.com/7681.html
Chapter 10,11,12,13
carlyisnot.livejournal.com/10605.html
Chapter 14
http://carlyisnot.livejournal.com/14095.html
Chapter 15
http://carlyisnot.livejournal.com/14374.html
Chapter 16
http://carlyisnot.livejournal.com/14666.html
Chapter 17
http://carlyisnot.livejournal.com/15040.html
Chapter 18
Emily
Present Day
Australia
You enter the cool underground church and feel the instant drop in temperature as you descend the stone steps. Your eyes are drawn to the rich coloured carvings in the rock face. It feels like another world. Peaceful, cool, primitive. Such a stark contrast to the scorching unforgiving sun above the surface. You could see why many of the towns inhabitants chose to live in underground dwellings to gain respite from the heat. You wonder if this is where your daughter lives, in some sort of cool underground sanctuary, in this god forsaken desert town in the middle of nowhere?
Your eyes are instinctively drawn to the alter, keeping your back turned to the only entry and exit to the cave-like building. Everything in you is telling you that it isn't unsafe, to stand there like that, your back turned. To close your eyes. To wait, unprepared, unarmed. But strange peace descends over you. You light a candle for your daughter. The glow from the flames dances on the rock walls. You close your eyes, but that soft orange glow of the flickering flames pierces it's way through the darkness.
You found it difficult to remember your daughter. You had tried so hard not to think about her. Ever. It hurt to much. There was nothing you could do to make it stop hurting, except forget. Lock it away inside a deep dark compartment and vow to never open it again. And that's how you had survived.
The details faded easily over time. Piece by piece, memories drifted from your grasp. So much so that now, when you were actually trying to remember, you could not.
It was your mother who told you the baby was still born. The Ambassador announced it so matter-of-factly, as if it wasn’t something that should affect you in the slightest. She looked you straight in the eye and lied to you. She looked you straight in the eye and shattered your heart into pieces. Did you, as a daughter, mean that little to her, as a mother, that she found it possible to lie so callously about such a thing? You ask yourself, if someone had come along and told her that her daughter was dead, would she have even flinched?
At first you had not believed her. You knew your daughter was alive, because you heard the sound of her crying. That sound echoed inside your mind each and every day of your life. You had no vivid memories of your child. You had never held her, never touched her, never sang to her or rocked her to sleep in your arms. The night she was born, you remember only darkness, hushed whispering voices echoing, sharp searing pain tearing your body in two. And then the piercing, beautiful, cries of a new born child. It was so real. That sound. So haunting and magical and so very real.
And still, you had let your mother convince you, somehow. She had been so insistent. No one argues with the ambassador. She said it so honestly, so openly, “Your daughter is dead.” You had no cause do doubt her based on those words alone. You let her convince you that you had been hallucinating. That you were dreaming. That you were crazy. That pain killing drugs had warped your mind. You had imagined that cry. You had dreamed it. You had longed to hear it so badly, but it was never real.
And so your confidence in your own memories, in your own instinct, faded. The drugs kept you in a state of confusion, and your mothers constant assurances that you were crazy started to sink it. You started to believe her, to doubt yourself. Your mother always had that ability to make you doubt yourself. And while, in the the beginning, you were certain that you had heart that baby crying, certain there had been a terrible mistake, a mix up- Never once did it occur to you that your mother had lied to you. Never. You hated yourself now, for not questioning her. For blindly accepting what she had told you and not fighting harder to believe in your daughter.
As you look back to that time in your life, you can't fathom just what you had even been doing staying with your mother at that time in your life. You had run back to her, pathetically, alone and pregnant. Out of some primitive need for a mother, for something to take care of you, someone to help you make sense out of everything that had happened. Someone who would understand you, and not judge you. You never found the thing you were looking for in her. You never really expected to.
“You weren't going to keep her anyway, Emily.” Were your mothers comforting words at the loss of your child. “Besides, you're young, You can have another child if you insist. Although it's not something I'd recommend. Maybe you'd like to get married first this time, although I wouldn't recommend that either.” On and on she went, with her practical, heartless advice. All you wanted was for her to hold you.
You had always believed that it was your own fault that your daughter had died. You must have done something terribly wrong to cost that baby girl her life. The pregnancy hadn't been planned, but the baby had been wanted, and loved. You wanted to give that baby everything that you never had as a child. Love, security, self esteem, value, worth. But perhaps your mother was right.
“It's meant to be.” It what your mother told you. “Honestly, Emily, what kind of a mother could you have been? What kind life could you give that girl? It's for the best, put it behind you.”
Her words were thoughtless, harsh and cruel. As always. Yet you found it hard to resent her for them, fearing deep down they were true. And so you had picked up your life, and so you had moved on. Never looking back.
It was your sister, Francesca, who saved you from drowning in the darkness of depression and guilt following the loss of your child.. It was she who flew across the world to come and see you, who took you home to stay with her family. Despite the fact you had long since walked out on her. Despite the fact you did your best to push her away. It was she who held you while you cried, who told you it wasn't your fault. Who wouldn't let you give up. It was she who reminded you that there was something to live for. That your daughter wouldn't want to see you like this.
Her little boy, Nicholas, was almost eighteen months old at the time. It hurt you to look at him, so alive and healthy, while your own child was cold and dead. He was a beautiful boy, and you loved him, cherished him. But you asked yourself, in the stillness of the night, if you would swap him to have your own daughter back. If you would sacrifice his life if it meant you could hold your precious baby in your arms and know she was safe. You tried to tell yourself that such things weren't in your power, and that if the tables were turned Francesca would be wishing the same thing, for her own child to be alive. You wondered if she held her son close at night, a little bit closer than usual, and thanked God that her own child had been spared. The guilt of such thoughts suffocated you. And you could barely stand to look at the boy.
Until one day, after god only knows how many weeks you had barely managed to leave your room, Frankie had burst in early one morning, just after dawn. You barely opened your eyes, mumbling for her to go away and leave you alone. Then you felt the soft small hand on your face, and opened your eyes to find your nephew staring back at you. Frankie had placed him on the bed beside you and was opening the curtains, which hadn't been opened for weeks. The sunlight made you flinch. “I have to go to work, emergency, can't find a babysitter. I need you to watch Nicholas for a few hours.”
She ignored your protests, and was gone in a flash. How you hated your sister in that moment. You thought her selfish and cruel. You wanted to tell her that you had no interest in babysitting her child, in being reminded that her child was alive and your own child was gone. Only later did you see that she was trying to reach you. That she was trying to help you heal. That she was lost for words, that she knew somehow that her precious little boy would be able to reach you in a way that she could not.
You sat up in bed, staring down at the little boy. You pulled him instinctively into your lap. It seemed that he didn't quite fit in your arms. Not the way you had always dreamed that your baby girl would have fit. Frustration at your sister filled your thoughts, followed immediately by panic. You were barely capable of looking after yourself these days, let alone a helpless child. And wasn't she afraid to leave him with you? After all what kind of a mother had you been to your own child? You had obviously done something terribly wrong. If only you had taken better care of yourself when you were pregnant then perhaps your baby would still be alive. You didn't know the first thing about babies. She couldn't just take off and leave you like that.
Nicholas sat so still, so complacent, in your arms. Finally you looked down into his eyes. He was staring up at you, smiling. So innocently, sweetly, so much trust and love in those baby blue eyes. He didn't cry as his mother walked out the door. He was just happily waiting, expectantly, for you to get your act together, to wash him and dress him and feed him and play with him. And for the first time in months, you managed to drag yourself out of bed.
Looking back, you realised just how much you had lost over the years. You daughter, your father, your brother, your sister and nephew. The only person you had left was your mother- the very same mother who lied to you about your own daughters death. And for the first time you stop to ask yourself if all this had been worth it? You believed you were doing the right thing, ensuring that your half brother was locked behind bars. You honestly believed it was the only way to protect the people you loved, to protect other innocent people, to protect yourself. But you look over the shattered remnants of your family, and wonder if you made a terrible terrible mistake?
The first time you had visited your brother in jail, you'd been prepared to agree to anything. You jumped through hoops, making him promises, trying to bribe him into being tested as a bone marrow donor for Nicholas. The worst thing wasn't the things he asked of you, compromising your integrity. The very worst thing was the way he looked into your eyes. Condemning you. As if you were the villain, and he the victim. That was honestly the way he saw it. The way they all saw it. And you let him get under your skin. You let yourself start to wonder if you had been so caught up in your own fear, in your own hatred, in your own righteousness, that you had made the wrong choice. He left you no choice. On and on the game went, with you playing right into his hands, promising him the world in exchange for scraps of information about your daughter. You had given him power, set him free. Everything he did from that point onward was your direct responsibility. But he left you no other option. You started to wonder just how on earth you had fucked things up so completely, and if there was any way back from this point.
As you are pondering these thoughts, you hear the footsteps echoing behind you in the cool dark church. Before you even turn around you recognise the distantly familiar voice calling your name. “Emily? Is it really you?”