Lipstick and Kiss

For a moment, everything's quiet. You seek refuge in Emily's office, currently empty as she closes the case with Tara. Closing your eyes, you take the brief second of silence to recenter yourself. If you let your mind stray too much, you can still see the girl you managed to save, at the last minute, before the Unsub decided her time had come.

Emily had to shoot him, what, arguably, wouldn't usually be ideal but, this time, you didn't feel for him at all. The victim had been, rightfully, skittish after, quiet and curling in on herself. You'd wrapped your FBI jacket around her, which probably did nothing to ward off the shaking in her bones, but at least it covered her torn clothing. She'd clung onto you on the way to the ambulance, and refused to let go of your hand when the paramedics said they should move to the hospital soon. You don't know if she'd seen something in your eyes, or if she'd felt just that little bit safer because you're a woman and were the first one on the scene. However, none of that mattered when you got into the ambulance with her and waited by her side until her mother arrived.

It was heartbreaking to see the way she fell into her mother's arms. That adult woman, crying on her mom's shoulder like a little kid after a fall in the playground. You couldn't help but put yourself in her shoes, and the entire drive back to Quantico was spent in such deep thoughts that you couldn't even remember where you passed by.

After a while, the door opens quietly. Emily walks in, in slow, yet assured steps, sitting next to you on her office couch. She doesn't touch you as you're still staring straight ahead, only waits, observing your face for a signal of what you need.

You place a hand on her thigh, letting her know you're there, even if your thoughts keep straying. She covers your hand with her own, a warm presence that relaxes your shoulders slightly, and doesn't say anything. For a long period, you just sit there in silence, Emily's scent in your nostrils enough to keep you from falling into a dark hole inside your mind.

When you get up, it's not an event. You pick up your bag that's thrown on the floor by the couch, then start gathering papers strewn on the small side table. Emily does the same, walking towards her desk to get her own things together. She's methodical, quick, and soon enough you're both ready to leave.

At the car park, she starts in the direction of the driver's side. It'd usually be an argument, a silly thing that you'd complain about just to get a rise out of her, her affinity for control even when driving, the way she always forgets to offer you the keys. Tonight, there's no discussion. You move to the passenger's side, knowing she won't open the door for you because you'd argue she'd be babying you, and that you can open your own door, thank you very much.

Wrapped in her jacket, the drive is spent in silence, except for the time she asks if the AC is too cold. You murmur that it's fine. She doesn't say anything else.

At home, Emily lets you be. You both move towards the bedroom, not wanting to spend another second in work clothes. On a normal day, you know she'd be all over you, grabbing your waist, kissing your shoulder. Sometimes, she'd start something, sometimes she'd just keep you close to her, constantly touching your skin like it's her lifeline. Tonight, she moves by herself.

You don't know whether to be thankful or resentful.

You know she's just trying to give you space, trying to help in any way she can and not overwhelm you. And, if you're honest, you don't even know what you need at this time. You're not sure if you want closeness or space, comfort or just her silent presence.

Sitting on the bed, you rest your head on both hands, sighing deeply.

After a beat, you hear Emily walking softly, getting closer by the second. She touches the back of your head, slowly moving her fingers through your hair. You feel like crying. You don't want to cry.

Still quiet, she leaves a kiss on your head. Then, you hear her footsteps fading a little, but not completely. Soon, the sound of the shower being turned on.

Like second nature, you take your clothes off, as if it's just any other day and you're about to shower with your girlfriend. From the outside, it could be just that. Inside, though, the room feels heavy with the things you haven't said, darkened from your thoughts that you didn't even have to speak about for Emily to understand.

Under the spray of hot water, Emily's hair falls down her back in a curtain of silver. She's always a sight, especially wet in the shower, like an ethereal image of some kind of heavenly being. She looks at you with those deep, brown eyes, so understanding and caring, not pitiful, not disdainful. She lathers shampoo on your own strands, washing your scalp in the way she does everything, precisely, efficiently.

She asks if you want to talk about it. You're not sure.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You ask back, because this isn't just an individual experience. You know she understands, and even if she says it was a long time ago, you're aware of how these things tend to come back when you least expect them to.

“I don't think I have anything to say,” she says, rinsing your hair carefully, not letting a drop of shampoo fall into your eyes.

You nod in agreement. Emily smiles kindly at you, a hand on the back of your neck, the other pulling you in by the waist into a hug. One that she probably longed to give you all day. One that she couldn't offer until you were in the safety of the home you share.

“I'm here, though. If you need me.”

You breathe her in deeply, the scent of her skin mixed with your body wash, warmth and comfort in a single sense. “I know.”