star

"Hi," she says, crisp black boots disturbing the grass around you. Before you can stand, she's stepping closer and lowering herself down onto the picnic blanket you're lying on. You blink at her, both to help your eyes adjust and to soak in the strange sight. 

You've seen Emily around your campus once or twice, yes, but you've never seen this: her sitting on a brightly checkered blanket, dressed in velvety shades of black, both her hands planted behind her to hold her up. She neatly crosses her heels on the grass, and amidst throngs of sleep-deprived, casually dressed college students, every bit of her looks out of place.

"What are you doing here?" You ask, switching off your music.

"I was passing by." A light breeze stirs her hair, and she tucks some of it behind her ear. "Have you eaten?"

You pause, thinking. Emily gives you a look. 

Your shoulders rise to your ears. "I had a pastry—"

"Pastries don't count, Y/N," she says, but there's an amused tick to her mouth. It fiddles with your pulse, more so when she nudges your shoulder. "C'mon, I'm starving too."

"I have a class," you say, reaching for your phone. A class you were debating skipping. She won't want you to, but it's one of your most tedious ones, and it's still an hour and some away. "But maybe somewhere close?" You gnaw on your lip.

Emily's smile does something to you. She nods, rising to her feet. "I know a few places. Are you picky?"

Not when it means free food.

-

"How are your exams going?"

Your nose scrunches. "They're going."

Emily chuckles. It's a rich, pleasant sound, warmth unfurling deep in your stomach.

"I mean, I'm trying my best."

"That's all anyone can ask of you. As long as your best doesn't come at your own expense." She looks away from the road to throw you a glance.

You give her a wry smile. "Doesn't it always?"

"No." Her voice goes firm. "No, it doesn't." She heaves in a breath, "You can't let it interfere with your—"

"I know, I know, work-life balance and all that." You interrupt. You get it, and you do try to maintain that balance, really. But it gets away from you sometimes. "It's just hard to stay on track, sometimes."

"I know it is. But not eating"—her tone goes pointed—"not sleeping…that can't be happening on the regular. It messes with you, and you're young, still." She murmurs, softer now. Dove-like. "If you keep running on fumes, it'll come back to bite you in the ass."

You look back at her, your cheek sticking to her cool, leather seat. The confined space of her car makes you feel closer to her. Impossibly more attuned. She's always striking, her beauty sharp enough to stop your breath in its tracks, but here, right now, something about her feels strangely…intimate. Like she's yours.

But you know she could never be.

the overwhelming smell of gunpowder and the thick smoke that lingered in the area slowly crowded your senses. but it couldn't distract from the chaos in your mind, that ultimately hurt you more than any bullet ever could. you set your lonely quinjet to fly back to the tower unable to think about being at your mission any longer now that it was over.

you have been an Avenger for a few years now and in full honesty you still found it hard to swallow the fact that tony, and fury, and so many other thought you were enough to be a protector of the world. and while it gave you a second chance at life, gave you people you could call home, and a beautiful, caring girlfriend, you couldn't help but feel like you didn't deserve any of it.

carol had been stationed at earth for three months now. she wanted to get to know the team more and work on her "on-earth fighting abilities" as she said. but for the past few weeks it's been entirely different. she noticed the exhaustion you tuck under your eyes and the way you think you conceal the pain that's settled deep into your muscles and bones, and the way you've been getting reckless on missions.

first it was the black eye on your mission with natasha. you had simply missed a punch when fighting a big , burly man, luckily you were able to take control. then it was the three broken ribs with steve and bucky. you had missed a few jumps and took batons to the ribs instead of blocking them. and finally it was the way you would come home, suit drenched in blood. and she could never tell where foreign blood was soaked up and where yours leaked through. but you would never admit to the visible pain always saying

"im just a little tired"

"im perfectly fine, carol"

as you arrived, friday announced to carol that your quinjet had just landed. she was estatic to see you after three days, in all honesty she had troubles sleeping, not because she thought you were incapable. but because she worried if you had grown too physically weak to keep fighting or had just decided you simply didn't want to anymore. however, her worries were confirmed by the way her heart plummeted to her stomach.

she watch as the jet door opens and the way you could hardly stand, yet you stumbled out refusing help. she could see the way your cheeks now concave into the bones of your skull and how the darkness under your eyes had spread to your whole face. the familiar dark red hue of your suit, dotted with spots of dirt and grime. then her eyes drift to the blood slowly oozing out your leg, but you seemingly didn't notice it.

"oh baby..."

carol pulled you into a cautious hug as you stared at the floor, embarrassed to look her in the eye. she decided you shouldn't walk anymore so she carefully picked you up at took you to the clinic. after hours, helen cleared you to go back to your room and carol cautiously carried you straight to your bed. she finally got a chance to really look at you.

your eyes void of every emotion other than regret and desperation. she could see the red on your waterline that signaled you spent two nights silently sobbing into your hands because your head had told you that you would never be enough. the bruises now highlighted on your skin now that layers of dirt had been wiped away. she brought you your favorite pajamas and delicately helped you change, avoiding stitches and bandages on your abdomen and legs.

she silently sat next to you, slowly pushing your head to rest in the crook of her neck and her other arm gently wrapped around your waist.

"what's going on, baby? i hate to see you like this"

she didn't push, she didn't force you to talk. you shook your head, you physically couldn't speak because if you opened your mouth only sobs would come out. the silence wasn't uncomfortable, carol deliberately kept quiet as to give you space through the stillness of the moment. after a few beats of silence carol spoke

"why have you been so reckless?"

the question might've came off as aggressive to anyone else, but carols soft, calm tone let you know that she was just there to understand, not to judge. she was concerned in a way that made your heart throb, because maybe it meant someone did care.

"i..i just feel like im not enough. and like, like i don't deserve any of this."

carols heart twinged at your whispered confession. it sounded like it physically hurt your throat to speak your insecurities to life, and maybe it did given your battered state. and in that moment carol understood, you hadn't stopped being cautious because you felt like it. but because you had simply stopped caring if you came out dead or alive. she took in a shaky breath as tears brimmed her eyes at your heart wrenching confession.

"if anyone deserves peace and happiness, honey, it's you" gently stroking your hair and laying a knowing kiss on your head. "you don't have to be perfect all the time. you don't have to be strong all the time . you just have to be you and that is enough for me and enough for you... you have this idea that everyone expects the world of you, but you are allowed to fail, baby. and i know you will always get right back up again because that is simply who are are."

you silently sobbed into her neck, grasping at her white tank top as if it was the only thing keeping you alive. and right now, her voice, her smell, her skin, her steady heartbeat might've been the only thing that truly was keeping you alive.

"but i need you to be more careful. you're the one stable thing ive ever had in my life. the way you always look out for me, the way you love and care for me. i never want to see you hurt. not you, please.."

carol calmly rubbed your hands, memorizing the grooves in your knuckles that had fought too hard and rested too little.

"i love you carol." you muttered into her neck, wordlessly playing with the dog tags that hung at her neck, deciding to focus on the person that had only ever showed you kindness and complete adoration.

"i love you more, pretty girl" placing one, two, and three kisses on your head, cheek, and then delicately placing a kiss on your nose, stealing a pained giggle out of you, wiping your tears with gentle hands.

"that's my girl"

once you two settled comfortably in bed carol looked into the eyes of her love, tired eyes staring back at her full of adoration. she held you in her strong arms all night, whispering sweet nothing as she stroked your back.

suddenly it was okay if you failed, because it meant that her stable arms and steady love would catch you, and that was simply enough.

You're pulling the comforter up your chest when you hear a door thud closed across the hall—deep in Baran's room. Guilt bubbles up. 

Sighing, you switch off the rest of your alarms and drag your limp body up in bed. Her warm, ridiculously comfortable bed. You itch to sink back into it. But Baran doesn't waste time and you're not about to make her late, so you force yourself up, into the bathroom, and come out dressed and half-decent looking in record time.

You're still fighting off sleep as you slowly descend the stairs. You rub your eyes, blink rapidly to adjust to the sunlight seeping through and drenching the house. God, if she saw you like this she'd send you right back to bed. 

You give your head a rough shake.

She's already flitting about the kitchen when you go down, screwing the lid on her thermos, slipping a granola bar into her bag. The bags under her eyes are darker than usual, you note, but she smiles when you walk in. Dimples.

"Morning, Ms Al." You mumble, stretching your arms over your head.

"Good morning, Y/N." Her eyes flit over you, linger a little too long. "Regretting your decision?"

"Nah. Ready when you are."

"Just a minute," she says. You take a seat at the island, watch as she briskly moves from end to end of the kitchen. 

She doesn't have a hair out of place. Her clothes are neatly pressed, her curls gathered back—hell, you even catch a faint shimmer on her eyelids. 

It hits in your gut, strangely. She moves light and quick—normal. Like she'd just had a full night's sleep rather than three measly hours.

I've struggled with it on and off since I was a kid.

She must have gotten used to the exhaustion.

"Sweetheart?"

You jolt in your seat. "Yes?"

"Coffee?"

"No, thanks." You say. Slipping out of the stool, you grab a glass and fill it with water. Baran continues spinning around you, slipping more things into her bag, the Tupperware where she stores her lunch.

"I've been thinking," she starts suddenly. You swallow down a gulp of water. "And I want you to take my car. Not just for today—I won't be needing it for the next few months. I'll send you gas money, but the tank's full right now, it should last you a bit." Her tone is casual, as if she's offering to lend you her sweater.

You nearly choke on your water.

"Sorry, wait, what? Take your car?" You sputter. "How do you mean?"

You're pretty sure you know exactly what she means.

Baran is patient, if a little amused. "Take it," she reiterates, slowly. "Drive it. As you typically would a car."

You search her face, but she's entirely serious.

"Baran." You exhale a breath, gaping at her. "I can't take that."

"It's only for a few months, I'm not giving it to you permanently." She frowns slightly, as if you're being unreasonable.

"Wha—" You rub at your temple. 6:23. In the morning. You can barely even feel the cup of water in your hand. "I don't understand. What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing is wrong with it, I just can't drive it at the moment." Her jaw sets a little. "It's been sitting out for a couple weeks, you'd have a better use for it, that's all. Just until I can take it back."

Okay, weird. But then again, you can't recall ever seeing her drive the car. It's been stagnant in the driveway, and you never see headlights through the curtains, or hear an engine cut when she comes home.

"I promise you it's perfectly safe."

Your mind still whirs with disastrous possibilities. 

"Okay, but. Still." You wet your lips. "I can't handle that much responsibility, Baran. What if I—what if I crash it or something?"

She mutters something under her breath. You hear the word Allah and don't know if she's praying for you or cursing at you. "You're a good driver. In any case, I have insurance. There's absolutely nothing for you to worry about."

"Except for the fact that you're handing me your car."

"Sweetheart, it's just a car."

You really hope you'll be rich enough in your future to be able to say that same phrase with that much indifference.

Just a car. Says the senior emergency medicine attending.

"I don't know if you'll be saying that once I—"

"Try it for today." She presses the key into your palm. Her hand is warm, eyes just that sweet shade of brown that haunts you on the daily. "Please." Her voice goes soft—lifts a little at the end like she's asking. "For me."

Your heart gives an unsteady jolt in your chest. 

This whole damn thing is for you, isn't it? It's why I'm in this fucking mess.

She squeezes your hand, imploring, and you don't make an effort to hide your sigh. Baran smiles. She kisses the air between you, once—just like she does with Amir.

"Come on." She squeezes your shoulder. "We'll be late."

The key is heavy as you slip it into your pocket. You drain the last of your water, feel it slosh around in your stomach. Sunlight caps over Baran's curls, turning them honeyed, and you follow after her without a word, lift up her bag from the counter and sling it over your shoulder. 

Mom bags. It weighs a million pounds, but you keep your mouth shut. The car is far more polished than anything you've ever driven in your entire life, but you keep your mouth shut. You wonder what possibly could be stopping her from driving it, but you keep your mouth shut. Baran nods off, cheek against the window, her neck tipped down at a painful angle, but you keep your mouth shut. 

You keep your mouth shut and drive as slow as you can, hardly breathing. Still, the hospital looms in view too quick. You want to give her a few minutes—something, anything, her chest rises and falls so evenly—but it's already dangerously close to 7. Exhaling, you lightly touch her shoulder.

"Baran."

She wakes easily for how deeply she'd been sleeping. Your heart twists over on itself as she blinks, just once, the skin scrunching around her eyes, before she unbuckles her seatbelt and runs an absent hand over her hair. You resist the urge to put the car in park and reach for her thousand-pound bag again, slip it over your shoulder, slide an arm around hers, and deliver her in, as safe as you know she could be.

But she does it herself.

She turns to you, her hand hovering above the door handle. There's a faint, red imprint on her temple where she'd been pressed against the window. You want to smooth the spot with your thumb, rub the redness away—

"Thank you again, Y/N," she says softly. "Really."

You wave a dismissive hand, force your voice to be easy. "Don't mention it. Take care, Doc. Kick ass."

Baran smiles, and it pulls at the tired lines around her face. "Goodbye." Before you can react, she leans in over the console and presses the smallest kiss to your cheek. "Let me know when you get home."

Your weak, weak heart. It climbs out of your chest and follows her out, into the saw trap of the Pitt.

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.”

You hate the bruise. You hate every mark she carries back from space like she thinks her body is just another thing to spend.

“You should’ve seen their faces,” she says quietly, staring into the steam beginning to rise from the kettle. “Turns out people get a bit nervous when the Annihilator walks into the room.”

The smile she gives afterwards is thin and strange. Wrong around the edges. Something twists in your chest.

You know the stories. You know what happened on Hala. You know she blames herself in ways nobody else possibly could. There are entire planets that still speak her name with fear threaded through it. Civilisations rebuilding after damage she never meant to cause. Billions of lives tangled up in decisions she made while trying to save everyone.

The awful thing is that she still tries. Every single day.

You move closer carefully, like she is something skittish despite the fact she could split the atmosphere apart with her bare hands if she wanted to. “Carol.”

“It’s fine.” She shrugs one shoulder. “I’m kidding.”

“You’re not.”

Her jaw tightens for half a second. The kettle clicks off. Neither of you move to pour it. Rain taps softly against the windows. Carol looks tired in a way you do not know how to fix. Not sleepy-tired. Soul-tired. The type of tired that settles behind someone’s eyes and changes the shape of them.

“I thought I was helping,” she says eventually, voice rough around the edges. “That’s the worst bit.”

You do not answer immediately. She rarely talks about this. Usually she keeps everything packed away so tightly you only notice the strain when she thinks you are asleep beside her.

“I know.”

“I really thought I was doing the right thing.” Her laugh is quiet and humourless. “Turns out wrecking an empire leaves a mess behind. Who knew.”

You step between her and the counter before you can think too hard about it, hands finding the sleeves of her hoodie. She looks down at you automatically, expression already apologetic, which somehow makes it hurt more.

“You are allowed to regret things,” you murmur. “That doesn’t make you a monster.”

Carol looks away first. The fact she can fly through warzones without flinching but struggles to hold eye contact when someone is gentle with her always gets you.

You smooth your thumbs over the fabric gathered around her wrists. “You spend every second trying to protect people.”

“Maybe I’m just trying to make up for what happened.”

“So what if you are?”

Her throat moves around a swallow. The silence stretches. Warm and aching. You wish, not for the first time, that you knew how to carry some of this for her. That love worked like division instead of addition. Carol holds guilt like gravity. Dense and crushing and impossible to escape once it catches hold.

“You know the worst part?” she says quietly. “People still look at me like I’m some kind of hero.”

You frown. “You are.”

“No.” The answer comes instantly. Sharply. “I’m really not.”

There it is. The thing underneath all of it. Not guilt. Not shame. Fear. You know suddenly, with awful clarity, that Carol thinks love is conditional. That one day you will wake up and realise she is too much damage wrapped in glowing skin to keep holding onto. Your chest aches.

“You saved the Skrulls,” you say softly. “You saved Earth more times than I can count. You help people every single day, Carol.”

“Doesn’t erase everything else.”

“Nothing could erase everything. That isn’t how being a person works.”

“You make it sound simple.”

“It isn’t simple.” Your voice catches slightly. “It’s just you.”

Carol finally looks at you properly then, eyes painfully blue even in the dim kitchen light. You can practically see the exhaustion sitting inside them.

You wonder if she knows how carefully you watch her. How every time she leaves Earth you spend days carrying around this low, sick fear that she will realise there are brighter things in the universe than your tiny little life here.

The thought slips in before you can stop it. Tiny little life. You suddenly feel ridiculous standing here trying to comfort someone who has held galaxies together with bleeding hands. Someone extraordinary enough for entire planets to know her name.

What exactly do you offer her? Tea in the middle of the night. Folded laundry. A warm bed. Small things. Human things. Nothing compared to her.

Carol notices the shift in your expression immediately. Of course she does. “What?” she asks softly.

“Nothing.”

“You made that face.”

You huff out a weak laugh despite yourself. “What face?”

“The sad one.” She nudges your ankle gently with hers. “C’mon. Talk to me.”

You should not. The conversation is supposed to be about her. She came home carrying enough pain already. Still, the words press painfully against your ribs.

“I just…” You stare down at the floorboards. “Sometimes I don’t understand why you stay.”

Carol goes completely still. “What?”

“You could be anywhere.” The admission comes out embarrassingly quiet. “With anyone.”

“That’s not—”

“You’re Captain Marvel, Carol.” Your laugh sounds awful to your own ears. Thin and frayed. “You save worlds. Half the universe probably wants to kiss you.”

“I don’t care about half the universe.”

“You say that now.”

Her expression shifts slowly from confusion into something almost wounded. You immediately regret speaking.

“I know it’s stupid,” you say quickly. “Forget it.”

“No, absolutely not.” She reaches for you then, warm hands settling carefully on your waist. “Where is this coming from?”

You shrug helplessly, unable to meet her eyes anymore. “I don’t know. You disappear for weeks sometimes and come back talking about wars and planets and all these massive things and then there’s just… me.”

“Just you?”

The way she says it makes heat crawl unpleasantly up your neck. “You know what I mean.”

“I really don’t.”

“You have bigger things to worry about than whether I remembered to go out and buy milk.”

A startled laugh escapes her before she can stop it.

You glare weakly. “See?”

“No, sweetheart, I’m laughing because that is genuinely the saddest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

You try to pull away out of sheer embarrassment, but Carol’s hands tighten instinctively on your waist before you can get far.

“Nope,” she says softly. “You’re staying right here.”

“Carol.”

“Absolutely not.” Her thumbs stroke once against your sides through your shirt. Gentle and careful. “You cannot just say something like that and then pretend you didn’t.”

Your stomach twists painfully. The worst part is knowing none of this is rational. You know she loves you. Carol tells you constantly in little ways that matter more than grand declarations ever could. She reaches for your hand without thinking. Falls asleep draped half on top of you whenever she is actually home long enough to rest properly. Looks at you like something in her chest eases every time you walk into a room.

Still, insecurity does not care about any of that. It creeps in quietly during the long stretches she spends off-world. It settles beside you when another emergency pulls her away halfway through dinner. It whispers ugly little things while you stare at news footage of her glowing above entire fleets like a living star.

You are only human. Painfully, terribly human.

“I know it sounds pathetic,” you mutter.

Carol’s face softens so completely it nearly undoes you. “Oh, honey.”

That almost makes it worse. Your eyes sting immediately. You shake your head once, frustrated with yourself. “You shouldn’t have to reassure me all the time.”

“I don’t have to.” Her voice stays steady and warm. “I want to.”

A silence settles between you. The rain outside grows heavier. Carol studies you for a long moment before lifting one hand from your waist to cup your jaw instead. Her palm is warm. Calloused slightly. Familiar enough to make your chest ache.

“You think I stay with you despite you being ordinary,” she says quietly.

Heat floods your face. “When you say it out loud it sounds awful.”

“It sounds sad.” Her thumb brushes beneath your eye. “Mostly because you have no idea what you look like to me.”

You laugh weakly. “Probably tiny.”

“Definitely tiny.”

A reluctant smile tugs briefly at your mouth before fading again. Carol steps closer.

“You know what my life is like out there?” she murmurs. “It’s loud all the time. Every planet needs something. Every crisis matters. Every person expects me to fix things and half the time I can’t.”

The last part comes out quieter. You feel something in your chest crack slightly around the edges.

“When I’m flying around space,” she continues, “I don’t sleep properly. I forget to eat. Sometimes days blur together so badly I genuinely can’t remember where I am when I wake up.”

Her forehead rests lightly against yours then. “And then I come home,” she says softly, “and you ask if I want tea before you ask anything else.”

Your throat tightens.

“You sit with me when my head’s a mess and never push when I can’t talk yet. You remember every stupid thing I mention in passing. You make our bed feel like somewhere safe instead of somewhere temporary.” Her mouth twitches faintly. “You buy the weird cereal I like even though you think it tastes like cardboard.”

“It does taste like cardboard.”

“You still buy it.”

You finally look up at her properly. Carol’s expression is unbearably earnest. Open in a way she rarely lets herself be.

“You are the only place in the universe where I don’t feel like I have to be Captain Marvel first,” she whispers. “Do you understand that?”

Emotion swells so suddenly in your chest it almost hurts. “You could still have that with someone better.”

Carol actually frowns. “Someone better than you?”

You shrug helplessly. She stares at you for a second like she genuinely cannot process what you are saying.

Then, very quietly, she says, “I think you have this idea that I’m choosing between you and the universe.”

“Aren’t you?”

“No.” Her hand slides down to squeeze yours tightly. “I’m choosing you over and over while dealing with the universe.”

That lands somewhere deep enough to make your eyes burn. Carol notices immediately.

“Oh, sweetheart.”

You hate how emotional you get sometimes. Hate the embarrassing pressure building behind your ribs now, the awful vulnerability of standing in your kitchen trying not to cry because the woman you love is being kind to you.

“I just don’t want you waking up one day and realising you settled,” you admit shakily.

Her entire expression breaks. Not angry. Not frustrated. Heartbroken.

“Oh, baby.”

The endearment comes out so soft it nearly ruins you. Carol pulls you into her properly then, arms wrapping around you with firm certainty until your face presses against the warm fabric of her hoodie. You go without resistance, breath leaving you in a shaky rush the second she holds you close.

“There is not a single person in this universe I could want more than you,” she murmurs into your hair. “Not one.”

Your hands fist weakly in the back of her hoodie.

“You don’t have to say that.”

“I do actually, since apparently my partner’s been sitting around thinking I’m one bad day away from running off with an alien supermodel.”

A startled laugh escapes you through the thickness in your throat. “There are probably loads of alien supermodels.”

“Yeah, and they’re all exhausting.” She presses a kiss against the top of your head. “Most of them don’t even make me tea.”

You laugh again, wetter this time. Carol holds you tighter the second she hears it. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to say I’ve got you.

“You know what I think?” she says quietly after a moment.

“What?”

“I think you spend so much time seeing me as this massive thing that you forget I’m just a person when I’m here with you.”

You close your eyes.

Maybe she is right.

Sometimes it is difficult reconciling the woman who curls herself around you in bed with the one who tears through warships in the upper atmosphere. Difficult understanding how both versions can exist inside the same person.

“You’re still extraordinary,” you mumble.

Carol sighs softly. “Sweetheart, I spend half my time at home looking for my own socks.”

“That doesn’t count.”

“It counts.”

You can feel the steady beat of her heart beneath your cheek. Strong and human and real. Not Captain Marvel. Just Carol.

“I don’t need extraordinary all the time,” she whispers after a while. “I need this.” Her hand rubs slowly up and down your back. “This is the bit that matters to me.”

You stay like that for a long time. The kitchen light hums softly overhead. Rain drums against the windows hard enough now that the world outside feels very far away, blurred into streaks of gold and grey. Carol’s warmth surrounds you completely. Familiar in a way nothing else has ever managed to be.

Eventually she shifts just enough to press another kiss into your hair. “You know,” she murmurs, “this conversation started with me having a crisis.”

A laugh slips out of you before you can stop it. “Sorry for getting in the way of your emotional breakdown.”

“It’s alright. We can schedule mine for tomorrow.”

You pull back enough to look at her properly then, and the fond little smile waiting on her face nearly knocks the breath out of you. Not some untouchable cosmic force, but just Carol, standing barefoot in your kitchen at one in the morning with a creased hoodie and tired eyes and too much love tucked carefully into the corners of her mouth.

You reach up without thinking and smooth your fingers lightly along her jaw, careful around the bruise there. Her eyes soften instantly.

“You should let me patch that up,” you mumble.

“I kinda like when you fuss over me.”

“I always fuss over you.”

“Exactly.”

You shake your head, smiling despite yourself.

Carol leans into your touch for a second before catching your wrist gently and pressing a kiss against the inside of it. The gesture is so absent-mindedly affectionate it makes your chest ache all over again.

“You alright now?” she asks quietly.

You consider lying for half a second out of habit. Then you look at her, really look at her. At the openness sitting plainly across her face. The patience. The absolute certainty. You find that something inside you unclenches.

“Yeah,” you admit softly. “Mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“The insecurity’s still there a bit.” Your mouth twists sheepishly. “Think it’s probably difficult to fix years of emotional issues in one kitchen conversation.”

“I could punch the insecurity for you.”

“I don’t know if I’d be into that.”

“I’ll do it gently.”

You snort. Carol grins faintly, clearly pleased with herself for getting another laugh out of you. The kettle still sits untouched behind her.

“You never made your tea,” you realise.

“Got distracted.”

“By your deeply emotional and insecure partner?”

“By the love of my life,” she corrects immediately.

Your face heats embarrassingly fast. Carol’s smile widens at the reaction. “There you are.”

“Don’t start.”

“You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

“You fight aliens.”

“And yet this remains my favourite thing.”

You groan softly and hide your face against her shoulder again while she laughs quietly above you. The sound settles somewhere warm inside your ribs. You think maybe that is what safety actually feels like. Not the absence of fear, but the presence of someone who stays gentle with it.

Carol rubs your back slowly. “C’mere.”

“I am here.”

“More here.”

Before you can ask what that means, she hooks an arm beneath your knees and lifts you clean off the floor. You yelp in surprise, clutching automatically at her shoulders while she carries you out of the kitchen.

“Carol!”

“What?”

“You can’t just pick me up without warning.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

She only laughs again, brighter this time, and your chest feels painfully full hearing it. There have been weeks lately where every smile from her seemed strained thin with exhaustion. Seeing this version of her now, soft and teasing and warm around the edges, makes relief hit you so hard you almost feel dizzy with it.

You realise suddenly how frightened you have been too. Not just of losing her. Of losing this. The quiet little life you have built together between disasters.

Carol carries you into the living room and drops onto the sofa with you still in her lap, one arm wrapped securely around your waist to stop you escaping when you squirm half-heartedly.

“You are impossible,” you inform her.

“Mm. You’re obsessed with me though.”

“Unfortunately.”

She presses an exaggerated kiss against your cheek. “Devastating news, I know.”

You try to glare at her and fail miserably once she starts smiling properly. You love the unbearable brightness of her. The awful stupid selflessness. The way she pretends she carries everything easily when she is actually held together by stubbornness and caffeine and blind hope half the time.

You love her enough that it scares you sometimes. Carol notices you staring.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s the same answer you gave before the crisis started.”

You huff softly. “I just love you.”

The words come out easier than they used to. Still terrifying. Always terrifying. Love feels like handing someone every soft part of yourself and hoping they will be careful.

Carol’s entire expression melts anyway. “Oh,” she says quietly.

You smile a little at her reaction. “Yeah. Oh.”

She looks at you like she still hasn’t quite adjusted to being loved outright. Like every confession catches her off guard no matter how many times you give it. Then she tucks you impossibly closer against her chest and buries her face against the side of your neck for a second.

“I love you too,” she murmurs. “So much it’s actually embarrassing.”

“It should be embarrassing. You’re obsessed with me.”

“Mm, yeah. Hopelessly.”

Warmth spreads through you slowly. Deeply. Easing into places that had been aching for far too long.

The rain continues outside. The flat smells faintly of tea and fabric softener and Carol’s shampoo. Somewhere in the kitchen, the kettle has probably gone cold by now. None of it feels small anymore.

Not the flat. Not the softness of the sofa beneath you. Not the way Carol absent-mindedly traces patterns against your side while holding you close enough that every breath syncs together.

Human things. Important things.

“You know,” Carol says eventually, voice sleepy now around the edges, “I really don’t think you understand how much I need you.”

Emotion catches painfully in your throat again. You press a slow kiss against her temple.

“Maybe,” you whisper. “You can keep reminding me.”

Carol tilts her head back just enough to look at you.

“That,” she says softly, “I can do.”

Maria had been itching for a new challenge so when Fury announced he was going undercover on a solo mission for a while, she agreed to stay behind at the Avengers Compound. There were a handful of new recruits that Steve needed to train, and he’d enlisted Maria’s help for one recruit in particular. “She’s really shy,” Steve had explained. “And I just feel like she’ll do better with a woman.”

“What makes you say that?”

“The way she looks at me and the other male recruits… Well, the way she tries her best not to look at us would be a better way to describe it.” Steve had shrugged and smiled. “She’s sweet but struggling to open up. Maybe you’ll have better luck with her.”

You were one of the few recruits who hadn’t particularly wanted to be an Avenger. Where the others were enthusiastic, you were reluctant, and seemed far more timid. Too timid for a job like this. There hadn’t been much choice but to recruit you after the government had found out you were enhanced. You had the power of telekinesis, a power you sometimes struggled to control. Scared that the government were going to make you ‘disappear’ so they could study you, you’d agreed to be released into the custody of the Avengers. Now you were being trained to work alongside them – something that terrified you.

Maria warmed to you immediately though training you was proving difficult. You were open to training with your powers, desperate to get them under control, but you were clearly struggling with hand-to-hand combat. Maria had tried to make it as easy for you as possible, letting you train with just her until you got used to the basics but it was no use. Every time she threw a punch towards you, your instinct was to flinch away and your reflexes were slow. Any punch that you threw first was feeble. Given that you hadn’t wanted to be an Avenger in the first place, Maria is finding it difficult to motivate you.

One day she sees you getting upset and she holds her hands up, “Okay, let’s forget about this right now. Why don’t we go back to power training? If you could look at-”

Maria pauses when she sees the expression on your face. There’s something about it that makes her pause. You look worried, like a kid who’s been caught doing something that they shouldn’t have. Maria reaches out, putting her hand on your shoulder. Over the past few months you’d built up a rapport with Maria, and she was the only one whose touch that you didn’t shy away from. “Y/N? Is everything okay?”

You look at her, your eyes wide as you mumble, “I’m a little thirsty…”

Maria frowns as she hears your voice. You don’t sound like you at all and she puts her hand to your forehead, wondering if you’re not feeling well. “Yeah? Do you want me to get you some water?”

“Can I… Can I have a juice box please?”

Maria hesitates, looking at the wide-eyed, hopeful look on your face and realisation dawns on her. Age regression isn’t something that she knows much about but she figures that’s what must’ve happened. There’s something about your expression and your mannerisms – you almost even look physically smaller. You definitely don’t look like yourself so Maria takes your hand, deciding the best thing to do for now is to keep you calm. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. Let’s go find you one, huh?”

Maria’s tasks change significantly for the day as you remain in your little headspace. Instead of training and hand-to-hand combat, she sits at the table watching you do a colouring book and then helps you with a jigsaw puzzle. It’s strange, but in a lot of ways Maria finds it comforting. You don’t seem to fully grasp who she is but you clearly trust her which warms Maria’s heart immensely. Towards the end of the day you’re starting to look a little sleepy so Maria suggest a movie, going through all the streaming services until you settle on ‘The Little Mermaid’. As she hits play, you crawl into her lap, leaning your head on her shoulder. She smiles, leaning her head against yours. You try and keep yourself awake before falling asleep right there on her lap.

The next morning you’re back to your usual self and Maria decides to broach the subject, “Hey… Have you ever done that before?”

“Done what?”

“Regress. I think that’s what you were doing yesterday, right?”

You avoid her eye, turning your gaze to the ground as you feel your cheeks burn, “I kind of remember it but it’s like… I didn’t really have any control over it. No, I- I’ve not done it before. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable-”

“You didn’t,” Maria says quickly. “It was… It was sweet. It just caught me off guard, that’s all.”

Maria had done some research about it online after you’d fallen asleep, and had decided it was harmless. If you found comfort in regressing then she couldn’t see anything wrong with it. She just wanted to be prepared for the next time you regressed, if there even was a next time.

As it turned out, there was. And another time after that. You didn’t regress every day, usually twice a week, sometimes more if you were feeling stressed or worried about something. Maria was very protective of you when you regressed, nearly knocking Tony flat on his ass when he dared try to tease you about it once. It wasn’t weird, it was just something you did when you needed a bit of comfort and Maria was happy to oblige. Cuddles, cookies, chocolate milk and colouring become a new part of Maria’s routine.

Maria had even bought you clothes to change into so you felt even safer when you were regressed. Right now you’re wearing a Bluey onesie as you sit on the floor, looking through a picture book. You seem content enough and Maria smiles as she watches you. After a moment you pick up another book, holding it up to her and she nods, taking it out of your hands, “Come on then Princess, come sit with me.”

You pull yourself onto her lap, looking at the book as she begins reading to you in a soft voice. She smiles every time you point at one of the bright pictures in the book. Just as she’s reaching the end of the story, your small voice pipes up, “Will my Daddy come visit?”

Maria pauses, running one hand up and down your back as she thinks about your question. Truthfully, she doesn’t really know anything about your parents or your home life or your childhood. “I don’t know,” Maria eventually says. “Do you want him to visit?”

A vase on the TV stand suddenly goes flying across the room, smashing against the wall and making Maria jump. You look worried, “I’m sorry…”

“It’s okay, it wasn’t your fault.” Maria’s found that you lose control of your powers more when you’re regressed. Quite a few things have ended up broken but Maria never tells you off. It’s not like you can help it. “Anyway… Do you… Do you want Daddy to come and visit you?”

You quickly shake your head, “No.”

“It’s okay, I don’t think Daddy knows you live here. I’m sure he won’t turn up.” Maria can’t help herself and she presses a light kiss to your forehead. “Is there a reason you don’t want to see him?” You don’t answer, putting your thumb in your mouth which Maria gently pulls out. “Don’t do that Sweetheart. Can you tell me why you don’t wanna see your Daddy?”

You hesitate, moving to put your sleeve in your mouth and pouting when Maria pulls that away from your mouth as well. “I don’t like when he shouts.”

“Ah, I see,” Maria says, gently bouncing you on her lap which seems to cheer you up a little. “Does he shout at you a lot?”

“He doesn’t like when I… When I move things.”

Her eye-brows furrow before she realises you must be referencing your power, “Oh, he doesn’t like your telekinesis? I see. Does it scare him?”

“He shouts and then he uses his belt and it really, really hurts.”

Maria holds you tighter, her blood running cold at the implication of your words. Her head leans against yours and she presses another kiss to the top of your head. It’s true that Maria had wondered if there was a reason you were so timid, why you seemed to shy away from all the men in the compound. Now it makes sense. It’s probably the reason you regress.

“It’s okay Sweetheart, he’s not here,” Maria reassures you. “I won’t let him near you, okay? You’re safe with me.”

“Safe with Maria,” You repeat quietly.

Maria smiles, pressing another kiss to your forehead. “Good girl. Do you wanna play with your stuffies?”

“Stay with you.”

“Yeah, I’m right here, don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”

Reassured, you slide off her lap and look through the toy box that Maria had filled for you. She smiles as she watches you pulling out the different toys, exclaiming with excitement at each one. As she watches you, she makes a mental note to find out everything she can about your Dad. If he’s still alive, she’s going to make sure that he can’t find you. If he ever does turn up here, Maria will be the first in line to kick his ass.

You squeal with excitement at a particular toy, causing your powers to surge and Maria’s glass of water goes flying, smashing against the wall. You look at her, your eyes wide and worried, and Maria quickly smiles reassuringly, “It doesn’t matter baby girl. I’m glad you found a toy you like.”

Maria watches you turn your attention back to your toys now you’re sure she’s not mad at you. She can’t tell you while you’re regressed like this but she’s fallen for you. Over the last few months you’ve worked so closely together and you’re such a sweet girl that she couldn’t help it. Especially with your regressing, it’s been so easy to feel close to you. Whilst you’re like this, her only job is to protect you and make you feel safe. She can have that conversation with you when you’re not regressing.