wow

Not that you were really complaining. It was hard to be mad at Emily, for anything really. Okay, it was hard for you to be mad at Emily. Perfect, smart, and gorgeous Emily, who was consuming your every waking thought ever since you had figured out that your attraction to her wasn’t totally platonic after all. Unfortunately, you were convinced that that was all it was for Emily: A totally platonic friendship. That involved a lot of teasing. And the occasional flirty message.

You were certain, that she absolutely did not feel the same way. That she was just being Emily. After all, she had always been like this with you.

"No you don’t," you answer her sincerely, a smile now slowly creeping up your face. 

"They want me to justify kicking down the door during that case we had in Boston a few weeks ago," she claims, looking distraught. "Because apparently the fact that we could hear the Unsub screaming inside wasn’t enough of a reason…"

"Aww, you poor thing."

"I know, right? I am being tortured. This is a hostile work environment. I should be able to sue somebody over this!"

"Em, you’re the one who destroyed private property while on duty…"

"Honey, it’s not like I had a choice!"

The nickname makes your stomach drop. You really should’ve gotten used to it by now, to the names and the teasing. But there was no 'getting used to' when it comes to Emily—at least not for you. 

You hear a quiet snicker from the desk behind you, where Morgan seems to have forgotten all about  distracting Reid from his files, and is suddenly studying his own a little too intently. 

"What?" Your question is laced with genuine confusion.

"What?" He answers innocently, evidently avoiding your previous question, which gets him a warning glance from Emily. Not even a little bit concerned, Morgan just shrugs, smiles, and turns back to his files. Well, at least he pretends to.

"I don’t know why I do this to myself," Emily continues, her focus now back on you. "I should’ve quit months ago!" 

"And leave me all alone in this madhouse? That would qualify as friend-neglect, you know that right?"

"That isn’t even a word!"

"It is now."

Emily grins. "I hate you." 

"No you don’t." You make eye contact with her then, one brow slightly raised as you challenge her to take back that last statement. 

"You’re right, I really don’t… ," she says, her expression softening.

For a second, neither one of you says anything, the tension suddenly palpable in the air. That is until Emily clears her throat and immediately switches back to her (admittedly very good) fake-frown. 

"I still hate this job though, I should totally quit."

"Emily!"

"Awww babe, don’t worry. I would never actually leave you."

You simply stare at her.

Across the room, JJ immediately seems to have forgotten all about the cup of coffee in her hand, Garcia’s focus is locked on the two of you like a sniper who is watching his target, and Reid looked like he was witnessing a successful science experiment.

"Oh come on, you guys cannot be serious," Morgan exclaims as he leans back in his chair.

"What?" You repeat the question from earlier, furrowed brows making your confusion visible.

The other agent dramatically gestures between you and Emily before exasperatedly holding up his hands. "Nothing."

Emily looks like she is about to throw her pen at him. "How about you mind your own business and do your paperwork, huh?"

"I am doing my paperwork," he claims, his tone now defensive.

"You have been staring at the same page for the last 20 minutes…"

"Well, you can’t really blame me for getting distracted, can you?"

"Distracted by what?"

Morgan stares at her, looking absolutely appalled by her answer. "Dude…"

The brunette simply roles her eyes, while you try to bite back a laugh. "You guys are absolutely impossible, you know that right?" Your attempt at staying serious is nothing short of pathetic.

"Oh come on, you love having me around."

"More than anything," you answer without thinking.

***

The team’s banter had quieted down significantly, everyone finally focused on what they should have been doing hours ago. Regardless, you couldn’t help but let your thoughts wander every once in a while, because, unfortunately, it was still pretty hard to focus with Emily sat right in front of you. Much to your surprise, as your eyes wander to her desk once again, she is already looking at you, her dark eyes lost in thought.

"My love, I don’t know about you, but I think somebody should definitely go out and get the team some coffee that is actually drinkable." How Garcia had managed to suddenly appear behind you was beyond you, but there was also no use in questioning anything that had to do with the self-proclaimed 'tech-goddess' of the FBI. 

"Penelope, you’re reading my mind!" The way Emily’s eyes light up at the mere thought of decent coffee almost makes you laugh out loud.

"I know that’s right. Okay well, I’ll just text you everyone’s orders once you’re on the way sooo you guys should totally leave like right now…sounds good? Perfect! Off you go, my lovelies!"

"Wait wha- … Pen, I thought you meant you want me to come with you?"

"No, you see I have some very important stuff to do like right now. Cannot wait. Very unfortunate. Text me when you’re back!"

Before either of you could really process what just happened, Garcia was already out the door and on her way back to her bat cave. 

"Well, I guess its a date," you shrug, already halfway out of your chair. Struggling to find your car keys in the depths of your purse, you are too distracted to notice Emily’s puzzled expression, or the way her eyes snapped up after your previous statement. Neither do you notice Morgan’s raised eyebrows, or the warning gaze the brunette shoots him right after.

When you finally manage to find your keys, Emily hasn’t moved. She’s still sitting behind her desk, eyes trained on you with an expression you can’t quite place. You narrow your gaze: "Something wrong?" 

"Nope," she answers a little bit to fast while rushing to get to her feet. She grabs her jacket form the back of her chair and slips it on in one smooth motion, suddenly seeming very eager to get out of the bull pen. "Let’s go, hon."

There it was again. One of those stupid nicknames that you enjoyed just a little too much.

You’re still hung up on it as the two of you are walking towards the elevator. Purposefully, you try maintaining more space between you and Emily than you usually would. You’re almost dreading the ride down. Because it means being alone with her. And being alone with Emily usually involved letting your guard down sooner or later—something that isn’t particularly helpful if you’re trying to play things cool.

The brunette’s presence is almost overwhelming. You can feel the warmth radiating off of her as she’s standing beside you. You can smell her perfume. And, worse of all, you know she’s looking at you. Again. You stare at the numbers above the elevator doors instead. 

Emily clears her throat. "So, you really think that this is a date?"

Your heart drops, and your quiet "no" comes out too quickly to be entirely convincing. "Uhm I mean…obviously I was just joking."

"Right…obviously." Emily’s teasing smile falters for just one second, but it’s enough to immediately make you regret your answer.

"Although," you add carefully, "I mean I guess it could be."

"What?"

"I mean getting coffee together, some might call that a date."

"Some?"

"Oh, don’t flatter yourself, Prentiss!"

There it was again. That stupid smile that could make you forget about everything. "Wouldn’t dream of it, darling." She winks. The doors open. Your brain short-circuits. 

***

The air inside the coffee shop hits you with its familiar warmth as you slowly make your way up to the counter. The smell of fresh coffee mixes with that of all the different pastries, and somehow you feel at ease. At this point, you’ve been here so many times, you could recite their menu in your sleep—or start working behind the counter yourself. 

While you quickly try to sort through the wide array of beverage orders Garcia had texted you, Emily is already ordering herself. An order you know by heart because you’ve heard it one too many times: One large coffee. Usually black. Sometimes with Splenda.

Today is no different. What IS different, is the fact that she doesn’t stop after her own order to let you do the rest. Instead, she continues to order for you, too. Your exact order. Down to the smallest details.

You’re pretty sure you must have lost control of each and every one of your facial expression while  you keep staring at her, unsure if you had just imagined the whole thing.

"You remembered," you whisper.

Emily shrugs. "Of course I remembered." 

Suddenly, you are very aware of the fact that some time in the past couple of minutes you must have subconsciously moved closer to each other, your shoulders now slightly brushing against one another. Neither one of you moves away.

It is only when the barista shouts out the insanely large coffee order that the both of you snap out of your trance. In sync, you reach for the two cupholders on the counter, fingers brushing against each other as you both grab one of them. The small touch alone makes your heart skip a beat, and you could have sworn that Emily’s breath hitched just a little bit.

In silence, you make your way back to the car, none of you willing or able to admit that something had shifted between the two of you. Maybe it was finally a shared realization that what you had far exceeded a normal friendship. Or maybe it was just that sometime within the past couple of days, things had gotten weird between you. Not uncomfortable, not ever. But different. 

***

Back at the Bureau, the rest of the team were sprawled around Morgan’s desk, eyes glued to the elevator doors.

"You think they finally admitted it to each other?" Garcia was fidgeting with the end of one of her 'special pens,' as she liked to call them.

JJ snickered. "Not a chance, I am not even sure they admitted it to themselves."

"They are so oblivious, it’s actually painful to watch. The sharpest minds of the FBI, everybody…can’t even admit that they’re madly in love with each other." Morgan leans back in his chair with an exasperated sigh, arms crossed in front of his chest.

Before the others could agree, the high sound of the elevator announces your return. 

In lock step, you make your way across the bullpen. "Secured the goods!" You triumphantly hold up the steaming cups in your hand.

Morgan’s mischievous grin was warning enough that what was to come was most definitely going to be uncomfortable for Emily and you. "How was your date?" 

You were seriously debating to throw his coffee at him right then and there.   

"It wasn’t a date, we just got coffee… because you guys wanted us to," you answer defensively.

"Didn't you call it a date before you left?"

You look at Emily. Emily is already looking at you.

Morgan's smile grows. "You guys are unbelievable, really. Just adm—"

"She was joking," Emily interrupts, a little too eager to get out of the situation.

"Was I?" The words slip out before you can stop them, your face turning red as you quickly try to look anywhere else but at her. Or them.

Morgan's eyebrows shoot upward.

JJ slowly lowers her coffee.

Garcia looks like she might actually explode, and Reid looks back and forth between the two of you as if you were a math equation that was finally adding up.

You immediately regret speaking.

"I meant—"

"No, no," Morgan says, holding up a hand. "Please. Continue."

It is Emily that finally shuts the whole fiasco down: "Okay guys, you had your fun, now for the love of god, please take your coffees and get back to work."

You’re still staring at your feet, hoping that everyone would just let this go, but Garcia wouldn’t be Garcia if she didn’t pressure you until she got every last bit of gossip there possibly was.

"I have been watching this for months, waiting, working my magic. Please, for the love of god…" She looks genuinely frustrated now.

"Watching what?" Emily looks absolutely confused.

Garcia puts her head in her hands while Morgan gently pats her back. "You guys are breaking her," he snickers. And it is right there that Reid suddenly decides this is a good opportunity to contribute:

 "She's referring to the fact that the two of you exhibit several behavioral patterns commonly associated with mutual romantic interest."

You look at him in shock. Emily’s jaw drops. Then her eyes find yours, soft and almost vulnerable. Something clicks in your brain, almost like the final puzzle piece that reveals the entire picture. Oh.

"Alright, I think we have done enough damage for today," Morgan finally breaks the silence.

"Speak for yourself," Garcia mutters under her breath, her grin suggesting that this conversation would be far from over if it were happening on her terms.

One by one, they (finally) disappear into their respective corners of the bullpen, until, eventually, it was just you and Emily again. Neither of you seemed entirely sure what to do with yourselves, your fingers now nervously tapping at the cup of coffee in your hands.

"So…" Emily doesn’t finish her sentence, whatever she had wanted to say disappearing somewhere  on the way from her brain to her mouth.

You manage a small smile. "Yeah…"

That earns you a quiet laugh, Emily’s hands now anxiously rubbing the back of her neck. Was she actually nervous? In the months you had known each other, you had never seen her like this. 

Something warm bloomed in your chest. Maybe you hadn’t imagined all of it—all of the little moments between the two of you that you convinced yourself had meant absolutely nothing. The nicknames, the occasional flirting, touches that seemed to linger just a little bit longer than they would have had to.

There was something soft and unspoken between the two of you now, neither of you daring to say it out loud, but both acutely aware of it. Then, Emily smiles at you:

"Get home safe, hon."

You stomach does its ridiculous flip again.

"Thanks…uhm, you too I mean," you manage to get out before practically sprinting back to your car.

Holy shit.

***

By the time you finally made it home, you had replayed the entire day in your head at least a hundred times—which also meant that you had come to some very important (and unfortunate) realizations:

One: You weren’t as good at hiding your crush as you had hoped…

Two: All of your coworkers know about it.

And three: Emily might actually feel the same way.

Fuck.

You’re still sitting at the edge of your couch, thoughts racing at one hundred miles and hour, when you finally get the courage to pick up your phone.

Your thumb hovers over Emily’s contact for a while. Then you start typing.

I loved our date. X

You stare at it for a few seconds. Definitely too much. You delete it again.

I really enjoyed our not-a-date :)

Better. Safer. Still fucking terrifying. You hit send before you can change your mind again. 

You’re about to throw the phone across the room when you hear its familiar buzz. With a pounding heart, you build up the courage to unlock your screen again.

For what it’s worth, I think we should call it a date.

You stare at the screen, eyes open in shock. Holy fucking shit.

———————————————————————————————————

Emily Prentiss smoothed down the lapels of her dark blazer, her eyes adjusting to the low light. Beside her, Derek Morgan walked with his hands in his pockets, his gaze sweeping the floor with practiced, methodical ease.

"Owner's office is upstairs," Morgan muttered, tossing a thumb toward a dark staircase. "Local PD said the girls might still be here practicing for the evening shift. We need to find this 'Honey' character before the media catches wind that Victor’s gone."

"Right. Honey," Emily said, keeping her voice strictly professional, her FBI badge clipped securely to her belt. "Victor’s journals mentioned her in almost every entry for the last six months. If he was running a side operation out of this place, she’s our best lead."

Movement near the left edge of the stage caught Emily’s eye. You stood near the brass pole, unbuckling a pair of six-inch clear heels. You wore a dark silk robe tied loosely at your waist, your hair tousled, skin glistening faintly under the amber house lights. When you looked up, your eyes locked onto them, sharp and entirely unfazed by two suits walking into your domain.

"We’re not open for another three hours," you said. Your voice was smooth, carrying a slow, melodic rasp that seemed to brush against the room. "Or are you early birds looking for a private show?"

Emily’s pulse gave a sudden, traitorous spike. Her throat went completely dry. She had spent years mastering the art of the unreadable facade, staring down serial killers, political handlers, and hostile witnesses without a single twitch. But as you stepped off the stage platform, gliding toward them with an effortless, hypnotic grace, Emily felt the cool composure under her skin shatter into a thousand jagged pieces. She was painfully aware of your bare shoulders, the subtle sway of your hips, the sheer, undeniable beauty radiating off you.

Emily had known for a long time what, and who, she was attracted to. But she had buried it deep, tucked behind layers of diplomatic decorum and the rigid standards of the Bureau. Standing in the middle of a dimly lit strip club, the risk of exposure felt suddenly, terrifyingly close.

"Actually- we're, uh, we're with the FBI," Emily stammered, reaching for her badge with fingers that felt unusually clumsy. She cleared her throat, trying to force her voice down an octave. "Agents... Agent Prentiss. And this is Agent Morgan."

Morgan tilted his head, glancing sideways at Emily. His brow furrowed slightly at her rigid posture and the sudden, breathless hitch in her cadence, but he turned his attention back to you. "We're looking for someone who goes by 'Honey,'" Morgan said smoothly, stepping into the lead seamlessly. "We need to ask her a few questions about Victor."

You paused, a faint, knowing smile playing at the corner of your lips. You untied your robe, re-knotting it slightly tighter, the fabric rustling softly in the quiet club. "You guys are really good at your job... You found her.”

Emily swallowed hard, her eyes darting to a spot just past your shoulder, intensely focused on a neon beer sign just to avoid staring directly at you. She felt a sudden wave of heat climbing up the back of her neck. Get it together, Prentiss. You’re a senior agent.

"Victor’s missing," Morgan explained, his tone dropping into his usual empathetic questioning style. "His car was found abandoned near the pier, and his apartment was tossed. We know you were close to him, Honey. We need to know if you, or any of the other women here, were involved with him personally. Were you sleeping with him?"

You let out a soft, genuine chuckle, leaning back against the edge of a high-top table. Crossing your ankles, you shifted your weight, the silk of your robe slipping just enough to expose a length of glittering skin. You looked at Morgan, then slowly, deliberately, turned your gaze toward Emily. Your eyes traced the line of Emily's jaw, lingering on the subtle flush at her cheeks, before drifting down to the sharp tailor of her dark suit. A faint, intrigued spark lit up your eyes.

"Victor?" You asked. You raised an eyebrow, keeping your gaze pinned directly on Emily. "No. The only thing about men that I’m remotely interested in is their money."

Emily felt her breath catch in her chest. The subtle, heavy intent behind your gaze was unmistakable. It hit Emily like a physical force, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs. She shifted her footing, her mind racing to find a professional response, but her tongue felt thick and useless.

"I- see," Emily managed to choke out, her voice a little higher than intended. "That's... that is very efficient. Economically speaking."

Beside her, Morgan slowly turned his head. His eyes widened slightly as he took in Emily's stiff, bright-red reaction, a slow, amused grin dawning on his face. He looked between your coy, knowing posture and Emily's total, unprecedented loss of cool.

You tilted your head, enjoying the effect you were having, though your demeanor remained warm rather than arrogant. You pulled a breath in, your shoulders dropping into a more serious posture as you looked back at Morgan. "Look, off the record? Victor is a slimeball, but he pays on time and he stays out of our hair. If he’s in trouble, it’s because he owes money to the wrong people in Atlantic City. He was talking on the phone in his office last Thursday, screaming about a debt. That’s all I know."

Morgan took mental notes, his posture shifting back to business, though the corner of his mouth was still twitching. "Did you hear any names?"

"No," You murmured, your tone softening with genuine honesty. "Just shouting. I wish I could tell you more, but... we try not to make his business our business."

"That helps more than you think," Morgan said softly.

Emily reached into her inner coat pocket, her hand shaking just enough that she had to carefully slide a single white card from her holder. She took a step forward, extending it toward you, making sure her fingers didn't accidentally brush against yours.

"If... if you remember anything else," Emily said, staring intently at the card in her own hand to keep her composure, "or if someone comes around asking questions about Victor and you feel unsafe... please call me. Directly. Day or night. If you need... anything at all."

You took the card, your fingers deliberately sliding over Emily's for a fraction of a second. The brief touch sent a jolt straight down Emily's spine.

"Agent Prentiss," You read off the card, your eyes shining with amusement as you tucked it into the pocket of your robe. "Thank you."

"Thank you for your time," Emily managed, turning on her heel a little too quickly and heading straight for the exit.

Morgan lingered for a second, offering you a polite nod. "Thanks, Honey. Stay safe."

"You too, Agent," you replied, your eyes following Emily's retreating figure until the velvet curtains swung shut.

The afternoon sun hit them like a brick wall as they stepped out onto the concrete pavement. The crisp, cool air did little to cool the fire burning in Emily's cheeks. She pulled her sunglasses from her collar and shoved them onto her face, striding toward the SUV at a brisk, frantic pace.

"Prentiss," Morgan called out, walking half a step behind her, his voice dripping with pure, unadulterated amusement.

"We need to get back to the station and pull Victor’s financial records from Atlantic City," Emily blurted out instantly, unlocking the vehicle with a loud double-beep. "If he had mob debts, the local field office might already have a file on his bookie-"

"Emily." Morgan stopped at the passenger side, leaning his arms over the roof of the black SUV, staring at her over his own sunglasses with a massive, beaming grin. "What was that?"

"What was what?" she snapped, opening her door and keeping her eyes glued to the dashboard. "It was an interview. We got a solid lead."

"Right. A lead," Morgan laughed, shaking his head as he got into the car and closed the door. "Prentiss, I’ve seen you interrogate serial killers, international terrorists, and corrupt senators. I have never seen you stumble over the words 'economically speaking' while turning the color of a cherry tomato."

Emily froze, her hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white. Panic, cold and sharp, flooded her stomach. She stared straight ahead through the windshield, the silence in the car stretching taut.

"Morgan, I..." Her voice cracked slightly. She swallowed, trying desperately to construct a lie, a deflection, anything to pull the shield back up. "I'm just tired. The flight in was rough, and-"

"Hey," Morgan’s voice changed instantly. The teasing tone melted away, replaced by a grounded warmth. He reached over, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

Emily glanced over at him, her heart pounding for an entirely different reason now.

"You don't have to pull a cover story with me," Morgan said softly, his eyes sincere. "I mean it. You were completely struck. She was hot. I don't blame you."

Emily let out a slow, shaky breath, her shoulders sagging as the tension slowly drained out of her. "Morgan... I haven't... I don't talk about that. With anyone."

"You don't have to if you're not ready," Morgan said, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze before pulling his hand back. He offered her a warm, easy smile. "The team doesn't care who you like, Prentiss. Reid would probably give you a fifteen-minute statistical lecture on attraction, but the rest of us?.... You're our family. Period."

Emily sat in the quiet hum of the SUV's air conditioning, looking at him. A small, genuine smile finally broke through her anxiety, settling deep in her chest like a long-overdue exhale. "Thanks, Morgan," she murmured softly.

"Anytime," Morgan said, tapping the dashboard. "Now, drive us back to the station before you decide to go back in there and offer 'Agent Prentiss's personal protection services' again."

Emily scoffed, rolling her eyes as she pulled the SUV into gear, though the blush crept right back onto her cheeks as she thought of you holding her card in the pocket of her silk robe. "Shut up."

The case closed late the following afternoon after a tense raid on an abandoned warehouse. Victor was found tied up in a back room, battered but alive, a victim of his own escalating gambling debts just as you had predicted.

By nine o'clock that evening, the rest of the BAU team was tucked away in their hotel rooms or finishing up paperwork at the local field office, preparing for an early morning takeoff back to Quantico. But Emily couldn't sleep. Her mind kept looping back to the dim, velvet-draped atmosphere of the club, to the cool press of a paper card into a silk pocket, and to the knowing eyes that had seen right through her carefully constructed armor.

An hour later, Emily stood outside the side entrance of the club. The air was crisp, carryover rain slicking the pavement under the buzzing amber streetlights. The heavy bass from inside leaked through the brick walls, a muted heartbeat rhythm. She pulled her dark coat tighter around herself, her hands buried deep in her pockets, suddenly questioning the impulse that had driven her across town.

The heavy metal door clicked open, spilling a bar of warm light onto the wet alleyway.

You stepped out, carrying a small leather bag over your shoulder. You had swapped your robe for a dark fitted sweater and jeans, your hair falling in damp, soft waves over your shoulders. You stopped short when you saw Emily leaning against the brick wall, a slow, radiant smile instantly spreading across your lips.

"Well, well," You murmured, your voice carrying that same low, liquid rasp. "Look who showed up. I was literally just reaching into my bag for your card. I was going to call you the second I made it to my car, but you beat me to it, Agent Prentiss."

Emily’s chest tightened, a familiar heat blooming along her neck, but this time, without Morgan watching, without the weight of her badge dictating every breath, she didn't turn away. “...About the case?”

You stopped in your tracks, letting out a small breathy laugh. “No… unbelievably, I managed to read between the lines.” 

"Oh… well…Case is officially closed," Emily said, her voice softer, stripped of its clinical Bureau sharpness. "Victor’s safe. His bookies are in custody. I thought... I thought I should tell you in person."

You stepped closer, the light scent of honey and warm amber cutting through the cool alley air. You tilted your head, your gaze sweeping over Emily’s face with slow, unhurried appreciation. "Is that the only reason you're standing in a cold alley at ten on a weeknight?"

"No," Emily admitted, the word slipping out before her usual defenses could catch it.

Your smile softened into something warm and genuine. "Come on. There’s a quiet bar two blocks over. Nobody from the club goes there."

The lounge you found was tucked away in a basement, illuminated only by low red glass lanterns and the golden reflection of antique mirrors behind the bar. Sitting side-by-side in a high-backed leather booth, the atmosphere was thick with an easy, unexpected intimacy.

Over smooth wine, the rigid distance between you melted away. Emily listened as you spoke about your life outside the club, your real name, your passion for vintage fashion, the pragmatic instinct that kept you grounded in an unpredictable industry. In turn, Emily found herself sharing truths she rarely spoke aloud, the claustrophobia of her diplomatic upbringing, the isolation of her work, the constant demand to remain unshakeable.

"You carry a lot," You whispered, leaning your elbow on the table, your cheek resting in your palm as your eyes searched Emily's face.

"It keeps me safe," Emily replied softly, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass.

"It sounds heavy," you said gently. You reached out, your warm, manicured fingers sliding across the table to cover Emily's hand.

The touch sent a shiver straight down Emily's spine. She didn't pull away. Instead, she turned her hand over, lacing her fingers with yours. You shifted closer, sliding along the leather bench until the space between you vanished.

When you leaned in, giving Emily ample time to draw back, Emily met you halfway. The kiss was slow at first, a soft, tentative exploration that tasted like wine. Your hand moved to the back of Emily’s neck, your thumb brushing gently against her jawline. A quiet sigh escaped Emily’s lips, her hands rising to grip the front of your sweater, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened, sweeter, hotter, breathless. For the first time in years, the endless noise in Emily's mind simply went quiet.

"My apartment is ten minutes away," You murmured against her lips, her breath hitching slightly. 

“Lead the way.”

–

Morning faded in, a haze of pale sunlight filtering through linen blinds. Emily woke to the soft rustle of sheets and the quiet, rhythmic sound of breathing beside her. The apartment was filled with gentle morning shadows, smelling of lavender, expensive lotion, and fresh coffee brewing in the kitchen. For a few lingering seconds, Emily lay still, feeling a profound, heavy weightlessness that she hadn't experienced in longer than she could remember.

Then her eyes caught the glowing red numbers on the bedside alarm clock: 7:12 AM.

The jet leaves at 7:30.

Panic spiked through her chest like an electric shock. Emily bolted upright, kicking off the duvet.

"Woah, calm down, Agent," Your sleepy voice drafted in from the doorway. You stood there wearing an oversized shirt, holding two steaming mugs, your eyes soft with affectionate amusement. "Where's the fire?"

"The jet," Emily gasped, her hands frantically gathering her blouse from the floor, her fingers clumsy as she scrambled into her trousers. "My team- if I’m not on that tarmac in eighteen minutes, Hotch will send a federal search party."

You chuckled, setting the mugs down and stepping over to help her. "Here. Coat." You draped the dark coat over Emily’s shoulders, smoothing down the lapels before pulling Emily into one last, lingering kiss that almost made her miss the flight entirely. 

"I’ll call you," Emily promised, breathless, kissing you quick on the cheek before bolting out the door.

“I know,” you murmured, picking your mug up, cradling it in your hands as the door closed behind her.

At 7:38 AM, the door to the jet swung open, and Emily hurried up the stairs, trying desperately to smooth her damp hair and pull her collar high around her throat.

"Nice of you to join us, Prentiss," Hotch said from the head of the conference table, his voice flat, though his eyes lingered on his watch for a brief beat before returning to his file. "We were about to start the debrief."

"Apologies, Hotch," Emily panted, taking her seat across from Reid and JJ, sliding her briefing folder open with practiced efficiency. "Traffic coming out of the city was backed up near the bridge."

JJ offered a sympathetic nod, sipping her coffee. "No worries, we just got settled."

Reid didn't even look up from his book, muttering a quick greeting before turning a page.

Across the aisle, Derek Morgan sat back in his leather chair, a bottle of water poised halfway to his mouth. His eyes flicked over Emily, her slightly disheveled collar, the subtle flush still lingering on her cheeks, and then, right beneath the sharp turn of her left jawline...

A faint, unmistakably brilliant dusted smudge of fine gold glitter caught the bright morning sunlight streaming through the plane window.

Morgan froze. A slow, incredulous smirk began to spread across his face, his eyes widening in realisation.

Emily caught him staring and shot him a sharp, warning glare, quickly adjusting her blazer collar to cover her neck.

Morgan casually lowered his water bottle, hiding his massive, bursting grin behind his hand. He leaned sideways toward Emily, keeping his voice dangerously low so Hotch wouldn't hear over the hum of the warming jet engines.

"Traffic, huh?" Morgan whispered, his eyes dancing with unbearable delight. "Must’ve been a real rough commute, Prentiss."

Emily felt the heat flare instantly across her face, but this time, under the cover of the jet's engine roar, she didn't look away. She raised an eyebrow, a tiny, confident smirk touching the corner of her own lips as she pulled her collar just a fraction higher. “I slept in.”

“Sure you were sleeping?” Morgan teased, nudging her with his elbow.

"Shut up, Morgan," she murmured, adjusting her papers.

“Yeah, right.” she rolls her eyes. 

Reid hides another yawn and Rossi emerges from his office with a mug that smelled unmistakingly like expensive Italian coffee. Hotch is waiting outside the conference room with an open file in hand. 

“The children are unusually energetic this morning.” Rossi looks out over the team settling in for the day just below. 

Before Hotch could answer, Strauss steps off the elevator. She pushes through the glass doors and the bullpen quieted almost immediately. She wasn’t carrying a case file, instead she had a dark blue personnel folder. Hotch noticed it first, he has dozens sitting on the corner of his desk. 

“Chief Strauss” 

“Agent Hotchner.” She offers the room a polite nod, “If everyone could meet in the conference room.” 

She leads the way and Morgan instantly looks over at Emily with wide eyes. 

“That sounds ominous.” He shakes his head. 

“Yeah, which one of us is getting fired?” Emily mumbles quietly. 

Garcia whispers dramatically, “Are we being audited?”

“No.” Reid answers without looking up, “Chief Strauss isn’t in charge of internal audits.” 

Within minutes, the team is gathered around the conference table. Strauss remains standing and Hotch takes his typical spot at the head of the table.

“So,” He keeps his voice even, “What happened?”

She sets the folder down on the table, “As of today, the BAU will be expanding.” 

Emily perks up, “We’re getting another profiler?”

“The Director approved an additional position several months ago.” Strauss reminds, cutting her stare over at Aaron. 

She opens the folder, “Seeing as your Unit Chief did not appoint any of the applicants he was provided, the Director asked me to step in. The position has now been filled.” 

“Special Agent Y/n” She pauses long enough to look around the room, “Greenaway.” 

Silence. Complete silence. 

JJ looks from Strauss to Hotch, “Greenaway?”

Morgan blinks and Garcia’s nervous smile disappears. 

“Hold on-” Derek holds up a finger. 

“No way.” 

Emily looks equally confused, “Greenaway as in….?”

Reid speaks before anyone else can. 

“Elle’s younger sister.” 

Every head turns toward him. 

“Half-sister.” Hotch corrects. 

The room looks at him, he focuses on the file sitting open on the table.

“Elle requested a weekend off to go to her graduation.” Aaron dazes, still reeling over the idea of you joining the team. It was too late now. If he had just picked someone from the stack, he would have had a say in this. 

“You remember one conversation from six years ago?” Morgan raises a brow.

“Seven.” Reid corrects. 

“She wasn’t with the bureau back then.” Aaron sets his frown into a firm line. He doesn’t like where this is going. 

“She wasn’t,” Strauss picks back up, “At the time Agent Greenaway served this unit, she had not yet entered Quantico.” 

Emily nods slowly, “So, this isn’t someone trying to ride her sister’s reputation in here?”

“Quite the opposite, she is impressive all on her own.” 

She passes out the sheet inside, all crediting your history with the bureau and your education. 

“She graduated at the top of her class.” 

Reid looks surprised. Morgan looks impressed. Aaron looks more stressed. 

“She spent three years in violent crimes where she led several interstate investigations and more recently the past two she was recruited into Behavioral Analysis Support.”

Rossi leans forward, “Behavioral analysis?”

Strauss nods, “Her supervisors describe her as exceptionally disciplined, highly analytical, and one of the strongest interviewers currently with the Bureau.” 

Emily lets out a low whistle, “Not bad.” 

“Her clearance evaluations, shooting qualifications, and psychological reviews are all exemplary.” 

Aaron raises a curious brow, “So, why leave?”

Strauss stares him down without hesitation, “She requested the transfer.” 

“To the BAU?”

“Specifically.” 

That caught Hotch’s attention. 

He sets down the sheet back on the table, “And you’re approving her transfer without consulting me?” 

“I am.” She nods. 

“I assume there is a reason.” There has to be. The Director and Strauss had been reminding him to hire someone for months, why go around him now? They hadn’t brought it up in weeks. This is clearly why. Their plan was already in motion and he fell right into it. 

“There is.” She folds her hands, “Regardless of anyone’s personal feelings, Agent Elle Greenaway’s departure from this unit remains one of the more public personnel failures associated with this team.” 

No one speaks. Garcia looks down at her hands in her lap. 

“From an administrative standpoint denying another exceptionally qualified Agent Greenaway a position she has clearly earned would create questions the Bureau has no interest in answering.” 

Rossi understands immediately, “The optics.” 

“Precisely.” 

Strauss looks back at Hotch. 

“I’ve already signed the transfer.” 

Long silence settles over the room. 

Eventually Hotch gives a single nod, “Then she’s a part of the team.”

Before anyone could say another word, there was a knock at the conference room door. Every pair of eyes turned toward it. 

“Right on time.” Strauss checks her watch and steps over to the door. She pulls the handle to let you in, letting you face your new team. 

For the first time in seven years, a Greenaway was stepping into the room. You weren’t the exact image most of the team had subconsciously expected. There were definitely things that you shared with Elle. The most obvious right now being your walk and the way you carry yourself with confidence.

Your posture is perfect, shoulders back. Your eyes sweep the room once, assessing in a quick and efficient manner. 

Strauss steps beside you, “Everyone, this is Special Agent Y/n Greenaway.” 

You offer a polite smile, “Good morning.” 

The team can tell it wasn’t exactly friendly, but it wasn’t entirely cold either. 

“Her transfer is effective immediately, her credentials speak for themselves. I expect you’ll extend the same professionalism you’ve shown every member of this team.” Strauss’s gaze lingers on Hotch briefly. 

“Thank you, ma’am.” 

She gives one final nod before leaving the room, the door clicking shut behind her. The atmosphere changed quickly, Morgan leans back in his chair with an exaggerated sigh. The rooms starts to thaw at the older woman's departure. Your shoulders drop half an inch. 

“Well, now we can actually say hello.” 

A small smile tugs at your lips, “I was wondering if that was for me or her.”

Garcia jumps up from her chair, “I’m Penelope Garcia!” 

She pulls you in for a tight hug and you pat her shoulder a few times, “I know.” 

“You do?” She pulls back. 

“My sister talked about everyone.” You nod, “She said you could find anyone and their search history.” 

Garcia grins, “She was right.” 

The rest of the room offers their own introductions accompanied with handshakes. One of them being David Rossi.

“It’s an honor.” 

He waves a dismissive hand, “No, that just means I’m old.” 

“You’re all over the original case studies.” 

“Isn’t that what I just said?” He looks to Morgan for help but the smile on his face tells you he’s still secretly proud. 

The last person who was still yet to say a word was Hotch. He hadn’t moved a muscle, just observing with a neutral expression. He rises and extends a hand toward you. 

“Welcome to the BAU.” 

You look at it for a second before accepting. His handshake was steady, but so was yours. 

“Unit Chief.” 

Not Agent Hotchner. Not Hotch. Just his title. 

“You’ve built an impressive career.” 

“So I’ve been told.”

Your tone was perfectly even, polite. But there was an edge to it. Enough to make Morgan’s eyes flicker between the two of you. Hotch noticed it too. 

“I hope you find this unit a good fit.” Hotch offers, testing the waters. 

You hold his gaze, your spine still straight as steel.

“I certainly hope the team has evolved from its past mistakes.” 

Silence. 

Emily shifts in her chair and Garcia bites her knuckle to fight a squeak of surprise. 

Hotch takes a few moments but his voice remains even, “I hope so too.” 

“What made you pursue profiling?” Rossi’s question is effective in pulling your focus off of Hotch. 

“Elle joined because of our father.” You shrug lightly, “I joined because of her.” 

You shift your stance to look back at the rest of the team. 

“I grew up with everyone talking about how great my father was, he was a police officer.” The various nods around the room remind you they’ve heard this story before, “I didn’t really know him, I was only two when he died. So what I know mostly came from stories. Elle.”

Everyone listens carefully and you shrug. 

“My dad is why I wanted to work in law enforcement, but my sister is why I’m here.” 

JJ’s expression softens, “She inspired you.” 

“Every day. She hated the phone but would call me after every big arrest. I was in college and still stuck in New York, but I followed every case she worked that made the news.” You admit, “Until she became the news.” 

Garcia’s eyes start to glisten. 

“I didn’t request to be here because I wanted her desk.” You nod toward the bullpen, “This was the job that made my sister believe she could make a difference.” 

You look back at the team. 

“I wanted to know what that felt like.” Your expression hardens and the team can only watch as you shift your focus on Hotch, “I also wanted to prove a Greenaway deserved to be here.”

The implication wasn’t subtle but you didn’t mean for it to be. Morgan winces. 

Hotch doesn’t flinch, “I never believed it didn’t.”

You tilt your head, “No?”

“No.” 

You hold his eyes for another moment, the rest of the room falling to the background as you study each other. 

“That’s not the story I grew up with.” 

Another beat passes before Hotch says something no one expected. 

“Then perhaps joining this team will provide you with another one.” 

He’s being diplomatic but you can see the tips of his ears are glowing red. Eventually you let him off the hook with a short nod. 

Morgan claps his hands together, eager to change the subject, “So, let’s find you a desk.” 

He wraps an arm around your shoulder and leads you out of the conference room. Garcia follows with the offer of showing where she hides the fun creamer. 

The team slowly follows to return to their desks. Only one person carries any real concern for the newest member of the team. Hotch lingers in the conference room for a moment, watching you fit in quickly. JJ throws her head back in a laugh at something you say while unpacking your bag. 

It was clear you’re intelligent, confident, and respected. Every bit as qualified as Strauss had promised. However. You look at him like he’s carrying a debt you intend to collect on. 

-

Weeks into being a part of the BAU, the team had learned several things about you. You absolutely hate being late. You drink your coffee black. You can spot a lie as easily as you breathe. 

More importantly. 

You couldn’t agree with Aaron Hotchner about anything. 

The first case you worked on brought the team to North Dakota. 

“You think he’s organized.” He comments. 

“I think he’s methodical.” You correct. 

“Same thing.” 

“No.” Your brows drop, “Organized offenders maintain systems. Methodical offenders maintain routines. 

“You’ve been on this team for a week.” He reminds.

“And I’ve been profiling for years.” You correct. 

Morgan coughs into his fist and Emily has to hide a smile behind her coffee. 

Hotch manages to keep his expression neutral, “That doesn’t make you right.” 

“No,” you smile sweetly, “Being right does that.” 

JJ looks down at her file, a quiet chuckle escaping. Rossi doesn’t bother commenting, he just looks back and forth between the two of you like it's a tennis match. Everyone was surprised that Hotch never shut you down. Anyone else who challenged him this aggressively would have received a very Hotch like stare and reminder of the chain of command. 

With you however, he engages every time. You gave it just as good as you got it. It had become entertaining for the team because they could see how the two of you pushed each other. You caught inconsistencies that Hotch sometimes overlooked. He saw patterns in your theories that you had never considered. 

When the two of you were on the same page, the rest of the team hardly needed to contribute. But when you disagreed the room became a verbal battlefield. 

Weeks continued, the rest of the team had found something to bond with you over. All but Hotch. The only member of the team that still received a cold shoulder from you. 

The team has spent days trying to wrap up a case in Portland that had gone on longer than anyone had hoped. 

“You’re assuming the victimology is intentional.” 

“It is.” He doesn’t even bother looking up in your direction. 

“You don’t know that.” You sigh. 

“I know the unsub chose them.” 

“That’s not the same thing.” You shake your head and he finally looks up at you. 

He leans back in his chair, his arms stretching above his head. “You’re splitting hairs.” 

“I’m profiling.” You roll your eyes. 

Derek’s eyebrows shoot up. Emily murmurs, “Here we go.” 

“What’s your theory?” Hotch finally asks you.

The team raises brows at his bold opening. Rossi wishes he had popcorn for the sparring opportunity Aaron just opened. 

“I think he’s choosing people based on opportunity.”

“Then why the consistency” 

“Because his opportunity is consistent.” Your finger jabs the file sitting on the conference table in front of you to emphasize your point. You slide a photo across the table, “The locations aren’t centered around the victims. They’re centered around him.” 

Reid leans forward and watches you tap the map. 

“Oh.” 

Hotch studies the map and you watch him. For several seconds neither of you speak. 

“You’re right.” 

You blink, not sure you heard him properly. Morgan’s eyebrows nearly disappear past his forehead.

Hotch looks back up at you, “He’s commuting.” 

You smile. Aaron is sure it’s the first time it’s ever been directed at him. 

“Was that so painful?” You ask with a slight head tilt. 

“No.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” 

Hotch’s mouth twitches, barely. You catch it and so does everyone else in the room. The case broke two hours later. Nobody had mentioned that you had been right, except for Hotch. 

“Good catch.” 

He says it quietly as the two of you walk toward the elevator. 

“Thank you.” The doors close and you can only bite your tongue for three floors, “That wasn’t so painful, was it?” 

He looks over and raises one brow. 

“Don’t push it.” 

You smile, “Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

-

The next case of importance came weeks later. Three victims in New Mexico, all women and found within a forty-mile radius. They had all been brutally beaten and found outside Santa Fe. The third was found this morning just north of the city. 

There were no obvious connections. No sexual assault, no robbery, and no communication from the offender. Just escalating violence. 

The team was already on the jet and working. 

“The injuries are the point.” You comment, taking in all of the crime scene photos that reveal the brutality behind the violence. 

Hotch looks across the table at you, “Explain.”

“He’s not killing them because he wants them dead.” 

Morgan glances over from the couch, “That’s a pretty important distinction, kid.”

“He wants the violence.” You tap the photos, “None of these injuries were immediately fatal.” 

Reid nods, “That is correct. This would be considered prolonged assault.”

“Exactly.” 

Hotch looks at the pictures again. 

“Control.” He looks back up at you to confirm. 

You nod, “Total control.” 

“Then why leave them alive?” Rossi asks from the seat next to you. 

“He doesn’t. He keeps them alive long enough to experience the fear, but eventually he loses control of the assault.”

Emily looks up, “So the homicide is incidental.” 

“The killing is the consequence, not the objective.” You lean back. 

Hotch studies you openly. 

“You’re saying he doesn’t fantasize about the murder.” 

You stare right back. 

“I’m saying he fantasizes about power.” 

He nods slowly, “That fits.” 

You look down at your notes. 

“There’s something else.” 

“Go ahead.”

“He’s getting worse.” 

“Escalation?” JJ questions. 

“The first victim was beaten. The second was more severe. The third…” You pause, “The third was unrecognizable.” 

Rossi frowns, “So he’s losing control.” 

You nod. 

Hotch immediately picks up on your train of thought, “Which means he’s going to move faster.”

Your eyes meet. Neither of you needed to explain the rest. There was going to be a fourth victim. 

-

By the time the jet touched down, you guys had a working profile. Male. Later thirties to early forties. Intelligent enough to avoid leaving obvious forensic evidence but growing increasingly more reckless. Local or at least familiar with northern New Mexico. 

The team was settled in the local police department's conference room. JJ stands at the whiteboard while everyone tries to figure out what connects the victims. How is he picking them? 

“The first victim was thirty-four, elementary school teacher. The second was twenty-nine and a vet technician. The most recent victim was thirty-eight and a real estate agent.” 

Morgan crosses his arms, “Different ages and professions.” 

“Different neighborhoods.” Emily comments, “They aren’t even from the same part of town.” 

Reid taps the map on the table, “But all three traveled through this area.” 

He circles a stretch of road between Albuquerque and Santa Fe.

“At least according to cell tower data.” 

Rossi nods, “So that’s our common denominator.” 

“Maybe.” You shrug, “All three women were found within ten miles of the highway.” 

Emily frowns, “So?”

“So he’s not hunting those neighborhoods, he's hunting along the route.” 

Hotch looks at the map. Reid’s red circle highlighting the area of concern. 

“Rest stops.” He studies it, “Gas stations, truck stops.” 

Reid nods, “Places where people stop while traveling.” 

“And places where no one notices someone watching them.” You add. 

“Or even following them.” Hotch continues before turning to the rest of the team, “We split up. Local PD has the surveillance footage from two of the locations. Morgan, take Prentiss and Reid to the first location. Rossi and JJ take the second victim.”

JJ nods and you look over at Hotch.

He looks over after feeling your gaze, “We’ll take the third location.” 

You glance down at the map, “The gas station with the missing surveillance footage?”

“Exactly.” He stands and grabs his jacket from the back of his chair. 

Morgan looks between the two of you, “You two going together?”

He wants to crack some joke, you can see it all over his face. 

“Apparently.” 

You and Hotch haven’t been alone much in the short couple of months you’ve been a part of the team now. Someone usually gets stuck being a buffer with the two of you. 

Morgan falls into step beside you as everyone walks out of the station to the SUVs. Aaron gets in the driver's seat and closes his door harshly. 

“Good luck.” Derek warns. 

“Concerened?” You smirk. “I can handle him.” 

“Trust me,” He chuckles, “That is not what I’m worried about.” 

You roll your eyes and give him a mock salute as you back toward the passenger side of the car. 

“Just be careful.” He studies you, “You don’t have anything to prove to us.” 

You swallow, “I know.”

You really didn’t.

“I know what happened with Elle.” His voice far too soft for anyone else to see, “I’m not letting it happen again.” 

You simply nod, not sure you could get anything out after that anyway. You turn back to the car behind you, getting in without a word to Hotch. He pulls out of the parking lot. The two of you have the longest drive, the farthest location from the city’s center. 

You sit with the file open in your lap, Hotch continues to drive. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was tense waiting for someone to break it. You decide to eventually after staring at the map long enough to burn it to your retinas. 

“Do you think the surveillance footage was deliberately erased?”

“Yes.” 

“Why?”

“Because it was only during the period of abduction that went missing.” His fingers tighten against the wheel. The desert stretches ahead of you, the sun still high in the sky. 

“What makes this one different? He wasn’t concerned with the two first victims.” 

“Maybe he’s connected to this location more so than the others.” He glances over at you, you can’t see his eyes due to the dark sunglasses blocking them. 

“Maybe he works there.” You send a quick text, “I’ll have Garcia check employee records.”

He doesn’t answer and you study him after putting your phone away. 

“You’re quiet.” 

“I’m driving.” He replies. 

“FBI agent who can’t talk and drive?” 

He’s still wearing the sunglasses but you can feel the glare when he looks over this time. 

“Occupational hazard.” He finally answers, looking back at the road. After a few more seconds he speaks up again, “You’re quieter too.” 

You look out the window, “Occupational hazard.” 

He almost smiles but tries to hide it when you look over. 

“Don’t.” 

“What?” He questions.

“That.” 

“What?”

“That-” You gesture with your hands, “almost smile thing.” 

His brows furrow, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“You do it when you think you’re being funny.” You roll your eyes. 

“I’m rarely funny.” 

“Exactly.” You bite. 

Unexpectedly for both of you in the car, Hotch laughs. It was quiet, but it was there and it was unmistakable. A real laugh and you look at him and forget what you were going to say. 

“What?”

You look back at the road, “Nothing.” 

The gas station sat outside of city limits, but it was small and busy right off of the highway. The kind of place that had people coming and going all the time without anyone remembering a face. The manager inside met the two of you with an exhausted expression that told you that he had already answered questions to officers previously. 

At the end of the conversation, the manager leads the two of you back to the security room. Room was an exaggeration, it was a closet with monitors inside and exactly eight square feet. It was at least ten degrees warmer in there than the rest of the store. 

“Someone disabled the camera manually.” 

You look over at Hotch. 

“So our unsub isn’t just observant.” 

“No,” Hotch agrees, “he knows security systems.” 

“Or has access to someone who does.” 

The manager has to go back to work but the two of you look around the small room for any more clues. Boxes pile up everywhere making the two of you brush shoulders. His phone starts ringing, which makes you both jump. 

“Hotchner.” He answers. 

He puts the call on speaker so you can hear JJ’s voice on the other end. 

“We found something, the second victim took out a restraining order six months ago.”

“Against who?” Hotch asks.

“Against her ex boyfriend.” 

“Have him brought in.” 

“That’s the problem.” She sighs, “He disappeared three weeks ago.” 

-

It took almost a full day to find the ex boyfriend, who ended up being a dead end. Between you and Hotch, it didn’t take long in the interrogation room to see he wasn’t capable of this. Two days later, the fourth victim had turned up. 

You stand at the edge of the crime scene, staring down the yellow tape that stretches across the dirt access road. 

The victim was twenty-four. 

A truck driver found her just before dawn, badly beaten and barely alive. Responding officers got one thing from her before it was too late. She said he talked to her, that was it. He had approached her at another gas station. 

One detail caught your attention. It stuck with you all the way back to the station.

“He asked her where she was going.” you pace and the team watches you, “Did all of the victims have destinations? Were they traveling out of their normal daily routine?” 

Reid starts rifling through papers on the table, “Yes, the first was heading north from Albuquerque, the second was headed to Colorado, the third was headed to her parents, and the fourth was heading back to her college campus.”

You look at Hotch, “They weren’t chosen because of where they lived.”

“No?”

“They were chosen because they were leaving.” 

Hotch nods. 

“He’s targeting travelers.” 

“More specifically women traveling alone along this stretch.” Your finger traces the map. 

“Which means he’s watching them before he approaches.” Derek frowns. 

“From where?” Rossi asks. 

“The rest stops. He’s watching them leave from a vehicle that can blend in and follow them.”

“What about a trucker?” Reid asks, “That could be how he has the privacy to beat them so severely as well.”

That new development gives Garcia something new to work with and search for and wrap up the evening for the team. Hotch insists on everyone going back to the hotel to try and get some rest. Looking for a trucker who is familiar with the area and is capable of disappearing along a major highway at any moment isn’t easy. 

All week you and Aaron have been going everywhere together, it would seem the ride home won’t be any different. You can’t even be surprised by it anymore, you just watch the streetlights pass as he continues to drive in the direction of the hotel. 

He clears his throat softly, you automatically look over knowing he’s getting ready to say something. It takes another minute for the words to actually come out, his eyes darting to yours once before looking back at the road. 

“I’m sorry.” He quietly tosses out into the void of the car. 

“For?” Your brows tighten. 

“I never meant for Elle to end up at home alone that day.” He admits, you take a deep breath following his admission. You really didn’t think today would be the time to finally have this conversation. It’s been months, but it would seem he finally has the courage. “I think to myself every day how different things may have been if she wasn’t alone. If Anderson had stayed. If I had taken her home myself. Sent Morgan with her. All of it.”

You swallow, you can tell he means what he’s saying. He has considered the way things could have been different. She never would have killed someone later and given up her career. She could still be on this team. Maybe you wouldn’t be. 

“It’s not just because you’re here, even though that is definitely a reminder. For years I have regretted what happened to her.” 

A beat passes. The streetlights continue to flash overhead. He looks back again, finally. You can tell he’s bracing for impact. Preparing for the worst. Ready for you to rip him a new one. 

“We’ll never know what could have been. Neither of us can change the past.” You offer, surprising both of you. When you first started on the team you would’ve gone straight for the jugular. “I think you made mistakes, but at the end of the day so did she.”

You reminisce on when Elle had just joined the team. Her excitement was undeniable, rattling on and on about the people she was working with and the places she was traveling to. You heard about the infamous Hotchner who was too serious for his own good and terribly good at his job and leading the team. She was different after the case with the Fisher King, too eager to get back and prove herself. She wasn’t the same big sister you grew up with anymore. 

“She talked about you. She said you were a pain in the ass, but you always put the team first.” You admit, “She talked about everyone. Gideon. She would call after each case. Towards the end it was clear things had changed.” 

“She needed someone to blame.” His shoulders shrug slightly. 

“And you’re saying that person is you?”

“I was convenient.” He hesitates with his words, “It was justified.” 

“I wasn’t.” You admit, his eyes snapping over to yours, “Some would say I’ve been hostile toward you since I joined the team.” 

“Some?” He teases. 

“Morgan is afraid to leave us alone because he thinks I’ll do something to lose my job.” You roll your eyes. 

“You’re too good at this for that to happen.” He offers. 

“Good to know.” You look back at him, “I’ll keep pushing my luck then.” 

“Y/n.” He warns your name.

“Seriously.” You lean your head back against the headrest but continue looking in his direction, “Seeing you run this team first hand, I know what she meant when she first joined the team.”

“Which was?”

“You put the team first. You are the job.” 

He looks back again, his gaze opening studying you. His eyes look warmer than you’ve ever seen them. The passing streetlights give you a flash of the honey in the darkness. The rest of the drive goes faster than it should, too late for traffic. The hotel parking lot is full but he manages to get a spot before Morgan. 

“Funny,” You swing the door open and hop out, turning back to look at him, “Aaron Hotchner, you can talk and drive.” 

You slam the door behind you, walking toward the hotel. He watches every move, shaking his head with a smile. He can tell you're laughing too, he gives himself a few more seconds of that peace before heading in. 

-

The next morning, Garcia had come up with a list of twenty truckers that the team narrowed down to one. The police spotted his truck and trailer before he could get to victim number five, thanks to the work of you and the BAU. 

The team felt the shift in the weeks following Santa Fe. You had stopped being a problem that he needed to manage. Now you were something he wanted to understand. You still didn’t trust him completely, but you were starting to see why your sister had. It was getting easier day by day and case by case. 

When the team landed in Chicago, things had changed. You still didn’t particularly enjoy being reminded that Aaron Hotchner was your boss, and he still didn’t like to be challenged by their youngest profiler regularly. But, something had shifted. Your edges weren’t as sharp and the arguments had become almost… fun. Which the team was starting to notice.

“You’re assuming he’s geographically stable.” You look up from the map. 

“I’m assuming he has a preference.” Aaron sits on the opposite end of the conference table. 

“That’s not the same thing.”

He rolls his eyes, “It is if his preference is consistent.” He points at a map, “Three victims across three different neighborhoods.” 

“Four.” You correct automatically. 

“One was attempted.” 

“Still counts.” 

“Not for the geographic profile.” The edge of his lip is barely starting to curl up on one side. 

Your eyes narrow, “You’re being pedantic.”

“I’m being accurate.” 

“Those aren’t mutually exclusive.” You spin around in your chair, eager to get out of the stuffy room where the team was truly getting nowhere. 

Morgan looks between the two of you and thinks he’ll go unnoticed, “Are we solving a case or watching a married couple-”

“No.” You and Hotch cut him off simultaneously. Derek’s smile only widens and Emily covers her mouth. JJ shakes her head, pretending to read the file in front of her. Rossi just kept drinking his coffee while looking incredibly smug. 

You stop your slow spin to face the table again and point on the map, “The unsub has a comfort zone.” 

Hotch nods, “Agreed.”

You look up at him, “See?”

“That doesn’t mean you were right.” 

You smile, “I’ll take what I can get.” 

Hotch’s mouth twitches. 

“Alright, kid.” Morgan suddenly stands from the table and grabs his jacket off the back of it, “Let’s get you out of here before you combust from sitting in this room.” 

The table laughs and you shake your head. 

“Where are we going?” You stand. 

“The second victim’s apartment. The neighbor had to have seen or heard something the night of the attack.” 

You glance back at Hotch, “Try not to solve it without us.” 

He raises a brow, “I’ll do my best.” 

“Ooh, that sounds scary.” 

You follow Morgan right out the door to leave the precinct. The room is reeling at your departure and talk as if their boss wasn’t sitting right there. 

“Did you see that?” Emily leans toward JJ.

Hotch clears his throat, effectively ending the conversation. 

“We have an interview at the hospital in twenty minutes.” 

Rossi glances over at him, “Of course.” 

The case involved different people attacked in different parts of Chicago over the last four weeks. Three people died, but one managed to get away. Unfortunately she’s on a ventilator and in a coma and unable to point the team in the right direction. 

Across town, Rossi and Hotch sit in an SUV headed toward the hospital to interview a potential witness. It was clear Aaron was agitated by the comment and obvious observation earlier from the team. For the first several minutes of the car ride, neither spoke. 

“So.” Rossi starts. 

“No.” 

Rossi smiles, “I haven’t asked anything yet.” 

“I know what you’re going to ask.” 

“Do you?” He looks over at Aaron, his angry gaze is focused on the road. 

“Yes.” 

“And?”

“No.” 

Rossi chuckles, “Well you either don’t know the question or you’re a liar, Aaron.” 

He doesn’t say a word, but he does finally look over at the older man of the two for a brief second. 

“What’s going on with you and Greenaway?” 

“Nothing.” 

“Interesting.” 

Hotch looks back at him, “What?”

“It’s the answer I expected.” Rossi shrugs, looking straight ahead. 

“Because it’s true.” Aaron defends. 

Rossi nods thoughtfully, “Sure.” 

Hotch gives him another look. 

“Dave.” 

“I’m listening.” He smiles. 

“There’s nothing going on.” Aaron’s tone remains flat, but Rossi knows him too well. 

“I’ve known you for a long time, Aaron.” 

“She’s a member of the team.” Hotch reminds. 

“I know.” 

“She’s an excellent profiler.” 

“I know.” 

“She’s extremely challenging.” 

“I know.” 

“She’s still dealing with what happened to Elle.” 

Rossi nods, “And you feel responsible.” 

Hotch stays quiet for a few long seconds before answering, “Partially.” 

“Partially?” 

Hotch sighs, “I made mistakes, but there were things I didn’t know.” 

Rossi simply nods, letting him continue. 

“I don’t want her to think I don’t take what happened seriously.”

“You care what she thinks.” Rossi observes. 

“Of course I care what she thinks.” 

Rossi smiles, “There it is.” 

Hotch frowns again, “That doesn’t mean anything.” 

“It means something-”

“It means I’m responsible for the people on my team.” Aaron interrupts. 

“That’s not what I meant.”

Hotch knew that. He just didn’t want to say it, Rossi lets the silence sit for a moment. They’re getting close to the hospital now. 

“Aaron, you don’t argue with people you don’t respect. You shut them down” Rossi continues, “You don’t tease people you don’t like.” 

Another pause. 

“You certainly don’t smile at them.” Rossi chuckles because he can’t help himself. 

Hotch shakes his head, “She’s Elle’s younger sister. I’m her supervisor.” 

Rossi nods along, “And?” 

“That makes this complicated.” 

Rossi’s eyebrows rise, “Interesting choice of word.”

Hotch looks back at him, “Don’t.” 

Rossi holds up his hands in defense, “Fine. But for what it’s worth…”

Aaron waits. 

“Whatever this is, it seems healthier than what you two were doing before.” 

The buildings continue to pass in a blur. 

“I don’t know what it is.” 

“Aaron, that is probably the first honest answer you’ve given me.” 

-

It took hours for the team to all get back to the conference room later that evening. Everyone was paired off following different leads but coming back now for a bit before calling it a night. 

“The neighbor saw a dark SUV.” Derek explains. 

“Did they get a make and model?” Reid asks. 

You shake your head, “Too dark to tell, one of the streetlights is out. But she remembers the driver.” 

Hotch looks up at you, “Description?”

“Male, forties, dark hair, and a gray jacket.” 

Reid frowns, “Extremely broad.” 

You smile, “Give me a chance, boy genius. She also said he smiled and waved when she saw him outside.”

“Why does that matter?” Emily asks. 

“He was watching the neighbor.” You explain, “Which means he’s aware of witnesses.”

Hotch nods, “Which means he’s likely paying attention to the investigation.” 

Your eyes meet with that same little spark. That same familiar challenge. 

He nods again, “Good catch.” 

You smile, “Now it’s getting predictable.” 

“So are you.” His frown instantly lifts. 

“How?” You question. 

“You always have to have the last word.” 

You lean back in your seat, eager to say something. Anything. The longer you hold off the better, but it doesn’t last before you prove his point. You're surprised to hear him admit something he's observed about you so easily.

“Someone has to.” 

-

By midnight, the team was done. Not because the case had been solved, but because everyone was exhausted. The conference room at the Chicago field office had become a graveyard of coffee cups and takeout boxes. 

Hotch finally closes his file, “We’re done for the night.” 

“Thank god.” Morgan groans. 

Garcia’s voice comes in off the laptop, “I support this decision wholeheartedly.”

“You aren’t even here.” Emily looks at her.

“I’m here spiritually. Peace out my lovely crime fighters.” 

She signs out, the screen going black. 

You lean back in your chair, “I can keep going.” 

“No.” Hotch denies, “You’ve had three cups of coffee.” 

“Four.” You correct. 

Morgan laughs, “That’s worse.” 

“I am functioning perfectly fine.” You argue. 

Hotch raises a brow, “You tried to interrogate a vending machine twenty minutes ago.” 

“It wouldn’t give me my money back.” You frown. 

“You called it an accomplice.” 

You squint, “It was behaving suspiciously.” 

JJ shakes her head, “Nobody likes a sleep-deprived Greenaway.” 

Rossi grabs his coat, “She’s particularly argumentative.” 

You point at him, “I’m always argumentative.” 

Hotch looks at you, “That’s true.” 

Your eyes narrow, “See?” 

He almost smiles, “Delirious.” 

“I am not delirious!” 

“Vending machine.” Hotch blinks, “Conspiracy theory.” 

“All I know is I have two less dollars and no snacks.” You shrug. 

Morgan comes up and claps a hand on your shoulder, “Come on Greenaway, let’s get you to bed before you start profiling the elevator.” 

“Is the elevator also going to rob me?” You swat his hand away, “I can walk, thank you very much.”

The hotel was quiet, everyone disappeared into their room within minutes. You showered, changed, set your alarm, and got into bed. Your eyes were heavy enough that you didn’t even remember falling asleep. It lasted approximately three hours. 

At 3:47 a.m. you bolt upright in bed. 

You settle onto your back, looking up at the ceiling. Your mind taking you through too many loops to fall back asleep now. The neighbor. The SUV. The witness statements. Dark hair. Grey jacket. The wave. 

You had been looking at the wrong part. 

You climb out of bed, pulling on jeans and a sweatshirt. Your shoes barely make it on your feet as you grab your badge. You look at the clock one more time. 3:56 a.m. Everyone else on the team is asleep. 

You hesitate before leaving your room, walking down the hall two doors. You stop outside of Hotch’s door. Your hand hovers over the wood, debating if this is really worth waking him up in the middle of the night. 

“This is a terrible idea.” You mutter to yourself before forcing your hand to knock lightly. Nothing for a few seconds so you knock again. Seconds later you hear the lock turn, the door opens barely four inches. 

Hotch is standing there, clearly disheveled. T-shirt and sweatpants, his eyes barely open. 

“Greenaway?” He blinks, “It’s four in the morning.” 

“I know.” 

“Why are you here?” He looks around the hall behind you. 

“I figured something out.” You pause before adding a quieter “I think.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, “Of course you did. And it can’t wait until the sun is up?”

“If I'm right, every minute matters.” 

He drops his hand, he knows how true that is more than anyone. 

“I want to go over all the witness statements from each victim again. I think we missed the unsub.” 

He stares at you, his mind processing at a fraction of what it normally does. You can finally take in how long and dark his lashes are with his slow blinks. 

“He isn’t trying to hide, he’s gloating. He can kill someone and wave goodbye and get away with it. He would get the biggest thrill by talking to us directly as a witness.”

His eyes sharpen. 

“Do you trust me?” You ask. 

“Yes.” He answers without hesitation. You’re not sure if you should blame it on the sleep deprivation or thank it.

“Okay. Get dressed.” 

The streets of Chicago were nearly empty. You sit in the passenger seat, Aaron drives with one hand on the wheel. All the lights are green, few other people out on the road yet. 

“You know, you’re a lot easier to convince when you’re half asleep.” 

He sighs, half a yawn, “Yeah…” 

You snort a laugh, “You’re not mad?”

His head is actually resting against the headrest, but he turns toward you for a second. 

“You had a breakthrough.” 

“At four in the morning.” 

His mouth twitches, “Every minute matters.” 

You openly smile and he matches it for a second. You catch it before he can turn back toward the road. 

“Was that a smile?” 

“No.” 

“Wow, you must really be tired.” 

“Yeah, and you’re using it against me.” He jokes and you actually laugh. He fails at hiding his smile. 

“Very effective.” 

For nearly two hours after arriving back at the station the two of you go over all the statements. Again and again, using your own resources to look up backgrounds since Garcia is asleep states away. 

A few officers looked surprised to see the BAU walking in at four in the morning. Hotch didn’t explain and you didn’t either. It was almost six when you finally stopped on one of the witnesses. You sit up straighter as everything starts to click. 

“Wait.” 

Hotch looks up, “What?”

“Here.” You get up and read it out loud, “Marcus Bell. Forty five and works for the city doing maintenance.”

He takes the report from your hand so he can look it over himself.

You reach for another picture, “The city maintenance crew wears grey jackets.” 

You hand Hotch the picture and he stares it over, “That’s him.” 

He’s already reaching for his phone. He makes the call and detectives are moving within minutes. Marcus Bell was at home, his vehicle parked on the street outside. A search warrant was already being prepared, and the team hadn’t even arrived yet. 

At seven thirty, the rest of the team walks into the field office with coffee in hand. They pause when they see cops everywhere, moving far too quickly for how early it still is. 

Emily walks in behind him, “What happened?”

An officer hurried past, “Marcus Bell was just arrested.” 

Morgan blinks, “Who?”

“The BAU got him.” The officer tosses over his shoulder, still in a rush. 

Derek throws up his hands, “Okay, now I’m really confused!” 

The team moves to the conference room they had been occupying. You and Hotch are sitting at the table, surrounded by files. Both of you look completely exhausted. 

You look up, “Morning.”

“Apparently we should have told the two of you not to solve the case without us.” Rossi looks between the two of you. 

“What did you do?” Derek questions.

Hotch looks up, “Found the unsub.” 

“When?” Emily shouts, “How?” 

Aaron looks over at you, “She had an idea.” 

“At four in the morning.” You add. 

Derek turns toward Hotch, “You let her wake you up at four?” 

Hotch stares back before a small shrug, “She had a theory. It paid off.” 

Outside of the conference room, officers escort Marcus Bell past in handcuffs. The case was over. The families would have answers and a dangerous man was off the streets. 

You lean back in your chair, your neck resting on the back of it. 

“You should sleep.” Hotch voices. 

You smile, “So should you.” 

“That’s an order.” 

Now you snap your head back up to look at him. A small smile on his face. 

“Bossy.” You shake your head, “Now who’s delirious?”

You laugh and Hotch tries not to, but fails. Everyone notices. 

-

Six weeks after the Chicago case, everyone was beyond pretending they didn’t notice things. You found yourself sitting near him on the plane more and more. He somehow always knew when you needed another file, before you could even ask. 

Morgan nearly choked at the table during a briefing when Hotch slid you his muffin when your stomach rumbled loud enough for the whole room to hear. Neither of you acknowledged what he had just done. 

The banter was still constant. 

You were still at your apartment when you got the call. It was 6:14 a.m. Hotch barely got out a handful of words before he was hanging up and calling the next team member. 

It only takes you less than twenty minutes from that call to make it into the bullpen. Somehow Hotch and JJ are already here. The rest of the team doesn’t take long to show up, Hotch marches out of his office. 

“Everybody to the conference room.” 

Morgan looks up between everyone, “What’s going on?” 

He doesn’t get an answer until the team is sitting around the table. 

“Bomb threat?”

Hotch nods, “DC Metro received an anonymous call at 5:47 this morning.” 

“What was the threat?” You look up at him. 

“One bomb.” He pauses, “At first.” 

JJ frowns, “At first?” 

“The caller said there would be multiple devices.” 

Morgan sits forward, “How many?” 

“Three confirmed.” Aaron swallows, the room stays silent. 

Rossi eventually looks over at Hotch, “What are the targets?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out.” 

Garcia pulls up the audio file of the call. 

“It’s automated.” She types rapidly, “The initial call was directed to the bomb squad for metro, that’s the department he was trying to reach.” 

‘You built your city on graves.’ the voice robotically speaks, ‘At noon, four, and twelve they will need to expand. This city will mourn.’ 

The dial clicks off, not leaving you guys with much. 

“He gave us a schedule?” Reid questions with the raise of his brows. 

“No,” you shake your head, “He’s giving us a countdown.” 

Hotch nods, “He’s controlling the response.” 

“He’s not trying to hide the bombs.” You continue. 

Hotch follows instantly. 

“He’s announcing them.” His face growing more serious, “Because he wants the city looking for them.” 

Rossi leans forward, “Which means?”

“He wants us distracted.” You look back at Hotch again, eyes meeting.

The same thought at the same time. 

“There’s a fourth target.” 

-

Within two hours, the BAU had a task force assembled. Bomb technicians were ready all over the city as highly populated areas were being thoroughly inspected. The first device was found beneath a parked car right outside a government office building. 

It was capable of causing significant casualties and there’s only reason to believe he’ll get bigger and bigger with it. The city was shutting down streets and evacuating buildings. Somewhere, the unsub was watching it all. 

Hotch walks back into the room after getting on a call, “What’s our timeline?” 

“First device is secure.” JJ answers. 

“Second target is still unknown, but we bought ourselves some time if he’s still following his own timeline.” You continue. 

He nods, “We need to assume the second device is still in place.” 

Reid looks up from the map, “We need to consider what other government buildings he’s targeting.” 

Your gut pulls at you. Screaming to speak up, even though you don’t have the evidence to back it. Screw it. 

“Actually, I think that’s too obvious now.” 

The team all looks at you, giving you their attention and the opportunity to continue. You walk over to the map of DC on the wall. 

“He wants us to think politically motivated.” 

“But?” Rossi questions. 

“He chose the first location because of what it represents.” 

Hotch watches you, tilting his head, “Not what it does.” 

You nod, “Exactly. What if his second target is about quantity? Where would he have the most potential casualties? The biggest fallout?”

It was closer than anyone had wanted, but at 3:38 p.m., the second bomb was found. You had started to sweat thinking you maybe led the team down the wrong path, but it paid off when it was found inside a Metro station. 

The evacuation was chaotic, forcing thousands of people out onto the streets. The bomb squad moved in and disarmed it within minutes. 

This officially confirmed for the team that these targets weren’t random at all. The first was a federal building. The second was public infrastructure. 

“What connects them?” Morgan asks out loud to the room, not to anyone in particular. 

Reid points to the locations again, “Both were built during major periods of urban expansion.” 

“So?” Rossi frowns. 

“Both were built after major government reconstruction projects.” Garcia notes, eyes glued to the screen in front of her, “Post-war redevelopment that became federal expansion.”

“So he’s not really targeting buildings or people.” You sit up straighter. 

“He’s targeting history.” Hotch crosses his arms over his chest and leans back against the table. 

“Maybe.” You turn back toward him, “We know he’s getting angrier with each one of his failures.” 

“You think he’ll escalate?” Emily asks. 

“I think he’ll do anything to make sure his surprise finale goes off without a hitch.” 

-

The third device was in a parking garage for a government housing complex. 

The team should be celebrating. You guys knew better than that. 

The fourth target was the one that actually mattered to him. The team has spent the entire day pissing him off, if he didn’t have a fourth he does now. 

“We’ve already evacuated three highly crowded areas, what would be bigger and more dense?” You think outloud, “Reid, any concerts or big games tonight?” 

He shakes his head as the words are still leaving your mouth, “The Nationals had a game but it’s already been postponed.”

JJ gestures with her hands as she speaks, “Where is everyone on a Friday night?”

Hotch’s eyes widen, “The National Mall.” 

The room goes silent, he reaches for his phone. 

“Get every available unit to the National Mall.” 

The team is already in motion, you pair off with Hotch. Sirens were starting to fill the streets. The clock was still counting down, but this time you didn’t know when it would stop. Somewhere up ahead, there was a bomb big enough to change the city forever. 

Maybe for the first time since joining the BAU, you weren’t thinking about Elle. Or Aaron. The only thing on your mind was all of the people you needed to save. In the driver's seat next to you Aaron can’t help but think the exact same. 

It was too crowded. 

Tourists. Families. Joggers. Couples. Photographers. 

Thousands of people unaware that somewhere there was a clock ticking. 

You look around the crowded area, scanning faces and trying to spot red flags. Hotch does the same, looking in the other direction. There’s a table set up with cliche touristy magnets and T-shirts. No one is standing with the items. Never in your life have you seen a street vendor abandon their stuff so carelessly. 

“Hotch?” You ask, nodding in its direction. 

It doesn’t take long for him to catch onto what you’re thinking. The two of you move closer, a large tub sits under the table. You look up at Hotch and he nods so you carefully take off the lid. The bomb is hidden inside, time flashing down and two many wires to count. 

He drops beside you, “It’s too big to move.” 

You look up at the crowd, there’s too many people and with the size of this no one within blocks would stand a chance. 

“Less than two minutes.” You tie your hair back and Aaron reaches for his phone to call Morgan. 

“Hotch?” He answers instantly. 

He hesitates for a second, “We found the device.”

“Where are you?” Derek pants, “How much time?”

“Street vendor stand by the Lincoln Memorial.” 

“A minute and twenty-six seconds.” You answer Morgan’s other question. 

He sighs again, “I’m not close enough.” 

He’s running, you can tell by the sound coming through on the phone. 

You look up at Hotch, his eyes already studying you. 

“Talk us through it.” You decide. 

Morgan’s rough inhale tells you he doesn’t love this idea either. 

“Don’t touch anything yet.” 

“Too late.” 

“Of course you did, Greenaway.” 

“Focus.” Aaron reminds. 

This device was more sophisticated than the previous bombs. Multiple circuits and backup power. Morgan gave careful instructions step by step. Between that and Aaron’s reassuring nod, your hands stopped shaking. 

“There should be a blue wire.” 

“There’s three.” 

“Great.” 

Hotch stares at the timer, watching the precious seconds pass by. 

“One should go underneath to the main housing.” 

You follow the wire all the way under, “I see it.” 

“That’s your primary trigger.” 

“What about the secondary?” Hotch asks. 

“If she disconnects the wrong one, it accelerates.” 

You huff, “That’s reassuring.” 

“You’re doing great.” Aaron’s voice comes out softer than you’ve ever heard. 

You cut the cord, the timer continues to drop. 

“Forty seconds.” Hotch announces. 

“Next step, Morgan.” You demand, sweat building at your temples. 

“Now the second circuit. There should be another panel of wires.” 

Tourists all over laugh and continue taking pictures. Completely oblivious. 

“There.” Hotch points his hand coming over yours to guide it toward the panel, “Red and yellow, Morgan.” 

It takes a few seconds for him to answer.

“Yellow.” 

00:19 flashes in your face. 

Derek says it with enough confidence you cut this one without hesitation. Nothing. You both stare at the timer. 

“Why isn’t it stopping?” 

Morgan’s voice goes quiet, “Hotch, there’s a manual trigger. That’s the last step.” 

Your blood goes cold. 

“Where?”

“Underneath.”

He reaches under the bomb and with some reaching and the flip of a switch a few seconds later the timer finally stops. 

00:06 flashes. 

“Got it.” Hotch pants.

“You’re clear.” Derek cheers, Hotch hangs up the phone and puts it back in his pocket.

Hotch sits back on his heels and you do the same. For a second neither of you move, you start to laugh. He looks over, a smile growing. He pulls your side in against him in a hug. You’ve never touched him like this. You’ll probably have to blame this on adrenaline. 

“That was fun.” You laugh. 

“Don’t ever say that again.” 

You smile and pull back so you can look at him, he’s still closer than he’s ever been. His eyes fall down to your lips for a split second. Your heart starts beating faster than it had been when the bomb was still active. 

“Aaron Hotchner, you were scared-”

A gunshot cracks through the air. Hotch looks up immediately, your body drops to the ground. He’s quick to the draw, reaching for the gun at his waist. The man doesn’t get off another shot, Aaron’s impeccable aim settling the score. 

Blood was rapidly blooming across your shoulder and spreading across your chest. Hotch is on his knees at your side yelling for an ambulance, your eyes flutter and you see him in flashes. His voice echoes your name but it sounds distant. His hand is held against the wound. 

“Stay with me.” 

You manage to focus your eyes on his for another second. You hold it as long as possible, but the weight on your eyelids starts to win. 

Daniel Erickson was a thirty-nine year old former city engineer. He had no criminal record or any psychiatric history. No obvious extremist affiliation. He had been present for the bomb, waiting for it to explode. He intended to die with it. Some would say he did. 

The profile was wrong, everyone had assumed he wanted to witness the destruction. In the end he wanted to be part of it. 

The team approaches as the paramedics get you on a gurney. You’re out of it at this point, the team watches them rush you away. Hotch remains hot on their heels, his shirt stained in your blood. He doesn’t even look up at them as he passes, his focused locked on you. They watch all the way until Hotch disappears into the ambulance after you. 

Morgan looks over to the body bag being zipped up, “How did we miss that?”

Rossi simply shakes his head, forcing his hands into his pockets. 

“We didn’t have enough information.”

Derek looks to where your ambulance has now disappeared. 

“She could die.” 

“I know,” Rossi reaches out to pat his shoulder carefully, “I know. 

-

The hospital waiting room had never felt so small and it had been nearly four hours. Four hours since you had been rushed through the doors and disappeared deeper where Aaron wasn’t allowed to follow anymore. The team joined him not long after he finally sat down. 

The bullet had entered high in your chest, just below the shoulder. 

The surgeon had already been out to update the team, “If the bullet had been two inches to the right, she wouldn’t have had a chance.” 

Two inches. 

That short distance replayed in Aaron’s mind a thousand times. 

Two inches. 

Dried blood was still on Aaron’s shirt. He hadn’t noticed, but everyone else had. Nobody said anything. The team had gone unusually quiet. They had grown used to you filling most conversations, and of course getting the last word in. 

Now, no one had anything to say. Even Penelope. 

Rossi sits across from Hotch, two untouched coffees sitting between them. Morgan stands near the window, somehow unable to sit even still. Reid was trying to read, but found himself stuck on the same page. Emily was outside, pretending not to have a stress cigarette. JJ was pacing, her phone never leaving her hand. 

None of them were good at waiting. Especially for one of their own. Especially for you. You had become one of their own without question. 

Morgan was protective of you from the beginning. JJ took you under her wing. You and Emily had developed a beautiful friendship and witty banter that never ceased. Reid was fascinated by your ability to argue against his statistics with remarkable persuasion. Rossi had started lumping you in with his daughter as just another one of his girls. 

And Aaron. 

He hadn’t allowed himself to say what you had become to him. Not even privately to himself. He knew he cared. He knew part of him was obsessed. He’d known for weeks. 

Morgan breaks the silence, “How long has it been?” 

JJ checks the clock, “Almost four hours.”

“That’s a long surgery.” His jaw tightens. 

“She’ll be okay.” Garcia tries to reassure, but it’s not even a fraction of her typical positivity. 

“You don’t know that.” Reid says, without looking up from his book. Still on the same page. 

“No.” Garcia swallows, focusing on her knitting needles with tears in her eyes, “But I’m going to keep on saying it.”

It took another hour for the surgeon to appear. Everyone stood at once, the doctor looked exhausted but they could all see the good news on her face. 

“She’s stable.” 

The entire room sighed in relief. 

“Oh, thank god!” Garcia cries. 

The doctor continues, “The bullet fractured her clavicle. We repaired the damage and removed the bullet. She’s going to be in a sling for several weeks, possibly longer depending on how the fracture heals.” 

Hotch nods, closing his eyes briefly. 

“She also lost a significant amount of blood.” 

His eyes open. 

“But she’s stable. She was extremely lucky.” The doctor nods, “She’ll be unconscious for a while, the anesthesia is still wearing off.” 

“Can we see her?” JJ asks. 

She nods, “One at a time.” 

The team looks to one person. 

“Hotch.” Morgan states. 

He looks at him, almost embarrassed by how badly he needed it. How easily they all saw that. 

“You need to see her.” 

He hesitates, Rossi gives him an encouraging nod. 

“Thank you.”

Your room is dim, you look too small beneath the hospital blankets in bed. Your arm secured in a sling, and wires all over you. Monitors. An IV. He stops just inside the door. For a moment, he couldn’t move. 

You don’t look like the person he’s come to know well over the last few months. The woman who argued over everything. The woman who woke him up at four in the morning. The woman who stole coffee and lied about it. The one who gave him his first real smile in the car. 

But it is you. 

The thought hit him so hard he almost stopped breathing. 

Eventually he can move again, he pulls the chair closer to your bed. He sits slowly, his hand hovering over yours before taking it. 

“I-” He clears his throat, his voice sounded strange, “I don’t know if you can hear me.” 

He looks at your face. 

“But you scared the hell out of me.” He swallows, “I was terrified.” 

The monitor continues its steady beeps, he looks back at your hands. 

“I don’t know what we’re doing.” A humorless smile touches his face, “I’m not even sure what this is.” 

He shakes his head, his voice growing softer. 

“But something changed. Somewhere along the way.”

He looks back at you. 

“I look for you, when I walk into any room.” He pauses, “I started wondering what you thought before making decisions.” 

His thumb brushes the back of your hand. 

“I enjoy arguing with you.” 

He smiles faintly. 

“That’s probably the most concerning part of all of this.” 

He sighs again and reaches out his free hand to brush hair off your forehead. 

“I care about you more than I should.” He admits, “But I-”

The door opens and he stops himself, looking over and freezing. 

Elle Greenaway stands in the doorway. 

Her eyes immediately go to you, concerned for her younger sister. Then they jump to Hotch. Then to the joined hands. Her expression hardens within seconds. 

“Aaron.” 

He stands, “Elle.” 

If Hotch had been paying attention earlier he would’ve heard JJ say she got ahold of Elle and she was getting on the first flight. Even if he had been listening, he still would’ve been just as surprised to see her standing in the doorway after all these years. 

He needs to thank JJ. That technically should have been his job, but he doubts Elle would’ve taken his call. 

She walks into the room, not saying anything else yet. She stands on the other side of your bed. Looking at you again, concern all over her face. Then she looks back at him. She gives him an unimpressed look and it sinks his gut. 

“I begged her not to join this team.” 

Aaron’s jaw tightens, “I know.” 

“I told her this would happen.” 

He looks down at you for a second, letting Elle continue. 

“She made her own decision.” Aaron says finally. 

“I know,” her eyes sharpen, “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” 

“No.” 

“Because it doesn’t.”

Hotch nods. 

Elle looks back down at you, “It’s only a matter of time with this team.” 

Hotch looks back at her. 

“What?”

“Before someone ends up in a hospital.” Her voice cracks slightly. Her expression shifts again, trying to hide how scared she is. There you lay, in a hospital bed unmoving. 

Tears gather in Elle’s eyes, she takes it all in. Aaron steps away, grabbing the other chair and moving it to the other side of the bed so she can sit. He grabs a box of tissues from the table on the far side of the room and sets them down within reach without saying a word. 

She waits until he sits back down in his original chair before speaking again. 

“What are you doing here?” 

His eyes fall back to you for a second, “I care about her.” 

Elle goes still. 

“I care about her more than I should.” 

“How long?” 

He blinks, “What?”

“How long have the two of you been together?”

“We haven’t-”

“Don’t lie.” She interrupts. 

“No.” He shakes his head, “It was just starting. Something. I think.” 

He feels more pathetic about it the longer she stares at him. 

“You love her.” 

He freezes. 

“I didn’t say that.” 

“You didn’t have to.” 

Elle’s expression grew complicated. A mix of anger and protective instinct, but some of the hostility faded. She looks back at you, then back at him. 

“Does she know?”

“No.” His voice is barely audible. 

She nods slowly, “You need to tell her.” 

“She’s going to kill me.” 

Elle smiles. He’d forgotten what it looked like. He can now recognize how similar it is to yours. 

“Hopefully.” She bites, the smile that remains tells him it’s at least teasing now. 

For the first time all night, Aaron smiled. 

-

It takes a few more hours for you to wake up. Your eyes are still closed, but you can hear people arguing. It isn’t loud, but it’s definitely two people disagreeing. You can’t quite get your eyes open yet, but you’re desperately trying to figure out where you are. 

Everything hurts. Your shoulder feels like a truck drove through it. Your mouth is dry and your head feels heavy. 

“She’s been chasing this team to prove a point.” Elle mutters “I think she sees what I did as a failure. She’s trying to fix what I broke.” 

Aaron’s brows furrow, knowing that is far from the truth. He knows you admire Elle, you’d never see what happened as her failure. 

“Do you ever think she’s doing this for you?” He questions carefully. 

Your eyes slowly open, the ceiling is white and there's a machine beeping beside you. Elle is sitting on one side and Aaron is sitting on the other. 

Both turn immediately to look at you. You blink a couple times. 

Your voice comes out hoarse, “This can’t be real.” 

Both of them freeze. 

“Hell is significantly more creative than I anticipated.” You mutter, your throat dry making it hard for your words to come out evenly. 

Elle’s mouth falls open, “You’re awake.” 

You look at her, “Potentially. This isn’t very convincing.” 

Elle smiles and Aaron’s mouth twitches. 

“You two in the same room?”

“Yeah, whatever.” Elle shakes her head. “You’re in the hospital.” 

Aaron finally gains the courage to say something, “How’re you feeling?” 

“Like I got shot.” 

“You did.” 

“Thank you, Dr. Hotchner.” 

Elle smiles, “Well it’s nice to confirm no neurological damage, still sarcastic as ever.” 

“How much do you remember?” He asks. 

Your face falls a little, “The bomb. You. That’s it.” 

His face tightens. He looks awful, like he had aged ten years overnight. 

“You were shot by the bomber. He was there waiting for it to go off.” 

“We didn’t have it in our profile that he would kill himself.” 

He shakes his head. 

“Your clavicle was fractured.” Elle twists a piece of hair away from your face. 

A soft knock at the door has them both turning, you can’t move much yet but the team comes into view. One by one filtering in, starting with Morgan. 

“There she is.” He grins. 

You smile, “Hi, Morgan.” 

He crosses the room and carefully hugs you from your good side. 

“Don’t do that again.” 

You wince, “Just for you, Derek.” 

He pulls back and immediately looks like he could cry. 

“Seriouisly.” 

You squeeze his hand, “I’m okay.” 

“You scared the hell out of us.” 

Emily, JJ, Reid, and Garcia go next. Everyone is gentle, Garcia ends up needing to be pulled away by Derek after her tears start getting on you. 

“You should know better,” Rossi leans down to hug you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, “It’s cruel to scare an old man like that.” 

You smile, “Sorry, Rossi.” 

“Be careful, bella.” 

The room was full of people who all cared so much about you. They had spent hours waiting in hard plastic chairs after the longest day, but they stay as long as the doctors let them. They ask about the pain. They tell you about Daniel and what ended up happening. Hotch remains quiet when it gets to the retelling of everything that happened after the bomb was diffused. 

He stands toward the back of the room, backing off when everyone else came in. You catch his gaze every once and awhile, each time something passes between the two of you. 

“How are we feeling?” The doctor asks loudly, entering and weaving through the small crowd you’ve gathered. 

“Everyone keeps asking me that.” You sigh. 

“That’s because you’re alive.” 

You nod. 

“Which also means, you still need rest.” She starts waving everyone to the door, “Everyone can come back a little bit later. One at a time again.” 

There were groans, everyone shifting up off of chairs and the stiff couch. The doctor smiled, “You guys will have plenty of time to come back and visit.” 

Derek steps forward and reaches out for a fist bump on your good side, “Call if you need anything.” 

You nod. Everyone begins filing out with various goodbyes. Elle and Hotch were the last ones, he reaches for his jacket, ready to leave you alone with your sister for a while. 

“Actually,” Elle reaches out a hand to stop him, “I’m going to run to Y/n’s apartment to get you some clothes for when they let you out of here.” Aaron looks at her and she smirks at him. She digs out your spare key, “I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Bring back food,” You call after her, “Hospital food is nasty!”

She waves a hand in your direction and walks out without confirming. Like a true sister, you know she’ll bring something anyway. 

“Staying?” You ask, watching him hesitate in returning to the seat he had occupied most of the night. 

He sits down, moving it a little closer. 

“Staying.” He confirms. 

“Should I be concerned with how well you and Elle are getting along?”

He huffs a laugh out his nose, “Probably.” 

You smile, wincing slightly when you try to turn your head. He moves even closer, reaching out cautiously. 

“Don’t move too much.” 

“You’re still worried.” You observe. 

“I think I’m going to be worried about you for a long time.” He admits. 

“Did you stay?” You ask. 

“All night.” 

“Why?”

Because you’re on his team. Because he’s responsible for you.Because that’s just who he is. “Because I couldn’t leave.” 

You go quiet and he takes your hand. Very carefully. His thumb sweeps across your knuckles. 

“I thought I watched you die.” He flinches, clearly replaying it in his mind, “I realized I care about you more than I should. I love you. And I am nowhere near ready to know what my life looks like without you in it.” 

He continues before you can respond. 

“I don’t know when it happened. I don’t know when you stopped being the person who challenged every decision I make and became…” 

He exhales. 

“Someone I can’t imagine losing.” 

You stare at him, he squeezes your hand. A small smile appears on your face. 

“That’s inconvenient.” 

His mouth twitches. 

“Very.” 

Your grin widens, “You really love me?”

He nods earnestly, “Yes.” 

“That’s unfortunate.” 

“Why?”

“Because I'm still going to argue with you constantly.” 

This finally breaks a real smile onto his face. Your cheeks hurt from how long they’ve been pulling. 

“I know.” He nods. 

“And you’re still my boss.” 

“I am.” 

“Are you sure you’re ready to argue at work and at home?”

“Looking forward to it.”

Your smile softens, “I love you too.” 

Aaron’s breath caught. You squeeze his hand this time, he pulls it up to his lips so he can press a kiss to the back of it. 

“This feels too good to be true.” he sighs in relief, getting up and pressing a kiss to your temple, then to your hairline, and then the top of your head. 

“What?” You grin, “Scared because the last time we had a moment I was shot?” 

He huffs a surprised laugh before looking in pain, “Please, no more jokes about you being shot.” 

“No promises.” You smirk, “That’s the only fun part of being shot.” 

He shakes his head, “You’re going to keep me on my toes.” 

“All ten of ‘em.”

an// omg you guys, I am so sorry to all my other work because THIS has been consuming my brain. Holy fuck this was wild lol. I am sorry in advance if Elle isn’t super accurate, I wanted to go back and rewatch her episodes prior to this but this just poured out lol. Also lmk if the italics piss anyone off, i like them but i know not everyone does in a fic. 

Emily Prentiss smoothed down the lapels of her dark blazer, her eyes adjusting to the low light. Beside her, Derek Morgan walked with his hands in his pockets, his gaze sweeping the floor with practiced, methodical ease.

"Owner's office is upstairs," Morgan muttered, tossing a thumb toward a dark staircase. "Local PD said the girls might still be here practicing for the evening shift. We need to find this 'Honey' character before the media catches wind that Victor’s gone."

"Right. Honey," Emily said, keeping her voice strictly professional, her FBI badge clipped securely to her belt. "Victor’s journals mentioned her in almost every entry for the last six months. If he was running a side operation out of this place, she’s our best lead."

Movement near the left edge of the stage caught Emily’s eye. You stood near the brass pole, unbuckling a pair of six-inch clear heels. You wore a dark silk robe tied loosely at your waist, your hair tousled, skin glistening faintly under the amber house lights. When you looked up, your eyes locked onto them, sharp and entirely unfazed by two suits walking into your domain.

"We’re not open for another three hours," you said. Your voice was smooth, carrying a slow, melodic rasp that seemed to brush against the room. "Or are you early birds looking for a private show?"

Emily’s pulse gave a sudden, traitorous spike. Her throat went completely dry. She had spent years mastering the art of the unreadable facade, staring down serial killers, political handlers, and hostile witnesses without a single twitch. But as you stepped off the stage platform, gliding toward them with an effortless, hypnotic grace, Emily felt the cool composure under her skin shatter into a thousand jagged pieces. She was painfully aware of your bare shoulders, the subtle sway of your hips, the sheer, undeniable beauty radiating off you.

Emily had known for a long time what, and who, she was attracted to. But she had buried it deep, tucked behind layers of diplomatic decorum and the rigid standards of the Bureau. Standing in the middle of a dimly lit strip club, the risk of exposure felt suddenly, terrifyingly close.

"Actually- we're, uh, we're with the FBI," Emily stammered, reaching for her badge with fingers that felt unusually clumsy. She cleared her throat, trying to force her voice down an octave. "Agents... Agent Prentiss. And this is Agent Morgan."

Morgan tilted his head, glancing sideways at Emily. His brow furrowed slightly at her rigid posture and the sudden, breathless hitch in her cadence, but he turned his attention back to you. "We're looking for someone who goes by 'Honey,'" Morgan said smoothly, stepping into the lead seamlessly. "We need to ask her a few questions about Victor."

You paused, a faint, knowing smile playing at the corner of your lips. You untied your robe, re-knotting it slightly tighter, the fabric rustling softly in the quiet club. "You guys are really good at your job... You found her.”

Emily swallowed hard, her eyes darting to a spot just past your shoulder, intensely focused on a neon beer sign just to avoid staring directly at you. She felt a sudden wave of heat climbing up the back of her neck. Get it together, Prentiss. You’re a senior agent.

"Victor’s missing," Morgan explained, his tone dropping into his usual empathetic questioning style. "His car was found abandoned near the pier, and his apartment was tossed. We know you were close to him, Honey. We need to know if you, or any of the other women here, were involved with him personally. Were you sleeping with him?"

You let out a soft, genuine chuckle, leaning back against the edge of a high-top table. Crossing your ankles, you shifted your weight, the silk of your robe slipping just enough to expose a length of glittering skin. You looked at Morgan, then slowly, deliberately, turned your gaze toward Emily. Your eyes traced the line of Emily's jaw, lingering on the subtle flush at her cheeks, before drifting down to the sharp tailor of her dark suit. A faint, intrigued spark lit up your eyes.

"Victor?" You asked. You raised an eyebrow, keeping your gaze pinned directly on Emily. "No. The only thing about men that I’m remotely interested in is their money."

Emily felt her breath catch in her chest. The subtle, heavy intent behind your gaze was unmistakable. It hit Emily like a physical force, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs. She shifted her footing, her mind racing to find a professional response, but her tongue felt thick and useless.

"I- see," Emily managed to choke out, her voice a little higher than intended. "That's... that is very efficient. Economically speaking."

Beside her, Morgan slowly turned his head. His eyes widened slightly as he took in Emily's stiff, bright-red reaction, a slow, amused grin dawning on his face. He looked between your coy, knowing posture and Emily's total, unprecedented loss of cool.

You tilted your head, enjoying the effect you were having, though your demeanor remained warm rather than arrogant. You pulled a breath in, your shoulders dropping into a more serious posture as you looked back at Morgan. "Look, off the record? Victor is a slimeball, but he pays on time and he stays out of our hair. If he’s in trouble, it’s because he owes money to the wrong people in Atlantic City. He was talking on the phone in his office last Thursday, screaming about a debt. That’s all I know."

Morgan took mental notes, his posture shifting back to business, though the corner of his mouth was still twitching. "Did you hear any names?"

"No," You murmured, your tone softening with genuine honesty. "Just shouting. I wish I could tell you more, but... we try not to make his business our business."

"That helps more than you think," Morgan said softly.

Emily reached into her inner coat pocket, her hand shaking just enough that she had to carefully slide a single white card from her holder. She took a step forward, extending it toward you, making sure her fingers didn't accidentally brush against yours.

"If... if you remember anything else," Emily said, staring intently at the card in her own hand to keep her composure, "or if someone comes around asking questions about Victor and you feel unsafe... please call me. Directly. Day or night. If you need... anything at all."

You took the card, your fingers deliberately sliding over Emily's for a fraction of a second. The brief touch sent a jolt straight down Emily's spine.

"Agent Prentiss," You read off the card, your eyes shining with amusement as you tucked it into the pocket of your robe. "Thank you."

"Thank you for your time," Emily managed, turning on her heel a little too quickly and heading straight for the exit.

Morgan lingered for a second, offering you a polite nod. "Thanks, Honey. Stay safe."

"You too, Agent," you replied, your eyes following Emily's retreating figure until the velvet curtains swung shut.

The afternoon sun hit them like a brick wall as they stepped out onto the concrete pavement. The crisp, cool air did little to cool the fire burning in Emily's cheeks. She pulled her sunglasses from her collar and shoved them onto her face, striding toward the SUV at a brisk, frantic pace.

"Prentiss," Morgan called out, walking half a step behind her, his voice dripping with pure, unadulterated amusement.

"We need to get back to the station and pull Victor’s financial records from Atlantic City," Emily blurted out instantly, unlocking the vehicle with a loud double-beep. "If he had mob debts, the local field office might already have a file on his bookie-"

"Emily." Morgan stopped at the passenger side, leaning his arms over the roof of the black SUV, staring at her over his own sunglasses with a massive, beaming grin. "What was that?"

"What was what?" she snapped, opening her door and keeping her eyes glued to the dashboard. "It was an interview. We got a solid lead."

"Right. A lead," Morgan laughed, shaking his head as he got into the car and closed the door. "Prentiss, I’ve seen you interrogate serial killers, international terrorists, and corrupt senators. I have never seen you stumble over the words 'economically speaking' while turning the color of a cherry tomato."

Emily froze, her hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white. Panic, cold and sharp, flooded her stomach. She stared straight ahead through the windshield, the silence in the car stretching taut.

"Morgan, I..." Her voice cracked slightly. She swallowed, trying desperately to construct a lie, a deflection, anything to pull the shield back up. "I'm just tired. The flight in was rough, and-"

"Hey," Morgan’s voice changed instantly. The teasing tone melted away, replaced by a grounded warmth. He reached over, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

Emily glanced over at him, her heart pounding for an entirely different reason now.

"You don't have to pull a cover story with me," Morgan said softly, his eyes sincere. "I mean it. You were completely struck. She was hot. I don't blame you."

Emily let out a slow, shaky breath, her shoulders sagging as the tension slowly drained out of her. "Morgan... I haven't... I don't talk about that. With anyone."

"You don't have to if you're not ready," Morgan said, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze before pulling his hand back. He offered her a warm, easy smile. "The team doesn't care who you like, Prentiss. Reid would probably give you a fifteen-minute statistical lecture on attraction, but the rest of us?.... You're our family. Period."

Emily sat in the quiet hum of the SUV's air conditioning, looking at him. A small, genuine smile finally broke through her anxiety, settling deep in her chest like a long-overdue exhale. "Thanks, Morgan," she murmured softly.

"Anytime," Morgan said, tapping the dashboard. "Now, drive us back to the station before you decide to go back in there and offer 'Agent Prentiss's personal protection services' again."

Emily scoffed, rolling her eyes as she pulled the SUV into gear, though the blush crept right back onto her cheeks as she thought of you holding her card in the pocket of her silk robe. "Shut up."

The case closed late the following afternoon after a tense raid on an abandoned warehouse. Victor was found tied up in a back room, battered but alive, a victim of his own escalating gambling debts just as you had predicted.

By nine o'clock that evening, the rest of the BAU team was tucked away in their hotel rooms or finishing up paperwork at the local field office, preparing for an early morning takeoff back to Quantico. But Emily couldn't sleep. Her mind kept looping back to the dim, velvet-draped atmosphere of the club, to the cool press of a paper card into a silk pocket, and to the knowing eyes that had seen right through her carefully constructed armor.

An hour later, Emily stood outside the side entrance of the club. The air was crisp, carryover rain slicking the pavement under the buzzing amber streetlights. The heavy bass from inside leaked through the brick walls, a muted heartbeat rhythm. She pulled her dark coat tighter around herself, her hands buried deep in her pockets, suddenly questioning the impulse that had driven her across town.

The heavy metal door clicked open, spilling a bar of warm light onto the wet alleyway.

You stepped out, carrying a small leather bag over your shoulder. You had swapped your robe for a dark fitted sweater and jeans, your hair falling in damp, soft waves over your shoulders. You stopped short when you saw Emily leaning against the brick wall, a slow, radiant smile instantly spreading across your lips.

"Well, well," You murmured, your voice carrying that same low, liquid rasp. "Look who showed up. I was literally just reaching into my bag for your card. I was going to call you the second I made it to my car, but you beat me to it, Agent Prentiss."

Emily’s chest tightened, a familiar heat blooming along her neck, but this time, without Morgan watching, without the weight of her badge dictating every breath, she didn't turn away. “...About the case?”

You stopped in your tracks, letting out a small breathy laugh. “No… unbelievably, I managed to read between the lines.” 

"Oh… well…Case is officially closed," Emily said, her voice softer, stripped of its clinical Bureau sharpness. "Victor’s safe. His bookies are in custody. I thought... I thought I should tell you in person."

You stepped closer, the light scent of honey and warm amber cutting through the cool alley air. You tilted your head, your gaze sweeping over Emily’s face with slow, unhurried appreciation. "Is that the only reason you're standing in a cold alley at ten on a weeknight?"

"No," Emily admitted, the word slipping out before her usual defenses could catch it.

Your smile softened into something warm and genuine. "Come on. There’s a quiet bar two blocks over. Nobody from the club goes there."

The lounge you found was tucked away in a basement, illuminated only by low red glass lanterns and the golden reflection of antique mirrors behind the bar. Sitting side-by-side in a high-backed leather booth, the atmosphere was thick with an easy, unexpected intimacy.

Over smooth wine, the rigid distance between you melted away. Emily listened as you spoke about your life outside the club, your real name, your passion for vintage fashion, the pragmatic instinct that kept you grounded in an unpredictable industry. In turn, Emily found herself sharing truths she rarely spoke aloud, the claustrophobia of her diplomatic upbringing, the isolation of her work, the constant demand to remain unshakeable.

"You carry a lot," You whispered, leaning your elbow on the table, your cheek resting in your palm as your eyes searched Emily's face.

"It keeps me safe," Emily replied softly, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass.

"It sounds heavy," you said gently. You reached out, your warm, manicured fingers sliding across the table to cover Emily's hand.

The touch sent a shiver straight down Emily's spine. She didn't pull away. Instead, she turned her hand over, lacing her fingers with yours. You shifted closer, sliding along the leather bench until the space between you vanished.

When you leaned in, giving Emily ample time to draw back, Emily met you halfway. The kiss was slow at first, a soft, tentative exploration that tasted like wine. Your hand moved to the back of Emily’s neck, your thumb brushing gently against her jawline. A quiet sigh escaped Emily’s lips, her hands rising to grip the front of your sweater, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened, sweeter, hotter, breathless. For the first time in years, the endless noise in Emily's mind simply went quiet.

"My apartment is ten minutes away," You murmured against her lips, her breath hitching slightly. 

“Lead the way.”

–

Morning faded in, a haze of pale sunlight filtering through linen blinds. Emily woke to the soft rustle of sheets and the quiet, rhythmic sound of breathing beside her. The apartment was filled with gentle morning shadows, smelling of lavender, expensive lotion, and fresh coffee brewing in the kitchen. For a few lingering seconds, Emily lay still, feeling a profound, heavy weightlessness that she hadn't experienced in longer than she could remember.

Then her eyes caught the glowing red numbers on the bedside alarm clock: 7:12 AM.

The jet leaves at 7:30.

Panic spiked through her chest like an electric shock. Emily bolted upright, kicking off the duvet.

"Woah, calm down, Agent," Your sleepy voice drafted in from the doorway. You stood there wearing an oversized shirt, holding two steaming mugs, your eyes soft with affectionate amusement. "Where's the fire?"

"The jet," Emily gasped, her hands frantically gathering her blouse from the floor, her fingers clumsy as she scrambled into her trousers. "My team- if I’m not on that tarmac in eighteen minutes, Hotch will send a federal search party."

You chuckled, setting the mugs down and stepping over to help her. "Here. Coat." You draped the dark coat over Emily’s shoulders, smoothing down the lapels before pulling Emily into one last, lingering kiss that almost made her miss the flight entirely. 

"I’ll call you," Emily promised, breathless, kissing you quick on the cheek before bolting out the door.

“I know,” you murmured, picking your mug up, cradling it in your hands as the door closed behind her.

At 7:38 AM, the door to the jet swung open, and Emily hurried up the stairs, trying desperately to smooth her damp hair and pull her collar high around her throat.

"Nice of you to join us, Prentiss," Hotch said from the head of the conference table, his voice flat, though his eyes lingered on his watch for a brief beat before returning to his file. "We were about to start the debrief."

"Apologies, Hotch," Emily panted, taking her seat across from Reid and JJ, sliding her briefing folder open with practiced efficiency. "Traffic coming out of the city was backed up near the bridge."

JJ offered a sympathetic nod, sipping her coffee. "No worries, we just got settled."

Reid didn't even look up from his book, muttering a quick greeting before turning a page.

Across the aisle, Derek Morgan sat back in his leather chair, a bottle of water poised halfway to his mouth. His eyes flicked over Emily, her slightly disheveled collar, the subtle flush still lingering on her cheeks, and then, right beneath the sharp turn of her left jawline...

A faint, unmistakably brilliant dusted smudge of fine gold glitter caught the bright morning sunlight streaming through the plane window.

Morgan froze. A slow, incredulous smirk began to spread across his face, his eyes widening in realisation.

Emily caught him staring and shot him a sharp, warning glare, quickly adjusting her blazer collar to cover her neck.

Morgan casually lowered his water bottle, hiding his massive, bursting grin behind his hand. He leaned sideways toward Emily, keeping his voice dangerously low so Hotch wouldn't hear over the hum of the warming jet engines.

"Traffic, huh?" Morgan whispered, his eyes dancing with unbearable delight. "Must’ve been a real rough commute, Prentiss."

Emily felt the heat flare instantly across her face, but this time, under the cover of the jet's engine roar, she didn't look away. She raised an eyebrow, a tiny, confident smirk touching the corner of her own lips as she pulled her collar just a fraction higher. “I slept in.”

“Sure you were sleeping?” Morgan teased, nudging her with his elbow.

"Shut up, Morgan," she murmured, adjusting her papers.

Not that you were really complaining. It was hard to be mad at Emily, for anything really. Okay, it was hard for you to be mad at Emily. Perfect, smart, and gorgeous Emily, who was consuming your every waking thought ever since you had figured out that your attraction to her wasn’t totally platonic after all. Unfortunately, you were convinced that that was all it was for Emily: A totally platonic friendship. That involved a lot of teasing. And the occasional flirty message.

You were certain, that she absolutely did not feel the same way. That she was just being Emily. After all, she had always been like this with you.

"No you don’t," you answer her sincerely, a smile now slowly creeping up your face. 

"They want me to justify kicking down the door during that case we had in Boston a few weeks ago," she claims, looking distraught. "Because apparently the fact that we could hear the Unsub screaming inside wasn’t enough of a reason…"

"Aww, you poor thing."

"I know, right? I am being tortured. This is a hostile work environment. I should be able to sue somebody over this!"

"Em, you’re the one who destroyed private property while on duty…"

"Honey, it’s not like I had a choice!"

The nickname makes your stomach drop. You really should’ve gotten used to it by now, to the names and the teasing. But there was no 'getting used to' when it comes to Emily—at least not for you. 

You hear a quiet snicker from the desk behind you, where Morgan seems to have forgotten all about  distracting Reid from his files, and is suddenly studying his own a little too intently. 

"What?" Your question is laced with genuine confusion.

"What?" He answers innocently, evidently avoiding your previous question, which gets him a warning glance from Emily. Not even a little bit concerned, Morgan just shrugs, smiles, and turns back to his files. Well, at least he pretends to.

"I don’t know why I do this to myself," Emily continues, her focus now back on you. "I should’ve quit months ago!" 

"And leave me all alone in this madhouse? That would qualify as friend-neglect, you know that right?"

"That isn’t even a word!"

"It is now."

Emily grins. "I hate you." 

"No you don’t." You make eye contact with her then, one brow slightly raised as you challenge her to take back that last statement. 

"You’re right, I really don’t… ," she says, her expression softening.

For a second, neither one of you says anything, the tension suddenly palpable in the air. That is until Emily clears her throat and immediately switches back to her (admittedly very good) fake-frown. 

"I still hate this job though, I should totally quit."

"Emily!"

"Awww babe, don’t worry. I would never actually leave you."

You simply stare at her.

Across the room, JJ immediately seems to have forgotten all about the cup of coffee in her hand, Garcia’s focus is locked on the two of you like a sniper who is watching his target, and Reid looked like he was witnessing a successful science experiment.

"Oh come on, you guys cannot be serious," Morgan exclaims as he leans back in his chair.

"What?" You repeat the question from earlier, furrowed brows making your confusion visible.

The other agent dramatically gestures between you and Emily before exasperatedly holding up his hands. "Nothing."

Emily looks like she is about to throw her pen at him. "How about you mind your own business and do your paperwork, huh?"

"I am doing my paperwork," he claims, his tone now defensive.

"You have been staring at the same page for the last 20 minutes…"

"Well, you can’t really blame me for getting distracted, can you?"

"Distracted by what?"

Morgan stares at her, looking absolutely appalled by her answer. "Dude…"

The brunette simply roles her eyes, while you try to bite back a laugh. "You guys are absolutely impossible, you know that right?" Your attempt at staying serious is nothing short of pathetic.

"Oh come on, you love having me around."

"More than anything," you answer without thinking.

***

The team’s banter had quieted down significantly, everyone finally focused on what they should have been doing hours ago. Regardless, you couldn’t help but let your thoughts wander every once in a while, because, unfortunately, it was still pretty hard to focus with Emily sat right in front of you. Much to your surprise, as your eyes wander to her desk once again, she is already looking at you, her dark eyes lost in thought.

"My love, I don’t know about you, but I think somebody should definitely go out and get the team some coffee that is actually drinkable." How Garcia had managed to suddenly appear behind you was beyond you, but there was also no use in questioning anything that had to do with the self-proclaimed 'tech-goddess' of the FBI. 

"Penelope, you’re reading my mind!" The way Emily’s eyes light up at the mere thought of decent coffee almost makes you laugh out loud.

"I know that’s right. Okay well, I’ll just text you everyone’s orders once you’re on the way sooo you guys should totally leave like right now…sounds good? Perfect! Off you go, my lovelies!"

"Wait wha- … Pen, I thought you meant you want me to come with you?"

"No, you see I have some very important stuff to do like right now. Cannot wait. Very unfortunate. Text me when you’re back!"

Before either of you could really process what just happened, Garcia was already out the door and on her way back to her bat cave. 

"Well, I guess its a date," you shrug, already halfway out of your chair. Struggling to find your car keys in the depths of your purse, you are too distracted to notice Emily’s puzzled expression, or the way her eyes snapped up after your previous statement. Neither do you notice Morgan’s raised eyebrows, or the warning gaze the brunette shoots him right after.

When you finally manage to find your keys, Emily hasn’t moved. She’s still sitting behind her desk, eyes trained on you with an expression you can’t quite place. You narrow your gaze: "Something wrong?" 

"Nope," she answers a little bit to fast while rushing to get to her feet. She grabs her jacket form the back of her chair and slips it on in one smooth motion, suddenly seeming very eager to get out of the bull pen. "Let’s go, hon."

There it was again. One of those stupid nicknames that you enjoyed just a little too much.

You’re still hung up on it as the two of you are walking towards the elevator. Purposefully, you try maintaining more space between you and Emily than you usually would. You’re almost dreading the ride down. Because it means being alone with her. And being alone with Emily usually involved letting your guard down sooner or later—something that isn’t particularly helpful if you’re trying to play things cool.

The brunette’s presence is almost overwhelming. You can feel the warmth radiating off of her as she’s standing beside you. You can smell her perfume. And, worse of all, you know she’s looking at you. Again. You stare at the numbers above the elevator doors instead. 

Emily clears her throat. "So, you really think that this is a date?"

Your heart drops, and your quiet "no" comes out too quickly to be entirely convincing. "Uhm I mean…obviously I was just joking."

"Right…obviously." Emily’s teasing smile falters for just one second, but it’s enough to immediately make you regret your answer.

"Although," you add carefully, "I mean I guess it could be."

"What?"

"I mean getting coffee together, some might call that a date."

"Some?"

"Oh, don’t flatter yourself, Prentiss!"

There it was again. That stupid smile that could make you forget about everything. "Wouldn’t dream of it, darling." She winks. The doors open. Your brain short-circuits. 

***

The air inside the coffee shop hits you with its familiar warmth as you slowly make your way up to the counter. The smell of fresh coffee mixes with that of all the different pastries, and somehow you feel at ease. At this point, you’ve been here so many times, you could recite their menu in your sleep—or start working behind the counter yourself. 

While you quickly try to sort through the wide array of beverage orders Garcia had texted you, Emily is already ordering herself. An order you know by heart because you’ve heard it one too many times: One large coffee. Usually black. Sometimes with Splenda.

Today is no different. What IS different, is the fact that she doesn’t stop after her own order to let you do the rest. Instead, she continues to order for you, too. Your exact order. Down to the smallest details.

You’re pretty sure you must have lost control of each and every one of your facial expression while  you keep staring at her, unsure if you had just imagined the whole thing.

"You remembered," you whisper.

Emily shrugs. "Of course I remembered." 

Suddenly, you are very aware of the fact that some time in the past couple of minutes you must have subconsciously moved closer to each other, your shoulders now slightly brushing against one another. Neither one of you moves away.

It is only when the barista shouts out the insanely large coffee order that the both of you snap out of your trance. In sync, you reach for the two cupholders on the counter, fingers brushing against each other as you both grab one of them. The small touch alone makes your heart skip a beat, and you could have sworn that Emily’s breath hitched just a little bit.

In silence, you make your way back to the car, none of you willing or able to admit that something had shifted between the two of you. Maybe it was finally a shared realization that what you had far exceeded a normal friendship. Or maybe it was just that sometime within the past couple of days, things had gotten weird between you. Not uncomfortable, not ever. But different. 

***

Back at the Bureau, the rest of the team were sprawled around Morgan’s desk, eyes glued to the elevator doors.

"You think they finally admitted it to each other?" Garcia was fidgeting with the end of one of her 'special pens,' as she liked to call them.

JJ snickered. "Not a chance, I am not even sure they admitted it to themselves."

"They are so oblivious, it’s actually painful to watch. The sharpest minds of the FBI, everybody…can’t even admit that they’re madly in love with each other." Morgan leans back in his chair with an exasperated sigh, arms crossed in front of his chest.

Before the others could agree, the high sound of the elevator announces your return. 

In lock step, you make your way across the bullpen. "Secured the goods!" You triumphantly hold up the steaming cups in your hand.

Morgan’s mischievous grin was warning enough that what was to come was most definitely going to be uncomfortable for Emily and you. "How was your date?" 

You were seriously debating to throw his coffee at him right then and there.   

"It wasn’t a date, we just got coffee… because you guys wanted us to," you answer defensively.

"Didn't you call it a date before you left?"

You look at Emily. Emily is already looking at you.

Morgan's smile grows. "You guys are unbelievable, really. Just adm—"

"She was joking," Emily interrupts, a little too eager to get out of the situation.

"Was I?" The words slip out before you can stop them, your face turning red as you quickly try to look anywhere else but at her. Or them.

Morgan's eyebrows shoot upward.

JJ slowly lowers her coffee.

Garcia looks like she might actually explode, and Reid looks back and forth between the two of you as if you were a math equation that was finally adding up.

You immediately regret speaking.

"I meant—"

"No, no," Morgan says, holding up a hand. "Please. Continue."

It is Emily that finally shuts the whole fiasco down: "Okay guys, you had your fun, now for the love of god, please take your coffees and get back to work."

You’re still staring at your feet, hoping that everyone would just let this go, but Garcia wouldn’t be Garcia if she didn’t pressure you until she got every last bit of gossip there possibly was.

"I have been watching this for months, waiting, working my magic. Please, for the love of god…" She looks genuinely frustrated now.

"Watching what?" Emily looks absolutely confused.

Garcia puts her head in her hands while Morgan gently pats her back. "You guys are breaking her," he snickers. And it is right there that Reid suddenly decides this is a good opportunity to contribute:

 "She's referring to the fact that the two of you exhibit several behavioral patterns commonly associated with mutual romantic interest."

You look at him in shock. Emily’s jaw drops. Then her eyes find yours, soft and almost vulnerable. Something clicks in your brain, almost like the final puzzle piece that reveals the entire picture. Oh.

"Alright, I think we have done enough damage for today," Morgan finally breaks the silence.

"Speak for yourself," Garcia mutters under her breath, her grin suggesting that this conversation would be far from over if it were happening on her terms.

One by one, they (finally) disappear into their respective corners of the bullpen, until, eventually, it was just you and Emily again. Neither of you seemed entirely sure what to do with yourselves, your fingers now nervously tapping at the cup of coffee in your hands.

"So…" Emily doesn’t finish her sentence, whatever she had wanted to say disappearing somewhere  on the way from her brain to her mouth.

You manage a small smile. "Yeah…"

That earns you a quiet laugh, Emily’s hands now anxiously rubbing the back of her neck. Was she actually nervous? In the months you had known each other, you had never seen her like this. 

Something warm bloomed in your chest. Maybe you hadn’t imagined all of it—all of the little moments between the two of you that you convinced yourself had meant absolutely nothing. The nicknames, the occasional flirting, touches that seemed to linger just a little bit longer than they would have had to.

There was something soft and unspoken between the two of you now, neither of you daring to say it out loud, but both acutely aware of it. Then, Emily smiles at you:

"Get home safe, hon."

You stomach does its ridiculous flip again.

"Thanks…uhm, you too I mean," you manage to get out before practically sprinting back to your car.

Holy shit.

***

By the time you finally made it home, you had replayed the entire day in your head at least a hundred times—which also meant that you had come to some very important (and unfortunate) realizations:

One: You weren’t as good at hiding your crush as you had hoped…

Two: All of your coworkers know about it.

And three: Emily might actually feel the same way.

Fuck.

You’re still sitting at the edge of your couch, thoughts racing at one hundred miles and hour, when you finally get the courage to pick up your phone.

Your thumb hovers over Emily’s contact for a while. Then you start typing.

I loved our date. X

You stare at it for a few seconds. Definitely too much. You delete it again.

I really enjoyed our not-a-date :)

Better. Safer. Still fucking terrifying. You hit send before you can change your mind again. 

You’re about to throw the phone across the room when you hear its familiar buzz. With a pounding heart, you build up the courage to unlock your screen again.

For what it’s worth, I think we should call it a date.

You stare at the screen, eyes open in shock. Holy fucking shit.

———————————————————————————————————

“You did everything you could in there today, y/n,” she says gently. You know she’s referring to your time in court today. Two wealthy high school boys were being charged with the rape of their classmate and of course they hired the best defense attorney in Manhattan. An attorney who, during their cross examination of you, went after not only your skills as a detective but your character as well. You had never in your three years as a detective been eviscerated like that on the stand. Barba’s arguments were compelling, but the defense ultimately won over the jury, letting the boys go free. 

“It just wasn’t enough,” you said grimly. 

“Hey,” Olivia said. “Look at me.” You raised your eyes to meet hers. Those beautiful brown eyes that you found yourself getting lost in nearly every time you spoke to her. “It’s not your fault. It’s not SVU’s fault, it’s not Barba’s, it’s no ones. Those defense attorneys are the best in the business. And sometimes our best just isn’t enough to convince a jury to be persuaded.”

You nodded, squeezing her hand. “I know. Ugh it just…it just sucks.” Shaking your head, you take out the clip holding up your hair and shake it out, hoping to shake off the day along with it. Olivia released your hand and tucked your hair behind your ear.

“Don’t hide on me now, not tonight,” Olivia said quietly. She looked over her shoulder and did a quick scan of the nearly empty bar. The two of you typically choose this place as it was right in the middle of your neighborhoods and far enough away from work that you could have some privacy. Though you had disclosed your relationship as soon as it had started to your captain and the bureau’s HR department, you still preferred not to be seen publicly.

Leaning over, Olivia placed a gentle kiss on the side of your head, pulling you in close to her. You stayed in this position for a minute, breathing in her scent. The moment you met her three years ago in the SVU squad room, you knew you were in trouble. Never before had you felt so drawn to someone. At first, you’d written it off as just a case of “I want to be her” rather than “I want to be with her.” But as the months past, something shifted, both in you and in her. Frequently, you went for post work drinks or dinner together. You took turns getting each other coffee in the mornings. You became joined at the hip outside of work, eventually confessing your feelings to one another. 

It was hard to believe your luck. 

“Wanna come over?” Olivia asked you. “I have a bottle of my beloved merlot we could have.” This made you laugh. You quickly kissed her before knocking back the rest of your G&T. Leaving handful of bills on the bar, you took Olivia’s hand again and got up from your stool. 

“Lead the way, my love.”

Olivia could barely close the door behind her before you were all over her. 

“Woah,” she said. “One sec, baby.” Pulling away, Olivia locked her front door and kicked off her heeled boots, motioning for you to do the same. Once bags and shoes were discarded in the entryway, Olivia pulled you in by your hips, kissing you long and slow. Her lips felt holy to you, like you were receiving communion. She ran her fingers through your hair, kissing your cheek, then your jawbone, then your neck.

“Bedroom?” You said. Olivia shook her head. 

“I want you right here, right now.” You felt the heat of desire pooling low in your belly. Olivia led you over to the sofa, laying you down on the chaise. She straddled you, gently lifting your shirt off to reveal the black lace bra you were wearing. “Wow,” she said softly. 

You smirked. “I had a feeling I’d be coming over tonight, wanted to be prepared.” Your lips found hers again, kissing her deeply with want. Olivia deftly unclasped your bra, allowing your breasts to fall gently. She began kissing your chest gently before reaching your left breast.

“Is this okay?” She whispered. You nodded silently, cheeks flushed. Olivia sat up, gently taking your chin in her hand. “I need you to use your words, love.” 

“Yes, y-yes, it’s okay,” you said through heavy breaths. “I’ll tell you if it isn’t, okay?”

Nodding, Olivia learned back down, wasting no time in putting my left nipple in her mouth, sucking gently. “Let me take care of you tonight,” Olivia rasped. 

“Fuck,” you moaned. As Olivia’s tongue swirled around the bud of your nipple, her right hand found its way down your body, taking extra time stroking your stomach, which she knew was your most sensitive area. Your hands found Olivia’s hair, stroking it back behind her ears.

“Let me see your face,” you said breathlessly. At this, Olivia removed her mouth from your nipple with a distinctive pop and pressed her lips to yours once again. “Let me see all of you.”

You began to unbutton her blouse, making quick work of removing it from her body. As Olivia had entered her 40s, she had felt herself becoming more self conscious about her appearance, until she met you. You absolutely worshipped her body, always making sure that even when she was pleasuring you, she felt sexy and adored. 

Unclasping her bra, you took a moment to admire her breasts, still so perfect and full. You sat up and took her left breast in your mouth, swirling your tongue around her nipple, eliciting a moan from the older woman. 

“Fuck, baby,” Olivia whispered. You move your mouth back to her neck, sucking gently as you kissed its surface. 

“All mine,” you said against the thin, sensitive skin. Eventually your lips found their way back to hers, tongues clashing with one another. You would’ve swallowed her whole if you could.

“Pants off for me, pretty girl,” the older woman said, getting out of her straddle position and allowing you to stand so you could unbutton your pants. This left you completely naked except for the pair of deep purple underwear you’d put on this morning. 

“That’s better.” Olivia took you gently by the hand and laid you back down on the sofa. The brunette resumed her straddle position and made her way down your body, kissing nearly every inch. When she reached your midsection, she nippled playfully at the soft skin of your belly. This was the one spot on you she could leave marks, knowing that your belly would be covered at work. Each nip elicited a soft sound of pleasure from your lips, your hands running through Olivia’s hair. 

“Fuck, keep going.” At this, she looked up, her brown eyes full of desire and lust. 

“Patience, pretty girl,” Olivia said in her raspy voice. Shimmying her way down to the end of the sofa, she gently parted your legs, pushing them back so you were bent at the knees. Olivia got in position between your legs, now gently kissing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. She continued to take her time, tongue swirling in ways that nearly made you shudder. At last, she removed your underwear, leaving you fully naked and in her hands.

Olivia deftly began kissing the outside of your crotch before her tongue found its way inside your slit. Your body was on fire with desire, nearly shaking as Olivia’s tongue circled around your swollen clit. 

“Fuck, Liv, oh my god,” you said, breath shuddering. Your hands gripped the sofa cushions next to you, needing to find some way to ground yourself. 

Olivia continued to lap at your center as you got wetter and wetter. Suddenly, she lifted her head from your crotch and made her way back up your body.

“Wh-what are you doing —” Olivia quieted you by pressing her wet lips to yours with a deep, open mouthed kiss. Pulling away, the older woman leaned to whisper in your ear.

“I wanted you to know how good you taste, sweet thing.”

At this, Olivia’s right hand found its way back to your crotch, her fingers entering your folds. You moaned gutturally, coming from somewhere deep within your core. Starting with just two fingers, Olivia pumped at your center, finding the ridges deep inside you, nearly making you scream.

“Think you can take one more for me, baby?” She asked, continuing to kiss your jawline and neck. You nodded vigorously, language having fully escaped you. “Ah ah, I told you to use your words.”

You moaned. “Yes, fuck Liv. More, please, I’m so close.”

Without wasting any time, Olivia slipped one more finger inside of you, barely getting out two pumps before you came. The orgasm that washed over you was all consuming, causing you to sit up and basically ride Olivia’s fingers as you climaxed. You pressed your face into the crook of Olivia’s neck, both of you breathing hard and fast. Removing her fingers from your center, Olivia brought them to her mouth and sucked your juices, never breaking eye contact with you.

“Fuck, Liv,” you sat up, kissing her long and slow. Olivia scooted her way back up the sofa so you were lying parallel, facing one another. The older woman pushed your sweaty bangs out of your face, peppering kisses over your nose, cheeks, and jaw, her soft lips knowing exactly which spots to kiss. 

“Feel better?” Olivia asked, wrapping her arms around you and pulling you in close to her. You nodded.

“Much,” you said, leaning into her and capturing her lips with yours. The kisses leading up to sex with Liv were always full of want, full of need. But the kisses you shared after sex were slow, unhurried. You nuzzled yourself against the crook of her neck and shoulder. “Love you, Liv.”

Olivia pressed more kisses into your hairline. “I love you too, y/n. And I’m really thanking myself for splurging on the wider sofa when I redid this place.” You laughed, taking her chin in your hand.