Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The town of Millhaven sat tucked between two ridges and a river, the kind of place where rust clung to every metal sign and gossip traveled faster than the current. The air smelled faintly of motor oil and rain. A row of American flags hung limp outside the squat brick police station, as if even the wind couldn’t be bothered to move them.

Emily Prentiss adjusted the strap of her go-bag, the movement sharp and precise — a small act of control in a place that immediately felt hostile. Morgan was already leaning against the SUV, jaw tight, watching as the local sheriff and his deputies approached. Their boots clanged against the metal grates of the station steps.

“Welcome to Millhaven,” Sheriff Dean said, the name stitched in gold thread above his badge. His eyes flicked to Emily. “And you must be the lady profiler they sent. Didn’t think the Bureau was that desperate.”

Emily’s mouth curved into something that looked like a smile but wasn’t. “Desperate times,” she said, dryly. “I’d hate to think the FBI was wasting your valuable time otherwise.”

Rossi’s brow twitched in quiet amusement beside her. Morgan coughed into his hand — probably to hide a grin. Reid, oblivious to the tension, was already flipping open the case file.

Hotch, ever the diplomat, stepped forward. “We appreciate your cooperation, Sheriff. We’ll need your full case files, the autopsy reports, and your evidence logs.”

The sheriff grunted. “Sure. We’ll get that together. In the meantime, doll, maybe you can go over the victimology with my guys? They’re curious about this ‘profiling thing’.”

Emily’s jaw flexed. Doll. It crawled under her skin like an old ghost of every dinner party her mother had ever dragged her to — where men in suits spoke to her like she was furniture. She’d perfected the art of smiling through it then. Now, it took effort not to let her hands curl into fists.

“Of course,” she said smoothly. “But I’ll need more than curiosity to work with. Do your detectives have an open mind, or should I fetch a crowbar?”

Morgan barked a laugh, but Hotch shot her a warning glance. Emily lowered her gaze, pretending to study her file. It wasn’t worth it — not here. Not now.

By mid-afternoon, she’d sat through three condescending explanations of how the local detectives had “already solved” the case, and one unsolicited comment about how “a woman’s touch probably helps the victims open up more.”

She’d swallowed each insult whole, washing it down with bitter stale coffee. On the outside, she was the picture of calm professionalism. Inside, she was fraying.

Keep it together, Prentiss she repeated in her mind. She could almost hear her mother’s voice: Diplomacy is about restraint, Emily. You don’t win wars with temper.

But her mother had never had to sit in a damp, wood-paneled room while men who barely scraped through the academy called her sweetheart and doll in front of her team.

When she finally stepped outside for air, the late afternoon light hit her face like reprieve. The rain had eased, leaving the world slick and golden. She leaned against the SUV, closing her eyes for a moment. The smell of pine and gasoline filled the air.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, notifying her of a text messages.

JJ: Hey, how’s it going out there? Garcia says the locals are probably chewing tobacco and calling you pet names. 

JJ had remained behind at the BAU. Hotch didn't want her to travel since she had been recovering from an ankle sprain. JJ had been annoyed with herself because it was self-inflicted, she picked up the injury running up a hiking trail a few days before this case came to be. 

A smile — small but real — tugged at the corner of Emily’s mouth. For the first time that day, her shoulders dropped from their rigid line. Jennifer Jareau had that effect on her — softening the edges she didn’t even realize had hardened.

Emily stared at the text a long moment before typing. The impulse to deflect, to joke, to mask, was automatic. But today had worn her raw, and she wanted — needed — something else. Something honest, if only wrapped in humor.

Her thumbs hovered above the keypad. She hesitated, then began typing, her words taking the form of an old explorer’s letter, because sincerity was easier to hide in wit.

Emily: My dearest Jennifer,

I must confess, I was perilously close to committing a grievous act of violence in response to the police chief’s remarks about a ‘female profiler’ working his case. It took much effort for me to rein in my fury, but alas, I am bound by the laws that govern this nation.

I long to be near you, to take comfort in a companion whose wit could match mine and whose company does not test my sanity. There are no faces here that bring me joy nor reason to smile.

The case grows bleaker by the hour; Morgan and I are off to interview a witness who may yet hold the key to this mess. I fear for my sanity, but know I will try to return to you intact.

Yours faithfully,

E.P.

She sent it before she could second-guess herself. After it sent, she read over the text. The words looked too raw, even hidden under sarcasm. She could feel her pulse jump at the thought of JJ reading it — seeing through it.

“Emily?” Morgan called from the station door. “You ready?”

She locked her phone, slipping it into her pocket like contraband. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

Back in Quantico, JJ sat at her desk, the bullpen lit by the soft hum of monitors. Garcia was across the room, chattering into her headset about databases and digital footprints, but JJ’s focus was on her phone.

Emily’s message had come through a moment ago.

JJ read it once. Then again.

The humor made her laugh — that low, warm laugh that she always tried to suppress at work — but beneath it was something else. Something that made her chest ache.

There it was again — that subtle tenderness Emily always tried to disguise. It slipped out in the spaces between her words, in the way she said “I long to be near you” as though it were just a jest. JJ liked to think she knew Emily better than everyone. JJ knew Emily cared deeply for those around her and that she hid her feelings under sarcasm and humor.

JJ had known for a long time that everything related to Emily including this witty humor made JJ feel things.

And yet, she did nothing about those feelings.

She told herself it was because of work — because of boundaries, professionalism, risk. But deep down, it was fear. Fear of what people would say. Fear of what her mother would think. Fear of stepping outside the perfect, polished image she’d spent her life maintaining.

You don’t get to have that, she’d told herself once, after too many nights lying awake replaying Emily’s laugh in her head. Not that kind of love. Not with her.

JJ’s fingers hovered over her phone. JJ felt determined to reply to Emily with something that would make Emily smile. 

JJ: Dearest Emily, your bravery in the face of small-town barbarism is truly inspiring. Do try not to commit murder — paperwork is a nightmare. The BAU would be lost without you.

She hit send before she could think better of it. She hesitated for a second after, then sent a second message.

JJ: And for what it’s worth… I miss having your face around here too.

Garcia appeared at her side, startling her. “What are you smiling at, Jayje?”

JJ quickly locked her screen. “Just… Emily being Emily.”

Garcia grinned knowingly. “Ah, our dark queen of sarcasm. Tell her not to burn the town down.”

JJ full belly laughed, thinking about how Emily can be rebellious and mischievous at times — so Emily Prentiss burning a small-town down in retaliation to the police departments incompetence and misogyny is not that far off in the relam of possibilities. JJ wanted to tell Garcia everything — about the old letter type text, the ache that came with it, the way Emily’s words made something inside her twist and yearn. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. Not yet.

The night in Millhaven stretched long. The team spent hours interviewing witnesses and cross-referencing timelines. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like mosquitoes.

Emily’s patience was running thin. She was exhausted — from the case, from the performative civility, from pretending that her walls didn’t hurt to hold up.

Morgan had gone to grab coffee, leaving her alone in the conference room with the suspect’s photos spread out like ghosts on the table. She stared at them but wasn’t really seeing. Her thoughts drifted to JJ’s text — to that small, dangerous line: I miss having your face around here too.

It shouldn’t have meant so much. But it did.

Emily closed her eyes, exhaling slowly.

You’re being ridiculous, she told herself. She’s your friend. She cares — that’s all.

But the warmth that flooded her chest said otherwise.

She could still picture JJ’s golden smile, soft and sincere, the one that always reached her blue eyes. The way JJ always looked so poised and professional and yet welcoming and warm.

It terrified Emily.

Because Emily Prentiss didn’t get to keep people. History had taught her that. Her mother’s world had been built on distance and duty, and Emily had inherited both. Every time she let someone close, she lost them — through circumstance, through betrayal, through her own fear.

It was safer to stay apart. To admire from a distance. To be needed but never truly known.

And yet… JJ. JJ made her want.

Later, back at the motel, Emily sat on the small lumpy bed, hair damp from a too-hot shower, phone in hand. The room smelled faintly of detergent and cheap cigarettes. She reread their messages, thumb brushing over JJ’s words.

She wanted to reply — to say something real, something that would tell JJ how much those words had meant. But the urge warred with the voice in her head that always whispered she was too much, too strange, too broken. A voice that sound eerily similar to her mother.

Instead, she typed:

Emily: Rest easy, Agent Jareau. I’ve survived another day without comitting any acts of violence. Hopefully,  I’ll see you soon.

She hit send, then set the phone aside, lying back on the bed. The ceiling fan hummed above her.

For a long moment, she just stared into the dark, letting herself imagine — just for tonight — what it might feel like to stop being afraid.

Back in Quantico, JJ’s phone buzzed one last time before she left the office. She smiled at the message, then slipped the phone into her bag, unaware that across the miles, Emily was lying awake doing the same thing — both of them orbiting around the same truth, too afraid to fall into it.

Chapter Text

The morning sunlight crept through the motel blinds in thin, determined slats, falling across Emily Prentiss like a spotlight she hadn’t asked for. After a quick cold shower to wake her up, she tugged on a clean shirt and a pair of cargo pants. A little act of rebellion, she fastened her belt just off-center enough to annoy purists. Hair damp from the shower was pulled into a ponytail. The motel mirror reflected a woman that was alert, professional, and slightly tense. She sighed deeply, it was going to be one of those days.

Her phone rang on the nightstand, and she snatched it up mid-motion as she was putting a jacket on.

JJ calling.

Immediately a small smile tugged at her lips. She pressed the phone to her ear, careful not to fumble with the clasp of her jacket.

“Good morning, Prentiss,” JJ’s voice said, warm and teasing. “Hope the breakfast options there are edible. And try not to throw your shoe through a suspect’s window before your first cup of coffee.”

Emily let out a short laugh, adjusting the strap of her bag over her shoulder. Stepping out of her room and sitting on the steps of the motel. “Morning, Jareau. I can assure you, the town’s culinary atrocities are being avoided so far. Though, give me time.”

“I expect nothing less,” JJ said, a mischievous lift in her tone. “Listen, Em… try to remain calm with the locals. I know how charming those small-town misogynists can be.”

Emily rolled her eyes, even though JJ couldn’t see her. “I’m going to be perfectly calm. I may take my frustrations out on the others first. You know, maybe shove Morgan into a puddle or have Reid explain the entire Fibonacci sequence to the Sheriff's deputies until they lose it and beat him up.”

JJ laughed, soft and low, almost a purr. “Permission granted, if it'll make you happier. But, just… remember, Emily, you’ll be a bully if you go that route. I don’t want you haunted by guilt before lunch.”

“I can live with that,” Emily said, smirking. There was a pause, charged with something neither of them said out loud. Longing, maybe, suspended in the line between them.

“Also…” JJ’s voice softened, the playfulness giving way to something more intimate, “text me through the day, okay? Just… little check-ins. I need to know you’re okay out there.”

Emily’s chest fluttered. She’d expected professional concern, but this… this was something else. “You want the explorer-letter style again?” she asked lightly, though her pulse betrayed her nonchalance.

“I liked that,” JJ admitted. “It was… charming. And clever. Let’s make it our thing, yeah? If it isn’t too much trouble.”

Emily froze mid-breath, smitten despite herself. The corners of her mouth lifted in a grin. “Consider it done. You’ll be the first to receive my poetic dispatches.”

“Good. And Em…” JJ’s voice lingered, low and sincere. “Be careful. You know, with the locals and the suspects. I worry about my favorite profiler.”

Emily laughed softly, hiding her face behind the phone. “I’ll survive, JJ. Mostly.”

“I know you will,” JJ said. “Just… don’t make me wish I was there to drag you out of trouble.”

Emily rolled her eyes, but her heart thudded anyway. “I’ll keep you posted." Emily remembered then, JJ wasn’t there because of a sprained ankle that JJ claimed she could walk off, so she quickly threw in a joke about it. "Also, how you going to drag me out of trouble when you can't even walk?”

It was JJ’s turn to roll her eyes, "I can't believe Hotch benched me for a sprained ankle. I'm perfectly fine right now." 

Emily replied sincerely "I'm sorry you got benched, but you did need to rest that ankle. You staying off it made it heal properly that's why it feels fine right now."

JJ retorted in a petulant tone "Thanks, voice of reason." She took a deep breath then said in a sincere tone "Em, I know we both have to get to work. We'll talk later, OK. Bye Em"

Emily was sad that she had to cut the call but JJ was right they had work "Right, good bye JJ, have a nice day".

Emily hung up, tucking her phone into her pants pocket. A warmth lingered in her chest, a dangerous, disarming warmth, and she had to remind herself to focus. Just then, a familiar loud cocky voice broke through the quiet.

“Prentiss!” Morgan called from the parking lot, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket. “Ready to play detective with the locals?”

Emily’s lips curved into a half-smile as she stepped outside. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Morgan eyed her, he had watched her when she was ending her call, a slow smirk spread across his face. “Aw, look at you. Blushing over the phone. Got yourself a boyfriend or something?”

Emily arched a brow, deadpan. “Sergio’s the only male I can put up with, you and your kind are not worth my energy”

Morgan chuckled, unconvinced, and nudged her shoulder. “Hmm. Sure, Em. Whatever you say. I'll find the stranger who put that smile on your face”

Rossi appeared behind them, arms crossed, eyes sparkling with quiet amusement. “Or maybe,” he said gently, “it’s someone closer to home not a stranger having an effect on Emily.”

Emily shot him a pointed look, perfectly still, deadpan to the core. “I assure you, Rossi, that my emotional responses are solely dictated by caffeine intake, my mother’s childhood expectations, and occasionally by local police incompetence. Nothing… or no one else.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Whatever you say.”

Emily followed Morgan to the SUV, still smiling faintly, her fingers brushing over her phone as though hoping for another message from JJ. The morning was bright, the town still sluggish with the residue of last night’s rain, but Emily couldn’t stop thinking about one very particular person who embodied sunshine. She had found a way into Emily’s thoughts—and maybe, just maybe, her heart. 

Chapter Text

The early morning light was muted behind a veil of fog as Emily and Morgan climbed into the SUV. The quiet hum of the engine was the only sound for a few moments, both agents lost in thought, mentally reviewing the case.

“Are you ready for this?” Morgan asked, glancing at Emily. He usually didn’t ask—it was more rhetorical—but the tension in his tone was real.

Emily smirked, adjusting the strap of her seat belt. “As ready as I’ll ever be, Agent Chocolate Muscles. Let’s go remind this town why we’re here.”

Morgan raised a brow at the teasing, his lips twitching with suppressed amusement. “Careful, Princess. Your insults are sharper before coffee.”

Their target was a man in his forties, a known petty criminal with a propensity for violent outbursts and evasive behavior. He’d been implicated in the recent assaults, and the team had tracked him, unsuprisingly, to a small, run-down warehouse on the edge of town.

They approached silently, Emily leading the way, badge and gun at the ready. The suspect emerged suddenly, a wild look in his eyes.

Stay calm, Emily reminded herself, mirroring JJ’s advice from the morning.

But the man didn’t stay calm. He lunged at Morgan first, and for a moment the world seemed to slow. Emily reacted instinctively, twisting his arm behind his back with a sharpness that belied her size. Morgan grabbed his other arm, and together, they wrestled the man to the ground.

“Your turn, Princess!” Morgan grunted, laughing despite the struggle.

Emily shot him a glare. “I’m not your sparring partner, Muscle!”

“You’d be the first to admit it,” he retorted, smirking.

Their banter continued mid-takedown, a surreal mix of humor and tension that kept them grounded even as the suspect kicked and shouted. Finally, between coordinated maneuvers and sheer determination, the man lay restrained on the ground. Emily panted, brushing hair from her damp forehead, while Morgan glanced down, impressed.

“Brawn and brains,” Emily said, straightening up with a killer smirk. “I think that’s us.”

Morgan grinned, though the edge of worry never left his eyes. “Don’t let it go to your head, brainiac. I'm sure Dr Reid would give you a run for your money.”

They transported the suspect back to the police station, where the local sheriff’s office seemed poised to erupt at any moment. As they entered, the Sheriff wasted no time.

“Finally!” he barked, his eyes flaring. “And you think you can just waltz in and—”

Emily cut him off smoothly, tone sharp. “We apprehended your suspect. You can argue about procedure later.”

Morgan smirked behind her. “Or not at all. We’re kind of busy being the solution here.”

The sheriff sputtered, red-faced, and the deputies shifted uncomfortably. Rossi stepped forward, hands raised, ready to calm the situation. Although, he had a glint in his eyes as if he was secretly proud of his agents smart mouths. 

“Gentlemen,” he said, calm and even, “let’s all remember why we’re here.”

Hotch followed, fixing the sheriff with a measured glare. “The team handled the suspect appropriately. Your ego does not dictate procedure.”

Morgan muttered something under his breath about “fragile male egos,” which Emily caught and smirked at.

Reid, ever helpful in his own way, leaned over to Emily and whispered, “Perhaps I could have suggested a negotiation tactic using the principles of game theory—”

Emily’s eyebrows shot up. “Reid. You think now is helpful?”

He nodded, oblivious to her sarcasm. “It would have minimized physical struggle and potential bruising.”

Emily let it slide since she now started to feel the bruises on her body. She also had other things to focus on, like paperwork....and JJ.

Paperework proved to take a lot of time and effort so Emily didn't get a chance to text JJ. Later, in the relative quiet of the motel room, Emily allowed herself a moment to compose a message to JJ. Fingers hovering over her phone, she thought carefully, then began typing in her old explorer letter style. JJ said she wanted Emily to send texts like that, it was their thing.

Emily:

My dearest Jennifer,

The day unfolded with vigor and a fair share of misadventure. Morgan and I engaged a suspect most determined to evade capture, yet between the meticulousness of my mind and the steadfastness of his strength, we prevailed where the local constabulary faltered. Their disgruntlement was as palpable as their bruised egos, leaving Hotch and Rossi to temper their vexation with the diplomacy of seasoned negotiators.

I must confess, amidst the triumph, my thoughts wandered—not to the victory itself, but to you. The notion of returning to a place absent of your golden light seems far too cruel a prospect. Each small success today is tempered by the absence of your presence, and yet, in the quiet moments, I find solace in the anticipation of our reunion.

Yours faithfully,

E.P.

She hit send, a soft sigh escaping her lips. The weight of the day pressed down, but the thought of JJ reading her words made her pulse quicken.

An hour later, her phone rang. The display read: JJ.

“Emily! Why didn’t you tell me you got hurt in your text?” JJ’s voice was sharp, panicked, and teetering on anger.

Emily blinked. “I… got a few bruises, yes, but minor. Nothing worth mentioning. Really.”

“You think I’d think that’s nothing?” JJ snapped. “You could have been seriously hurt, Emily!”

Emily softened her tone, careful to placate without sounding patronizing. “I promise, JJ. I’m okay. Truly. It’s only scratches and bumps. You don’t need to worry so much.”

“You know I worry,” JJ said, voice quieter now but still laced with concern. “I hate not being there with you.”

“I know,” Emily said. “And I’m grateful. But you’ll be the first to know if anything serious happens, I swear.”

The conversation shifted then, from worry to gentle teasing, with JJ chiding Emily about bruises and Emily pretending to groan under JJ’s overprotectiveness. Hours slipped by as they talked about the day, the suspect, and the absurdity of the local police.

Eventually, the night settled over them both, the lights of their respective rooms dimmed. Emily’s head rested on the pillow, phone clutched loosely in her hand. JJ’s voice was the last thing she heard before sleep claimed her.

And for the first time in a long while, Emily allowed herself to rest fully, the warmth of connection warding off the chill of isolation.

Chapter Text

The SUV hummed steadily along the rain-slicked roads of Millhaven, the morning sun reflecting off its windshield in streaks of gold. Emily sat in the backseat, phone in hand, glancing occasionally at the case files spread across her lap. Morgan drove, Reid sat quietly to her left, muttering to himself about timelines, and Rossi navigated beside Morgan, calm and measured as always.

She hadn’t spoken to JJ yet this morning—too much urgency, too many leads that needed chasing—and already the ache of missing JJ’s voice had started to settle in her chest. Emily’s thumb hovered over the keyboard, and she let herself indulge for a moment, slipping into her old explorer-style letter mode.

Emily:

My dearest Jennifer,

Forgive me that our voices have not yet crossed the air this morn. I already find myself longing for the comfort of hearing you, though I must attend to pressing matters in the field. My mind is set on the case at hand, for each lead pursued brings me one step closer to returning to your company. Know that the thought of our reunion sustains me even amidst the chaos.

Yours faithfully,

E.P.

Emily reread the words once, smiling despite the tight schedule of the day. She pressed send and slipped the phone into her pocket.

Rossi glanced at her from the passenger seat, a small, rare proud smile on his own face. “It’s nice to see you smile genuinely, Emily. Even with all this chaos, it suits you.”

Emily’s fingers froze briefly on the files in her lap. “Thanks,” she said softly. Suddenly aware of how her words, her smile, and—she realized—her thoughts might be coming across. A flicker of self-consciousness rose. Am I being too… forward? she thought. Maybe JJ is just being friendly. Maybe I’m turning this into something it’s not.

She shook her head and took a deep breath, trying to shove the thoughts into neat little compartments that will be sealed off. There wasn’t time to dwell. She had a case to close, leads to chase, evidence to analyze.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur of interviews, canvassing, and careful cross-referencing. Emily and the team followed a tip that led them to another local warehouse connected to the suspects network. They found records and minor evidence that confirmed their suspicions. The case had finally wrapped itself up neatly.

By early afternoon, the suspects were in custody, the timelines aligned, and the local police grudgingly acknowledged the BAU’s effectiveness without needing to be coerced into compliments. Emily exhaled, tired but satisfied, as the SUV made its way back to the motel.

She reached for her phone, intending to check updates, and froze. A message from JJ was waiting, and the display alone made her chest flutter.

JJ: My dearest Emily,

I hope your morning has been manageable, though I already miss the sound of your voice. Each text is a delight, but nothing replaces hearing you speak. I finished reviewing the case paperwork and, naturally, thought of you throughout. Please call me when you’re free; I need only to hear that you are safe and well. You have no idea how much peace your voice brings.

Emily stared at the screen, thumb hovering above the home button, heart fluttering. Her mind spun. She wanted—no, needed—to call JJ, to let the sound of her voice fill the empty spaces in her chest. And yet… caution tugged at her, a familiar specter.

Is this foolish? she thought. Am I reading too much into her concern? Maybe JJ’s just being…friendly, JJ didn’t even sign off the text with endearment. But the text did carry a lot of endearment. A louder voice in her head shouted, You want her. You know it. Stop hiding it.

She exhaled slowly, her fingers tightening around the phone. The emotional tug-of-war left her dizzy and indecisive.

Morgan glanced at her as he adjusted the GPS, unaware of the turmoil she was silently waging. “You okay, Princess?”

Emily managed a small, distracted smile. “Yeah… just thinking.”

Her thumb hovered over the screen again, debating. Call and give in to the desire, let herself bridge the miles with her voice. Or wait, keep her heart guarded, maintain control, and hope the longing would fade until she could rationalize it.

The SUV drove on, carrying her forward into the quiet suspense of the unknown, her thoughts oscillating between desire and restraint, between the call she wanted to make and the caution she felt she must uphold.

For now, the phone rested in her lap, silent, the messages glowing faintly, and Emily let herself linger in the ache of wanting, suspended in the delicate tension between what was safe and what was true.

Chapter Text

The motel room was quiet, the only sound the distant hum of traffic and the soft clicking of the radiator. Emily sank into the chair by the window, phone cradled between her ear and shoulder as she sank into a long exhale, removing her gun with the holster and badge from her belt.

“Hey, JJ,” she said finally, voice careful, measured.

“Emily! Finally!” JJ’s relief was audible even across the miles. “How are you doing?”

“Hmm, feels...good that the case is wrapped up,” Emily replied, leaning back against the back of the chair straightening out her long legs. “Everything’s tied up, suspects in custody, timelines checked and double-checked. We’re leaving in the morning. I’ll be back in DC soon.”

There was a pause, a subtle shift in JJ’s tone as she listened. “Emily, you sound…drained. What’s going on?”

Emily swallowed, letting herself be honest for the first time in days. “I am. This case…the locals, the tension, the chasing leads—it’s exhausting. I just…I want to be home.” Emily managed to refrain herself from saying home with you.

JJ’s voice softened, gentle but teasing, as though trying to draw a laugh out of the tight coil in Emily’s chest. “Well, good news is, Morgan and Reid survived your bullying. Don’t worry, I checked with HR and they didn't hear any formal complaints about you either.”

Emily let out a short laugh, tension loosening slightly. “Rossi had to play peacemaker. Honestly, I’m surprised none of them filed a formal complaint.”

JJ chuckled warmly. “I’d pay to see Reid trying to negotiate his dignity while you glare at him. And Morgan… well, he’ll never admit it, but he probably secretly enjoys being the target of your theatrics.”

“I guess it’s good to know someone appreciates my skill set,” Emily said, voice lighter now, teasing back.

“Don’t forget to save some energy for me, though. Otherwise, I’ll have to put you in timeout for bullying your friends too much,” JJ shot back, playful.

Emily grinned, feeling some of the day’s heaviness dissipate. “Noted. I’ll be careful. Mostly.”

“Mostly?” JJ raised an imaginary brow in her voice.

“Mostly,” Emily confirmed, smirking. Then, voice softening, she moved the conversation to more docile territory, “How’s Sergio? Garcia's been taking care of him?”

JJ laughed, warm and mischievous. “Sergio’s fine… but honestly, if you don’t keep an eye on him, I swear Garcia might end up catnapping him from you. She’s taken quite a shine to him.”

Emily chuckled, shaking her head. “I’m sure he’ll forgive me… but only slightly.”

They laughed together for a few moments, the miles between them shrinking under the warmth of the conversation. Then JJ’s voice dropped just a fraction, soft, unconsciously intimate. “Just… take care of yourself, sweetheart. I want to know you’re safe, always.”

Emily froze, phone almost slipping from her hand. The term of endearment lingered in the air, too familiar, too meaningful. Sweetheart, she repeated silently in her head, heart giving a little unexpected flutter.

She blinked, shook her head, and forced a casual laugh. Friends use terms of endearment all the time, she reminded herself, that’s it. Totally normal.

JJ was already chatting again, oblivious to the impact of that single word, and Emily found herself responding, voice steady but with a flutter beneath, trying to pretend her pulse wasn’t betraying her.

They said their goodbyes eventually, each lingering in the warmth of the conversation longer than necessary. Emily set the phone down, staring at it for a moment, letting the echo of JJ’s voice fill the quiet room.

She exhaled, a faint smile lingering on her lips, heart thudding in ways she refused to fully acknowledge. “Just friends,” she whispered to herself, though the word sweetheart echoed in her mind, promising complications, and maybe, just maybe, something more. She couldn’t believe in her mature age she would be feeling like a love-sick teenager. But here she is pining for a woman over a decade younger than her.

Chapter Text

The hum of the plane’s engines filled the cabin, a steady drone beneath. Emily sat with Morgan to her right and Reid opposite her. Both men seemed determined to test the limits of her patience during their commute back to D.C.

“I still think your plan was overly complicated,” Reid complained, poking at his case file while glancing at her. “If you had just—”

“Reid, you’re going to be banned from speaking for the next fifteen minutes unless you want me to throw you out of the door while the plane is moving,” Emily snapped, barely suppressing a wicked grin.

Morgan leaned back, hands crossed, enjoying the spectacle. “She means it, kid. Emily’s got a straight line from sarcasm to action.”

Reid whined, pouting in a way only he could manage. “I’m going to tell JJ about this. She’ll punish you if you’re mean to me.”

Emily raised an eyebrow, leaning closer, voice dropping deeper. “I promised JJ I’d play nice. But if you’re going to whine, then all bets are off, Reid. Consider yourself warned.”

Morgan snorted highly amused by Emily's statement. “Wait… you promised JJ you’d play nice?” He glanced at Rossi and Hotch, who were both rubbing their foreheads in a synchronized sigh.

Rossi’s eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of understanding in his gaze. That’s not just playing nice with a colleague, he thought. That’s… personal.

Hotch, sensing the same undercurrent, gave Rossi a tight nod. “Team dynamics are evolving, Rossi,” he muttered, though his jaw tightened just slightly.

The trio of squabbling agents settled into a tense but familiar rhythm, Morgan occasionally glancing at Emily with a smirk, Reid muttering numbers under his breath, and Emily suppressing laughter while pretending to be exasperated.

By the time they touched down in DC, the day was bright and warm, the city buzzing with its usual hum. The team’s ride pulled up outside the BAU headquarters, where JJ and Garcia were already waiting, arms outstretched and faces glowing with welcome.

“Welcome home, my crime fighting heroes!” Garcia called, beaming.

Emily stepped out first, and JJ rushed forward. The hug they shared lingered longer than anyone else’s, warm and reassuring, as though the distance and the stress of the Millhaven case were folding into nothing. When they finally pulled back, JJ’s hand brushed Emily’s cheek, planting a gentle, almost impulsive kiss there.

Rossi observed quietly, a small knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “That,” he muttered to Hotch, “is confirming my suspicions. There’s something going on between those two.” Hotch gave a noncommittal hum, though his brow lifted ever so slightly in acknowledgment.

The rest of the team filed in, exchanging greetings and brief updates. Morgan clapped Emily on the shoulder with his usual warmth, Reid was already launching into an excited recounting of the airport logistics, and Rossi offered Emily a calm, supportive nod.

Garcia, ever perceptive, watched the subtle undercurrent of energy between Emily and JJ. She leaned toward JJ and Emily with a conspiratorial whisper. “I have an idea. Why don’t you and Emily come by my place later? Sergio’s home, and I think it’s time Emily sees him again.”

JJ glanced at Emily, who raised a brow in mild suspicion. “Sure,” JJ said, masking her awareness of Garcia’s plan.

Maybe if the two women have a quiet moment—and maybe a little wine—they’ll… talk about their feelings, Garcia thought to herself, practically bouncing with delight at her own scheming.

Emily tilted her head, trying to read Garcia’s expression. “Sure, I'll come by to get Sergio. But I'm beat so I don't know if I can keep up with the usual girls nights pace.”

Garcia waved a hand innocently, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Oh, no we'll just crack open a bottle of red and talk about life, cats, the universe… maybe how much you two missed each other. Totally casual.”

JJ’s cheeks warmed slightly, and Emily felt a flutter in her chest. There was no denying it—something was there, simmering beneath their practiced professionalism.

As the team dispersed into the building, Emily followed JJ and Garcia out of the sunlight and into the familiar hum of the BAU bullpen. The tension between her and JJ was subtle but palpable—a quiet, buzzing energy that left her both thrilled and nervous.

Garcia, noticing the way both women kept glancing at each other, grinned to herself. “This is going to be fun,” she muttered under her breath, already picturing the evening ahead: the two of them, a little wine, and the perfect excuse to finally address the unspoken.

Emily couldn’t help but let herself imagine the night ahead too, heart fluttering at the thought of finally being close to JJ again, and maybe—just maybe—letting herself feel what she’d been holding back for so long.

Chapter Text

Garcia’s apartment was a kaleidoscope of color and comfort — the kind of space that smelled faintly of vanilla candles and mischief. Soft pop music hummed from a vintage speaker, fairy lights glowed from every surface, and Sergio, Emily’s pampered cat, lounged regally on the back of the couch like he owned the place.

JJ stood by the counter, helping Garcia pour wine into oversized glasses. “You weren’t kidding about the bottle,” JJ said, eyeing the generous pour. “Planning to interrogate us or inebriate us?”

Garcia grinned. “Why not both? It’s been a rough case, especially being apart from our girl. You and our favorite dark queen of chaos deserve to decompress.”

As if summoned, the doorbell chimed. JJ’s stomach fluttered — ridiculous, she told herself, it’s just Emily — but her pulse quickened anyway.

Garcia practically skipped to the door. “Speak of the devil and she shall appear!”

Emily stood there in casual jeans, hair down, black sweater clinging in all the right places. She looked softer like this — still sharp-edged, but human. The faint circles under her eyes betrayed exhaustion, yet she still managed a half-smile that made JJ’s chest tighten.

“Come in, Prentiss!” Garcia said, ushering her in. “We’ve got wine, food, and zero emotional boundaries tonight.”

Emily’s brow arched. “That sounds like a trap.” Garcia winked. “It is. I’ll be right back — Sergio’s demanding his dinner.” And just like that, she disappeared into the kitchen, leaving the two women alone.

An awkward silence bloomed, thick and hesitant.

JJ broke it first. “Hey. You made it.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Emily replied, voice low and a little hoarse. “I am here to reclaim custody of Sergio. Figured it was time.”

JJ smiled, leaning against the counter. “He missed you. He’s been more cranky than usual,  almost mirroring your level.”

Emily’s mouth twitched. “I’ll try not to take offense at being ranked equally with a cat.” Sergio finally turned over and acknowledged Emily with open warm inviting green eyes as if beckoning her closer. Emily obliged "Hi, handsome, I've missed you." She stroked him from his head down his back to his tail in a strong slow motion, pouring in her love and guilt for not being there for so many days. Her purred his acceptance, eyes closed enjoying the affection and stretching out more. He then broke contact with Emily by hoping off the couch and going towards the kitchen where he heard Garcia placing his food bowl on the floor.

JJ handed Emily a glass of wine. Their fingers brushed — a fleeting touch, electric in its normalcy. Emily felt it all the way down her spine. JJ didn’t notice — or pretended not to.

“So, looks like Sergio still accepts you. But maybe you now rank lower than food” JJ said chuckling, settling on the couch, tucking one leg beneath her. Emily hummed in response also settling on the couch and then said "I'll just have to work hard on proving my worth again."

“How’s post-case decompression going? You survived Millhaven without being arrested for homicide.” JJ asked while sipping her wine and looking at Emily earnestly.

“Barely,” Emily replied, sinking into the armchair opposite. “Though I might have mentally buried the sheriff behind the station a few times.”

JJ laughed, a low, warm sound that made Emily’s chest ache. “I would’ve helped you hide the body.”

Emily tilted her head, smiling. “Good to know my partner in crime’s dependable.”

The word partner lingered between them, heavier than either intended.

Garcia reemerged, holding a chunky colorful laptop up. “Ladies, I’m afraid I must abandon you to your own devices — I unfortunately have a time sensitive,  secret task that needs my attention.” She kissed JJ’s head, then Emily’s. “Be good, my angels. Pizzas on kitchen counter help yourselves.”

“Garcia—” JJ began, but the front door was already closing behind her. Emily sighed, taking a long sip of wine. “She’s definitely up to something.”

A beat passed. JJ swirled her wine, studying the glass instead of Emily. “I… missed having you around. The bullpen’s too quiet without your sarcasm.”

That small, sharp ache flared again in Emily’s chest. She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Missed having someone who laughs at my jokes. Morgan just rolls his eyes.”

JJ chuckled. “That’s because your humor’s too sophisticated for him.”

Emily grinned faintly. “I’ll put that on my tombstone.”

They sat in companionable silence for a moment — the kind that was both easy and excruciating. The room glowed warm around them, the air thick with unspoken words. Sergio walked over and easily jumped up into Emily’s lap. He curled into a ball and fell asleep.

JJ finally looked up, eyes soft. “You really doing okay? You seemed… tired.”

Emily hesitated, then exhaled. “Cases like that — they take more out of me than I admit. It’s not the work, exactly. It’s…” She trailed off, searching for words. “It’s being reminded how quickly people underestimate you. How you don't really belong sometimes.”

JJ’s gaze softened further. “Em, you belong. You’re one of the best profilers I’ve ever seen. You belong exactly where you are.”

Emily’s throat worked as if swallowing something sharp. “You always say the right thing.”

“I just tell the truth.”

Emily looked down at Sergio to avoid JJ’s eyes. “Sometimes I think you see more good in me than there actually is.”

JJ leaned forward slightly, her voice soft. “That’s because you never give yourself enough credit, baby.”

The word dropped like a spark into kindling.

Emily’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “What did you just—”

JJ blinked, confused. “What?”

Emily’s heartbeat thundered. “You called me—” Her voice faltered. She wasn’t sure if she should laugh or run. “Never mind.”

JJ frowned, still not understanding. “Did I? God, sorry, I think the wine’s getting to me.”

Emily tried to recover, forcing a laugh that didn’t sound like her. “No, it’s fine. I just— wasn’t expecting… that.”

JJ smiled, oblivious. “You’re adorable when you’re flustered, darling.”

This time Emily nearly choked on her wine.

JJ reached out, impulsively touching Emily’s wrist. “Hey. You okay?”

Emily met her gaze — blue eyes soft and concerned, lips parted slightly, close enough to blur the lines of thought. For one suspended moment, the air between them felt charged, precarious.

Emily pulled her hand back. “Yeah. Fine.” The lie came too easily. “Just tired.”

JJ nodded, still frowning slightly, but didn’t push. She sat back, unaware that she’d just torn open something Emily had spent years stitching shut.

They talked about nothing for a while after that — work gossip, travel plans, whether Morgan’s new playlist was a human rights violation. The conversation drifted, halfhearted but safe. Yet every time JJ smiled, or her hand brushed Emily’s when reaching for the wine, Emily’s pulse jumped, raw and restless.

When JJ finally stood, it was nearly midnight. She gathered their empty glasses and turned back toward Emily with that familiar soft smile. “This was nice. I'm glad we did this.”

Emily nodded, voice steadier than she felt. “Yeah. It was. I better get Sergio home before Garcia reemerges and steals him.” Emily got off the couch carrying Sergio like a baby easily transferring the sleeping cat to his carrier that Garcia had left near the couch.

JJ laughed and agreed as she went to the kitchen to put their glasses in the dishwasher. When JJ came back to the living room something unreadable flickered in her gaze — then she smiled again, warm and easy. “Goodnight, Em.” JJ pulled Emily in for a hug her arms rested low on Emily’s hips squeezing firmly. JJ whispered softly into Emily’s ear, “Darling, please keep sending me those messages. Even now, when you’re here.” JJ pulled back a little her right hand caressing up Emily’s back to her neck and then moving hair out of Emily’s face so that JJ could look at her. JJ’s hand cupped Emily's left jaw, thumb brushing gently across her cheek. "I liked those texts you sent. Their our thing now. Please continue sending them." JJ said earnestly then leaned in kissing Emily’s forehead and pulling back completely.

Emily’s whole body warmed, a blush ran up her pale chest and face, a flutter rising in her stomach. Emily’s voice was husky “Sure…I will, Goodnight, JJ.” Emily made a quick exit with her cat not trusting herself to not do something foolish.

When Emily got in her car, “She doesn’t even know what she does to me, what she means to me” she murmured to the cat, running a hand through her hair. “And I’m an idiot for wishing she did.”

Sergio purred as if in agreement. Emily leaned back in her seat, eyes closing, letting the ache settle where it always did — somewhere between her ribs and her restraint.

Chapter Text

The next day at the BAU unfolded with mechanical precision — the rhythm of normalcy that felt almost like camouflage.

Emily had buried herself in case summaries, posture sharp, tone clipped. She smiled when required, spoke when spoken to, and kept every thought on a tight leash. No one seemed to notice the distance except JJ — who noticed everything when it came to Emily Prentiss.

From her own desk, JJ watched through the blinds as Emily typed reports with surgical focus, her eyes never quite softening, her laugh conspicuously absent. Something had shifted overnight, something subtle but undeniable. Emily wasn’t avoiding her exactly — she was simply… unavailable. Emotionally distant. Guarded.

JJ hesitated for hours, watching the clock tick past midday, before finally giving in. She picked up her phone from the desk and typed a quick succession of short texts:

JJ: You’ve been quiet today. Are you okay?

JJ: You don’t have to be stoic all the time, you know.

JJ: …Write to me? Please? Like before.

Emily’s phone buzzed three times in quick succession in the low hum of the bullpen. She glanced at it, pulse jumping despite herself. JJ’s messages sat there, small but devastatingly tender in their simplicity. Write to me. Like before.

Emily exhaled, leaning back in her chair, closing her eyes momentarily. The idea of sending another of her faux-historic “letters” made something twist inside her. It was their ritual — one that had started as amusement to cut through tension but has now become their quiet language. Still, after last night, it felt dangerous. Too intimate. Too exposed.

She stared at the blank message box for several minutes before beginning to type.

Emily: My dearest Agent Jareau,

The day dawned with all the promise of mild irritation and tepid coffee.

My colleagues seem determined to test the boundaries of human endurance through relentless optimism, questionable fashion, and excessive use of the phrase “Emily, stop stealing my stationery” in a whiny voice. 

My patience, as ever, is a finite resource — and I fear I am nearing its limits.

Still, I persist. One must, after all, uphold the Bureau’s proud tradition of stoicism in the face of adversity.

Your absence from my immediate surroundings has made this place altogether less tolerable — the coffee weaker, the fluorescent lights harsher, and the paperwork significantly less charming.

But fear not; I am resilient. My sarcasm remains intact, my caffeine intake heroic, and my capacity for inappropriate humor undiminished.

Yours in reluctant professionalism,

E.P.

Emily pressed "send" without reading the text again. She thought it was safe enough. Teasing, distant — nothing that could betray the chaos underneath. And yet… her palms got sweaty and she began pulling at the skin around her thumb nail.

Because even through the sarcasm, she could see her feelings bleeding into the words. Your absence has made this place altogether less tolerable. That line was too close. Too honest. But she couldn’t bring herself to delete it. She set her phone face down, as if hiding from the truth she’d just transmitted.

Across the bullpen, JJ’s phone buzzed in her office. She read the message once, and her lips curled into that involuntary smile that only Emily ever managed to pull from her. It was absurd and perfect — witty, sarcastic, and quietly tender. Emily’s voice, distilled in text. JJ replied almost immediately.

JJ: You make bureaucracy sound like an epic quest.

JJ: And for the record, the coffee is weaker when you’re not smiling over it.

JJ: I’m glad your sarcasm survived another day, though. I’d miss it.

Emily’s phone buzzed again, three times in quick succession. She read JJ’s last line twice: I’d miss it.

The words landed in that fragile place between comfort and ache.

Emily typed her response carefully — each word a small act of restraint.

Emily: My dearest Jennifer,

Your words are, as always, an unwelcome assault upon my carefully maintained composure.

I assure you my “smile,” as you call it, has not been seen since approximately 08:30 when Morgan attempted humor before coffee.

As for the matter of missing me — that is most unwise, Agent Jareau. Absence, after all, is how the universe maintains its sense of balance. If I were always nearby, you’d grow tired of me within days.

Still… I find the notion oddly comforting.

Yours in perpetual exasperation,

E.P.

JJ stared at that last line for a long moment — I find the notion oddly comforting.

Her chest felt warm, heavy.

She typed, fingers shaking slightly.

JJ: Then I’ll risk the imbalance. I’d never get tired of you, Em.

Emily froze when she read it. For several seconds, she couldn’t breathe. Her throat felt tight, her pulse loud in her ears. She wanted to laugh, to reply with something deflective, safe, but nothing came.

So she set the phone down, unable to trust herself.

JJ’s text remained unreplied to. JJ, stared at the silent screen, tried to tell herself it didn’t hurt.

But it did.

Chapter Text

By late afternoon, the bullpen had settled into that lull between chaos and quiet — the hum of keyboards, the low murmur of conversation, the clatter of coffee mugs echoing off glass. Most of the day’s reports were done. JJ had wrapped her case reviews an hour early, a small miracle considering the mountain of paper waiting that morning.

She leaned back in her chair, stretching, and reached for her phone.

JJ: Are you close to done? Thought we could grab takeout and crash at your place. You, me, and Sergio, maybe a rom-com or you can try to convince me to watch a thriller. 

She hovered a second, smiling faintly, then sent it.

It didn’t take long for Emily’s reply to come through.

Emily: That depends. Are you buying me chinese? My dear Jennifer, you should know the only way I'm going to watch a rom-com is if I'm tied down and beaten to within an inch of my life. So, you can decide if you want to get sadistic to enforce your movie choice...how about you watch a thriller of my choice and I'll be a good host and provide a vintage red wine compliments of Ambassador Elizabeth Prentiss' stash.

JJ chuckled softly.

JJ: You got yourself a deal. I'll get your chinese and I'll watch a movie of your choice and get my wine :). I’ll be at your desk in an hour.

Emily’s reply came quickly this time.

Emily: Copy that, Agent Jareau. I will ready myself for your pickup.

When JJ stepped into the bullpen an hour later, it was mostly empty — the golden wash of sunset slanting through the blinds. Emily was still at her desk, eyes focused on her screen, pen between her fingers like a weapon she hadn’t quite decided to use.

Reid intercepted JJ before she could reach her. “JJ! I'm glad you're here!”

JJ raised a brow. “What’s going on Spencer?”

Reid crossed his arms, clearly indignant. “Please inform Emily that I’m filing an official complaint. She bullied me.”

Emily didn’t even look up. “I educated you, Doctor Reid. It’s not my fault you took offense to the laws of logic.”

Reid’s voice climbed. “You called my spatial reconstruction theory adorably naive! Also, you keep stealing my stationery!”

Emily finally looked over, unbothered. “It was naive. And I told you I didn't steal your stationery, I borrowed them.”

JJ bit back a laugh. “Okay, okay,” she said, stepping between them, all calm professionalism. “Reid, maybe she just meant it in an affectionate way.”

Reid blinked. “Affectionate?”

JJ gave him a soothing smile. “You know Emily. She only teases people she likes. And she promises not to be so harsh next time.”

Emily snorted indignantly. “Excuse me?”

JJ turned, still smiling. “Don’t deny it, Prentiss.”

Reid grumbled, but JJ’s tone left no room for argument. “Fine. But I’m telling Garcia you’re mean.”

“Please do,” Emily said dryly. “She’ll probably give me a medal.”

Reid stormed off muttering something about “interpersonal injustices.”

Rossi, who’d been watching from across the bullpen, chuckled into his coffee. “You do realize you just confirmed she's your favorite, right?” he said to JJ.

JJ shrugged, walking up behind Emily’s chair. “I have good taste in profilers.”

Rossi smirked. “You certainly do.”

JJ leaned over to glance at the files on Emily’s desk. “You almost done?”

“Almost,” Emily murmured, flipping a page. She felt JJ’s presence close behind her — warmth, sweet perfume, that familiar comfort she didn’t dare acknowledge.

Then JJ’s hands came to rest lightly on her shoulders — casual, thoughtless, but grounding. She started kneading small circles into the tense muscles at the base of Emily’s neck as she spoke to Rossi about the case notes.

“Hotch wants the timeline from the Virginia disappearances merged with the old files,” JJ said, fingers absently working out a knot just below Emily’s collarbone. “I’ll have Garcia send the cross-reference by morning.”

Emily froze mid-breath. Every nerve ending in her body seemed to wake up at once.

Rossi noticed instantly.

His smirk deepened. “Everything okay there, Prentiss?”

Emily shot him a warning glance— the kind that could kill a lesser man. “Fine.” Her voice came out strangled.

JJ, still oblivious, kept talking, her thumbs pressing a little deeper into Emily’s shoulders. “You’re really tense. You need to stop living slouched at your desk.”

Rossi coughed into his fist, half-laughing. “If you say so, Prentiss.”

JJ looked up, distracted. “What?”

“Nothing,” Rossi said innocently. “Just appreciating the team morale.”

Emily’s death glare could have melted steel. Rossi raised his hands in mock surrender and left with a knowing chuckle.

When JJ finally realized what she was doing, she pulled her hands back quickly, blushing. “Oh, Em, sorry, I didn’t even realize—”

Emily cleared her throat, grabbing her go-bag a little too fast. “It’s fine. You’re fine.” Emily’s voice still strangled though.

JJ laughed softly, cheeks still flushed. “Come on, let’s get out of here before I embarrass myself again.”

JJ drove them to the Chinese place close to Emily’s house. They didn't need to discuss their order. They've spent years together working cases surviving on takeout so they knew each others order by now. Despite the deal being JJ paying for their dinner, Emily pulled out her card to pay. JJ was adamant that it was her idea and therefore it was her treat. Emily tried to convince JJ otherwise but JJ was steadfast. Eventually Emily relented when JJ agreed to Emily paying for their next meal. The mention of a next meal together had both women slightly blushing and smiling.

The drive to Emily’s place was easy, filled with low music and small talk about the day — a rhythm that had become second nature. 

Fifteen minutes later, they were back in Emily’s apartment — warm light, faint smell of lavender from a diffuser, the quiet shuffle of Sergio padding across the floor to greet them.

“Hey, handsome,” JJ cooed, crouching to scratch under his chin. Sergio purred in approval, clearly playing favorites.

Emily watched her, arms crossed, fond exasperation in her eyes. “He’s going to ditch me for you one of these days.”

JJ looked up, grinning. “He’s a good judge of character.”

“Mm. Questionable taste, then.”

They settled onto the couch — takeout boxes spread across the coffee table, thriller movie flickering quietly on the TV. The scene was domestic, effortless. Emily sat curled on one end, JJ on the other, shoes kicked off, laughter soft and unforced when Emily called out plot holes.

JJ talked about Garcia’s latest tech upgrade; Emily countered with a story about Morgan’s failed attempt to fix the coffee machine. They traded bites of food, small glances, easy conversation. The kind of evening that didn’t need defining.

When the credits finally rolled, JJ leaned back with a contented sigh. “This was perfect,” she murmured.

Emily nodded, half-smiling, her gaze fixed on the screen though her thoughts were miles away. It was more than nice.

JJ looked over, eyes soft, almost searching. “You okay?”

Emily hesitated. Then — “Yeah. Just… glad you’re here.”

JJ’s smile deepened. “Me too.”

They didn’t move after that. The silence between them wasn’t heavy anymore — it was something else entirely. Something warm.

Sergio leapt onto the back of the couch and curled behind them, a quiet observer to the almosts hanging in the air.

And Emily thought, not for the first time, that if she could live forever in this small, ordinary peace — this unspoken almost — she just might.

Chapter Text

The soft amber light of morning crept through Emily’s apartment, filtering past half-drawn curtains and settling gently across the room. The TV screen was black, the remains of last night’s takeout and lipstick stained wine glasses sat forgotten on the coffee table. Near the couch, the pampered feline of the house, Sergio voiced his disapproval with an impatient meow.

Emily stirred first at her familiar cat alarm clock. Her neck ached. So did her back. When she opened her eyes, it took her a moment to understand why her body ached, why she was warm and why the rhythm of her heartbeat wasn’t her own.

JJ — warm and impossibly close — Emily’s own private sun.

JJ was curled against Emily’s side, one hand resting loosely across Emily's stomach, head tucked into the space between Emily’s neck and shoulder. Their legs tangled under the throw. Emily’s couch was not designed for two adults and one cat with abandonment issues to sleep through the night. Her muscles and bones protested the decision to slumber on furniture meant to only be sat on. However, the warm body pressed against her comforted the aches.

For a suspended moment, Emily didn’t breathe. The scene was...domestic, impossibly tender. Her instincts screamed move, but her body refused.

She’d lived entire years without this kind of closeness. The simple weight of another person against her. It felt dangerous — not because it was wrong, but because she could imagine getting used to it. She never craved it before, but now...

Sergio meowed again, louder this time, claws tapping against the floor like a small, furry metronome.

JJ groaned softly, curling tighter against Emily, voice rough with sleep. “Make him stop. He’s relentless.”

Emily’s lips twitched in amusement. “He’s a cat, he doesn't come with an off switch. He wants breakfast.”

JJ’s voice was muffled against Emily’s neck. “You’re warm. He can wait.”

That word — warm — snagged something deep in Emily’s chest. She wasn’t used to being called that. She wasn’t used to being seen that way. She swallowed down the emotion rising in her throat and replied, dryly, “You’re using me as a human pillow, Jennifer. Of course I’m warm.”

JJ chuckled, soft and sleepy, and finally sat up. “Fine. I’ll let you go before Sergio stages a coup.”

Emily slowly rose after her, stretching until her back cracked. “Next time,” she said, rubbing her neck, “remind me not to fall asleep on this couch.”

JJ smirked. “You were the one who suggested we should watch another movie. If I had known it was past your bedtime I'd have left after the first movie.”

“Keep talking, Jareau” Emily said, “and I’ll make Sergio use your shoes as his litter box.”

JJ followed Emily into the kitchen, still laughing as Emily scooped food into Sergio’s dish. Emily gently cooed at Sergio apologising for delaying his breakfast. “You know,” JJ teased, “for someone who terrifies local law enforcement and criminals on a weekly basis, you’re awfully gentle with that cat.”

“He’s the only man in my life who doesn’t talk back,” Emily said, smirking as she set the dish down. JJ leaned against the counter, watching her. “You make that sound like a bad thing.”
Emily gave a small shrug, a self-deprecating curve of her mouth. “Well, Sergio doesn’t have opinions about my career choices or my social life. And he doesn’t care that I’m—”
She stopped herself mid-sentence, but JJ caught the hesitation. “That you’re what?”
Emily tried to deflect. “Older. Crankier. A coffee addict."

JJ huffed a quiet laugh, but she didn’t push. Not yet. She just leaned against the counter, watching Emily move — measured, graceful, still half-armored even in her own kitchen preparing coffee for them.

As the coffee brewed, JJ’s eyes drifted to the almost empty bottle of expensive red wine on the counter. “By the way,” she said, her voice softening, “that wine was incredible. You weren’t exaggerating about your mother’s stash.”

Emily’s mouth quirked in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Ah, yes. Ambassador Elizabeth Prentiss — not the most attentive parent, but an impeccable supplier of luxury comforts. Every diplomat needs her coping mechanisms, I suppose.”

There it was — that sharp, self-deprecating edge that always came out on the rare occasion when Emily talked about her mother. By now, JJ recognized it, the way Emily used sarcastic humor like a shield. JJ couldn't stand by and let Emily get away with this much self-loathing so early in the morning. 

JJ’s tone changed — quieter, firmer. “You know, I’ve never liked the way she gets to live in your head rent-free.”

Emily blinked, startled by the directness. “Excuse me?”

JJ didn’t flinch. “Every time, although extremely rare, because you never open up. But when you do talk about her, I hear that voice — the one she left behind. The one that tells you you’re 'too much', 'too sharp', 'too everything'. I hate that voice, Emily. I hate that it still has power over you."

Emily looked down, tracing the rim of her coffee mug. It was a rare thing — being seen so plainly. She tried to make a joke of it. “Well, she was an ambassador. Commanding rooms and ruining childhoods was practically in the job description.”

But JJ didn’t let her deflect. “You’re not her,” she said simply. “And you never will be. I just… I wish you’d let me replace that voice. Even a little.”

That made Emily look up. “Replace it?”

JJ’s smile was small, hesitant. “With something better. Like—” she hesitated, searching for the words, “—‘you’re enough,’ or ‘you’re brilliant,’ or even just ‘you’re loved.’ You know, the truth.”

Emily felt something in her chest tighten — not painfully, but like a locked door shifting on its hinges. JJ said it so simply, without pity, without fanfare. Like it wasn’t impossible to believe.

Her first instinct was to hide behind wit again. “That’s quite a campaign promise, Agent Jareau. Planning to rewire my subconscious over coffee?”

JJ smiled. “I know it can't change overnight.  Good thing I'm here to always tell you the truth whenever you need it.”

Emily’s laugh was quiet, genuine. “You’re dangerous when you’re sincere.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

They stood there for a moment, the smell of coffee thick in the air, the sunlight turning everything soft and gold. JJ sipped from her mug, and Emily watched her — the way her hair caught the light, the easy warmth she carried without even trying.

“Thank you,” Emily said finally, quietly. “You don’t have to fight my ghosts, JJ.”

JJ met her eyes. “Maybe not. But I can remind you they don’t get to win.”

Emily didn’t trust herself to reply. So she reached for humor again, gentle this time. “You realize this means you’re obligated to stay for breakfast, right? Emotional labor like that deserves pancakes.”

JJ grinned. “You make pancakes?”

Emily arched a brow. “I can acquire pancakes. Using my trust fund money compliments of the Ambassador.”

JJ laughed — full and bright — and for the first time that morning, Emily let herself join in, the sound echoing softly off the quiet walls.

And for just that moment, the voices in her head — her mother’s clipped disapproval, the whisper of never enough — were silent.

Only JJ’s voice remained, low and sure, rewriting the echoes one gentle word at a time. For the first time in a long time, Emily wondered if maybe — just maybe — being too much wasn’t such a terrible thing after all.

Chapter Text

Morning rush hour at Quantico had its own kind of rhythm — the click of heels, the hiss of espresso machines, the low hum of conversation spilling through glass and steel. Agents passed each other like clockwork: efficient, composed, compartmentalized.

Emily and JJ stepped out of the elevator together, coffee cups in hand. To anyone watching, it was routine — just two colleagues arriving for another day. But to Emily, the rhythm felt too easy. Dangerously easy.

After the quiet intimacy of the last twenty-four hours — JJ’s laughter in her kitchen, her warmth on the couch, the softness of morning — walking side by side now felt like pretending she hadn’t just lived a version of peace she’d never thought she could have.

They were halfway down the hall when JJ reached out, fingers brushing Emily’s sleeve. The contact was light, almost uncertain, but enough to make Emily stop.

“Hey,” JJ said softly.

Emily turned. “Yeah?”

JJ hesitated — that slight pause she always took when something mattered. “I hope you have a good day, okay? And if things get busy and we don’t get a chance to talk, text me. Like… you do. The explorer letters.”

That earned her one of Emily’s crooked half-smiles — the one that hid everything and nothing at once. “You really like those?”

JJ nodded, her voice quiet. “They make me feel close to you.”

For half a heartbeat, Emily forgot how to breathe. Close to you. The words landed with a weight JJ probably didn’t even realize they carried. Before she could gather a reply, JJ leaned in — a soft, spontaneous motion — and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek.

“Have a good day, Em,” JJ murmured.

And then she was gone, striding down the hall, sunlight catching in her hair like gold thread.

Emily stood there, frozen in the bullpen’s morning chaos. Reid brushed past her muttering something about quantum pattern analysis, but she didn’t hear him. The ghost of JJ’s lips lingered on her skin — not as a mark, but as evidence. Evidence that for one suspended second, the boundaries she’d built so carefully had slipped.

But it wasn’t just the kiss. The memory of her was still there — the quiet weight of JJ’s body curled against hers that morning, the slow, steady rhythm of her breathing against Emily’s neck. That warmth had settled into Emily’s skin like sunlight that refused to fade.

Now, standing in the noise and light of Quantico, she could still feel it — that small, impossible peace she’d let herself have, now replaced by the ache of wanting it again.

She moved mechanically toward her desk, heart pounding too fast, coffee cooling in her hand. It’s fine, she told herself. You’re overthinking, JJ’s affectionate. That’s just her.

But it wasn’t just that. And she knew it.

She sat down, staring at the reflection of her own eyes in the computer screen. You’re imagining it, whispered the voice that had always sounded faintly like Elizabeth Prentiss — cultured, critical, composed. She’s kind, Emily. Not interested.

And beneath that, another, older voice: You don’t get to have that. Women like you don’t choose women like her.

It was the voice she’d grown up around — the unspoken rules of the embassy circuit, of appearances and expectations. You marry a man, you smile at dinner parties, you don’t become the scandal whispered about over champagne.

She’d followed those rules for most of her life, even when they stopped fitting. Even when they strangled.

But now, JJ’s kiss burned through all of it — one simple act that said, Maybe you don’t have to hide anymore.

And that possibility terrified her more than any unsub ever could.

In her office, JJ closed the door and leaned against it, breath catching on the way out. The sunlight fell across her desk in clean, golden lines.

She pressed her hand to her flaming cheek — the same hand that had brushed Emily’s arm moments earlier — as if to anchor herself back into her body. She hadn’t meant to kiss Emily. Not really. It had just happened, instinctual, effortless.

But now the memory wouldn’t stop replaying — the slight surprise in Emily’s eyes, the way she’d gone perfectly still, like someone hearing a truth they didn’t expect.

JJ exhaled shakily, she muttered to herself "What were you thinking, JJ?"

She knew the answer. She wasn’t thinking. She was feeling — something she’d spent years convincing herself she wasn’t allowed to.

Her small town upbringing had taught her that love was a clean, straight line: church aisles, white dresses, promises that looked good on Christmas cards. There had never been a place in that world for what she felt now — for the flutter in her chest when Emily laughed, for the ache that came when Emily smiled at someone else.

So she’d built her own walls: professionalism, composure, control. Perfect JJ. The one who didn’t want what she couldn’t have.

But the truth had always been there, quiet and patient, waiting for her to stop pretending.

And now, after a night that felt like belonging and a morning that felt like possibility, she couldn’t ignore it anymore. She didn’t just care about Emily. She didn’t just admire her. She loved her — fiercely, helplessly, against all reason.

And she was terrified that saying it out loud would ruin everything.

Because what if Emily didn’t feel the same? What if Emily looked at her with pity, or worse, regret? What if this — the texts, the friendship, the easy laughter — was all Emily could ever give her?

JJ stared at an open case report on her computer screen, words blurring on the screen. The fear sat heavy in her chest — that familiar conditioning whispering that love like this was selfish, inconvenient, wrong.

But then she thought of Emily’s voice that morning, low and teasing, the way she’d laughed when JJ teased her. The way she’d looked — soft, for once — when JJ told her she was enough.

Maybe, JJ thought, if love like this was wrong, she didn’t want to be right.

Still, the fear stayed. Because losing Emily — in any form — would be unbearable.

Across the bullpen, Emily was staring at her phone, not seeing it. Her thoughts looped like static. JJ’s voice, JJ’s warmth, JJ’s scent lingering faintly like vanilla and coffee.

She’d spent her life running from vulnerability — turning affection into humor, fear into control. But JJ… JJ had a way of dismantling her without force. She didn’t breach walls; she walked through them confidently, leaving sunlight behind.

Emily took a slow breath, steadying herself. You can’t do this, she told herself. Not here. Not with her.

Because if JJ didn’t feel the same, if Emily misread even one look, one word — she’d lose the one person who made her feel steady.

She thought about the girls she’d known in boarding school, the whispered crushes no one ever admitted, the quick, terrified goodbyes. About the years she’d spent unlearning what she was told she should be. About her mother’s subtle, suffocating disappointment whenever Emily stepped even an inch outside the lines.

She couldn’t risk that again. Not with JJ.

Hotch's firm monotone voice cut through her thoughts like thunder through fog.

“Everyone to the conference room. We’ve got a case in Florida.”

Emily blinked, the spell breaking. Duty. Order. Safety.

She rose, straightened her jacket, and forced her heartbeat into rhythm.

The job didn’t wait for feelings.

But as she walked toward the conference room, the echo of JJ’s lips against her skin lingered — warm, fragile, alive.

And for the first time, Emily Prentiss wondered if the real danger wasn’t loving JJ…but pretending she didn’t.