chapter nine / season four.

"MY MOTHER IS A LOVING, GOOD WOMAN."

"Fuck." Amelia cursed quietly, tucking her chin to her chest as she took a deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut. Her hands gripped tighter onto the cool counter in the bathroom.

Her knuckles turned white, and even as she tried to calm her breathing, she couldn't. She felt sick. Her skin; hot.

Amelia couldn't believe she was living this day. It had been a dreaded day that no-one could ever imagine being apart of. You never believe you'll live to see the day that you have to bury your own mother.

Nonetheless, burying your mother just one week after she's died.

This couldn't be real. She'd told herself exactly the same words since last week, repeating the motto over and over again in her head as if by some chance it will bring Martha Levine back to life. The past seven days hadn't felt real: Amelia woke up, pulled the sheets tighter around her shoulders and wished she hadn't woke up, her dad would soon force her out of bed and they would spend the day communicating at a minimal rate and suffering in the silence that threatened to choke them. Amelia had never known how to speak to the man, and now it felt even worse so when her mom wasn't here to ground him even the smallest amount.

Amelia would sit watching the clock hands tick by. The hands moved so slowly that Amelia had doubted if they'd even been moving. She hadn't been moving, she just stared and stared at the clock willing the minutes to go by faster. Maybe, when she didn't move, time didn't either.

A whole seven days. A whole seven days have passed Amelia by. She hasn't lived them, she's sure of it. They couldn't have been real, this had to be a dream.

Amelia moved one of her hands from the harsh grip she had on the counter to pinch at her skin. She winced at the pressure she applied.

But, she did not wake up from this wretched nightmare. She'd done the same routine for the last seven days. And every day she had not woke up.

She was never going to wake up. This was real.

Amelia sighed, forcing her head to look up and forcing herself to look in her reflection of the mirror on the wall. She looked fine. (She wanted to look fine, because she sure as hell didn't feel it.) Her hair was curled, she had concealer all over her face, blended in flawlessly and her dress was simple and black with tights on underneath to shield her from the cold.

She'd used about half the concealer bottle today. She'd had to. Her skin was breaking out, from the lack of sleep, and her eyes were so sullen and dull— God, Amelia thought she was dead instead of her mother.

And whilst she knew she might be cold for the brief moments she was outside today; she was sweating out of her skin currently. Even under the heaps of concealer on her cheeks, she could still see the hot flush painting her pink.

Amelia sighed again, squeezing her eyes shut and biting her teeth into her lip.

As a child she'd imagined this, her mom's funeral. She always thought there was something sickly wrong with her upon reflecting that she'd thought about her mom's funeral, and what she'd say, how she'd bite back the tears and she'd accept condolences. Amelia, as a child, had felt guilty for imagining such a terrible thing. For subjecting herself to thinking of a world in which her mom was dead. She knew it was wrong, that there was something wrong with her. But, at night, when she'd had a bad day and her mind ran away with the bad thoughts; she thought of a world without her mom.

Amelia never knew why. It wasn't as if Martha had been 'mother of the year' and that Amelia had felt such love from the woman that she could imagine that heartache in which she lost her mom. Or, maybe Amelia could imagine it better. Maybe being a child deprived of a mother's love just made that scenario easier to imagine; knowing your mom would never ever get the chance to redeem herself.

It wasn't just when she was younger. When the cancer diagnosis came around the first time, Amelia had imagined Martha's funeral then. She'd imagined herself, older now, stood in-front of the crowds who had come to pay their respects and how she'd get choked up and wouldn't be able to finished what she had to say about her loving, good mother. The officiant would lead Amelia away from the stand and guide her to sit back next to Thomas, because the man himself would never reach out to comfort his daughter.

It had been so vivid, what Amelia imagined. In her imagination she could feel the chill from the Church, she could hear the squeak of the pews as anyone made even the slightest movement in the silence of the building.

Amelia hadn't imagined this time around that it would be happening. She'd been foolish. So foolish. Naïve to believe that just because Martha had done it once she could do it again.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

A knock on the bathroom door made her eyes force themselves open, as Thomas spoke through the wood to her, "You nearly ready? We gotta get goin'."

"Five more minutes." She replied. Amelia sounded just like him with the lack of warmth, lack of emotion, lack of anything in her voice. They sounded alike.

And, if possible, Amelia felt her stomach churn even more at the thought.

Thomas' footsteps sounded away from the bathroom, and Amelia's eyes trained themselves back on her figure in the mirror.

She'd imagined this for years.

It was just so different when it came to life.

"My mother was a loving woman."

Fuck. Amelia thought. She couldn't believe this was real.

✺

Aaron didn't know how this was happening. He didn't understand how this was happening; the team were all dressed in black, sleek suits and ties and solemn black dresses, standing outside the Church as they waited for the hearse to arrive.

The hearse that would be carrying Amelia's mother.

It had been a week since Amelia had stepped outside of JJ's hospital room just to accept a call. And now they were here.

Here, in Virginia. Standing outside a Church in funeral attire and long coats with their hands stuffed into their pockets to preserve any warmth against the chill of a fresh, autumn morning.

Aaron didn't know how they'd gone from celebrating a birth, to the end of Martha Levine's life. In seven days so much had happened; Henry had been born, Martha Levine had died, Amelia had taken personal time off (calling in via Strauss, and not Aaron— so, the unit chief had been none the wiser as to the reasoning for Amelia's sudden absence) and just this morning Strauss had told him of the reasoning.

Strauss hadn't mentioned anything about attending the funeral.

Aaron had taken it upon himself to book the whole team out of office and be there for Amelia.

He couldn't imagine the absolute heartbreak Amelia was going through, and her attempts to shield it from the team. Dealing with things alone again, and again and again.

Aaron wasn't going to have that. They were going to be there for her whether Amelia liked it or not. She had very little choice in the matter, considering the team were already stood outside the Church waiting for the impending arrival of the hearse.

Penelope, with her arms looped through Derek's and nestled into his side for warmth, sighed. "Do you think she'll really want us here?" The blonde asked, peering up at Derek with a frown on her face. A frown that couldn't seem to be wiped away (no matter how hard Derek tried) knowing how much pain her best friend was in.

Penelope had been here before. Penelope had sat in the hearse that had carried her own mother to her final resting place. You could never quite shake the feeling. No matter how long ago it was; the silence of the vehicle, the abundance of grief. You could try and forget the feeling it left you with, but losing someone and being with them on their final journey printed itself into your skin, and into your memory.

"No," Derek stated plainly, looking down at Penelope with what could only be expressed as remorse, "But, she doesn't realize how much she needs her people."

Rossi rubbed his gloved hands together, looking over the crowd of people who stood in waiting outside the Church. There was a lot of people. It was surprising to Rossi. From what he'd heard Martha Levine hadn't been this stellar woman with a positive impact on people's lives. But, here, on the steps of the Church and lining the footpath, there was crying men and women, grief written over their faces and poured out into their tissues to soak up their tears.

Rossi supposed people claimed to like you more when you were dead.

"Big crowd." Rossi murmured, raising his eyebrows as he spoke to Aaron, "Must've been a good woman."

Aaron doubted anyone with the last name 'Levine' other than Amelia was good.

He merely nodded. He hadn't spoke much since Strauss had told him what was going on. Aaron had told the team all together that they were going to attend the funeral to be beacons of support for Amelia, but hadn't said much since. His coffee had been left unattended and soon went cold on the drive to the Church and a frown planted firmly on his face— Rossi might even argue firmer than he had ever seen it before.

Emily squinted her eyes, seeing a sleek black car approaching, "She's here."

The team knew she wasn't referring to Martha.

The hearse held the coffin of the woman they all gathered to say goodbye to.

But, they were here to see Amelia.

No matter how cruel it sounded.

"Oh," Penelope whispered, watching as the back doors were opened to the hearse and Amelia came out on one side and her father the other. A single white rose clutched between Amelia's fingers, "My poor girl."

Through the large window at the back of the vehicle, the pine coffin was visible, surrounded by flowers and a wreath placed on the top. Roses, peonies and geraniums all alike in color, pinks, purples and reds. Penelope wondered if they were Martha's favorite colors. She wondered if Amelia had spent hours deciding back and forth between the best flowers to give her mom the most beautiful send off.

(The flowers had been the only part of the funeral Amelia had been allowed any input on.)

Amelia stood beside the vehicle, with her fingers digging into the stem of the single rose in her hand, as she watched Thomas join with the altar boys to be coffin bearers. Thomas had said only men could be apart of this part of the service and Amelia was to be the stand-alone who walked behind the coffin. (She didn't want to be alone.) Amelia and Thomas hadn't been able to come up with 5 other men who knew Martha well enough to hold her coffin.

The altar boys would have to do.

Amelia hadn't turned to look at the mass of people behind her, she thought it might make her sick to know that other people knew. People knew her mom was dead. Her friends, neighbors, (co-workers)... they all knew Martha Levine was dead, and they joined her today to say goodbye.

Yet, none of them could bring her back.

Amelia had never needed Martha Levine more than she needed her now.

Amelia had needed Martha on the night of prom, when Amelia hadn't known what to do with mascara and much less what to do with eyeliner, so she'd ran around the house in a state of panic only to find the woman had gone grocery shopping and wouldn't be back anytime soon to help Amelia's makeup dilemma. Amelia had felt like the world had ended that night when she needed her mom's guidance and Martha was nowhere to be seen.

Or, when Clara had died and Amelia was moving away from Seattle and needed her mom's help to pack up all of her belongings up into cardboard boxes and part with some of her fondest memories of her best friend because Amelia couldn't stomach to see them everyday anymore. Martha hadn't been there then either. She'd been on a European cruise and Amelia had to do it alone. The world ended that day too.

And whilst Amelia may have needed her mom on those days... she needed Martha now more than ever. For once in her life, Amelia needed her mom to hold onto her hand, with one arm strung around Amelia's shoulders and pulling her tight into her mom's side and telling her everything would be okay, that they'd get through this.

Everything wasn't going to be okay.

Amelia didn't know how to get through this.

The world had officially ended.

Thomas shook hands with the altar boys, accepted their condolences and before Amelia could even process it; the coffin was being lifted out the hearse and walked into the Church.

Carried by her loving husband.

And 5 altar boys.

One of Amelia's fingers twitched from around the stem of the rose, and she scratched at her nails with her finger. There was no nail polish left. There hadn't been for days. Amelia just had to scratch, and maybe she'd pick so hard that it could bleed.

Maybe it would drip onto the rose and it wouldn't be so pure anymore. (Just like her mother wasn't.)

Slowly, Amelia followed after the coffin. Her heart hammering out of her chest as she focused on her feet and the stone of the steps beneath them. She did not want to look up. And she did not want people to see her.

Maybe if she was lucky the ground would fall through and she wouldn't have to live another second of this.

Amelia had never been lucky.

The stale smell of the Church filled her nostrils, and the clicking of her heels on the linoleum floor echoed off the high walls and ceilings of the Church. She wanted to be sick and stain the sparkling floor beneath her. She wanted to run far away from here and never be seen again.

Amelia wanted to wake up from this nightmare that never seemed to end.

She followed dutifully behind the coffin, with the funeral goers slowly trickling in after her, picking up an order of service booklet as they did so. A picture of Martha Levine printed front and center; she looked happy. It was a picture taken before she'd ever met Thomas, before she'd had Amelia. When her life was normal, without the thrill. When life had been good to her. The booklet was a soft pink color with a design of lilies in the background.

Penelope held the booklet tightly in her hands as Aaron led them through the Church, they had been the first people to follow after Amelia. And Aaron led them straight for the second row of pews in the Church, where they would sit right behind Amelia and Thomas and be there.

She looked up at Derek with tears already in her eyes, before she turned her head to look around the Church. There was no denying the coldness of the Church, the walls decorated with half the stations of the cross on one side of the building and the other half on the other. Stone pillars and stone archways on either side, with a mural painted onto the dome roof above the altar. Similar to Michaelangelo's 'Creation of Adam' but, clearly, not the original. A large crucifix with a rendition of Jesus Christ nailed into hung low from one of the archways from where the Priest sat during his services, with the altar boys taking their seats next to him after they had placed the coffin on the bier, which was placed in the middle of the Church just in front of the altar.

You couldn't look away, and you couldn't hide from the warm pine wood of the coffin, covered in beautiful flowers that sat front and center in the room.

Penelope wanted to look away, but she couldn't as she sat down beside Derek on the pew. She wanted to look away from Amelia, who stood before the coffin, still clutching that white rose tightly between her fingers as the priest greeted Thomas.

Shaking hands and offering condolences.

Amelia didn't want to shake anyone's hand and be offered any condolences. She wanted to go back home, (her apartment, not the house in Washington.), and curl up under her bedding and never crawl back out.

She wanted to prick her hand on one of the thorns, so deep that she bled and maybe they'd have to take an intermission to give her a plaster.

Amelia wanted to prolong this.

She didn't want to say goodbye.

But, Thomas placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed so tightly Amelia swore it could leave a bruise, "Place your rose, and sit down. Y'know the order of service."

He didn't have a rose.

Amelia wondered if he loved Martha.

She nodded, obediently, as his shoes echoed off the linoleum in the silent church as he retreated to their pew.

His footsteps ceased for a short moment when he saw the group of people on the pew behind him. And his eyes narrowed at Aaron Hotchner and the glare that was thrown his way before genuflecting and sitting himself down on the pew.

Amelia didn't realize everyone was watching as she stared at the coffin in-front of her. The priest, the altar boys, her mom's friends, their neighbors, Martha's co-workers. She didn't know Derek, Emily, JJ, Penelope and Rossi were watching her every move; the tension in her shoulders and the tremble of her hands that they could see even from where they sat.

Aaron was watching her. And she was glad she didn't know that.

It felt like everyone in the room was just waiting for her to cry.

But, she bit her teeth into her lip and she scolded herself for even thinking about crying.

The priest stepped forward.

Amelia placed her rose down on-top of the coffin gently. Her hand lingering over the stem that was now spilt at the bottom. She brought her hand to her lips and pressed a delicate kiss to her skin before bringing that kiss back down on the rose.

She'd imagined it so many times before. The watchful eyes, the priest stepping forward so that they could get started and the gentle kiss she'd give her mother.

Amelia never thought it would become reality.

She stepped away from the coffin and cracked her knuckles in the silence of the Church, it wasn't a far walk to the pew Thomas sat on, but it had managed to feel like the longest walk of her life as she walked away from her mom.

She'd kept her gaze trained on the floor before she'd recognized the black, smart shoes that stretched out into the aisle because his legs were too long to fit in the small gap between the pews.

And Amelia felt her heart sink as she looked up from the floor.

No. No.

She stared at Aaron Hotchner with what could only be described as disbelief.

Her eyes wide, yet already turning red in their corners as she swallowed back tears. Her skin so pale despite the layer of concealer it was covered in, her lips parted in what was her shock at seeing him here. And the feeling of dread that Aaron couldn't see, but had felt it wash over her anyway.

Amelia then looked away from him. To Derek. To Penelope. To Emily. To JJ. To Rossi. To Spencer.

She felt so sick as she turned away from them to genuflect and slide into the pew beside Thomas.

How could they be here? Why would they be here? They can't support her through this. Why is this happening?

Why is any of this happening?

The priest held his hands together as he stood before them all, a remorseful smile on his lips, "Thank you all for coming together today to celebrate the life of Martha Levine. Friends and family, please join us in our first hymn."

Everyone stood up. Amelia much slower than the rest as her eyes trained on the large, memorial picture of Martha Levine held up on an easel just before her pew.

She couldn't believe this was happening.

✺

The priest kept speaking, it felt like he would never run out of words. He kept talking about God and how He was going to graciously accept the soul of Martha Levine to His heaven, to protect her and await for the time where her loved ones would join her up in heaven.

(Martha was never going to heaven.)

(And Thomas Levine wasn't either.)

The priest kept coming back to hope. And how her mom would want them all to live with hope for a better future, that whilst there are cloudy days the sun while shine upon them eventually. There will be days where it doesn't hurt so much and you feel as though you can breathe. The priest said; "You needn't stare at the wall and watch everyday pass by, you need to remember Martha for the woman that she was. A woman who loved and laughed and had left a little bit of joy with everyone in this room. A woman who wouldn't want you to let grief overcome your hearts, but have hope that one day you will be reunited with her in heaven, and before that time you have hope that you can smile when you talk about her."

Amelia would rather let the grief overcome her, because she felt like she hadn't breathed in a week and she didn't know when the sun would shine again. She would rather let everyday that her mom wasn't here pass her by.

Eventually, the priest stepped aside, he sat down in his chair beside the altar boys and Thomas stepped over Amelia's feet and made his way towards the lectern, a Bible held in his hands with the red string marking the page he wanted to read from. Amelia hadn't seen that Bible in years, actually when Thomas had pulled it out of the bookshelf it had been coated in a layer of dust.

She wasn't quite sure when her mom and dad had become such religious people.

Thomas cleared his throat, his palms settled either side of the book as he looked up and upon the faces of those sat beneath him in the pews. Many were wiping their tears. Many were staring blankly at him. He wasn't the most popular amongst Martha's friends. He wasn't popular at all with them. He was far from popular.

And they couldn't wait to hear what he had to say.

"A reading from the book of Isaiah," Thomas paused, taking a deep breath and read from his Bible; "The righteous perish, and no one ponders it in his heart; devout men are taken away, and no one understands that the righteous are taken away to be spared from evil."

"Those who walk uprightly enter into peace; they find rest as they lie in death." Thomas finished his short reading, nodding his head before stepping down from the lectern, stopping at Martha coffin, and leaning down to press a kiss to the wood.

He soon sat back down next to Amelia as another hymn played.

Amelia stared at the lectern that she would soon be standing at, but she wasn't focusing on that surprisingly. She focused on the reading that had fell from Thomas' lips. Martha was apart of the righteous, spreading God's word and doing good for others on behalf of God. She was one of the righteous who had to suffer and die prematurely, while the wicked prosper and outlive her. But, it was supposed to be a comforting passage in which the aggrieved was reassured that Martha had found her spot beside God, giving her His thanks for all her righteousness.

Amelia didn't understand. Her head was swimming was confusion. When had her mom been this religious? It didn't make sense.

Thomas Levine had planned this whole thing, from the entrance hymn to the exit hymn, from the readings to who read a eulogy. And God seemed to be ever present. More present than God ever had been in Amelia's life.

(It was like Thomas was in a desperate search for God. As his guilt searched for some reprise from what he had done.)

Then, the hymn came to a close and Amelia's feet were moving on their own and leading her to stand behind the lectern, leading her to stand before everyone and give a eulogy about Martha Levine.

To give a eulogy about her mom.

To give a eulogy about the body of a woman lay still in a box not so far away from the lectern.

Amelia had to recite it from memory, she'd spent the last seven days learning it off by heart; staring at herself in the mirror as the practiced words fell from her tongue. The practiced, loving, truthful words that fell from her tongue.

As Amelia came to stand behind the lectern and she cracked her knuckles yet again, staring at the wood that the stand was comprised of instead of staring out onto the faces that filled the Church; Amelia wasn't sure she could do this. How could she?

How could anyone do this?

Her mind seemed to move at a pace that she was uncomfortable with as the words from her practiced eulogy getting scrambled and all out of sorts. She wanted someone to stand up, place themselves behind her and forcibly unscramble her brain and put it back in the correct order; put the words she wanted to say back to the way they should be, put her heart back together but don't glue it together with grief, and she wanted each part of her brain to not be reminded of the fact Martha Levine wasn't here anymore.

It was so odd. Amelia had never felt such a strong connection to her mom, there had always felt like there was a missing piece between them, a missing love that all mother and daughters had. Amelia had desired it her whole life. She'd wanted it so bad. But, as she grew older she'd also come to accept that she just wasn't going to get it. Amelia wasn't meant to be loved that way, and she accepted it.

She'd grew to accept the distance between her and Martha and recognize she couldn't do anything about it. Amelia stopped in her attempts to close the distance once she'd gotten older.

And, now Amelia's heart hurt more than it ever had.

She blamed it on the turn around in which that had left to Martha's death. The way one moment everything had been fine and Amelia wasn't prepared for anything bad to happen, to which everything bad had happened.

It was so quick.

Amelia's head lifted from looking at the lectern to the coffin.

Martha was wearing a pretty dress to be buried in.

And her finest jewelry.

Amelia gripped the sides of the lectern as if it would provide her any strength, or composure.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly.

Amelia hadn't noticed.

Aaron had.

And Derek had too.

The two men exchanged a look in the silence of the building, then a nod followed, something silently communicated between them.

Aaron began shifting on the pew.

Amelia opened her mouth to speak the words: "My mother is a loving, good woman."

Aaron felt his heart shatter to pieces on the floor at the sound of her voice, at the sound of her declaration. He could feel her grief, he could hear her grief. And he just wanted to wrap her up and take her away from here. Away from everything that was breaking her heart.

Aaron didn't care that this was a necessary passage in Amelia's life. Parents die. Whether we like it or not there comes the day where you have to bury your mom, or your dad. It's a rite. That didn't mean Aaron liked it; he didn't like that Amelia was experiencing it, that he was just watching her experience it as she tried to blindly navigate this time in her life.

And it certainly didn't mean Aaron liked watching her heart break like this.

"Fuck." She cursed tearfully, tucking her chin to her chest as she took a shaky breath and squeezed her eyes shut. Her grip on the lectern tightening.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

She couldn't do this. It was so hard. How does anyone do this?

How do you say goodbye? Like this? In a room full of people who loved your mom, a room full of people who saw her as compassionate and generous, an actual good woman.

How could Amelia take the stand and lie to them? Martha Levine was not a loving woman. She did not love Amelia, she did not love Thomas. She did not love Amelia more than she had to, she loved Amelia at the bare minimum that every mother has to love their daughter. Nothing more. Sometimes maybe less. Amelia often felt like her mom had loved her students more than her.

Martha Levine was not a good woman. She was not compassionate or generous. She was not good. She did not stop Thomas' constant chiding of Amelia and her dreams, she did nothing to stop the constant critiques of someone who just wanted to help a missing girl. She kept her mouth shut. Let herself be berated too. She never helped patch Amelia up after the times Thomas had gone too far, or fought against Thomas when he warned Martha to not help the girl after she fell off her bike.

She always just watched and watched. She fell under the control of Thomas Levine and never cared to crawl out.

Amelia exhaled shakily. Her mother was none of these things. She was dead.

"My mother was a loving, good woman."

Was. Was. Was. Was.

She wasn't. But, you miss her, don't you? You need her, Amelia. You need her to hold you like she did that night and you need her to tell you that she's proud of you and that she loves you. You need her, Amelia. You need her to guide your chin up and finish this fucking eulogy and you need her to wipe your tears and kiss your temple softly.

You're not sure if you love her either. But, you miss her. And, you need her.

Amelia covered her mouth with her hand as she stepped back from the lectern, shaking her head as her eyes filled with tears.

My mother was a loving woman. My mother was a loving woman. My mother was a loving woman. My mother was a loving woman. She wanted to tug at the hair on her scalp, she wanted to scream, she wanted to fall to the floor and never get back up. She wanted to breathe.

Why couldn't she breathe?

An arm came wrapped around her shoulder, leading her away from the lectern, away from the coffin, "Breathe, sunshine, breathe. I need you to breathe, okay?" Derek whispered, sitting her down on the pew the team occupied, sandwiching her between himself and Aaron, his hand tightly squeezing her shoulder, "I got you, I got you, but you need to breathe."

She could not breathe.

She could not tear at her hair. She could not scream. She could not fall to the floor and never get back up.

But, she could cry.

Her body twisted and angled itself facing towards Derek, Amelia's face hidden away into his neck and her body leaning on his for warmth as she cried. The harsh breaths leaving her filling the otherwise silent Church.

Why was this happening? Why did she have to die? And why even in death was I still lying about the woman she was?

Aaron feared his heart would never be able to piece itself back together at the sound of her sobs. Even as she tried to hide them, or make them quieter, Aaron could hear them. He could hear the hitch in her breathing, the way it hurt her to cry.

He placed a soothing hand on her back, his thumb rubbing circles against the material of her dress.

Amelia felt like her already hot skin was on fire at the touch. But, for the first time today she did not feel as sick.

She couldn't stop the tears from streaming down her cheeks, and she still couldn't believe this was happening.

But, it was the safest she'd felt in the last seven days of her life.

✺

Watching that pine casket be lowered into the earth would haunt Amelia.

She would never forget the feeling of the dirt in her hands before she had dropped it onto the top of the coffin.

Amelia could never forget the way Derek had held onto her hand when she'd walked away from her mom one last time and kept her steady. Kept her grounded. Reminded her she was alive. (Whilst her mom was not.)

Now, the complete BAU team sat round a table at the wake. Emily was picking at the food she'd fetched from the buffet table and sharing that plate with JJ. Rossi nursing a glass of whiskey, because after a funeral he felt like he needed it. Penelope sat biting at her nails, as Spencer cautioned her on how many germs were passed onto her hands from her mouth every time she put her nails in her mouth. And Amelia found herself, yet again, sandwiched between Aaron and Derek, both glancing at her silent form every other minute to check whether she was breathing, and whether she was present.

Whilst her breathing was still recovering from how erratic it had been earlier, it was still better than what it was.

Being present wasn't something she'd nailed though.

Derek squeezed her hand in his to garner her attention, "You should eat, pretty girl. What d'you want me to get from the table?"

Amelia hadn't said a word since they'd left the Church and arrived at some fancy function hall. She didn't have much to say. She just wanted this day to be over.

She glanced at the buffet table, watching Thomas accept further condolences from some of her mom's friends, telling him how beautiful the service was and that they hope Amelia was okay. They warned him they'd bring round a lasagna tomorrow for the Levines to eat.

She didn't want lasagna.

And she also didn't want anything from that buffet table. She knew what foods her dad had selected, and she knew she liked none of them.

"'M not hungry." She murmured.

"You need to eat." Derek pushed, squeezing her hand to make her look at him, "Tell me what you want from the table and I'll get it for you. Don't even have to get up and talk to anyone. I'll do it."

Amelia shook her head, detangling her hand from his and standing up, "I'll go." She said, quietly, "Barely anything I like up there, so I'll go."

She left the table before Derek could even tell her to 'be quick'.

The queue for the buffet was long, Amelia supposed people worked up an appetite after a few tears and prayers for the dead. She took a paper plate from the pile and constantly shifted her weight from one foot to the other as she waited for the people ahead of her to move along. It's not that she was beginning to get agitated, it was just the old man at the front of the queue was certainly taking his time on a day when Amelia didn't have the patience.

She'd lost that when she'd woken up and all her feelings felt wrong and everything she felt made her skin crawl.

She wanted a new body.

One that didn't constantly feel sick.

Someone tapped at her shoulder, and like a crazed woman she practically knocked the stranger off her feet with the speed at which Amelia turned to face her.

"Oh—!" The woman chuckled, "Sorry, I shoulda known better than sneak up on ya, 'M so sorry, Amelia." She stood outside of the buffet queue, and Amelia furrowed her eyebrows in confusion as to who she was before stepping out of buffet queue too and standing before this stranger.

(The old man was seriously taking too long, and Amelia hoped that by the time this woman passed along her condolences he would be out of the queue and Amelia could grab a small handful of food quickly.)

"I was devastated to hear about your mother," the stranger shook her head, this soft smile on her face as she reminisced on all the memories of her loving, good friend Martha. "We had our ups and downs, no denying that," the stranger laughed, "But, she was a real good friend to me, and I'll never forget her."

Amelia couldn't help but think that when the stranger smiled, her lips curved upwards into such a soft, familiar smile, that Amelia swore she wore it when she smiled in the same way.

Amelia wasn't smiling though, and a frown of confusion was tugging at her lips, "Sorry— not to be rude, but... who—? Who are you?"

Friend? Amelia didn't know Martha had friends. (She didn't know about book club either.) She didn't think her mom was the type to make friends.

But, then there was many people at this funeral and wake. They had to of been friends of some sort to be here.

"Oh," the stranger laughed, a small shake of her head followed, "Your mother wasn't one to talk about the past, huh?"

Amelia knew this woman. She knew the face before her. It was familiar. In a way that Amelia couldn't quite put her finger on. It was annoying, wasn't it? To know someone by face, but not by their name?

"I'm Katrina, Katrina Adler."

Amelia's heart had been beating outside her chest all day. But, now she swore it had stopped beating.

"Me and your mom were good friends when she lived in New York. Me and your mom. Your dad and my... well ex-husband."

Holy fucking shit.

Holy crap.

What the fuck.

"Oh." Amelia laughed nervously, trying her best to conceal that this was the same woman who she'd sent e-mails over the years, offering continuous support to help find Daisy Adler, asking for any further evidence or theories. This was the same woman who probably would get a restraining order if she knew how many files Amelia had on Daisy, and how she had a whole whiteboard dedicated to her search.

You wouldn't be able to tell that just from someone's face. Right?

"She— she never mentioned you." Amelia knew it was for good reason. She didn't want Amelia getting more involved, asking more questions than she already did, getting more obsessed.

Katrina shrugged, almost sadly, "It's been years since we've spoke, we lost contact when she left New York so quickly." And then followed a sad sigh. "It's a bit odd, I'll admit, we were very close and she never once mentioned me?"

"No," the manner in which Amelia responded was almost sad. "She doesn't— she didn't really talk much about her life before I was born."

Katrina frowned, before she smiled, "Well, if you ever want a story or two, I know a few, yeah?" She laughed. "I know a damn few good stories about your mother," Katrina leaned in as if she was telling Amelia a secret, "And a damn few about your father. So, if you ever want a few on either of 'em, I'm your source."

Amelia, in that moment, felt an ache in her chest lessen, "I'll be... I'll be sure to find you."

"Oh, it won't take much, sweetheart," the term rolled off Katrina's tongue so easily, it felt as though it was made for Amelia. "I don't live far. Virginia's my home now, been here for thirty years and I know all the best coffee shops to tell a good story in."

She left New York. Katrina left New York straight away, after Daisy's disappearance.

Amelia didn't speak for a moment, letting a silence fall over them as she pieced together the timeline in her head, corresponding it with that of Charlie's— she needed to get home and write this down as soon as possible.

Katrina saw silence as an opportunity, "Y'know... you are just... truly beautiful." She spoke like a mother. She spoke with a maternal love. And Amelia didn't know whether that was healing some of the jagged edges of her heart, or making them worse knowing she hadn't brought the daughter - who deserved that maternal love - home yet. "I remember the day Martha came over and told me she was pregnant— she was ecstatic. I was a couple weeks ahead of her and already knew I was having a girl, and all Martha could go on and on about was how she hoped hers was a girl too. 'A girl to cherish' was what she'd say. 'A girl to love'." Katrina smiled fondly, despite the distance that had grown between the two women she could not look back on their memories with anything but fondness and appreciation, "She'd talk my ear off about the playdates our girls would have, how they'd grow up to be best friends."

Katrina smiled at Amelia, "My Daisy and you would've been two peas in a pod."

There returned that feeling where Amelia felt her heart stop. And she could not hide the way her face fell.

Was it fate? Had Amelia always been destined to want to find Daisy when it had been the desire for them to be best friends? She was supposed to find her best friend. (That she'd never met.)

"Sorry," Katrina hastily apologized, rubbing a hand down her face in frustration, "Sorry. I just— I always end up talkin' about her, can't stop myself. Sorry."

"'S okay," Amelia whispered before she found the courage to speak louder, but softly, "'S okay, really. I'd— I'd love to hear more about her, y'know? Daisy." She clarified. Amelia didn't know if she could hear more about the woman her mom was before she'd had Amelia. "I could hear you talk about her for hours."

The relief Katrina wore spoke volumes to the weight that was just lifted off her chest, as she pulled her phone out of her small clutch.

✺

Aaron glanced down at his watch, tapping his foot against the hard wood floor before deciding Amelia had been taking too long and telling Derek he'd be right back. His eyebrows furrowed as he watched Amelia exchange numbers with a much older woman at a funeral.

Aaron's hand settled on Amelia's shoulder and squeezed gently. From the squeeze alone Amelia had recognized who it was, so she did not flinch or spin around quickly, she looked up and smiled softly at Aaron, "Hi." She whispered.

And for a spilt second Aaron had forgotten every worry he'd had about her and focused on that soft voice and the butterflies that erupted inside him at that moment.

"Hi," he whispered, just as softly back to her, "You get your food yet?"

Amelia shook her head, "No, I got distracted."

Katrina laughed quietly, reaching out and squeezing Amelia's arm, "We'll talk soon." She winked before leaving the two alone.

"Who was that?" Aaron asked immediately once Katrina was gone, not even waiting till the woman was out of earshot, as he led Amelia back into the queue for the buffet, picking up the paper plate she had discarded minutes before.

"One of my mom's friends." She replied, watching as Katrina hid herself amongst the people and managed to leave the wake venue without having been spotted by Thomas. "She was nice."

Aaron hummed, the queue to the buffet moving much quicker now that the older man at the front had left and was now seated at one of the tables, his eyes scanned all the dishes of food and he had a hard time putting anything on Amelia's plate considering he knew she didn't like most of these options. "Did you have any input on the menu?"

"Nope."

He sighed, managing to place the last two mini pizzas on her plate before someone else snatched them up. "You don't like anything else here."

Amelia didn't know when he'd learnt everything she didn't like.

But, she couldn't help the way her skin seemed to alight with goosebumps.

"If you ask Derek, 'M sure he'd buy you a full, regular sized pizza." Aaron huffed, handing the plate over to Amelia as they stepped away from the buffet.

Amelia shook her head with what he hoped was a quiet laugh, "'S okay, 'M not that hungry."

He nodded, squeezing her shoulder again, "I know," He always knew, "Just... just make sure you finish those two ridiculously sized pizzas, okay?"

She looked up at him with a smile.

Aaron returned the favor. Until, he heard footsteps and saw who was approaching. "You go sit down, yeah?"

Amelia's eyebrows furrowed, glancing over her shoulder and scurrying away like a frightened deer back to the table where the BAU sat. It wasn't everyday she found the courage to run away from Thomas Levine, but when Aaron was gripping her shoulder and knew she was safe... she felt the courage to do so.

Thomas clicked his fingers, a sadistic grin on his face, "Andrew, right? Amelia's boss—?"

"Aaron." He clarified gruffly, crossing his arms stiffly across his chest, "Aaron Hotchner, supervisory special agent to the BAU." Full title. You heard him.

Thomas' grin only widened, "Right." His eyebrows raised, almost to feign that he was impressed with the title, "I don't think we got to talk the last time I was at the offices, shame, really. I would've loved getting to know Amelia's boss."

Aaron's eye twitched. He didn't dare ask what the man meant by that.

Thomas would explain for him, "I mean, unit chiefs— they are just not Amelia's forte, as I'm sure you know. 'S her own fault really—"

Aaron clenched his jaw.

"James Conrad he was good at his job, great man. One of the best," Thomas shrugged, "'M sure you are too, it's just we won't get many opportunities to see each other. Or— ever again, actually." He laughed. And Aaron swore the devil was in the room. "Amelia's told you right? Having to look after her old man instead of workin'?"

Aaron's jaw might break with how tightly it was clenched.

"I mean— 'M gonna have to sell the house, move here... the whole lot and we need each other. In times of grief families come together."

Family. Family. Thomas Levine was a disgrace to the word family. Everytime the word fell from his lips, actually, it felt like someone was spitting over the whole idea of family.

"She's not—"

"Hotch—" Emily called, coming up to the two men with a natural furrow in her brow, but a scowl on her face when she saw Thomas. Emily's mother had taught her to apologize for interrupting. But, Thomas wasn't worthy of that. "We gotta go. Strauss called, she wants us back and somehow we've got a case."

Aaron frowned. "How?"

Emily shrugged, "I don't know, she just called Rossi and demanded our 'undivided' attention. We better get going."

Aaron looked over Thomas' shoulder, watching the team stand up from the chairs and hug Amelia one by one, kissing her cheek and even from where he stood he could almost hear their reassurances and telling her to call them whenever for whatever.

He nodded his head slowly, "Yeah... okay."

Emily nodded too, walking away from Aaron to give Amelia her goodbyes.

Thomas chucked darkly, "Ain't that a coincidence? You turn up, uninvited to my wife's funeral and wake, and you land a case." He tapped his finger against Aaron's chest, "Have fun in Georgia, Hotch."

Aaron wanted to kill a man.

But, he knew he couldn't. He couldn't harm the man either.

Thomas knew that too as the rest of the BAU team headed out of the building, planning on waiting for their unit chief to walk out after them.

Thomas walked away from the unit chief too, laughing to himself.

Aaron nearly left the wake without saying goodbye to Amelia because he was so angry.

But, footsteps following after him and tugging on his hand stopped him from going anywhere. "Aaron."

It was the most beautiful sound falling from her lips.

He turned on his heel to face her, it hadn't even been that long since he'd last seen her. Mere minutes. Yet, she still managed to knock the air out of his lungs.

Wordlessly, Amelia leaned up and pressed her lips softly against his cheek. "Thank you." She whispered.

It was the softest lips ever pressed against his skin.
It was the softest words ever spoken to him.

She smiled before she retreated back to the wake.

Aaron's hand lingered on his cheek, where her lips had been, where she'd murmured softly against his skin. His skin felt like it was on fire.

He felt set alight by the smallest of touches. The simplest of kisses.

Aaron could only watch her walk away, stunned at the butterflies that invaded his system.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:
okay 😁 lots to discuss! here are cannon events that absolutely happened at martha's wake that i didn't feel like fit into the chapter at all:
- harper absolutely turned up and her and amelia sat around drinking champagne after the bau team had left
- GIDEON. YES HIM. definitely came to the wake, but didn't want to be spotted by anyone else so he came really late and also drunk champagne with amelia and harper
- charlie (our fave man fail) sent amelia a condolences text

whilst i would've loved to have written all these things into this chapter it would've been too much for my tiny pea brain. this chapter was EXHAUSTING. writing funerals are EXHAUSTING. as a brit, idk how american services work soooo don't attack me for that pls 🙏 and i have immense funeral trauma (yes i just made that term up, thank me in your psychology textbooks) i attended 3 funerals in under 6 months last year, to then sit and write a funeral scene— YEAH. that's a lot more pressure than anticipated

in my opinion it's not up to my standard of usual writing but it was getting to the point i was like OKAY just finish the funeral bit and get to the wake. i think at times this chapter is very disjointed and it might not make a lot of sense at points but im gonna say that's structure! a reflection of amelia's mental state!

long author's note omg im so sorry but how sick am i for progress at a funeral gang? HOW SICK AND TWISTED? anyway, love you all!! 💝💘💘💗