Spencer returned, sitting down solemnly across from (y/n), who stared at the floor. She didn't see him as he looked up at her, nor did she see the way he wrestled internally about trying to comfort her. 
If she had, she might have realized that maybe he didn't hate her, after all. 
JJ sat beside her, and (y/n) could tell from her silence she was feeling just as hopeless. When she heard the sound of rustling, the agent looked over in time to see Emily grasp JJ's hand tightly, silently offering her empathy. 
If she wasn't feeling so empty, (y/n) would have smiled. 
The young woman adjusted her gaze back to the floor, bouncing her leg anxiously. After a few minutes, she noticed this did nothing to calm the anxiety that ate away at her, and instead took to pacing quickly around the small room. 
Towards the wall - away from the others - and back again. 
She managed to do it twice before someone intervened. 
As she walked, all she could feel was being with Josie again, as her friend took her dying breaths. The bullet had entered just above where her vest covered. The medics said it ripped through the top of her right lung; meaning that even if she had survived she wouldn't be the same. 
At least she would've been alive, she thought, as her shoes tapped the floor rhythmically with her footsteps. 
(y/n) was so wrapped up in the trauma - the feeling of Josie's blood seeping through her fingers - that when she turned to walk back to them, she was surprised to be greeted by a chest. 
She looked up to see the face - but she already knew who it was. (y/n) recognized the cardigan, the smell of vanilla chapstick. 
"Sorry," she said, blinking rapidly. He shook his head, looking just as upset as she felt. 
"It's okay," he replied quietly as she pushed her hair behind her ears - just to give her hands something to do. He stood standing there, one hand raised as if he was going to hug her. 
But he didn't, and she got tired of waiting, so she sidestepped him and continued her pacing. 

Morgan stormed in shortly after like a whirlwind. (y/n) looked up as she heard him enter, before resting her forehead on her propped-up knee. The others gathered around him as he demanded to know the details of the case. 
But they had none, and there was nothing to glean from the crime scene. They were running on literally nothing but luck - and they'd been running on absolutely nothing if she didn't survive. 
"There's nothing you could have been doing here," Spencer's voice called out softly to Morgan, and she found herself lifting her gaze when she heard his voice. 
"The police got any leads?" Morgan asked anxiously. 
"I spoke to the lead detective," Hotch replied "he doesn't think we'll get anything from the scene."
(y/n) adjusted her position on the chair so her forearms were braced on her knees, wringing her hands together. 
When the doctor walked in, she stood abruptly.