#fluffyjuly2026

You knew something was wrong the second Aaron Hotchner called everyone into the conference room and Derek Morgan was already grinning. That was never a good sign.

Morgan only smiled like that when one of three things was happening:

Either someone had already embarrassed themselves, someone was about to embarrass themselves, or he had information he was positively dying to weaponise.

And judging by the way he kept glancing between you and JJ, you were becoming increasingly concerned you fell into category three.

He knew something you didn't. Fantastic.

You slid into your usual chair and tried very hard not to read into anything as JJ settled beside you, just as she always did.

She also smelled annoyingly good, as usual. Expensive shampoo mixed with the kind of perfume you had spent an embarrassing amount of time pretending not to notice.

You did not have a crush on JJ, you simply had a manageable appreciation of her. Some may even call it a professional admiration. A tiny- Okay, fine.

It was a massive, 5-year-long crush. Ever since you had started working together.

But in your defense, basically everyone had one at some point. JJ was beautiful, intelligent, calm under pressure, and somehow capable of making even FBI-issued clothes look unfairly attractive.

It wasn’t your fault.

Hotch began the meeting quickly, "We have a serial offender operating in a suburban neighborhood outside Arlington."

The crime scene photos came up, showing a several couples, all victims. All of them women. Garcia’s spoke up, "All identified victims were in long-term same-sex relationships. Mostly married or cohabitating."

You straightened instinctively, and from the corner of your eye you were fairly certain JJ had done the same.

Hotch continued, "The unsub appears to be surveilling couples with highly visible routines."

The images changed, revealing the familiar brutality of the crime scenes alongside something altogether more unsettling... Photographs.

The victims alive. On morning runs, walking the dog, loading groceries into the car.

Snapshots of ordinary domestic life that the unsub had left neatly arranged at each scene.

"He targets predictability," David Rossi said.

"Hmm, routine creates opportunity," added Prentiss.

Hotch nodded once and glanced at his notepad, "We need undercover presence in the neighborhood."

You frowned but nodded. It was reasonable for that to be suggested, although unorthodox. Who would be asked, you didn't know. You'd heard Sarah from the fourth floor had a specialty in long-term undercover and-

You finally clocked that Hotch was looking directly at you.

Then at JJ.

Oh no... Absolutely not.

"We need a believable couple." He cleared his throat. There was a moment of silence whilst you caught Morgan’s grin widening in the corner of your eye.

No.

No, no, no.

Hotch continued like he wasn’t dropping the biggest work-related bomb you'd had since starting to work with the BAU. "You and JJ will move into the safe house as partners."

Your brain stopped. Like, fully 100% stopped. Nothing going on up there, complete white noise.

Beside you, JJ remained infuriatingly composed. She looked calm, professional and entirely unbothered, as though Hotch had assigned the pair of you to organise paperwork rather than spend several days pretending to be married.

Meanwhile your internal monologue had become incoherent screaming. Morgan leaned back in his chair, "Oh, this is gonna be fun."

You glared, "No." you muttered back through slightly gritted teeth. Morgan just ignored you and Prentiss smirked. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at another of your friends joining in to bully you.

"I mean, you two already bicker like a married couple." Prentiss shrugged.

"No, we do not," you said immediately. JJ, at the exact same time said, "No, we really don’t."

Morgan actually slapped the table, "Oh, come on!"

Prentiss laughed whilst Rossi hid a smile behind his coffee mug. Hotch, refusing to indulge in the nonsense, continued as though none of them had spoken, "You’ll need a convincing backstory."

Garcia chimed in, "I already made one!" Because of course she had.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, "Names?"

"No, no," Garcia protested, "we’re keeping your real names. Less chance of slip-ups." You looked at your friend, smiling down at you. She looked, and sounded, entirely too pleased with herself, "Relationship duration: five years."

You choked, "Five-?"

Garcia kept going, "Married for two." She placed a pair of wedding bands onto the conference table, and somewhere to your left Morgan made a noise that sounded suspiciously like suppressed laughter.

This was an actual living nightmare. A very attractive nightmare, don't get me wrong but... a nightmare all the same. And through it all JJ was still calm, composed even.

How was JJ not panicking? You risked a glance, which ended up being a big mistake because JJ had turned at that exact moment.

Your eyes met and... was that amusement? No, impossible. Maybe it was pity? God, that was even worse.

Then JJ leaned slightly toward you and said quietly, just for you, "You’ll survive."

The low murmur near your ear did absolutely nothing helpful for your nervous system. You swallowed and mumbled, "Easy for you to say."

One eyebrow lifted, "Why?"

Because I’ve been half in love with you for years and fake dating you sounds psychologically catastrophic.

You smiled tightly instead, "No reason." JJ held your gaze for a fraction longer before looking back towards Hotch.

"Pack for a week," he said, dismissing the meeting.

You gathered your files, the mission packet and your godforsaken wedding ring before making a determined escape for the door. Morgan caught up to you in the hallway.

"Oh, sweetheart."

"Don’t." You rushed away, but he kept pace.

"This is better than Christmas."

You rolled your eyes, "I hate you."

"No, you don’t."

Prentiss joined from the other side, "L-O-V-"

You groaned, "I need new coworkers."

Morgan grinned, "No, what you need is to admit-"

"No." You dropped your things on your desk, catching the ring last minute as it started to roll towards the edge.

"You don’t even know what I was gonna say."

"Yes I do."

Prentiss smirked, "He was gonna say you have the biggest crush in the BAU."

You huffed, stuffing the ring in your pocket, "You know, I’m going to report both of you to HR."

Then, a steady voice behind you, "Ready?"

JJ.

Your entire body straightened immediately, going into professional mode, "Yep." You nodded formally.

Morgan and Prentiss exchanged a look so obvious it bordered on offensive. So incredibly obvious that even JJ noticed, "What?"

Morgan smiled innocently, "Nothing."

JJ narrowed her eyes and then looked at you, "You packed?"

You blinked. Shook your head, "Not yet."

"Okay." She nodded once, "We leave in two hours." She started walking but then paused, looking back, "You coming, baby?"

Silence. The entire hallway froze. Morgan’s mouth dropped open, Prentiss stopped dead in her tracks and your soul quietly left your body.

JJ’s expression remained perfectly neutral and then, the tiniest smirk.

"Oh my god," Morgan whispered as JJ kept walking, not even a glance to check you were following.

You stood rooted to the floor and Morgan grabbed your shoulder as he walked past, giving it a sympathetic squueze, "You’re so screwed."

xxxxxxxxxxxx

The safe house was… aggressively suburban, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing, but it was unnatural to you.

The neighborhood was full of identical two-storey houses with identical trimmed hedges and identical little porches, each one looking like it had been copied and pasted.

It had all the classics: white picket fences, flower boxes lining windowsills, wind chimes. You stared at it all out the passenger window as JJ pulled into the driveway.

"This feels fake."

JJ switched off the engine before turning to you, "We are undercover."

"No, I mean this neighborhood feels fake." You gestured towards the house opposite, "Look at that mailbox."

JJ glanced over, "It’s a mailbox."

"It has flowers painted on it." You shrugged, feeling you had proved your point just like that.

She unbuckled her seatbelt, "Just to clarify here that you are judging a mailbox."

"What can I say? I just don’t trust it."

JJ’s lips twitched, very slightly, "You’re weird."

You turned to face her, “You like weird.” The second the words left your mouth, you wanted to throw yourself out of the car because what was that?

You shook your head, you can't be too familiar, too flirty, too-

JJ paused your thoughts halfway through as she leaned closer to you to get her bag from the backseat. She was close enough for you to catch the familiar scent of her perfume before she paused and looked at you, her expression perfectly unreadable, "I suppose I’ll have to," she said evenly, "considering we’re married."

Your brain stalled. Again.

She climbed out of the car before you had recovered enough to respond, leaving you scrambling after her with your own bag.

The moment she unlocked the front door, you stopped short. The house had been fully staged.

Photographs covered shelves, side tables and walls. Your favourite books sat neatly arranged on the bookcases as though they'd lived there for years. A pair of slippers rested beside the sofa.

It looked well and truly lived in.

Your eyes landed on a coffee mug sitting proudly on the kitchen counter.

World's Okayest Wife.

You picked it up, "Oh, Garcia." You sighed, quietly banishing it to the very back of the cupboard, to hopefully never be seen again. As you closed the cabinet, JJ appeared over your shoulder. Her laugh was soft, warm and entirely too amused.

"She’s enjoying this."

"She’s evil." You stepped back into the living room, "You know she made fake wedding photos?"

JJ froze, "What?"

You held up one framed photo. You and JJ, badly photoshopped into some random couple's wedding clothes, "It's horrifying."

JJ took the frame and studied it, "I think I look pretty good." She tilted it slightly before adding, almost thoughtfully, "You're not too bad yourself."

You choked, "That’s your takeaway?"

She shrugged, "They got my jawline right."

God, you needed a minute.

You left her looking at all the wedding photos and surveyed the house. What you saw didn't exactly settle you. You returned to JJ's side, a little frown on your face. She was looking through all the cupboards (and you couldn't help but notice that World's Okayest Wife mug was now front of the cabinet).

"There’s one bedroom." You blurted, glancing between her and the mug.

JJ glanced up, "Yes."

"Only one." You emphasised and she nodded, "You knew? One bed, JJ."

"Seems that way," She responded, sounding as calm as ever.

"That’s… less than ideal."

JJ crossed her arms, "Why is that?"

Your mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again because there were approximately six hundred answers to that question, and none of them were professional.

"I feel like HR would have something to say here, right?"

JJ raised one eyebrow, "We’re undercover."

"That doesn’t feel like it should be an official loophole," You grumbled.

A small smirk appeared, "There’s a couch."

You brightened, "Yes. Great. I’ll take it."

"No."

You paused, "No?"

JJ walked into the bedroom and sat down on the bed, crossing her legs, "You’re not sleeping on the couch."

"Why not?"

"Because you’ll complain about your back."

"I do not complain." JJ raised an eyebrow and you folded your arms, clearing your throat, "… That often."

"Exactly."

You narrowed your eyes, "So what’s your solution?"

She looked at the bed, then met your gaze again. "We share." She shrugged and you let your internal panic increase, only slightly. One bed... shared... with JJ... every night. What pyjamas had you packed again?

"Okay," you said, voice far too high. "Cool."

JJ’s mouth twitched, "You’re panicking."

"No, I’m not."

"You are."

"I’m just adapting is all." You shrugged as nonchalantly as you could, "You know, to married life... apparently."

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Twenty minutes later, the first challenge arrived. The doorbell rang. You nearly jumped out of your skin.

Before this assignment, you would have described yourself as a relatively good profiler. Someone who was calm under pressure, good at thinking on your feet. Yet somehow a fake marriage had reduced you to someone who startled at a doorbell ringing.

"Neighbor." JJ said, over her shoulder.

Already? Jesus.

She opened the door to a woman in her fifties, who stood there holding muffins. Of course she had muffins, "Hello! You must be the new couple!"

Before you had a chance to react, JJ moved closer, one hand settling lightly against the small of your back.

Immediately, every functioning thought in your brain disappeared. The gesture was so natural that, for one impossible moment, you could almost believe this actually was your real life. That you came home to JJ every evening, stood beside her in your shared doorway and welcomed neighbours together, all casual.

JJ smiled at the woman, as if this came easy to her. It was like she’d been someone’s wife- your wife for years, "Hi," she said. "I’m Jennifer."

The woman beamed, then turned to you, "And you are?"

You opened your mouth but nothing came out. JJ’s thumb brushed lightly against your back. A reminder of what you were here to do. It felt grounding or overwhelming, depending on how you looked at it.

You cleared your throat, "I’m- yes. Hi. I’m... the wife. Of Jennifer." Oh my god, why would you say it like that? JJ's eyes sparkled with barely concealed amusement, and you hurried to recover, clearing your throat, "I'm Y/N."

The woman smiled wider, "Well, welcome! I’m Nancy from next door," and with that, she launched into neighborhood gossip immediately.

You did your best to follow along, nodding when appropriate, and trying to log all of this information in the event that it was important to your case. You did pretty well at pretending to listen, at least. Mostly you were focused on one thing.

JJ’s hand, still on your back, making thinking and focusing a very difficult job for you. It was quickly becoming way more overwhelming more than grounding.

Nancy finally smiled, "Well, I’ll let you settle in." Then she looked between you, "Oh! Before I forget, it's the neighborhood barbecue tomorrow."

JJ answered before you could, "We’ll be there." and with that, Nancy left. The second the door clicked, JJ’s hand dropped.

You swallowed. "That was…"

JJ turned, "Convincing, right?"

"It was something." You tried to agree, still thinking about JJ's touch and not wanting to burst her bubble. She had done a convincing job, at least, you were very convinced that you were totally in love, unfortunately.

"You did okay too... mostly," She teased.

You let out a grumble, "I'm a woman of many talents."

"Hmm, that you are." JJ laughed. And it hit you for a moment that this wasn't your work JJ, the Agent Jareau from meetings or press briefings or crime scenes. This was JJ at home, relaxed, letting her hair down.

It suited her.

Then JJ stepped closer, close enough that your breath caught, and her voice dropped, "For the record…"

You stopped breathing, "Yes?"

She leaned in slightly, so close you could feel her warmth, "I've never been Jennifer to you. You’re supposed to call me something like..."

JJ paused and you frowned, pushing her to finish her sentence, "What?"

"I don't know... baby?" Her eyes met yours, "My love? Love of my life?" You simply stared and she nodded her head to the door, "In front of the neighbors." she finished, as though that explained everything. She tilted her head. "Makes it more believable."

You were still trying to formulate a response when she turned and wandered into the kitchen.

Over her shoulder she called, "Try not to panic, sweetheart."

You stood frozen in the hallway. Oh. This mission was going to kill you.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

By day two, you had come to one very important conclusion. That was that fake dating JJ was significantly worse than you had anticipated.

Not because the cover was hard.

Actually, that was the problem because it wasn’t hard at all, it may have been the easiest 'relationship' you had ever been in.

The neighbourhood had accepted the two of you almost immediately. Apparently, convincing the locals that you were happily married required little more than sharing a mailbox, JJ resting a hand on the small of your back every so often, and calling you sweetheart in front of Nancy, repeatedly.

After all that, the grocery store should have been absolutely harmless.

Instead, you were learning that absolutely anything became dangerous once JJ decided to commit to the bit.

She pushed the cart with ease while you grabbed ingredients for dinner, a long list in your hand. You sighed, throwing a punnet of strawberries into the cart, "This is unnecessary." You complained, shaking the list in your hand. The list that still felt 100 items long. JJ didn’t even look up.

"We need groceries. Even just for a week."

"No, I mean the list." You shook it again, closer to her this time to really prove a point.

She finally glanced at the paper in your hand, "What about it?"

You waved it, "It's just so... coupley."

Her brow furrowed, "We are a couple." The two of you stared at each other fora few moments, seeing who would break first.

Then, a small smirk from JJ. You narrowed your eyes, "You’re enjoying this way too much." JJ shrugged, pushing the cart into the drinks aisle.

Five minutes later, you found yourself holding a family-sized bag of Cheetos in open disbelief, "No."

JJ glanced over, "What?"

You shook the packet at her, "Absolutely not."

"They’re good." She shrugged, grabbing some other items that were actually on the list.

"They are bright orange, dusty, radioactive snacks. Besides, we already have two bags at home."

"Yes."

"This ingredients list sounds illegal," You protested and placed them back on the shelf.

Without missing a beat, she put them into the trolley.

You took them out again.

She put them back.

You looked at her, "Jennifer."

Then, before you could answer, a voice cut through, "Nancy told me you two were adorable."

A woman from the neighbourhood (how many nosy women could live in this one neighbourhood?!) stood beside the produce display, smiling warmly at the pair of you.

Right, undercover.

You instantly softened your posture into fake-wife mode and before you could do anything else, JJ moved beside you. Her arm slipped around your waist.

The neighbor smiled wider, "How long have you two been together?"

Your mind immediately blanked, no matter how long you had been studying your case file. But JJ answered without hesitation, "Five years." Damnit, you so knew that. It was literally true in real life too.

The woman sighed dreamily, "That’s lovely."

JJ smiled, "It is. It really is."

Your heart performed several deeply unprofessional manoeuvres.

The woman looked at you, "And go on, what do you love most about her?"

What kind of question- you looked at JJ. Big mistake because she was already looking at you softly, patiently waiting. She was entirely too convincing.

God. Say something. Anything.

You swallowed, "She…" Your voice nearly failed you, "She makes everything feel easier." The woman visibly melted and JJ froze, just slightly, composure be damned.

You kept going because stopping felt worse, "She makes people feel safe," Your voice softened and your eyes are pulled to JJ's, "She remembers things everyone else misses."

JJ’s gaze changed and you registered something flickering across her face, something you couldn't quite name.

You panicked and recovered, clearing your throat, "Uh, she also steals snacks, so... she;s not always perfect. Right, babe?" You emphasised the last word that you had been amping yourself up to use, hoping it seemed natural.

The woman laughed and the cloud of tension broke, thank god. After another minute or two of conversation, she wished you both a good afternoon and wandered away. Silence settled between you.

JJ slowly lowered her arm from your waist. You hated noticing her absence, every single time.

Then, JJ spoke, quietly, "That was good." She nodded, more to herself than you.

You frowned, "What was?"

She looked at you, "What you said."

Oh, right, yes... that. You forced an awkward laugh, "Well. Had to sell it. Even got the pet name in, right?"

JJ held your gaze for half a second too long, then looked away. "Right."

Something about that felt strange, it was just a little bit too quiet.

You finished the shopping in separate aisles after that, both of you claiming efficiency when, in reality, neither of you seemed particularly interested in continuing the conversation. The drive back home passed in comfortable-ish silence.

Home. It felt weird how easy it was to say that after only 48 hours.

Dinner turned out to be exactly as dangerous as the supermarket had been. The kitchen was far too small and you both kept reaching for the same utensils. Every accidental touch lingered a little longer than it should have.

Night, however, was worse.

Because night meant bed. One bed. One shared bed. With JJ.

You stood frozen beside the mattress. JJ was already under the covers, relaxing, a book propped open between her thumb and finger.

You cleared your throat and JJ looked up, "You okay?"

"Yeah, I- I'm ready for bed so..." You shuffled on the spot for a moment before JJ pulled back the comforter and patted the empty space besider her.

"Come on in, then," You climbed into bed stiffly, trying your best to keep a very respectable amount of distance.

You ended up lying flat on your back with your hands folded neatly over your stomach. JJ glanced over and then laughed, actually laughed.

"What?"

"You look terrified."

"I’m just... sleeping professionally."

JJ smiled into her book, "That isn’t a thing."

Eventually, you both settled. Lights were turned off, a soft 'goodnight' was shared between the two of you and JJ's soft snores filled the room. You had a moment of feeling jealous at how easily she could fall asleep but, before the thought could be fully formed, you too were asleep.

Until something woke you. At first, you were too sleepy to think, the thick pull of sleep fogging your brain. You listened for any sounds but there was nothing unusual and so you opened your eyes to the pitch black. You went to turn on your bedside lamp but found you couldn't move properly. Ah, that would be what woke you, something was pinning you-

Then your brain caught up, oh no.

JJ was fully curled into your side. One arm was draped across your waist and her head was tucked against your shoulder.

You took a deep breath, careful not to wake her. Heat crept into your cheeks as one of her legs shifted against yours.

This was bad. This was so, so bad.

You were so, so screwed.

JJ mumbled something unintelligible in her sleep before snuggling even closer, somehow managing to eliminate the tiny sliver of space that had still existed between you.

You stared, eyes wide, into the darkness. There was no way you were going to be getting any more sleep tonight as your thoughts began to race.

Yes, you were completely, utterly screwed, always had been.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

By the morning of day four, you had slept maybe very little in this safe house. Most nights full of wide-eyed staring at the ceiling, contemplating it all.

JJ had spent most of every night wrapped around you. You'd gone from this is nice to this is a complete disaster sometime around three in the morning the first time it happened, and by sunrise there was no question which side had won.

The problem wasn't simply that you had feelings for JJ, that part wasn't exactly new. The problem was that pretending to be married had made everything catastrophically worse, because now you knew things.

Like how JJ frowned in her sleep and mumbled when she was having a nightmare.

You knew every part of her morning routine, from what songs she sung in the shower to how she took her toast.

Worst of all, you knew she somehow managed to look even prettier half asleep, with her hair a mess, her voice still thick with sleep and the morning light catching against warm skin.

Which all felt rather unfair, if you were being honest.

You were halfway through making coffee when Garcia’s alert sounded through your work phone, an urgent beeping that pulled both of you out of your peaceful morning routine.

"I’ve got movement." Garcia's words tumbled out, no sweet hello or time for any jokes. Every muscle in your body tensed and JJ was instantly as alert. Sleepy JJ vanished and Agent Jareau took her place.

"What do we have?"

"Black SUV." Garcia replied, "Same vehicle from the barbecue and the shopping centre. It's parked two houses down."

Hotch's voice followed a moment later, "He’s circling."

"JJ, Y/N, he's looking for routine," Rossi added. "Give him one."

Right, routine. The whole domesticity thing. Be a couple, bait him out.

JJ looked at you, and neither of you needed to say a word.

Showtime.

She reached for your hand without hesitation, her fingers slipping between yours as naturally as breathing. Your heart, even after all this time, still did something really unhelpful.

You stepped out onto the porch together with your usual coffee mugs in hand, 'World's Okayest Wife' still proudly on display.

"He's watching," Garcia said quietly through the earpiece the two of you had quickly popped in.

JJ shifted closer until her shoulder rested lightly against yours. Then she leaned in a little more, her side pressing gently against yours. You focused very hard on remembering how to breathe.

"Relax," she murmured into your ear.

You stared ahead, jaw clenched, "I am relaxed."

JJ’s thumb stroked lazily across your knuckles, "No, you’re not."

"I’m undercover relaxing." You gritted out, swearing in your head to never agree to this undercover shit again. Whilst you were vowing to commit to a life working at a desk, her shoulders shook. Was she... laughing? Now?

Psychopath.

"He's moving," Garcia warned. "Be careful."

You spotted him this time. He was in his late thirties, his cap pulled low and he was walking casually, too casually. It only made him stand out more.

Your stomach tightened.

The unsub slowed near your driveway. He was watching you, assessing his choices.

Watching.

Assessing.

JJ's fingers tightened around yours. Then, without warning, her free hand rose to your face. Before your brain had any chance of catching up, she pressed a soft kiss against your forehead.

Everything stopped. Your thoughts, your heartbeat. The world around you.

JJ had kissed your forehead.

It could have passed as something affectionate between close friends, or a simple gesture designed to sell the cover, but your heart wasn't interested in reasonable explanations.

All it knew was that JJ had kissed you.

"Breathe," she whispered. Right. Yeah, air might be important here.

Garcia’s voice sharpened, "There. A shift in expression."

"He's committed," Rossi confirmed.

"Stand by," Hotch ordered, "No one do anything stupid."

The unsub took another step, then another. Then, all of a sudden, he was too fast now. Something had changed and JJ felt it too.

You could feel the subtle change in her stance, her muscles tight, and then the unsub lurched forwards. Everything seemingly happened at once.

Your team roaring to life, the unsub sprinting towards you, knowing he had been caught and trying to make one last attempt at what he felt he needed to do.

His knife flashed in the morning light and your brain barely processed it. He was fast but JJ moved faster.

"Down!" JJ's shout came a split second before her hand slammed into your shoulder, shoving you firmly behind her. Your coffee mug slipped from your fingers, smashing against the porch as you stumbled backwards.

The knife swung and a sharp sting burned across your forearm.

Then, impact. Bodies crashed into the unsub, Morgan hitting into him like a truck, "FBI, put your hands where I can see them!"

Prentiss had his arm twisted back in seconds and the knife clattered across the concrete.

The case was over, just like that.

But none of that registered immediately because JJ was turning to you, her face stripped of every trace of composure. There was none of her usual calm or focus, just pure terror, "Were you hurt?" Her voice had raised an octave and it came out loud, harsh.

You blinked, "I-"

She was already checking you over, her hands moving across your shoulders, your arms, your face, searching for injuries you couldn't even think about yet.

"Are you hurt?" Her voice was sharper now. Breathless. You looked down and saw the thin cut that crossed your forearm, blood beginning to gather around the edges.

It wasn't deep, in fact barely more than a scratch but JJ clearly disagreed. Whatever composure she’d had disappeared, "Shit." she breathed out, gently curling her fingers around your arm. Her hold was careful but her jaw was tight enough you were afraid she may crack a tooth.

"JJ..."

"Why didn’t you move?"

You stared at her, "What?"

"You froze," her voice shook, only slightly, but noticeably enough.

"I didn’t- I didn’t see him."

JJ exhaled sharply, the sound carrying far more fear than anger. Then before you could say anything, she pulled you into her.

Your breath caught. One arm around your shoulders. One hand at the back of your head. Shielding you, holding you. You could hear the uneven rhythm of her breathing, "I've got you."

Nothing about this felt fake because nobody said that unless they meant it, not the way she had said it anyway.After several long seconds, JJ seemed to realise what she was doing. Her body stiffened, then she slowly stepped back. The warmth disappeared.

Agent Jareau returned. She was professional, composed, controlled.

As though the last thirty seconds hadn't happened.

As though she hadn't looked at you like the thought of losing you had terrified her.

She cleared her throat, didn’t meet your eyes.

"We should get that bandaged."

And just like that...

The distance returned.

Which somehow hurt more than the cut ever could.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

The cut on your arm barely needed three stitches, three. That was it. Only three tiny stitches and a bandage. For four days of undercover work, you considered that a fairly decent outcome.

Morgan and Prentiss, naturally, disagreed. The pair of them had spent the better part of the last hour mocking your 'war wound,' while your own thoughts had remained stubbornly fixed on two things.

JJ had kissed your forehead.

And the I've got you.

You sat in the passenger seat on the drive back to the safe house, staring out the window while those two moments replayed on an endless loop.

The forehead kiss and then the way she had looked at you afterwards. The fear in her voice. After that, the distance she'd thrown between you almost immediately afterwards.

It left you with one impossible question. Either JJ felt something real...

...or she was the greatest actress alive.

Neither possibility was particularly comforting.

The rest of the team seemed to sense that neither of you was in the mood for company. Suspiciously, they all found reasons to disappear.

Even Rossi had given you that infuriating expression older people perfected, the one that suggested he knew exactly what was happening without anyone saying a word.

Traitors, every last one of them.

You decided to leave them to it and headed upstairs with your duffel bag, telling yourself you were packing. In reality, you folded the same three shirts over and over again. An excellent use of FBI time and resources.

Your arm stung when you moved too quickly. It wasn't enough to hurt, but just enough to remind you of her hands, her voice. I’ve got you.

God.

You needed this mission to end.

So when footsteps sounded in the doorway, your entire body tensed before you even looked up. Because of course it was Jennifer Jareau.

She leaned against the bedroom door for a moment, quietly watching you before crossing the room. Without saying anything, she picked up one of your shirts, folded it neatly and placed it beside your bag.

"You’re packing... aggressively."

You didn’t look up. Instead, you picked up the freshly folded shirt, stuffed it into the bag and pulled the zip closed with considerably more force than necessary.

"I'm tired." You shrugged, "It's... I didn't really sleep last night. Or any night for that matter."

JJ didn’t move, so you moved around her, dropping your bag at the doorway of your bedroom and hovering over it, "Yeah, you’ve been tired a lot." She sat on the bed, hands fiddling with the edge of the blanket, seemingly hinting at something.

Your jaw tightened, "Maybe because I’m really just... tired."

"No," The answer came immediately, a certainty in her voice, "No, that’s not it." You let out a sigh and she lifted her chin, eyes connecting with yours, then, "You’re avoiding me."

That snapped something in you and you straightened up, scoffing, "Funny." You murmured.

JJ frowned, "What’s funny?"

"You tell me," You laughed once, a little sharp laugh, "No, go on. Tell me more about avoiding people."

Her expression changed very slightly but enough, "Don’t do that."

"Do what?" You challenged, the lack of sleep and sudden lack of adrenaline leaving you with no ability to actually think before speaking.

"This," she gestured at you and you stood, bag forgotten now.

"What, like you? Doing this thing where you act like nothing happened?" JJ went still and your heart pounded in your chest. You were committing to this then. Great. Another terrible idea but too late now to stop. "The case is over, JJ."

She said nothing so you kept going.

"No more neighbors."

Silence.

"No more fake marriage."

Her jaw tightened.

"No more pretending."

And that landed, hard. You saw it in the way her shoulders stiffened before she slowly stood.

She stood up and, very quietly, spoke, "Is that what you think?"

You swallowed, "What else am I supposed to think?"

JJ stared at you for long enough to make your skin feel too tight, then she pushed off from the bed, towards you. One step at a time, getting closer until barely any space remained between you.

"You think I kissed your forehead because of the case?"

Your breath caught because, oh, she was angry. Not even a loud angry but worse, a quiet angry. You went to speak but she moved even closer and you stopped.

"You think I held you like that because Hotch told me to?"

Another step.

"You think I nearly lost my mind over three stitches because I’m committed to my undercover work?"

Your pulse hammered.

"JJ..."

"No," She shook her head and now she just looked frustrated. Whether it was at you, at herself, or at everything, you couldn't tell, "No, because I need to understand how someone as smart as you missed something this obvious."

You blinked, "What?"

JJ exhaled hard, as if she was trying to hold something back but then she clearly decided she was done trying. Her voice dropped, "I wasn’t acting."

You stared because surely... surely- no, "I…" Your voice barely worked. "You weren’t?"

JJ laughed once, almost offended, "No." She watched your expression for a long moment before something softer replaced the frustration.

You swallowed, hard, "JJ…"

She ran a hand through her hair and shook her head, "You really didn’t know?"

Your silence clearly answered her question and her shoulders dropped ever so slightly. She'd truly thought you knew.

"You..." Your voice barely worked. "You love me?"

JJ went completely still, processing the fact you had finally put a name to this all-consuming wall of emotion. She held your gaze and for the first time since you’d known her... JJ looked well and truly nervous.

Then, quietly, "Always have."

You frowned, "Always?"

A quiet laugh escaped her, "You’re really stuck on that word."

"JJ." Your voice held a small warning, you didn't want to go off track now. No joking, just the truth that both of you had kept to yourselves for far too long.

She smiled, a small, warm (but slightly embarrassed) smile, "First week you joined the BAU, five years ago."

"What?!"

JJ’s smile widened just a little, "You wore mismatched socks."

You blinked. Twice, "And that’s when you fell in love with me?"

She shrugged one shoulder, almost casually, like she hadn't just changed your entire life, "I admit that I loved you." A beat, "I didn’t say I had sensible reasons."

You crossed the remaining distance before thinking, your hands finding her face. Warm skin and wide eyes.

Then, you kissed her. It was soft at first, almost like you couldn't believe this was finally happening. It was as if you needed some kind of confirmation that this was actually real.

JJ kissed back instantly, no hesitation or second thought, and that was confirmation enough for you.

Her hands found your waist, careful of your injured arm, always protective, same old JJ.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathing hard, forehead resting against forehead.

You smiled, "So..."

JJ smiled back, "So."

"I spent four days having a nervous breakdown for nothing?"

She laughed, "It wasn't for nothing."

"No?"

She shook her head, "I got to call you baby without you reporting me to HR."

You groaned, "I was almost considering it."

"I know."

"What happens now?"

JJ's smile softened, "I was thinking we try this whole dating thing."

You stared at her, "We've basically skipped to year five. I mean, we've even survived married life." You held your ring finger up to her, still adorned with the wedding band Penelope had thrown at you days ago.

Today is a day for Nikolai and John Price to celebrate. Eight years of friendship. Nikolai convinced Price to go for a helicopter ride to a field and have dinner as the sun sets. It’s no surprise to Price that Nikolai said he’d do the cooking. The Russian admits that he’ll be getting a cake from a local bakery. “Cutting corners are we?” Price teases. Nikolai only smiles before walking away. Price goes back to his office.

The hours tick by. Price has plenty to do, but he’s frustrated with the waiting. It’s obvious to everyone that he's tougher on the recruits today. Gaz, Ghost, and Soap know not to ask Price what’s troubling him, he’ll only lash out at them. “Something is up,” Soap says. “I’m thinking shit with the higher ups,” Ghost says. “All we can do is hope this passes soon before he scares all the recruits shitless.” Thirty minutes before sunset. Price walks into the hangar where Nikolai keeps his helicopter. He sees the Russian doing the last checks. He sees the large cooler bag in the corner. “Don’t you dare.” Price smirks at the man’s warning. “Is dinner that big of a secret?” “So what if it is?” Nikolai grabs the bag and puts it in the helicopter. He resumes his checks. Price watches him amused.

The bird is in the air ten minutes later. Price attempts to get Nikolai to tell him what’s in the cooler, but Nikolai won’t budge.

The bird lands in the middle of a field. Nikolai grabs the cooler, and the two disembark. The two pick a spot close to the bird to sit in the grass. “Russian dinner,” Nikolai says as he unpacks a couple of containers. Okróshka, Herring under the fur coat and Pryanik. Price smiles at Nik’s choices. He’s never disappointed when he lets Nik cook. Nik finishes unpacking plates and utensils. He plates the food and hands the plate to Price before getting his own.  "I heard you scared some recruits today."

Once the two have had enough, Price gathers the dishes while Nikolai gets the white box from the cooler. Once the dishes are in the cooler, Price turns his attention to the box. Price watches Nikolai open the cake box. He stares at the words on the cake. It isn't ‘Happy eight years of friendship’ or anything related to their friendship. Instead, Price reads, ‘Will you marry me?’. “Well? Will you marry me?" “Yes.” Tears roll down Price’s face. Nikolai knows these are happy tears. “While we’ve been officially dating for six months, I feel we’ve had an unofficial relationship for seven and a half years. I’m not rushing.” The two kiss as the sun sets. Price pushes Nikolai to the ground and dry humps him. “Really?” Nikolai smiles. “Out here on the field.” “Or the floor of the helicopter.” “Let’s clean up first.” Price sighs, impatient.

Falling hurt.

Something about gravity dragging you towards earth at what felt like the speed of light was deeply aggravating to the human body.

And maybe speed of light was dramatic, but it definitely felt that fast as you plummeted toward the ground.

And maybe aggravating wasn’t dramatic enough either, because the second your body slammed into the dirt, it felt like your entire skeleton shattered on impact.

You let out a low growl as you forced your palms against the ground, trying very hard not to move too fast and accidentally discover three new broken bones. Every muscle screamed in protest as you pushed yourself into something vaguely resembling a sitting position. As you pulled your leg around, or tried to, you could help let a sharp gasp of breath out.

The pain in your thigh was bright. A sharp, dazzling pain that you were hoping would quickly disappear if you tried really hard to ignore it.

It wasn’t working yet.

You winced, thinking about how spectacularly the mission had gone sideways... from the aircraft malfunction, to the whole being-shot-out-of-the-sky situation, and finally to parachuting into the middle of nowhere.

"Fuck." You heard Natasha's voice mutter from somwhere close by, quickly followed by some crashing and snapping of branches.

"Natasha?" you called, every muscle tensing despite the pain. For a moment, you kept as still as you could, ready to defend yourself if this was some elaborate trick but then she emerged through the bushes to your left.

Alive (thank god). Although she looked pissed.

Natasha held up what remained of the parachute, sunlight streaming through several very obvious bullet holes.

"Tony could really do with working on bulletproof parachutes," she muttered darkly. "What’s the point of this thing if it has three holes in it?"

You grimaced, "It was my fault they got a clear shot-"

"It’s not your fault." She dropped the parachute and clambered through the roots to your side.

"I’m sorry."

She raised an eyebrow, "You’re sorry it wasn’t your fault?" A small smirk lifted the corner of her cheek.

You huffed a weak laugh, "No, I- I just feel bad."

"I’ve seen missions go worse." She shrugged.

"That’s a relief, I guess?"

"Well," she said, slipping back into mission mode, "as long as there are no serious injuries, we find the nearest safe house and sit tight. Couple of days, max. The team will track us."

"Yeah, okay." You nodded, shifting your body slightly to prepare to move. You suppressed the urge to wince.

Nevertheless, her gaze snapped to you, "You're not hurt, right?"

"Yeah, no, it’s all good." You affirmed, shifting your weight again, hoping you weren’t grimacing as obviously as you feared. You’d already felt like you’d fucked the mission in one major way, you didn’t want to be the problem again by creating dead weight.

Natasha paused a second and then just nodded and, with a last quick glance over you, turned around. "Okay. This way. I’m pretty sure we have a safe house somewhere near us. No more than ten miles," She said, adjusting her bag over one shoulder and securing the strap across her waist. "Hopefully it’s warm. If we can stay dry, we’ll be fine for a few days.

You wonkily stood to your feet, balancing yourself and keeping yourself steady, "A few days?" You repeated and Natasha glanced back.

"What? You want out already, princess?"

You quickly shook your head, "No, I'm good, it's fine. It'll be an adventure." She snorted.

"God, you sound like a girl scout. Is that where we're recruiting from nowadays?" She paused a moment longer, shook her head and set off.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

You made it maybe half a mile before your body gave up on pretending.

At first it was manageable. You survived the limping, shifting your weight to the good leg, keeping half a step behind Natasha so she wouldn’t notice the way your breath kept catching. But soon the trees blurred together as dusk settled heavier around you and every step sent another bright pulse through your thigh.

You could definitely do half a mile further.

You could for sure survive another ten steps.

Another five steps would be fine.

Another- Your foot caught on a gnarky tree root and your world suddenly tilted. "Shit!"

Before you hit the ground, a hand caught your arm. Natasha spun fast, steadying you, but the second her grip tightened around your side, the pain shot through your leg so violently that you let a small cry out.

Natasha froze, her eyes narrowing. "What happened?" She snapped out.

You steadied your breath, in through your nose and out through your mouth, before shaking your head, "Nothing." She just stared so you tried again, "Just tripped."

"Sit." She nodded to a felled tree nearby.

You began to protest, "Nat-"

"Sit."

You hadn't known Natasha long but you did know that there was no arguing with that tone. She lowered you carefully against the fallen log and crouched in front of you. Her hands were surprisingly gentle as they moved to your leg, pausing at the torn fabric of your trousers.

"You said you weren't hurt."

"I'm fine."

She pulled the fabric aside and both of you went quiet.

Blood had soaked through almost the entire upper thigh. Not catastrophic but it was enough to make your stomach turn.

Natasha’s jaw tightened. "Bullet grazed you here," she muttered, her hand hovering over your skin, "It's deep."

"It's not too bad." You shrugged, wiping a bead of sweat from your forehead.

"Well, it's bad enough."

You swallowed, "I just didn't want to slow us down."

She sighed, frustrated but also concerned, "Yeah, well, you passing out in the woods would slow me down more."

"That’s… fair." You winced, either at her reaction or from the pain, who really knows?

She exhaled through her nose and from her bag she pulled a med kit, a tiny bottle and a roll of bandages. "This is going to hurt."

"Great," You steadied yourself, prepared yourself. And then the antiseptic hit. "Fuck- Natasha!"

"I warned you." She gritted her teeth, ploughing on with the first aid fiasco she'd found herself in.

You swore under your breath and muttered out, "Sadist."

Her hand pressed firmly above the wound to steady your leg. "Hold still."

You clenched your fists, breathing hard while she worked. You could barely watch as she was cleaning, checking depth, wrapping a pressure bandage around your thigh, all with efficient movements.

Eventually, she patted your knee, "All done."

You looked down. "That was your quick fix?"

"We do the proper patch-up at the safe house."

You nodded, embarrassed, "Sorry... again."

"What are you sorry for this time?" Natasha tied off the bandage and started re-packing her bag with a small smile.

"For lying."

Natasha tightened the straps on the bag, clicking the clips closed and finally looked up at you. For a second, all sarcasm disappeared. "Next time," she said quietly, "you tell me."

Then she stood and offered her hand. When you took it, her grip tightened and, even though you were standing again and stable, she didn't immediately let go.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

The safe house turned out to be less of a safe house and more of an abandoned shack. You weren't going to be racing to book a stay here again any time soon. It was one room, it had a leaky roof and a rusted stove that absolutely did not work.

There was a dusty cupboard with six candles, stale crackers, canned beans, and something that might once have been soup.

Natasha looked around once and sighed, "Well..."

You lowered yourself onto the rickety cot. "Five stars."

"Be grateful. It has walls."

"And mould."

"That’s insulation." She dropped her bag and crouched down by what looked like the remnants of a firepit.

The first night was mostly silence. Rain tapped against the roof while candlelight threw soft shadows across the walls. Natasha sat on the floor cleaning weapons with mechanical focus, the gun in her hand glinting every few seconds.

You watched for a while, glad to see a different version of Natasha. A new version that you could store away in your head.

Then your eyes landed on a small pile of firewood near the stove and it sparked an idea - a memory of being younger, sitting in your grandad's lap as he whistled a tune and whittled little figurines for you to play with.

You reached for one of the smaller pieces and your knife. Natasha noticed immediately, "What are you doing?"

"Just passing time." She raised an eyebrow but didn't question any further, not yet anyway. You shaved off a tiny sliver of wood.

An hour later, wood shavings were covering your lap and you proudly held up something vaguely animal-shaped. Natasha stared and stayed silent for long enough that you started to feel a little self-conscious.

"What is that?"

"It’s a fox."

She quirked up an eyebrow and deadpanned, "It looks like a potato with legs."

You gasped. "You just don't see it."

"I have eyes."

The next day you made another and another. Each one just as bad as the last. All the while, Natasha pretended not to care, but every time you started whittling, you caught her watching.

Sometimes when she thought you weren’t looking, the corner of her mouth twitched.

And by the second night, she’d started talking more. It was small things at first, like how she hated canned beans. Or how Tony overengineered everything except the useful things. And then about how Clint somehow survived exclusively on coffee and bad decisions.

You sometimes offered stories back or childhood memories and embarrassing training mishaps.

At some point, without either of you noticing, the silence stopped feeling tense and fragile. Instead, it started feeling comfortable, like you could wrap yourself in a blanket and actually enjoy it.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

"The latest masterpiece, huh?" Natasha hums, taking the little carving into her hands and rolling it over and over deftly.

"Hmm," You respond, slightly wary of her comments the past few days. "It's a-"

"Well, it’s a donkey, obviously." She shrugs, putting it back down and going back to shovelling more food into her mouth.

You sigh, your shoulders deflating slightly, "It’s meant to be raccoon." Natasha drops her spoon with a clank and looks back up to you before dropping her bowl to the side. She slowly reaches across, stretching to get the little carving back into her hands, a small smile lighting up her face.

"A ra- what?! What’s going on with the ears, they’re massive!" She strokes a gentle finger over the 'ears'.

"I thought you were going to be nice!" You protest, wishing you had stopped with the whittling approximately 2 and a half days ago, roughly when you had first realised it was not one of your many talents - and probably never would be.

"I am being nice! It’s just... got long ears. That’s all." She lets her grin grow wider, and glances over at you, looking softer than she has been with you before. You can see as she shrugs it off, letting the grin fall slightly as she clears her throat, "Maybe just get better at it." Nat places the carving back down, this time delicately ensuring it stays on it's little wooden feet.

"I think you still need to work on being nice, just get better at that, you know?"

"I’m nice." She protested, weakly.

"You’re alright, I guess." You caught her eye, sending her a little smile. She smiled and cleared her throat, nodding her head towards you.

"How’s the injury?"

You shrug, still a little ashamed about how you had behaved earlier in the mission, it had been reckless really, "I- yeah, fine."

"If I’m bad at being nice, you’re awful at lying." She rolls her eyes a little, but makes you feel less small now and more like you're in on her joke, "Here let me have a look." She pushes forward, closer to you.

"You don’t need to do that, Nat, just-" Her hands push at the bottom of your sheets, hitching them up to your hip, "Jeez, ask a girl out first."

Natasha's hands paused on the fabric, "We’ve had a candlelit dinner three nights in a row now, I think I’m good." For a second, neither of you moved, and then she looked up.

That dry, teasing expression was still there but her eyes had changed over the last three days. It was kinder, included you more than it excluded you. It was something you could get used to.

She carefully peeled back the bandage. Her fingers were light against your skin now, much gentler than during the first patch-up.

You tried not to react (and failed).

"Still hurts?"

"No... yes. But it's survivable."

Natasha examined the wound, expression focused. "Healing well. No infection."

You nodded along to all the good parts, "That sounds good."

"It is." She nodded. Her fingers brushed the inside of your thigh as she reached for clean gauze.

Your breath caught and she paused, keeping her hand there for half a second too long.

Then a whole second.

Then- she looked up. You were suddenly very aware of how close she was. You could feel the warmth of her body and see the way her hair had fallen loose around her face. You sensed her eyes and how they kept dropping to your lips before snapping back.

"Nat?"

Her thumb brushed once against your skin and then she finished wrapping the bandage and leaned back, breaking the moment. Mostly, "I'm done," she murmured.

You swallowed and nodded, "Thanks." She gathered the supplies, but before she could fully move away, you reached out and touched her wrist. She stopped moving, "Natasha?" She turned, "You really are alright."

She gave you a soft look and a shake of the head, "Don’t ruin it."

You smiled and, for once, Natasha didn’t pull away from your touch. She simply turned her hand and threaded her fingers through yours, just for a moment. Long enough to make your heart trip over itself slightly.

Then, footsteps and voices sounded outside and both of you snapped around to look towards the door. Natasha was already reaching for a weapon.

"Friendly extraction!" a voice called. Tony.

Natasha let out a deep exhale. You just stared at the door, then down at your now-empty hand.

You had been saved.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

It had been a week since you’d been hauled out of the forest and rushed straight to the infirmary.

A week of being on bed rest and of being forced to stay as still as possible, meaning no sparring. A week of physical therapy, painkillers, and endless lectures about 'taking recovery seriously.' just in case.

And, unfortunately, a week of noticing something else. Noticing how Natasha was avoiding you.

At first, you thought maybe you were imagining it and that she was probably just busy, working through some backlogs of mission paperwork.

Maybe you were reading too much into things because your brain had spent three straight days trapped in a tiny shack with her.

When the rescue had come, it had been a grab-and-go situation. There was no time for any kind of chat or goodbye. No lingering beside the mouldy couch and no packing up the last disgusting tins of mystery food.

Just extraction and you were home. You had found yourself warm and safe again. Yet, you were still somehow missing something. Or someone. So when you finally caught Natasha alone near her room, you decided enough was enough.

"Hey, Nat,"

"Miraculous recovery?" Nat grunts in your direction, meeting your eye for a fleeting moment before ducking her head.

"Yeah, I’ll be back to kicking your ass again soon." You let a half-hearted grin spread on your face.

"Sure thing." She hummed.

You let the silence linger for a moment before ploughing on, "I wanted to talk… about the mission."

She dipped her head, avoiding your eye, and cleared her throat, "Well, I should probably be heading to the gym, so-"

"It’ll be quick." You moved to stop her in her tracks, her avoidance tracks.

"I’m busy today, maybe tomorrow?"

You huffed a little, "Are you avoiding me?"

"I- no." She vehemently shook her head before looking in your eyes and softening slightly, "I’m not avoiding you. I’m right here."

You took that information in for a moment, unsure how to respond. She was right (technically), but it didn't sit well with you. You let out a small sigh, letting your eyes travel across her room, anywhere but on her. Otherwise you were in danger of reading into things too far, trying to convince yourself that maybe she still may feel some way or- your eyes caught sight of something on her shelf.

"You kept this?" Your train of thought was interrupted by the sight of a miniature carving.

"Your raccoon donkey? Yeah, it’s a memento, right? A way to remember the mission."

"You don’t strike me as the sentimental type." You murmured, rolling it around between your fingers.

She shrugged, "I like it."

Something warm, and somewhat painful, bloomed in your chest.

You carefully placed it back where it had been, "So we'll talk tomorrow?"

She hesitated, then said, "Or maybe I can do dinner, tonight?" Natasha shrugged and you just blinked for a moment.

"Tonight?" You frowned, "I- okay, yeah. Tonight."

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Dinner turned out to be… confusingly nice.

Not confusing because of the restaurant. Tony had overheard some vague plans and apparently insisted on sending you somewhere 'that serves actual food and not the sad boiled chicken you two probably lived off in that shack,' which had earned an eye-roll from Natasha and a laugh from you.

No, it was confusing because Natasha was being… different.

Not wildly so. She was still herself, she was dry, sharp and effortlessly unreadable to anyone who didn’t know her but you felt that you knew her a little better now.

You noticed the things other people probably missed.

"You’re staring again," Natasha said, cutting neatly into her food.

You blinked, pulling yourself out of your own thoughts, "I’m not." She lifted a single brow and you sighed. "Okay, maybe a little."

Conversation came weirdly easily after that, it was like being back in your own little bubble. Apart from one little thing because you talked about everything except the thing sitting between you.

You covered conversations like Clint’s terrible jokes, Bruce’s increasingly passive-aggressive lab notes, Tony’s inability to respect a budget, the new recruits and even managing a little chat on training.

You managed to talk about anything but the mission, really. Anything but the shack or the way her hand had felt in yours.

However, dessert came and went (delicious by the way), the restaurant had emptied around you but still, neither of you moved to leave.

Eventually Natasha set her fork down and took a deep breath, "You wanted to talk."

There it was.

Your pulse jumped and you cleared your throat a little bit, leaning forward slightly in your chair, "Yeah." and she waited. You looked down at your hands, "When we got back… you pulled away."

There was a long moment of silence and you pushed forward before your courage could leave the restaurant.

"In the safe house, things felt…" You swallowed. "Different."

Natasha tilited her head slightly, a small nod, "They were."

You looked up at her and Natasha wasn’t avoiding your gaze anymore.

"Different how?" you asked quietly.

"It felt... simple." She let out a small sigh and you frowned. She leaned back slightly, considering her words. "In the field, there’s no noise. No meetings. No missions. No people watching. No expectations." Her voice lowered. "It's just about instincts and survival."

"And me?"

A flash of a smile, "And you." Your heart stuttered and she continued, quieter now, "You make things complicated."

That stung a little more than you expected, "Oh."

Natasha’s expression changed instantly, slightly mortified, "No." She shook her head. "Not bad complicated."

You let out a breath as she rubbed her thumb against the side of her glass, "I’m not good at this."

"At dinner?" Youasked, aiming for a little cheeky but her frown just deepened slightly.

"At…" she exhaled, almost frustrated with herself, "this." She motioned between the two of you.

Your lips curved despite yourself, appreciating the honesty but also at your current predicament. Her shoulders relaxed a fraction.

"In the safe house, I forgot to keep distance," Natasha held your gaze now. Your breath caught and she continued, "I didn’t want to forget." She held your gaze, "But I also didn’t want to come back here and realize it was just proximity or stress.... adrenaline."

You stared, "And?" It wasn't going to end just like that, was it?

Natasha reached inside her pocket, pulling out your whittled monstrosity, she gently placed it on the table, "And then I went and kept your ridiculous raccoon donkey on my shelf."

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it and she smiled.

"And every time I looked at it," she said, "I wanted to see you."

A week ago, falling out of the sky had felt like the worst thing that could happen to you.

But now?

Maybe falling wasn’t so bad after all.

Emily Prentiss had a rock collection.

At least, that was what JJ said.

You found this out on a Tuesday afternoon in the bullpen, when the coffee machine was making some odd, vaguely threatening noise that suggested it had completely given up on life and there had been a complete (suspicious) lull in cases.

"Wait," you said, glancing up from your paperwork. "Emily has a rock collection?"

Emily didn’t look up. "Don’t start."

"Oh, no, I’m starting." You pushed your chair back, grinning. "That’s actually pretty cool."

"It’s not cool."

"It’s extremely cool, I didn't know that about you."

Morgan’s grin widened, eyes glancing between the two of you, "Hold up." He held up a hand and raised a brow at you, "You’re thinking JJ meant music, didn’t you?"

You paused, a little perplexed. JJ laughed into her coffee and Emily finally looked up, one eyebrow raised.

You blinked. "Oh, so… not rock music?"

"As in rocks," Reid supplied helpfully, appearing from nowhere with a folder in his hands. "Minerals, stones, geological samples. Though technically, depending on the composition-"

"Thank you, Spence," Emily cut in, her cheeks a tad rosy.

You stared at her. "You collect actual rocks?"

Emily’s mouth twitched and she shrugged, aiming for nonchalant, "From places I’ve been."

"Oh my god."

"Don’t."

"How did I not know this about you? We’ve been dating a year."

"I work with all of you. I had to keep some mystery." She buried her head in paperwork, trying to move the conversation on but you were hooked in now.

You crossed the bullpen and perched on the edge of her desk, unable to stop smiling. "So when JJ said you had a rare rock collection, I pictured vinyl. Maybe some Springsteen. Bowie. You know. Cool mysterious spy woman music."

Emily leaned back in her chair, pushing her paperwork away with a little sigh, "And instead?"

"Pebbles." You grinned.

Her eyes narrowed, but she was smiling now too. "They are not pebbles."

Morgan coughed. "Some of them are definitely pebbles."

"Some of them are from historically significant locations, actually."

You placed a hand dramatically over your heart. "Emily Prentiss, international woman of mystery, collector of tiny driveway gravel. Wow."

"That’s it," She grabbed a pen and pointed it at you. "You’re uninvited from ever seeing them."

You gasped. "I was invited?"

"Not anymore."

"Devastating."

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Later, when you found yourself in her apartment after dinner, shoes kicked off by the door and Emily moving comfortably around the kitchen in a soft sweater, you remembered.

"So," you said casually, leaning against the counter. "Where do you keep the famous rocks?"

Emily froze for half a second.

You grinned. "Oh, come on." She sighed and placed the pan of containing your dinner back on the stovetop, her shoulder brushing yours.

"You’re going to make fun of me."

"Absolutely." You turned to stand behind her and wrapped your arms around her waist, resting your chin on her shoulder.

"Then no."

You pouted, "What if I make fun of you lovingly?"

"That doesn’t help your case."

You pressed a kiss to her shoulder and lowered your voice with a smile, "I promise to be respectful to your beloved gravel."

Emily sighed, but she was already smiling. "You’re lucky I love you."

"I know," She turned in your arms, kissed your cheek, then took your hand and led you down the hall.

The collection was not what you expected. You had been picturing a shoebox, maybe a small box. Something half forgotten and gathering dust on a shelf.

Instead, Emily had an entire narrow bookcase in her study dedicated to them. Small stones, crystals, chunks of mineral, smooth river rocks, and odd little fragments sat arranged in trays and glass boxes. Each had a tiny handwritten label beneath it: where it was from, when she got it, sometimes a note.

You eyes skimmed over the names, written in her blocky handwriting. Paris. Rome. Cairo. Istanbul. A black volcanic stone from Iceland. A piece of pink granite from Maine. A smooth green-grey pebble from beside a lake in Scotland.

You stepped closer, teasing smile softening, "Emily," you said quietly. "These are beautiful."

She shrugged, suddenly shy in a way you rarely got to see. "They’re just… places. Moments."

You picked up one from a small velvet square after glancing at her for permission. She'd nodded and you made sure you were gentle, soft. It was small and dark, threaded with silver, "Where’s this from?"

"Interpol case. Before the BAU." She leaned against the desk. "I was exhausted, freezing, and very sure I’d made the wrong choice leaving everything I knew. I found that near the station."

"And kept it?"

"It felt like proof I’d been there." Her voice went quieter. "You know? Proof that I had survived it."

Your throat tightened a little and you set the stone back with the greatest care, "I’m sorry," you said.

Emily glanced at you. "For what? The teasing? You don't need to be-"

"No. I’m still going to tease you," She laughed. "But I get it," you said. "It’s not about rocks."

"No," she said. "Not really."

You looked over the shelves again. Little pieces of the world, all carried home by her careful hands. Evidence that Emily Prentiss had been everywhere, had survived more than most people knew, and had still stopped to pocket something small and ordinary because it mattered.

You slipped your hand into hers, "I really love it," you said.

She looked at you then, really looked, like she was trying to decide whether to believe you.

So you squeezed her hand, "I do mean it." She kissed your forehead, pulling you back to the kitchen and shutting the office door.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

The next week, you became slightly obsessed.

Not in an obvious way. You were subtle... mostly.

You researched gemstones during lunch breaks. You asked Reid about minerals, which turned out to be a mistake because forty minutes later you knew more about quartz formation than any reasonable person needed to know. You browsed antique shops, museum gift stores, online auctions, and one extremely intense geology forum where everyone argued about authenticity so much it totally frightened you.

You didn’t want to get Emily something shiny just because it was pretty. Emily didn’t collect rocks for decoration. She collected them for their meaning.

So when the team flew to Colorado for a case and had one spare hour before the jet home, you slipped away to a tiny local shop tucked between a diner and a bookstore. Inside, an elderly man showed you a piece of rhodochrosite, rose-pink and banded with white, polished just enough to glow but still rough at the edges.

"It’s local," he told you. "Colorado mineral. Good choice for someone you love."

You nearly dropped it, "I didn’t say-" He gave you a look that suggested you were not the first person to be wildly obvious in his store. Safe to say, you bought it immediately.

On the jet, you tucked the little wrapped box into your bag and tried to act normal. Unfortunately for you, you worked with profilers.

Morgan noticed first, "What’s in the bag?"

"Nothing."

"That was... suspiciously fast." He hovered over you, leaning on the back of your armchair.

"It’s a bag, Morgan."

"Yeah, a bag that you’ve checked six times."

Garcia, on the laptop screen from Quantico, gasped. "Is it a present? Is it a secret present? Is it shiny? For me?"

You glanced at Emily, who was asleep against the window, arms folded, dark hair falling across her cheek.

"It’s not shiny," you whispered.

Reid looked up. "Many rocks can actually be shiny depending on their mineral structure and how polished they are."

Morgan’s eyes lit up. "A rock?"

You glared at him, shushing him, "Keep your voice down."

"You got Emily a rock?" JJ joined the conversation, putting her book down and smiling across the aisle at you.

Garcia pressed both hands to her cheeks. "Oh my god. You got her a rock."

Morgan leaned in again, grin wicked. "So… this is code an engagement ring, right? We're all hearing that?"

You nearly choked. "No. No, it's not like that."

"Because people call those a rock."

"No."

"And I just thought how you've been together a while now and-!

"Derek."

"I’m just saying, if you’re proposing to Prentiss with a rock rock, that is weirdly on brand."

Across from you, Emily shifted in her sleep. Everyone froze until she settled again.

You pointed at Morgan and tried to whisper, threateningly, "I will end you."

Garcia whispered, "I want to be maid of honor."

"It’s not an engagement rock." You protested once more.

JJ’s smile turned gentle. "It's still a love rock, of sorts."

You looked down at your bag, embarrassed by how warm your face felt. "Maybe."

xxxxxxxxxxxx

That night, back in D.C., Emily came over to your place after you both showered off the exhaustion of the case. She looked tired but content, curled on your couch in one of your old shirts, socked feet tucked under your thigh.

You could have waited for a better moment but, really, you didn’t want to.

"I got you something," you said, clearing your throat.

Emily turned her head. "You did?"

"Don’t make it weird though."

Her eyebrows lifted. "That guarantees I will make it weird."

You reached for the small box on the coffee table and handed it to her. She studied you for a second before opening it. And for once, Emily Prentiss had no immediate comeback. She lifted the stone carefully from the tissue paper, thumb brushing over the pink bands.

"It’s... rhodochrosite," you said, suddenly nervous and trying not to trip over the name of the damn thing. "It's from Colorado. The guy at the shop said it was local, and I know your collection is mostly places and memories, so I thought maybe this could be from this case. Or not the case, exactly, because that was awful, but from coming home. From the after."

Emily didn’t say anything.

You rushed on. "And before you ask, yes, Morgan made an engagement ring joke. Several, actually. Garcia may already be planning a wedding. I told them it was not that kind of rock. Not yet, anyway."

Emily’s mouth curved, but her eyes were bright.

You swallowed. "And if you hate it then it can just be a paperweight."

She looked down at the stone again, cradled in her palm like something fragile, "I don’t hate it," she said softly.

"Good."

"I love it." Your chest loosened. Emily leaned forward and kissed you. It was slow, gentle, and so full of tenderness that you forgot whatever self-deprecating joke you had been preparing.

When she pulled back, her forehead rested against yours.

"You got me a rock," she murmured.

"I did."

"A love rock."

You groaned. "JJ said that."

"JJ is right."

"Please don’t encourage her."

Emily laughed, then looked down at the stone again, "No one’s ever done that for me."

"What, bought you a rock?"

"No," She traced the rough edge with her thumb. "No one's paid attention like that."

The words hit you harder than you expected, you reached for her hand and brushed your thumb over her knuckles, "Em."

She shook her head, smiling like she didn’t want to make it too serious. "I’m okay."

"I know."

But you also knew what she meant. Emily had spent so much of her life being useful, composed, unreadable. People saw the competence first. The sharp wit or the clean shot. The woman who could walk into danger with her chin up and her fear hidden so deep even she sometimes forgot it existed.

You loved those things about her but you loved this too... Emily tucked away on your couch, holding a pink rock like it was her own little treasure.

"I like paying attention to you," you said and you watched as her expression softened. You hesitated, then added, "You know, I’ll always be here for you. Whatever happens, I’ll never leave you, I can promise you that."

Emily went very still.

For one awful second, you worried you had said too much. You were too direct, it was all too soon. The words had slipped out because they were true, because they had been living in the back of your thoat for weeks, maybe months.

Then Emily set the stone carefully back in its box and reached for you. She pulled you into her arms with surprising strength, one hand at the back of your neck, the other wrapped tight around your waist.

You held her just as tightly.

"I mean it," you whispered against her shoulder. "I know people have. I know sometimes life does things we don’t get a say in. But I’m here. I’m choosing this. I’m choosing you."

Emily’s breath trembled and when she spoke, her voice was quiet. "You can’t promise nothing bad will happen."

"No," you said. "But I can promise I won’t walk away just because loving you gets hard."

She held you tighter and for a while, neither of you moved.

The apartment was quiet except for the hum of the heater and the distant sound of traffic below. The little pink stone sat on the table, catching the lamplight.

Finally, Emily pulled back enough to look at you.

"I really love you."

You smiled and shook your head, "You might not for long because I know mineral facts now."

"Oh no."

"Like did you know that quartz-" She kissed you before you could finish and you just smiled against her mouth.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

The next morning, Emily brought the rhodochrosite to work. She had tried to do it subtly at first, but Garcia spotted the box in approximately three seconds.

"Is that the rock?" she shrieked. Every head in the bullpen turned and Emily stopped walking.

You closed your eyes. "Penelope."

Morgan appeared from around the corner as if he had been summoned. "Prentiss, let’s see the engagement rock."

"It is not an engagement rock," Emily said, grinning from ear to ear.

"But it is from your lover," Garcia said, clasping her hands. "Which makes it romantic."

Reid nodded, "Technically, I would say that geology can be very romantic. The study of rocks often involves deep time, pressure, transformation-"

Morgan pointed at him. "See? Even the kid himself says it’s love."

Emily reached over and squeezed your hand lightly, once. She opened the box and showed them the stone. For once, everyone quieted.

Garcia’s expression melted, "Oh. It’s beautiful."

"Yeah," Morgan said, softer now. "It is."

Emily glanced at you. You gave her a small smile.

She looked back at the team, her usual smirk returning. "And if any of you call it a pebble, I’ll make sure your paperwork disappears for a month."

Morgan held up both hands. "That was your girlfriend. I personally wouldn’t dream of it." You stuck your tongue out at him from behind Emily, whilst she just nodded once.

"Good."

She set the box on her desk, right beside her monitor and, all day, you caught her looking at it. You couldn't help but notice that every time she did, she looked at you afterward. As though she was checking that you were still there.

Every time, you were.

The day had been well and truly shit. That was the only way to describe it.

Two surgeries ran over. One attending blamed you for something that wasn’t even your fault. Then the ER got slammed just as you were supposed to leave, which meant that instead of going home, showering, and pretending the day never happened, you spent another three hours getting yelled at by patients, families, and one particularly angry paramedic.

By the time you actually arrived at Arizona’s barbecue, you were running hours late and entirely on caffeine and spite. You had briefly considered not coming at all and instead going home, collapsing into bed, and ignoring your phone for the next twelve hours... but you knew yourself well enough to know that if you went home alone tonight, you’d just replay every mistake in your head until morning.

So... barbecue it was.

It was crowded in the garden. Music drifted from a speaker somewhere near the treeline at the far end of Arizona's yard, just loud enough to blend into the hum of conversation. A few pediatric nurses were gathered around the grill, loudly and jokingly arguing over burger temperatures like it was life or death. You rolled your eyes.

Fairy lights had been strung across the fence, casting everything in warm gold and making the whole place feel softer somehow. It was calm, peaceful.

You wished you could actually feel any of those things right now.

You finally sank into a patio chair with a quiet groan, taking a long sip of your beer as you tried to force your shoulders to relax. They felt permanently lodged somewhere near your ears after the day you’d had.

"Wow," You looked up to see Alex Karev standing over you, hands shoved in his pockets and an annoyingly smug grin on his face. "I didn’t know it was possible," he said, "but you somehow look worse outside the hospital."

You glared and aimed a lazy kick at his knee, missing on purpose.

"I think you’ll find," you said, nodding toward the chair beside you, motioning for him to sit, "that I am actually thriving."

He snorted, looking over as another chair scraped loudly against the patio and Cristina dropped into it beside you with an audible sigh.

"Sure thing," she said, immediately joining your conversation with an eyebrow raised at you as she appraised you. "That face screams 'thriving'."

You brushed her off, distracted by something going on further down the garden and, ever the observant friend, her eyes followed your line of sight across the garden and her eyes narrowed.

"Oh."

Karev frowned. "Oh what?"

Cristina pointed at your face, "She’s doing the thing again."

"What thing?" He frowned, leaning into your space and peering into your eyes. His close proximity brought you back down to Earth and you swatted him away, taking another sip of your beer.

"The staring."

You straightened immediately, clearing your throat, "Uh, no, I don’t stare."

Cristina let out a small huff of laughter, "You’re staring right now."

"I’m not staring." You set your jaw, deliberately keeping your eyes set on Christina in an attempt to prove your point. Then considered the fact that you were staring at Christina so maybe you should just look at Karev, or-

Cristina paused your internal monologue when she held out a hand to Karev, "Ten bucks if you can guess who."

Karev scoffed. "Ten bucks? Please. I’m not that desperate for-"

His gaze followed yours and he froze. Then he slowly grinned and let out a short burst of laughter.

"Oh."

Your stomach dropped and you firmly shook your head, focusing on your beer bottle, the label peeling off slightly at the corner. You couldn't be accused of staring at anyone if you were staring at the drink in your hand, "No."

"Oh, wow."

"Don’t, Karev."

"You’ve got to be kidding me. Easiest ten bucks I'll ever earn. You better cough up." He held his hand out to Yang as you finally gave back in to the pull you felt, letting your eyes settle over to her again. Across the garden, Addison Montgomery stood near the drinks table talking to Bailey, wine glass in hand.

Dark jeans, cream blouse and hair down. Unfair really. Very distracting.

Just completely unfair.

You sank lower in your chair. "I’ve had a bad day and I really don’t need this right now." You mumbled, feeling like a little kid being teased on the playground again.

Karev just ignored you. "Of course you like her."

You narrowed your eyes, "What does that even mean?"

He shrugged, "Well, she’s kind of an ass-"

"Hey, if I was into assholes, you’d be top of my list." You grumbled, shooting him a glare again. You seemed to be doing a lot of that recently. Maybe you needed a better attitude to life. Ah well, there's time for that, today sucks enough to be grumpy.

"I'm saying… she’s alright. For an attending. That’s all I’m saying. Older than you but... who am I to yuck your yum?"

You groaned, "Please don't ever say that again. I really hate this conversation."

Cristina crossed her arms, "Have you even spoken to her?"

"Yes."

Karev barked out a laugh, "Liar."

"I have." You leant back in your chair, finishing your beer, eyes on the look out for another one - anything to escape this conversation.

"When?"

You hesitated.

"…Around the hospital."

Cristina raised a brow, "Around?"

You leaned over to an ice box, grabbing another drink and waving Yang away, "You know. Corridors. Elevators. She gave me a coffee once. I think it was meant for someone else... but I still drank it so-"

Cristina stared. "That is so sad."

Karev nodded. "I think you just described having a coworker you exist near."

"You guys suck."

Karev suddenly leaned forward, a dangerous glint entering his eyes. You recognized that look instantly. A look of trouble. He was going to do something stupid. He was going to do something stupid... in your direction. You watched as he glanced down at your chair leg, to somewhere behind you, and lifted his leg.

"Karev, no-"

Too late. His foot slammed into the front of your chair, his foot landing on the edge and the chair jolted backward. Your new beer launched straight into the air and the cold liquid poured down your front.

"What the hell?!"

Cristina burst into peels of laughter. Karev leaned back, far too pleased with himself.

"You were saying you had a shitty day," he said. "I had to put things into perspective."

"You absolute-"

"Are you okay?"

Everything stopped and your heart nearly stopped with it. That voice, warm, smooth and familiar. You turned around to see Addison was standing right there, looking directly at you.

At your soaked shirt.

At Karev.

At the puddle of beer beneath your chair.

Then her gaze settled on Karev. One eyebrow lifted. “Karev.”

He straightened.

"She was complaining she was too hot."

You whipped around.

"I did not-"

Addison’s gaze sharpened, "So you kicked her chair?"

Karev raised both hands. "I carefully… helped her to-"

"You kicked her chair."

"So what? She’s fine. Right?" He shrugged. Addison gave him a look so sharp it could have cut glass and Karev cracked, "…Right. Sorry, I guess," he said and, upon facing you, a twinkle set in his eye and he winked at you.

Addison had already turned her back to him, missing his grin, and focused on you, immediately softer. "Come on."

xxxxxxxxxxxx

By the time you reached her car, your pulse still hadn’t settled.

You changed into the soft pullover she handed you, a soft, navy, and much-too-big pullover, and tried very hard not to think about the fact that it smelled like her.

When you were done, Addison climbed into the open trunk and patted the space beside her. "Just sit for a moment."

You hesitated but eventually the pull was too much and you found yourself sat beside her.

The street was quiet compared to the party. Music drifted faintly from the yard, softened by distance. Addison tucked one leg beneath herself and looked at you.

"So."

You exhaled. "So?"

She studied you for a long moment, eyes steady on your face.

"You okay?"

You attempted a self-conscious laugh, just about fighting the urge to completely brush her off, but decising to settle on middle ground - some truth. "I had a bad day. Karev was just trying to cheer me up." Her mouth twitched and you felt like you had to defend him, only slightly. "He has good intentions."

Addison gave you a look and took in a deep breath, "I think we may be thinking of different Karevs."

Despite yourself, you smiled. "Hmm, fair."

Her expression softened. "So. A bad day?"

Your shoulders sagged, "It’s nothing new." You shrugged a little but she waited.

That was the thing about Addison, she never rushed a silence. Never filled it just to make herself comfortable. And eventually, the words came.

"It’s just… the OR was a mess. The ER was even worse. I got blamed for things I didn’t do and everyone needed everything all at once and I just…"

Your voice caught and you swallowed hard. Crying in front of anyone was one thing but crying in front of the women that could have you wrapped around her little finger? Pure embarrassment.

"I don’t know," You gave a weak laugh. "...I think I’m just tired."

Addison was quiet for a moment. Then her voice softened, "Hey."

You looked up. Her eyes held yours, they were steady, warm and impossibly gentle.

"You will be okay."

The words hit harder than they should have and then your eyes burned instantly. "Oh no."

Her brows lifted. "Oh no?"

You laughed shakily. "I think I might cry, just a little bit." You scrunched your nose up as your eyes prickled with tears already forming.

"That’s okay." Her thumb brushed your cheek, wiping away a tear and her whole expression shifted, softening even further. She hummed, her voice came out quiet, almost a whisper, "You really don’t see it, do you?"

Your brow furrowed, "See what?"

She exhaled through a small smile, "You’re actually going to make me say this out loud, huh?" Your pulse kicked lightly. She looked away for half a second, almost amused with herself, "God, I feel like I’m sixteen." She muttered under her breath.

You blinked slowly. "What?"

"Like I'm some lovesick teenager trying to confess to the girl she likes."

Your brain stopped completely. "…What?" And Addison looked back at you, only honesty in her steady gaze.

"I like you."

You stared, your brain feeling like it was short-circuiting slightly, "No, I don't... think so?"

She blinked, her head tilted to one side, "You don't... what? What does that even mean?"

"It means it doesn’t seem possible."

"And why exactly is it not possible?" She asked, a small grin forming on her face.

You made a helpless gesture between the two of you, "Because you’re Addison Montgomery."

She stared, her eyes sparkling through her smile, "That is... not an explanation."

"Okay. Fine. From my perspective, you are beautiful, terrifying, brilliant, and half the hospital is either in love with you or afraid of you."

She narrowed her eyes, "I'm not terrifying." You gave her a look and she sighed. "Fine. Occasionally intimidating."

You ignored the alteration to your own statement and forged on.

"My point is, why would I think you like me?"

Addison stared at you for a moment like she genuinely could not believe this conversation was happening. Then she said, very slowly, "Because I flirt with you."

Your jaw dropped, "You do not."

"I absolutely do." She folded her arms. "In the elevator last Thursday, I told you your scrubs were distracting."

You frowned and shook your head, "Because they had blood on them." She just stared and gently shook her head right back at you. Your mouth opened. And closed.

Oh.

Addison continued, sounding almost exasperated now. "I bring you coffee."

"You bring lots of people coffee."

"No, I really don’t." She shifted closer, just enough that the space between you suddenly felt very noticeable. "When you speak in patient conferences, I listen to what you’re saying, not because I have to, but because I want to hear what you think."

Your breath caught.

"When we’re in surgery together, I notice everything." Her voice had gone lower now, quieter, more intimate. "I notice when you’re tired, even when you insist you’re fine. I notice when you’re stressed because your entire posture changes like you’re turning inwards, trying to protect yourself."

You couldn’t move.

Could barely breathe.

"I know when you’re happy, too," she continued, softer now. "Because you get this little crease beside your left eye when you smile properly. Not the polite smile you give colleagues, the real one." She gently places her finger near your temple.

Her gaze flicked over your face with pure tenderness.

"I know exactly how your eyes change when you’re overthinking something. They get distant for a second, like you disappear into your own head."

She lifted her other hand slowly, giving you time to pull away, but you didn’t. Her fingertips brushed your cheek.

"And you chew the inside of your cheek when you’re anxious." Then, your entire body went still because she was right, and you were doing it now. You pushed your cheek out from between your teeth.

Addison’s thumb brushed once near your jaw, her voice softening into something almost impossibly gentle. "I notice you." She paused, searching your face like she needed you to understand. "I notice when you walk into a room, even when I’m in the middle of something important. I notice when you’ve skipped lunch. I notice when you pretend you’re okay because you don’t want to burden anyone."

Her eyes shone with raw honesty now.

"And I notice that you keep looking at me like I’m something unattainable, something distant, when the truth is…" She swallowed. "I have spent months trying to get your attention."

A tiny, disbelieving laugh escaped you. "What?"

Three days.

That was how long Miss Eloise Bridgerton had been insisting she was not ill, a fact you knew because she had informed you of it at least twice a day.

"I am not ill."

Yesterday, she'd announced it while sneezing halfway through the sentence. Today, she looked pale enough to compete with the wallpaper in her bedroom.

You were not going to win this argument... or not immediately, at least. Perserverance is key with Eloise.

"You've been saying that since Monday." You sighed, placing her ribbons neatly in a line on the dresser.

Eloise barely looked up from the book balanced in one hand, "Because it's true."

"Mhm, so you keep telling me."

"It is."

You crossed the room, folding the fresh dress you'd brought up from the laundry before placing it neatly across the end of the bed. You noticed that she still hadn't turned the page.

Interesting.

"You've been reading the same sentence for the last ten minutes," You pointed out and Eloise rolled her eyes.

"I've been thinking about all that has been written."

"You've just been staring." You reiterated, stupidly determined to win one single argument with her.

"I can do both."

You smiled despite yourself.

That was probably true. If there was one person capable of simultaneously reading, arguing with an author who'd been dead for a hundred years, and planning how to annoy at least two of her brothers before supper, it was Eloise Bridgerton.

Ordinarily, she would have been pacing by now. Books rarely kept her still for long before some new thought demanded to be shared, and she would leap to her feet halfway through a chapter because she had spotted a bird 'behaving suspiciously', or decided society had found yet another inventive way to disappoint her.

Today, she had barely moved.

You noticed because noticing Eloise had quietly become second nature.

You noticed when she skipped breakfast because something had distracted her. You noticed when she tied her ribbons unevenly because she had been thinking about something else entirely. You noticed when a conversation with Lady Danbury had thoroughly exhausted her, because she would sigh exactly twice before disappearing into the library.

And today... today she looked exhausted.

She rubbed absent-mindedly at one eye before immediately pretending she hadn't. Your brow furrowed, "You didn't sleep."

"I did," she immediately protested. You were sure she hardly even knew what she was protesting about but knew she had to argue her way out of something and would wholly commit to it.

"You yawned three times while saying that."

"I was just... emphasising."

"You were tired."

"I was just joking. It was delibera-" Another yawn interrupted her mid-sentence. You laughed and she finally looked up at you, "There are entirely too many people in this house determined to convince me I've succumbed to some terrible plague."

"Who else has mentioned it?" You asked, smoothing a crease in her bed spread.

"My mother."

You nodded once, "Reasonable."

"Benedict."

"Also reasonable." You shrugged.

"Hyacinth," At that, you raised an eyebrow. "She called me 'all droopy.'"

You bit the inside of your cheek, "Well..."

"Don't."

"I was merely saying-"

"I know exactly what you were going to say," She pointed accusingly at you with the book, "You've joined them."

"Eloise, it's called common sense."

"I've lost you to the other side." She sighed dramatically, tilting her head back.

You crossed to the wardrobe and quietly corrected the collar she had somehow managed to leave folded beneath itself after dressing that morning.

Sometimes, you wondered whether she did things like that deliberately, simply to see whether you would notice but of course, you always did. It was your job.

You turned back to her for one final hurrah, "You've got a temperature."

"That's your opinion."

"No, it's a fact. Pure and simple."

She rolled her eyes dramatically, "Did you know that you are relentlessly persistent?"

"I've only learnt from the best. And it is part of the job."

Something flickered across her face but it was gone almost before you could register it. Then she looked back down at her book.

"...I don't think it is."

Your hands stilled.

You were not entirely sure what she meant by that, and judging by the way she immediately hid behind her book again, neither was she.

Silence settled comfortably between you.

Over the past year, you had grown used to it.

When you had first been assigned as Eloise's maid, your conversations had begun with idle chatter while brushing out her hair before bed. Then she had started asking what you thought about books, then politics, then marriage, then why society seemed perfectly content pretending women had no thoughts worth hearing.

You had answered, sometimes cautiously. You always tried to be honest, you knew she preferred that. She had once admitted she found it refreshing, and you had never confessed that being asked in the first place felt much the same.

Most ladies barely looked at their maids. Although, it could be said that maybe Eloise looked at you rather too often.

You thought it may be because she thought your opinions genuinely mattered. Sometimes you considered that it could be for an altogether different reason, maybe the same reason your own heart skipped a beat whenever she was near.

You were buttoning the cuffs of the fresh day dress when you realised she'd gone unusually quiet.

It seemed too quiet and so you looked up. The book had slipped slightly in her hands and her eyes had closed.

"Miss Eloise?"

They flew open at once, "I wasn't asleep." She blurted out, straightening up in her chair and wiping at the sides of her mouth, fearful of drool making it's escape.

"You absolutely were."

"I was... thinking."

"You were snoring." You took the book from her hand, gently placing it down on the dresser, next to the bows.

"I most certainly was not."

You smiled, turning around and holding your hand out, "There was definitely a little snore."

"I was..." She frowned, clearly trying to invent something believable. "...contemplating."

You couldn't help laughing. She frowned but still took your hand.

"I've never known someone quite so determined to argue with the truth," You commented, pulling her up from her seated position and gently tugging her towards the bed.

That finally coaxed the smallest smile onto her face and she allowed herself to be dragged over.

"There she is," you murmured before you could stop yourself.

The smile lingered for only a heartbeat before another wave of exhaustion pulled it away. You felt her grip on your hand loosen slightly and watched, with alarm, as she appeared to tilt slightly.

Your hands dashed out, holding her at her waist, before she could properly keel over, "Eloise?"

Her breath came out shaky, hitting the base of your neck as you held her close, "I am perfectly well." You helped her to the bed, letting her sit on the edge as you took a proper look at her.

"You nearly fell over," You frowned, putting the back of your hand to both cheeks, checking the temperature.

"I simply stood too quickly," She shrugged, batting your hand away.

You gave her a look and, to be fair to her, she returned it with admirable determination.

"You've barely stood up all day."

"I fail to see your point."

"My point is that people who are perfectly well generally manage standing without letting themselves fall face down to the ground."

She hesitated and let out a wheezy huff of air, "I dislike your point."

"I suspected you might."

She stood slowly and straightened, clearly intending to prove you wrong by walking across the room.

She managed precisely three steps and then the cough caught her without warning.

It bent her double, stealing every breath before she could draw another. One hand gripped the edge of the dresser while the other pressed against her ribs, her shoulders shaking with the force of it.

You rested a careful hand between her shoulder blades, waiting until the fit finally eased. When she looked up again, her eyes watered from the effort.

"There," she managed hoarsely, "I've survived. I'm fine."

You stared at her, "I have absolutely no idea how that's meant to reassure me."

xxxxxxxxxxxx

The house had settled into the kind of silence that only arrived long after everyone had retired.

You rarely saw Bridgerton House like this. By day it was full of footsteps, conversations drifting from open drawing rooms and siblings calling to one another across corridors. At night, it felt almost unfamiliar, the silence making the house seem larger than it truly was.

You had only left Eloise for a few minutes. It was long enough to fetch fresh water, another cloth for her forehead, and reassure Lady Bridgerton that, yes, her daughter had finally fallen asleep.

Or so you had believed.

Balancing the basin carefully against your hip, you nudged the bedroom door open with a quiet, "I'm back."

No answer. You frowned.

"Eloise?" Still nothing. You looked around to find that the room was completely empty, not a Bridgerton to be seen.

The covers had been thrown back in obvious haste, one pillow lying half on the floor. Her book remained open across the bed, abandoned mid-page, while the candle beside it still burned.

She could not have gone far but that didn't particulalry ease your fear too much. You set the basin down so quickly that water splashed over the rim.

"Eloise?"

The dressing room was empty, so was the adjoining sitting room.

You turned back into the bedchamber, your pulse beginning to quicken, when a movement caught your eye.

The curtains stirred gently and the balcony doors stood open.

Cold night air was drifting into the room. You didn't know how you hadn't noticed it, you always noticed everyth- No time for that. You crossed the room at once.

The wind met you the moment you stepped outside, sharp enough to sting your cheeks.

Eloise stood with one hand resting lightly against the stone wall, gazing out across the sleeping gardens and she was wearing nothing but her thin nightdress.

For one fleeting moment, the sight was almost peaceful. Then you remembered that she'd spent the day burning with fever.

"Eloise," You tried to keep your voice low and calm. She hummed without turning, "What are you doing out here?"

"I needed some air," Her words came slowly, each one sounding as though she had to think about it before speaking.

You moved closer, "It is freezing."

"I know," She turned to face you slightly, her red cheeks shining and her sweaty hair clamped down on her forehead, "It feels nice."

"It only feels nice because your temperature is far too high." You said, lightly wrapping your fingers around her arm, wincing at how obviously thin the material was.

She frowned, considering that very carefully, "I suppose..." She agreed, "It was too warm in there," She rubbed tiredly at her forehead before giving a soft little laugh, "Everything keeps spinning."

You stepped properly in front of her. "Eloise," Her gaze found yours eventually, though it took longer than it should have. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused, hardly able to latch on to you.

"You look worried," She murmured.

"I am worried."

"You shouldn't be," A sleepy smile crossed her face, "I shall be perfectly well in a minute."

You reached up and pressed the back of your hand against her forehead. The power of the heat startled you. She was burning.

"Oh, god, El." You muttered and she scrunched her nose.

"Don't fuss."

You bit at your lip slightly and shook your head, "I'm afraid it's rather too late for that."

"You always fuss." She mumbled, moving her hand around your shoulder and gently cupping the back of your neck, even her hand was giving off waves of heat.

"You give me every reason to," Your voice was low as a shiver ran through your spine, whether from the biting cold of the wind, or your proximity to Eloise.

She simply looked at you and then, very quietly, she smiled, "I do like when you fuss."

Your breath caught, "Eloise..."

"You must stay." She swayed closer, her hand dropping to rest on your shoulder now, her hand running through your hair. Her words slurred together just enough to make your stomach tighten, "You always stay." The fever had her in it's grips now. You felt like crying, never before had you felt so powerless to help her.

"I do," You agreed and she nodded, apparently satisfied.

"So..." She tilted her head, "...stay."

Your eyes stung, "I'm not going anywhere."

Another tiny nod and then her knees gave way. You caught her before she struck the stone, wrapping one arm firmly around her waist while your other hand caught the wall to steady you both.

"Eloise," She sagged against you with a weary sigh, all the determination she'd clung to for three days disappearing in an instant. "Sweetheart?"

Her skin felt impossibly hot through the thin cotton of her nightdress.

"Eloise, look at me," You could hear your voice begging slightly but you weren't ashamed of it. Her eyes fluttered open.

"Hm?"

"You need to stay awake," Your voice was tinged with urgency.

Her head lolled slightly, "I am awake."

"You're barely awake."

She frowned, "You called me sweetheart."

Your heart skipped, "I..." You could blame that on the fever, right? Was that an ethical thing to do? Tell your employer she's not hearing right?

"You never..." Her eyes drifted closed again.

"No," Panic finally took hold. You tightened your hold around her, "Eloise. Sweetheart?" You guessed you were willing to try anything but she barely responded. You shook her shoulder gently.

Nothing. She wasn't unconscious (not yet anyway) but she felt frighteningly close to it. Drawing a shaky breath, you did the only thing you could think of.

"Lady Bridgerton!" Your voice rang through the sleeping house, "Anyone? I need help!"

Doors opened almost immediately and lights flared along the corridor. You let out the breath you were holding as you heard the footsteps thundering towards the room.

"What happened?" Lady Bridgerton appeared at the doorway, face drawn in horror as she took in the scene in front of her. Her daughter sprawled out on the floor, being cradled by her maid.

"She's burning with fever!" Your voice shook ever so slightly as you pulled Eloise close in, trying to share any body heat you could to keep her warm.

Lady Bridgerton reached you first, gently cupping Eloise's face while calling for maids and the physician in the same breath. Anthony was close behind, the other siblings crowding the room.

Everything that was called for was quickly brought - candles, fresh water with towels and all the blankets that could be found as quickly as they were needed.

You found both Eloise and yourself bundled in between these thick, woollen blankets, still shivering away. Voices crossed over one another but you barely heard any of them from your little stool by Eloise's bed. You found yourself lucky that no one had yet tried to evict you. It was your mission to keep your attention fixed on Eloise for as long as was needed.

You slowly noticed that, even in the grip of fever, her fingers had curled tightly into your sleeve. She was stubborn and hadn't let go.

Somewhere beneath the delirium... she still knew where to find you. And you would stay for as long as you could.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

By the third night after the balcony incident, the fever had finally started breaking (thank god) because another twelve hours of Eloise half-delirious and trying to argue with you about whether medicine was secretly poison might have finished you off instead.

You sat slumped in the chair beside her bed, your neck aching from sleeping in positions no person was ever meant to sleep in. Every bone protested as you stood, stretching carefully before glancing towards the door.

You should sleep in a proper bed, for an actually healthy amount of time for once. You'd actually even just take a solid hour of sleep if possible.

You’d barely taken two steps toward the door when-

"Don’t."

You froze and, slowly, you turned. Eloise was awake.

The feverish haze had gone from her eyes, leaving them clearer than they had been in days, though they still carried the exhaustion she clearly felt.

"You need rest," you said quietly, sneaking back to her side, pulled in by the feeling of pure relief to see her coherent again.

"So do you," Her voice was rough, the fever leaving its mark, but there was no mistaking the determination behind it.

"I'll sleep in my own room. I was just going now to-"

Eloise frowned, "No." and you smiled despite yourself.

Even after several days confined to bed, she still managed to sound personally offended whenever someone tried to disagree with her.

"Miss Eloise..."

"I do not care. And don't call me that," The words were firm, but they lacked their usual bite. They still made you hesitate.

Instead of answering, you held up a glass of water, holding it gently to her mouth. Your hand reached for the back of her neck to support her as she took a few mouthfuls of the drink.

Your mind flashed back to the balcony, her own hand at the base of your neck, her body flush to yours, the word sweetheart uttered again.

You quickly put the cup down with a thud, bringing yourself back to reality. Eloise watched your expression carefully.

"Come lay down with me," She said, no trace of challenge or joke in her tone. A simple request, or a command. But she sound almost uncertain, as though asking the question had cost her more courage than she'd expected.

You stayed exactly where you were. Every rule you'd ever learnt insisted this was a line that could not be crossed. She was your employer.

A Bridgerton.

You were-

The hesitation did not escape her notice because of course it didn't. A flicker of disappointment crossed her face before she lowered her eyes and tried again, "Please."

That single word broke down any walls you had up because Eloise Bridgerton was many things. She was stubborn, opinionated and entirely too clever for her own good. But she was not someone who asked for anything so quietly.

You nodded before you could persuade yourself otherwise. At first, you just perched on the side of her bed because that felt safer somehow. You promised yourself you would stay only until she fell asleep again.

Eloise sighed and her hand wrapped around your wrist. Very carefully, she pulled you down. You didn't put up much of a fight and you stretched out on top of the covers, still leaving what you considered a perfectly respectable distance between the two of you.

It lasted all of two seconds.

Eloise shifted towards you without the slightest hesitation, settling against your side as naturally as though she'd always belonged there.

You forgot how to breathe. Her head rested lightly against your shoulder. Her hand stayed on your wrist before sliding down, her fingers fitting perfectly between yours.

You stayed perfectly still.

"You worry too much," she murmured. You stared at the ceiling, not sure how to take that.

"You wandered onto a freezing balcony because your fever convinced you cold would cure hot,"

She was quiet for a moment, "...It seemed entirely sensible at the time."

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it and Eloise shifted slightly.

"Are you worried you stayed? Here? With me?" Her eyes held a vulnerability. You wanted to say that of course you were worried. What if someone found you, what if you lost your job, what if you never saw Eloise again?

But you stayed quiet. Maybe a white lie was okay, maybe it was ethical in times like these. You found that your hand had lifted almost of its own accord, gently brushing an unruly curl away from her forehead.

"No, I'd do it every time," You swallowed the lump in your throat, "Of course I stayed."

She closed her eyes again, "I know you're scared." So much for lying, "But I am glad you're here."

The words were so soft you almost thought you'd imagined them. After a long silence, she spoke again.

"You'll stay tomorrow?"

Your chest tightened. She wasn't asking about tomorrow, not really, and you knew that. She meant after the fever, after she was well. After everything returned to normal. After right now, this moment, curled together.

You looked down at her sleeping against your shoulder, "As long as you'll have me, sweetheart."

The corners of her mouth lifted into the faintest smile, "I was rather hoping you'd say that."

The first date was only supposed to be coffee. That was what Kate had said, at least.

"Low pressure," she’d promised, hands stuffed into the pockets of her purple jacket. "Casual, you know? Easy. Very normal because I can do normal."

You had smiled. "Can you?"

Kate narrowed her eyes. "That sounded kinda judgmental."

"No, no, it was just... curiousity."

"I think curiousity might just be saying something in a judgmental tone."

And soon enough, coffee became coffee and pastries, which became a walk through the park, which became Kate insisting she 'knew a place with the best dumplings in the city', which became both of you getting slightly lost because Kate absolutely did not know where she was going.

"I’m not lost," she said, turning in a slow circle on the sidewalk.

"You’ve looked at that street sign three times."

"I’m just taking in my surroundings, appreciating the little things in life."

"You’re lost."

"I’m an archer. We have instincts about things like this."

"Oh, so archers are like google maps? Do you have an in-built compass or something?"

"My instincts are telling me you’re enjoying this too much."

You were.

Kate was funny in a way that felt impossible to prepare for. She talked with her whole body, hands moving, eyes bright, every story somehow ending with property damage, Clint Barton, or an apology to a dog.

By the time you did find the dumpling place, you were laughing so hard your cheeks hurt.

Over dinner, she told you about the first time she tried to look intimidating during a stakeout and accidentally dropped an entire bag of trail mix down a fire escape.

"It sounded like rain," she said solemnly. "Tiny, nut-filled rain. I was starving as well."

You covered your mouth. "Did anyone see?"

"Ah, only the bad guys." she shrugged.

You bit your lip, "Oh, well at least-"

"And Clint."

"Right... that’s worse."

"So much worse." You laughed again, and Kate stared at you for half a second too long before quickly looking down at her plate.

Then, after dumplings, neither of you had said goodbye. Instead, you wandered beneath the city lights, shoulders brushing every few steps.

Kate bought a pretzel from a street cart and immediately lost half of it to a pigeon when the bird swooped.

Kate gasped and you watched, stunned, as she pointed after it, "That was targeted!"

"It was just hungry."

She shook her head vehemently, "No, that pigeon knew who I was. I saw the look in his eyes."

"You think pigeons are tracking Avengers now?"

"Maybe. If I were a pigeon, I would."

That was what broke you, the absurdity of it all but also just Kate. You didn't let out any old laugh.

It was a full, helpless, tearful laugh that made you stop walking and lean against a lamppost, one hand pressed to your stomach. Kate just froze.

At first you thought she was offended and then you saw her face, a little stunned smile forming.

"What?" you asked, still smiling, wiping under one eye.

Kate opened her mouth, then closed it.

Then, with the confidence of someone stepping directly off a cliff, said, "Will you marry me?"

The city kept moving around you, a taxi honked and somewhere nearby, someone shouted into their phone.

You blinked. Kate blinked right back, before pure horror flooded her face.

"Nope," she said quickly, shaking her head and striding off down the road. “No. That was not- wow. Okay. That was insane. Who said that? Not me.”

You bit your lip, running after her. "Kate-"

"I don’t have a ring," she continued, words tumbling out faster, still pacing, hands flying around alongside her words, "Not that the ring is the issue. The issue is that this is our first date, and I just asked you to marry me because you laughed at my pigeon trauma, which is not a stable foundation for lifelong commitment."

You tried not to laugh and completely failed. Kate groaned, covering her face with both hands, "Please don’t judge me by the last ten seconds."

"I’m not." You softly pulled at her wrists, bringing her hands back down, eyes tracing across the light brush covering her cheeks.

"Judge me by literally any other part of today." She all but begged.

You shrugged and nodded, "I liked today."

Her hands fell to her sides, "You did?"

"I did."

"Oh." Her smile flickered back, shy and bright. "Good."

You stepped closer. "So you’re not proposing?"

"Absolutely not. Not yet."

"Shame. I was curious where you’d take that."

"I had no plan. My brain saw you happy and just..." She made a vague exploding gesture near her head. "Short-circuited."

Your heart softened. Kate swallowed, suddenly nervous.

"Can I ask a different question?"

You tilted your head. "Another one?"

"Yeah."

"You ask so many questions."

"I like clarity."

"I noticed."

She took a tiny step closer, "Can I kiss you?"

You smiled and, instead of answering, you caught the front of her jacket gently and pulled her in.

Kate kissed you like she was surprised for half a second, and then like she’d been waiting all night. When you pulled away, she was grinning.

"Okay," she whispered. "That was a much better question."

You laughed softly. "Definitely."

Kate glanced down the street, then back at you, "So... a second date?"

"You really do ask a lot of questions."

Amelia Shepherd hated book clubs. Actually, correction... Amelia Shepherd hated the idea of book clubs.

"They're homework," she'd declared the moment you'd come home waving a flyer you'd picked up from the hospital café. "Everyone keeps trying to invent ways to make my free time feel like school."

You'd laughed. "It's only once a month."

"Yeah, once a month of assigned reading." She sighed, chopping up the carrot you had placed in front of her with enthusiasm.

"They have fancy coffee."

She raised an eyebrow and picked up the next veg to chop, zucchini, "I can buy drinks that I like without having to discuss pathetic fallacy."

"They have snacks." You tried.

"I can also buy snacks."

You leaned against the kitchen counter, smiling patiently, "They're letting partners join," and that made Amelia pause, just for a moment.

"...Partners?"

"Mhm."

"So you don't actually have to work at the hospital, huh?"

"Nope." You shook your head and couldn’t conceal the grin forming on your face, she narrowed her eyes, "What?" You asked, aiming for the innocent angle.

She put the knife down, shaking her head, "You've already signed us up, haven't you?"

"I might have." You stirred the mixture of food in the pan, not quite yet daring to look Amelia in the eye. She'd be fine with it... you'd hoped, anyway.

"You absolutely have."

Now, you risked a glance, "I thought you'd like it."

Luckily, she was smiling, "I won't."

"You don't even know what the book is."

"I don't need to."

"You are judging an entire experience before trying it."

"I am," she said proudly. "It's something I am very good at."

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Amelia found that she hated it right up until she didn't.

The first meeting was awkward for approximately nine minutes.

Amelia spent those nine minutes wearing the expression she reserved for mandatory HR training, sipping terrible coffee and answering questions with as few words as possible. She looked like a grumpy teenager.

Then someone made an awfully incorrect interpretation of the main character's motivations and Amelia lasted a whole seven seconds before jumping in.

"No," she said, sitting forward. The room stopped to look at her, "That's... no. She isn't selfish."

The discussion lasted forty-five minutes and you barely spoke. For the most part, you watched your girlfriend accidentally become the most enthusiastic person in the room.

Walking home afterward, Amelia frowned thoughtfully, "You know, I still think book clubs are pretentious."

"Mhm."

"But Linda's point about the ending was ridiculous." She fumed to herself.

You joined your hand with hers, pulling her closer to you, walking shoulder to shoulder, "So you enjoyed yourself?"

She considered the question for a moment before shrugging, "I enjoyed being right."

"That's not what I asked."

"...Maybe I enjoyed it a little."

You bumped her shoulder, "I knew it."

"Don't get smug."

xxxxxxxxxxxx

The real problem arrived with book two because this book was six hundred pages long. Amelia Shepherd barely had enough time to remember to eat lunch, let alone fit 600 pages into her evenings.

With three emergency surgeries, two overnight consults and one resident who nearly fainted during rounds, there was no chance she could squeeze in reading six hundred pages.

By one week in, the bookmark was still sitting stubbornly on page forty-three. She dropped onto the couch beside you with a dramatic groan, "I've failed."

"You've read forty-three pages." You tried, using a light and positive voice.

"Out of six hundred." She groaned, tossing the book onto the coffee table, it landed with a thud.

"To be fair babe, you've had seventy-two working hours in four days."

She rubbed both hands over her face, "The annoying thing is that I actually want to read it."

"I know."

"I just..." She sighed. "Every time I sit down, I fall asleep."

You looked at her for a second, then closed your own book, "Okay."

She frowned, "Okay, what?"

"I'll read to you," You shrugged, leaning across and grabbing her copy of the book.

"...What?" She sat up, frowning.

"Whilst you cook, I'll read."

Amelia blinked, "You mean..."

"Exactly what I said." You let out a soft laugh at her little furrowed brows and small pout.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because... that's ridiculous." She shook her head.

"I disagree."

"You'll get bored."

"I won't."

"You'll do the voices."

"Oh, that? Yes, I absolutely will do that."

She pointed at you, "Fine, read. But I swear, no voices."

xxxxxxxxxxxx

The arrangement lasted exactly one evening before becoming tradition. Amelia would come home exhausted, shoulders tight from twelve hours beneath the glaring lights of the hospital.

You'd already have vegetables chopped or pasta boiling or something simmering on the stove. Then, she'd tie on an apron and you'd pick up the book.

"'Chapter Five,'" you announced dramatically.

"Oh no." The last chapter hadn't ended well.

"'The rain fell with remarkable determination-'"

She put down the knife and shook her finger at you, "No, you are using your narrator voice. We said no voices."

"No, you said no voices." You grinned, "And, I don't have a narrator voice."

"You absolutely do."

You ignored her and continued, "'As though the sky itself-'"

She snorted, "You sound like you're narrating a nature documentary."

Without missing a beat, you deepened your voice. "Observe. The overworked neurosurgeon attempts to make risotto while pretending she isn't emotionally invested in the lives of these fictional people."

She rolled her eyes, picking the knife back up and scraping the chopped food into the sizzling pan, "I hate you."

"You love me," You joined her at the stove top, wrapping your arms around her from behind, book still in hand.

"I tolerate you," she mumbled.

You leaned in to kiss her on the cheek, "You literally moved in."

"I made mistakes," She shrugged.

"You were the one who bought our matching mugs."

She sighed, "The biggest mistake." You could hear her smile before you saw it.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

The thing was...

She really did like listening. There was something different about listening to a story instead of just chasing the words across a page after sixteen hours awake.

She could stir sauce, chop herbs or lean against you while setting the table. She could also close her eyes for just a second and your voice would just keep carrying the story forward.

On occasion, she'd interrupt, "No, wait."

"What?" You paused, holding your finger against where you had just been interrupted so as to not lose your place.

"Read that sentence again," You flipped back a line and she smiled.

She hummed, "I liked that bit."

Sometimes she'd predict endings, "He's lying."

"We don't know that." You shrugged, trying to remain impartial.

"He is," she'd sing-song and often, to her credit, she was correct.

"...We're literally only on chapter eight, how do you-"

"I know people." She'd reply, very enigmatic.

"You know fictional people?" and she would just shrug, tapping the page for you to continue.

Sometimes she'd even argue with the author, "Oh, that's lazy writing."

"They're just setting something up."

"No, I bet their editor just missed that. It's just that rubbish."

xxxxxxxxxxxx

About halfway through the month, Amelia stopped pretending she wasn't invested.

"Don't start without me." She called down the stairs, having just got home and now running for a quick shower.

"I wouldn't," you called back, grabbing her favourite blanket and lighting the candle by the couch.

"You promise?"

"I promise," You heard her let out a little sigh of content before the shower kicked to life. You just smiled to yourself.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

It happened on a Thursday.

She'd been in surgery nearly ten hours, the operation had gone well and the patient would recover but Amelia looked absolutely done in.

She barely spoke through dinner and instead, just leaned against your shoulder while you loaded the dishwasher.

"You okay?" You whispered.

She nodded slowly, "Mhm."

You paused as you put in the last plate and stood up, "You don't have to be."

"I know."

A few minutes later she was curled beside you on the couch, her hair still damp from her shower, one leg tucked beneath yours. You picked up the book, "Ready?"

She nodded sleepily and so you started reading. Her breathing had slowed within minutes.

You paused to look at her and check. She was not quite asleep, not yet. Just resting, so you kept going. Outside, rain tapped gently against the windows. Half an hour later, you reached the end of the chapter.

You looked down and this time, Amelia was fully asleep. One hand still loosely curled around your sleeve. A soft snore sneaking its way past her lips. You smiled and carefully marked the next page to read. You turned off the lamp and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

She stirred, "Mmm..." she rolled further into you.

"You fell asleep." You whispered into her hair.

"No..." She protested, stretching out her tired limbs and forcing her eyes open.

"You did."

"No, I'm listening to you read."

You chuckled, "You were dreaming."

"I can do two things at once." She mumbled and you laughed quietly.

"Come on," you shifted slightly, letting her sit up before you stood. She didn't move again. Instead, eyes still closed, she mumbled,

"...Just one more time."

Your heart melted, "What?" You crouched over her.

"The last few pages. Just read it one more time for me?"

You shook your head softly, "You won't hear it."

"I will." She pushed to re-open her eyes.

You brushed her hair behind her ear, "You won't."

"...Please."

You looked at her, really looked. There were dark circles beneath her eyes, her hair was escaping in every possible direction. She was still wearing one of your hoodies that she'd stolen months ago.

You knew she wasn't asking because she desperately needed to know what happened, she was asking because your voice had become part of her coming home routine, the way for her to rest into the night, separate herself from work.

"You need sleep more than these pages, Amelia."

She made a tiny, dissatisfied sound, "But..."

"I'll read tomorrow." You whispered.

"...Promise?"

"I promise."

She sighed dramatically, "Fine." and took your hand, accepting your help to guide her upstairs and into your bedroom.

Thirty seconds later she was asleep again.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

By the final week of the month, you had a problem, "You know we have..." you counted on your fingers, "...three evenings left."

Amelia looked at the remaining pages, "Oh."

"There are two hundred pages to go still."

"...Oh," She sighed and, for a moment, she looked genuinely distressed, "We're not going to finish, are we?"

"We'll manage," you tried to persuade yourself, as well as her. 70-odd pages a night, you could just about do that... maybe.

She bit her lip, "I don't want to skim it though."

"We won't."

"I actually want to know what happens."

"I know."

She sighed, "Ugh, I hate that I like this stupid book." She thoroughly mixed the sauce that was cooking, stabbing at some particularly large clumps of tomatoes, "I hate that this stupid book club was your idea."

"I know."

"I especially hate that you were right." She pointed a wooden spoon at you, splattering little red drops of sauce onto the floor, "Don't enjoy that."

"I am enjoying it immensely," You grinned, rushing to clean up after her.

Later that same evening, the idea arrived while Amelia slept. She'd fallen asleep on your shoulder again, book open in your lap.

You looked at the clock, then at her. Then at your phone, and picked it up.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

The next morning, Amelia kissed you goodbye in the kitchen, gathering her things, before pausing at the door, "Oh and I'm sorry."

"For what?" You asked, passing her the packed lunch you'd prepared the day before.

"I'll miss reading tonight."

"You've got another late surgery?" She nodded miserably, "It's okay." You assured her.

"I was actually looking forward to chapter forty-two."

"I know." She took the lunch with a kiss and she left before you could say anything else.

Later, at around 11pm, while she was getting ready to leave the hospital, her phone connected automatically to her headphones and a notification appeared.

Playlist shared by You.

Chapter Forty-Two.

She frowned, pressed play.

Your voice filled her ears as she stood in the hallway of the hospital, bag slung over one shoulder.

"Hi." A pause. "I figured if you couldn't be on the couch, then maybe the couch could come to you." She laughed despite herself. "So... chapter forty-two."

You cleared your throat theatrically, "'The train arrived just before dawn...'"

She listened all the way home. At some point, chapter forty-three started automatically. Then forty-four.

And between chapters you'd left little messages.

"Remember to drink water."

"This guy is still really annoying."

"I had to re-record this sentence six times because I couldn't pronounce this town's name."

"If you're smiling right now, I was right about this being a good idea. Don't try to convince me otherwise."

By the time she pulled into the driveway, she was crying a little, mostly from laughing and a little from missing you despite the fact she was sitting just outside the door.

She found you in the kitchen, dropped her bags and wrapped both arms around your waist, "You made me an audiobook."

You looked over your shoulder innocently, "I may have."

"You recorded..." She held up her phone. "Three chapters."

"I got a little carried away."

"You know," she said quietly into your shoulder, "I've spent a lot of my life believing people eventually get tired."

You rested your cheek against her hair, "I know."

"They stop showing up."

You tightened your arms on top of hers, "I won't."

"I know." She smiled, "You keep finding new ways."

You pulled back just enough to look at her, "And I'll do my best to keep finding them."

She searched your face, as if checking whether you understood the weight of what you'd promised.

Then she nodded, "Good."

You kissed her forehead, "So..."

"So?"

"Chapter forty-five?" You nodded to the couch, where her bowl of food was waiting, still steaming.

Amelia smiled, the tired, genuine smile that belonged only to the version of herself that existed at home. She took your hand and led you toward the couch.