Note: I've wanted to write a semi JJ-centric story for a while now. She's one of my favorite characters (after Reid, of course). This kind of follows the format of Three AM. So... not really sure if it counts as flash fiction or not. But expect it to be a short story.

Morgan could already tell something is wrong when he entered the conference room.

Hotch had offered no explanation when he called them together, but he's standing there when Morgan enters, face grim.

Morgan's eyes quickly scanned the figures seated around the table.

They were all there.

All of them, but one.

He looked up, meeting Hotch's gaze.

"Where's JJ?"

She was beautiful, his Jennifer.

Perfect even.

He looked upon her now in silence. He'd make his presence known soon enough, but for now, it suited him to observe.

She was where he left her, in the chambers he had prepared for her. Her wrists had been fastened with rope to the arms of the chair. Her lips were sealed with duct tape. He regretted having to take that last precaution- he wanted more than anything to hear her beautiful voice- but he couldn't have her screaming.

Not when the neighbors might hear her. Not when it would put at risk everything he'd put together in preparation for their life together.

Her voice was enchanting, powerful. He'd been under her spell the first time he'd heard her speak.

She'd been warning the public about an evil man, a predator. One who stalked the streets, spilling the blood of innocent women.

It had made his blood boil, the idea that such people existed.

But he wasn't like that. No, not at all.

He was a protector. He'd show Jennifer. He'd show her he'd keep her safe, sheltered from the world with so, so much evil in it.

They were meant to be.

He stepped forward and Jennifer's head snapped up. He could see the hazy fear written across her features before her eyes finally focused on his face. And then… then her gaze hardened.

It was an admirable attempt to mask her fear. Anger and fear. Soon enough, he'd have to cure her of both.

His Jennifer would feel the same love that would make his life unbearable if she was not present.

She glared at him, made all the more beautiful by her fury.

He stopped, directly before her, oddly satisfied that she now had to tilt her head to look him in the eyes.

He reached his hand out to her, and his knuckles caressed her cheek.

She flinched back, but there was nowhere for her to go. He felt a shudder ripple through her flesh.

He smiled down at her tenderly.

"Welcome home, my love."