where is my mind?

You had thought, rather foolishly, that your fourth year of residency would be a time of celebration. Hooray, you survived almost half a decade of being over worked and underpaid! As a reward, you get to add the stress of job hunting, rigorous interviews, and three AM panics about possibly having to move!

You shouldn’t have been surprised, because that was how life as a doctor was. No breaks. You barely got to celebrate graduation from med school, busy worrying about residency. Nonstop, every day, a barrage of stress, anxiety sweats, and minimal sleep.

You hadn’t always known you wanted to be a doctor. You’d actually gotten a degree in marketing, something you’d thought was a safe bet, before you realized how depressed desk jobs made you. You spent your mid twenties jumping from mediocre job to mediocre job, sure that you just hadn’t found the right one. It was your volunteer work at a trauma center not dissimilar to this one that showed you the light.

Running around, solving problems, keeping your mind busy? That was what you were meant to do. So, you’d scrambled to get your prereqs together and applied to medical school. Your parents thought you were crazy, especially when your residency brought you so far from home, but before long they were texting you symptoms, and pictures of moles, asking for advice.

Perhaps it was the space from your family, the states between you, that made this transition seem even more difficult than the last one. You were in your thirties now, but felt remarkably childish when you cried to your mom about interview outfits. You were drowning. Really, though, it was just the busywork, signatures and business casual pants and 401K talks that had you feeling so stifled. Never the job itself. No, your work in the ER each day was all that kept you going.

And after a sleepless night like the one you’d had, you weren’t just glad to be back, you were hungry for it. You drank it all in as you walked through the door; the yelled orders, the open cases piled high, the squeak of the rusty wheel on the sandwich cart. It was chaos, yes. But you wanted nothing more.

“Good morning,” said Jack gruffly, eyeing you and your smile. “Why are you doing that?”

“Smiling?”

“Yeah, stop it,” he said, clicking into one of the computers. “It’s freaking me out. Are you on something?”

“Just excited to get to work today,” you shrugged.

“Well, have fun,” he said. “I’ve got a toothache and two stomach pains who’ve been here since eleven last night, stable for now but getting a bit restless, and we only just sent the last victim of an MVA up for imaging, so expect most of them to be sticking around for a while.”

“Excellent,” you said.

“Wait a minute, it’s five in the morning,” said Jack suspiciously.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you said innocently. “I’ll take chest pain in three.”

Jack grumbled something as you dumped your bag right at the hub and ran to work, desperate. Was it a bit sad that work was your biggest sense of joy and livelihood? Maybe, if you wanted to listen to society and its breeding, heteronormative forward ideals. To you though, life was okay. Or it would be just as soon as you figured out where you were going to work next year.

And, sure, maybe you were a little lonely, and okay, yeah, like super pent up, but by the time you reached home at the end of your day, you were too exhausted to worry about such things. Not the healthiest approach, but it was just temporary.

You bounced from room to room, picking up slack and running errands just to have something to do until handover. When Jack finally called you back to the hub, it was to find most of the day shift already assembled.

“When did you get in?” asked Robby, looking worse for wear with his eye bags and worryingly large cup of coffee.

“Couple hours ago,” you said. “Wanted to get a head start. Clearly you had other ideas. Rough night, chief?”

“Oh, you know how he gets when he has to work back to back,” said another voice behind you.

You turned. Dana was smirking at you, sunglasses resting on her head. She had two bags in her hands, one of them yours.

“Should have known it was you cluttering up my station before the shift even started,” she said, tossing your bag to you. “Don’t let it happen again.”

“Good morning to you too, gorgeous!” you trilled, smiling back. “You, of course, look lovely as always. With that complexion I’d guess a full eight hours.”

She snorted. No one in the pitt had gotten more than six hours of sleep as long as they’d worked there, as you very well knew. But this was your game. You flirted hopelessly with your beloved charge nurse, she quipped back, and it worked. You lived for the banter the two of you could stir up at a moment’s notice, over empty boards to the middle of hectic traumas, like instinct.

She was an odd bird, to you. You liked to flirt a little, even with the guys if you thought it could get their faces to heat up enough to make you laugh. You were a menace when Whitaker first joined the team, even caught Jack off guard once or twice. But with Dana, it was different.

There was this fire between you, simmering, lighting you up each time you got going. Those rarer occasions when she flirted back made your heart turn. You scanned every room you entered hoping she’d be there. And yet, after almost four years, you hadn’t cracked her.

She had three daughters, two in college, one in her final year of high school. She was divorced but on good terms with her ex husband. You knew her favorite color, her preferred brand of cigarettes, her birthday, and you loved knowing those things. Getting to know her was a joy.

But there were some more pressing questions on your mind.

You’d never known her to have a relationship besides the amicably ended marriage. She was a little older than you, maybe older enough to raise a brow or two, but nothing gross. But if she thought that was an issue, surely she wouldn’t flirt with you? Then again, she might not be gay. Everyone knew you were. Maybe Dana assumed everyone knew she wasn’t?

You had even gone as far in the past as to ask Princess and Perlah for intel, at the risk of having your little crush exposed, but they had little more information. She married young, before either of the gossipy nurses had started at PTMC, and they hadn’t heard any dating rumors since the split.

You had been tempted, when you first became acquainted, to dig for more. It was in your nature after all to take problems head on, get your hands dirty, and find a solution. But something held you back. Maybe it was the fact that you were colleagues, that she had kids, that you liked the way things were too much to push it. You moved on, allowing yourself to appreciate her beauty, passion, and wit from the sidelines without crossing any boundaries.

But when Dana stopped you at the end of the shift and proposed a wine night, to celebrate, she said, you’d readily accepted. 

That was how you found yourself in her living room in the first place, surrounded by Samira, Cassie, Perlah, and Princess. It wasn’t out of the ordinary, gathering for some drinks, though it was the first time you’d been in Dana’s house.

“It’s a great place,” you said, glancing around while everyone poured themselves some wine from Dana’s special stash. Cassie and Perlah said they were fine with just pomegranate juice and seltzer.

“Yeah, I got it in the divorce,” said Dana, handing you a glass. “Otherwise I’d never be able to afford it alone.”

You took a sip of your wine and hummed. You were nothing close to a connoisseur, most of your wine having been drunk in absence of anything stronger, or on the side of a meal someone else paid for. Still, you could tell this one was nice, rich and smoky. You weren’t surprised Dana had great taste.

“What are we celebrating, by the way?” asked Princess after a deep draw from her cup.

“Our best fourth year residents over here, of course,” said Dana, gesturing to you and Samira, who smiled sheepishly. “Soon to be attendings at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center!”

Everyone let out some whoops, and you just shook your head.

“Samira’s the only one who’s got a confirmed position,” you said seriously. “Who knows where I’ll end up.”

“Oh, relax, Robby practically told me himself that you’re in,” Dana waved away.

“Really?”

“Everyone knows you’re his favorite,” said Cassie, and the others tittered agreements, but you shushed them and turned back to Dana.

“Wait — what exactly did Robby say?”

“He said you worked wonderfully with the team, and your prospects were good,” she said.

You scoffed.

“He was just being nice,” you said gloomily, taking another hearty sip.

“Nah, he had that look,” she said. You shook your head in confusion. “Trust me, that ‘I can’t say it but I’ve made up my mind’ look. It was actually nice, usually that look means bad news.”

It was hard to explain how you were feeling. There was an initial rush of relief, followed by several pangs of doubt. It was a big hospital, with lots of applicants.

“Maybe,” was all you said.

You and the others spent the next several hours playing drunk jeopardy, a fun idea in theory ruined by the fact that two of your number weren’t even buzzed. Perlah and Cassie obliterated the competition, much to Princess’s chagrin. In all the chatter, another bottle or two of wine got drained, and you found yourself feeling warm and comfortable in the corner of Dana’s lush couch.

“This is a great lamp,” you said, while the others argued over points.

“Isn’t it?” said Dana. “I just got it, fiftieth birthday present from my girls.”

“It’s beautiful,” you said, eyes roving the side of her face.

She smiled at you.

“Ya know, you don’t need to worry as much as you do,” she said quietly. “You’re a great doctor, and you’re gonna end up where you’re meant to be. Don’t stress it.”

“Easier said than done,” you laughed.

“That’s always true,” she said. “Just wait. You’ll get the call any day now, sweetheart.”

Normally the pet name rolled right off your back, but the slight haze from the one set your face ablaze with heat. You smiled wider and leaned into her, knee to knee, hip to hip, your arm curling under your head against the back of the couch.

“You grew up around here, didn’t you?” you asked.

“Born and raised,” she said.

“How’d you stand it,” you asked. “I mean, by the time I left my hometown, I was dying to get away.”

She shrugged.

“Cities are always changing,” she said. “Just enough to keep it interesting, I guess. Besides, it’s much easier to expand the world you already have than to make a whole new one somewhere else.”

“That’s definitely true,” you chuckled. “You have to take me on a tour sometime, though.”

“You’ve lived here for four years.”

“Ya, not the generic tourist tour, the Dana Evans tour,” you said, grinning. “Deep cuts. Embarrassing high school stories. The shitty restaurants you’re loyal to.”

Her lip quirked in that familiar way.

“Those are stories for another day,” she said. “I’d better go wrangle the troops before things get violent.”

And she pulled away to round up the others. Disappointed, but not deterred, you and your wine decided to go for a little walk. It was like every dormant desire and curiosity for the woman you spent almost every day with was back at full force. You craved knowledge, like you were a dying man and the cure to your ailments lay in the life of that mystery.

You strolled around the house while the others were distracted, taking in the vases filled with slightly drooping flowers, the piles of mail, and the pictures hung all along the walls. There was no doubt Dana was a proud mom. Her daughters’ faces smiled down at you from almost every surface, recitals, graduations, vacations, sports games.

When you reached the bottom of the stairs, you glanced around. You told yourself as you ascended them that it was harmless snooping, so why did you check no one was looking?

You padded along the hallway, glancing into the open doorways. There were four open doors, one bathroom, and three bedrooms. At the very end of the hall, a fifth door was closed. You approached it, thinking.

You definitely shouldn’t. A closed door is a clear sign. You weren’t about to go barging into someone’s personal space like that.

Right?

Again, the wine, or so you told yourself, was just the touch of careless energy you needed to push yourself over the edge. The door creaked as you opened it, but after a pause raised no alarms from downstairs, you tiptoed into the room.

It was nice, exactly what you’d expected it to be. Ornate rug, king sized bed, glossy, embroidered curtains over blackout blinds. A shiny wooden dresser stood against the wall, brass handles shining as you flicked on a lamp. Dana’s room was different from the rest of the house. Only one family photo, from when her daughters were much younger, rested on her nightstand. On the walls were beautifully framed pieces of art you’d never seen before. Across the dresser were more photos, but not of chubby babies or trips to Disneyland.

It took you no time to identify Dana, some twenty-five years younger. Longer hair, less smile lines, but this laughing girl was undoubtedly the same woman you knew so well. The smile, the eyes, they screamed Dana.

The biggest difference was not her appearance, but her activities. These photos on the dresser depicted her out at bars with friends, singing her heart out at karaoke, going on what you could only imagine was spring break at sandy, tropical beaches.

“What are you up to, trouble?”

You jumped at Dana’s sudden presence. You should have left, apologized profusely and gone downstairs to get your coat. Instead, you smirked.

“Snooping,” you said. “Didn’t know you were a wild party girl, Dana.”

She didn’t look mad, just amused, so you thought she’d probably had about as much wine as you. She sidled up next to you, taking a frame from your hand and examining the picture inside it.

“These are my college days,” she said fondly. “Did a lot of partying back then. I’d go out almost every weekend. No idea how I even managed to graduate.”

“Wouldn’t have guessed,” you said, walking backwards until your knees hit the edge of the bed.

You flopped down, somewhat rudely, probably, onto someone else’s bed without permission. Dana joined you, still clutching the photograph. 

“Are you still friends with those girls?” you asked.

“Sure,” she said. “I mean, we all got pretty busy. Still talk from time to time. The redhead is Sarah, and that’s Marsha in the skirt.”

You nodded absently, setting down what was left of your wine. Before you could say another word, they were zapped from your mind by Dana’s next sentence.

“That’s Caroline. We used to hook up.”

It took several seconds for you to remember how to breathe. It was good you had already put your drink down, because you surely would have dropped it.

“You dated a woman?” you asked, in a hushed voice.

“Dated might not be the right word,” she said. “We were fooling around. It never turned into anything real.”

You leaned closer, watching her face.

“Did you want it to turn into something real?”

Her eyes lifted at last, locking onto yours. She looked thoughtful.

“That’s hard to say,” she said. “At first, we only did it when we were drunk. Then it was whenever we were ‘bored’. She was a year ahead of me, though. I started dating Benji after she graduated, and not much later, we were married.”

Suddenly, it struck you that there was no noise, either up or downstairs. You knew her youngest was at her dad’s. The only sound in the room was heavy breathing. When did it become heavy?

“Where are the others?” you asked.

“Gone home,” said Dana, and her eyes flickered down to your lips.

“You ever wonder about… what would have happened if you and Caroline never lost touch?” you muttered.

In lieu of a response, Dana brushed her nose against yours. That was all you needed to close the gap. Her lips were warm, and soft. She tasted like wine, but behind it you could just barely pick out the nicotine gum she popped like candy.

Your teeth clashed slightly as the kiss turned needy. Your hands explored her back, one slipping under her sweater. Hers were fisted around your belt loops, pulling you closer. Consciously or not, you responded in time.

When you broke apart for air, you used the heated second to remove your top. Then your fingers teased the hem of hers, asking for permission.

“This is a bad idea,” she panted, but her dilated pupils and swollen lips told another story.

“Maybe,” you said, in between the kisses you pressed against her neck. “Maybe it’s a great one.”

Her hand fisted momentarily in your hair as you sucked a spot just under your chin. You smirked, tucking that one in your back pocket, just in case there was ever a next time.

“We work together,” she sighed.

“So do Robby and Abbot, and everyone knows they’re together,” you said. “And I guarantee we could do a better job at hiding this than they do.”

Dana let a cackle slip, and you couldn’t hold in your giggles as you tugged her sweater. This time, she raised her arms above her head, allowing you to easily slip the fabric off. You tossed it aside, gently pushing her back against the bed. Then you swung one leg over her hips.

“I think you made the right choice, gorgeous,” you whispered, kissing down her chest. “I’m not some drunk kid going through a phase.”

Dana let out a contented moan, wiggling her hips around. You rolled yours once, twice, against hers, allowing yourself the juvenile zip of pleasure you got from the friction. You leaned down to press your lips against hers, soft tongues tangling messily.

“You’re too pretty,” you mewled. “To work as hard as you do. Let me take care of you.”

“Just this one time,” she said, hands clasped desperately over your hips, urging movement.

You smirked, playing with her waistband.

“Sure,” you said. “Just this one time.”

If you were really getting a job offer at PTMC, maybe you’d turn it down. If it meant more of this, you’d turn down every offer you got. Just as long as it wasn’t really just one time.

---

Groaning, you shift onto your other side, turning to worm your way into Emily's arms. Your head drops on her shoulder, arm curling tight around her waist, pressing you both closer like it'll stop her from leaving. She gracelessly rubs the back of your head, yawning.

"Alaska?" She slurs into the phone. "Y'sure you got that right?"

Despite everything, her soft drawl makes you smile into her collarbone. You go all warm inside when she sounds like this—a gravelly rasp in her throat, her words pulled long and sticky, rounded with the softness of her mouth. Her voice roughens, yet her pronunciation crumbles; it's like she gets sanded down, all the sharpness melted away, purely for you to hear when she's heavy with sleep or—

Your eyes snap open at the sound of Garcia's voice, tinny but clear through the phone, reminding you of the fact that you're very much not the only witness to your wife's less inhibited state.

"Yes, I've got that right. The deputy mentioned it, like, ten times—"

"Lemme guess, salmon city, Alaska." Emily yawns again, letting her forehead loll down and press against yours.

"So close, it's Fairbanks." 

She makes a grumbling sound under her breath, the vibrations seeping into your skin. You go hot knowing the sound carries, the speakers picking up what's yours, delivering it to Garcia's ears.

Sleep leaves your body very quickly.

Garcia tuts. "Up you get, cupcake. It's a ten hour flight. Pack warm."

"No," Emily rasps.

"Jet leaves at six."

"I'm resigning."

"Can't relay the news!" Garcia chirps. "Sorry, hon, in-person resignations only. Don't be late."

She hangs up with a beep and Emily throws the phone somewhere on the bed, groaning again as she curls around you—smothers you, really. You're still stewing as the tip of her nose nudges your cheek, her mussed bangs tickling you all over. 

It's just Garcia. One-of-your-favorite-people-on-this-planet Garcia. Emily's-best-friend Garcia. 

You're being ridiculous. It's fine. She's seen her drunk off her mind, looped up on pain meds. They spend an abnormal amount of time together, and this isn't the first time this has happened. Hell, it'll hardly be the last.

Had she ever answered JJ like this? Hotch?

Your fingers curl into the cotton of Emily's tank top. She exhales, the warmth of it hitting your cheek, and shifts around to rest her forehead on your shoulder.

"I should quit."

"Yeah, you should." You shoot back too fast, your own voice gravely with exhaustion.

"Wow, really?" Emily mumbles. "That was a lil' too enthusiastic."

You search for her hand amidst the covers. It's cold, limp until you thread your fingers through hers and give a halfhearted squeeze. "You just came back, Emily." You say. You can't really make out her features in the dark, only feel her, hear her. "You're exhausted. It's not fair."

She hums thickly, her lips soft on your cheek. "Don't worry your pretty little head about me."

"I can't not. Besides," your voice goes a little petulant as you twist in her arms, huddling close enough to see the faint sheen of her eyes, "no one else should get to hear you like this." You mumble.

Emily's brows furrow. "Like what?" She asks, perplexed.

"This," you whisper, tracing her plush bottom lip. "Mine."

"I'm yours all the time." She whispers back. It's so earnest, so sweetly clueless. Heat crawls up your skin again, this time from your own absurdity. 

Sighing, you press a small kiss to her mouth. Emily cups your cheek, a frown still creasing her forehead. "Baby, what're you talkin' about?"

"Nothing," you mumble, muffled into her hand. "I hate the BAU."

She pets your cheek, strokes clumsily next to your eye. You savor the kiss she drops there, a small bit of lingering warmth to chase away the cold when she slips out of bed.