chapter three / season four episode three.

TW: i don't know if this warning is necessary, but in this chapter there will be multiple discussions centered around religion and views that you may not agree with. just please remember that this is fiction, and my character's thoughts and attitudes towards religion are her own and shaped by experiences in her own life which are not meant to reflect a reader's experiences with religion, but rather her own. thank you.

AARON HOTCHNER HAD FELT HIS STOMACH DROP THE MOMENT MORGAN SHOUTED FOR HIM. It was supposed to be a routine morning, in which the majority of the team were going to be catching up on paperwork and making sure it was all up to the highest standard. It was supposed to be a normal morning. Just everyone working along quietly, hoping that the quicker they finish the quicker they might be able to go and get some drinks in.

On Rossi's credit card, of course.

But, Morgan shouting for Aaron out of his office was not normal. It was not calm, it was not them working peacefully and quickly. The shout was strained, and even through his shut door Aaron could practically feel the tension, and fear that radiated from the shout.

Aaron had shot up out of his desk chair, the only person he could focus on in that moment being Morgan as he hurriedly explained for his momentary outburst.

"The TV!" Derek pointed, the red breaking news graphic was the only thing that stood out to Aaron from here, he couldn't hear what was being said as he was still trying to come to terms with his ear — but, Amelia had been gentle with him in the past weeks, hoping to heal his ear that little bit better.

"Prentiss, Reid and Levine."

His stomach dropped at the mention of his first two agents. And then, if possible, if dropped even further at Levine.

Aaron began focusing harder on what the TV had to say, he could only pick up on small pieces of information, "At least four members... child protection services..."

The actual CPS woman.

Emily.

Spencer.

Amelia.

Amelia.

Amelia.

He had to pull his stomach back, he had to rest his hands with a tight grip on the fencing beneath him. He had to gain control of this situation. He had to gain control of his own fears.

Aaron had to fix this; he had to get them out of there.

It was supposed to be a calm morning. His three agents were just going to go into the Ranch and come back out. Easy as. There was to be no gun fire, just intel.

Instead, things were not calm. And there had been gun fire. And Aaron had no intel on how his agents were actually doing inside the Ranch.

Aaron was not calm. He'd ordered everyone to get ready, they'd be flying out to Colorado in no time. His voice hasn't wavered or even showed the slightest bit of fear, or the impact of his stomach dropping in fear.

Yet, fear was the only emotion he felt at this moment. He couldn't stop the way it made his chest feel constricted and almost made his heart hurt as he thought about what could possibly be going on within the Ranch.

He couldn't think about that if he wanted to get his agents out safe and sound. He had to focus on the task at hand.

He had to stop focusing on Amelia, and rather seeing all his agents walk out of that building safe and sound.

✺

It had gone wrong so quickly. It had all gone wrong so quickly that Amelia couldn't help but beat her hand, formed into a fist, against her thigh in five second intervals, and she almost couldn't help the heavy weight of fear that settled within her stomach.

Amelia, Emily and Spencer had just been assisting on a question-and-answering with the CPS. After a phone call had been received by a fifteen year old member of the cult about the leader Benjamin Cyrus and how he had been touching her.

Amelia felt sick to her stomach that a child was apart of this cult, that posed under the name of a church. A child was being coerced into God knows what under the name of religion and God. She didn't even want to think how many other children were also being coerced or forced into acts that they didn't want to do just because their cult leader, or one of his close friends, asked them to.

Spencer sighed from his seat next to Amelia. Emily stood up in-front of them biting at her nails nervously.

They all felt sick. They'd felt their stomachs churn when they'd passed the 'No trespassing' sign upon entry into the cult's area of the dessert, they'd felt sick when the looked upon the church as they stepped out of their car that the lovely, CPS employee had been driving. And they'd paled when the CPS employee has detailed the phonecall they'd received from the child, the fifteen year old, member of this cult.

Amelia kept beating her thigh, in her five second intervals. The urge even stronger when she heard footsteps down the steps of wherever they were. When the gunfire had sounded because a man running for Governor had decided today of all days was a good day to gun down the cult. It was some form of panic room, but it was just three agents and one of Cyrus' loyal followers down here.

Amelia didn't want to imagine what would happen if anyone found out that her and her friends were actually agents. It wouldn't be good. It would be horrific. Painful no doubt.

Amelia didn't want any of them to get hurt. But, it was possible she'd let herself get hurt to spare everyone else.

"Miles is dead. He was locking the door when they shot him." Another one of Cyrus' loyal followers stated, "Laura and Robert were asleep in their bed. The bullets came through the wall."

Emily stopped the biting of her nails at the news. She couldn't look weak in-front of the members of the cult, she couldn't show weakness and she had to be strong for no matter how long they were here.

Emily had to be a fake CPS worker, who could handle anything this cult threw at her if they were to make it out of here.

Amelia had to stop her fist beating against her thigh. But, she couldn't. No matter how long one of the members had been eyeing her, and no matter how much she was giving away at this precious moment: she couldn't. She physically couldn't pull her fist out of this clenched form and stop it from beating down on her thigh in five seconds intervals.

"What about the baby?" Benjamin Cyrus asked.

Amelia felt her fists clenched tighter when she saw him. It was automatic her response. Benjamin Cyrus was one of those men who had gotten everything he'd ever wanted through lying, and coercion.

Amelia hated those type of men. How they rose so quickly to the top, most likely through manipulation or possibly usurpation and pretended they were a Messiah. Or, acted like they were God's greatest gift, walking the earth and expected to be kissed at their feet by passerby's.

He eyed her. To him, Amelia was the weirder out of the four service workers; she seemed to be the only one looking over her shoulder every two seconds, showing more emotion than the other three, beating her hand formed in a fist against her thigh and glaring at him as if he was the devil.

Cyrus felt seen. As if Amelia knew too much about him. As if she knew the true him. It felt like she'd come in here with the previous information about him. She didn't feel like she was a service worker.

"I have her. She was at the school." A teenager walks in.

A teenager.

Amelia swore her fingernails started digging into the skin of her palm.

"Hello, darling." The cult's leader peeled the baby out of the teenager's arms, "It's all going to be alright, honey."

"Mommy and daddy have gone to God, okay? It's all going to be alright. Take her to the temple and pray."

The teenager rushed away, and before anyone could say anything Cyrus turned back to a member of the cult, "Distribute weapons and ammo. I prayed this day would never come, but it had. God will see us through."

God never should've let this happen. Amelia bit her tongue. Her and God had a complicated relationship. She couldn't remember the last time she prayed, or stepped foot in a church or really even really focused on religion. With the things Amelia saw everyday, even in negotiations, she found it hard to believe and have faith in God. She found it so hard to believe that someone so powerful let loose all these evil scum unto the earth. Amelia knew that it had something to do with balance, and that for good to exist there had to be evil.

But, there was that larger part of Amelia that would just like good to exist on its own.

The follower departs to follow after Cyrus' wishes, but the cult leader doesn't leave straightaway. He gives the long stare directed in the general direction of the three agents, but Amelia feels it linger on her longer.

And she feels seen by this sociopath. Amelia feels as if he can see straight through her blazer jacket to where her FBI pin would usually be pinned to the top of her trousers. He can see her.

And that only causes her to clench her fist tighter and carry on the beating against her thigh.

✺

The night had been long. It had been so long for everyone. Nobody had slept, it was hard to sleep when you were in a cult's equivalent to a panic room, or if you were apart of the team just waiting for the cult leader to snap.

Everyone had been summoned to morning prayer, even the three so-called 'guests'. Amelia always thought that a guest was someone invited somewhere and usually happy to attend the event they turned up at.

Nothing about this was happy.

This wasn't a birthday party you were guest to, or a celebratory event or anything like that. This was murder and coercion.

Amelia felt more like a prisoner.

Emily gripped onto Amelia's hand and squeezed, bringing the agent back to earth in this cult sec. "You holding up okay?"

They took turns sleeping last night, one of them always on watch whilst the other two slept. It was systematic and not entirely comforting. Somehow, Amelia wasn't quite sure how, Emily and Spencer had managed to snag themselves a bit of sleep, and if they hadn't been asleep they'd managed to shut their eyes and rest them.

Amelia had been too afraid to even shut her eyes. She'd always been this frightened, fragile character. She knew that. She'd always known it. Even in recent years when she'd been a negotiator and now a profilier she'd like to think she'd gotten stronger, or could at least stand a little firmer with her two feet in the ground in an attempt to ground herself. And usually she could.

It just wasn't working today. Maybe...

Maybe Amelia was tired of trying to ground herself when she felt so far from being able to. Maybe after so long of denying how you truly feel doesn't work anymore.

(And everything can only come tumbling down after that, right?)

Amelia nodded her head, albeit hesitantly. "Yeah... 'M okay."

Okay. Nothing was okay. Nobody was okay with this.

There was a knock that sounded on the wooden door of the church, Emily and Spencer were still clinging to the smallest beads of hope. Emily's hope smaller than Spencer's.

Amelia didn't look back to the door, but rather the altar at the front of the church. And she ran a hand down her face as she felt everything slowly slip away from her. For months she'd pretended to keep her feet grounded, to dig them in the dirt and try to cling to this idea that everything was okay.

Nothing was okay.

Amelia couldn't quite believe she had to have this revelation a second time around and let alone in the church of a cult.

There is silence between Rossi and Cyrus as the FBI agent exchanges some supplies over to another member of the cult.

Cyrus is watching Rossi closely; Rossi who is scanning every pew of this church. Every back was turned to him, but if he let his eyes linger long enough he could see the slow rise and fall of the civilians within the church. No-one here was injured or wounded, perhaps scared but not bleeding out.

That was good. He supposed. Or, as good as this situation could get considering an officer had been rushed to the hospital and the actual CPS employee had been gunned down.

Rossi's eyes fell onto the three agents as he and Cyrus slowly moved down the church's aisle. "I'd hoped you'd let me take the children." The agent comments, he was the negotiator on this case. Rossi wished he wasn't. Not when he had three personal connections in this building and every move he made could either save or get them killed.

Emily and Spencer observe their fellow profiler as he walks with Cyrus.

Amelia can hear him. She can hear the voice of the man from careers day. And she can hear her co-worker. Yet, it's not grounding.

Nothing is grounding. Nothing can stop the clenching of her fists and keep her calm.

She looked timid, she looked scared. She couldn't hold her composure.

She felt scared. Amelia wondered how she could be an agent when she felt so much fear.

(But her fear had been building up for weeks. She'd just kept a better lid on it for once. This was her boiling point, she was reaching her limit and she was going to tip over the edge sooner or later.)

"No. They're our protection. I remember Waco. We all do." Cyrus replied.

They're children. Amelia bit her tongue.

"This isn't Waco."

"They stay for now, while I pray for God's guidance." Cyrus takes the Bible from child's hands, "Please don't try to force us out."

Amelia essentially glared at one of the crucifixes on the wall. She wanted a prayer to form in her head, and she wanted to believe that the prayer could save them all. But, she knew it wouldn't save them.

At least not them all.

As a negotiator she knew this was a minimal loss scenario. They'd try and get mothers and children out one by one, maybe two at once; trying to save as many as they could before the situation would no doubt escalate and then casualties would ensue. Loss of life would no doubt be fatal. Not all mothers and children would survive.

So, Amelia didn't pray. She didn't pray for guidance, she didn't pray for God's help. She stared and she stared at the crucifix.

Rossi was gone. And then there was wine.

"We are celebrating. Everybody drinks. Everyone rejoices." Cyrus spoke, and you could see how every member of the followers clung to his words as if they were gospel.

"Because today we are one day closer to being with Him."

The three agents were no longer seated in the pews but rather stood at the back of the church, all three of them hoping that Cyrus didn't come and offer them the wine. It didn't seem like Amelia was the only one with an aversion to following God right now.

"Look at Jessica's body language. The way she looks at him." Emily pointed out.

"She literally worships him." Spencer murmured.

Amelia eyed the man pouring out the wine into plastic cups. "She couldn't have made the 911 call."

The agents share discreet glances as Cyrus begins speaking again, "'Trust in God with all your heart. Lean not on your own understandings. Trust in mine.'" During his passage recital, Jessica's mother got up and of her seat, speaking in hushed whispers to her daughter.

"Look at how she comes between Cyrus and her daughter." Amelia pointed out, "She's inserted herself between them."

"'Acknowledge Him in all things and He will guide your way.' Drink to acknowledge him and I will guide our way."

They all drink. Even the children.

"We will be with him soon." He raises his plastic cup, as if it is a cheers. "We have drank the poison together."

Amelia's stomach dropped further, if possible. Mass suicide.

"Mothers, fathers, children," Cyrus spoke plainly, "though we walk through the valley of the shadow of death, we fear no evil, for Thou are with us."

"And God will wipe the tears from their eyes, and there will be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying, and there will be no more pain, for all of the former things have passed away." Nothing had passed, not yet. And there was crying. There were crying mothers, fathers and children.

Mothers who were going to watch their children die, whilst dying themselves.

Fathers who were going to watch the love of their lives die, whilst dying themselves.

And children so young who were going to watch their mother and father cry over their child's death, whilst dying themselves.

It was sick. It was violent. It was brutal. Even if Cyrus wasn't physically punching every person here and making them bleed, he was still making them bleed. He'd poisoned them and sentenced them to die here.

Nobody deserved to die here.

"What do we do?" Emily whispered.

"Nothing." Spencer spoke plainly. There was nothing to do. They had no choice but to stand idly and let this happen. They just had to watch. They had to watch whilst every person in this room died.

"We have to do something. These people just drank poison." Emily whispered, harshly. She couldn't fathom standing by and doing nothing.

"No, Cyrus just told them they did. I think he's bluffing." Emily stared at Spencer in confusion waiting for the genius to elaborate, "Just after he told them about the poison he waited for them to start to react; then he nodded to Cole and he started writing. Look, they're scanning the audience looking for reactions."

"Anyone who cries..." Amelia muttered, "Their name gets written down." It wasn't mass suicide. It was murder. Or, at least it was going to be. "For loyalty. Those who aren't loyal..."

Amelia trailed off, all three agents could piece together what was going to happen to those who weren't loyal.

"Be still, there was no poison." Cyrus announces, "Instead, a test of faith, 'because your adversary the devil walketh about as a roaring lion choosing whom he may devour.'" He spoke waving the Bible, as if that justified his actions, as if what he was doing was actually the word of God.

"Watch each other for signs of weakness. You are your brother's keeper."

✺

News channels were usually the FBI's biggest enemy. They were always sticking their noses where it didn't belong, always trying to creep onto crime scenes and find out 'exclusive evidence'.

They were a pain in Aaron's ass.

He'd just asked JJ to release a false statement out to the press so that they had a better chance of getting Cyrus to let out a handful of hostages, but JJ had grumbled, "You need to see this."

And that was never good. Never.

And the feeling only amplified when Aaron saw some new footage being shown on the computer screen that JJ had turned round to him, Rossi peering over his shoulder and Derek watching with furrowed eyebrows as the footage played out.

"The standoff at the Separatarian Sect ranch has now been taken over by the FBI." That was a fact. Aaron nodded his head because that was the truth. He wasn't nervous about that.

He was nervous about what followed.

"There was much speculation in regard to hostages." Hostages. Hostages. Hostages. Throughout the last two days, Aaron had somehow managed to reign his stomach back to a new level of normal, a level of anxiety that wouldn't quite disrupt him so much. It was uneasy this new level, built on foundations that would be very quick to destroy and send him back to an anxious state in no time.

The reporter had done it so quickly. Rossi had said that all three agents were fine. They were fine, but they were still hostages. It reassured Aaron slightly, it didn't fill him with reassurance but it was just enough to get through these next few hours.

The reporter had said; "But anonymous sources inside the State Attorney General's office have told us that there is an undercover FBI agent currently being held inside the ranch."

Rossi sighed deeply.

Derek's hands flew to rub at his head.

JJ had started to bite at her nails nervously.

No doubt back at the BAU Penelope had started to pace her office, near enough wearing a hole into the carpet.

Aaron kept staring at the reporter through the computer. He stared with such anger that maybe, just maybe, if he stared hard enough this would all stop and they could go back in time to where this foolish reporter hadn't put three of Aaron's agent's lives at stake.

But, that wasn't possible. And this was happening. And Aaron's stomach had dropped again and left him with such a burn that he swore he could've been sick.

"There is still no word as to why an FBI agent was sent in alone." An FBI agent would never be sent in alone. Every agent knew that. The reporter knew that. The Secretary General's office knew that.

Benjamin Cyrus would know that.

✺

He came down the stairs quickly, wearing a face of thunder and wasting no time to ask; "Which two of you is it?"

He stared down Spencer first.

Amelia and Emily sat on two crates opposite Spencer, and Amelia ringed her hands together and cracked her knuckles. She couldn't look to Emily because they both knew they'd say it.

Amelia couldn't have that.

She'd have to shoot up, say it was her and then deny all claims that she had a partner.

Cyrus unbuttoned his flannel and pulled out his gun. None of them flinched. A gun was nothing they hadn't seen before.

"Which two of you are the FBI agents?"

Emily pretended to be shocked at the sight of a gun.

Spencer looked away from the weapon so that it might look like he was afraid of it.

Amelia stared at the cult leader head on. Emily wasn't too good at acting. Or, at least Amelia didn't think she was. Emily was still planning on jumping up and saying 'me!'

Emily was close to taking a bullet for this time, hurting herself to keep everyone else safe. She no doubt say she had no partner and she'd take double the beating, or maybe two bullets as reparations.

Amelia was tired of others getting hurt when she could get hurt instead.

"Why do you think one of us is an FBI agent?" Spencer asked, his voice sounding fragile as if he was really just a scared service worker.

He was grounding himself, keeping himself in the roles they'd started this scenario in. He was probably dragging his feet through the dirt and holding on for fear like with the façade of concerned service worker, but it was working.

"God will forgive me for what I must do." He pointed the gun at Spencer.

And Amelia saw it as God's will that the gun moved to her direction instead, so she stood up, her hands held up as if to try and claim innocence - even when she knew in Cyrus' eyes she was like the devil reincarnate. "It's me. Not him, or her. 'M the agent. I came alone, nobody else."

The gun was lowered from Spencer, and Emily squeezed her eyes shut. She'd been too slow.

The gun was shoved back into Cyrus' jeans, as he moved and grabbed Amelia by her arm, harshly tugging her out their makeshift panic room and away from the safety of it.

Oddly enough, that panic room had felt claustrophobic before. But, now all Amelia wanted was to have never have left the small space.

✺

"I told you not to put me in this position!" Cyrus exclaimed, his grip had moved from Amelia's arm to harshly gripping at the back of her head, tugging strongly at her roots.

It was harsher than any other force Amelia had ever had exerted onto her. She tried to think of any other man who had gripped her like this; her dad had held her arm tightly once, holding onto it whilst his hands shook in anger because she'd done something stupid in his eyes. It had bruised, it was yellow around the edges and slightly more purple in the middle. It had made her feel sick knowing her dad had done that to her.

The only other man she could think of was James Conrad. After his hearing that had signified the end to his career he'd caught Amelia in the hallways, gripping onto her arm with a grip that can only be described as a mad man and whispered in her ear that he promised to see her career destroyed. She'd gone home and seen the purple bruise on her arm that day and been sick.

Cyrus threw her to the floor and she couldn't help but think maybe she needed this. Somehow, this would ground her. That maybe a beating, till she was black and blue and she wanted to be sick because her own bruises scared her would make all the fear exit her body.

No. She reminded herself, she was too fear ridden to be cleansed.

But, no doubt in Cyrus' eyes this would be a cleansing in the name of God's will, maybe it would make Amelia believe in God again and that she could be fixed.

The back of Cyrus' hand came into sharp contact with Amelia's cheek, and she could feel the bruise already forming there and even the slight trickle of blood down her cheek. She fell back down onto her stomach, not bothering to wipe the blood away or even push Cyrus away.

God's will. She kept reminding herself, but she knew that only laughter followed because it wasn't true. This wasn't God's will this was the work of a sociopath and God wasn't going to send some divine intervention down here to stop it.

She was going to bleed, and bruise.

But, it was okay. At least Emily wouldn't bleed and bruise. And neither was Spencer.

No-one was getting hurt except her.

Amelia let her mind circle back to the thought that maybe this was God's will. God might've tried to hurt her when the bank had been getting robbed, God had wanted Amelia to bleed then but divine intervention had sent Clara in instead.

This. This was supposed to happen, with no interruptions of someone else bleeding. This was Amelia's blood to be shed.

She tried to crawl onto her knees, because Amelia knew if she did that she gave Cyrus more of an opportunity to kick at her, punch, scream, Hell. Amelia didn't know what else she was giving him the opportunity to do, as long as she bled Cyrus and God would be happy.

There is a kick sent into her stomach. And she knows it will bruise and it will be in the shape of Cyrus' timberland boots. But, it's okay.

Because, it's not Emily's stomach with the boot shaped imprint. And it's not Spencer's either.

"Get up." He snarled, dragging her back up by her hair again.

There is a whimper that falls from Amelia's lips as she is dragged up, a tender spot forming on her head from her kept picking her up. The whimper is then followed by a groan as she is pushed into a mirror, face first.

Glass shards cut at her skin. It will bleed, and that's okay. (It's not Emily or Spencer.) But, it hurts. It hurts even more as Cyrus pushes her face further into the shards. It's a searing pain, followed by a burn.

It makes Amelia cry out as he speaks; "Proverb's 20:30 tells us that 'Blows and wounds cleanse away evil.'"

She's thrown in a different direction, her back hitting the wall with force. Amelia lets her head fall to her side as she spits blood from her mouth with a deep, shaky exhale. Her hand loosely rests over the kicked stomach and for a moment she considers begging.

Begging Cyrus to stop.

Begging God to intervene.

Amelia contemplates it as the pain courses through her body, and she swears that the pain is so prominent that it feels like it will never go away. This pain feels permanent, it doesn't feel like a cleansing.

It just hurts.

Her bottom lip trembles. She wanted to beg, or scream for God. But, she couldn't. And she couldn't cry for him either.

So, she had to cry to who she knew would be listening. If she was right, the BAU would've put microphones on all the windows. They'd hear her cries. God wouldn't, but Derek would. Rossi would. JJ would.

Aaron would.

"I can take it."

Could she? Could Amelia take it when a singular bruise from her dad had made her stomach twist? And her ex-unit chief had made her physically sick? Could she take it? No.

Amelia took hit after hit every day. Every day felt like a new kick to the stomach. Every day was a new bruise. And every day made her feel more worried, more fearful of day-to-day life.

So, actually. She could take it. This punching, and kicking and throwing her from wall to wall was bloody, violent and harmful but surely it wasn't as bloody, violent and harmful as her day-to-day experience.

(It hurt so much. Every thought, no matter how twisted and wretched, was just an attempt to distract her from the shattering pain she felt in every part of her body.)

"You can take it?" Cyrus got in her face, gripping her chin in his hands and staring right at her. It sent a chill down her spine.

Amelia hated his eyes. They were barren and cold. They were the eyes of a man who wanted to see her bleed and weep.

She squeezed her eyes shut and imagined they were someone else's. She imagined that they were Aaron's. The beautiful brown that they were. Filled with warmth, that he would say wasn't there, and sometimes they were stoic but at other times Amelia could see the happiness in his eyes. She could see it. And she could feel it with him. How he could be this stoic man, yet he could enjoy the little moments sometimes.

Time slowed. It was for a small few seconds and there was a tight grip on her chin, but for a few seconds Amelia was reminded of something good. Of someone good. Of someone who didn't want to watch her bleed or weep.

(But, he had to because Rossi was currently stopping him from sending a team in at this precise moment.)

The time suddenly returned to normal when another slap sounded in the room, and Amelia found herself on her hands and knees again, spitting the blood from her mouth and watching it land on the floor. She hoped it stained. She wheezed slightly, pressing her forehead to the floor to feel the cool.

Her body felt like it was on fire.

But, "I can take it." She mumbled, before looking up at Cyrus; her face bloodied. There were cuts littered across her cheeks, blood pouring straight from her nose and dripping down below her nose and down her chin. Her lip had a nasty cut. And blood had travelled down her neck, and was staining the cuffs of her shirt.

"I can take it." She wasn't telling Cyrus she could take it.

Amelia wasn't even telling God she could take it.

She was telling Derek she could take it. She was telling Rossi she could take it. She was telling JJ she could take it.

She was telling Aaron she could take it.

"Pride comes before the fall."

She ached. Amelia grunted as another punch went sent to her stomach and she fell flat on her back.

Cyrus lingered over her slightly, his boot again pressed against her stomach as she withered, her body shaking in the pain that had been delivered to her.

Amelia managed to look up at him, spitting blood out of her mouth and making sure it landed on the cuffs of his jeans, "I can take it."

He pressed his boot deeper before exiting the small room in which Amelia had never felt such pain and ordering she be tied up and taken elsewhere.

Amelia wondered if maybe God would find her there.

✺

Aaron Hotchner had never felt so sick. He could feel the bile in his throat and his hands were shaking. He didn't know whether it was from anger or from fear.

Aaron didn't know anything right now. He couldn't think. His mind was running rampant like a train and what he'd just had to listen to had sent that train right off the rails.

Her whimpers, her grunts, even her voice... it all pained him to hear. He thought that hearing her voice again for the first time since she'd gone in would be comforting, it would tell him she was alive and it would sound just like honey as usual. Sweet. She would sound sweet and maybe for two seconds Aaron could pretend Amelia wasn't a hostage.

But, she was. And her voice hadn't been sweet, it had been pained and followed by wheezing. Her whimpers had been heart-shattering and her grunts of pain had made his stomach twist in knots.

He couldn't pretend that she wasn't a hostage or not getting hurt when he'd had to hear all these sounds with headphones on, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying to stop his eyes from clouding with tears. He'd failed in that department, and he felt lucky that everyone else was a stressed as him to notice.

Rossi had been the only one of sane mind, and able to listen without nearly throwing his headphones off.

Morgan had at one stage. He'd thrown them off and walked away, he couldn't listen.

Aaron kept listening just incase Amelia got left alone for long enough to whisper something to him.

She didn't. But, he wished she had.

Aaron had to walk away too once the... beating (he felt sick even thinking about it) was over. Once Amelia had been tied up and taken elsewhere. She'd whimpered as they dragged her away.

That was when he'd decided to take the headphones off and walk away. He had to take a deep breath and remind himself that they were going to get her out of there.

He wished she'd never put herself in that position in the first place.

He wished the Secretary General's office would burn the ground.

Aaron had left the tent and cradled his head in his hands, taking deep breaths as Derek stood not so far away talking to Penelope on the phone, his hand pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Is she okay—?" The panicked voice of Penelope Garcia was the one he was currently consoling. As soon as he'd stalked out of the tent he knew he had to tell Penelope, because it was better than Amelia just turning up with a cut face and bruised stomach. Plus, Derek would be in severe trouble if he didn't tell the technical analyst straightaway.

"I don't—" Derek sighed, unaware of his unit chief stood not so far away trying to regulate his breathing, "I can't say for certain, Penelope. She's alive, but she's hurt, real bad."

"How bad?" Penelope whispered, and Derek could imagine her sat in her desk chair biting her nails.

Derek shook his head slightly, "Bad, mama. She's no doubt bruised and cut up."

Nothing about that was okay.

They all knew that. And they couldn't say anything that would make it better, not to each other and not to Amelia.

All they could do was get her out of there.

Even if they were all two steps away from a full blown meltdown.

✺

Amelia lay flat out on a bed, her arms flat at her sides and staring at the ceiling as Jessica's mother did the bare minimum (on Cyrus' orders) to patch her up.

"You shoulda told Cyrus who you were. He's a prophet."

"He's a sociopath." Amelia spoke through gritted teeth as the woman tended to a large open wound on her cheek.

"He predicted Satan's armies would come and lay siege to us."

Amelia grunted, trying to turn her head away from the woman, "We're not Satan. We're the FBI. Not the same."

"You don't know how dangerous it is to lie to him."

Amelia eyed the woman, "I did know it would take a brave woman to defy him knowing the consequences. And that that woman would have a damn good reason to do it."

"Oh, c'mon," Amelia mumbled, watching as she got up and left the room.

Her wounds left unattended to. The blood still on her neck, and the gash on her cheek still dripping blood out onto the pillow beneath her head. Her back ached from the amount of times she'd fallen onto to it, and every breath felt like a harsh intake of air due to her bruised stomach.

Maybe she'd broken a few ribs too.

✺

"Did you know she was FBI?" Cyrus asked the question, casually, to Emily and Spencer as he cleaned his fists with an anti-septic wipe.

Emily knew Amelia wasn't having that same luxury with the damage done to her, and her stomach had been twisted in one tight knot ever since their friend had been led away by Cyrus.

Taken from them, right before their eyes and yet there was nothing they could do. They could've screamed and shouted and protested as loud as they wanted. But, then they'd all be beat.

Cyrus would be wiping his hands clean of three bloods. The cuffs of his jeans would be stained with a mix of blood and not just the stain of Anelia's that stood out so strikingly on his beige denim.

Emily knew Amelia wanted to be the only beat.

Emily had noticed a long time ago that if someone was going to get hurt, Amelia wanted it to be her. As if she was compensating for someone else getting hurt and now it was her turn. Now, Emily knew about Clara it made a lot more sense; the need to put your friends, your co-workers, above yourself and make sure they never bleed when you could bleed so easily yourself.

Spencer had perhaps picked up on it long before anyone else. He didn't need to know about Clara to realize Amelia had some tendencies to let herself get hurt. And he wanted to stop it. He just didn't have the voice to.

"Nancy never told us. And in all the four years we've worked with Nancy, she'd never once lied to us."

Aaron had heard that through the microphones, and he breathed a sigh of relief at Spencer's lie. Although, he wasn't sure he could feel relief anymore.

His stomach was still tied in tight knots, it had been ever since they'd landed in this state. And he knew that the only thing to untie these knots would be seeing Amelia outside of the ranch.

✺

Amelia leant against a wall of the chapel when she'd been dragged down there to watch something. Since her beating she hadn't exactly been in the loop.

Amelia hadn't exactly felt very present in her own body since, actually.

She wasn't sure if time was passing or if all she could feel was just constant pain.

Names were being read off of a list, Amelia assumed it would be a list of names of the people Cyrus was willing to release, as Emily and Spencer came to stand beside her.

Amelia leant her head against the wall, "You give him my name to do this?"

Spencer nodded, frowning at Amelia.

"Good." She closed her eyes, "It'll get people out of here. Plus, he looks pissed. Who knows how long it is before he escalates."

Emily narrowed her eyes at Amelia, who winced with every word she spoke near enough, "Stop talking. You're only hurting yourself more."

Amelia waved her hand, showing the both of them her blood stained shirt cuffs, and even a deep cut in her palm from the shards of glass, "It's fine."

"I can see about 2 open wounds right now, do not start spewing that crap." Emily muttered, before turning to Spencer, "You think you can sneak a couple bandages before we all get sent away again?"

Spencer nodded his head, scurrying off to find something medical in quick time.

Emily glanced back to Amelia, "You should've let me—"

"Emily?" Amelia asked, "Shut up."

"Reid's gonna get a signal to the team to indicate what time the raid should come." Emily informed Amelia, moving on from the sensitive subject of her beating as the boy-genius passed her a handful of plaster and bandages.

"Give me your hands." Emily instructed.

Amelia open her eyes and frowned before handing them over to Emily, the woman peeling open plasters and covering up the bleeding wounds on her palms. "You think they gave Jesus plasters for his nail wounds too?"

It was an attempt at a religious joke.

Neither of them laughed, but Emily did squeeze Amelia's hands tighter before moving to more deeper wounds. "I can't stick a plaster on that," she murmured, observing Amelia's cheek, "You're gonna need stitches when we get out of here."

"Woohoo." Amelia murmured.

And before Amelia could say anything else, or Emily could try and cover more wounds a man was grabbing Amelia around her already sore arm and dragging her away.

✺

Amelia was sure it had been three days since her, Emily and Spencer and the actual CPS worker had entered the ranch.

She felt crazy.

Crazier than she did whenever she went back to DC. Or, whenever she was trying to find Daisy Adler.

Being in this ranch was actually sending her crazy.

It was why, with the heel of her boot, she was trying to open the blinds and hopefully someone would be out there with a sniper ready to communicate with her. Or else she might go actual crazy.

Amelia wanted this to end. She wanted out of this ranch, and she wanted to be as far away from this cult as humanely possible.

She also wanted the sniper to recognize her quick, because every slight movement hurt.

"I have really hit rock bottom now," Amelia murmured, making sure her boot didn't slip and she'd kept the blinds open, "If you can hear me, I know you're coming."

And I sound crazy talking out loud to a microphone that might not even be there.

"I can try and get the women and children down to the tunnel, but I need to know when."

Amelia sighed deeply, "C'mon, someone's gotta be out there."

Please. Amelia nearly begged for someone to hear her. Her bottom lip trembled because she just wanted out of here, she wanted to get as many civilians out of here as possible.

"Please." She whispered.

There was a sudden red dot that appeared on her boot. She breathed a sound of relief, but with the bruised stomach and possible broken ribs it sounded a little bit more like a grimace. "Oh. Okay. Okay. Someone's there, someone's there. What time?"

The dot disappeared and reappeared three times.

3am. Amelia sure hoped this place wasn't haunted as well.

She nodded her head, "3am." She muttered, and to herself she sounded like she had a little more hope. "3am. I hear you. Well— not really."

"But 3am."

The red dot moved as if it was nodding along to her words.

"Reid and Prentiss are on the first floor, they're with Cyrus so please be careful." (Derek wished he'd told Amelia to be careful before she'd gone on this case.)

Amelia pulled her boot away when she heard footsteps. "Someone's coming."

Derek thought it was good to hear Amelia's voice again. It was nice not to hear any whimpering, or crying from her.

He just didn't know that as soon as the red dot disappeared, Amelia had her hands over her mouth, muzzling the sounds of her own crying.

✺

Jessica's mom had soon come in with a glass of water in her hands. Amelia didn't want water.

She wanted to go home.

So, because of that Amelia wasted no time in speaking, her voice cracking from the tears she had shed earlier on, "Cyrus is planning a mass suicide. You made the 911 call."

"This is all my fault—"

Amelia shook her head, "Nothing is your fault, your call is going to save people. All those people Cyrus let go earlier? You saved them because you called."

"If you hadn't called everyone would still be trapped here, listening to him and believing he was still a Prophet."

Amelia sighed, "You were being a good mother, trying to save your daughter. From Cyrus. Now, you can. You can save your daughter, and more if you just help me."

Amelia tried to sit up, with help from the woman, "At 3am, the FBI are going to come. If you gather Jessica, the kids, all the other women..."

She shook her head.

Amelia felt like she would have to plead again. "Please. Just— please. So many people will be saved if you help me. Take them to the basement before 3am. Please."

"Why are you telling me this?"

Amelia bit into her lip before speaking, "I don't even know anymore." Amelia laughed quietly, and brokenly, "I just... I think that if anyone is going to save people it'll be you. Because, I am putting my faith in you. You didn't just call 911 for nothing— you want to save your daughter. You can save her—"

Jessica's mother turned her back on Amelia, and for another time in her life Amelia felt like she'd put her faith in the wrong person.

"You can save the others. Just, please." Amelia sighed, watching the door open and shut. She was gone.

And Amelia wouldn't know if she'd been right to put her in faith in someone until the last moment.

✺

She wasn't sure how long it was before she came back and untied Amelia, mumbling, "You were right. They're getting ready to blow this place up. I told Jesse that Cyrus told her to take all the women and kids to the basement."

"I did say mass suicide." Amelia grumbled, rubbing at her wrists once she was freed. "'M not exactly sure what you thought that meant."

"Where is the man I came in with? The geeky looking one? And the woman, the cool woman?"

"In the chapel with Cyrus. We gotta hurry, it's 2:45 already."

Amelia sighed. It was not of relief, and it was pained. She'd put her faith in someone, and it had worked. But had it been too late?

Was her hope in getting out of here alive, with the other members of this cult, already dwindling when it was already so low?

The women and children followed after Amelia like she was a leader. A battered, bloodied and bruised leader.

Many might find enjoyment from that. A sense of pride that people could follow after them so easily, like they were a prophet of God.

Amelia knew she wasn't. And she knew she would never become one of those who could enjoy this. Cyrus would.

Amelia couldn't.

There was the sound of guns as the women and children were led down the basement steps by Amelia, men dressed in green and their guns in hand as they descended the stairs. There was a dead member of the cult off to the side. The women and children stared in horror.

Amelia only focused on the sight of two familiar men in-front of her. But, she couldn't celebrate yet, she couldn't stop yet. "There's wired explosives."

Derek grabbed onto Amelia's arm, the softest grip she'd felt since Emily had put those plasters on her. Derek thought she looked like a woman who had been dragged through hell and back. Her eyes were sunken, her feet scuffing against the floor and her cheek was still bleeding.

He guided her towards Rossi, "You get checked out, you hear me?"

"We need to get Spencer and Emily—" Amelia winced, "They're in the chapel... with Cyrus."

"We gotta get you out of here." Rossi said, holding onto her arm. Or, he was sure it was Amelia holding onto him for stability.

"No—!" Amelia shook her head, "Em— and Spencer, we need to—"

Derek clicked his fingers in-front of Amelia's face, "I will get Spencer and Emily, you're going with Dave. You hear me?"

"But—" Amelia was going to protest, but Rossi was leading her away from Derek.

He was leading her away from the ranch. He was taking her outside and she wasn't going to be at this forsaken ranch again.

The bruises would fade and the cuts might turn into scars if she was unlucky. But, she wouldn't have to be here again.

She never would.

Rossi had guided her out of there and the moment she could feel the breeze and she could smell something other than the distinct chapel smell, the building was up in flames.

A loud boom.

Rossi and her ducking down as they feel the heat on their backs and can see the shadows of the flames dancing on the ground beneath them.

The beautiful bright orange, flickering with yellow in the dark of the night.

The building gone, and with it Cyrus' cult. Burnt down to the ground in a style that Amelia hoped made God happy.

"You okay?" Rossi whispered, as the two came to stand back up.

"'M good." She wasn't really. But, they didn't have the time for that when the sea of women and children were still working their way out of the ranch behind them. 

There were sheriffs, and crowds of people. Witnesses.

She could see them. And she'd never been more grateful. She'd never been more grateful to see the cameras of reporters with their stupid microphones that they held too closely to their mouths.

Amelia had to stop and pause, pulling out of Rossi's grip.

The building had gone up in flames, and Amelia was happy that God had set it on fire but she was going to be happy if it had claimed the lives of her three friends in the process.

If Emily...

If Spencer...

If Derek...

It felt like Amelia was stood outside the bank again. As if waiting for some miracle that after the bomb the radio was going to crackle and Clara was going to declare that she'd somehow survived the bombing.

By some miracle... Amelia prayed for a miracle that day; when the bank with Clara Beaumont had gone up into flames, the windows had smashed and the walls were charred but the ones that went unharmed were coated with the blood of civilians, robbers and Clara.

Amelia prayed for a miracle now.

She couldn't see the walls of the building, she didn't know if they were painted with blood. She knew they were charred but she didn't know if Emily Prentiss, Spencer Reid and Derek Morgan had decided to paint those walls as shade of crimson red.

She could pray they didn't.

But, Amelia wasn't sure if God answered her prayers anymore.

He hadn't the last time.

"Derek!" She called, rubbing at the sudden ache in her chest, "Spencer! Emily!"

God, can you hear me? I'm calling for you— I'm calling for you to save them—

Please.

Please.

God, please. Not them— anyone but them...

"Derek!" The fire continued on blazing, it warmed her cheeks but she felt cold. She felt cold not knowing if they were dead or alive.

God— I'm praying to you, I'm praying to a God I'm not sure I believe in but please.

Amelia stepped closer. 

And a new presence, a warmer presence held onto her arm stopping her from stepping any further to the fire.

She glanced over her shoulder.

Aaron Hotchner.

Her breath hitched. He looked pale, he looked sick and he looked scared. He was so worried for her that she could practically feel it as warm as the raging fire. He looked at her with such concern that she just wanted to melt into a puddle right there and then.

His breath hitched too. And he paled. And he felt like he could be sick any moment now. And he was so scared she'd take that extra step closer to the fire and hurt herself even further. Her face; battered, bruised and bloodied. A sight he never wanted to see, but here it was before him. And he wanted nothing more than to push her bloodied blonde hair out of her face and tell her it would all be okay. To reassure that they'd clean her up, and he'd help her like she'd help him after his traumatized ear.

His hand did reach out. But as quickly as it reached out did he retract it. Aaron made sure his hand wasn't on a bruised part of her arm before softly squeezing, "You have to step back." He said.

He spoke so tenderly that Amelia almost forgot men could speak to her like this. Not all of them wanted to shout in her face, not all of them thought she was weak and kicked at her ribs.

Some just wanted to speak to her softly, even when they wanted to cry for her.

She stepped closer to him, still staring at the blaze. They were in there.

They were in there God. And you did nothing. You did nothing. Why did you do nothing? Again.

How could you do nothing again?

She cursed God. Amelia cursed God because she could not beg from him now. She could not beg from him when he had just killed her friends at this ranch.

This Godawful ranch.

Amelia leaned herself closer to Aaron. They were so close, they were practically touching. If Aaron hadn't held his breath, and had breathed outwardly he and Amelia would've been touching.

But, he'd stopped breathing because the close contact was what he'd been dying for.

And Amelia had stepped further away when she realized she could see three figures out of the smoke of the fire. "Oh, my God."

I'm sorry, God. I'm sorry I can't believe in you.

But I'm sorry. Maybe I'll work on repairing the damage done to us.

"Oh, my God." She repeated stepping closer to the fire.

Emily.

Spencer.

Derek.

Alive.

Albeit coated in ash.

But, alive.

(That was more than Clara's dismembered body could say.)

Amelia immediately cried in pure relief as Emily was the first to hastily make her way over to Amelia and wrap up the woman in a hug. Amelia's arms wrapping around Emily's neck, whilst the other's wrapped around Amelia's waist.

Derek sighed, his hand resting on Amelia's back, "Sunshine, am I happy to see you." He murmured, kissing her temple.

He'd seen her. But, he hadn't really taken her in. He'd held her arm but he hadn't fully accessed her.

Now he had. He was worried. So worried. But, she was here.

He had to be grateful for that.

Spencer had finished coughing and made his way over, his long arms wrapping over the top of Amelia's and Emily's embracing them in some form of group hug. Spencer sighed in relief.

Amelia still cried into the space between Emily's neck and shoulder.

There was a cry that sounded. And Derek frowned when he realized that it wasn't from Amelia, he glanced over his shoulder seeing Jessica's mother, playing with the necklace around her neck and sobbing.

The woman noticed Amelia from behind, "You said I could save her!" She cried, trying to rush forward and give Amelia that second attack of her day.

Aaron stepped forward and permitted the woman from getting any closer to Amelia, who had now pulled away from her group hug, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands and frowning at Jessica's mother.

"You said—" The woman sobbed hysterically, being dragged away by Aaron. "You said I could save her!"

God. Why didn't you save everyone?

Amelia looked between her friends, and she felt like crying again.

God had listened to Amelia. He'd saved her friends.

But minimal loss had ensued.

And for once Amelia wished that God could save everyone.

✺

Amelia sat in the back of an ambulance at the scene, the fire was being put out and from where she sat she could see the reporters, their microphones still held ridiculously close to their mouths.

She winced as the paramedic pressed at the bruise on her stomach, it was already becoming purple and you could see the red boot imprint still.

It was going to be a horrible bruise.

She knew it.

The paramedic knew it.

And Derek, from his place sat beside her, knew it.

"I think you might have a broken rib, so I suggest you get that checked out by your doctor, but it should heal by itself - if it is broken - in about six weeks." The paramedic said, peeling off his bloodied gloves after he'd already stitched up Amelia's cheek, gave her a concussion check and covered all her over cuts in bandages.

"The bruises all vary, some are going to be yellow and just slightly tender to touch, but should go away within the next week or so. Majority are going to be of a purple, black-ish color, they'll hurt and take a lot longer to go away. You'll have to be careful." The paramedic spoke mainly to Derek, Amelia had checked out a long time ago.

The paramedic had other patients in line, he went to tend to them but Amelia and Derek remained perched on the edge of the ambulance.

Amelia staring at the dying embers of the fire.

She sighed deeply, grimacing slightly as she did so.

Derek waited for her to speak, she usually sighed before she had a big revelation to make, which meant that Derek's hold on the ambulance immediately tightened.

Amelia had spent so long trying to ground herself, keep up with her lies and the mystery of her life. She couldn't do it anymore. She'd practically unraveled in front of everyone tonight, it was just her proof that none of this could be done alone.

She didn't have to be alone anymore.

"My mom has cancer."

It was best to just rip the bandaid off right?

"Again." Amelia added on.

Derek glanced at Amelia.

Amelia kept staring at the dying embers. "It's why the extra trips to DC, and all the secret phone calls from my dad... I've just been trynna help out as much as I can."

Derek cleared his throat, "How long... have you known?"

"4 months."

Derek nodded his head, "Okay."

"I don't..." Amelia sighed, finally cradling her head in her hands after a very long three days, "I couldn't tell you 'cause I didn't know how, I still don't really know how. I just don't want pity. I don't wanna be looked at differently—"

"My mom's getting treatment, and we're working through it."

Derek had come to think that when Amelia spoke, sometimes, she sounded like she had no emotions left to give. There was nothing. Maybe these last three days had taken the emotion from her, but this... this sounded worse than he'd ever heard it before. So empty.

So void of anything.

Void of her sweetness. Her beauty. Her delicacy.

"She's gonna be fine." Was she reassuring herself, or was she telling Derek that as a fact?

"And—" Amelia looked up at Derek, "I just... I need you and everyone to be here for me."

She's asking for help.

Outwardly. Amelia was asking for help.

Derek never thought he'd see the day.

"And I know I shouldn't ask, help should just be given." Now wasn't the time for Derek to give the lecture that she was completely incorrect in her way of thinking. "But, I need it. I don't need pity, I need your help."

Derek nodded his head, "And why... why do you need our help?"

Amelia rubbed her eyes, "'Cause I can't... I can't keep flying back and forth between DC and home and function. It's not working. My house is a mess, I haven't eaten a proper meal in about 2 months, it's all been microwaved or takeout. I haven't done laundry—"

"'M all over the place. And if I don't have help from friends..." She trailed off, because she'd never gone so far off the scale before to know what happens when she reaches that stage, "I'll be a complete and utter mess."

"'Course we'll help you." Derek whispered, nudging her shoulder with a reassuring smile, "Rossi will do the cooking, Spencer will probably love doing your laundry, Emily, JJ and Pen will probably take you to a spa whilst me and Hotch have to deep clean and do your groceries."

Amelia laughed quietly, "You've never cleaned in your life."

"'M willing to pick up a dustpan for you, sunshine."

She wondered how far he was willing to go.

It meant a lot, regardless.

Derek nudged her again, "'M proud of you."

Amelia wasn't sure what for.

Her eyebrows furrowed and Derek knew he needed to elaborate, "You asking for help? That's a milestone, sunshine. It's... well, frankly it's unheard of. And I'm happy and proud of you for doing it."

"I would drop everything to help you."

Amelia smiled at Derek, nodding her head and staring up at the night sky instead of the dying fire.

Thank you, God, for getting me here.

✺

Amelia must've been the only agent who dreaded the flight home, it was only because she couldn't believe how quickly they were flying back. It felt like she hadn't been able to sit down for more than ten minutes before they were off.

She leant back in her seat, resting her head back but wincing when the tender spot of her head made contact with the jet's seat.

She was gonna have a great time discussing with her hairdresser what had happened to her roots.

Aaron raised his eyebrows as everyone else boarded the plane, he was sat on the four seater opposite her, and reached into his bag, "Amelia," he muttered, holding a bottle of painkillers out for her to take.

She tilted her head and took them from him as he placed an unopened water bottle on her table for her as well, "These look familiar." She teased, considering this was the bottle of painkillers she'd gifted him for a traumatized ear.

"Got 'em from a friend." He shrugged.

Friend.

Friend.

Friend.

Friend?!

Friend.

He looked back down at his case file casually, unaware of the blush on Amelia's cheeks and the butterflies going crazy in her stomach and the inner screaming that was going on inside her head.

He'd called her his friend.

She smiled softly as she took the painkillers, "Thanks."

"Anytime."

He gave her one small, soft, fleeting smile before Emily and Spencer joined her on a four seater.

She'd seen it.

No-one else had.

She'd seen the smile. And those butterflies were having the time of their lives.

"Just the people I wanted to see." Amelia smiled at them, Emily who sat next to her looking at Reid alarmed.

"Uh-oh." Emily muttered, "Reid stole your kit-kat not me."

Amelia furrowed her eyebrows, "Not what I wanted to talk about but I'm very disappointed in you for stealing my kit-kat, Emily, and trying to pass it off as Spencer. He would never eat a kit-kat."

Spencer nods his head as Emily huffs.

"Look, I just wanna say..." Amelia frowned slightly.

"What Cyrus did is not your faults." She looked between them. "I'm the one who stood up and said that the agent was me. I made that decision. And despite the damage done to my beautiful face, I would do it ten times over."

"I have no regrets." She didn't. She might ache, she might hurt, she might've begged from God and from a random woman tonight but Amelia regretted nothing.

Amelia did what she wished she'd been able to do when Clara had gone in that building. She'd saved her friends from being hurt tonight.

That was something she couldn't say she did for Clara.

But, saving Emily and Spencer from getting hurt was good enough. It was better than good.

"You two understand me?"

"I have no regrets."

Spencer nodded slowly. Whilst Emily made some sound of agreement.

"Thank you," Amelia nodded, her head going back to rest against the seat and she wasn't sure why she thought this time wouldn't hurt.

It still hurt but she regretted nothing. Not a single bit.

Emily sighed, "Sleep on my shoulder." She mumbled, "Put your heavy head on my shoulder so that you get some beauty sleep."

Amelia laughed, getting herself settled on the woman's shoulder. "I do need my nine hours."

"Yeah," Emily snorted, "We can tell."

Amelia's face dropped.

Whilst Spencer laughed.

The laughter continued, even after Amelia had fallen asleep.

And she wasn't dragging her feet in the ground anymore. Amelia now imagined that she was being held by others, being guided, being helped by others. She wasn't carrying heavy weights by herself anymore.

Amelia wasn't alone.

And she thanked God that night that she wasn't.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:
11,018 words 🙃🙂 my longest chapter EVER and i freaking love it sm we had growth and religion today and that is an achievement to have both in one!

will it last? is the real question! probably not 🥸

BUT HOTCH AND AMELIA. i'm rocking back and forth like im clinically insane, they make me feral and their moments are only going to increase from here idc

and her friendship moments in this chapter, i just think i need to be put in a straitjacket before i do actually go insane