the case had been horrible, and you didn’t even know where to start. it had been horrific, flaring up memories you had deliberately forgotten, and did you already mention triggering? during times like these, flashbacks of just the sheer iniquity and immorality of the perpetrator curdle the blood running in your veins. to share the same genetic structure as something that rots the very idea of humanity, that becomes a writhing thing filled with vice, a vengeful devil or sin given shape? 

to make matters worse, you hadn’t even caught the guy. you were going home whether you liked it or not. decidedly not because the unsub was still out there. you were here. stuck in this stupidly small hotel room whose walls felt increasingly like they were closing in on you. heightening your sense of claustrophobia. 

your jaw ached, you’d been clenching it so long you hadn’t noticed. the bathroom was quiet, time having lost its concept. how long had you been staring into the hollow figure in the mirror? with a litany of scars mapped across, disfiguring your skin. some self inflicted. 

you were on the verge of a panic attack. it was obvious now. you had been, the entire day. maybe that was why you were so stupid to leave the door unlocked. 

and that was how emily prentiss, your boss, who you were sharing a room with caught you in the bathroom. naked in front of the shower, quickly raising the towel trying to hide your body, the scars on your skin, and just everything. 

this definitely wasn’t helping your panic either. 

fuck. 

the panic begins to wrap its arms around you like a shadow. every thought dissolving before it could form, nothing holding still long enough to be coherent. the kind of drowning where you forget how to breathe. cold creeping up on you as little shivers wrack your body, clutching onto the towel haphazardly wrapped around you like a lifeline. 

a beat passed.

“h-hi em?”

you could hear your own heart pounding in your ears. emily's voice softens, her eyes glancing away for a second, respecting your space, not pushing. she kept her tone steady but gentle.

"hey... it's okay. i'm just grabbing my toothbrush." she nods toward the door like she might leave if you wanted her to. "cold in here, huh? you need anything?"

surprisingly, there were no demands. no lingering on the scars or the towel clutched too tight. she’s behaving… well surprisingly regular, the sense of normalcy slowly grounding you back to earth if not for what looks like a foolish situation. embarrassing too, what would she think of your naked body? 

“n-no, could you please knock next time?”

"of course. sorry." it's a sincere apology, not defensive in any way, just an acknowledgement of your request. with that, she grabbed her toothbrush, gave you a respectful nod, and started to head out. 

again, you notice that even her eyes never linger. they meet yours, and then look away, giving you space. a small gesture that says a lot.

what does she think of you now? is she disgusted by how your near naked anatomy looks. or, would she ever like it? the thought creeps in silently, an imposter to the self consciousness burning brightly. embarrassingly red, like poppies in the springtime. 

you’re conscious as emily pauses at the doorway, her grip tightening slightly on the doorknob. she doesn’t turn back, still giving you space, but her voice is firm.  

"hey." 

there’s a beat of silence. 

"you're not getting out of this case that easy. i need you sharp tomorrow."  

there’s no pity in it, just a demand from your superior. but there's something underneath too, an unspoken "i'm not letting go until i know you're okay."

it’s nice to know she cares. congratulations, you’re not a failure with no one to love you after all. you give her an easy grin, the smile not reaching your eyes. 

“yeah, i’m never escaping your evil clutches prentiss.” bau for life, apparently. you either work long enough to retire or die in action. maybe you should’ve gone for an easier department. 

an unexpected laugh slips through her professional exterior and the corner of her mouth twitches.

"damn right, you're not. and you're stuck with me." she glances back one more time, this time with the hint of a smirk before fully disappearing, shutting the door behind her.

you flush slightly, was it wrong to think of how absurdly hot she just was?

you don’t get in the shower for another few minutes. you aren’t sure why. it felt a little different now, though you couldn't name why. maybe all you needed to get out of the cycle of self loathing was a dose of emily prentiss. a familiar cure-all.

eventually, you stepped in, letting the warm water trickle around you. comfort seeping into your bones, the exhaustion of the day- all the stress and panic drifting away at the shore. 

/

meanwhile, emily continues with her nighttime routine, changing into her sleepwear, the whole time trying to push away her concern for you. she knows you need your space, and she's been here long enough to know pushing before you're ready is... counterproductive.  

she settles cross-legged on the bed, reading through some case files but her mind isn't there, not completely. her gaze drifts to the closed bathroom door now and then.

you finish showering and emerge in pyjamas, a long sleeve top and pants. she knows now, why you always wear long sleeves even in the sweltering heat of summer. to cover up the scars. 

emily looks up as you exit, her gaze flickering over you, noting the choice of long sleeves but there’s no judgement, just observation. her fingers skim idly over the pages of her case file, the words blending together.

her voice, when she speaks, is gentle, but not coddling. she knows you're not one for pity. never one for pity. 

"feeling better?"

“yeah.”

emily nods at that, the worry still etched in her eyes but hidden well underneath her professional facade.  

"good." she sets the file aside, leaning back on the bed, arms crossed. there's a pause, a moment where she seems torn, like she's debating saying something else. you know the look, that calculated silence where she's weighing her words.

you finish drying your hair and get onto your side of the bed. emily watches as you settle into your side of the bed, her gaze flickering over you again for a moment. it's subtle, but she's studying your movements, your expression, checking in without making it obvious, like she always does. it's her way of caring, her way of being protective without overstepping.

she picks up the case file again, skimming over the pages, even though her attention isn't really there. a few moments of silence pass before she speaks again, voice low.  

"you know, if you need to talk…”

“emily. i'm fine” you gave her a short and curt response. 

emily glances up, eyes locking with yours, her expression a mixture of disbelief and a hint of frustration behind it.  

"bullshit," she mutters, the curse more a sigh than an actual expletive. "you're not fine. don't feed me that crap."  

she sets the file aside, focusing all her attention on you, leaning forward, the concern in her eyes unmistakable.  

"i know how you are. i know your body language. hell, i know you."

guess who decided to play profiler after hours? apparently your favourite boss. 

“just stressed about the case that's all.”

emily studies your facade, the slight tightening of her jaw the only indication of her internal debate. she's clearly torn between respect for your boundaries and her instinct to push until you drop the act. the latter wins in the end. she sighs, moving closer, sitting closer to you.  

"you're a bad liar. always have been."  

totally not true. you just happen to be placed in the midst of top profilers who can smell the hint of a lie a mile away. ravenous hounds chasing after meat. she crosses her arms again, a habit when she's thinking, a physical barrier.  

"stressed my ass. something more's going on."

you sigh, “i hate profilers.” 

the irony of you being one. still, it isn’t a pleasant experience being on the receiving end of the interview. 

that gets a huff from emily, somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. she's not surprised by your reaction, she knows you hate being read, being scrutinized. it's the same way she is. 

but right now, she's the profiler, and she's profiling the hell out of you. she shifts closer, not invading your space, but definitely narrowing the gap between you two.  

"tough. i'm too goddamn good at my job to not notice when one of my best agents is struggling."

you looked up at her with a little surprise, no longer avoiding her gaze, “i'm your best?”

emily smirks at that, the corner of her mouth turning up in a half-smile. she raises an eyebrow, a mix of sarcasm and seriousness in her tone.  

"damn right you are."  

she doesn't hesitate, not when her confidence in your skills is unyielding, unshakeable.  

"you've always been a natural. sharp as a goddamn knife and smart enough to give me a run for my money."

emily's smirk fades slightly as she studies your silence. she tilts her head, a flicker of something unreadable in her expression. maybe frustration, maybe concern.  

"hey." her voice is firm but not sharp. "don't do that thing where you shut down on me. if i crossed a line, say it."  

she leans back just enough to give you space but keeps her gaze locked on yours, challenging without being aggressive. the line was crossed ages ago, back when she nearly saw you naked in the bathroom. still you say nothing, do nothing. for this is emily we’re talking about. sweet angel emily, the one who always looks out for you. she could order you to jump and you'd do so in a heartbeat.

you sigh softly and reassure her, “you didn't, you could never emily.”

emily exhales through her nose, part frustration, part something softer. she rubs a hand over her face before dropping it to the mattress between you. she recognises that tone.

"i don't want to be your superior right now." her voice is low, edged with an intensity that isn't quite anger. "not when you're sitting there looking at me like i just kicked your puppy."  

a beat of silence stretches as she searches for the right words, then: "just tell me what's wrong. for real this time."

you look at her with a little surprise. honesty, is such a simple yet precious thing. emily holds your gaze, her expression open and sincere. she's dropped all pretense now, no more boss, no more agent prentiss. it's just her, looking at you with oceans of concern that can't be hidden.  

her hand twitches near yours on the bed but she doesn't quite reach out. letting you decide how close you want her right now.  

"please." the simple word hangs heavily between you, pleading and firm all at once. she wants to help.

you pause, and tease lightly “is that begging i hear?”

emily rolls her eyes almost instinctively at the teasing, but there's no heat behind it. she knows what you're doing. trying to divert, to deflect. she sees right through it.   

"oh please." she scoffs, leaning closer with an eyebrow raised in challenge. "we both know i don't beg."

“i don't either”

unless she really wanted you to. but you were too prideful to ever tell her that.

emily laughs softly at that, the tension in her shoulders loosening somewhat. the sound is warm, almost amused.

"touché."

she shifts her position, drawing one leg up onto the bed, facing you fully now, knees almost brushing against yours.

"stubborn, the both of us." she says in a tone that's almost affectionate.

“cheers.” 

emily's smirk deepens, the ghost of a real smile tugging at her lips. picks up her bottle by the bed.

"to stubbornness." her voice is dry as she raises the water bottle higher in salute. "may it never stop keeping us alive."  

a beat passes before she adds, quieter: "...or get you killed first."

it's a joke, obviously, but the undercurrent of concern is there. she knows you too well not to worry. her gaze flicks over your face once more before her expression softens again.  

"speaking of..." she hesitates, weighing her words like she does when she's treading on thin ice.

you don’t like where this is going. 

“no thank you?” trying to cut the conversation short.

emily rolls her eyes again, but this time they're fond, almost affectionate. her hand finding yours under the covers and giving it a brief squeeze. her touch lingers just for a moment, the warmth of it seeping into your skin before she slowly pulls back. you can still feel the phantom of the touch, the loss of her warmth nearly affecting you.

"happy now?"

“i- what was that for?”

emily's gaze narrows slightly, just for a second, as if she's debating whether to pull away or double down. she settles on the latter.  

"for this," she mutters, her voice rough but not angry. her thumb brushes over your knuckles in an unconscious gesture of reassurance. "because you keep pretending you're fine when i can see right through it."  

a pause, and then quieter: "...and because i don't like seeing you hurt."

you hum. 

emily doesn't miss the noncommittal sound you make, the slight twitch of your fingers under hers. it's another sign, a hint that you're not as okay as you'd like to pretend to be.  

"don't hm me," she says gruffly, shaking her head. "you're not doing a very good job convincing me that you're fine."  

her grip tightens almost involuntarily around your hand again.

“what should i do then?”

how could you lie to her better? how can she teach you what to do, what to say, to finally ease her worries and concerns?

emily exhales through her nose, a mix of frustration and something softer. she shifts closer, deliberate, not intrusive.  

"tell me the truth." her voice is low, steady. "not your case file version. not the 'fine' you keep throwing at me like a shield."  

her thumb traces idle circles over your knuckles, grounding without demanding. "you don't have to fix it tonight. just say it out loud so i know where to start."

“i-”

emily reads your hesitation like a book. she gives your hand another squeeze, encouraging nonverbal support.  her thumb continues its idle rhythm, the motion almost soothing. she doesn't push, doesn't force. just gives you the space to gather your thoughts while letting you know she's there.  

"i'm listening," she offers gently. "take your time."

you get lost in her eyes for a moment. the rich chocolatey ocean tempting you into getting lost. she could be a siren and you’d jump straight into her lure. you relent. 

“'s really just the case em. it's stressful. think i was on the verge of a panic attack today then i'm overstimulated in this claustrophobic room sharing a bed with you and- you saw me naked and- “

as you start to speak, emily listens intently, her grip on your hand tightening just marginally at your words. her expression is focused, taking everything in with the practiced attention of a profiler. she catches the edge of panic in your voice, the slight trembling you're probably trying to hide. it sets off an alarm bell her head and her heart but she pushes that aside for now, letting you finish.  

when you mention the bathroom incident, her brow creases slightly.

it clicks. the picture starts to form in her head. the case, the stress, the panic attack, the overstimulation...  

her eyes flicker over your face, not pitying, but understanding. she may not know the details, but she knows the feeling. her hand tightens around yours again, steadying. 

"hey, hey. breathe." her voice, though quiet, is firmer than before.  

she shifts even closer, until there's hardly any gap between you on the bed. "focus on me."

you try to breathe and look away from her in a slight panic “c-close.”

emily notices the way you avoid her gaze, the way you look away. she knows avoidance intimately. it's a familiar pattern.  

at your words, she moves even closer, until her knee brushes yours under the covers. her body is angled towards you, a solid presence in the space between. her hand remains holding yours, grounding without overwhelming.  

"close your eyes." her voice is steady, quiet but commanding.

you panic. she’s not making it better. in fact, “em-”

emily feels the tension in your body, sees the panic flashing across your face. her grip on you tightens not to restrain, but to anchor.  

"breathe," she orders again, her voice low and firm. "just breathe with me."  

she exaggerates her own inhale through her nose, deep and slow, then exhales through pursed lips. reminds you of a yoga instructor guiding your breathing. her free hand lifts slightly toward you as if considering touching a shoulder or arm for grounding but hesitates at the last second.

you take a deep breath, mimicking the one she showed you.

emily watches the rise and fall of your chest, a silent marker of your breathing. it's steadier now, not perfect, but better than moments before.  

she matches your pace, slowing her breathing to match your inhalations and exhalations. her hand on yours, still holding, is warm. a counterpoint to the cold, sterile hotel room.  

"there you go." her voice is still low, quiet encouragement. "just like that. keep breathing."

“i- emily..”

no. she doesn’t get it. that’s not what you wanted. why is she always so kind to you? her proximity is only going to make things worse-

emily feels the hitch in your breath, sees the way you tense. her grip on your hand loosens slightly- not retreating, but adjusting to give you space while still keeping contact.  

"hey." her voice drops lower now, calm but with intent. "i'm right here. not going anywhere."  

she shifts her weight forward just enough to nudge her knee against yours under the covers, a small pressure point of grounding without overwhelming touch. you sigh in surrender. 

“that's kinda the problem. i'm still mortified you saw me naked by the way and-”

emily doesn’t flinch. instead, she leans in slightly- deliberate and unapologetic.  

"good." her voice is rough but not cruel. "you should be. i saw the scars."  

a pause as her eyes lock onto yours, there’s no pity, just stark honesty. "the ones you keep hiding under sleeves and layers like they're something to be ashamed of."

“y-you're a little too close”

there it is again- the denial and avoidance.  

this time, she doesn't move back and holds her ground. her knee is still touching yours under the covers, becoming a steady point of contact that grounds you in the present.  

"i've been closer." she says this with a hint of that familiar smirk but her eyes don't leave yours. "we've shared a bed before."

“you-”

emily feels the hitch in your breath, sees the way you stiffen. she doesn't back off, doesn't retreat.  

"you what?" her voice is quiet but unyielding, her gaze steady on yours. "finish that sentence."  

she shifts closer again. not enough to crowd you, but just enough to make it clear she's not letting this go either. her fingers flex around yours under the covers.

“you’re not helping.”

you blurt out quickly

“me get over a tiny crush on you” 

that came out wrong. like a word vomit. and you certainly had no plans to ever voice that out to her, or anyone for the matter. but it’s too late. 

the confession hangs in the air. time seems to slow down as emily processes what you just said. she goes still, her hand gripping yours beneath the covers not quite frozen, but taken off guard.  

her eyes are unreadable for a moment. she doesn't speak, taking a second to gather her own thoughts. finally, she exhales and her expression softens almost imperceptibly.  

"of all the times you could've told me, you chose now…?" she asks, not angry, just a mixture of disbelief and... something else.

“you were- you are overwhelming me”

not the fact that you couldn’t keep your infatuation hidden anymore. building up like waves crashing over your grave. emily blinks. the bluntness of your words takes her off guard for a moment, but she recovers quickly. her hand on yours squeezes gently, a small gesture of understanding.   

"right." she exhales again, the breath almost like a chuckle, though it lacks humor. she studies you, eyes roaming over your face like the profiler she is.  

"well. that explains… a lot, actually."

what?

emily's gaze doesn't waver. she tilts her head slightly, a small smirk tugging at her lips.  

"the way you act around me. the way you're trying so damn hard to get away right now... you're not just uncomfortable because i saw you naked."  

there’s a pause as her eyes take in your expression, the slight shift in your breathing while she connects the dots.  

"it's because you have a crush on me."

“i- give me some space please em?”

it’s overwhelming. you can’t do this. how could someone so cowardly every confess their feelings to their crush, their boss, no less? and now that she’s aware, what would she think of you?

emily hesitates, her grip on your hand tightening reflexively for a second. she's torn for a moment, a war going on in her mind between respect for your request and her own desire to keep the contact but she knows better than to force that on you right now.  

"yeah. okay."  

she lets go of your hand reluctantly and shifts back, putting a few more inches between you on the bed. emily sees the way you eye her warily, knows you're watching her movements like a scared animal. it's a familiar sight. you're trying to put up walls again, trying to hide.  

she settles herself against the headboard, not crossing her arms but instead keeping an open and unthreatening body language. for a moment, she just watches you, eyes taking in your expression, your body language, every detail.  

"i'm not gonna bite you, you know." she deadpans.

you bite back “we’re sharing a bed.”

a hint of that familiar smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth, but her eyes remain focused on you. 

"yeah, we are." she says this almost casually, like she's commenting on the weather, not on the fact that you're both lying barely a foot apart in the same bed.  

another pause as she considers her next words. "is that bothering you?"

“i- guess it's not helping my situation?”

emily snorts quietly at that, her smirk deepening a fraction. she can imagine your internal struggle, trying to deal with a crush on your boss while also trying to avoid an anxious spiral, all while lying inches apart in a bed that's too small.  

"fair." she remarks dryly, folding her legs, one knee slightly bent. her eyes skim over you briefly, taking in the tension in your shoulders, the slight tremble in your hands.

"you're shivering." it's a simple fact, said so matter-of-fact that it has no emotional charge to it. she doesn't reach out to touch you, but the concern is there in her eyes, beneath the exterior of a professional.  

she hesitates for a brief second, then: "come here."

“no.”

emily's mouth quirks slightly at your immediate refusal. she should've expected that. you're too stubborn for your own good. she rolls her eyes, almost fondly.  

"come on, just get over here." her voice is a little sharper now, more commanding without being harsh. "you're cold and shaking. there's a simple solution to that." 

it’s almost pathetic how weak you are to her commands, a dog on her leash.

you say uncertainly, “to turn up the thermostat?” 

that is solving the situation at its roots and is clearly the optimal solution. but emily somehow huffs a laugh under her breath. you're being difficult on purpose, she knows that.  

"or you could just let me warm you up." she replies, dryly. "it's an easier solution."

“you-you” stutter. you’re flustered, and well aware you’re not even hiding it anymore. how can she be so bold with the words she utter? does she not know she’s sending you into an existential crisis?

emily lets out another sigh, the sound almost fond in a way. you're just like a stubborn dog sometimes, cute, but also maddening. she keeps her expression steady, not quite amused but not entirely cold, just somewhere in-between.  

"just scoot a little closer. i'm warmer than the thermostat." she pats the space beside her, the offer open. her voice is low, almost coaxing. "come. here."

you shift just the tiniest bit closer. you have always been weak to persuasion.

emily lets out a quiet, amused breath. she's not surprised you only moved an inch. you're still resisting, but at least you're not full-on bolting anymore.  

"there we go," she murmurs approvingly as her arm shifts slightly to leave room for you between the sheets. "not so hard, is it?"  

you nearly preen at the praise.

her body heat seeps into the space around her as she waits, not pushing further unless you do first.

you begin slowly “i'm not asking you to reply, gods, but um, what are your thoughts on the situation?”

emily tilts her head, considering your carefully-worded request. so you wanted her thoughts on this rather absurd situation, huh? she almost laughs, but manages to keep a straight face.  

"my thoughts, huh?" she echoes, her lips twitching with the effort it takes to hold back a smirk. the urge to tease you is strong, powerful, but she pushes it down.  

she takes a moment to choose her words. she knows you want honesty, and she's always prided herself on being truthful even if it hurts.

"well, first and foremost, i'm thinking you're being an idiot." she says it bluntly, not bothering to sugarcoat it. she's not great at sugarcoating anyway.  

"you have this whole crush thing going on, and instead of telling me, you bury yourself in panic mode." she pauses, then "and you're shivering. like, you're shaking like a leaf. you know what that does to my protective instinct, right?"

you feel a curl of defensiveness rising “i-”

emily studies you for a long moment, her expression unreadable. then she lets out a slow breath, almost exasperated.  

"you're impossible." the words are gruff but not unkind. her fingers flex against the sheets between you, like she's resisting the urge to reach out again.  

she leans in just slightly, not enough to invade your space further, but enough that you can't miss it. "but if i say 'no' right now... will that actually make this easier for either of us?"

“y-yes?”

emily's eyes narrow slightly at your response. she can't tell if you're just being stubborn or genuinely afraid. knowing you, probably a little bit of both.  

"i can tell you're lying." she counters, not accusing but not backing down either. "don't bullshit me, okay? we both know you'll keep up this stubborn denial for as long as you can. hell, you'll probably still try to run after i've told you this. but let's be clear about one thing."

emily exhales through her nose. part frustration, part something softer. she studies your face for a long moment before finally muttering, 

"fuck it."  

without warning, she closes the distance between you two and presses her forehead against yours. it's not quite a kiss, but close enough to make your breath hitch.  

"there," she murmurs, "now we're both screwed."

you’re as red as a cherry, blood rushing through your cheeks. “you're supposed to say no or help me get over you, n-not-”

emily almost grins. you're adorable when you're stunned into silence, your brain going into overdrive just trying to process what's happening. it's kind of amusing. but right now, she's focused, intent.  

"help you get over me?" she repeats, her breath brushing warm across your face. she's so close you can almost taste her, the familiar hint of coffee she drinks like it's water.  

"what if i don't want to help you get over me?"

“em-”

emily ignores your half-strangled protest. she's not going to back off now. instead, her free hand shifts to rest against the side of your face. the touch surprisingly gentle, her thumb tracing lightly over your skin as if trying to memorize your features.  

her eyes lock onto yours, intense, unflinching. her voice drops, low and smooth in that velvet tone you adore. it's almost a whisper, yet the sound reverberates between you like a gunshot.  

"what if i want the opposite?"

you looks at her wide eyed, 

“oh.”

emily's smirk deepens as she studies your wide-eyed expression. the air between you crackles with something unspoken- tense and electric.  

"yeah. oh." she echoes, her voice rough at the edges. "that’s usually the reaction i get when i do this."  

her thumb brushes over your lower lip just once, testing, before she pulls back slightly to watch how you unravel in real time.

“you're my boss-”

emily almost laughs, but she restrains herself just in time. the irony of your words isn't lost on her, she's your boss, you're scared, and you're sharing a bed. it's a recipe for disaster. and yet...  

"i know." she says, her eyes not leaving yours. "that's exactly why you're trying so damn hard not to react, right? because i'm your boss."

emily feels the way you tense, sees the unspoken what now? in your frozen posture. she exhales through her nose, amused but not cruel.  

"breathe," she reminds you, voice rough with something that isn't quite pity. "unless you want me to kiss that panic right out of your system?"  

her thumb drags over your jaw again and there’s just a hint of pressure this time. a test.

“i-”

never in your wildest dreams would you even believe this was happening. emily prentiss, threatening to kiss you? yes please. 

emily sees the panicked flash in your eyes, the way your mind struggles to catch up with the current situation. she almost takes pity on you, you look like a deer in headlights, frozen and wide-eyed.  

"hey." she says your name, not sharp but firm. her hand moves to gently cup your jaw, keeping your gaze locked on hers. "just breathe. nothing's going to happen you don't want to happen."

you let out a breath, “okay.”

emily relaxes fractionally as you exhale, a shaky, ragged sound. you're still trying to process it, but at least you're not completely on the verge of hyperventilating.  

"there." she comments approvingly, her fingers gently stroking over your jawline in a soothing gesture. "now you can form actual words. good girl."

her thumb brushes over your bottom lip again, not quite demanding yet, but close. "got anything else for me?"

“h-hi. you like me too?” you squeak out shyly.  

that finally gets a quiet laugh from emily. the sound is both amused and fond, as if she's finally getting through to you.  

"took you long enough." she mutters, almost teasing. her thumb still traces idle circles over your jaw, a soothing rhythm as she tilts her head to study your expression.  

"but yes, i like you," she confirms, her voice low. "and that's a bit of a problem."

you nod in agreement, and it feels almost like an observer to this absurd play. 

emily's eyes flick over your face, taking in your expression. you still look a little overwhelmed, but the panic's been replaced by something else. vulnerability, maybe. she sighs quietly, her thumb still tracing a slow path over your jaw in a silent assurance.  

"it's a problem, because we're not supposed to be doing this," she comments, the edge of irritation clear in her voice. "you're my subordinate. and we work together. and we're currently in a hotel in the middle of god-knows-where in georgia, sharing a bed."

you nod “mhm.” a little too far gone and taken with her to fully process what she’s saying.

emily huffs a breath through her nose, the sound almost amused. you're still processing, she can see it in the way your eyes dart over her face like you're searching for confirmation.  

"you don't have to look so shell-shocked," she mutters, though there's no real bite to it. "we've shared worse moments than this."  

her hand shifts from your jaw to briefly ruffle your hair, a fleeting gesture of affection before she pulls back slightly.

“we have?”

emily pauses, her smirk fading slightly as she processes your reaction. she studies you for a moment, reading the surprise, maybe even disbelief in your expression.  

"yeah." her voice is firm now. "like that time in chicago when i had to drag you out of a collapsing building. or when we got shot at during surveillance and i pulled you behind cover."  

she leans closer again, not threateningly but pointedly. "we've risked our lives for each other before today. this isn't new territory for us."

“it's different. we're a team, we all risk our lives for each other.” 

emily snorts quietly, a sound halfway between frustration and humor. you're not wrong, but her point still stands.  

"i get that. hell, i'm the one preaching teamwork." she gives you a pointed look, a hint of a grin tugging at her lips. "but we both know there's a difference between risking your life for a teammate and what's happening right now."

you’ve had enough of this, feeling like the cpu of your brain has overheated and gone beyond overdrive. devoid of shame or embarrassment, you burrow yourself into her in an attempt to escape from this conversation. and not at all to enjoy her warmth or the feel of her against- 

emily goes still at the unexpected movement, eyes widening for a moment before she slowly relaxes. she can't stop the way a huff of breath escapes her, something between a sigh and a laugh. it seems like she's finally gotten through to you.  

"jesus. you're so stubborn." despite the complaint, there's a touch of fondness in her voice as she wraps her arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to her. she lets you bury yourself against her without protest.

“good night em”

emily's breath hitches at the sudden contact, her body stiffening for a split second before she melts into it. her arms wrap around you instinctively, pulling you tighter against her as if to make sure you can't escape.  

"christ," she mutters under her breath, half exasperated, half something far warmer. "you're lucky i'm too tired to argue with this."  

her chin drops onto your head lightly. the silence stretches between you two heavy but not uncomfortable anymore. she exhales slowly through her nose and finally settles in. this is something she’ll definitely make you settle in the morning. 

for now, she places her palm on your back, gently splaying her palm across it to rub soothingly up and down before she speaks with an even softer voice. 

“sleep tight.”

the case had been horrible, and you didn’t even know where to start. it had been horrific, flaring up memories you had deliberately forgotten, and did you already mention triggering? during times like these, flashbacks of just the sheer iniquity and immorality of the perpetrator curdle the blood running in your veins. to share the same genetic structure as something that rots the very idea of humanity, that becomes a writhing thing filled with vice, a vengeful devil or sin given shape? 

to make matters worse, you hadn’t even caught the guy. you were going home whether you liked it or not. decidedly not because the unsub was still out there. you were here. stuck in this stupidly small hotel room whose walls felt increasingly like they were closing in on you. heightening your sense of claustrophobia. 

your jaw ached, you’d been clenching it so long you hadn’t noticed. the bathroom was quiet, time having lost its concept. how long had you been staring into the hollow figure in the mirror? with a litany of scars mapped across, disfiguring your skin. some self inflicted. 

you were on the verge of a panic attack. it was obvious now. you had been, the entire day. maybe that was why you were so stupid to leave the door unlocked. 

and that was how emily prentiss, your boss, who you were sharing a room with caught you in the bathroom. naked in front of the shower, quickly raising the towel trying to hide your body, the scars on your skin, and just everything. 

this definitely wasn’t helping your panic either. 

fuck. 

the panic begins to wrap its arms around you like a shadow. every thought dissolving before it could form, nothing holding still long enough to be coherent. the kind of drowning where you forget how to breathe. cold creeping up on you as little shivers wrack your body, clutching onto the towel haphazardly wrapped around you like a lifeline. 

a beat passed.

“h-hi em?”

you could hear your own heart pounding in your ears. emily's voice softens, her eyes glancing away for a second, respecting your space, not pushing. she kept her tone steady but gentle.

"hey... it's okay. i'm just grabbing my toothbrush." she nods toward the door like she might leave if you wanted her to. "cold in here, huh? you need anything?"

surprisingly, there were no demands. no lingering on the scars or the towel clutched too tight. she’s behaving… well surprisingly regular, the sense of normalcy slowly grounding you back to earth if not for what looks like a foolish situation. embarrassing too, what would she think of your naked body? 

“n-no, could you please knock next time?”

"of course. sorry." it's a sincere apology, not defensive in any way, just an acknowledgement of your request. with that, she grabbed her toothbrush, gave you a respectful nod, and started to head out. 

again, you notice that even her eyes never linger. they meet yours, and then look away, giving you space. a small gesture that says a lot.

what does she think of you now? is she disgusted by how your near naked anatomy looks. or, would she ever like it? the thought creeps in silently, an imposter to the self consciousness burning brightly. embarrassingly red, like poppies in the springtime. 

you’re conscious as emily pauses at the doorway, her grip tightening slightly on the doorknob. she doesn’t turn back, still giving you space, but her voice is firm.  

"hey." 

there’s a beat of silence. 

"you're not getting out of this case that easy. i need you sharp tomorrow."  

there’s no pity in it, just a demand from your superior. but there's something underneath too, an unspoken "i'm not letting go until i know you're okay."

it’s nice to know she cares. congratulations, you’re not a failure with no one to love you after all. you give her an easy grin, the smile not reaching your eyes. 

“yeah, i’m never escaping your evil clutches prentiss.” bau for life, apparently. you either work long enough to retire or die in action. maybe you should’ve gone for an easier department. 

an unexpected laugh slips through her professional exterior and the corner of her mouth twitches.

"damn right, you're not. and you're stuck with me." she glances back one more time, this time with the hint of a smirk before fully disappearing, shutting the door behind her.

you flush slightly, was it wrong to think of how absurdly hot she just was?

you don’t get in the shower for another few minutes. you aren’t sure why. it felt a little different now, though you couldn't name why. maybe all you needed to get out of the cycle of self loathing was a dose of emily prentiss. a familiar cure-all.

eventually, you stepped in, letting the warm water trickle around you. comfort seeping into your bones, the exhaustion of the day- all the stress and panic drifting away at the shore. 

/

meanwhile, emily continues with her nighttime routine, changing into her sleepwear, the whole time trying to push away her concern for you. she knows you need your space, and she's been here long enough to know pushing before you're ready is... counterproductive.  

she settles cross-legged on the bed, reading through some case files but her mind isn't there, not completely. her gaze drifts to the closed bathroom door now and then.

you finish showering and emerge in pyjamas, a long sleeve top and pants. she knows now, why you always wear long sleeves even in the sweltering heat of summer. to cover up the scars. 

emily looks up as you exit, her gaze flickering over you, noting the choice of long sleeves but there’s no judgement, just observation. her fingers skim idly over the pages of her case file, the words blending together.

her voice, when she speaks, is gentle, but not coddling. she knows you're not one for pity. never one for pity. 

"feeling better?"

“yeah.”

emily nods at that, the worry still etched in her eyes but hidden well underneath her professional facade.  

"good." she sets the file aside, leaning back on the bed, arms crossed. there's a pause, a moment where she seems torn, like she's debating saying something else. you know the look, that calculated silence where she's weighing her words.

you finish drying your hair and get onto your side of the bed. emily watches as you settle into your side of the bed, her gaze flickering over you again for a moment. it's subtle, but she's studying your movements, your expression, checking in without making it obvious, like she always does. it's her way of caring, her way of being protective without overstepping.

she picks up the case file again, skimming over the pages, even though her attention isn't really there. a few moments of silence pass before she speaks again, voice low.  

"you know, if you need to talk…”

“emily. i'm fine” you gave her a short and curt response. 

emily glances up, eyes locking with yours, her expression a mixture of disbelief and a hint of frustration behind it.  

"bullshit," she mutters, the curse more a sigh than an actual expletive. "you're not fine. don't feed me that crap."  

she sets the file aside, focusing all her attention on you, leaning forward, the concern in her eyes unmistakable.  

"i know how you are. i know your body language. hell, i know you."

guess who decided to play profiler after hours? apparently your favourite boss. 

“just stressed about the case that's all.”

emily studies your facade, the slight tightening of her jaw the only indication of her internal debate. she's clearly torn between respect for your boundaries and her instinct to push until you drop the act. the latter wins in the end. she sighs, moving closer, sitting closer to you.  

"you're a bad liar. always have been."  

totally not true. you just happen to be placed in the midst of top profilers who can smell the hint of a lie a mile away. ravenous hounds chasing after meat. she crosses her arms again, a habit when she's thinking, a physical barrier.  

"stressed my ass. something more's going on."

you sigh, “i hate profilers.” 

the irony of you being one. still, it isn’t a pleasant experience being on the receiving end of the interview. 

that gets a huff from emily, somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. she's not surprised by your reaction, she knows you hate being read, being scrutinized. it's the same way she is. 

but right now, she's the profiler, and she's profiling the hell out of you. she shifts closer, not invading your space, but definitely narrowing the gap between you two.  

"tough. i'm too goddamn good at my job to not notice when one of my best agents is struggling."

you looked up at her with a little surprise, no longer avoiding her gaze, “i'm your best?”

emily smirks at that, the corner of her mouth turning up in a half-smile. she raises an eyebrow, a mix of sarcasm and seriousness in her tone.  

"damn right you are."  

she doesn't hesitate, not when her confidence in your skills is unyielding, unshakeable.  

"you've always been a natural. sharp as a goddamn knife and smart enough to give me a run for my money."

emily's smirk fades slightly as she studies your silence. she tilts her head, a flicker of something unreadable in her expression. maybe frustration, maybe concern.  

"hey." her voice is firm but not sharp. "don't do that thing where you shut down on me. if i crossed a line, say it."  

she leans back just enough to give you space but keeps her gaze locked on yours, challenging without being aggressive. the line was crossed ages ago, back when she nearly saw you naked in the bathroom. still you say nothing, do nothing. for this is emily we’re talking about. sweet angel emily, the one who always looks out for you. she could order you to jump and you'd do so in a heartbeat.

you sigh softly and reassure her, “you didn't, you could never emily.”

emily exhales through her nose, part frustration, part something softer. she rubs a hand over her face before dropping it to the mattress between you. she recognises that tone.

"i don't want to be your superior right now." her voice is low, edged with an intensity that isn't quite anger. "not when you're sitting there looking at me like i just kicked your puppy."  

a beat of silence stretches as she searches for the right words, then: "just tell me what's wrong. for real this time."

you look at her with a little surprise. honesty, is such a simple yet precious thing. emily holds your gaze, her expression open and sincere. she's dropped all pretense now, no more boss, no more agent prentiss. it's just her, looking at you with oceans of concern that can't be hidden.  

her hand twitches near yours on the bed but she doesn't quite reach out. letting you decide how close you want her right now.  

"please." the simple word hangs heavily between you, pleading and firm all at once. she wants to help.

you pause, and tease lightly “is that begging i hear?”

emily rolls her eyes almost instinctively at the teasing, but there's no heat behind it. she knows what you're doing. trying to divert, to deflect. she sees right through it.   

"oh please." she scoffs, leaning closer with an eyebrow raised in challenge. "we both know i don't beg."

“i don't either”

unless she really wanted you to. but you were too prideful to ever tell her that.

emily laughs softly at that, the tension in her shoulders loosening somewhat. the sound is warm, almost amused.

"touché."

she shifts her position, drawing one leg up onto the bed, facing you fully now, knees almost brushing against yours.

"stubborn, the both of us." she says in a tone that's almost affectionate.

“cheers.” 

emily's smirk deepens, the ghost of a real smile tugging at her lips. picks up her bottle by the bed.

"to stubbornness." her voice is dry as she raises the water bottle higher in salute. "may it never stop keeping us alive."  

a beat passes before she adds, quieter: "...or get you killed first."

it's a joke, obviously, but the undercurrent of concern is there. she knows you too well not to worry. her gaze flicks over your face once more before her expression softens again.  

"speaking of..." she hesitates, weighing her words like she does when she's treading on thin ice.

you don’t like where this is going. 

“no thank you?” trying to cut the conversation short.

emily rolls her eyes again, but this time they're fond, almost affectionate. her hand finding yours under the covers and giving it a brief squeeze. her touch lingers just for a moment, the warmth of it seeping into your skin before she slowly pulls back. you can still feel the phantom of the touch, the loss of her warmth nearly affecting you.

"happy now?"

“i- what was that for?”

emily's gaze narrows slightly, just for a second, as if she's debating whether to pull away or double down. she settles on the latter.  

"for this," she mutters, her voice rough but not angry. her thumb brushes over your knuckles in an unconscious gesture of reassurance. "because you keep pretending you're fine when i can see right through it."  

a pause, and then quieter: "...and because i don't like seeing you hurt."

you hum. 

emily doesn't miss the noncommittal sound you make, the slight twitch of your fingers under hers. it's another sign, a hint that you're not as okay as you'd like to pretend to be.  

"don't hm me," she says gruffly, shaking her head. "you're not doing a very good job convincing me that you're fine."  

her grip tightens almost involuntarily around your hand again.

“what should i do then?”

how could you lie to her better? how can she teach you what to do, what to say, to finally ease her worries and concerns?

emily exhales through her nose, a mix of frustration and something softer. she shifts closer, deliberate, not intrusive.  

"tell me the truth." her voice is low, steady. "not your case file version. not the 'fine' you keep throwing at me like a shield."  

her thumb traces idle circles over your knuckles, grounding without demanding. "you don't have to fix it tonight. just say it out loud so i know where to start."

“i-”

emily reads your hesitation like a book. she gives your hand another squeeze, encouraging nonverbal support.  her thumb continues its idle rhythm, the motion almost soothing. she doesn't push, doesn't force. just gives you the space to gather your thoughts while letting you know she's there.  

"i'm listening," she offers gently. "take your time."

you get lost in her eyes for a moment. the rich chocolatey ocean tempting you into getting lost. she could be a siren and you’d jump straight into her lure. you relent. 

“'s really just the case em. it's stressful. think i was on the verge of a panic attack today then i'm overstimulated in this claustrophobic room sharing a bed with you and- you saw me naked and- “

as you start to speak, emily listens intently, her grip on your hand tightening just marginally at your words. her expression is focused, taking everything in with the practiced attention of a profiler. she catches the edge of panic in your voice, the slight trembling you're probably trying to hide. it sets off an alarm bell her head and her heart but she pushes that aside for now, letting you finish.  

when you mention the bathroom incident, her brow creases slightly.

it clicks. the picture starts to form in her head. the case, the stress, the panic attack, the overstimulation...  

her eyes flicker over your face, not pitying, but understanding. she may not know the details, but she knows the feeling. her hand tightens around yours again, steadying. 

"hey, hey. breathe." her voice, though quiet, is firmer than before.  

she shifts even closer, until there's hardly any gap between you on the bed. "focus on me."

you try to breathe and look away from her in a slight panic “c-close.”

emily notices the way you avoid her gaze, the way you look away. she knows avoidance intimately. it's a familiar pattern.  

at your words, she moves even closer, until her knee brushes yours under the covers. her body is angled towards you, a solid presence in the space between. her hand remains holding yours, grounding without overwhelming.  

"close your eyes." her voice is steady, quiet but commanding.

you panic. she’s not making it better. in fact, “em-”

emily feels the tension in your body, sees the panic flashing across your face. her grip on you tightens not to restrain, but to anchor.  

"breathe," she orders again, her voice low and firm. "just breathe with me."  

she exaggerates her own inhale through her nose, deep and slow, then exhales through pursed lips. reminds you of a yoga instructor guiding your breathing. her free hand lifts slightly toward you as if considering touching a shoulder or arm for grounding but hesitates at the last second.

you take a deep breath, mimicking the one she showed you.

emily watches the rise and fall of your chest, a silent marker of your breathing. it's steadier now, not perfect, but better than moments before.  

she matches your pace, slowing her breathing to match your inhalations and exhalations. her hand on yours, still holding, is warm. a counterpoint to the cold, sterile hotel room.  

"there you go." her voice is still low, quiet encouragement. "just like that. keep breathing."

“i- emily..”

no. she doesn’t get it. that’s not what you wanted. why is she always so kind to you? her proximity is only going to make things worse-

emily feels the hitch in your breath, sees the way you tense. her grip on your hand loosens slightly- not retreating, but adjusting to give you space while still keeping contact.  

"hey." her voice drops lower now, calm but with intent. "i'm right here. not going anywhere."  

she shifts her weight forward just enough to nudge her knee against yours under the covers, a small pressure point of grounding without overwhelming touch. you sigh in surrender. 

“that's kinda the problem. i'm still mortified you saw me naked by the way and-”

emily doesn’t flinch. instead, she leans in slightly- deliberate and unapologetic.  

"good." her voice is rough but not cruel. "you should be. i saw the scars."  

a pause as her eyes lock onto yours, there’s no pity, just stark honesty. "the ones you keep hiding under sleeves and layers like they're something to be ashamed of."

“y-you're a little too close”

there it is again- the denial and avoidance.  

this time, she doesn't move back and holds her ground. her knee is still touching yours under the covers, becoming a steady point of contact that grounds you in the present.  

"i've been closer." she says this with a hint of that familiar smirk but her eyes don't leave yours. "we've shared a bed before."

“you-”

emily feels the hitch in your breath, sees the way you stiffen. she doesn't back off, doesn't retreat.  

"you what?" her voice is quiet but unyielding, her gaze steady on yours. "finish that sentence."  

she shifts closer again. not enough to crowd you, but just enough to make it clear she's not letting this go either. her fingers flex around yours under the covers.

“you’re not helping.”

you blurt out quickly

“me get over a tiny crush on you” 

that came out wrong. like a word vomit. and you certainly had no plans to ever voice that out to her, or anyone for the matter. but it’s too late. 

the confession hangs in the air. time seems to slow down as emily processes what you just said. she goes still, her hand gripping yours beneath the covers not quite frozen, but taken off guard.  

her eyes are unreadable for a moment. she doesn't speak, taking a second to gather her own thoughts. finally, she exhales and her expression softens almost imperceptibly.  

"of all the times you could've told me, you chose now…?" she asks, not angry, just a mixture of disbelief and... something else.

“you were- you are overwhelming me”

not the fact that you couldn’t keep your infatuation hidden anymore. building up like waves crashing over your grave. emily blinks. the bluntness of your words takes her off guard for a moment, but she recovers quickly. her hand on yours squeezes gently, a small gesture of understanding.   

"right." she exhales again, the breath almost like a chuckle, though it lacks humor. she studies you, eyes roaming over your face like the profiler she is.  

"well. that explains… a lot, actually."

what?

emily's gaze doesn't waver. she tilts her head slightly, a small smirk tugging at her lips.  

"the way you act around me. the way you're trying so damn hard to get away right now... you're not just uncomfortable because i saw you naked."  

there’s a pause as her eyes take in your expression, the slight shift in your breathing while she connects the dots.  

"it's because you have a crush on me."

“i- give me some space please em?”

it’s overwhelming. you can’t do this. how could someone so cowardly every confess their feelings to their crush, their boss, no less? and now that she’s aware, what would she think of you?

emily hesitates, her grip on your hand tightening reflexively for a second. she's torn for a moment, a war going on in her mind between respect for your request and her own desire to keep the contact but she knows better than to force that on you right now.  

"yeah. okay."  

she lets go of your hand reluctantly and shifts back, putting a few more inches between you on the bed. emily sees the way you eye her warily, knows you're watching her movements like a scared animal. it's a familiar sight. you're trying to put up walls again, trying to hide.  

she settles herself against the headboard, not crossing her arms but instead keeping an open and unthreatening body language. for a moment, she just watches you, eyes taking in your expression, your body language, every detail.  

"i'm not gonna bite you, you know." she deadpans.

you bite back “we’re sharing a bed.”

a hint of that familiar smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth, but her eyes remain focused on you. 

"yeah, we are." she says this almost casually, like she's commenting on the weather, not on the fact that you're both lying barely a foot apart in the same bed.  

another pause as she considers her next words. "is that bothering you?"

“i- guess it's not helping my situation?”

emily snorts quietly at that, her smirk deepening a fraction. she can imagine your internal struggle, trying to deal with a crush on your boss while also trying to avoid an anxious spiral, all while lying inches apart in a bed that's too small.  

"fair." she remarks dryly, folding her legs, one knee slightly bent. her eyes skim over you briefly, taking in the tension in your shoulders, the slight tremble in your hands.

"you're shivering." it's a simple fact, said so matter-of-fact that it has no emotional charge to it. she doesn't reach out to touch you, but the concern is there in her eyes, beneath the exterior of a professional.  

she hesitates for a brief second, then: "come here."

“no.”

emily's mouth quirks slightly at your immediate refusal. she should've expected that. you're too stubborn for your own good. she rolls her eyes, almost fondly.  

"come on, just get over here." her voice is a little sharper now, more commanding without being harsh. "you're cold and shaking. there's a simple solution to that." 

it’s almost pathetic how weak you are to her commands, a dog on her leash.

you say uncertainly, “to turn up the thermostat?” 

that is solving the situation at its roots and is clearly the optimal solution. but emily somehow huffs a laugh under her breath. you're being difficult on purpose, she knows that.  

"or you could just let me warm you up." she replies, dryly. "it's an easier solution."

“you-you” stutter. you’re flustered, and well aware you’re not even hiding it anymore. how can she be so bold with the words she utter? does she not know she’s sending you into an existential crisis?

emily lets out another sigh, the sound almost fond in a way. you're just like a stubborn dog sometimes, cute, but also maddening. she keeps her expression steady, not quite amused but not entirely cold, just somewhere in-between.  

"just scoot a little closer. i'm warmer than the thermostat." she pats the space beside her, the offer open. her voice is low, almost coaxing. "come. here."

you shift just the tiniest bit closer. you have always been weak to persuasion.

emily lets out a quiet, amused breath. she's not surprised you only moved an inch. you're still resisting, but at least you're not full-on bolting anymore.  

"there we go," she murmurs approvingly as her arm shifts slightly to leave room for you between the sheets. "not so hard, is it?"  

you nearly preen at the praise.

her body heat seeps into the space around her as she waits, not pushing further unless you do first.

you begin slowly “i'm not asking you to reply, gods, but um, what are your thoughts on the situation?”

emily tilts her head, considering your carefully-worded request. so you wanted her thoughts on this rather absurd situation, huh? she almost laughs, but manages to keep a straight face.  

"my thoughts, huh?" she echoes, her lips twitching with the effort it takes to hold back a smirk. the urge to tease you is strong, powerful, but she pushes it down.  

she takes a moment to choose her words. she knows you want honesty, and she's always prided herself on being truthful even if it hurts.

"well, first and foremost, i'm thinking you're being an idiot." she says it bluntly, not bothering to sugarcoat it. she's not great at sugarcoating anyway.  

"you have this whole crush thing going on, and instead of telling me, you bury yourself in panic mode." she pauses, then "and you're shivering. like, you're shaking like a leaf. you know what that does to my protective instinct, right?"

you feel a curl of defensiveness rising “i-”

emily studies you for a long moment, her expression unreadable. then she lets out a slow breath, almost exasperated.  

"you're impossible." the words are gruff but not unkind. her fingers flex against the sheets between you, like she's resisting the urge to reach out again.  

she leans in just slightly, not enough to invade your space further, but enough that you can't miss it. "but if i say 'no' right now... will that actually make this easier for either of us?"

“y-yes?”

emily's eyes narrow slightly at your response. she can't tell if you're just being stubborn or genuinely afraid. knowing you, probably a little bit of both.  

"i can tell you're lying." she counters, not accusing but not backing down either. "don't bullshit me, okay? we both know you'll keep up this stubborn denial for as long as you can. hell, you'll probably still try to run after i've told you this. but let's be clear about one thing."

emily exhales through her nose. part frustration, part something softer. she studies your face for a long moment before finally muttering, 

"fuck it."  

without warning, she closes the distance between you two and presses her forehead against yours. it's not quite a kiss, but close enough to make your breath hitch.  

"there," she murmurs, "now we're both screwed."

you’re as red as a cherry, blood rushing through your cheeks. “you're supposed to say no or help me get over you, n-not-”

emily almost grins. you're adorable when you're stunned into silence, your brain going into overdrive just trying to process what's happening. it's kind of amusing. but right now, she's focused, intent.  

"help you get over me?" she repeats, her breath brushing warm across your face. she's so close you can almost taste her, the familiar hint of coffee she drinks like it's water.  

"what if i don't want to help you get over me?"

“em-”

emily ignores your half-strangled protest. she's not going to back off now. instead, her free hand shifts to rest against the side of your face. the touch surprisingly gentle, her thumb tracing lightly over your skin as if trying to memorize your features.  

her eyes lock onto yours, intense, unflinching. her voice drops, low and smooth in that velvet tone you adore. it's almost a whisper, yet the sound reverberates between you like a gunshot.  

"what if i want the opposite?"

you looks at her wide eyed, 

“oh.”

emily's smirk deepens as she studies your wide-eyed expression. the air between you crackles with something unspoken- tense and electric.  

"yeah. oh." she echoes, her voice rough at the edges. "that’s usually the reaction i get when i do this."  

her thumb brushes over your lower lip just once, testing, before she pulls back slightly to watch how you unravel in real time.

“you're my boss-”

emily almost laughs, but she restrains herself just in time. the irony of your words isn't lost on her, she's your boss, you're scared, and you're sharing a bed. it's a recipe for disaster. and yet...  

"i know." she says, her eyes not leaving yours. "that's exactly why you're trying so damn hard not to react, right? because i'm your boss."

emily feels the way you tense, sees the unspoken what now? in your frozen posture. she exhales through her nose, amused but not cruel.  

"breathe," she reminds you, voice rough with something that isn't quite pity. "unless you want me to kiss that panic right out of your system?"  

her thumb drags over your jaw again and there’s just a hint of pressure this time. a test.

“i-”

never in your wildest dreams would you even believe this was happening. emily prentiss, threatening to kiss you? yes please. 

emily sees the panicked flash in your eyes, the way your mind struggles to catch up with the current situation. she almost takes pity on you, you look like a deer in headlights, frozen and wide-eyed.  

"hey." she says your name, not sharp but firm. her hand moves to gently cup your jaw, keeping your gaze locked on hers. "just breathe. nothing's going to happen you don't want to happen."

you let out a breath, “okay.”

emily relaxes fractionally as you exhale, a shaky, ragged sound. you're still trying to process it, but at least you're not completely on the verge of hyperventilating.  

"there." she comments approvingly, her fingers gently stroking over your jawline in a soothing gesture. "now you can form actual words. good girl."

her thumb brushes over your bottom lip again, not quite demanding yet, but close. "got anything else for me?"

“h-hi. you like me too?” you squeak out shyly.  

that finally gets a quiet laugh from emily. the sound is both amused and fond, as if she's finally getting through to you.  

"took you long enough." she mutters, almost teasing. her thumb still traces idle circles over your jaw, a soothing rhythm as she tilts her head to study your expression.  

"but yes, i like you," she confirms, her voice low. "and that's a bit of a problem."

you nod in agreement, and it feels almost like an observer to this absurd play. 

emily's eyes flick over your face, taking in your expression. you still look a little overwhelmed, but the panic's been replaced by something else. vulnerability, maybe. she sighs quietly, her thumb still tracing a slow path over your jaw in a silent assurance.  

"it's a problem, because we're not supposed to be doing this," she comments, the edge of irritation clear in her voice. "you're my subordinate. and we work together. and we're currently in a hotel in the middle of god-knows-where in georgia, sharing a bed."

you nod “mhm.” a little too far gone and taken with her to fully process what she’s saying.

emily huffs a breath through her nose, the sound almost amused. you're still processing, she can see it in the way your eyes dart over her face like you're searching for confirmation.  

"you don't have to look so shell-shocked," she mutters, though there's no real bite to it. "we've shared worse moments than this."  

her hand shifts from your jaw to briefly ruffle your hair, a fleeting gesture of affection before she pulls back slightly.

“we have?”

emily pauses, her smirk fading slightly as she processes your reaction. she studies you for a moment, reading the surprise, maybe even disbelief in your expression.  

"yeah." her voice is firm now. "like that time in chicago when i had to drag you out of a collapsing building. or when we got shot at during surveillance and i pulled you behind cover."  

she leans closer again, not threateningly but pointedly. "we've risked our lives for each other before today. this isn't new territory for us."

“it's different. we're a team, we all risk our lives for each other.” 

emily snorts quietly, a sound halfway between frustration and humor. you're not wrong, but her point still stands.  

"i get that. hell, i'm the one preaching teamwork." she gives you a pointed look, a hint of a grin tugging at her lips. "but we both know there's a difference between risking your life for a teammate and what's happening right now."

you’ve had enough of this, feeling like the cpu of your brain has overheated and gone beyond overdrive. devoid of shame or embarrassment, you burrow yourself into her in an attempt to escape from this conversation. and not at all to enjoy her warmth or the feel of her against- 

emily goes still at the unexpected movement, eyes widening for a moment before she slowly relaxes. she can't stop the way a huff of breath escapes her, something between a sigh and a laugh. it seems like she's finally gotten through to you.  

"jesus. you're so stubborn." despite the complaint, there's a touch of fondness in her voice as she wraps her arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to her. she lets you bury yourself against her without protest.

“good night em”

emily's breath hitches at the sudden contact, her body stiffening for a split second before she melts into it. her arms wrap around you instinctively, pulling you tighter against her as if to make sure you can't escape.  

"christ," she mutters under her breath, half exasperated, half something far warmer. "you're lucky i'm too tired to argue with this."  

her chin drops onto your head lightly. the silence stretches between you two heavy but not uncomfortable anymore. she exhales slowly through her nose and finally settles in. this is something she’ll definitely make you settle in the morning. 

for now, she places her palm on your back, gently splaying her palm across it to rub soothingly up and down before she speaks with an even softer voice. 

“sleep tight.”

the case had been horrible, and you didn’t even know where to start. it had been horrific, flaring up memories you had deliberately forgotten, and did you already mention triggering? during times like these, flashbacks of just the sheer iniquity and immorality of the perpetrator curdle the blood running in your veins. to share the same genetic structure as something that rots the very idea of humanity, that becomes a writhing thing filled with vice, a vengeful devil or sin given shape? 

to make matters worse, you hadn’t even caught the guy. you were going home whether you liked it or not. decidedly not because the unsub was still out there. you were here. stuck in this stupidly small hotel room whose walls felt increasingly like they were closing in on you. heightening your sense of claustrophobia. 

your jaw ached, you’d been clenching it so long you hadn’t noticed. the bathroom was quiet, time having lost its concept. how long had you been staring into the hollow figure in the mirror? with a litany of scars mapped across, disfiguring your skin. some self inflicted. 

you were on the verge of a panic attack. it was obvious now. you had been, the entire day. maybe that was why you were so stupid to leave the door unlocked. 

and that was how emily prentiss, your boss, who you were sharing a room with caught you in the bathroom. naked in front of the shower, quickly raising the towel trying to hide your body, the scars on your skin, and just everything. 

this definitely wasn’t helping your panic either. 

fuck. 

the panic begins to wrap its arms around you like a shadow. every thought dissolving before it could form, nothing holding still long enough to be coherent. the kind of drowning where you forget how to breathe. cold creeping up on you as little shivers wrack your body, clutching onto the towel haphazardly wrapped around you like a lifeline. 

a beat passed.

“h-hi em?”

you could hear your own heart pounding in your ears. emily's voice softens, her eyes glancing away for a second, respecting your space, not pushing. she kept her tone steady but gentle.

"hey... it's okay. i'm just grabbing my toothbrush." she nods toward the door like she might leave if you wanted her to. "cold in here, huh? you need anything?"

surprisingly, there were no demands. no lingering on the scars or the towel clutched too tight. she’s behaving… well surprisingly regular, the sense of normalcy slowly grounding you back to earth if not for what looks like a foolish situation. embarrassing too, what would she think of your naked body? 

“n-no, could you please knock next time?”

"of course. sorry." it's a sincere apology, not defensive in any way, just an acknowledgement of your request. with that, she grabbed her toothbrush, gave you a respectful nod, and started to head out. 

again, you notice that even her eyes never linger. they meet yours, and then look away, giving you space. a small gesture that says a lot.

what does she think of you now? is she disgusted by how your near naked anatomy looks. or, would she ever like it? the thought creeps in silently, an imposter to the self consciousness burning brightly. embarrassingly red, like poppies in the springtime. 

you’re conscious as emily pauses at the doorway, her grip tightening slightly on the doorknob. she doesn’t turn back, still giving you space, but her voice is firm.  

"hey." 

there’s a beat of silence. 

"you're not getting out of this case that easy. i need you sharp tomorrow."  

there’s no pity in it, just a demand from your superior. but there's something underneath too, an unspoken "i'm not letting go until i know you're okay."

it’s nice to know she cares. congratulations, you’re not a failure with no one to love you after all. you give her an easy grin, the smile not reaching your eyes. 

“yeah, i’m never escaping your evil clutches prentiss.” bau for life, apparently. you either work long enough to retire or die in action. maybe you should’ve gone for an easier department. 

an unexpected laugh slips through her professional exterior and the corner of her mouth twitches.

"damn right, you're not. and you're stuck with me." she glances back one more time, this time with the hint of a smirk before fully disappearing, shutting the door behind her.

you flush slightly, was it wrong to think of how absurdly hot she just was?

you don’t get in the shower for another few minutes. you aren’t sure why. it felt a little different now, though you couldn't name why. maybe all you needed to get out of the cycle of self loathing was a dose of emily prentiss. a familiar cure-all.

eventually, you stepped in, letting the warm water trickle around you. comfort seeping into your bones, the exhaustion of the day- all the stress and panic drifting away at the shore. 

/

meanwhile, emily continues with her nighttime routine, changing into her sleepwear, the whole time trying to push away her concern for you. she knows you need your space, and she's been here long enough to know pushing before you're ready is... counterproductive.  

she settles cross-legged on the bed, reading through some case files but her mind isn't there, not completely. her gaze drifts to the closed bathroom door now and then.

you finish showering and emerge in pyjamas, a long sleeve top and pants. she knows now, why you always wear long sleeves even in the sweltering heat of summer. to cover up the scars. 

emily looks up as you exit, her gaze flickering over you, noting the choice of long sleeves but there’s no judgement, just observation. her fingers skim idly over the pages of her case file, the words blending together.

her voice, when she speaks, is gentle, but not coddling. she knows you're not one for pity. never one for pity. 

"feeling better?"

“yeah.”

emily nods at that, the worry still etched in her eyes but hidden well underneath her professional facade.  

"good." she sets the file aside, leaning back on the bed, arms crossed. there's a pause, a moment where she seems torn, like she's debating saying something else. you know the look, that calculated silence where she's weighing her words.

you finish drying your hair and get onto your side of the bed. emily watches as you settle into your side of the bed, her gaze flickering over you again for a moment. it's subtle, but she's studying your movements, your expression, checking in without making it obvious, like she always does. it's her way of caring, her way of being protective without overstepping.

she picks up the case file again, skimming over the pages, even though her attention isn't really there. a few moments of silence pass before she speaks again, voice low.  

"you know, if you need to talk…”

“emily. i'm fine” you gave her a short and curt response. 

emily glances up, eyes locking with yours, her expression a mixture of disbelief and a hint of frustration behind it.  

"bullshit," she mutters, the curse more a sigh than an actual expletive. "you're not fine. don't feed me that crap."  

she sets the file aside, focusing all her attention on you, leaning forward, the concern in her eyes unmistakable.  

"i know how you are. i know your body language. hell, i know you."

guess who decided to play profiler after hours? apparently your favourite boss. 

“just stressed about the case that's all.”

emily studies your facade, the slight tightening of her jaw the only indication of her internal debate. she's clearly torn between respect for your boundaries and her instinct to push until you drop the act. the latter wins in the end. she sighs, moving closer, sitting closer to you.  

"you're a bad liar. always have been."  

totally not true. you just happen to be placed in the midst of top profilers who can smell the hint of a lie a mile away. ravenous hounds chasing after meat. she crosses her arms again, a habit when she's thinking, a physical barrier.  

"stressed my ass. something more's going on."

you sigh, “i hate profilers.” 

the irony of you being one. still, it isn’t a pleasant experience being on the receiving end of the interview. 

that gets a huff from emily, somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. she's not surprised by your reaction, she knows you hate being read, being scrutinized. it's the same way she is. 

but right now, she's the profiler, and she's profiling the hell out of you. she shifts closer, not invading your space, but definitely narrowing the gap between you two.  

"tough. i'm too goddamn good at my job to not notice when one of my best agents is struggling."

you looked up at her with a little surprise, no longer avoiding her gaze, “i'm your best?”

emily smirks at that, the corner of her mouth turning up in a half-smile. she raises an eyebrow, a mix of sarcasm and seriousness in her tone.  

"damn right you are."  

she doesn't hesitate, not when her confidence in your skills is unyielding, unshakeable.  

"you've always been a natural. sharp as a goddamn knife and smart enough to give me a run for my money."

emily's smirk fades slightly as she studies your silence. she tilts her head, a flicker of something unreadable in her expression. maybe frustration, maybe concern.  

"hey." her voice is firm but not sharp. "don't do that thing where you shut down on me. if i crossed a line, say it."  

she leans back just enough to give you space but keeps her gaze locked on yours, challenging without being aggressive. the line was crossed ages ago, back when she nearly saw you naked in the bathroom. still you say nothing, do nothing. for this is emily we’re talking about. sweet angel emily, the one who always looks out for you. she could order you to jump and you'd do so in a heartbeat.

you sigh softly and reassure her, “you didn't, you could never emily.”

emily exhales through her nose, part frustration, part something softer. she rubs a hand over her face before dropping it to the mattress between you. she recognises that tone.

"i don't want to be your superior right now." her voice is low, edged with an intensity that isn't quite anger. "not when you're sitting there looking at me like i just kicked your puppy."  

a beat of silence stretches as she searches for the right words, then: "just tell me what's wrong. for real this time."

you look at her with a little surprise. honesty, is such a simple yet precious thing. emily holds your gaze, her expression open and sincere. she's dropped all pretense now, no more boss, no more agent prentiss. it's just her, looking at you with oceans of concern that can't be hidden.  

her hand twitches near yours on the bed but she doesn't quite reach out. letting you decide how close you want her right now.  

"please." the simple word hangs heavily between you, pleading and firm all at once. she wants to help.

you pause, and tease lightly “is that begging i hear?”

emily rolls her eyes almost instinctively at the teasing, but there's no heat behind it. she knows what you're doing. trying to divert, to deflect. she sees right through it.   

"oh please." she scoffs, leaning closer with an eyebrow raised in challenge. "we both know i don't beg."

“i don't either”

unless she really wanted you to. but you were too prideful to ever tell her that.

emily laughs softly at that, the tension in her shoulders loosening somewhat. the sound is warm, almost amused.

"touché."

she shifts her position, drawing one leg up onto the bed, facing you fully now, knees almost brushing against yours.

"stubborn, the both of us." she says in a tone that's almost affectionate.

“cheers.” 

emily's smirk deepens, the ghost of a real smile tugging at her lips. picks up her bottle by the bed.

"to stubbornness." her voice is dry as she raises the water bottle higher in salute. "may it never stop keeping us alive."  

a beat passes before she adds, quieter: "...or get you killed first."

it's a joke, obviously, but the undercurrent of concern is there. she knows you too well not to worry. her gaze flicks over your face once more before her expression softens again.  

"speaking of..." she hesitates, weighing her words like she does when she's treading on thin ice.

you don’t like where this is going. 

“no thank you?” trying to cut the conversation short.

emily rolls her eyes again, but this time they're fond, almost affectionate. her hand finding yours under the covers and giving it a brief squeeze. her touch lingers just for a moment, the warmth of it seeping into your skin before she slowly pulls back. you can still feel the phantom of the touch, the loss of her warmth nearly affecting you.

"happy now?"

“i- what was that for?”

emily's gaze narrows slightly, just for a second, as if she's debating whether to pull away or double down. she settles on the latter.  

"for this," she mutters, her voice rough but not angry. her thumb brushes over your knuckles in an unconscious gesture of reassurance. "because you keep pretending you're fine when i can see right through it."  

a pause, and then quieter: "...and because i don't like seeing you hurt."

you hum. 

emily doesn't miss the noncommittal sound you make, the slight twitch of your fingers under hers. it's another sign, a hint that you're not as okay as you'd like to pretend to be.  

"don't hm me," she says gruffly, shaking her head. "you're not doing a very good job convincing me that you're fine."  

her grip tightens almost involuntarily around your hand again.

“what should i do then?”

how could you lie to her better? how can she teach you what to do, what to say, to finally ease her worries and concerns?

emily exhales through her nose, a mix of frustration and something softer. she shifts closer, deliberate, not intrusive.  

"tell me the truth." her voice is low, steady. "not your case file version. not the 'fine' you keep throwing at me like a shield."  

her thumb traces idle circles over your knuckles, grounding without demanding. "you don't have to fix it tonight. just say it out loud so i know where to start."

“i-”

emily reads your hesitation like a book. she gives your hand another squeeze, encouraging nonverbal support.  her thumb continues its idle rhythm, the motion almost soothing. she doesn't push, doesn't force. just gives you the space to gather your thoughts while letting you know she's there.  

"i'm listening," she offers gently. "take your time."

you get lost in her eyes for a moment. the rich chocolatey ocean tempting you into getting lost. she could be a siren and you’d jump straight into her lure. you relent. 

“'s really just the case em. it's stressful. think i was on the verge of a panic attack today then i'm overstimulated in this claustrophobic room sharing a bed with you and- you saw me naked and- “

as you start to speak, emily listens intently, her grip on your hand tightening just marginally at your words. her expression is focused, taking everything in with the practiced attention of a profiler. she catches the edge of panic in your voice, the slight trembling you're probably trying to hide. it sets off an alarm bell her head and her heart but she pushes that aside for now, letting you finish.  

when you mention the bathroom incident, her brow creases slightly.

it clicks. the picture starts to form in her head. the case, the stress, the panic attack, the overstimulation...  

her eyes flicker over your face, not pitying, but understanding. she may not know the details, but she knows the feeling. her hand tightens around yours again, steadying. 

"hey, hey. breathe." her voice, though quiet, is firmer than before.  

she shifts even closer, until there's hardly any gap between you on the bed. "focus on me."

you try to breathe and look away from her in a slight panic “c-close.”

emily notices the way you avoid her gaze, the way you look away. she knows avoidance intimately. it's a familiar pattern.  

at your words, she moves even closer, until her knee brushes yours under the covers. her body is angled towards you, a solid presence in the space between. her hand remains holding yours, grounding without overwhelming.  

"close your eyes." her voice is steady, quiet but commanding.

you panic. she’s not making it better. in fact, “em-”

emily feels the tension in your body, sees the panic flashing across your face. her grip on you tightens not to restrain, but to anchor.  

"breathe," she orders again, her voice low and firm. "just breathe with me."  

she exaggerates her own inhale through her nose, deep and slow, then exhales through pursed lips. reminds you of a yoga instructor guiding your breathing. her free hand lifts slightly toward you as if considering touching a shoulder or arm for grounding but hesitates at the last second.

you take a deep breath, mimicking the one she showed you.

emily watches the rise and fall of your chest, a silent marker of your breathing. it's steadier now, not perfect, but better than moments before.  

she matches your pace, slowing her breathing to match your inhalations and exhalations. her hand on yours, still holding, is warm. a counterpoint to the cold, sterile hotel room.  

"there you go." her voice is still low, quiet encouragement. "just like that. keep breathing."

“i- emily..”

no. she doesn’t get it. that’s not what you wanted. why is she always so kind to you? her proximity is only going to make things worse-

emily feels the hitch in your breath, sees the way you tense. her grip on your hand loosens slightly- not retreating, but adjusting to give you space while still keeping contact.  

"hey." her voice drops lower now, calm but with intent. "i'm right here. not going anywhere."  

she shifts her weight forward just enough to nudge her knee against yours under the covers, a small pressure point of grounding without overwhelming touch. you sigh in surrender. 

“that's kinda the problem. i'm still mortified you saw me naked by the way and-”

emily doesn’t flinch. instead, she leans in slightly- deliberate and unapologetic.  

"good." her voice is rough but not cruel. "you should be. i saw the scars."  

a pause as her eyes lock onto yours, there’s no pity, just stark honesty. "the ones you keep hiding under sleeves and layers like they're something to be ashamed of."

“y-you're a little too close”

there it is again- the denial and avoidance.  

this time, she doesn't move back and holds her ground. her knee is still touching yours under the covers, becoming a steady point of contact that grounds you in the present.  

"i've been closer." she says this with a hint of that familiar smirk but her eyes don't leave yours. "we've shared a bed before."

“you-”

emily feels the hitch in your breath, sees the way you stiffen. she doesn't back off, doesn't retreat.  

"you what?" her voice is quiet but unyielding, her gaze steady on yours. "finish that sentence."  

she shifts closer again. not enough to crowd you, but just enough to make it clear she's not letting this go either. her fingers flex around yours under the covers.

“you’re not helping.”

you blurt out quickly

“me get over a tiny crush on you” 

that came out wrong. like a word vomit. and you certainly had no plans to ever voice that out to her, or anyone for the matter. but it’s too late. 

the confession hangs in the air. time seems to slow down as emily processes what you just said. she goes still, her hand gripping yours beneath the covers not quite frozen, but taken off guard.  

her eyes are unreadable for a moment. she doesn't speak, taking a second to gather her own thoughts. finally, she exhales and her expression softens almost imperceptibly.  

"of all the times you could've told me, you chose now…?" she asks, not angry, just a mixture of disbelief and... something else.

“you were- you are overwhelming me”

not the fact that you couldn’t keep your infatuation hidden anymore. building up like waves crashing over your grave. emily blinks. the bluntness of your words takes her off guard for a moment, but she recovers quickly. her hand on yours squeezes gently, a small gesture of understanding.   

"right." she exhales again, the breath almost like a chuckle, though it lacks humor. she studies you, eyes roaming over your face like the profiler she is.  

"well. that explains… a lot, actually."

what?

emily's gaze doesn't waver. she tilts her head slightly, a small smirk tugging at her lips.  

"the way you act around me. the way you're trying so damn hard to get away right now... you're not just uncomfortable because i saw you naked."  

there’s a pause as her eyes take in your expression, the slight shift in your breathing while she connects the dots.  

"it's because you have a crush on me."

“i- give me some space please em?”

it’s overwhelming. you can’t do this. how could someone so cowardly every confess their feelings to their crush, their boss, no less? and now that she’s aware, what would she think of you?

emily hesitates, her grip on your hand tightening reflexively for a second. she's torn for a moment, a war going on in her mind between respect for your request and her own desire to keep the contact but she knows better than to force that on you right now.  

"yeah. okay."  

she lets go of your hand reluctantly and shifts back, putting a few more inches between you on the bed. emily sees the way you eye her warily, knows you're watching her movements like a scared animal. it's a familiar sight. you're trying to put up walls again, trying to hide.  

she settles herself against the headboard, not crossing her arms but instead keeping an open and unthreatening body language. for a moment, she just watches you, eyes taking in your expression, your body language, every detail.  

"i'm not gonna bite you, you know." she deadpans.

you bite back “we’re sharing a bed.”

a hint of that familiar smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth, but her eyes remain focused on you. 

"yeah, we are." she says this almost casually, like she's commenting on the weather, not on the fact that you're both lying barely a foot apart in the same bed.  

another pause as she considers her next words. "is that bothering you?"

“i- guess it's not helping my situation?”

emily snorts quietly at that, her smirk deepening a fraction. she can imagine your internal struggle, trying to deal with a crush on your boss while also trying to avoid an anxious spiral, all while lying inches apart in a bed that's too small.  

"fair." she remarks dryly, folding her legs, one knee slightly bent. her eyes skim over you briefly, taking in the tension in your shoulders, the slight tremble in your hands.

"you're shivering." it's a simple fact, said so matter-of-fact that it has no emotional charge to it. she doesn't reach out to touch you, but the concern is there in her eyes, beneath the exterior of a professional.  

she hesitates for a brief second, then: "come here."

“no.”

emily's mouth quirks slightly at your immediate refusal. she should've expected that. you're too stubborn for your own good. she rolls her eyes, almost fondly.  

"come on, just get over here." her voice is a little sharper now, more commanding without being harsh. "you're cold and shaking. there's a simple solution to that." 

it’s almost pathetic how weak you are to her commands, a dog on her leash.

you say uncertainly, “to turn up the thermostat?” 

that is solving the situation at its roots and is clearly the optimal solution. but emily somehow huffs a laugh under her breath. you're being difficult on purpose, she knows that.  

"or you could just let me warm you up." she replies, dryly. "it's an easier solution."

“you-you” stutter. you’re flustered, and well aware you’re not even hiding it anymore. how can she be so bold with the words she utter? does she not know she’s sending you into an existential crisis?

emily lets out another sigh, the sound almost fond in a way. you're just like a stubborn dog sometimes, cute, but also maddening. she keeps her expression steady, not quite amused but not entirely cold, just somewhere in-between.  

"just scoot a little closer. i'm warmer than the thermostat." she pats the space beside her, the offer open. her voice is low, almost coaxing. "come. here."

you shift just the tiniest bit closer. you have always been weak to persuasion.

emily lets out a quiet, amused breath. she's not surprised you only moved an inch. you're still resisting, but at least you're not full-on bolting anymore.  

"there we go," she murmurs approvingly as her arm shifts slightly to leave room for you between the sheets. "not so hard, is it?"  

you nearly preen at the praise.

her body heat seeps into the space around her as she waits, not pushing further unless you do first.

you begin slowly “i'm not asking you to reply, gods, but um, what are your thoughts on the situation?”

emily tilts her head, considering your carefully-worded request. so you wanted her thoughts on this rather absurd situation, huh? she almost laughs, but manages to keep a straight face.  

"my thoughts, huh?" she echoes, her lips twitching with the effort it takes to hold back a smirk. the urge to tease you is strong, powerful, but she pushes it down.  

she takes a moment to choose her words. she knows you want honesty, and she's always prided herself on being truthful even if it hurts.

"well, first and foremost, i'm thinking you're being an idiot." she says it bluntly, not bothering to sugarcoat it. she's not great at sugarcoating anyway.  

"you have this whole crush thing going on, and instead of telling me, you bury yourself in panic mode." she pauses, then "and you're shivering. like, you're shaking like a leaf. you know what that does to my protective instinct, right?"

you feel a curl of defensiveness rising “i-”

emily studies you for a long moment, her expression unreadable. then she lets out a slow breath, almost exasperated.  

"you're impossible." the words are gruff but not unkind. her fingers flex against the sheets between you, like she's resisting the urge to reach out again.  

she leans in just slightly, not enough to invade your space further, but enough that you can't miss it. "but if i say 'no' right now... will that actually make this easier for either of us?"

“y-yes?”

emily's eyes narrow slightly at your response. she can't tell if you're just being stubborn or genuinely afraid. knowing you, probably a little bit of both.  

"i can tell you're lying." she counters, not accusing but not backing down either. "don't bullshit me, okay? we both know you'll keep up this stubborn denial for as long as you can. hell, you'll probably still try to run after i've told you this. but let's be clear about one thing."

emily exhales through her nose. part frustration, part something softer. she studies your face for a long moment before finally muttering, 

"fuck it."  

without warning, she closes the distance between you two and presses her forehead against yours. it's not quite a kiss, but close enough to make your breath hitch.  

"there," she murmurs, "now we're both screwed."

you’re as red as a cherry, blood rushing through your cheeks. “you're supposed to say no or help me get over you, n-not-”

emily almost grins. you're adorable when you're stunned into silence, your brain going into overdrive just trying to process what's happening. it's kind of amusing. but right now, she's focused, intent.  

"help you get over me?" she repeats, her breath brushing warm across your face. she's so close you can almost taste her, the familiar hint of coffee she drinks like it's water.  

"what if i don't want to help you get over me?"

“em-”

emily ignores your half-strangled protest. she's not going to back off now. instead, her free hand shifts to rest against the side of your face. the touch surprisingly gentle, her thumb tracing lightly over your skin as if trying to memorize your features.  

her eyes lock onto yours, intense, unflinching. her voice drops, low and smooth in that velvet tone you adore. it's almost a whisper, yet the sound reverberates between you like a gunshot.  

"what if i want the opposite?"

you looks at her wide eyed, 

“oh.”

emily's smirk deepens as she studies your wide-eyed expression. the air between you crackles with something unspoken- tense and electric.  

"yeah. oh." she echoes, her voice rough at the edges. "that’s usually the reaction i get when i do this."  

her thumb brushes over your lower lip just once, testing, before she pulls back slightly to watch how you unravel in real time.

“you're my boss-”

emily almost laughs, but she restrains herself just in time. the irony of your words isn't lost on her, she's your boss, you're scared, and you're sharing a bed. it's a recipe for disaster. and yet...  

"i know." she says, her eyes not leaving yours. "that's exactly why you're trying so damn hard not to react, right? because i'm your boss."

emily feels the way you tense, sees the unspoken what now? in your frozen posture. she exhales through her nose, amused but not cruel.  

"breathe," she reminds you, voice rough with something that isn't quite pity. "unless you want me to kiss that panic right out of your system?"  

her thumb drags over your jaw again and there’s just a hint of pressure this time. a test.

“i-”

never in your wildest dreams would you even believe this was happening. emily prentiss, threatening to kiss you? yes please. 

emily sees the panicked flash in your eyes, the way your mind struggles to catch up with the current situation. she almost takes pity on you, you look like a deer in headlights, frozen and wide-eyed.  

"hey." she says your name, not sharp but firm. her hand moves to gently cup your jaw, keeping your gaze locked on hers. "just breathe. nothing's going to happen you don't want to happen."

you let out a breath, “okay.”

emily relaxes fractionally as you exhale, a shaky, ragged sound. you're still trying to process it, but at least you're not completely on the verge of hyperventilating.  

"there." she comments approvingly, her fingers gently stroking over your jawline in a soothing gesture. "now you can form actual words. good girl."

her thumb brushes over your bottom lip again, not quite demanding yet, but close. "got anything else for me?"

“h-hi. you like me too?” you squeak out shyly.  

that finally gets a quiet laugh from emily. the sound is both amused and fond, as if she's finally getting through to you.  

"took you long enough." she mutters, almost teasing. her thumb still traces idle circles over your jaw, a soothing rhythm as she tilts her head to study your expression.  

"but yes, i like you," she confirms, her voice low. "and that's a bit of a problem."

you nod in agreement, and it feels almost like an observer to this absurd play. 

emily's eyes flick over your face, taking in your expression. you still look a little overwhelmed, but the panic's been replaced by something else. vulnerability, maybe. she sighs quietly, her thumb still tracing a slow path over your jaw in a silent assurance.  

"it's a problem, because we're not supposed to be doing this," she comments, the edge of irritation clear in her voice. "you're my subordinate. and we work together. and we're currently in a hotel in the middle of god-knows-where in georgia, sharing a bed."

you nod “mhm.” a little too far gone and taken with her to fully process what she’s saying.

emily huffs a breath through her nose, the sound almost amused. you're still processing, she can see it in the way your eyes dart over her face like you're searching for confirmation.  

"you don't have to look so shell-shocked," she mutters, though there's no real bite to it. "we've shared worse moments than this."  

her hand shifts from your jaw to briefly ruffle your hair, a fleeting gesture of affection before she pulls back slightly.

“we have?”

emily pauses, her smirk fading slightly as she processes your reaction. she studies you for a moment, reading the surprise, maybe even disbelief in your expression.  

"yeah." her voice is firm now. "like that time in chicago when i had to drag you out of a collapsing building. or when we got shot at during surveillance and i pulled you behind cover."  

she leans closer again, not threateningly but pointedly. "we've risked our lives for each other before today. this isn't new territory for us."

“it's different. we're a team, we all risk our lives for each other.” 

emily snorts quietly, a sound halfway between frustration and humor. you're not wrong, but her point still stands.  

"i get that. hell, i'm the one preaching teamwork." she gives you a pointed look, a hint of a grin tugging at her lips. "but we both know there's a difference between risking your life for a teammate and what's happening right now."

you’ve had enough of this, feeling like the cpu of your brain has overheated and gone beyond overdrive. devoid of shame or embarrassment, you burrow yourself into her in an attempt to escape from this conversation. and not at all to enjoy her warmth or the feel of her against- 

emily goes still at the unexpected movement, eyes widening for a moment before she slowly relaxes. she can't stop the way a huff of breath escapes her, something between a sigh and a laugh. it seems like she's finally gotten through to you.  

"jesus. you're so stubborn." despite the complaint, there's a touch of fondness in her voice as she wraps her arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to her. she lets you bury yourself against her without protest.

“good night em”

emily's breath hitches at the sudden contact, her body stiffening for a split second before she melts into it. her arms wrap around you instinctively, pulling you tighter against her as if to make sure you can't escape.  

"christ," she mutters under her breath, half exasperated, half something far warmer. "you're lucky i'm too tired to argue with this."  

her chin drops onto your head lightly. the silence stretches between you two heavy but not uncomfortable anymore. she exhales slowly through her nose and finally settles in. this is something she’ll definitely make you settle in the morning. 

for now, she places her palm on your back, gently splaying her palm across it to rub soothingly up and down before she speaks with an even softer voice. 

“sleep tight.”

“Well,” she murmurs with mild amusement as she kneels down to help you clean up, her movements as always efficient and controlled, “I was starting to think today might actually be different.”

“I swear I wasn’t even rushing,” you reply, forcing a smile as you kneel beside her, your fingers brushing against hers for a brief moment before you pull back. The touch lingers in your awareness far longer than it should. Like a small flame, it licks across your skin, setting your heart fluttering.

“I know,” she answers, casting you a sidelong glance, her expression gentler than her words suggest. “You don’t even have to rush. Things just… happen around you.”

There is something unspoken there, something neither of you examines too closely. The way she defends you even while teasing you. The way she never allows anyone else to make the same jokes she permits herself. And when you straighten up, gathering the papers, you notice the way she looks at you, her gaze lingering a moment too long before she smooths her expression and stands.

Later that day, when a case briefing pulls you into its familiar pull, the weight of images, timelines, and human cruelty eclipses your physical clumsiness, and you feel yourself sink into that inner stillness that only emerges when everything is at stake, as if you are a different person in those moments. Garcia switches to the next set of images while JJ asks the right questions. When Rossi explains the circumstances of the crime scene, you can no longer hold back. Something inside you demands to present your theory, a primal instinct prickling beneath your skin. As soon as you speak up, the eyes of your colleagues settle on you, any trace of nervousness evaporating. There is only certainty now, and intent, the intent to catch the perpetrator.

Emily stands across from you at the table, arms crossed, her gaze sharp as she listens to what you have to say about the suspect. She throws you the occasional glance, attentive, her eyes resting on you with quiet familiarity. You know she trusts you, never questions your analysis. You have noticed it before, and every time, that barely tangible feeling settles into your chest, warm and unsettling all at once.

Even if you are clumsy in the office, you are not in the field. Out there, when the world sharpens and everything is reduced to its essentials, you do not stumble. The crime scene frees you from distraction. Your hands are steady when you hold your weapon, your movements deliberate as you clear rooms, your voice firm when you speak to victims whose fear reflects something deep and ancient inside you. There is no room for missteps, and so far, you have made none.

After the briefing, everything happens quickly. Holsters are secured, weapons stowed, badge and vest put on. It is a routine that allows you to breathe. You go through everything systematically, your head clear, your thoughts focused on the case instead of spiraling. It is different from the office, from moments when you have no clear objective in sight.

Emily notices that too.

After the arrest, after a tense situation, when the suspect is in custody and adrenaline still hums faintly through your veins, she brings it up. As dusk settles over the parking lot and the sky is painted in muted shades of blue and violet, you lean against the SUV and take a deep breath as she stops beside you, close enough that you can feel the warmth of her presence without her touching you. A pleasant sensation spreads through you, though you try not to dwell on it.

“You were very composed in there,” she says quietly, not a trace of humor in her voice, her eyes still scanning the horizon out of habit. “Clear instincts. You didn’t hesitate for a second when it mattered.”

You shrug, because praise makes you uncomfortable no matter who it comes from, and stare at the fading light. “I guess I trip less when the ground isn’t metaphorical.”

That draws a soft but genuine laugh from her before she grows serious again and turns fully toward you. “You’re different out here,” she observes without unkindness. “It’s like the noise around you disappears.”

You hesitate, then nod. “It’s quieter in my head,” you admit, surprised by your own honesty. “In the office, I’m thinking about everything at once. Out here, there’s only what’s in front of me.”

Emily considers your words, her expression thoughtful, something restrained flickering beneath the surface. “That makes sense,” she says after a moment, placing her hand on your forearm. “Some people function better when the world stops offering them options. That seems to be the case for you, hm?”

Her words echo long after she leaves, and you can still feel her hand on your arm. The sensation refuses to fade, and only later, back at the hotel, does the quiet tension finally begin to loosen. The others have long since retreated to their rooms, but sleep will not come to you, the images still too fresh in your mind, the question of why you function better in moments like these lingering unresolved.

You sit in the dimly lit lounge, where hundreds of crooked frames line the walls, and sip at a nearly tasteless drink that burns on its way down your throat. You hear familiar footsteps behind you and do not need to turn around to know that Emily has found you again.

She drapes her jacket over the back of a chair, rolls up the sleeves of her white blouse, her posture noticeably more relaxed than usual, though no less guarded. She probably cannot sleep either.

“Everything okay?” she asks as she sits across from you, studying you with her dark eyes.

You consider lying, a deeply ingrained habit, but something in Emily’s gaze invites honesty without demanding it. “I think so,” you answer slowly. “I’m just tired of feeling like two different people.”

Her brow creases slightly. “Two?”

“The one who trips over air,” you say quietly, then, after a pause, “and the one you trust with your life.”

The silence that follows is heavy but not uncomfortable, filled with things neither of you has named. Emily leans back, watching you with an intensity that tightens your chest, as if she is assessing you not as an agent, but as a person she has deliberately avoided looking at too closely.

“People are rarely just one thing,” she says at last, her voice controlled but sincere. “You don’t earn competence by being flawless. And you don’t have to apologize for the softer parts of who you are.”

Your throat tightens at her words, emotions pressing insistently against the walls you keep them behind. Overwhelmed, you look away, afraid she might see too much, might read the feelings in your eyes. When you look back, she is still watching you, not intrusively, but with a steady calm that feels like an anchor.

“I tease you,” she continues, softer now, “because it’s easy. Because it keeps things light, takes the edge off. But I’ve never doubted you when it mattered, and you shouldn’t either. You’re smart, Y/N. In a way that’s gotten us out of trouble more than once.”

A brief pause, then quieter, “Don’t forget that.”

Nervously, you tighten your grip around your glass as her hand comes to rest gently on yours. Her touch is calm, unassuming, but it lingers longer than it probably needs to.

“All of us have something that makes us doubt ourselves,” she says. “But let me tell you this, it is never an obstacle.”

You meet her gaze properly now, and in the shared stillness something shifts, subtle but undeniable, as if an unspoken understanding stretches between you, the knowledge that she sees you fully, with all your awkward edges and corners, and does not mind at all. She values you and your work. You, and who you are.

For once, you do not stumble over the moment, but allow yourself to be held by it. You let her words sink in, notice that her hand is still resting on yours, and take a slow breath.

“More trust, huh?” you murmur, almost to yourself, and as you shift forward slightly on your barstool, it starts to wobble dangerously.

Emily’s hand shoots out, steadying you, her fingers firm at your side, closer than strictly necessary. She gives you a look that sends heat to your cheeks, because there is something in it that has nothing to do with concern and everything to do with attention.

“Maybe,” she says slowly, her thumb moving unconsciously over the fabric of your clothing, tracing a small, barely noticeable motion, “I should take a little better care of you outside of a case.”

“Very funny,” you reply, but your voice betrays you, softer than intended. Your eyes flick down to your hands and then back up again.

Emily raises an eyebrow, a faint smile playing at the corner of her mouth. “I’m not joking,” she says quietly.

She still does not pull her hand away, her warmth and strength unmistakably etched into your system. When she finally does, her fingers brush against yours, slow enough to steal your breath.

“Good night, Y/N,” she says at last, and there is a softness in her tone you have never heard before.

As she turns away, a barely perceptible hesitation lingers behind, a promise perhaps, or at least the certainty that this conversation is not over, merely postponed. Something has shifted, and in that one moment, you find yourself grateful for your clumsiness.