Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Section chief Emily Prentiss sank into her chair, unhappily eyeing the stacks of budget documents covering her desk.

Why did I take this job? It was the thousandth time she had asked herself that question since accepting the promotion.

You thought you could make more of a difference as a higher up, she told herself firmly. But Emily was struggling to believe her own answer.

A little voice inside her head bored away at her. Or did you just want the pay rise? Or the ego boost? Or, let's be honest, to spend less time wi-

Her brooding was interrupted by a knock at the door. "Yeah?" Emily said brusquely, expecting deputy director Bailey. But Tara Lewis poked her head in instead.

"Hey, Prentiss?" she said, warily.

"Oh, sorry, Tara." Emily put down her pen and rubbed her temples. "I thought you were… never mind. What's up?"

"Rebecca and I are heading to Jade bar tonight with some friends. Want to join us?"

"Uh…" Emily had forgotten it was Friday. With the BAU scattered across the country and constantly working on different cases, the days seemed to meld into one never-ending week.

"Maybe? When are you going?"

"Around 8.30?" Tara said. "We're going to grab a bite first."

"Who else is coming? Luke, JJ?"

"No… I just thought I'd ask you."

Just me? Why?

Tara caught Emily's hesitation. "I heard what you said to JJ and Rossi, and…" Tara shrugged, smiling. "Maybe it's time you got laid. Or made more of an effort to, anyway."

Emily grimaced. Who else heard me say that? I'm supposed to be the section chief…

She hated to admit it, but Tara was right. Emily could barely remember the last time she even went out for coffee. Covid had killed off the BAU's regular team drinks and nights with JJ and Garcia. She hadn't been on a date in forever. And here Tara was, with a chance to go and be social.

"You know what? I really could do with a drink," Emily said. "But I have to get through these first."

She gestured to the pile of paper.

"No problem," Tara said. "Come when you come. I'll see you there."

Two hours and a stack of documents later, Emily was in an Uber on the way to Jade. The bar wasn't far from O'Keefes, the BAU's old haunt, but though Emily had walked past many times, she had never been inside. As the car pulled up, she noticed for the first time the bar had a rainbow flag hanging in its front window.

Walking inside, she quickly realized it wasn't the only rainbow. The bustling bar was adorned with pride flags, and the walls covered in colourful Polaroids of what looked like past nights out at Jade. Cece Peniston blasted from the speakers. A diverse crowd filled the room, every table full of people young and old laughing and drinking the week away.

No one paid Emily any attention, but still, she felt out of place in her staid FBI clothes. Not to mention in general.

She scanned the bar and was relieved when she saw Tara waving at her from a table up the back. She squeezed her way through the crowd, registering that Tara was there with Rebecca and four others she didn't know. As she got closer, she saw their table was littered with empty glasses. I got some catching up to do, she thought.

"Hey!" said Emily, shrugging off her coat as she took the empty seat between Tara and one of the strangers, a woman with dark tousled hair. She grinned at Rebecca from across the table. "So nice to see you." Emily had only met the DOJ lawyer a couple of times, but she liked seeing Tara, who usually kept her private life private, so happy. "Likewise," Rebecca replied, smiling back.

"Glad you could make it," said Tara. Three of her friends were locked in an intense but friendly argument that Emily couldn't quite decipher, but seemed to be about Tibet. Tara introduced them in short order — "Sarah, Jen and Alex, this is Emily" — and they offered friendly smiles before returning to their conversation. "Oh come on, Bette would never follow Tina to Toronto," Alex exclaimed. "New Bette would!" Jen fired back.

So, not Tibet. What on earth are they talking about? 

Tara turned to the woman next to Emily. "And, Emily, this is Wil. Wil, this is my boss's boss, Emily Prentiss."

Rolling her eyes at the job description, Emily extended a hand to Wil. "Pleasure," Wil said, giving her hand a firm shake and looking her straight in the eye. Emily returned the gaze. Wil was dressed simply, a white t-shirt under a navy blazer, the lines of a small tattoo poking out from underneath her sleeve.

"OK, my round," said Tara, getting up. "Help me carry them, Bec?" The couple disappeared to the bar.

Emily, feeling a little awkward, smiled at Wil. "How do you know Tara?"

"Oh, I actually met Rebecca first," she said. "We work together at the DOJ. Different areas, but you know. We find each other."

"Right," Emily said. She knew what Wil meant, but felt uneasy about the use of "we". What it implied. Should I clarify? No, don't make it awkward.

Perhaps picking up on Emily's discomfort, Wil changed the subject. "Have you been here before?"

"Never, believe it or not," Emily said. "It's so close to Quantico, but we usually go to a different pub. Or we did, before Covid ruined everything."

"Tell me about it," said Wil. "What a crazy couple years it's been…"

When Emily walked into her apartment several hours later, her head spinning, Sergio immediately started meowing and pawing at her.

"Jesus, Sergio, give me a break," she said, before her eyes landed on the microwave clock. It blinked back in red: 2:27AM.

"Oh my god," Emily said. "I'm sorry!" She opened a tin of food to occupy the cat, and then flopped down on her bed, staring at the ceiling. Too many beers. Tomorrow is going to be hell. What if we get called away on a case?

She had to admit, though, it had been a fun night. Jade had cheap drinks and great music, playing the '80s and '90s on repeat. Emily had entertained with some pre-Tara BAU stories, Rebecca and Wil spilled some DOJ gossip, and, once the trio had called a truce on their mystifying argument, Jen and Tara told the story of their break-up — thankfully long enough in the past to now be extremely funny.

Emily and Wil had kind of hit it off. Their Covid lives had been eerily similar, working long hours and falling asleep on the couch to Law & Order reruns and a glass of red wine in the apartments they rented alone in the same part of town. Wil had also recently taken a promotion, and was also feeling anything from unsure about it to completely hating it, depending on the day.

At the end of the night, Wil had asked Emily for her number. Emily, buzzing from a rare night of being social and way too many bottles of Dos Equis, had handed it right over. And despite everything — despite the vibe at Jade, despite that uncomfortable "we", despite all of it — it wasn't until she was on her way home she realized Wil probably had an ulterior motive.

And now she couldn't stop thinking about it. She pulled off her shoes and clothes and got under the covers. Sergio snuggled up to her feet. As she fell asleep, questions swirled in her mind.

Tara was trying to set me up with Wil, right?

Yes, Emily, you idiot, she was obviously trying to do that.

Does Tara think I'm gay?

Does the team? Does my mom?

Does JJ?

Do I?

Chapter Text

Luckily for Emily’s sore head, the first few hours of Saturday passed without a single work call.

She dragged herself to her breakfast bar, guzzled some water and ibuprofen, and made coffee, all the while trying — and failing — to fend off the questions she had asked herself the night before.

Maybe I'm overthinking this whole thing and Tara just wanted to hang out.

Just with me? At a gay bar? With her queer friends? After literally telling me I need to get laid?

Why would Tara set me up with a woman?

Oh god, I gave my number to Wil. What do I do if she texts?

You reply like a normal person! Get a grip, Emily.

You should be flattered. She was actually kind of great.

Am I attracted to her?

Her relief at not having to work hungover quickly gave way to irritation. Emily hated being left alone with her problems. Everyone thought she had terrible work-life balance because she was a diligent perfectionist, which, while true, was only half the story. Being a workaholic was the perfect excuse for — and distraction from — a dismal personal life, and no one knew that better than Emily Prentiss.

Maybe I should just go into work. I can’t stand being in my head all day.  

As if on cue, her cell started buzzing. JJ's face flashed up on caller ID.

"Hey JJ," Emily said. "What's up?"

"Hey Em, sorry to call," JJ said. "I know you haven't had a day off in a long time. But we really need you to run some interference with Bailey.”

"I'm on my way," Emily said, ending the call. She stood up too quickly and a woozy feeling rushed through her head and stomach. Why did I drink so much beer? I don’t even like it that much.

She struggled into the shower, and as the hot water washed away the night before, she realized how long it had been since she was called in by JJ.

It took her back to the early years of the BAU, when JJ had been the communications liaison, responsible for briefing the team, wrangling the media, and comforting victims' families. 

That JJ had been like a little sister to Emily. She was so proud when JJ became a profiler. The young agent was sharp and empathetic, with a knack for connection that allowed her to access the minds of some of their most twisted unsubs.

Their friendship adjusted to a more equal footing and deepened over the years, especially when everything happened with Doyle. Emily had often felt lonely throughout her life, but faking her own death plumbed the depths of an isolation she hoped she would never experience again. In those dark months, online scrabble with JJ was the only thing that got her out of bed.

They talked often during Emily's stint in London with Interpol, and fell right back into their usual routine when she rejoined the BAU. The FBI could be a difficult environment for women, and though their team had picked up more female members, Emily and JJ still instinctively looked out for one another.

Emily stepped out of the shower and surveyed her closet. She watched with mild amusement as Sergio wandered into the bathroom to investigate the steam, as he did pretty much every morning. 

“You’re so weird,” she told the cat affectionately.

She couldn't put her finger on when the friendship got so complicated. It was so gradual it took Emily a while to realize it was happening at all.

She slowly became conscious of the strangely intense emotions JJ stirred up in her. Realized she cared too much about what JJ said or did or thought. Their conversations became fraught, as if they were both dancing around some central unsaid thing, but neither had any idea what it was.

It was painful. It was distracting. And in the BAU, distraction is dangerous. Normally so good at compartmentalisation, Emily felt her carefully-constructed walls beginning to crumble.

So she started to pull away.

She hated to admit it, but the BAU's budget cuts had actually helped her enforce a distance from JJ. Covid helped too, and going from JJ’s colleague to her boss to her boss's boss.

She tried not to overanalyse what had happened. JJ was a busy mom and wife, a family woman with an incredibly stressful job. Of course she had less time for friends between her family and her work obligations.

Of course Emily, who had no family she really wanted to spend time with, no serious romantic partner to speak of, felt shunted aside. Maybe even jealous.

That's all it was.

She threw on some clothes and grimaced at herself in the mirror. It was obvious she had not slept well.

Just go to work, she told herself. You look fine. 

Emily stepped out of the elevator at Quantico just as Rossi walked past.

He glanced her up and down. "You look like shit." 

"Thanks Dave," Emily said. “Moved out of that motel room yet?" 

The old friends glowered at each other briefly before breaking into a mutual smile.

"I went out last night," Emily admitted, falling in step with Rossi on his way to the briefing room.

"Good," said Rossi. "You need a life." 

"Jesus Dave, got any more feedback for me?”

"I'm sorry," said Rossi, raising his palms in mock innocence. "And I have moved back home, by the way. Not that this job lets me spend any time there.”

"Good for you," Emily said, as they entered the room. JJ, Luke, Garcia and Tara were already there.

"How are you this morning, Prentiss?" Emily did her best to ignore the suggestion in Tara's voice.

"I'm good," she said briskly, noting with mild annoyance that Tara looked immaculate, despite having had the same late night she had. "Let's get started."

“So…” Garcia started laying out what they had on Sicarius. Emily wasn't sure why the name had stuck for the leader of the serial killer network they were hunting — usually the BAU left such dramatic flourishes to the media — but let it go, figuring the team had bigger fish to fry.

Her head throbbed as Garcia explained she had found a hidden messaging app that Sicarius was using to communicate with the network.

Just when I thought the world couldn't get any more fucked up. A network of serial killers. At least JJ has stopped saying "cuckold kink” every five seconds.

All eyes turned to Emily when Luke asked how much of a problem deputy director Bailey was going to be. 

“I told Bailey we’re the right people to lead this case. He disagrees,” Emily said. “I can’t do anything about the fact that he’s in charge. But let’s do what we do best and prove him wrong.”

The team nodded. 

Emily hated having to answer to that manchild in a suit. It was frankly insulting for someone with her experience. She had always gotten on well with her past bosses, not because she was great at massaging their feelings — she wasn't — but because she performed her job with such aggressive dedication they had no choice but to respect her. Usually, they ended up liking her too.

But that wasn't going to work with Bailey. They had different priorities, and his was to save money, preferably by dismantling the BAU. His power made her question everything about the FBI brass; their priorities and their knowledge of what actually went on in the field.

But it was her job, even if she hated it, to shield her team from all of that.

A few hours and one brutal run in with Bailey later, Emily was in the briefing room with the deputy director, as well as Rossi, Tara and Garcia.

Luke and JJ had left not long ago to apprehend Tyler Green, the latest suspected network member identified by the BAU. He appeared to be headed to a public park in DC, armed with a bomb.

But thanks to Bailey, the domestic terrorism unit had muscled in on the operation. Everyone was on edge, nervous about working with a team they didn't know or trust. The BAU traded on understanding, empathy and intellect, not macho bullshit.

“We have agents in the kill zone,” someone confirmed over the radio.

Emily drew a sharp breath. What are Luke and JJ doing? 

“Get them out!” Bailey demanded.

A prickling sensation, pins and needles, started up in Emily's fingertips and began to work its way up her arms. This invisible symptom of extreme stress had thankfully never manifested for her in the field, but these days, she found herself afflicted semi-regularly. Making decisions at a distance always felt tougher than walking into danger herself.

She wanted to get JJ and Luke out too. But she trusted her agents. She knew they wouldn't put their lives at risk for no reason.

Green is the best lead we have right now. They must believe this is the only way of taking him alive.

So she stared down Bailey. “It's not my command.”

The deputy director turned to Rossi. "Pull them out," he said. "Or you're done as unit chief."

Unfortunately for Bailey, he didn't realize this threat was actually an incentive for Rossi, who jumped at the chance to tell him: "Fuck off".

Garcia's mouth fell open. Tara stifled a laugh. Bailey looked stunned.

Great, more paperwork, Emily thought. She stashed the moment away in her memory to enjoy later. Right now, Luke and JJ's uncertain status was front of mind. The room fell silent as they waited for another radio dispatch. It seemed to take forever.

Finally, an update came: "Suspect down." No explosive detonated. Luke and JJ were fine.

Emily breathed a huge sigh of relief.

Bailey flounced out of the room immediately, almost as if he were annoyed the BAU's intervention had not ended in complete disaster.

"David Rossi!" Garcia said, walking over to confront the senior profiler as soon as Bailey left. "What has gotten into you?" 

Tara turned to Emily.  "Phew," she said. 

"Phew is right," said Emily. "They had me worried for a minute there." 

"You? Worried?" Tara said. "You always seem so cool and collected." 

“I try," Emily said wryly, secretly pleased by the compliment. The pins and needles in her arms had finally started to ease.

"Did you have a good time last night?" Tara asked, after a brief pause.

"Yeah!" Emily said, trying to cover her awkwardness with enthusiasm. "It was fun. And good to get out. Thanks for inviting me."

"You and Wil seemed to get on pretty well." 

Stop prying, Tara.

Emily nodded. "She was great."

"And did I see you two exchange numbers?"

"She hasn't messaged," Emily blurted out. She immediately regretted airing the thought, unsure where it had even come from.

I sound desperate. Do I want her to message?

Tara just smiled.

"I have a feeling she will."

Chapter Text

For the third time in as many minutes, Emily's eyes wandered from her computer screen to her personal cell.

She knew the text she was waiting for had not magically arrived, silent and unseen, in the past 60 seconds. She couldn't resist checking, just in case.

But once again, only her own reflection stared back from dark lockscreen, so motionless it felt like it was mocking her.

Emily put down her phone, irritated. She silently willed herself to finish Rossi's demotion paperwork. It had been difficult to muster up the enthusiasm for such a boring task, especially with the gloomy mood that had settled over the BAU.

The team's morale had been low since they apprehended Tyler Green. It was bad enough to be undermined by another unit in the field, but then to watch Bailey take all the credit while Emily stood by, mute?

And to find out Green was actually working against Sicarius and had infiltrated the serial killer network to avenge his murdered sister?

And that he now wasn't talking to the FBI? 

That was all salt in the wound.

JJ had been especially quiet. It's got to be about Ros, Emily thought. Green and his sister would have brought all that back up.

She went to check her phone again but caught herself, turning the cell over and pushing it to the edge of her desk instead. Then she changed her mind, dropping the phone into her lower desk drawer, where it landed with a thud. She kicked the drawer shut and turned back to her computer.

Description of incident? Um… he told him to fuck off? Do they need any more detail?

Bailey is the one who actually demoted Rossi. Shouldn't he have to do this stupid form?

She had almost made it through the HR document when someone rapped out an unmistakably jaunty knock on her door.

"You can come in, Garcia," Emily said. "Mind the treadmill."

"Look at you, Miss Double Big Shot Emily Prentiss, back in your old place!" Garcia said, treading carefully through the cluttered office. "Wow, they really were using this place as a storage cupboard."

"A gym, allegedly," Emily said.

Garcia placed a file on the edge of the desk. "Here's the rest of those delightful online missives from Sicarius and his sickos." 

"Thank you," Emily said, grateful that at least one of her team was no longer moping around. "Hey, can you please drop by Dave's office? We might get you to try talk to Green later today."

"I will do that right now," Garcia said. "You look busy, and that awfulness" — she inexplicably curtsied to the file — "is all I needed to give you. So…" 

As the technical analyst spun around to leave, she spotted JJ arriving late to work, trudging over to her desk with a desolate look on her face.

Garcia tip-toed over to Emily's door and gently pushed it shut. "Is she OK?" she asked.

"She's been hit really hard by this Green situation," Emily said. "You know, he was trying to get justice for his sister and JJ, everything that happened with Ros... well, she wouldn't do what he did, obviously. But she knows how it feels, to want that. And she's the one who stopped him." 

"Oh gosh," said Garcia. "I didn't even think of that. What did she say?"

"Oh…" Emily said, taken aback. "She didn't say anything. I just- I think that's what's up. In fact I'm pretty sure of it."

"Well, you're the profiler," Garcia said.

Yeah, and if I could read all our killers like I can JJ, we wouldn't need the FBI.

Emily's desk started to vibrate, eliciting a confused look from Garcia. "Uh, what is that?" she asked.

"It's just my phone!" Emily said hastily. She plucked it out of the drawer to see an unknown number calling.

Wil?

"Thank you, Penelope," she said, with a crisp nod. Garcia got the hint and left.

Emily took a deep breath and answered the call.

"Hello?" 

A tinny male voice came down the line. "Hi, is this Mrs Emily Prentiss?" 

Damn.

"Ms. And speaking," Emily said grumpily. "Who is this?"

"It's John here from United Healthcare. I was wondering if you had time for a brief survey about your insur-"

"Ugh," Emily said, hanging up and dropping the phone back into her open drawer, where it began to buzz again right away.

She sat back in her chair, ignoring the vibrations. Outside, JJ was staring glaze-eyed into her computer screen, her lips pressed into a tight line.

I should talk to her.

If it was anyone but JJ, I would have already. 

A ripple of guilt ran through Emily. She had convinced herself she needed space from JJ on a purely personal level, but deep down she knew there was a professional impact too. 

Emily poked her head out of her office. "JJ? Can we talk?"

JJ looked up, startled. "Sure."

She picked her way to the chair in front of Emily's desk. "Wow, there really is a lot of crap in here," she said, sitting down.

"I'm told someone is coming to clean it up," Emily said. "I'll believe it when I see it."

JJ offered a small smile. "So. What's up?" 

"How are you doing, JJ?" Emily asked gently.

"I'm fine," she replied, a little defensively. "What do you mean?"

"You've been down since Saturday," Emily said. "You know that you were just doing your job with Green, right? That his plan was crazy?"

 JJ looked down at the floor.

"We don't have any proof yet, but Dave thinks Green might have been set up. That Sicarius was pulling the strings the whole time, trying to bring his infiltrator out into the open. If that's right — and Dave usually is — then you actually saved him." 

JJ raised an eyebrow at the theory, but remained downcast as Emily continued.

"And even if he's wrong, there's no guarantee Green would have caught Sicarius. In fact I seriously doubt he would have. I know he was there for the right reasons, JJ. I can't imagine how strong that urge must be, to want vengeance for someone you love. But just because what he was doing was noble… it doesn't mean it was right."

JJ nodded. "You're right," she said. Emily studied her as she took a deep breath, her body seeming to almost uncoil as she let go of the tension she had been holding. She had just needed to hear it from someone else.

"I know you know all that already," Emily added.

"And I know that you know that you still needed to tell me," JJ said. She offered Emily a wan smile. "I'm sorry. I'm just tired. A lot has been going on." 

"Right," Emily said.

"I always thought the boys would get easier as they got older," she said, shaking her head. "Boy, was that stupid," she added, in a sardonic tone. "Adolescence is something else. Just one thing after another. It's nothing I can't handle. I just- they need their mom, and I'm never there. And when I am, it's never for long enough. And It's not like I'm on top of everything here. I am stretched so fucking thin. We all are, I know," she said, looking up at Emily. "And this…thing… happened with Will."

JJ waved her hand vaguely as if to say, don't ask.

"Is everything OK?" Emily asked.

"Yeah, it's… It's probably nothing. It's just, kind of brutal, coming now… You know we had a rough patch. Or well. You know our entire marriage has been one long rough patch," she added, with a bitter laugh. 

I sure do know that, Emily thought.

"It got bad, especially in the pandemic. It felt like we were losing our- our connection. We were so crowded in together and so far apart at the same time. But we've been working on things. And it's gotten better. We're going well."

This is the exact conversation I promised myself I wouldn't have with JJ anymore.

"I mean, you obviously noticed the other morning," JJ added, with an embarrassed laugh. "We're getting closer again. And-"

"JJ, if we're good on Green, I have a lot of work to do," Emily said, trying not to sound abrupt. She immediately saw from JJ's expression that she had failed. "I'm sorry," she added quickly. "It's just this job…"

"No, it's OK," JJ said, in a tone that suggested it very much wasn't. "I get it. I'll leave you to it." 

She paused briefly at the door on her way out, as if deciding whether to say something else, but all that came out was an icy "Thanks for the talk". She closed the door a little too hard behind her.

Emily watched JJ exit the bullpen and disappear down the corridor, probably on her way to see Garcia.

Well, that was a disaster.

It used to be so easy between the two of them.

Of course they had been there for each other through the big stuff. JJ's kidnapping and Ian Doyle and the when the truth came out about what happened to Ros.

But it was the little things Emily missed most. Having an automatic drinking buddy or shoulder to cry on at the end of a distressing case. Someone to text when the rest of the BAU was getting on her nerves. Emily had talked JJ through her entire marriage, or so it felt like. And JJ had patiently listened to the details of every mediocre hook-up, every not-so-great boyfriend that Emily had ever had. 

Losing JJ hurt more than every single one of those break-ups combined.

But the intensity of their friendship had scared Emily. She could ride the waves of hurt just fine, but when it came to feelings she didn't understand, she drowned.

You're obsessing over JJ again, she told herself. Stop.

She tried to turn her focus back to Rossi's demotion, but just read the same sentence over and over.

Her phone, silent in her desk drawer, was long forgotten.

“I’m sorry about earlier.”

JJ’s voice cut through the silence of the office. Emily looked up at the woman leaning against her doorframe, blonde hair cascading over her shoulder, her arms crossed over a grey bomber jacket.

“No, I’m sorry,” Emily said, getting up from her desk chair. “I was… clumsy. I should have let you talk."

"Well," JJ said, as she closed the door behind her and shut the blinds. "I know how you can make it up to me."

She confidently walked around the desk and grabbed Emily gently around her waist. The touch felt intimate, electric. It shot a jolt through Emily, but she barely had a chance to react before JJ propelled her backwards, pushing her up against the cabinet behind her desk.

Emily met JJ’s cool blue gaze, their hips pressed together, the two women so close they could feel each other's chests rising and falling with accelerated breaths.

Emily traced a finger along JJ’s cheekbone. "You're so beautiful," she whispered.

“You are,” JJ said, looking deep into her eyes. Then she leaned in for a kiss…

Emily opened her eyes.

Her bedroom was dark, the faintest hint of dawn creeping in through the crack in the curtains.

JJ?

It took Emily a couple of seconds to grasp that she was in her own bed, and very much alone. She floated for a minute in the hazy space between sleeping and waking, feelings of disappointment and excitement and surprise co-mingling at the edges of her consciousness.

Through her morning grogginess, she realized her dream had stirred up some real life physical effects. 

Fuck I’m turned on, she thought sleepily. It had been a while since she was in the mood.

She slipped a hand down her pyjama pants and began to make herself groan. "Mmmm. Mmmph." 

Against her better instincts, Emily let her mind wander back to JJ. 

She imagined the profiler on top of her, tracing down her chest with kisses. JJ’s toned body slowly descending until her perfect blonde head was moving rhythmically between Emily’s thighs, generating the unbearably intense sensation building up inside her.

Soft gasps escaped from Emily as she became absorbed in the fantasy. She had never allowed herself to venture here before. Now she never wanted to leave. On the brink of climax, she tried to slow herself down, alternating gentle and urgent motions as she imagined what JJ would do to her, willing it to last as long as possible.

She came quietly, her back arching up off the bed as her body shuddered with pleasure. Then she sank back into the soft mattress, panting, her eyes still closed, not wanting to leave the fantasy behind, not wanting to face what it meant, not wanting to have wanted it at all, but obviously, categorically, undeniably, wanting JJ.

For a second time, she opened her eyes.

Fuck.

Chapter Text

After snapping out of her fantasy, Emily tried to make the most of the remaining hour on her alarm clock. But sleep evaded her as she tossed and turned relentlessly, shame crashing in at the intrusive thought of JJ ever finding out about her little session.

She's married. She's younger than me. She's a woman. She's my subordinate. She's my best friend.

Was my best friend.

How am I ever going to look her in the face again?

It wasn't long before she gave up and got up, drowning out her thoughts with the most obnoxious podcast she could find as she got ready for work.

Usually, Emily liked arriving early at Quantico. She enjoyed the quiet before the rest of the team rolled in, before whatever ugliness they would face that day unfolded. The FBI headquarters never really slept, always alive with a constant hum. But she felt something that resembled calm in the morning silence of the BAU bullpen.

This morning, though, she needed noise. And she got her wish, exiting the elevator to the sound of Rossi and Garcia arguing loudly. With no one else around, the dueling duo hadn't bothered to close Rossi's office door. Their fight rang out across the room. 

"This is an important lead!" Rossi said. "Green was talking to Sicarius online and he can give us access to the server."

"Tyler Green is a narcissistic little freak and I won't have any part in this!"

"I know he's part of the reason you're back he-"

"Part of the reason? He is the reason! Can't someone else analyze his stupid messages?"

"Penelope. Please. I simply cannot operate a computer. I need you."

"And I need YOU to respect my boundaries!" Garcia yelled.

Jesus. I need a coffee before I get involved in that.

Emily tiptoed through the maze of desks in the direction of the kitchenette, successfully making it to the coffee machine without Rossi calling her in for back-up. She poured herself a mug and leaned back against the bench, still eavesdropping on the escalating row.

She was just about to intervene when JJ emerged from the elevator. The sight of her set off a strong flutter deep in Emily's stomach.

Spotting Emily by the coffee machine, JJ offered a cursory wave. "Morning," she called across the room.

"Morning," Emily said, pretending to busy herself with a packet of Stevia.

You've dreamed about JJ before, she reminded herself. She's part of your life. She's going to show up in your unconscious.

And then you got yourself off. Big deal.

It's not like you're in love with her or anything.

Emily had been trying to tamp down her roiling feelings, but her internal monologue had the opposite effect. Her face started to burn.

What is going on with me? 

Rossi appeared around the corner, looking remarkably unruffled from his run-in with Garcia, and started to pour himself a coffee.

"I won," he said, before glancing up at Emily. "Are you OK?" 

"I'm fine," she replied, a little too quickly. Rossi peered at her quizzically.

"Hot flash," she added, knowing a mention of menopause would put a firm end to any further questions.

"Ah," he said. "Hmm."

They stood in awkward silence for a few seconds.

"Anyway," said Emily, "how are you coping with your demotion?"

"It's been tough," Rossi said with a grin. "But I'm trying to see the silver lining."

"I'm sure," Emily said sarcastically.

"Which, of course, is having you back in charge."

“Yeah, thanks for all the extra work."

"You're welcome," he said. "But really — thank you for saving my ass. I want to be David Rossi, profiler, not David Rossi, unemployed."

"Don't mention it," Emily said. "I love a chance to annoy the brass." 

She took a sip of coffee. 

"And I missed being unit chief," she admitted. "Being out in the field with all of you. My job is just… wading through so much bullshit. Every day. And it's lonely."

"Yeah?" Rossi asked, looking at her. "Sometimes it's hard to tell with you. If you're happy."

"I'm ambitious," Emily said, dodging the question. "I always have been. My instinct is to always be moving up. But section chief? I don't know."

She sighed. "Maybe I flew too close to the sun."

"Maybe you could use a strategic demotion," Rossi said.

"I don't know if I'd go that far," Emily said. "I worked hard to get here."

Rossi saw the ghost of something flicker across her face, so brief the veteran profiler wondered if he had imagined it. "Gave up a lot," Emily added, her voice uncharacteristically soft. 

Looking thoughtful, Rossi raised a finger. Emily knew that look.

"Dave, if you're about to recite some tangentially related quote, please believe me when I say I'm not interested!"

Rossi ignored her.

"We must be willing to let go of the life we have planned, so as to accept the one that is waiting for us," he said, enunciating each word carefully.

Emily laughed. "Who said that?"

"The writer Joseph Campbell," Rossi said.

"Well, you can tell the writer Joseph Campbell I'll take it on board."

"OK chief," Rossi said. He wandered off in the direction of his office.

Emily lingered for a minute longer, delaying the inevitable walk past JJ on the way to her desk. She watched Luke arrive, raising half an eyebrow as he headed straight to Garcia's office.

I wonder what's going on with those two.

Tara was next. As usual, she had come in with with Rebecca, stopping for a brief kiss at the elevator before her girlfriend continued up another few floors.

"Morning Prentiss," she said. "Ready for another day?" 

"I sure am," Emily replied. Seeing Tara reminded her that this time yesterday she had been agonizing not over JJ, but over Wil, and whether she would ever get in touch.

Let go of the life we have planned… accept the one that is waiting for us.

Emily stared into her coffee mug.

Huh.

Emily had been waiting to catch Tara alone all day, but with half the team working on Tyler Green and the other half hunting down another potential network killer, there was little time to chat.

It was dark outside by the time she saw Tara at her desk, back from apprehending the young home invaders they now knew had nothing to do with Sicarius. It had been a weirdly depressing revelation, even though Tara and JJ had saved a woman's life.

Emily forced herself to walk over quickly, before anyone else materialized, and before she could change her mind.

"How are you going?" she asked Tara.

"I'm going home," Tara said. "Man, I know we got there just in time today, but it still feels like a bust."

"I know," Emily said. "But we'll get him." 

"Yeah," Tara said, sounding a little defeated.

"Hey, by the way," Emily said, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible. "Do you happen to have Wil's number?"

Tara snapped to attention. "I thought you had hers?" 

"She has mine," Emily said. "But I… I didn't think to ask for hers. And I haven’t heard from her. Which is obviously totally fine! But I don't have her number."

"OK," Tara said, a hint of a smile on her face. "Why do you need to get in touch with her?"

Oh, come on, Emily thought.

"I, uh, promised to send her my… recipe for, um… lasagna," she improvised.

"Lasagna, huh? Sounds important," Tara said, getting out her phone. "Here you go," she said, showing her screen to Emily. "Wil's number."

"JJ's Will?" said Garcia. "Don't you have his number, Emily?"

Emily and Tara looked up from their phones, startled. The technical analyst had walked right up to them without either noticing, a remarkable feat considering the kaleidoscopic colors she was dressed in today.

"Yes, JJ's Will," Emily said, at the exact same time Tara said "No, different Wil."

Garcia's eyes widened. "Who is he? Emily?!" She quickly realized she wouldn't extract anything from the section chief, and focused her gaze on Tara. "Spill. Now. Please and thank you."

Emily telepathically begged Tara not to tell Garcia, of all people. Please . 

"Wil is… just a friend of mine," Tara said. "He's selling a couch, and Emily's in the market for one." 

"Yeah," said Emily. "Sergio has torn mine to pieces."

"Oh?" said Garcia. "I was hoping we had some gossip around here, but I guess there's absolutely nothing I need to investigate.” She winked at Emily, who groaned internally, knowing the conversation was far from over.

"Anyway, here's that list of potential kill kit recipients you asked for," Garcia said, handing Tara some pages.

"Thanks Penelope," Tara said. "I will go through this first thing tomorrow."

"There's still a couple hundred names there," Garcia said. "If you come up with any other way to pare it down, let me know and I will work my magic." She strutted back in the direction of her office.

"You owe me," Tara said quietly, grinning.

"Yeah right," Emily said. "A new couch? Garcia is going to be on my case like you wouldn't believe."

She scanned the office, checking Garcia was well and truly gone, before turning back to Tara and lowering her voice.

"I don't… I don't really know what I'm doing here, Tara. I don't know if Wil… if this… is for me.”

The candid admission took Tara by surprise. She had been enjoying gently mocking Emily, who was so accomplished in all things yet so inexplicably adrift when it came to dating. But it was rare to see her let her guard down like that.

"You were trying to set me up, right?" Emily continued.

"I was," Tara admitted.

"I mean, why… why did you…" Emily couldn't bring herself to ask Tara what she actually wanted to. "Why Wil, in particular?" she finished lamely.

"Honestly, I just thought you guys would hit it off. Rebecca's known Wil for ages, and she's so great, but hasn't been the luckiest in love, and…" 

Tara trailed off.

"And I'm so great and haven't been the luckiest in love?" Emily said, raising an eyebrow.

Tara made a face. "Sorry."

"I'm kidding," Emily said. "It's fine. It's true. It just, ah… it took me by surprise. When I realised that's what you were doing."

Tara's mind was moving at 100 miles a minute. She had just assumed Emily dated women, probably as unsuccessfully as she did men, and kept it quiet. There were lots of reasons to not broadcast that kind of information, especially for someone so senior at the FBI.

Emily had set off Tara's gaydar from the moment they met. She had picked up that Tara and Rebecca were dating in seconds. And whatever weirdness had erupted between her and JJ a while back had queer drama written all over it. She just had the vibe.

But maybe, Tara thought, she could see something Emily couldn't.

Or hadn't, until now.

“Prentiss, I've known you a while," she said quietly, dropping the teasing tone. "I'm a profiler. I notice more than I let on. And I think you should ask Wil on a date."

Emily winced at the word date. Partly out of habit. Partly because the idea of asking a woman out on a date terrified her.

"It's a date, not a commitment. Just see how it goes," Tara said. She winked at Emily. "I'll put in a good word."

"Thanks, Tara."

Garcia returned to her office with a triumphant spring in her step. "JJ, I have gossip," she said excitedly as she shut the door.

The profiler was exactly where Garcia had left her, in the spare office chair, knees pulled up to her chest, her face lit by the glow of the surrounding terminals. Usually, JJ left work as soon as she could, but today she had stopped by on her way out, just to chat. It was obvious something was on her mind, but Garcia got the distinct impression this was not an occasion to probe.

JJ smiled at Garcia's excitement. "Yeah?" she said.

"Do you know anything about Emily and a certain Will?"

"Will?" JJ said. "Like, my Will?"

"No — or at least, I certainly hope not!" Garcia said. "Another Will. I just overheard Emily asking Tara for somebody called Will's number. And then I asked if it was your Will, and they told me an obvious lie about Emily buying a couch from a friend of Tara's called Will."

JJ shrugged. "I have no idea what's going on in Emily's life right now," she said.

Garcia looked crestfallen. She was the only one who would actually admit it, but the entire BAU was way too invested in Emily's dating life. A skerrick of gossip was usually enough to breath life into the most morose of conversations.

Not the one she was having with JJ, though. Garcia set the Will mystery aside for another day. 

"How are things with you two?" she asked tentatively.

"Ugh," JJ said, with feeling. Garcia could see the hurt and frustration in her eyes.

"That bad?" Garcia said. "God, JJ, that makes me sad! I miss the old days."

"I do too. I miss her so much," JJ said. "I just don't know what happened. Everything got so weird during the pandemic. She just stopped talking to me, and then all our conversations were so strained, an-"

"JJ my love. I know. I am here to be your sounding board, now and forever, but I cannot hear this sequence of events over and over and over. It pains me."

"Sorry," JJ said, taken aback. She — and everyone else — were still adjusting to how vigorously Garcia asserted her needs these days.

"The actual latest," JJ said, "is that she called me into her office the other day to talk about Green. I was kind of… he just got in my head, about Ros."

"Oh JJ," Garcia said, pretending she hadn't had this exact conversation with Emily. "I'm sorry." 

"Em noticed that, and I appreciated it, and it was kind of nice, just for a minute," JJ said. "I thought it was like, an olive branch. But then we were talking, and I was just telling her how things are going with Will and the boys, like I have a thousand times before, and she cut me off."

"She cut you off?"

"She was like 'I have so much work to do'," JJ said, putting on a terrible imitation of Emily's voice.

"I hate this," Garcia said. "You guys need to talk. Properly." 

"I've tried! Believe me, I have tried. She's not interested. And not in the usual 'I'm Emily Prentiss and I struggle to talk about my feelings but I'll open up about my trauma once in a blue moon' kind of way. Just flat-out not interested."

"OK, one, that voice you're putting on does not sound like Emily at all," Garcia said. "Two, maybe she's struggling. Covid really did a number on a lot of people and we both know Emily doesn't have much of a support network."

"But she's fine around you," JJ protested. "It's me!" 

"Sometimes people struggle to be vulnerable around the people they love the most!" Garcia said. "But let me finish, three, solution, we revive girls' night. We can invite Tara too."

JJ mused on the idea.

"As much as I would love that — especially now that my mom can watch the boys and I don't have to sell my soul to Will for a night out — I just don't think it'll work," she said. "Emily will just say she can't. Too busy."

"OK Jennifer Jareau. What's your brilliant idea?"

"I don't have one," she said. "I think Emily should come up with the brilliant idea of not being so fucking closed off."

"Noted," Garcia said. "I will return to the drawing board."

JJ got up from her chair. "I better go home." 

"You sure everything else is OK in JJ-land?" Garcia asked. The concern in her voice was palpable.

JJ considered telling her about Will's test results, just for a second. But she didn't want to make something out of nothing. What was hopefully nothing.

"Everything's OK, Pen," she said. "I'll see you tomorrow."

When Tara finally got home and unlocked her apartment door, a delicious smell wafted out. Rebecca was making dinner, the tiny lawyer tending to a boiling pot and sizzling pan on the stove. 

Tara wrapped her arms around Rebecca from behind, kissing the top of her head hello. "I love coming home to you," she murmured into her girlfriend's hair.

"Oh, it's just pasta," said Rebecca, playfully pushing Tara away. "But I love you coming home to me too."

Tara dropped her bag on the kitchen table and exhaled. "Prentiss has the vibe, right?" she said.

"The vibe?" 

"You know. The gay vibe." 

Rebecca laughed. "Are you kidding? Emily has the gay vibe more than anyone I've ever met, seen, encountered, heard about, run into... tripped over... you want me to continue?"

Tara shook her head, amused. "No, you can stop there."

"There's no way she's not a lesbian," Rebecca said. "You don't agree?"

"No, I do agree!" Tara said. "I just had this conversation with her today that made me rethink the other night with Wil."

"Mm?" Rebecca said, stirring the pot.

"She went all kind of serious and doe-eyed and was like, 'Tara, I have no idea what I'm doing here'."

"OK, that does not sound like Emily." 

"Right?" Tara said. "I really thought she was queer. But she seems so unsure about Wil. And it definitely has to do with the fact Wil is a woman. Like the possibility of it has left her world spinning."

"I mean, she's dated men in the past, hasn't she?" Rebecca said. "Maybe it's new. Can you move that, please?" She pointed to Tara's bag with a wooden spoon.

"Yeah, but I really can't stress to you how little she cared about those guys," Tara said, relocating both herself and her bag to the couch. "She dumped her English boyfriend in about five seconds after deciding to come back to the BAU. And literally never mentioned him again!" 

"You can have shitty relationships with men and still not realize you like women," Rebecca said. "Did she say anything else about Wil? I seriously think they'd be a great couple."

"She asked me for her number." 

“What? So she has to be into it!” Rebecca said. She began to ladle pasta onto plates.

"I guess so," Tara said. "I just worry we've opened a can of worms for her."

She absent-mindedly ran her fingers through her hair, thinking.

"And I swear something has happened between her and JJ. They keep it normal when everyone's around, but they don’t hang out anymore. They used to be so tight. And JJ came storming out of Emily's office yesterday looking like she was about to cry."

"Maybe they had a fight," Rebecca said.

"About what? They're grown women who have been friends for 15 years. And it's so…" Tara paused, searching for the right word. "It's so hot and cold between them. It's emotional. It's gotta be something deeper."

"So what, you think JJ is gay too?"

"I don't," Tara said. "Actually, I think that might be the problem." 

"Emily is a big girl. She can handle her shit," Rebecca said firmly. "And if it's any consolation, I'm pretty sure she has a shot with Wil. If she wants that.”

"Well, Wil could have texted her already and saved me an awkward conversation," Tara said.

"Well, you could have thought about all of this before deciding to play matchmaker," Rebecca said, laughing. She extended a hand to Tara. "Now come eat?"

Tara smiled and accepted her girlfriend's hand, allowing herself to be led to the table. She could get very used to this.

Emily filled her glass with red wine and proceeded to the couch in her apartment, where Sergio lay snoozing.

The peaceful scene reminded her of the lie she had told earlier that day. "I'm sorry for throwing you under the bus today," she told the cat, settling down next to him cross-legged. "I know you never destroy my furniture."

She opened her laptop and took a sip of wine.

OK. Let's do this.

She typed into "am I gay" into the Google search bar and paused.

This is stupid. I am 52 years old, for god's sake.

Then she clicked search.

2.6 billion results pinged straight back. But the first two dozen she scrolled through were either BuzzFeed quizzes or websites for youth organisations with advice squarely aimed at teenagers. 

She added "woman in 50s" to her query and clicked search again. This time, one of the top results was a subreddit: r/latebloomerlesbians.

Reddit was on the long list of things Emily only knew about because some deranged person had incorporated it into their serial murders. A few years ago, she had been forced to wade through endless posts from a college subreddit with Reid, who read roughly 20 for every one Emily got through. 

But she had sort of liked the freewheeling, text-based nature of it, a welcome relief to the political chaos of Facebook and the manicured selfies of Instagram. She browsed now and then, usually while on her phone in bed, but never posted. Working for the FBI — and being friends with Garcia — left you paranoid about all online behavior, no matter how innocuous.

Her guilty pleasure was r/relationships. As someone who was perennially unsuccessful in her own relationships, Emily wasn’t sure what she got out of reading about other people's failures. A sense of community, she thought wryly. But she couldn't help half-profiling the people who issued theses anonymous cries for help.

She also liked Explain Like I'm 5, which she had found herself reading more and more since Spence left. Scrolling through the endless repository of random information reminded her of conversations with Boy Genius.

She clicked through to r/latebloomerlesbians. “For those still figuring things out,” the description read.

"That's me," Emily said aloud to Sergio. The cat didn't stir, thoroughly uninterested in her journey of self-discovery.

She started reading a thread titled “What’s your story?” that appeared to be a kind of entry point for newcomers. The thread's author had posed nine questions, some about the present and others about the past, and asked those in the group to answer and share their experiences about coming out later in life.

Emily started scrolling. Wow. That is a lot of late bloomers. There were women of all ages; women who were married, single and divorced; women who had kids; women who had known and suppressed that they were gay for decades; and women who had figured it out last week.

By the time she reached the end of the thread, Emily’s wine glass had been empty for a long time.

She refilled it, then scrolled back up and studied the nine questions.

1. How old are you?
2. Are you single, in a relationship, married, separated?
3. What recently made you conclude you are attracted to women?
4. How old were you when you first felt you might be attracted to women? What was going on in your life?
5. What’s the earliest lesbian experience, either sexual or romantic, that you can remember?
6. When did you come out to yourself?
7. When did you come out to others?
8. Have you settled on a label for yourself? Why or why not?
9. How are you feeling in general about your sexuality and who you are?

Should I answer these?

God, it's like therapy without the therapist.

Which… might suit me, to be honest.

Emily opened a Google doc and pasted the questions in there. No way am I posting this on Reddit. The cursor blinked at her, waiting for answers.

1. How old are you?

OK, the first one is easy.

She typed out "52".

2. Are you single, in a relationship, married, separated?

Rub it in, why don't you?

“Very, very single” she typed.

3. What recently made you conclude you are attracted to women?

Emily took a gulp of wine.

Conclude is a bit much. What about consider? Contemplate?

"Colleague tried to set me up with a woman," she typed in response. She paused and then added: "Had dream about different female colleague."

She surveyed the two stark sentences.

What's the point of doing this if you're not going to be honest with yourself? 

Emily deleted the lines and shifted position on the couch, now balancing the laptop on her knees. She began to type.

"Two things. One, Tara invited me out to a gay bar and tried to set me up with one of her friends, Wil. At first I didn't realize that's what was happening, but on the way home, it hit me, and then I sort of couldn't stop thinking about it. Wil was great. In hindsight, she was flirting with me, and I enjoyed it. I felt attractive and interesting. And interested, in a way I haven't felt in a long time. She has my number and even though I feel totally out of my depth, I want to see her again. Two, I had a dream about…" 

You can't type JJ. What if you die tomorrow and the BAU finds this?

Don't be so dramatic.

OK, but still, don't call her JJ.

"...about Jane Doe the other night. A sexy dream. She was about to kiss me when I woke up…" 

Maybe just skip the detail for this next bit.

"...and I ended up fantasizing about it."

Technically accurate.

"And now I can't stop asking myself if I'm attracted to women. And if it's new, or if it's…"

Emily's brow creased as she continued typing.

"...if it's something I've been pushing down for a while."

She closed her eyes and exhaled, before leaning back into the couch and reading over the paragraph she had just typed. The last line, the simultaneous honesty and duplicity of it, sent a visceral ripple of sadness through her body. Emily knew her tendency to put up walls cut her off from other people, but she tried not to think about the fact she deprived herself of insight, too.

Which is in itself another wall, I guess.

The therapist the FBI had forced her to see after everything happened with Doyle had called her out on this exact thing.

A decade earlier...

"It's OK to be sad about what Ian took from you, you know," the therapist said. 

"I am sad," Emily said matter-of-factly.

"It's OK to be openly sad," the therapist said. "To talk about being sad. To share that feeling with other people." 

"You're other people, aren't you?"

"I am, and if you wanted to share more with me, that would be great too," the therapist said. She put down her notepad.

"I've noticed you have a tendency to put up walls when you're dealing with difficult emotions. Do you find yourself pushing them down, or cutting yourself off from them, rather than accepting them and trying to move through them?"

Emily glanced up at the ceiling. I hate therapy.

"Just a little, yeah," she said.

"I want to ask you, who would you be if you didn't do that?" the therapist asked.

"I don't know… Penelope Garcia?" Emily joked.

"Come on Emily," the therapist said, barely disguising her exasperation. "I know you do it for a reason. It's a coping mechanism. We all have them. And we develop them because they serve us."

"I understand that," Emily said. I'm a profiler. I know psychology 101.

"We've talked about your mom, how that relationship made you guarded. Your upbringing. I get it. But we — again, all of us — become too reliant on these mechanisms. We become them, they become us. And that's when we need to try and move past them. To write new narratives for ourselves."

"Sure," Emily said.

"So I'm going to ask you again. You don't have to answer. But just think about it, OK? Who would you be if you stopped putting up all these walls?"

Wow, I was kind of rude to my therapist, Emily thought.

She moved on to the next question.

4. How old were you when you first felt you might be attracted to women? What was going on in your life?

"Nope," she said aloud, shutting the laptop. That was well and truly enough self-excavation for one evening. The other questions could wait.

It was time to type out something even scarier.

She picked up her phone and navigated to Wil's contact, opening a new message.

"Hey! It's Emily here, from Jade the other night," she tapped out. "I really enjoyed meeting you. Do you want to grab a drink sometime?"

She read it over, once.

And then she hit send.

Chapter Text

Emily sent 21.37: Hey! It's Emily here, from Jade the other night. I really enjoyed meeting you. Do you want to grab a drink sometime?

Wil sent 21.45: Hey there. Yes, I'd love that. 

Emily sent 21.49: Great! Are you free next Thursday?

Wil sent 21.53: Sure am. 8pm? I know a good wine bar near Jade… maps.app.goo.gl/174t5873tqt5

Emily sent 21.57: Sounds perfect

Wil sent 21.58: It's a date.

It's a date.

It had been a week since the text exchange and Emily had lost count of how many times she had read over those three words. But she still wasn't sure how she felt about them.

I mean, it is literally a date, she told herself. You've been on approximately five thousand of them. Mostly bad.

She had to admit though, this time felt different. For one, she was actually worried about having to cancel due to work. Usually she was fine — even relieved — to blow off dates with "Sorry, we have a case."

Two, she had been agonizing over what to wear. As a general rule, Emily threw on whatever was clean and vaguely stylish, and if her date didn't like it, well, too bad for him. But now Thursday had arrived and she was stuck rifling through her closet, unable to land on an outfit.

Three, the date was with a woman.

It doesn't have to mean anything. I'm just seeing how it goes.

It was a decent mantra, but did little to combat Emily's unease, the source of which she couldn't quite pinpoint. It wasn't that she felt being gay was wrong, or even foreign. But when she tried to apply the concept to herself, it felt impossibly distant yet uncomfortably close to home at the same time. Like she couldn't tell if she was acting out an ill-suited role in her own life, or if she had finally stopped performing, the script she had relied on all these years suddenly wrenched out of her hands.

As a person, she felt baffled by her conflicting emotions. As a profiler, she felt defeated.

How can I not know what's in my own head?

She wished the world could stop while she figured herself out. But she had to go to work, and in order to go to work, she had to put some clothes on, and in order to put some clothes on, she had to decide what to wear. On her date. With a woman.

Get a grip, Emily Prentiss.

She surveyed her body in the mirror. It had changed over the years — her abdomen now scarred and just a fraction saggy, her face more lined, her hair grey — but she still liked the way she looked. It had always irritated her that women were expected to hate their bodies, especially as they aged. She had never hated hers, and she wasn't about to start now.

She returned to the closet, hoping for a sudden burst of inspiration. But again her hand hovered uselessly over the coat hangers. Emily grabbed her phone.

Emily sent 7.15: What do I wear?

Tara sent 7.17: You know we have a case, right?

Emily sent 7.17: ?????

Emily sent 7.17: You mean Sicarius? I haven't heard anything.

Tara sent 7.18: I'm kidding

Emily sent 7.19: Not funny. Now can you help me? 

Emily sent 7.21: Options: navy blouse, white shirt and pinstripe vest, maroon wrap-around top, black shirt and teal blazer…?

Tara sent 7.22: Hmm. Your pinstripe vest is very gay. But I vote maroon.

Tara sent 7.22: Your boobs look amazing in that top.

Emily sent 7.23: Hope Wil thinks so.

Tara sent 7.23: She will.

Emily put down her phone, smiling. It felt strange and slightly surreal to be bantering with Tara about whether Wil would notice her cleavage, or which of her outfits was the most gay. Lots of women wear pinstripe vests… don't they? But the exchange also sparked a warm feeling inside Emily, like she and Tara shared a unique bond.

The forensic psychologist was the only person she had told about her date. She had felt vulnerable sharing the news, wondering what Tara would assume about her. That she was… what? A lesbian? Bisexual? Confused? Open to going on a date with a woman? Whatever that means.

But Tara had not made a big deal of it at all. "That's great, Prentiss," she said. "Let me know how it goes." And in the days since, things between them had felt nice, closer somehow, a new ease to their friendship.

Emily put on the maroon wrap-around top and stared at herself in the mirror. My boobs do look great.

She had never been so nervous about a date before.

Unfortunately, by the time Emily got to work, Tara's joke had become reality: they had a case.

The team had spent the past week pursuing Sicarius leads. Garcia had made some significant progress with Tyler Green, despite their rocky start. Emily — and pretty much everybody else — had picked up on an odd energy between the two of them. Garcia had somehow offended Green, and then vice versa, their emotions running a little too high for people who didn't actually know each other.

Emily's suspicions were only heightened when Rossi told her, in an attempt to allay her concerns, that Green had given Garcia a cat — "An actual cat?" "Yes, an actual cat" — to smooth things over, and all was now OK. She didn't understand how someone who was meant to be in federal custody had made it to an animal rescue, but decided not to ask, figuring plausible deniability was her best bet in this scenario.

Anyway, whatever was happening between the two computer whizzes, it appeared to be working. Together with Rossi, they had figured out Sicarius separated serial killers from sycophants by covertly administering the psychopath test on his server. Those who passed were assigned kill kits, and those who failed were relegated to the outer edges of the messaging app.

But while useful, the revelation still hadn't led them to Sicarius. And as far as Emily knew, the case the BAU had been given that morning had nothing to do with him either.

As she entered the briefing room, Tara looked her up and down and offered an approving nod. Emily flashed her a grateful smile. Then she realized deputy director Bailey was in the room.

"Can I help you?" she asked sharply.

"I've been asked to supervise this case," he said. "Pretend I'm not here." 

How about I pretend you don't exist?

Emily briefly considered arguing, but thought better of it. "OK, what have we got?"

The victims were young women, ambitious political up-and-comers like so many in DC. But these two would never realize their professional or personal dreams. They had been drugged and strangled, their bodies marked with two distinct signatures: bleached white hair and horrific bite marks, inflicted before and after they died.

They also both had an app called Beltway Elite, an exclusive dating service for the young DC milieu, installed on their phones.

As Emily ran through the facts, Bailey looked visibly uncomfortable. Rossi quickly clocked it was something more than general squeamishness.

"What's your connection to this case, Bailey?" he asked.

Bailey looked like he had just swallowed a fly. "What do you mean?

"Don't bullshit me," Rossi said. Emily shot him a warning glance. "You know one of these women. I'm going to say it's… Claire. Are you friends or were you dating?" 

Bailey's nostrils flared. "We met on Beltway Elite and dated very briefly," he said primly. "And split amicably."

"Bullshit," Rossi said again. "She broke your heart." 

This is about to escalate. Emily beckoned at Bailey. "Come with me." 

Once inside her office, he dropped his tough guy act completely. 

"Prentiss, I'm begging you. It can't get out that I have a connection to this case. That I'm on Beltway Elite." 

As she looked into his pleading eyes, she almost felt sorry for him.

Almost. 

"If we solve this case, you leave the BAU alone."

"I will," he said. 

"Don't lie to me," Emily warned. "You may not think so, but I am very good at my job. It's almost impossible to fool my team and let me tell you right now, you are not among the handful of people on this planet who can do it." 

"I'm not lying, I swear," Bailey said. "You solve it, I tell the brass your team needs to stay." 

"And you get out of my face, too," Emily said.

"Deal."

The day proceeded at breakneck speed, the BAU running on coffee and fumes as they always did when on a case. Tara and Luke went to the medical examiner's office to inspect the bodies, while JJ interviewed a woman named Jessica, a sex worker who had encountered their unsub on the job, in hope she could ID him.

By the time Tara and Luke returned from chasing leads to discuss the profile, Emily was shocked to realize it was past 7pm.

The bite marks on their victims had seemed unusual, and now they knew why: the unsub had used some kind of dental appliance, a custom-made torture device with razor blades for incisors.

The fact he was on Beltway Elite meant he was well-connected, possibly even rich and influential enough to have had his dental device made under the radar. Though they had still called every dentist within 200 miles.

"But what's with the hair?" Emily asked. "Bleaching it white is very specific."

"He could be remaking these women in someone else's image," said Tara. "An older woman, perhaps a mother or grandmother."

"What about Oedipal issues?" Luke said.

Tara nodded, thinking aloud. "He never outgrew his Oedipus complex, and his mom didn't give him the attention he craved. Now he's taking out his hatred, and his taboo sexual desire, on surrogates instead." 

"He's turning these women into his mom to make up for the attention she didn't give him when he was a kid," Luke said.

"Or worse," Emily said, "to punish her for the attention that she did give him."

The trio fell silent at the thought of what their unsub might have been through. Even though they understood the psychology back to front, it was always difficult to contemplate that the killers they hunted were often victims themselves.

Emily checked her watch. Usually, this was the point at which she would text and cancel her date.

But the case was based right here in Virginia. They had just nailed down the psychological profile. JJ had hit a dead end with Jessica, who was too afraid to talk. Every dentist, orthodontist, oral surgeon and veterinarian in the region had been questioned about the grotesque dental appliance. And without a third body — and frankly, without Reid — there wouldn't be an accurate geographic profile for a while. 

There wasn't much more they could do tonight. 

"We need to deliver the profile," Emily said. "Can you guys handle local law enforcement? I'll tackle Bailey. And then please go home and get some rest." 

Luke and Tara nodded. As they went to leave, Tara caught Emily's eye.

"Good luck tonight," she mouthed silently.

"Thank you," Emily mouthed back.

Emily waited at the elevator impatiently, checking her watch. She had wasted 20 minutes filling in Bailey on the case. He was his usual unhelpful self, asking her to explain everything twice, and then complaining that arresting anyone with DC connections would be tricky and warning her not to act without authorization.

So condescending. Does he think my team is just out here arresting anyone?

He dated one of those women. Does he even care about her, or just about his career?

As she ruminated, JJ's voice came out of nowhere. 

"Hey, you off somewhere?" She looked tired, visible bags under her impossibly blue eyes.

"Oh, I'm just meeting someone," Emily said. She jabbed at the elevator button a second time.

"Will?" JJ asked.

Emily was caught off-guard. "How- how do you know about Wil?" 

"Garcia mentioned something about a guy called Will," JJ said. "That's kind of funny, right? The same name as my Will?"

"Oh, that!" Emily said. "That was just a big misunderstanding."

"Come on, Em," JJ said, in a teasing voice. "Who is he?"

Aggghhh.

"He's nobody, really," Emily said. 

"Is he FBI? Or a civilian?"

Emily gave JJ an exasperated look. Where the fuck is the elevator?

"How'd you meet? Just so you know, Garcia didn't buy you and Tara's couch story for one second and neither do I."

"That's fine, because it's actually not really either of your business," Emily shot back. She immediately regretted it.

"Wow," JJ said. "OK. Sorry, I thought we were friends for a second there."

Emily felt frozen to the spot. She wanted to explain what was going on. The words were right there in her head, but she couldn't get them out.

Her name is Wil. She's a woman.

I can't tell JJ, of all people.

Of all people?

JJ took Emily's silence as a chance to speak.

"What happened to us?" she asked, her voice cracking with emotion. "I don't know if it's because you're an FBI big shot now, or you got sick of me, or you suddenly don't like my kids, or you got a brain transplant during Covid, or…" JJ flung out her hands, dumbfounded. "Or whatever the fuck is going on with you!"

A couple of junior staffers rounded the corner, forcing JJ to realize she was losing her cool in a public corridor.

"I miss you," she said, in a furious whisper. "And I'm pretty sure you miss me too."

Before Emily could formulate a response, JJ walked away, flinging open the door to the bullpen as she went. "Have fun on your non-date," she snapped over her shoulder, startling the young agents passing by.

"Ding!"

The elevator finally arrived. Emily flashed a pained glance back at JJ and stepped in. She didn't want to be late.

"So," Emily said, setting down her glass. "I have a question for you."

"Hit me," Wil said.

They were at a corner table in the dimly-lit wine bar, about an hour into their date. Emily had arrived 15 minutes late, flustered from her run-in with JJ and nervous about how the evening would unfold, but Wil, who seemed totally unconcerned, had managed to put her at ease right away.

Emily paused for a second, watching as the flickering light of a fake candle danced across Wil's face. Her date was dressed in an almost identical outfit to the androgynous clothes she had been wearing when they met, the only discernible difference a grey shirt under her blazer instead of white. Her dark, boyish hair was similarly rumpled, her eyes the same soft hazel, and her demeanour exuded the quiet confidence that Emily had been so unconsciously drawn to.

She had worried she might arrive and realize she had just been drunk that night at Jade, that her text had been a mistake. But Wil was just as hot as she remembered. And a few wines in, Emily was feeling brave.

"You replied so quickly when I messaged you," she continued.

"Embarrassingly so," Wil agreed cheerfully.

"If you were so keen… why didn't you text me first?" Emily said.

Wil laughed. "Oh god. Alright Ms FBI, the interrogation's started."

"I'm serious!" Emily said.

"I was a little… intimidated, I guess," Wil said.

"Intimidated?"

"Ah… yes? That can't be the first time anyone has ever told you that." 

"You just seem pretty calm," Emily said. "Like you wouldn't be intimidated by people."

"I am pretty calm," Wil said. "But you're still an FBI section chief!"

Oh yeah.

Emily smiled weakly at Wil. "OK, that makes sense. Sometimes I forget…"

"That you're Emily Prentiss?"

"Kind of," Emily admitted. "I'm used to people finding me intimidating at work. But when it comes to dating, I'm usually the one feeling terrified."

"That is truly hard to imagine," Wil said. She sat back in her chair, scrutinizing Emily as if deciding what to say next.

"Honestly, I was surprised to get your text," she added. "You didn't seem so into me at Jade." 

Oh no.

"I- I thought we got on great," Emily said.

"We did," Wil agreed. "You were just a little, I don't know… impervious? I mean, it was obvious Tara was setting us up. I couldn't tell if you were actually interested or just, you know, enjoying the conversation."

I was interested, I just didn't know it.

"Uh…" 

"You're different tonight, though," Wil said, a half smile on her face.

"Well… I…"

As Emily stuttered, Wil pushed up the sleeves of her blazer, revealing the entirety of the small tattoo that had peeked out the night they met. The simple drawing etched into her slender wrist was not what Emily had expected.

"Is that- is that a skateboard?" Emily asked.

"It is," Wil said, twisting her wrist to show Emily. "Are you going to answer my question?"

"Not sure if there was an actual question in there," Emily said coyly, her confidence returning. "You're a skater?"

"Not anymore!" Wil said, holding up her palms. "I was. A very long time ago."

"It must have meant a lot to you if you got a tattoo of it," Emily said. "Unless you're totally covered under there." She gestured at Wil's body before realizing what she had just said, her face growing hot at the thought of her date undressed, tattooed or otherwise.

"I wouldn't say covered," Wil said, "but I do have a couple more." She winked at Emily, who silently thanked the bar's amber-hued light for disguising the color of her face.

Wil traced a finger along her tattoo absent-mindedly. "I know it makes me look like I'm having a midlife crisis — which frankly I wish I had thought about when I got it — but it's not really about skating."

Emily was intrigued. "So what's the story?"

"Oh, it's…" Wil smiled and looked down at the table. "OK. When I was a kid, skateboarding was really all I cared about. I think I told you I'm from New Mexico?" 

Emily nodded.

"So I grew up in Albuquerque, in the '80s, right? There was not a lot to do. We lived near a skatepark and when I was 12, 13, I spent all my time there."

"Sure," Emily said.

"That was also around the time I realised I was gay," Wil said, her intonation changing slightly. "There was one other girl who skated at that park and we got close, and then she moved away, and… long story, it was very lonely. I had a lot of, um, shame, I guess, about who I was. But when I was skating, all I thought about was landing the next trick. It was my escape. It really got me through that time."

She looked up at Emily. "This is very lesbian of us, you know. Delving into my adolescent coming out story on the first date." 

Emily laughed. "I'm glad it's appropriate."

"So this," Wil continued, tapping the skateboard, "I got this when I was in my 20s, as a symbol of my younger self. I wish I could go back and be who she needed, but I can't. So this reminds me to be proud of who I am every day. Not for me, but for her. So that's the story."

She gave Emily a wry smile. "It's corny, I know."

"It's not corny at all," Emily said quietly.

"Anyway," Wil said, returning to her usual relaxed tone. "It's not like I have to struggle to be myself here, in 2022." She gestured around the intimate bar, which appeared to contain almost as many gay couples as it did straight. "Things have changed a lot."

The comment made Emily feel a little stupid about all her ruminating. She wondered what Tara had said to Wil, if anything, about her dating history.

Does she know I've never dated a woman? Would she care? 

Let's change the subject.

"So growing up in the '80s… you can't be far off my age," Emily said.

"I'm 48."

"You look younger."

"Well, dressing like a teenage boy helps," Wil said dryly, prompting a snort from Emily. "And I dye my hair. All power to you, but I am not ready to embrace my age."

Suddenly self-conscious, Emily ran her fingers through her hair. "I know it makes me look kind of old," she said. 

Why did you say that? You love your grey hair.

“Actually, I don’t know why I said that,” Emily said. “I love my grey hair. And until tonight — until this second — I have not cared one bit what anyone else thinks of it.”

“Well, I think it's sexy," Wil said.

"I don't care," Emily replied, doing her best to look stern.

Wil studied her face for a second and then burst out laughing.

"Great!" she said, raising her beer to meet Emily's wine glass. "Cheers to not caring."

"To not caring," Emily said, as they clinked, her heart beating fast from the compliment.

She had been called sexy a million times before. Mostly by men she didn't know, with Garcia running a close second. But hearing it from a woman, one who was interested in her… it felt different.

And she really, really liked it.

Two drinks later, Emily and Wil called it a night. Their apartments were both within walking distance, and though it was cold out, Emily took the long way home via Wil's. As they walked along, still deep in conversation, their hands brushed more than once, but neither woman took the initiative to grasp the other's.

Next time it happens, I'll grab hers.

"Well, this is me," Wil said, stopping on the footpath outside a brown brick multi-story. 

Damn it.

“Do you want to come in?” Wil asked, with the briefest of hesitations. It was the first time Emily had detected even the most mild shyness from her date, and she found it incredibly cute. Sexy, even.

But the BAU had a case. She had already had one too many wines. And, if she was being honest, a mild anxiety about what might happen in Wil's apartment gnawed away at her. 

Quit while you're ahead, Em.

"Not tonight," Emily said. "I'm sorry."

Wil nodded, her self-consciousness gone as quickly as it had surfaced. "No problem. Can I see you again?" 

"I would really like that," Emily said.

"I'll ask you this time."

"I'll hold you to that!"

"It's probably also my turn to make the first move here," Wil said. She stepped towards Emily and paused in front of her, briefly studying her eyes for confirmation. In return, Emily offered an almost imperceptible nod.

Wil reached out and tucked a strand of Emily's hair behind her ear, then trailed her fingers slowly down her neck. The gentle touch sent a euphoric feeling shooting through Emily's body. She reciprocated with a firm grip on Wil's waist, the unfamiliar feel of another woman's hips only intensifying the tingling in her abdomen. 

And then Wil leaned in and kissed her.

Emily closed her eyes, suddenly oblivious to the icy wind permeating her thick winter coat, to the cars passing by. The feel of Wil's warm lips lingering on hers was the only thing in the world that mattered.

Holy shit.

Wil softly broke away from Emily, loosening her grip on the nape of Emily's neck. Emily unlocked her arms from around Wil's torso and leaned back, the two of them shyly meeting eyes as they untwined.

Emily took a deep breath, feeling momentarily dizzy. Wil let out a self-conscious laugh.

"I'll see you soon," she said, grabbing Emily's hand and squeezing it before turning up the steps of her apartment building.

"I had a really great time tonight," Emily called out after her.

Wil turned around. "I don't care," she said, with a huge grin on her face. Then she disappeared through the thick wooden door.

Emily pulled her coat around her and walked home, the whole way replaying the feeling of Wil's soft lips on hers.

She still didn't have all the answers. But there was one thing she knew for sure.

I am so fucking attracted to her.

Chapter Text

"So. How’d it go?"

Emily had predicted Tara would make a beeline for her office first thing Friday. “Good morning,” she said pointedly, looking up from her laptop.

Tara grinned, splaying out her hands. "Come on Prentiss, I’m dying to know."

"At least shut the door," Emily said, gesturing Tara inside. Once the profiler was seated across from her, she closed her laptop and clasped her hands on top of it. Tara looked at her expectantly.

"It was… amazing," Emily said, breaking into a wide smile. "I had a great time. She’s so funny. The place she picked was perfect. And she's just so easy to talk to."

Tara leaned forward, an audacious look on her face. "And hot, right?" she said.

"And hot," Emily agreed, averting Tara's gaze. "It just felt good, you know? Not pressured, not like we were trying too hard. It's early days, of course. But I- I really like her."

"So did you guys…"

"No! God, Tara, it was a first date."

"Well. Second date if you count Jade."

"I like to actually know when I’m on a date, so, no, I don’t count Jade," Emily said.

"Touché."

"She did invite me up to her apartment."

Tara raised her eyebrows.

"I said I couldn’t," Emily added quickly. "I mean, we have a case."

"Excuses, excu-"

"But she kissed me good night," Emily said, surprising herself by speaking the words aloud. She hadn’t realized how much she wanted to get them out into the world. "It was… yeah," she said, momentarily lost for words as the elation of the kiss washed over her again. "A great night." 

Tara smiled knowingly. 

Did I just… come out? 

The thought gave Emily a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach, a kind of fear and embarrassment and vulnerability all rolled into one.

She knew she had been dancing precariously along that line for a couple of weeks now with Tara. But before last night, all she had confirmed was that she would give it a go. Wil was an intriguing hypothetical; a question waiting to be answered.

Now she had gone on a very real date and shared a very real kiss with a very real woman. That had to mean something.

But what, exactly?

"So when are you seeing each other again?"

"That’s up to Wil. She said she’d ask me next time. So it’s back to the waiting game, I guess," Emily said, pointing to her phone.

"OK, this time, I am actually sure she’ll text," Tara said.

"I hope your psychic powers have improved," Emily said sardonically. "No, I think she will too."

She paused for a second, reliving her conversation with Wil. "She said she was intimidated, believe it or not."

“Oh, I believe it,” Tara said.

“Ha ha,” Emily said. "She also said she wasn't sure I'd be interested."

"Right," Tara said. "Well, to be fair… you weren't sure either."

"That's true," Emily said. "On that," she added hesitantly, "what did you tell Wil about me?”

"Um, nothing really," Tara said. "Just that you’re my boss — and friend — and you’re great and I thought she’d enjoy meeting you."

"Sorry, I mean, about my dating history. Did you tell her that I’m…" Emily trailed off, waving her hand vaguely. "You know," she said, not really knowing what she meant herself.

“I didn’t say anything about that,” Tara said slowly. “I mean, I only know about the few people you’ve mentioned at work. Mendoza and that British guy.”

“Not much to talk about there,” Emily said wryly.

Tara laughed. “Yeah, I figured.” She looked at Emily. “I actually wasn't sure if you had dated women before and just not talked about it."

"What do you mean, you weren't sure?"

"Well… I assumed you had," Tara admitted. "I didn't say as much to Wil, though."

Huh.

"So, have you?" Tara said, attempting to sound as low-key as possible.

"No," Emily said. She picked up a pen from her desk and twisted it between her fingers, redundantly repeating her answer. "No."

“Have you wanted to?”

Emily opened her mouth to respond but found herself lost for words, exhaling in a half laugh instead. An image of JJ flashed across her mind. 

"Um, jesus. No. I don’t know. No." She creased her brow, pushing the thought away. "Do you think Wil thinks I have? Dated women?"

"I would assume so, yeah."

"Why?"

"Well, you went out with her, for a start. And you… kind of have a vibe."

"A vibe?"

What does that even mean?

"Yeah, just… I mean, I picked up on something from you," Tara said. "I think most people wouldn’t,” she added, unable to read Emily's expression.

Does everyone think I'm gay?

Emily was about to outright ask Tara that question when their phones beeped in unison.

"That's never good," Tara said, reaching for her pocket.

"Another body. He's escalating," Emily said, scanning the grim notification. It was the same as the last two, a young woman covered in bite marks, her hair bleached white. "We have to get to the scene."

Emily fired off messages to her team as she and Tara crossed the empty bullpen and stepped into the crowded elevator, travelling down to the basement floor that housed the FBI's fleet of black SUVs. The lift emptied after a few floors, and once they were alone again, Tara turned to Emily. "I just want to say, I'm really glad it went so well with Wil."

"Let's not get carried away," Emily said. "It's one date." 

Tara rolled her eyes. "Let yourself be happy."

"I am," Emily said. "Really. I just have this disease that makes me be sarcastic all the time. It's tragic." 

As Tara snorted, Emily was struck by a thought. "I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone," she said. "Just… not yet."

"Of course," Tara said. She met Emily's eyes and nodded, just once, a silent understanding passing between them in the shared intimacy created by Emily's disclosure.

"And if you ever want to talk about any of this, I'm here," Tara said.

"Good," Emily said. "Because you're going to have to expand on my vibe."

"Can you forget I said that?"

"Not a chance."

As JJ stormed into Garcia's office, her mind running hot, she unexpectedly trod on something soft. 

Even more unexpectedly, the fluffy black thing let out an ear-splitting screech and swiped at her leg. She felt something sharp pierce through her skinny jeans.

"Fuck!" JJ said, as the cat retreated behind a row of quietly humming machines. "What the hell, Penelope?" 

"Oh, kitty!" Garcia said. "Come back out! JJ won't hurt you again."

"I didn't deliberately step on it!" JJ protested. "Why is it in here?" 

"It's a long story," Garcia said "Well, OK, not that long. Tyler gave it to me."

"Tyler?" JJ put a hand on her hip, looking skeptical.

"Tyler Green? The man who infiltr-"

"I know who he is, Pen, I just didn't realize you were on first name terms. Or pet gift terms. Or, for that matter, how someone in federal custody got their hands on a cat."

"It's complicated," Garcia snapped.

"Well, don't let Luke find out about it," JJ said, sitting down and pulling up her pants leg to inspect the scratch on her ankle.

"Why would Luke have anything to do with it?"

JJ gave her a look.

"Oh, shut up," Garcia said. "How are you?" 

"I am furious at my husband," JJ said, rolling her cuff back down.

"At your husband!" Garcia said. "What's he done?" 

"So he got these scary test results the other day, right? To do with his white blood cells. The short version is that doctors weren't sure what was going on and said it could have been cancer. Cancer," JJ said.

"I'm guessing from your tone that Will is not in fact dying, but please reassure me of that very quickly," Garcia said.

"He's not dying," JJ said. "It turns out it's a thyroid thing, minor. He just needs to go on medication."

"So that sounds like… good news?" Garcia said. JJ put up a hand to signal she should wait.

"I went to the appointment with him this morning," she continued. "And it turns out he's known about this for months. Months! And when he found out it was just his thyroid, I said, 'Don't do this to me again' — which is a totally reasonable thing to say — and he was like 'It's our marriage, JJ. This is what we do.'" 

"Wow," Garcia said. "This is what we do?"

"Yep," JJ said. "Like we're some kind of psycho couple who play mind games with each other. He randomly brought up me taking down Green — sorry, Tyler — the other week, and tried to argue that him not telling me about his test results is the same thing as me not telling him every little thing I am ever doing at work, which, yes, sometimes involves danger, Will, because I work for the fucking FBI!" 

Garcia patted JJ's knee. "Get it all out, my love." 

"I mean, give me a break," JJ said. "Of course I'm happy that he's fine. I'm so relieved. But how could he not tell me about something so important? And… this is what we do."

She lapsed into an angry silence.

"It felt like things were going well between us," she said. "Like we had maybe turned a corner. But now it just feels like we're back to the start, knowing he was hiding that from me the whole time. We haven't been on the same page in… I don't know. Forever."

"I'm sorry JJ," Garcia said. "Did you tell him how you feel?"

"No," JJ said. "It would have been... I feel guilty for being so angry. It would have been wrong to have a go at him after he got this good news. It just-"

JJ stopped talking as her phone beeped.

"Another body," she said.

"Oh no," Garcia said. "You better go." 

"Yeah…" JJ said, glancing at her phone. "Oh. No. Emily says to stay here and keep trying leads on the dental appliance."

Garcia registered the flat tone in JJ's voice at the mention of Emily and frowned. JJ seemed to be hurtling from one personal disaster to another with two of the people who mattered most to her.

She wished there was some way she could help.

"Are you sure?" Emily asked Luke.

A third body usually meant progress on the geographic profile. But the dump site they had visited that morning was hundreds of miles from the other two, all too far apart to pinpoint their killer's comfort zone. Emily had suggested running a real estate search to see if any one person owned land near all three rural Virginia locations.

And now Luke had returned with unwelcome news.

"Yep," he replied. "Ran the search twice. Senator Martha Reeves is the only person who has property near all three dump sites. And her son Benjamin fits our profile to a T."

Emily's heart sank.

Fuck.

A senator's son? 

Bailey is going to lose his shit.

"Your intuition about the real estate was spot on," Luke added.

"Thanks," Emily said, grimacing. "Now I just have to convince Bailey to let us arrest him." 

"Convince me to arrest who?"

Emily spun around. "Benjamin Reeves, son of senator Martha Reeves," she said.

"A senator's son?" Bailey said. "Based on a profile? That's crazy."

Don't call me crazy, you lanky son-of-a-bitch. Emily swallowed the retort. "Senator Reeves is the only person to own property near all three dump sites," she said. "Her son has a rap sheet. He attacked her third husband on her wedding night. If he's not the one acting out these Oedipal fantasies, I'll eat my hat." 

"Well I hope you're hungry, Prentiss, because you're not getting anywhere near him," Bailey said.

His unflinching gaze met Emily's hard stare. "He killed your ex-girlfriend," she blurted out. "Don't you care?" 

Bailey looked furious. "Lower your voice," he hissed, looking around the office. "Of course I care! But I can't just authorize anything." 

"I'm not asking you to authorize anything ," Emily said. "I'm asking you to authorize the arrest of the lead suspect in a serial murder investigation. Which I can't believe I have to ask, by the way."

Bailey leaned in furtively. "Senators, and their kids, have staff. Benjamin will have an assistant. Start there. If I hear you've gone beyond that… there'll be hell to pay." 

Emily nodded, turning away in disgust before she said something she would regret.

I fucking hate politics.

Emily stared at Benjamin Reeves through the two-way glass window. The smarmy bastard was enjoying himself, joking to Luke about how his rich mom would get him off.

In more ways than one, she thought. She was flanked by Rossi, Garcia, Tara and JJ, the five of them looking on as Luke had a first run at Benjamin.

They had brought in his assistant as ordered, but the guy played the BAU like a fiddle, saying just enough to keep them interested but nothing they could use. Worse, the assistant had distracted them while Benjamin went after the one person who could potentially identify him: Jessica, the sex worker who he had paid off to keep quiet after she survived his sadistic bites. He had a gun on her by the time JJ and Tara apprehended him in a D.C. parking garage.

They had made the arrest without Bailey's approval, and Emily knew the deputy director would walk into the interrogation ante-room any minute. She was ready for him.

Right now, we have bigger fish to fry, she thought, eyeing off Benjamin. He wouldn't fold to just anybody. They needed to play to the specific, taboo element of his sexual psychopathy.

They needed someone older. Someone who resembled his mother more than his victims. Someone he'd find sexy. Intimidating.

Oh.

Emily had decades of experience using her sexuality as a tool. All of them at the BAU had done it at one point or another, women and men alike, but she and JJ had been called on more than most. Sometimes they had even teamed up, posing undercover as party girls enjoying a drunken night out or as sex workers on the strip, in the hope of luring an unsub.

Emily was the unspoken expert, though. The only one who had carried out a sustained honeypot operation. The lessons she had learned from seducing Ian Doyle were burned into her brain.

Using sex on the job was difficult and dangerous work, and Emily was excellent at it. It required maintaining a certain distance from yourself, understanding how to wield your real body, intellect and emotions to create a false connection. You had to maintain the verisimilitude of this fraudulent intimacy at all costs, waver on the brink of believing it yourself while constantly bracing for the inevitable moment of betrayal.

Emily had been the best of the best at Interpol, but the BAU had never asked her to use the full extent of her skills in this area. As a FBI agent, she had only ever acted as bait, or worked to forge a more fleeting connection, a simple emotional ruse that would convince an unsub to drop the gun, or release the victim, or confess.

In recent years, she had stopped doing even those kinds of assignments. The work could be corrosive, even in small doses, and she sometimes wondered if she had done her sense of self enough damage all those years ago. And getting promoted to unit chief and then section chief meant she could easily avoid the field jobs she didn't want to do.

But she also knew she had aged out of the target demographic of the average unsub. The average man. Emily had no problem with the way she looked, but she wasn't oblivious to beauty norms. It had been strange, going from someone who couldn't walk down the street without being catcalled to someone who felt invisible to a decent chunk of the population.

As her complicated feelings swirled, her apprehension colliding with her natural desire for justice, she felt a rush of adrenaline.

I can have this kid eating out of the palm of my hand. 

She shrugged off her blazer. As she draped it over a chair, Bailey finally arrived, full of his usual bluster. "Prentiss, I specifically told you — I ordered you — not to arrest Benjamin Reeves. There's only so much I can do to protect th-"

Emily, ignoring him, began to unbutton her blouse.

"What are you doing?" Bailey said. 

"Giving him what he wants," she said, checking her cleavage in the reflection of the two-way mirror. She looked Bailey straight in the face. "Mommy."

As she mussed her hair, enjoying the scandalized look on Bailey's face, she quickly scanned the reactions of her team. Rossi gave her a surprised but approving nod, Tara looked thoroughly amused, and Garcia offered a double thumbs up and mouthed “Hell yeah”.

Standing next to Garcia was JJ. Other than a brief text with instructions, Emily hadn't spoken to her since their run-in at the elevator. It felt to Emily like several lifetimes had passed since JJ whispered that she missed her, but it had actually been less than 24 hours.

Emily realized with a start that JJ was watching her, an inscrutable yet oddly familiar look on her face. It was an expression Emily thought she recognized from a long time ago.

I know that look…

I just never figured out what it means.

There's no time for this, Emily.

She rapped loudly on the door, a signal for Luke to pass the baton. As Bailey tried to stop her one last time, she took the chance to loudly tell him — entirely in character, of course — to "shut up, or I'll cut your balls off and feed them to you."

Luke played along, coolly telling Benjamin "Good luck" as he left the room. As Emily entered, her focus was laser. She had been distracted for weeks, by Wil, by JJ, by Bailey, by her own endless ruminating. But the task at hand required every iota of her attention.

She approached the table and sensually placed her fingertips on it, leaning over at an angle she knew would leave her loose blouse hanging in just the right places.

"Benjamin," she said. "You’ve been a bad boy, haven’t you?"

"Who are you?" he asked, gaping up at her.

"Emily Prentiss, FBI," she said breezily, taking a seat.

She felt in total control.

"Damn," said Luke, as he surmised the scene from the other side of the two-way mirror, his arms crossed over his chest. "Prentiss looks good."

"She’s always been excellent at this," Rossi said. "But this, I have to say, is a new spin on the old role."

"You can say that again," Garcia said. "Our sexy brunette is all grown up."

"She used to do this kind of thing all the time, right?" Tara asked.

"Oh yeah," Rossi said. "Sometimes she and JJ would team up."

Luke nudged JJ, who was barely listening, her eyes fixed on Emily. 

"Hmm?" she said. 

"What do you think of Mommy Prentiss?" Luke said.

JJ attempted a non-committal laugh, but it came out more like "harrumph".

"Wow, harsh!" Luke said.

"No, no," JJ said. "It’s just… weird to see her coming on to him like this, that’s all." 

The entire team shot her a funny look.

Luke was shocked to hear JJ say anything even slightly negative about Emily. The team occasionally blew off steam about their headstrong boss, but Luke had quickly learned never to do it in front of JJ, who was usually such a staunch defender of Emily that it was honestly kind of annoying.

Rossi knew JJ was well-versed in just how uncomfortable it could be to deploy your own sexuality in a bid to entrap an unsub. Especially in front of your colleagues. Why she would disparage Emily in such a situation was beyond him. Maybe, he thought, she was projecting her own anxiety about ageing onto Emily.

Tara wondered if JJ found it weird because she somehow knew about Emily and Wil, or about Emily exploring her sexuality generally. She had thought Emily was only talking to her about it, but maybe she was wrong.

Garcia figured JJ was still mad at Emily and simply unable to say anything complimentary about her at the moment, going for the vague "It's just weird" because she didn't know what else to say.

The technical analyst was closest, in that JJ didn't really mean what she had said.

But despite their combined decades of profiling and psychological experience, none of the four had correctly guessed what was going on inside their colleague's head.

"You know who they are," Emily told Benjamin confidently after he claimed not to know his three victims. "And I know why. See, nobody else could figure out about the hair."

She leaned back, maintaining eye contact, a flirtatious smile on her face. 

"But I get it. Because when I stopped dyeing mine, it felt so good," she said, running her fingers through her grey locks. "Like I was finally freeing who I really am."

"There's this idea, about women of a certain age, that we're not relevant anymore," she said, before adding, with emphasis: "Sexually."

Benjamin was watching her intently.

"But I have gotten so much attention," Emily continued. "My kid doesn't like it, but whatever. Fսck him, you know?"

She paused, waiting for the reaction she knew her lines would elicit. She observed a subtle twitch in the muscles of Benjamin's face.

"That's how you talk? About your son?" he spat at her.

"That's how you were spoken to, isn't that right? That's why you turned those women into your mother. So somebody, anybody wouldn't see you as the pathetic waste of space you are."

"I'm not pathetic," he said firmly, as if trying to convince himself. 

Emily went in for the kill. "What are you gonna be remembered for, besides just a footnote in your mother's obituary?" 

Benjamin took a breath. Emily waited patiently for the ego-fuelled outburst she was expecting.

"Well, they'll remember Derrick Sesper," Benjamin said calmly.

What?

"Carmen Gomez from 2007. John Harris. He was a wimp." 

Emily maintained an unimpressed face, but internally, her gears were whizzing.

These are the names of Sicarius victims. Not public knowledge.

How does he know these names?

Focus.

"Should I keep going?" Benjamin asked. He smirked at Emily, clearly feeling he had the upper hand. 

"You're connected," she said, shrugging. "Somebody could have leaked those names to you." 

She checked her watch, an old interrogation trick Hotch had taught her. It was a way to appear disinterested while taking half a second to ground yourself at the same time. Focus.

"You want to impress me," she continued, "tell me something I don't know."

"Whitfield County, Georgia," Benjamin said.

"What's out there?"

"More buried treasure."

The two of them met eyes, each refusing to back down.

Could he be Sicarius? 

No, that wouldn't work with the timing.

But he might know who is.

Emily was certain she was having an effect on Benjamin. She just needed to keep him talking.

But then the door flew open and a man in a suit strode in.

"Don't say another word," he instructed Benjamin, before turning to Emily. "Your interview with my client is over." 

Fucking lawyers.

Emily wasn't about to invite a lawsuit. She got up to leave and almost ran into Senator Reeves, who was two steps behind her son's lawyer.

The two women sized each other up silently for a second before Emily disappeared into the ante-room, slamming the door behind her.

"Fuck!" she said. "Five more minutes, and I would have had him." 

Bailey glared at her. "You probably just sealed your department's death warrant." He stalked out of the room.

The rest of the BAU looked at Emily. She expected them to freak out about Bailey's proclamation, but they were all getting a little numb to his constant threats.

"Well, well, well," Garcia said. "If it isn't Mommy."

"Hey Mommy," Luke said. "Nice work. Sorry about the lawyer."

"That's not funny," Emily snapped. "We need to figure out how he knows those Sicarius names."

She patted down her hair and refastened the top two buttons of her blouse, sneaking a glance at JJ as she went.

What is that look?

At least she's not joining in the Mommy jokes.

"Actually," Rossi said, "it is kind of funny… Mommy."

"OK, seriously, you guys can quit that now," Emily said, though she knew the more she resisted, the more they would all double down.

Tara grinned at Emily. "Not a chance, Mommy."

Chapter Text

JJ is alive.

Emily repeated the mantra in her head as the plane gained altitude over Virginia.

She had hoped the BAU's first flight since the pandemic would be restorative: the gang back together and tackling a tough case just like old times. But instead, she and Tara and Rossi sat separately, each lost in their own little world of pain.

She couldn't think about Luke. None of them could.

But JJ is alive.

Emily checked her watch. It had been five hours since Benjamin Reeves' lawyer had booted her out of the FBI interview room, but so many events had unfurled since then that it could have been five days.

She had immediately sent Luke and JJ to Whitfield County, Georgia, to investigate Benjamin's boast of more "buried treasure".

Then his mother, the powerful U.S. senator Martha Reeves, had threatened to slash FBI funding if her son wasn't freed from custody. Emily was ready to stare her down, but deputy director Bailey buckled right away.

The corrupt request was the last Senator Reeves would ever make. On release, Benjamin murdered his mother and boarded a jet south, to where JJ and Luke had just discovered another shipping container, clearly the work of Sicarius.

Emily and the team watched from Quantico as Luke and JJ's torches fell on the network leader's trademark kill kits, neatly-labelled drawers full of trophies taken from victims, and stainless steel benches where the unimaginable had taken place.

They didn't notice the bomb until it was too late.

Their body cameras recorded a scream. A desperate lunge for safety. A bang. And then the live video feeds turned to static.

As the unbearable buzz filled the briefing room, all Emily could think was that she should have seen it coming. That it was her fault.

With the faintest line of morning sun just visible on the horizon, the jet began its descent into Georgia.

In the car on the way to the blast site, Emily's arms began to seize up with numbness.

She blamed her job. Being section chief meant triple the stress but a fraction of the field work, and Emily's unscientific theory was that her body no longer had a productive outlet for her nervous energy.

I wish I could ask Reid if that's a real thing.

Maybe I should start lifting again.

She shook her hands vigorously, exhaling in frustration. "You OK?" Tara asked. "I'm fine," Emily said. But the pins and needles only worsened as they got closer and Emily spotted a wisp of smoke rising up from the forest.

JJ is alive. She's alive.

Her video feed came back and she was walking around. Garcia saw it.

But Luke…

The radio in the SUV crackled. "FBI? This is the Whitfield County Sheriff. Over."

The Atlanta-based agent at the wheel responded immediately. "Receiving. What have you got? Over."

"Two survivors confirmed. Both being assessed now. Over."

"10-4. We'll be there in 20. Out." 

Oh thank god. 

Tara closed her eyes, while Rossi briefly gripped Emily's hand. But their relief was qualified, serious injury not yet ruled out. The worry didn't leave them until they pulled up at the scene and saw Luke and JJ with their own eyes.

The two agents had been checked over by paramedics. Luke's thigh had a nasty laceration from flying debris, JJ an increasingly swollen elbow that would need a scan, and each sported numerous scrapes and bruises. They were dirty, dishevelled and sore, but somehow, their brains and bodies were intact.

Emily immediately went to hug Luke. "So good to see you, Mommy," he joked, as she pulled him close.

"You've been through a lot today, so I'm going to let that slide," Emily said, squeezing his arm.

She turned to JJ, wanting so badly to hug her too, to feel her warm body as an antidote to those desolate few minutes when Emily didn't know if she had lived or died.

But JJ stood slightly angled away from Emily, arms crossed over her chest. Don't, her body language said. 

So Emily flashed an insufficient smile in her direction instead — one that she hoped said "I thought I'd lost you and I'm so relieved you're still here and I'm sorry about our last conversation and you're right, I miss you too, I miss you so much" — but she wasn't sure JJ even saw it.

I need to talk to her.

First there was work to do. Rossi and Tara quickly found Benjamin Reeves slumped over in a nearby car with a gunshot wound to the head. The scene had clearly been staged to look like a suicide, but they knew Benjamin wasn't their man. Sicarius had milked him for money and influence and then killed him when the FBI got too close.

There was no trace of Sicarius, but there was a lead: a photograph that had somehow survived the blast. Garcia was able to identify the woman in it as Maria Jones, murdered 20 years ago in North Carolina by her boyfriend, Silvio Herrera — or so everybody thought.

But if Silvio was guilty, what was Maria's picture doing in Sicarius's collection?

It was a question that wasn't going to be answered in rural Georgia. By late morning, the exhausted team had handed off to local law enforcement and were waiting to board the jet back to Quantico.

The five of them spread out across the tiny terminal of the regional airfield, taking some time to unwind before they regrouped on the plane. Rossi and Luke were napping on the floor and Tara put on huge headphones, drowning out the world around her with a podcast.

Emily approached JJ, who was sitting against the wall, legs stretched out in front of her, resting her head back against the cool glass. The medics didn't think her elbow was broken, but had put it in a precautionary sling just in case. 

"Hey," Emily said, sitting down next to her. "Can we talk?" 

"I'm pretty tired, Emily."

"Please?"

JJ nodded, shifting her body slightly to angle it towards Emily.

"How are you feeling?" Emily asked.

"Amazing," JJ said flatly. "I'll be fine, I've been through worse. What did you want to say?"

"I owe you an apology," Emily said quietly. "I've been a shitty friend. I know that. I'm sorry."

JJ raised her eyebrows, but didn't say anything in response.

"I know you hate it when I blame being a grump on my job, but my job is hard and it is consuming," Emily said. "And, a lot of the time I hate it, and honestly, I don't know if taking the promotion was the right choice."

JJ stayed silent, but she was listening now. Vulnerability was always a good way to tell if you were talking to Emily Prentiss or to a brick wall.

"And I've been going through…" Emily sighed. "I don't know how to say this."

She glanced around the terminal, checking the others were still asleep or out of earshot. JJ looked at her curiously.

"I'm struggling with, um… with what I want."

"With what you want?" JJ said, confused.

"In… life, I guess," Emily said. "I'm figuring some things out. And I think I find it hard to do that in proximity to you."

"But… why?" JJ said. "Not to be a walking cliche, but isn't that exactly what friends are for?"

"I started to find it painful to hear about your life," Emily admitted. She stared down at the floor, unable to look at JJ. "I can't explain why, I don't know. But hearing about Will and the boys, it became… tough. Our closeness became tough for me."

"OK," JJ said slowly.

Emily felt her friend's blue eyes boring into her, but when she finally lifted her gaze to meet them, she saw they were radiating tenderness, not ice. She knew she owed JJ a better explanation than this. She also knew JJ would give her time, if she asked for it.

"I wish I could be more articulate," she said. "I'm sorry. But just know, it's not you. I need to figure out some things for myself."

JJ nodded. She and Emily had grown so close in their years working together that she had almost forgotten how instinctively secretive her friend could be. She had an idea of what might be going on with Emily. When the time was right, she would raise it. But for now, the most important thing to JJ was that she finally recognized the woman sitting next to her.

"What I do know is I want to start fixing this," Emily said. "You're my best friend."

JJ grabbed Emily's hand and squeezed it. "Not gonna lie, I wish you had said this a lot earlier. But thank you for saying it."

"I'm sorry," Emily said, squeezing back.

"Em, you know I love you right? No matter what?"

"Yeah, I know," Emily said. "I love you too." 

These mutual declarations were strictly platonic. Life in the BAU was a constant reminder of how important it was to tell the people in your life what they meant to you. JJ and Emily had said "I love you" to each other before. They would say it again. Both of them knew that.

"If I can help, Em…" 

"Thanks Jay. I just need time, I think."

"That's fine," JJ said. "But not too much."

"Not too much," Emily agreed.

"So now that we're friends again," JJ said, a smile creeping across her face, "can I get in on this Mommy nickname?"

"Don't you dare."

Everyone felt off-kilter on the plane ride back to Quantico. Yes, the team was back together, but returning hours after they had left, and without the satisfaction of a closed case.

Instead, their best lead was dead, and in his place an old photograph that may or may not mean anything. It showed Maria Jones on a city street, her face illuminated by street lights. A large digital clock at a business behind her read 1:43AM.

Seated around the jet table, the team peered down at the image as Garcia filled them in on the case.

Silvio Herrera had been a low level drug dealer for a Raleigh gang before confessing to Maria's murder. He was sentenced to death, but the gears of the justice system ground slowly and he had languished in maximum security for years. Now his days were numbered: North Carolina had recently resumed executions after their pandemic hiatus, and Silvio was next on the list.

But was he innocent?

"Hang on," JJ said, her eyes darting from the photograph to her iPad screen and back. "This clock behind her says 1:43AM. But prosecutors said she was killed before midnight." 

"You're right," Emily said, scanning the documents. "Great spot, JJ."

JJ smiled at her. Things weren't back to normal, not by a long shot, but it felt so good to have the tension between them ebbing that Emily regretted not talking to JJ sooner.

"I'll get him brought in for questioning," Emily said. "I know it seems unlikely, but if there's any possibility Sicarius killed Maria and somehow forced Silvio to take the rap, we need to know." 

Then a signature on one of the prosecution documents caught her eye. "Uhh…" she said. "Tara, can we talk?"

The two women crammed into the jet's small kitchenette. "Please tell me 'R. Wilson' isn't Rebecca," Emily said in a hushed whisper.

Tara sighed. "This was her first big case."

Emily grimaced. "You know we have to pursue this."

"I know that, Prentiss. I would never ask you not to."

"Rossi and I will interview Silvio. I need you there to observe, though. I'm sending Luke and JJ home."

"I can do the interview," Tara protested.

"No, you can't," Emily said firmly. "Don't overestimate your ability to keep this at arm's length. If we confirm he's innocent, it's not going to be easy for Rebecca."

"I know," Tara said. "I know." 

Silvio proved a tough nut to crack.

Years on death row had left him jaundiced and cynical, and though Emily and Rossi quickly established he didn't kill Maria — there were huge holes in his confession Emily couldn't believe Rebecca had missed, though she kept the thought to herself — he refused to tell them who had.

"Sicarius has to be behind this," Emily said, after they left the interview room. "This photo being in the shipping container can't just be a coincidence." 

"Who is this guy?" Rossi said. "Who could convince a man to stay quiet and wait for his own execution for two decades?"

"Or what could," Tara said. "Maybe Sicarius has something on Silvio."

"I'm going to get Silvio's things from his cell sent over here," Emily said. "Maybe there's something in there. And Tara, I'm going to find Rebecca and explain what we're doing."

Tara looked unsure. "Not as a personal favor," Emily said. "In a situation like this it's appropriate to bring in the original prosecutor. And we may need her to call the attorney general." 

"I'll talk to her," Tara said.

"Are you sure?" 

"I got it."

But as Emily dialled North Carolina corrections, she watched Tara slowly make a pot of new coffee instead of going to find her girlfriend, putting off the difficult conversation. By the time Emily hung up, having pulled the "I'm a section chief, get it to me five minutes ago" line with the startled prison warden, a familiar — and angry — face had entered the bullpen.

Uh oh.

"Were you planning on telling me what Silvio Herrera is doing here?" 

Tara turned around, startled. "I- I was about to come talk to you."

"Looks like it was a priority," Rebecca said, glaring at the brewing pot and torn packet of Splenda in Tara's hand as if they were smoking guns.

Tara ushered her into a meeting room. Emily watched them go, thinking back to when she first met Rebecca, how giddy with happiness Tara had seemed about the relationship.

I really hope this doesn't screw things up between them.

When Tara returned a few minutes later, she looked shaken. "You OK?" Emily asked. The profiler just shook her head. "We can talk about it later."

They sifted through Silvio's belongings as soon as they arrived and discovered 19 photographs, all showing the same man. The pictures appeared to have been taken annually and posted to Silvio in prison, the Catholic confessional prayer inscribed on the reverse of each one. 

In the end it was Tara who figured out what was going on. The man in the photos was Silvio's boyfriend, Juan. They had kept their relationship a secret — the Raleigh gang scene in the 1990s was not exactly a welcoming space — but somebody, a gun runner named Cyrus, had found out. 

Juan could never prove it, but he had always suspected Cyrus had been the one to kill Maria and frame Silvio. He knew one thing for sure: Silvio couldn't be guilty, because they had spent the evening she died at an underground drag ball in Raleigh. It was a memorable night, their first time out among other LGBTQ people, a rare occasion where they were able to be themselves.

Fearing for Juan's life, Silvio had urged him to stay quiet for years. But Juan had had enough. He showed Emily, Rossi and Tara time-stamped photos of him and Silvio at the drag ball, both of them younger, posing flamboyantly, and looking very much in love.

Emily again offered to talk to Rebecca, break the unwelcome news that she had to call the attorney general and start the long process of overturning Silvio's conviction. But Tara insisted, and so Emily watched the conversation unfold from her office, not eavesdropping, exactly, but gleaning from the body language what had transpired.

After Rebecca stalked into the elevator looking furious, leaving Tara on the couch with her head in her hands, Emily waited for five minutes. Then she walked over to the profiler.

"Do you need some company tonight?" she asked.

Tara looked up, her eyes red. "That would be great." 

Tara opened her fridge and grabbed out two beers, wordlessly handing one to Emily before sitting down at her kitchen table.

"What a fucking day," she said, taking a long swig from her beer.

"I know," Emily said, issuing a heavy sigh. "It's almost over." 

"Thank god for that." 

"Tell me what happened with Rebecca."

"Well, she said she's probably going to be placed under prosecutorial review," Tara said. "So there's that. She feels embarrassed. She's worried about her career. And she feels guilty for being part of all this."

"That all makes sense," Emily said, though she was silently thinking: Rebecca did miss some pretty fundamental things in this case. "That photo only just came to light, and Silvio did confess," she said, trying to be consolatory. "But you would still feel awful."

"Mmm," Tara said.

"So are you guys OK, or…?" Emily was fishing for whether or not they had broken up, which Tara, though obviously very upset, still hadn't clarified.

Tara shrugged. "She said she needs space, whatever that means. She knows we had no choice. And she wouldn't want an innocent man to die to avoid a career setback, she's not a psychopath." 

She took another swig from her beer. "But I've never seen her so angry. She's really focused on the fact I didn't tell her immediately. I think partly because she's put her neck on the line to help us out a few times, and partly because she can't really point to anything else I did wrong. But anyway. She said she's going to stay somewhere else for a few nights."

"Wait," Emily said. "She was living here?"

"Yeah," Tara said. "She moved in a few weeks ago. I guess I was waiting to see if it worked out before spreading the news." She let out a bitter laugh. "Obviously, that was the right call." 

"So where is she?" Emily said.

"She's at Wil's," Tara said. 

"Oh!" Emily said, surprised. "I didn't realize they were that close."

Though it was obvious in hindsight, she hadn't really thought about the fact that Rebecca also knew about her date with Wil. I wonder what Wil told Rebecca about me. And if Rebecca told Tara. 

"Yeah," Tara said. "I think the phrase they use is 'work wives'."

Emily laughed. She couldn't imagine Wil referring to herself as someone's "work wife". You barely know Wil, she reminded herself, though the two of them had already planned a second date.

"Well, I'm sure she'll come round," she reassured Tara. "Like you said… she knows we had no choice. She did the right thing, at her own cost. That takes guts." 

"You know, I also think the fact Silvio and Juan's sexuality was part of all this is tough for her," Tara said.

"Yeah?" Emily said.

"Yeah, I mean, Rebecca's been volunteering at the LGBTQ legal center in D.C. since she was in college," Tara said. "She's often up til 2am doing pro bono work for their clients, and then she gets a couple hours sleep and goes to work at the DOJ. That kind of community service is really important to her." 

Tara looked around the apartment, feeling a pang at every little touch Rebecca had introduced in the past few weeks. An abstract rainbow painting she had hung the day she moved in. Her collection of '80s films on DVD. One of her many blazers draped over the arm of the couch.

"Unknowingly being part of someone's homophobic blackmail as a lesbian woman… and knowing the amount of pain it caused Silvio and Juan… that's gonna mess with her psyche," Tara continued. "Her sense of self, as someone trying to do good in the world." 

"I just realized what's worse than dating a profiler," Emily said.

"What's that?" 

"Dating a profiler who's also a forensic psychologist."

Tara threw a napkin at her boss. "I'm delightful," she said.

"You are," Emily agreed. "And I'm sure you're right, too. But hearing that about Rebecca makes me even more certain things are going to be OK between you two."

It also made Emily feel a little guilty about her uncharitable thoughts earlier. Rebecca had been young, and though she had to own what she had missed, she couldn't have foreseen her case was being manipulated by a practised serial killer.

"Hey, are you OK in general after today?" Emily said. "I know when cases intersect with our personal lives it can be hard."

"Other than Rebecca, obviously, I'm good," Tara said. "I mean, I'm sad for Maria of course, and for Silvio and Juan. Their story is a reminder of how much has changed in 20 years. It was hard enough to be gay back then, and then when you add gang culture and the Catholic church into the mix… that's rough. I can't believe they actually went to that drag night."

"It's weird to say in the context, but those photos were pretty great," Emily said.

"They were," Tara agreed. There was a brief pause, both women thinking about what that night must have meant to Silvio and Juan, and how their lives had exploded in its wake.

"When did you come out?" Emily asked.

"Um… that's a good question," Tara said. "I first dated women in my 20s and was pretty open about it at the time. I was lucky, moved in progressive circles. I always thought of myself as interested in the person, not the gender."

"Right," Emily said.

"But then I mostly had serious relationships with men, and it didn't feel like something I needed to broadcast. It wasn't a secret, it's just that no one asked. I guess I stopped thinking a woman was going to be the one for me. But then Rebecca came along, and, god, Prentiss… it feels like she is."

Emily smiled sympathetically.

"Doing the right thing never felt so wrong," Tara added.

"I know," Emily said. "I really do think she'll come round. Give her time."

"Mm," Tara said, finishing her beer. "Are you planning on coming out?"

Tara was slowly perfecting the art of talking to Emily about her obviously being queer without either of them actually saying it.

"That would require knowing what I am, I think," Emily said. "Right now I'm just… interested in Wil."

"You could come out as interested in Wil," Tara said, smiling at her own bad joke as Emily shot her a withering glance.

"Speaking of Wil, you should wear that on your next date," Tara said, pointing to the tan suede jacket Emily had been wearing since approximately 4 o'clock that morning.

"Yeah?" Emily said. "It's in a few days."

"Definitely wear it," Tara said confidently.

"Well," Emily said, "your advice worked last time."

Chapter Text

As she sipped her wine and waited for Wil, sex was on Emily's mind.

She had arrived early for their second date, wearing the Tara-approved outfit of her tan suede jacket over tight jeans and a navy blouse. She and Wil had agreed to meet at O'Keefe's, a suggestion Emily regretted making the moment she hit send. She almost always ran into someone she knew at the popular FBI haunt, and though she knew rationally there was nothing wrong with dating a woman, she felt uncharacteristically shy at the thought of anyone other than Tara finding out.

You're not embarrassed, she told herself firmly. And you're not hiding anything.

You just don't want to be the subject of gossip. Before you're ready.

Because, oh boy, people will gossip.

So she had given herself a 15 minute head start to scope out the crowd, to see if there was anyone there she knew, to deliver — if necessary — a white lie: "Oh, I'm just meeting a friend." Relieved to find no familiar faces, she had ordered a drink and claimed a table for two, taking the seat facing the door.

She felt faintly nervous about what the evening might bring. She wanted to sleep with Wil, she knew that much. But it was more complicated than simple desire.

Emily hadn't had sex since Covid hit. It wasn't her first dry spell — and at least this time she had a global pandemic to blame — but her body had changed a lot in the past few years. Some of the changes she liked, others she grudgingly accepted as the price of age and menopause. She wasn't sure how they would translate to intimacy. If her lover would like her body. How sex would make her feel. She knew the team was just kidding around when they called her Mommy, but it wasn't lost on Emily that using her sexuality on the job had never been considered a joke before.

That was all on top of her usual reticence. The hang-ups she had navigated for years. How her lingering adolescent guilt around sex had finally ebbed, only for the Doyle assignment to make it feel wrong and surreal all over again. Having to reveal her scar. Whatever had stopped her from getting into bed all that often with Mendoza, even though on paper he was perfect.

And she hadn't even scratched the surface of the central problem: Wil being a woman.

Maybe it's not a problem.

Maybe it's a solution.

It was a thought Emily kept returning to, one that lent solace and turmoil in equal measure. She was naturally drawn to the idea that there was nothing wrong with her, that she had just been looking in the wrong places. That she was gay. But accepting that, facing the implications of it, felt overwhelming.

Right now, she just wanted to have sex with Wil. And while Emily knew the theory of what two women could do in bed together, the thought of putting it into practice intimidated her. She worried her inexperience would be obvious. And she had agonized over the right time to share it with Wil: too early and she might be put off, too late and she might think Emily had been evasive.

Jesus christ. Why am I like this.

Why can't I just mindlessly fuck this hot woman?

With that, Wil walked through the door of O'Keefe's. Emily watched her shrug off her coat, expecting the usual casual attire underneath. But this time Wil was dressed in a sharp, dark grey suit and crisp white dress shirt.

Emily waved her over. "Hey you," Wil said, sitting down. "I love the jacket. Really suits you."

"Thanks," Emily said, still taking in her date. The suit was a masculine cut but fit Wil perfectly, the sharp lines of her shoulders and lapels accentuating the softness of her face. Emily felt a stirring in her stomach as Wil loosened her top button and raked her hair back off her face, smiling at her expectantly.

She looks amazing.  

"You look more formal than usual," Emily said.

"Oh, this," Wil said, looking down at herself. "Yeah. I had to present at an interdepartmental meeting today."

"It's a shame," Emily said. "I was really looking forward to seeing what color t-shirt you were going to wear."

"It would have been the white one again," Wil said, not missing a beat.

"Ah, well, I guess the suit isn't so bad," Emily said.

She looks hot. Just tell her she looks hot.

"So," Emily said, "how'd your presentation go?" 

"Fine," Wil said. "A lot of work but in the end kind of a snoozefest. Sounds like you've had a big week, though," she added carefully.

"Mm," Emily said, not sure what Wil did or didn't know. "Rebecca filled you in, or…?"

"Well, yes, but it's also been all over the news," Wil said. "A senator being murdered by her own son? Two FBI agents caught in an explosion in rural Georgia? It's pretty wild."

"Oh yeah." As a general rule, Emily didn't pay much attention to the media.

"I'm glad your agents are OK, by the way," Wil added.

"Thank you," Emily said sincerely, her mind briefly drifting to the awful moment of Luke and JJ's cameras cutting out, of not knowing if she'd ever see them again. It was strange to hear Wil talk about JJ, even indirectly. "It was scary. A huge relief."

"I actually thought you might have to cancel on me," Wil said.

I probably should have, Emily thought.

She and deputy director Bailey were scheduled to meet with the U.S. Attorney General the next morning, to try and convince her Benjamin Reeves wasn't Sicarius and the investigation should stay open. Bailey was freaking out about it, but it had been a punishing few days and Emily felt like they were as prepared as they would ever be. Plus, she had no qualms about telling the Attorney General what she really thought.

But usually, yes, she would have canceled. And not thought twice about it.

"It's been hectic," Emily said. "But I wanted to see you."

Wil grinned at her. "So I do want to hear about your crazy week. But first, do you know how Tara and Rebecca are going?"

"Isn't Rebecca staying with you?" Emily said. 

"Not anymore," Wil said. "She crashed on my couch for a few nights, but our friend has a spare room, so she's there now." 

"Ah, right," Emily said. "Well… all I know is that they still haven't really talked." 

That was an understatement. Tara had been a specter of gloom around the BAU the past few days. Emily had almost told her to just go home, but they had so much to process from the exploded shipping container ahead of the Attorney General meeting that she had needed all hands on deck. Plus, she figured Tara needed a distraction, and Luke, sweet man that he was, had taken it upon himself to crack joke after joke.

Wil sighed. "Yeah, that's all I know too. Damn." 

"Do you think Rebecca will come round?" Emily asked.

"She'll be OK," Wil said authoritatively. "It's just…" She paused for a second, thinking. "It's a lot to take in, you know? She's upset Tara didn't give her a heads up about bringing the guy in, and she had to find out from someone else. But she'll get over that. The rest of it, all her guilt over the actual conviction and being manipulated, that'll take some time."

Phew. Doesn't sound like they're going to break up.

The tentatively talked about Rebecca and Tara for a few minutes before Emily went to buy another round. She felt awkward gossiping about her own employee, realizing as Wil spoke that she didn't actually want to know more about how Rebecca was feeling than Tara did.

As she returned to the table, a bartender was picking up empty glasses. "Excuse me, sir," the bartender said, leaning over Wil to grab her finished beer bottle.

Did she just say sir?

Wil said nothing at all, just nodded politely, and Emily wondered if she had misheard. But then she noticed Wil's eyes flicker towards the bartender's disappearing back and then towards Emily, as if assessing whether or not she had noticed.

"Thanks," Wil said, taking her beer, before Emily could say anything. "Next one's on me. So — what on earth happened down in Georgia?"

They were a few drinks in, the date going OK, if a little forced, when a notification flashed up on Wil's phone. Emily noticed her display picture was of two kids. "Who are they?" she asked.

"My niece and nephew," Wil said, looking at the picture fondly. "My brother's kids. They live in Tucson." She opened her photo app and scrolled down to more pictures. 

In one, Wil was crouching, dressed casually in a t-shirt and basketball shorts, a boy who looked to be about eight hanging over her shoulder and grinning. In the next photo, Wil carried her niece on her hip, the little girl flashing a cheeky smile at the camera.

"Aww, they're so sweet," Emily said. "It looks like you're close?"

"I like to think so," Wil said. "I try to get down there as often as I can. I like being Aunty Wil."

"That's really nice," Emily said. "I love kids." She paused for a second before adding "I have a godson, Michael." The admission caused her a twinge of guilt, remembering she hadn't been a particularly attentive godparent to JJ's younger son in recent years.

"Never wanted kids yourself?" Wil asked casually. 

"Oh, it…" Emily never knew how to phrase her answer to this question. "It didn't happen for me."

Wil winced. "Wow, I put my foot in it with that one."

"It's OK," Emily said. She took a sip of wine.

"No, I'm sorry," Wil said. "Most of my friends who don't have kids wanted it that way, and I just didn't think."

"Look, it's not… it's not some huge infertility journey, or anything like that," Emily said. "I wasn't sure for a long time. And I was busy, and I was single. By the time I actually started trying — just by myself, with a donor — it was probably already too late. Then I got injured at work, and it went from unlikely to basically impossible, and I just… that was enough." 

"I'm sorry," Wil said sincerely.

"It's fine," Emily replied, her voice harsh. "I probably saved a tonne of money on IVF that would have failed anyway." 

"You never know what life could bring, I guess," Wil said, looking contemplative.

Emily snorted. "I do know. I'm 52. Come on."

"You could adopt, or foster," Wil said. "I have a bunch of friends wh-"

"Wil, I like you, so I'm going to be honest with you." 

"Yeah?" 

"Please shut up." 

Wil took it on the chin. "You got it. Sorry."

The two women each sipped their drink, unsure how to move on. 

"Want to play pool?" Emily asked, noticing the table was free. "Uh… sure," Wil said.

Wil fed two $1 bills into the table to release the balls and Emily set them up, the rack feeling familiar under her fingers. Most of her childhood houses had contained a pool table, and she had gotten very good playing against herself.

She rubbed some chalk on the best of the bar's blunt cues and broke expertly, potting a ball as she went. "OK, I'm stripes," she said brusquely. She got another before missing her next shot. “Your turn.”

Wil stepped up to the table, awkwardly wielding her cue, and got into a position that looked vaguely correct. But then she energetically jabbed the stick at the ball as if she were fencing, only just managing to catch its edge. The ball spun off towards the edge of the table as Wil watched it go, looking faintly pleased she had managed to hit anything at all.

Oh my god.

She has no idea how to play.

"Oh well," Emily said, trying to be polite, but still irritated by Wil's unsolicited advice. Her annoyance wasn't lost on Wil, who watched quietly as Emily took her next shot.

Wil's second attempt was, unbelievably, worse than her first, missing the white ball altogether and accidentally swiping a purple one instead. This time, Emily couldn't help but let out a laugh.

"I'm doing great, right?" Wil asked jokingly.

"Amazing," Emily said, softening just a fraction. "Keep it up."

Wil's terrible technique seemed to get worse with every attempt. After a few more mishits, she struck a shot so badly that the ball hopped over the lip of the table and smacked onto the hard wooden floor, rolling across the bar and almost tripping over a woman who was returning from the bathroom.

That was it for Emily, who doubled over laughing. "Why didn't you just say you don't know how to play?" she asked Wil in between guffaws.

Wil spread out her arms, looking sheepish. "What was I meant to say? No, Emily, I'd rather sit here in silence and think about my dumbass comment?”

OK, you're forgiven. 

"Fair enough," Emily said. "Let me show you. Get into position." Wil obliged.

Emily grabbed Wil's left hand, showing her how to arrange her fingers in a way that would actually hold the cue steady. Not letting go, she reached around and placed her right hand over Wil's, both of them now gripping the thick end of the cue.

Emily's body lightly pressed up against Wil's back. Her hair smells nice.

"Does that feel steadier?" Emily asked. "It does," Wil said.

"Now try to get the cue at a flatter angle." As Wil bent slightly, following the instruction, her ass pressed into Emily's pelvis.

Well that's distracting.

"Now imagine a straight line from the ball to the pocket," Emily said into Wil's ear, not moving from her position.

"I'm imagining that," Wil said.

Great, because I’m imagining… something else.

"Now draw back your right arm, and try to hit through the ball in one smooth motion."

Wil drew back her arm, Emily moving with her, and shoved the cue towards the white ball with a jerk. It connected, and the white ball went on to hit another ball. It wasn't the one Wil had been aiming for, and was in fact one of Emily's, but still — it was an improvement.

The two women stayed in position as they watched the second ball slowly roll across the table. It wasn't until it stopped completely that Emily realized she was still wrapped around Wil.

"Hey, well done!" she said, stepping back quickly, her face warm.

Wil turned around, looking a little flushed. "Well, I have a good teacher," she said modestly.

Until then, the night had been just a fraction off, lacking the easy fluidity of their first date. But Emily's tutorial had broken the ice. The change in tension was palpable as the two women circled the table, both of them now tipsy and a little turned on.

The next time Emily demonstrated how to steady the cue, she let her fingers linger on Wil's for an extra couple seconds. When Emily sunk two balls in quick succession, Wil said "You're on fire" and gave her bicep a quick squeeze. 

And after yet another spectacular mishit from Wil, Emily, without stopping to think, slipped her arm around her date's waist and said: "You know, you're lucky you're cute." She had totally forgotten about her earlier worry that someone might see her. 

By the time Emily potted the black and ended the game, Wil still hadn't managed to sink a single ball. The two of them surveyed the table in a brief moment of silence.

"Wanna play again?" Wil deadpanned.

They both cracked up laughing. 

"Let's get out of here," Emily said, choosing her words deliberately, hoping Wil would interpret them the way she wanted.

"Want to come back to mine?"

"Yeah," Emily said. "I do."

As Wil fished around in her fridge for beer, Emily stood by the couch and curiously inspected her apartment. It was a pretty standard D.C. one bedroom, complete with balcony and breakfast bar, and contained several pictures of Wil's niece and nephew.

"You profiling me?" Wil asked playfully, handing Emily a Corona and taking a seat on the couch.

"Mmm…" Emily said, still looking around.

"You so are!" Wil said. "OK, so. What am I thinking?"

"Profiling isn't mind-reading," Emily said, laughing. "And, by the way, I don't constantly profile everyone I know." 

"But you do sometimes, right?" Wil said.

"Occasionally," Emily said. She winked at Wil. 

"So do me."

"I don't think you want that."

"I do," Wil insisted. "Come on, one thing." 

"OK," Emily said, though she knew better. The apartment was tidy but nondescript, the furniture simple but sophisticated, the bedroom door closed. The niece and nephew were the only people who appeared in photos, apart from one that looked like the kids plus their parents, Wil's brother and his wife.

Other than the pictures, there were barely any personal artifacts on display, just a sporting pennant for the Washington Mystics, a team Emily had never heard of. A couple of work folders and a closed laptop sat on the breakfast bar.

Your family doesn't visit you, you visit them, and you sort of prefer it that way, which is why you have a one-bedroom apartment even though you could clearly afford more space.

You don't miss your parents, who I strongly suspect you fell out with because of your sexuality.

You closed your bedroom door because you hoped I'd come back here, but didn't want to be presumptuous.

Or maybe it's just messy in there. I don't know.

"You feel guilty that you don't get to Tucson more often to see your niece and nephew," Emily said. "But other than that, you don't have any regrets about leaving the southwest."

"Not bad," Wil said.

"No more profiling," Emily said firmly, sitting down next to Wil, their thighs not quite touching.

Wil leaned back into the couch. She had taken off her suit jacket and the white button-up she had on underneath loosely hugged her frame. Emily felt a pang of arousal as she registered the subtle curve of Wil's breasts.

I can't believe how attracted I am to this woman.

She remembered the incident with the bartender. "Does it bother you, being called sir?" she asked.

"I wasn't sure if you heard that," Wil said, a little self-consciously.

"Well, I did," Emily said.

"It happens now and then," Wil said. "Especially if I'm in a suit. I'm pretty used to it... It sometimes makes other people feel awkward though." 

"I didn't feel awkward," Emily said, hearing the question in Wil's statement.

"That's good," Wil said. "When I first got there tonight… I thought maybe I looked a little butch for you."

"I thought you looked hot," Emily said quickly. "If I came across awkward, that's why. I should have just told you that. But just so you know, I think you're gorgeous."

Wil smiled. "I think you're gorgeous too."

Emily and Wil met eyes, the possibility of what was about to happen filling the room.

"What are you thinking?" Wil asked softly.

"That I'd like to kiss you again," Emily said.

"Can't you tell that's what I want too?" Wil said teasingly.

"I thought I told you, profiling isn't mind reading," Emily said, as she put her beer down on the table and leaned in to meet Wil.

The kiss started off chaste, both women tentative, each waiting for the other to set the tone.

Emily was the first to open her mouth, at first just slightly. She gently sucked on Wil's lower lip, an unspoken signal that she wanted to go further this time.

Wil responded with her tongue, hungrily exploring Emily's mouth as she reached up to grab a fistful of silver hair. Emily let out a tiny moan at the feel of Wil's firm grip on the back of her head.

Their kiss became urgent, the sexual tension that had been building since they played pool finally released. As the two women shifted against each other, Emily instinctively felt for Wil's hips. She had been unable to get the feeling of Wil's body out of her head since their first kiss, and it felt intoxicating to touch her through a thin shirt and suit pants instead of a bulky coat. 

She ran her hands along the contours of Wil's body, feeling the curve of her thigh and the muscles of her abdomen, slowly growing bolder until she reached up with a hand to cup one of Wil's soft, small breasts.

Wil groaned at the feel of her wandering fingers, a deep guttural noise that sent a wave of elation through Emily's body as she registered that she was its source. That she had made another woman sound like that. Feel like that.

Wil began to kiss Emily's neck, keeping one hand entwined in her hair and doing some exploring of her own with the other. She trailed her fingers along the rise of Emily's chest before slipping her hand down further to firmly grip her ass.

Now it was Emily's turn to groan. She could feel Wil's clipped nails digging in through the back of her jeans, feeling her up with so much raw desire that she was momentarily taken aback. "Is that OK?" Wil mumbled into Emily's jaw. "Yes," Emily breathed back.

She let Wil gently rearrange her until she was half-lying down, her head up against the arm of the couch, Wil suspended over her. Wil worked a leg in between Emily's thighs and pressed into her, continuing to suck on her neck and jaw, enjoying the sound of Emily's barely restrained murmurs in her ear.

Emily was coming undone. She could feel herself getting wet as Wil's fingers danced along her waistband and began to play with the button of her jeans. "Do you want me to?" Wil breathed into Emily's ear.

Yes.

Oh god, yes.

But…

Ambivalence crept in through the haze of Emily's arousal. She wanted Wil to fuck her. She also felt like this was all happening way too fast. Her body might be ready for her to sleep with a woman, but her head just wasn't there.

Yet.

And when it happened, she wanted to feel it, not feel anxious about it.

She grasped Wil's hand, which had been tracing her navel, patiently waiting for an answer, and wordlessly moved it to her chest. Wil got the message and focused her attention further up, as Emily took back control.

She grabbed Wil's chin and dragged it towards her lips, kissing her deeply. Wil matched her energy, their pace shifting from hot and heavy to slow and intense, as both of them got lost in the kiss. And the next one. And the next one.

This is good for now, Emily thought.

Actually, this is pretty fucking great.

The next morning, Emily was in her office waiting for Bailey when her phone pinged.

Wil sent 8.13: I'm sorry again about putting my foot in it last night. 

I should reply later, Emily thought. The Attorney General was due any minute. But she didn't want to leave Wil stewing over what she had said.

Emily sent 8.14: Weird, I distinctly remember telling you to shut up

Emily sent 8.14: (Kidding)

Wil sent 8.15: Sorry! Ugh. Can I rewind?

Emily sent 8.16: It's OK. Apology accepted

Emily sent 8.17: You can make it up to me next time…

Wil sent 8.17: Your place?

Emily sent 8.18: Sure

Emily sent 8.19: You better get some profiling training so you can analyze my apartment

Wil sent 8.20: Ha. I feel like I'm doing OK figuring you out on my own.

Emily sent 8.20: What about tomorrow? 

Is that too soon?

She's typing. Ugh. Now she's stopped.

Wil, hit send already!

Wil sent 8.23: Love to. What time?

Emily sent 8.24: I'll let you know

Wil sent 8.24: I'll be waiting by the phone

Emily sent 8.25: Ha ha

Emily sent 8.25: I don't have a pool table, don't worry

Wil sent 8.26: Too soon.

Chapter Text

It had been a couple days since the Georgia explosion, but JJ's elbow was still keeping her awake.

She had declined more powerful painkillers after they had set it back in place, confident she could handle the discomfort of a simple dislocation. But the joint throbbed endlessly, forcing her to lie on her back, and stopping her from nodding off before Will's snoring filled the bedroom — at which point sleep was a lost cause.

She glanced at the clock.

3am. Ugh.

Emily was meeting with the U.S. Attorney General in the morning, and if she agreed to keep the Sicarius case open, it would be yet another hectic day. JJ had to get some rest.

She stared up at the ceiling, increasingly irritated by the constant drone emanating from Will.

"It's our marriage, JJ. This is what we do."

Her husband's words had been ringing in her ears since he said them. She knew the refrain was becoming poisonous, that they needed to talk it out. But getting into an explosion literally the day after they talked about hiding difficult things from each other didn't exactly bolster her position.

To Will's credit, he hadn't actually said "I told you so". But he had been so blandly supportive in the days since Georgia that JJ suspected he was just waiting for the right moment.

She wished she had pushed back. Said "What the fuck do you mean, this is what we do? " Made clear there's no justification for hiding a potential cancer diagnosis from her. Told him she doesn't play games, she just has a dangerous job, and unless she's not pulling her weight as a mom — which, good luck proving that, LaMontagne — then he has to deal with it.

But now it was too late. She had a dislocated elbow and no leg to stand on. And she didn't know what else to say.

Why can't I let go of this? 

Is it because it's true? Or is it because it's a fig leaf?

It wouldn't be the first time he's said one thing about my job and meant another...

Moving back to Virginia had been the best decision for their family, but still, Will had struggled with JJ's return to Quantico. Yes, her work-life balance was horrendous, but there was also something about the BAU, a certain je ne sais quoi that lent seniority and respect to its members, even if they didn't technically outrank local law enforcement. 

It bothered Will, that his wife had that and he didn't. And it bothered JJ that it bothered Will. She sometimes thought he had pursued her without giving too much thought to her job, perhaps assuming she would be the one to dial back her career once they had kids. He had been wrong.

And while he did his best to keep his resentment in check, it sprang forth regardless. A leak here, a trickle there. Just before the pandemic hit, it had turned into a gushing river, threatening to sweep away their marriage.

That's why she had agreed to move to New Orleans, even if it meant giving up her chance to be unit chief. The compromise had pained JJ more than she let on.

Will saw it as the first major sacrifice JJ had made for their relationship — I guess carrying and giving birth to our boys doesn't count, she thought wryly — and in return, he had temporarily removed the chip from his shoulder.

But then the pandemic hit, and family life got very, very hard, and the goodwill between them evaporated, and they moved back to Virginia anyway and were unhappy all over again.

It wasn't for lack of trying. There were endless conversations where they prioritized "I" statements, just like the marriage counselor they had seen in New Orleans suggested. There were scheduled date nights, which happened more often now that JJ's mom was around for babysitting. And an agreement to have sex at least twice a week, which, in all honesty, JJ wasn't sure either of them were enjoying, but it was what they were doing, so. 

We love each other, she reminded herself.

But then came the nagging voice. Is that enough?

No marriage was happy 100% of the time. But what about 70% of the time? What about half? At what point did the percentage get so low that you had to re-evaluate the entire exercise? What if you had kids and a house and a life together?

As JJ played out a thousand scenarios in her head, she finally began to drift off to sleep.

JJ opened her eyes.

The blinking clock told her it was now 5.17am. She didn't know whether Will's snoring or the pain from her elbow had woken her up this time, but whatever it was, she wished it hadn't, because things had been getting kind of hot and heavy in her head. 

Wow, she thought. 

I haven't had a sex dream about Emily in years.

Her steamy vision of the silver-haired section chief had left her in the mood. But Will was right there next to her, and though she was usually pretty quiet, some lines just couldn't be crossed, even 14 years and two kids later. Plus, her elbow splint made things kind of awkward.

So she lay there marinating in sexual frustration instead.

Emily. Huh.

It really has been a while.

She has been on your mind, though, Jareau.

JJ rarely thought about the intense feelings she had harbored for Emily all those years ago. But she had been reminded of them lately.

First a few weeks ago, when Emily mentioned Tara's girlfriend like it was the most casual thing in the world. The offhand comment had stopped JJ in her tracks. She had always thought she was the only queer member of the BAU.

"Wait," she had said. "Did you say girlfriend?"

So now there were two. Not that JJ was out, exactly, but she also wasn't not out. She ticked bisexual on the optional LGBTQ identification question for the FBI diversity survey every year and didn't think twice about it. If anyone other than an anonymous form had actually asked about her sexual orientation in the past two decades, she would have told them. But they hadn't. So she hadn't.

Straight was just one more thing people assumed about her, and, frankly, on a list that included dumb, inexperienced and weak, it was the misapprehension that offended her the least. She did have a husband, after all.

A husband she had temporarily forgotten about a couple days ago, as she had watched Emily try to crack Benjamin Reeves.

Her face burned as she recalled what she had said to the team, in a terrible attempt to cover up her distracted staring.

"It's just weird to see her coming onto him like this."

God, they probably think I'm such a bitch.

She had actually been feeling shocked, at the unmistakable feeling of attraction that had flooded her body. In that moment, JJ felt like she had fallen into a time machine that had transported her back to 2007.

Emily is just objectively hot, she told herself. You haven't seen her turn it on for a while. And you've been fighting. Emotions running high. It doesn't mean anything.

Maybe it's the whole older woman thing.

That explanation made sense. It was the context in which she had first fallen for Emily. JJ had been 28 and Emily 36 when they met, and though 36 now seemed laughably young, at the time, Emily had seemed like the most mature woman on the planet.

JJ, on the other hand, could have passed for an actual teenager. When she saw photos of herself from back then, she couldn't believe they had let her into the FBI, let alone put her in front of a camera.

No wonder she never looked twice at you.

Well, that, and the fact she's not gay.

Jesus, Jareau, did you get a freaking concussion in Georgia? You've been over this for years.

JJ stared up at the ceiling, wishing that her elbow was functioning perfectly, that it was light outside. She wanted to get up and go for an early morning run like she usually did, or to pummel the shit out of the punching bag in her garage. To sweat out all her thoughts.

When she had first met Emily, JJ had been intimidated. Who wouldn't be? Emily had shown up out of nowhere, an irrepressible force who spoke fluent Arabic and behaved audaciously around Gideon and Hotch and showed no fear, as in none whatsoever, in the field.

And, yeah, she was hot. JJ had found herself tongue-tied around her new colleague, wanting to impress her but barely able to speak.

And then came the Tobias Hankel case.

That was in rural Georgia too, JJ remembered. God, that was an awful case.

It had since been eclipsed by worse moments in JJ's life, but at the time, it had been pretty bad. Hankel had been delusional, a dangerous man whose psyche had split not in two, but three. 

After she and Spence had unwisely split up at Hankel's house, Spence was taken hostage and JJ almost killed by a pack of ravenous dogs in the barn. She somehow shot them all dead, but became completely unglued in the process, succumbing to her terror and her panic.

Emily had found her in the barn. Pulled her out of there, soothed her frayed and traumatized nerves.

And in return, the next day JJ had almost shot Emily in the bathroom of their shared hotel room. She had been in the grip of a terrifying flashback, imagining killer canines around every corner. 

Not exactly an impressive move, Jareau.

But despite the near-miss, Emily had been nothing but warm and kind and practical.

"How come none of this gets to you?" JJ had blurted out, after putting her gun down. She regretted asking the question as soon as she spoke it aloud.

But Emily had taken it at face value. "I guess maybe I compartmentalize better than most people," she said, as if she had never really thought about it before.

Later that same day, the team was fixated on Hankel's live video feed of Spence in captivity when Hotch thought he had caught a hidden message in the young profiler's ramblings.

"What's my worst quality?" Hotch had asked the team. He was sure that Reid, who had called Hotch a "narcissist" as he talked to his abductor, was actually trying to tell him something else.

"You're a bully," JJ offered hesitantly.

"You can be a drill sergeant sometimes," Morgan added, an apologetic tone to his voice.

And then came Emily, fast as lightning: "You don't trust women as much as men."

JJ's eyes had widened at her boldness. Yes, Hotch had asked, but damn, Emily had gone in for the kill. On the jet home, relieved to be leaving Georgia and those dogs far, far behind, JJ caught herself sneaking glances at that unmistakable profile, that glossy brown hair.

She had been tossing up whether she wanted to be Emily or to fuck Emily. Now she had her answer: both.

So that's how it started.

At last, a crack of light started to creep in through the window shades. JJ got up, quietly rolling out of bed so as not to wake Will, and put on sweatpants and a jacket.

OK, so the doctor said running is banned until I get this splint off… but she didn't say anything about walking. Very fast walking.

She checked in on Michael, who was fast asleep, and passed by Henry's firmly closed bedroom door with a smile. She threw on some headphones and slipped out the front door, turning left towards the neighborhood park.

After the Hankel case, she had studied Emily for weeks, trying to gauge if she was also into women. JJ couldn't figure it out. On one hand, Emily had a gay vibe, but on the other, she seemed to have chemistry with absolutely everyone.

Plus, JJ reminded herself a little too often, even if Emily was gay, why would this sophisticated, tough, worldly woman be interested in a baby-faced kid from East Allegheny?

And then she had overheard Emily tell Morgan about a date gone awry. JJ had found the story deeply implausible at the time — what kind of guy is turned off Emily freaking Prentiss because she mentions Kurt Vonnegut? Like, just change the subject buddy — but regardless, it had given her the answer she didn't want.

"...then I say something so geeky, and then he doesn't respond…" Emily had said.

There it is, JJ had thought. He.

Better not catch feelings. 

But she had.

It was mortifying to think about now, but she had been in love with Emily for a solid three years, give or take. She had spent her entire late twenties and then some mooning after her. JJ cringed when she thought about how she had hung on Emily's every word, checked her out relentlessly, attempted to flirt with her under the misguided belief that if she just said or did or wore the right thing that she might have a chance.

Her feelings had only intensified as she and Emily grew closer. It was clear to JJ that Emily had a lot of affection for her, but in a mentor kind of way. She never detected anything romantic or sexual in the older woman's words or gestures.

She was sure Rossi had detected her crush. Once he had told her, apropos of absolutely nothing: "The opposite of love is not hate, but indifference; the opposite of feeling can only be the absence of feeling."

Thanks Rossi, she had thought at the time, her face growing hot as she realized the veteran profiler had almost certainly noticed how she felt about Emily. What am I meant to do with that?

But as her unrequited feelings turned painful, she had turned over the quote in her mind, longing to feel absolutely nothing about Emily Prentiss.

Slowly but surely, her feelings began to ebb. JJ began to see herself as Emily's equal; Emily stopped seeing JJ as the kid sister she never had. They became genuine friends. She started dating Will, first for the wrong reasons, but eventually for the right ones. She had Henry. Her life changed. The flame burned itself out.

Ironically, it was in Paris, the city of love, that JJ realized she had finally arrived at… well, not indifference. That word would never be appropriate for what she felt for Emily.

But the romantic intensity was gone, the sexual desire dissolved, replaced by a deep platonic love that felt infinitely easier to navigate. One morning over croissants and coffee, she looked at Emily and thought I'm never going to sleep with that woman and didn't feel a single pang of regret.

She had never told Emily how she felt. 

She had wanted to, deep in the throes of her crush. She had almost done it once, when she was 30, at a girls' night where Garcia had left early and she and Emily had stayed at O'Keefe's until the early hours.

Thank you, past self, for holding out that night, JJ thought with a grim smile as she started another lap around the park.

But as her feelings lessened, the urge to share them passed. Honestly, she was embarrassed by how in love she had been. And, she figured, why make it awkward? It was in the past. She didn't want to ruin her friendship with Emily, who was up there with Will and Ros as one of the most significant relationships in her life.

Or she had been, anyway. Until the pandemic hit. Until Emily started to pull away from her.

JJ checked her watch. The boys will be awake soon. Better get going. She veered off the park path and headed home, her fast walk not quite vigorous enough to keep out the Virginia chill.

It's all well and good to reminisce about the old times with Emily, she told herself ruefully.

What about what's happening now?  

It had been a relief when Emily opened up to her at the tiny Georgia airfield. Her distance had started to make JJ feel insane, as though she had imagined their entire friendship, everything they had been through together.

But her words had been hard for JJ to hear.

"I started to find it painful to hear about your life. I can't explain why, I don't know. But hearing about Will and the boys, it became… tough. Our closeness became tough for me."

JJ got it, or she thought she did, anyway. She had a husband, and she had kids, and Emily had never really found her way to either of those things, despite obviously wanting them — or at least, wanting the kids part.

The conversation made her realize just how tone deaf she had been. How much she had complained to Emily about her marriage, about how tough parenting was. Even the way she doled out dating advice.

"Will and I make it work," she had said to Emily dozens of times, encouraging her to go out with men she never seemed that keen on. Did Emily hear those words differently? Had they changed from a cheer to a boast, without JJ even noticing?

And do Will and I really make it work?

She unlocked the door to find her husband awake, standing in the kitchen. 

"Coffee?" he asked.

"Yes please," JJ said. "I barely slept."

Chapter Text

JJ took a seat by Garcia's glowing terminals, sipping her coffee as the technical analyst peered at her.

"I mean this in the nicest way possible, JJ, but you look like hell."

"Thanks a lot," JJ said. "No, I'm just having trouble sleeping."

She wiggled her sling arm before thinking better of it, wincing with pain. "It's my elbow."

And Will. And Emily.

Garcia tut-tutted sympathetically.

"Speaking of injuries," JJ said, "that cat isn't still in here, is it?" She surveyed the office suspiciously, remembering her scratched ankle.

"The Black Queen has a new abode," Garcia said. "My apartment," she added, a little sheepishly.

"Thank god for that," JJ said. She remained deeply curious about exactly what was going on between Garcia and Tyler Green, but so far her mild prying had been met with serious resistance.

"So," Garcia said, sounding businesslike. "Are you and Emily still at each other's throats?"

Garcia and JJ hadn't had a chance to properly talk since Georgia. The team had been hustling to process every burned fragment from the exploded shipping container they could ahead of Emily and Bailey's meeting with the Attorney General. They needed every scrap of evidence possible to convince her Benjamin Reeves wasn't Sicarius, that the case had to stay open. But the meeting was due to happen any minute, and the team had done all they could.

"We were never at each other's throats," JJ said defensively. "And, actually, we talked in Georgia. Just before flying home."

"Oh!" Garcia said. "How'd it go? Did you find out what's up with her?"

"Uh… not really," JJ said.

Emily's confession at the airfield, vague as it was, had felt intensely personal. JJ felt uneasy sharing the details, even with Garcia. And she certainly wasn't about to expand on the theory that her own marriage woes — specifically, her complaining about them — had turned Emily away.

"She kept it short, but said enough that we're OK now," JJ said. "It was basically the platonic version of it's not you, it's me." 

Even though I think it is me.

"I am so happy to hear that," Garcia said. "I mean, mostly because I hate it when my friends are fighting, but also because I could really use your help." 

"My help?"

"Well, you know how I overheard that conversation where Emily asked Tara for someone called Will's number?"

"Yes…"

"And you know how I'm not just a pretty face but in fact the repository of all useful information known to man?"

"Mmm…" 

"Well, I've been trying to figure out who Emily's mysterious 'Will' is. And I can't. I don't have enough to go off. So I need a profiler brain too."

Emily is going to hate this.

"Can't you just ask Tara?" JJ said.

"I tried that," Garcia said. "She told me 'No' and then I asked again and she told me 'Absolutely not' and then I asked a third time and she stuck her fingers in her ears and said 'Lalalala I can't hear you Garcia, get away from my desk right now lalalala' and so I left. And then everything happened with Rebecca, and I just haven't had the heart to ask again."

A strange jealousy rose up in JJ at the thought of Tara knowing more about Emily's life than she did. She pushed the feeling down, annoyed.

She was tired of complicated emotions, of treading on eggshells. She just wanted things to get back to normal.

Well, there isn't much more normal than gossiping with Garcia about Emily's love life.

And I'm curious too.

"I forgot to tell you," JJ said. "I ran into Emily at the elevator the other day and I'm sure she was off on a date. I mentioned the name Will and she practically fell over with shock. That name definitely means something to her."

And then I screamed at her in front of two junior agents and stormed off like a toddler.

Pen doesn't need to know about that part.

"Interesting," Garcia said, theatrically tapping her chin with a fluffy pen. "So let's brainstorm. Why is she being so secretive?"

"I mean, she's always awkward about dating," JJ said.

"Yes, but she usually just acts bewildered and unenthusiastic," Garcia said. "This time is different. Like it's a state secret."

"Well, why would you hide a relationship?" 

"M-me?" Garcia said, sounding alarmed. "What do you mean?"

"I mean like… why would Emily hide this relationship?" JJ said. 

"Oh! Of course. Yes," Garcia said.

That was weird. Is she actually hooking up with Tyler?

No, that would be crazy. Even for Garcia 2.0.

"Something you want to tell me, Pen?"

"No! Nothing at all," Garcia said. "OK, so," she quickly added. "I'm Emily Prentiss and I'm hiding a relationship. Why?"

Both women lapsed into silence, thinking.

"He might have kids or something, and Emily's taking it really slow?" Garcia suggested.

"Could be…" JJ said, reluctant to go down that path.

"Or maybe he is your Will," Garcia said, her eyes twinkling.

JJ snorted. "I better check in with LaMontagne. No, seriously though, that's a good thought. Emily's guy could be married."

"Ooh, an affair," Garcia said. "Or maybe… he's in a cult?"

"A cult?"

"I don't know, just throwing it out there!"

"Maybe he's a lot older," JJ suggested.

"Or a lot younger," Garcia said, with a roguish grin.

"Maybe he's deputy director Bailey."

Garcia almost spat out her coffee laughing. "Oh my god. Can you imagine them in bed together?"

"Penelope!"

"Sorry! OK, maybe he has a criminal record?"

"Maybe he's an unsub!"

"Maybe he's…" Garcia was laughing so hard she couldn't get the words out.

"Maybe he's Sicarius!"

The two of them dissolved, laughing so hard they could barely breathe, let alone talk. It was about 20 seconds before they composed themselves, or at least enough for Garcia to say "Can you imagine!", at which point they lost it all over again.

God it feels good to laugh at a dumb joke, JJ thought, wiping tears from her eyes. I've missed this.

"OK, I'm going to do some sleuthing," Garcia said, turning back to her computer. "I think we can find this 'Will'."

"Keep me updated," JJ said. "Hey, you know how you suggested girls' night a while back?"

"And you shut me down immediately? Hmm, that doesn't sound like something my good friend JJ would do," Garcia said.

"I'm sorry, OK?" JJ said. "I think we should do it." 

Garcia turned around, a smile on her face. "Really?"

"Really."

"Name the date, lovely," Garcia said. "You know I'll be there." 

"I'll rally the troops," JJ said. "See you later."

She stopped at Tara's desk on her way to Emily's office. "Hey, you up for a girls' night? It's been too long."

"Definitely," Tara said. "I could really use a night out."

JJ caught the hint of sadness in her voice. "Have you heard from Rebecca?" she asked sympathetically.

"Not yet," Tara said, looking desolate.

"Oh, Tara," JJ said. "I'm sorry." She paused for a second, wondering whether to offer advice. She had felt closer to Tara since finding out she was also queer, though figured the connection was kind of moot unless she shared her own bisexuality.

Maybe I should.

It might be kind of weird, though, to just come out with that. After knowing each other for years.

"You know, it's been a few days. Maybe you should call or text her," JJ said.

"Maybe," Tara said. "I don't know what to say. She left on such a bitter, angry note." 

"'I love you' is always a good place to start, in my experience," JJ said gently, thinking of what she had said to Emily in Georgia.

Tara sighed. "I don't know how you and Will have done it for so many years. Rebecca and I are four months in, and the job's already blowing it all up."

"It's not always smooth sailing for us either," JJ said.

That's the understatement of the year.

Tara smiled as though JJ was just saying that to be polite. "Look, whatever happens, yes to girls' night." 

"Deal," JJ said. "And look after yourself."

As she continued up to Emily's office, she saw Tara take out her phone, type something and stare at it, as if contemplating whether to hit send.

JJ wasn't sure if she'd find the section chief at her desk or if she'd be off with Bailey somewhere, preparing for the Attorney General meeting.

But when she poked her head in, she saw Emily smiling down at her phone screen, so preoccupied she didn't notice she had a visitor.

JJ silently watched her for a few seconds, enjoying her friend's mysterious happiness and feeling slightly pained by it at the same time.

She knew Emily's physical quirks off by heart. The absent-minded way she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, only for it to escape back into her eyes immediately. The way her mouth fell a little ajar while she was focusing on what to type next, and curved into a smile once she landed on the right words.

"Who's making you smile like that?" JJ said.

Emily almost dropped her phone. "Holy shit, JJ!" she said. "You scared me."

"I'm sorry," JJ said, walking over to Emily's desk and perching on the arm of the chair. "You were somewhere else. Someone keeping you busy?"

"Oh, it's nobod- nothing," Emily said.

Ouch. Why can't she tell me?

"Pen and Tara and I are keen for a girls' night. Are you in? Maybe tomorrow?" 

"Ah, I can't tomorrow," Emily said, unconsciously glancing toward her phone. "I have… uh… a thing."

Double ouch.

"That's fine," JJ said, plastering on a smile. "Another night. We'll find one."

She felt a surge of irritation with Emily. Could she try just a little bit harder to connect?

The two of them had settled into an uneasy détente since their conversation at the airfield. At least now JJ knew Emily wanted to improve things — or said she did, anyway — but if the past couple days were anything to go by, it would be a slow process. Things still felt strained between them, a seam of dishonesty running through their conversations.

But before she could say anything further, deputy director Bailey materialized at the door, looking nervous. "It's time," he said to Emily, who stood up immediately.

JJ flashed her a wan smile. "Good luck."

Damn it, Emily thought.

God-fucking-damn it to hell.

She slammed the case file on her desk and sat down, massaging her temples.

"Guessing it didn't go so well with the Attorney General." 

"Amazing intuition, Dave," Emily said, without looking up. "You should be a profiler or something."

Rossi came in and sat down, ignoring Emily's snark. "She closed the case?" 

"Not exactly," Emily said, grimacing as she recalled the AG's harsh words. "She said she needs to think about it, and in the meantime, we need to prove that we can do our job ."

Rossi winced. "Shit." 

"Yeah," Emily said. "She tossed a case that we overlooked in my face."

"How did fuckhead go in there?"

"Actually, Bailey was kind of great," Emily said. "He's growing on me, believe it or not." 

Rossi raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"I threatened to resign if she shuts down the Sicarius investigation," Emily explained. "And he said, and I quote, 'I stand with the BAU'." 

"Pompous," Rossi said. "But better than the alternative." 

"I'll take it," Emily said, shrugging. "It's nice to have allies above as well as below for once." 

She held up the file. "How did we miss this, Dave? One dead, one missing in West Virginia. Local authorities called us, we never called back."

Rossi grabbed the slim folder and started to thumb through it.

"You've been distracted," he said calmly.

What the fuck?

"I've been busy," Emily said defensively.

"And distracted," Rossi said. He looked up at Emily. "Tell me I'm wrong."

Emily opened her mouth to retort, closing it again as she thought about what Rossi had said.

I guess I was making out with Wil until around midnight.

And then texting her this morning.

And worrying about things with JJ too.

When did my life get so… tangled?

Rossi can be so annoying.

Emily sighed. "You're right. I'm sorry. I've had… some things going on." 

"I'm not having a go at you, Emily," Rossi said gently. "I know you have a lot on your plate. And you deserve a life outside of work."

Wait, does he know I'm seeing someone?

Is two dates "seeing someone"? Am I "seeing" Wil? 

Oh my god, Emily, get a grip.

" But balancing unit chief and section chief is a lot," Rossi continued.

"I can handle it, Dave," Emily said, her voice prickly.

"Let me share the load more," he said. "I don't want the title, or the management bullshit, but I can help with the work." 

"I don't want you doing work you're not getting properly paid for," Emily said. "But look, if you want to, I can probably invent a senior profiler stipend, or something." 

"Just think about it," Rossi said. "In the meantime, there's a Sicarius lead we need to follow — whether the Attorney General knows about it or not."

Emily should have known better than to declare "wheels up" on West Virginia. Of course the BAU was back in jet purgatory.

It's not like our work is time-sensitive or anything, she grouched silently.

At least this one is a short drive away. And no one's getting blown up.

Rossi had been right on the Sicarius lead: they couldn't ignore it. They had discovered a tracking tag, the kind used on pets, amid the shipping container debris. Garcia was confident she could extract the data for an agent to track down whoever had registered it. Emily assigned the job to Tara, telling her to keep it discreet. 

In the meantime, Rossi and Luke went to the medical examiner's office to inspect the West Virginia victim who had been found dead. That left JJ and Emily to interview the victim's parents.

Emily felt faintly nervous about teaming up with JJ. It had been a long time since they worked together directly, mostly because since JJ returned from New Orleans Emily had ensured they were never paired up in the field.

But now she was trying to mend fences. Or she wanted to try. Or she wanted to want to try, which was maybe the best she could do, right now.

The girls' night invite was an olive branch, she chided herself. Try harder.

But before she and JJ could get into it, the two of them were again interrupted by Bailey. "Mind if I sit in on the interview?" he said.

He had been hanging around the BAU since the Georgia explosion. He hadn't said as much, but Emily suspected he felt guilty for ignoring her advice and authorizing the release of Benjamin Reeves, a catastrophic decision that led to Benjamin murdering his mom and then himself being murdered by Sicarius, wiping out the BAU's best lead in the process.

Which, honestly, he should feel guilty about. Jesus fucking christ.

But she assented to his request, silently apologizing to JJ with her eyes as she did so.

JJ flashed back a look that said don't worry, I'll babysit him before she and Bailey disappeared into a meeting room.

Emily was still glad she had broken the ice in Georgia, but the way JJ had asked her not to take too much time sorting through her feelings had begun to feel like a deadline. She knew that at some point JJ would have questions about the cryptic things she had said. 

"I started to find it painful to hear about your life."

"Hearing about Will and the boys, it became… tough."

The problem was, Emily had questions too. Their friendship really had begun to make her ache. But why?

She had told herself for a long time it was because of their different life trajectories. The husband and kids, versus the ambitious career woman.

Is that really true?  

JJ isn't a housewife. And I'm not a cold-hearted ladder climber.

And why did the thought of telling JJ about Wil make Emily feel so utterly raw, as if all her outer layers had all been stripped away?

It had begun to weigh on Emily. She may not have embraced a label yet, but she knew what she felt for Wil was more than just a passing phase. She wanted it to develop, to get serious. She had even lain awake at night, envisioning telling the people in her life she was dating a woman.

It said a lot that the imagined conversation with her mom had felt easier than the one with JJ.

By evening, another woman had gone missing in West Virginia and the BAU had their profile — shockingly, thanks to Bailey.

The victim's parents had been hostile anti-government types, skeptical of the FBI. But Bailey had managed to connect with them by invoking his libertarian, gun-toting father. He claimed after the interview that it had just been a ruse, that his dad was an old hippie. But another silent exchange between JJ and Emily confirmed they both thought that was a crock of shit.

Either way, Bailey got the piece of the puzzle they needed: their first victim dealt opioids. The BAU quickly realized the other two victims were also connected to the drug and profiled the unsub as a moral absolutist, a man who had lost someone to overdose and was taking out his pain on others. He worked on the college campus, probably in a role that kept him fit and made him omnipresent, perhaps a janitor or groundsman.

They had just delivered the profile when Tara got back to the office. 

"Hey Mommy. Rossi," she said. 

Emily scowled at her. "Well?" 

"I tracked down the dog owner," Tara said. "And — you're not going to believe this — she's alive." 

"What?" Emily and Rossi said simultaneously. 

"I know," Tara said. "Her name's Tawny Smith. She works at a hardware store in Chattanooga, Tennessee. The dog is, or was, I guess, called Moose. He went missing weeks ago."

"Did anything strange happen the day Moose disappeared?" Rossi said.

"Way ahead of you, Rossi," Tara said. "Tawny said she gets lots of weirdos at the store, and no one stood out. But they have CCTV. If she served Sicarius that night, we'll have him on camera."

"Excellent," Rossi said. He wandered off to his office, muttering something about phone records.

"Great work, Tara," Emily said.

"How's it going here?" Tara asked.

"OK," Emily said. "We have a profile, Garcia's running a search. I don't think this guy will be too hard to find, we're just racing the clock. Are you going OK?"

"I'm fine," Tara said, accurately interpreting the change in Emily's intonation. "I messaged Rebecca today. Haven't heard back." 

"What did you say?" 

"Just, 'I love you'," Tara said, looking a little embarrassed. "JJ suggested it." 

"JJ did?" Emily said, looking half-amused.

Tara shrugged. "She said it usually works for her and Will."

Not to my knowledge.

"Huh," Emily said.

"This Tawny girl, she was kind of kooky," Tara said. "She prayed right in front of me that we find the 'son-of-a-bitch who killed her dog'. And she also prayed that I be less distracted ."

Emily raised her eyebrows.

"I'm used to working with profilers," Tara continued, "but having a hardware store employee call me out on my heartbreak? That hurt." 

Emily laughed. "I hope she calls, Tara."

"Me too." 

"You know, Rossi said the same thing to me today. Not 'I love you'," she added quickly. "That I've been distracted." 

"That's bold. Though I guess it is Rossi," Tara said. "What did you say?" 

"I told him he was right," Emily said. "Honestly, since you set me up with Wil, I haven't been on the ball here."

"You need to give yourself a break," Tara said. "You've given everything to this job for years. Now you've found something — someone — who makes you so happy you want to forget about work. So forget about it." 

"I can't forget about it," Emily said. "I didn't exactly sign up for work-life balance." 

"That's true," Tara conceded. "But you can care a little less. You're experienced enough to know when lives are in the balance and when things can wait til tomorrow." 

Emily sighed. "Maybe you're right. But today is a lives in the balance day. I'll probably have to cancel on Wil tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? Didn't you see her last night?" Tara said, amused. 

"I did," Emily said coyly.

"Are you… Emily Prentiss, are you getting laid?!"

Emily didn't know what to say. She felt herself getting flustered, remembering Wil's wandering fingers from the night before, how much she had wanted it.

"You so are!"

Realizing she needed to shut down Tara's excitement, Emily raised a warning finger. "Not yet," she said.

"Not yet?"

"I haven't told Wil that I'm new to this," Emily admitted. "And I feel like the minute we sleep together, she'll know. I just don't want to screw it all up."

"OK," Tara said slowly. "Prentiss, I don't know that it needs to be some big confession. I mean, do you know who she's slept with?" 

"No, but that's different. She's obviously been with women." 

"Sure, but she probably thinks the same about you," Tara said, as her phone began to buzz. She looked at the caller ID and back at Emily, her expression a combination of panic and relief. 

"It's Rebecca."

"Answer it!" Emily said.

"We're going to continue this Wil conversation," Tara said firmly, before hitting accept.

"Hey," she said into the phone gently, as she walked away from Emily. "Yes, I'd love to. Thanks for calling."

Luke knocked on Garcia's office door before opening it a crack. As usual, the analyst was glued to her screens, lists of numbers and addresses and names flashing by rapidly all around her.

"You busy?" he said.

"Just tracking down a killer, no biggie," Garcia said. "No, all my systems are running and this search is going to take a while. So shoot."

"I come bearing gifts," Luke said. "Gossip."

"I probably know it already," Garcia said.

"It's about Prentiss."

Garcia's ears pricked up. "OK, that's premium. What is it?" 

"I have a friend going through the academy," Luke said. "I ran into him earlier and he was like, 'Hey, you work for section chief Prentiss, right?' Apparently she went and spoke to the current intake and they all think she's an absolute silver fox."

"Naturally," Garcia said. 

"Anyway, a bunch of them were out drinking at O'Keefe's last night, and apparently Prentiss was there too, getting very flirty with some guy around the pool table."

"Luke Alvez, tell me every single detail of this right now!" 

"My friend only saw them briefly as he was leaving," Luke said. "He was wearing a suit. Had kind of dark messy hair. They were apparently very touchy-feely."

"Anything else?" Garcia said.

"Jesus, Penelope, I didn't ask the guy for a witness sketch." Luke thought for a few seconds more. "I think that's all I got." 

"I thought you had a cake and you brought me crumbs," Garcia said coolly, shaking her head. 

"You should be grateful I brought you anything at all!" Luke said. 

"Look, it is helpful," Garcia said.

"Helpful for what?"

"OK, sit down."

Chapter Text

Emily sent 16.19: So about tonight… I'm going to be here late. I'm sorry.

Wil sent 16.23: No problem. When will you be done? 

Emily sent 16.25: Honestly I have no idea… I just got back from West Virginia. 9pm, 10pm?

Wil sent 16.28: How about you let me know when you're heading home, and I'll bring you over some food.

Wil sent 16.28: If you're not too tired, that is.

Emily frowned, her thumbs hovering over the screen. She was tired. Exhausted, actually. And she had a million things to do before handing the West Virginia case back over to local authorities.

But I really don't want to cancel.

Emily sent 16.31: You absolutely do not have to do that

Wil sent 16.32: I wouldn't offer if I didn't want to.

Emily sent 16.33: Are you sure?

Wil sent 16.33: Nah, changed my mind.

Wil sent 16.34: Yes I'm sure! I would rather see you late than not at all.

A grin crept across Emily's face.

She doesn't want to cancel either.

Emily sent 16.35: OK, that sounds great.

It was past 10pm by the time Emily got home and collapsed on her couch. The past two days had left her totally depleted.

Finding their West Virginia unsub had taken longer than expected, for the sad reason that pretty much everyone in that area had lost someone to opioids. The BAU finally landed on a suspect, but time was running out for the two women he had kidnapped. 

The team split up, and Emily took herself and the inexperienced Bailey to the guy's workplace, figuring that was where he was least likely to be holding them. But she misjudged. After hearing screams, she had no choice but to draw her gun and descend into a dank basement, knowing back-up was still minutes away.

She and Bailey had arrived just in time, handcuffing the unsub as one of his victims faded in and out of consciousness. Emily feared the young woman would bleed out before medics arrived, but Bailey covered her with his jacket, kept her talking, until she was rushed to hospital in a critical condition.

Then, just after they got back to Quantico, the Attorney General's chief-of-staff had called. "Conference room at 8pm," she said. It was a demand, not a request.

The meeting had been brutal.

The Sicarius investigation was over. As far as the brass was concerned, Benjamin Reeves was their man. The BAU would remain grounded, consulting on cases from their Virginia base.

Emily had tried to explain their promising lead, Tawny and her dog Moose and the possible CCTV footage, but the AG had looked at her like she was speaking gibberish.

"I hope it's crystal clear that I expressly forbid you and your team to continue investigating this case," she said coolly.

"You're making a mistake," Emily had snarled back, frustrated. "Sicarius isn't Reeves, you just want him to be. People are going to die because of this political bullshit." 

The AG went quiet for a few seconds, before saying "Enough, Prentiss" in a tone that let Emily know she was on very thin ice. "My decision is final," she added, before sweeping out of the room without so much as a nod.

Emily's apartment buzzer rang.

Oh shit.

Emily sprang up from the couch. Time had gotten away from her. She was still in her work clothes, her hair scraped back into a ponytail. She buzzed in Wil and fled to the bathroom, knowing she had approximately 45 seconds to do… something.

She freed her hair, fluffing it around her shoulders as she looked in the mirror. Then she grimaced and tied it back up again. A knock came at the door.

45 seconds well spent, Emily.

She took a deep breath before opening it. "Hey," she said, doing her best to sound upbeat. "Come on in." 

"Hey there," Wil said, stepping inside. "Thanks for letting me come over so late." 

"It's very sweet of you," Emily said.

She leaned in to kiss Wil on the cheek, but realized too late Wil was going for her lips instead. The two of them bumped noses before their mouths met for a quick, awkward peck.

Closing her eyes with embarrassment, Emily pointed Wil toward the kitchen.

Wil put the plastic bag she was holding on down the breakfast bar and turned to face Emily. "Let’s try that again." 

This time, they were perfectly in sync. The kiss was warm and deep and lasted a few seconds, more than enough time for Emily to get lost in it.

All I want to do is kiss this woman. 

OK, maybe a little more than that.

Breaking apart from Emily, Wil scanned the apartment. "So this is it, huh?"

She spotted Sergio shyly observing her from underneath the coffee table and crouched down. 

"You must be Sergio," she said to the black cat. "Are you a little nervous, Sergio? I think your mom is too," she added in an exaggerated whisper, her lips curving into a smile.

Emily loudly scoffed behind her. 

"That's OK," Wil told Sergio, grinning as she ignored Emily's protest. "You can keep sussing me out from under there." 

"You want plates?" Emily said.

"I'm good," Wil said. "I think it's the law that if you get Chinese after 10pm you have to eat it straight out of the box with chopsticks." 

"Oh, yeah, that's actually one of the duties of the FBI," Emily said. "Cracking down on that." 

They sat down on the couch, each armed with a takeout box, and began to eat.

"So how was your day?" Wil asked.

"Honestly?" Emily said. "It sucked. On multiple levels." 

They ate and talked and occasionally swapped takeout boxes, each time creeping a little closer to one another.

Wil listened intently to Emily talk about her day, raising a skeptical eyebrow at the AG's intervention. When Emily described stepping down into the basement with Bailey, Wil placed a comforting hand on her arm, and didn't remove it until Emily got to the part when she cuffed the unsub.

Wil's day was less dramatic, but more entertaining: Emily laughed the entire way through her account of an escalating interoffice war over the communal microwave.

Then they fell into a comfortable silence. Emily realized it was the first time they had hung out without the social lubricant of alcohol. But just like the other dates — pool disaster notwithstanding — it was going well. Very well.

"These your friends?" Wil said, nodding at a framed picture.

"That's my team," Emily said. "From before Tara joined."

The picture was taken in about 2010. Emily was on the far left, her hair jet black and her arm slung around JJ, who was standing next to Hotch. Garcia posed in the center, her hands under her chin, and to her right were Morgan, Rossi and Reid.

"A few of those people have moved on now," Emily added.

She surveyed her apartment, trying to see it through Wil's eyes. She liked this place, the exposed brick walls, the high ceilings, the layout. It was an old building, and something about it made her feel safe.

Emily wasn't prone to accumulating lots of stuff. Her chaotic life — stints overseas, time undercover, her fake death — had ensured her material things were recycled regularly. The past five years or so had been more stable, since she came back from London, but old habits died hard. The BAU photo was one of very few personal items on display.

Do I live in what normal people call a serial killer apartment?

"Your family is just you and your mom, right?" Wil asked.

There were no photos of the ambassador, but still, the question felt oddly congruent. Emily figured Wil was also sitting there, thinking about what was and wasn't on show, what it said about Emily's life. 

"Yeah," Emily said. "She's in D.C. In Woodley Park." 

"Nice area."

"Mm," Emily said, reluctant to get into her childhood. "She lives alone in this huge old house. I've tried to get her to move somewhere more manageable, but she's very stubborn."

Wil didn't volunteer where her parents were, and Emily didn't ask. She was increasingly certain of her theory that Wil had a difficult relationship with them, if she had one at all.

Emily yawned, unable to fight the urge.

"Hey sleepy," Wil said, looking at her affectionately. "Time for me to go, I think." 

Emily reluctantly agreed. "I'm sorry," she said.

"Totally fine," Wil said. "Think of me as your delivery driver for the night."

Emily walked Wil to the door, where their goodnight kiss quickly threatened to turn into something else. 

Emily circled her arms around Wil's neck, pulling her close, while Wil assumed a firm grip on Emily's hips, stepping her back gently until she pushed her up against the wall with a soft thud. They stayed there for a couple of minutes, heavy breathing and the occasional gasp the only sounds in the otherwise silent apartment.

When they stopped for air, Wil leaned out slightly and met Emily's gaze. Her right hand was up against the wall by Emily's head, and with her left, she reached out to brush a strand of hair out of Emily's eyes.

"When can I see you again?" she asked.

"That's a little presumptuous," Emily teased. "The last two times you asked me that it was 'Can I see you again?'"

"Am I wrong?" Wil said, teasing right back. She ground her hips against Emily, eliciting a small moan. "Huh, doesn't sound like I'm wrong."

Emily didn't answer, too busy pulling Wil's face back towards hers, pushing her tongue into Wil's waiting mouth, happily drowning in the taste and smell and feel of her.

"I don't usually do this with my delivery driver," Emily mumbled, as they slowed down a second time.

"Yeah, well," Wil said. "I come with benefits."

"I want to ask you to stay," Emily said. "But I'm going to fall asleep the second my head hits the pillow."

Wil grinned. "I'd love to sleep next to you all night. But let's save it for a time you aren't so tired."

She buttoned her coat and turned back to Emily for one last lingering kiss before she left. 

Emily sent 8.15: Thanks again for coming over last night. You really made a shitty day better.

Wil sent 8.23: Chinese food $40. Cab home $8. Meeting Sergio… priceless

Emily sent 8.24: Damn, inflation is bad.

Emily sent 8.25: What about the human company?

Wil sent 8.25: Pretty good.

Wil sent 8.26: But nothing on Sergio.

Emily sent 8.27: Ha ha

Wil sent 8.35: You free tomorrow night?

And with that, Emily and Wil fell into a routine.

It wasn't quite U-hauling — a term Tara had to explain to Emily after jokingly accusing her of it — but it was close: one night on, one night off. They would see each other, and the next morning they would text, and without fail one of them would ask: are you free tomorrow night?

For almost three weeks straight, the answer had been yes.

It was a minor miracle that Emily could keep answering in the affirmative, but with Sicarius off-limits and the team grounded, life at the BAU had been oddly quiet. They had plenty of work to do, but it was all police records and phone calls and briefing room discussions, not the usual flurry of flights and motels and sleepless nights and shouting "Drop the gun!"

It wasn't 9-5, exactly, but it was closest Emily had ever been. And though she was still furious about the Attorney General's idiotic decision on Sicarius, she was surprised to find herself enjoying the new rhythm. She had hated it when she was desk-bound and the team was being pulled in a million different directions, but now they were all in the same boat.

And she could see Wil as often as she liked.

She had blown off girls' night a few times with a twinge of guilt. But it wasn't just Emily's fault the four of them couldn't find a date that worked for everyone. JJ kept asking, but Tara and Rebecca were back in each other's pockets, and Garcia was suspiciously busy, with all kinds of activities — music therapy and baking classes and meditative yoga — that Emily struggled to believe all these things she did were on so often, or so late at night.

At least I'm not always the one saying no to JJ. 

Thinking about JJ made Emily's heart ache. The two of them were trying, they really were. They went out of their way to have friendly banter in the briefing room. To stop by each other's desks, at least scratch the surface of what was going on in their personal lives.

But the secret of Wil was a chasm between them, and Emily couldn't find the courage to broach the distance.

She knew JJ wouldn't judge her for her sexuality. But she might judge her for only just figuring it out.

Or worse, she might assume Emily had known for all these years — every time they had shared a secret, an intimate moment, a bed — and feel somehow violated.

JJ could be blunt, and Emily feared being pierced by her blue eyes, hearing her voice say incredulously: "But, Em, how could you not know? "

She didn't know how to answer it, and she didn't know how to come out to JJ in the first place, and she didn't know how to talk to her about what had happened in their friendship either. 

It didn't help that whenever she thought about having sex with Wil, which was often, she thought about the last time she had been able to make herself come, which was when she had fantasized about JJ.

Emily's latest theory put it down to timing. Just as Tara had accidentally cracked her world wide open, the dissonance between her and JJ had peaked. Her wires had gotten crossed, conjuring up a fantasy that didn't have to mean anything.

That's all it was.

Right?

"So you guys have just totally dropped Sicarius?" 

"Uh…" Emily paused, unsure if she should answer the question honestly.

They were back at Wil's apartment, after dinner at an Italian bistro where Emily's flawless accent had opened the door to her childhood.

She had finally told Wil about it, or at least the broad brushstrokes. Moving all over the world with her mom, returning to D.C. a different person. She had even shown Wil the yearbook photo where she was dressed as a goth.

Embarrassing as the photo was, it was a fig leaf for Emily's darker secrets. There was still so much she hadn't said. But she was constantly surprised by how much she wanted to open up to Wil, how comfortable she felt letting her in.

Sicarius, though, was a different issue.

Wil works for the AG.

Not closely. Not like Rebecca.

Still, Emily. Be careful.

"What?" Wil said, curious. 

"If I tell you something, you cannot tell anyone at work. Seriously," Emily said.

"I won't," Wil said.

"I mean it," Emily said. "Things got messy with Tara and Rebecca when work got between them."

"Rebecca is about 5000 times more intense about work than I am," Wil said. "Trust me, this" — she gestured to herself and to Emily — "means a lot more to me than sucking up to the AG. Who never remembers my name, by the way."

Emily stifled a laugh at the thought of Wil, who was so self-effacing, being quietly infuriated at the AG forgetting her name.

"OK," Emily said. "We have mostly dropped the Sicarius case, as ordered. But we managed to get some CCTV footage that we're pretty sure is him." 

"Woah!" Wil said. "That's huge, right?"

"Not huge enough for your boss," Emily said grimly. "Look, he has a cap on, and you can't really see his face. It's more of a… chin situation." 

"A chin situation. Got it." 

"But someone who knows him would probably be able to identify him," Emily said. "Anyway, the footage is from a hardware store, where he's buying duct tape and stuff, and during the transaction he gets a call and ignores it."

"Right..."

"We're pretty sure he has a wife and kids, right? So we think the call he ignored was a personal call. He was out being Sicarius the killer, not Sicarius the dad, and so he couldn't pick up." 

"I'm following."

"We also think he's from the Pacific North West. So… we got a record of all calls from Washington, Oregon and western Idaho that went through the closest cell tower to the hardware store during the time he was there."

"That has to be like a million calls," Wil said.

"More like thousands, but yes," Emily said. "And that's the part we haven't dropped. Rossi is flying up there whenever he has a spare day with the list of numbers and the linked addresses and knocking on doors, hoping we find a needle in a haystack."

"Is Rossi… OK?" 

"Oh god," Emily said, "I don't know. He seems happier doing this than he was six weeks ago. I sort of think getting obsessed is good for him."

"Wait, aren't you banned from any more spending on Sicarius?" 

Emily winced.

"I sort of convinced Bailey to give Rossi a senior profiler stipend… told him I needed more help balancing Section Chief and Unit Chief, and that Rossi's a bad leader but a great right hand man."

"And…?"

"And Rossi is spending every cent of that stipend on economy flights to Seattle." 

Wil leaned back into the couch and snorted. "That is dodgy as hell."

"Wil, you cannot take this t-"

"Emily, I won't! It's pretty bold, that's all."

"Yeah, well, sometimes you have to cut corners," Emily said.

"That's not very FBI section chief of you," Wil said playfully.

"You have a lot to learn about me if you think I'm a typical FBI section chief," Emily said, raising a flirtatious eyebrow.

"I'm beginning to realize that," Wil said.

"So what about you? Are you a typical DOJ lawyer?" 

Wil sighed. "Not really? I just don't… I don't care that much. The pay and the health insurance are good, the hours are only occasionally crazy. It's a good job." 

"Were you ever passionate about law?"

"Um…" Wil cocked her head, thinking. "It seemed interesting, I guess. I had the marks for it." 

"I'm overwhelmed by your enthusiasm," Emily quipped. 

Wil laughed. "Mostly I just thought it would get me out of Albuquerque, which was my primary motivation at the time. Even though arguably the most famous lawyer in the country is from Albuquerque," she added.

"Who's that?" Emily asked.

"Saul Goodman," Wil said.

"I've never heard of him," Emily said. 

"Oh, I was joking," Wil said. "He's a fictional character. Better Call Saul? Breaking Bad?" 

"Breaking Bad rings a bell," Emily said.

"You're really not a TV fan, are you?" 

"Not really," Emily said. "I usually just keep working when I get home from work. Or sometimes I watch a foreign film." 

Oh god, I sound insufferable.

"I did get into late night procedurals during the pandemic though," she added quickly. "Law and Order… and another one, I can't remember the name, but it's actually about a team of FBI profilers. Crime Brain? Something like that." 

"I think you mean Criminal Minds," Wil said, laughing.

"That's the one," Emily said. "Totally unrealistic, but not a bad way to spend an hour."

Wil scanned the DVDs on the bookshelf next to her couch.

"OK, surely you've seen The L Word."

"I don't think so," Emily said. 

Especially if L stands for what I think it stands for.

"You're joking," Wil said.

Emily held up her hands in a gesture of innocence. "TV is not my strong suit!" 

"You've heard of it, though, right?" 

"Yeah, of course," Emily lied.

"Want to watch an episode?" 

"Uh… sure," Emily said. 

Wil put it on while Emily inspected the DVD cover.

Looks like L stands for exactly what I thought. 

In the opening scene, a pajama-clad woman with blonde hair stood in a bathroom looking down at a fertility test. She called out to someone named Bette.

OK, so Bette is presumably her girlfriend.

Bette, wearing a tight white singlet and with a stunning tangle of dark brown hair, came in and inspected the test. 

"You're ovulating," Bette said sexily.

"I'm ovulating," the blonde woman breathed back.

What on earth is this show?

"Let's make a baby," Bette said, leaning in for a kiss as the scene rapidly turned steamy. 

Emily noticed Wil shooting her a worried glance, as if she had forgotten this ovulation-heavy dialogue kicked off the series. 

"OK," Emily said, leaning over Wil and hitting pause on the remote. "I need to set the record straight here. Yes, I have some regrets about missing my chance for kids. And I really don't need advice about it."

Wil nodded.

"But I'm not in mourning," Emily continued. "I don't think about it every day. I don't even think about it every week. You don't have to walk on eggshells around it, OK?"

"Got it," Wil said. "Hey, thanks. I lo- I love how upfront you are."

Emily blushed, both at the compliment and at the slight shyness with which Wil had delivered it.

"I feel exactly the same way about you," she said. 

She leaned over Wil again and hit play, settling back into place with her thigh firmly pressed against Wil's. A few minutes in, she laid her head on Wil's shoulder.

By the time the credits rolled, they were well and truly snuggling.

Emily head was resting against Wil's chest, and Wil had an arm slung over Emily, her hand just slipped under the hem of Emily's shirt, absent-mindedly tracing circles on her bare hip.

Emily looked at her phone and realized it was nearly midnight. "Wow, that was a long episode," she said.

"Oh gosh, it is late," Wil said. "Do you want to stay the night?"

Emily hesitated. Her first meeting the next day was at 9am.

That is plenty of time to go home and get changed in the morning.

But do I want an excuse?

I don't think I do.

"Yeah," she said. '"But, um…" 

"Sergio?" Wil said.

"Oh, he'll survive one night," Emily said. "No, I, ah…"

Wil looked at her curiously. "Just say it."

She said she loves how upfront you are.

So be upfront.

"I don't think I'm ready to have sex with you," Emily said. 

"Oh my god, Emily," Wil said, sitting up. "That's not what I meant by asking you to stay. I mean, it's not not what I meant, but, I didn't mean to pressure y-" 

"No, no, I know," Emily said, cutting her off. "I just… felt like I should say that. In case you thought I didn't want to, or something. I do. Just not yet."

"That's fine ," Wil said emphatically. "That's so fine. I'm sorry if I've been coming on too hard or too fast the past few weeks, I just…" 

Wil trailed off, looking a little frantic. Emily felt bad. Wil did tend to take the lead, which Emily loved, but she was the opposite of pushy. In fact, Emily had appreciated how carefully Wil responded to her body language, respected her boundaries.

"You haven't," Emily said. "You've been perfect. You've read me better than a profiler."

Wil looked unconvinced. "Really," Emily insisted. "This is a me thing." 

"You sure?" 

"I'm sure."

"OK," Wil said. She issued a short, deep exhale. "So, now that we've established sex is not a prerequisite… want to stay? I think I actually have a spare toothbrush. Like, a new one," she added hastily.

"That's very civilized of you," Emily said, breaking into a grin. "Yes. I'd love to." 

Wil tossed Emily a t-shirt and pair of shorts and she went into the ensuite to change, feeling slightly outside of herself as she brushed her teeth in the mirror. 

She had grown more comfortable with her feelings of attraction to Wil, her inability to share them beyond Tara notwithstanding. But still, every new step in the relationship required some mental adjustment; a sort of internal reshaping of who Emily was.

She ceded the bathroom to Wil and got into bed, taking the side with a bare nightstand.

A couple minutes later, Wil emerged wearing a t-shirt and trunks. She sauntered over to the light switch as Emily admired her from behind. 

Fuck.

Wil hit the switch, ending Emily's view, and got into bed. The two of them laid side-by-side, anticipation crackling between them.

Wil rolled over onto her side to face Emily. "With sex," she said matter-of-factly, "is there anything I can do to help you feel more comfortable?"

"Um…"

Just say you want to take it slow.

But you don't.

For the first time since you were a teenager.

Something the ambassador used to say floated into Emily's mind: "If you can't tell the whole truth, tell a half-truth."

When she was younger she had found the saying annoying, an inappropriately political approach to honesty from her inscrutable mother. But maybe in this situation it was apt.

But which half-truth?

That I'm new to dating women?

That I slept with a man undercover and it destroyed my ability to recognize genuine intimacy for a long time and then he stabbed me with a table leg and I was forced to fake my own death?

That I haven't slept with anyone since before going through menopause and everything to do with sex feels different now and I have no idea how my body is going to react? 

Compared to the first two, that last one was more like five per cent of the truth, and Emily knew it.

But it was still true. And she wanted to lean into the way Wil opened her up, dismantled her instinct for secrecy.

Wil's eyes were trained on the shadowy contours of Emily's face, waiting patiently for her to say something.

"It's been a while," Emily admitted.

"Oh god, Emily," Wil said. "For me too. You don't have to worry about that."

"Not just that," Emily said. "A while, as in, years. As in, before I stopped having my period. Everything feels a... a little different now." 

"I get it," Wil said. "I mean, I haven't, yet. But I get it. We can take it slow. See what feels good.”

"And I have a huge scar across my abdomen," Emily added quickly.

I’m on a roll here, why not.

"Not like, a surgical incision. A big, ugly scar. It tends to stop people in their tracks."

Wil was quiet for a couple of seconds.

"The work injury you mentioned?"

"That's the one."

Wil grabbed her hand and squeezed. Emily braced for the inevitable platitude, so she could say "Thanks. It's OK" and the two of them could move on.

But instead Wil solemnly said: "Emily Prentiss, I promise I will completely ignore your huge scar when we fuck."

Emily burst out laughing.

"What scar? No idea what you're talking about," Wil continued. Emily could hear the smile in her voice. 

"OK, so neither of us have had sex in ages," Wil said. "You're menopausal and I'm about to be, probably, and the third thing… wait, no, there was no third thing. Any other huge, off-putting secrets I need to know about?"

Actually, yes.

But not right now.

Emily rolled over and kissed Wil, their bodies pressing up against each other under the doona. It felt like a new frontier in her exploration of Wil.

Their bare legs entwined, both them wanting the feel of skin on skin as much as possible. Emily, still thinking about how Wil's ass had looked as she had walked over to flick the light switch, reached a hand down to grip the back of Wil's boy shorts.

Wil had other ideas, running her hands over Emily's breasts, loose under her thin t-shirt. Emily gasped as Wil pinched her nipple. "You can take my shirt off," she murmured.

Wil hesitated.

OK, fair, Emily thought. She sat up and pulled her own shirt over her head before lying back down, guiding Wil back over her.

Now suspended over Emily, Wil didn't immediately return to her bare chest. Instead, she gave Emily a slow, open-mouthed kiss, before moving her mouth to Emily's jaw, and then to her neck, and then her collarbone.

Emily shivered in anticipation, encouraging Wil with moans and mumbled variations of "yes" as she made her way down to Emily's breasts.

Once there, she hesitated again, just for a second, before taking Emily's left nipple in her mouth.

"Oh my god," Emily said. "Oh, Wil. Fuck."

Wil circled the nipple with her tongue, slowly making it hard. Once it was taut, she began to suck, occasionally nipping, until it was so erect that Emily could feel it throbbing.

As Wil moved over to her right breast, Emily managed to stop making indecent sounds for long enough to start dragging Wil's shirt over her head too. 

"You're bold tonight," Wil breathed, disentangling the shirt from her arms and tossing it on the floor before returning to her urgent task. 

Emily woke up with a start when her alarm went off at 6.30am.

It took her a second to realize where she was. She and Wil had gone to sleep topless, too intoxicated by each other's bodies to worry about modesty or warmth. She looked over to see Wil next to her, sleeping on her stomach, arms under her pillow, the top half of her muscled back on display.

I should get up. I'll be late.

Maybe just a couple more minutes.

Before long, her alarm beeped again. This time, Wil stirred. She rolled over and threw an arm over Emily, spooning her.

I guess I live here now.

Emily stayed put, feeling secure in Wil's arms, turned on by the feel of Wil's naked breasts against her back.

Just a little longer…

She made it to her 9am meeting with three minutes to spare. She had been so worried she would be late that she was surprised to walk in and find only Rossi was there already.

She sat down, the two of them waiting for the other agents to roll in. 

"Are those the same clothes you were wearing yesterday?" he asked.

"I… hate profilers," Emily muttered, her face turning a faint shade of pink.

She began to button her jacket, hoping to hide the repeating shirt from other prying eyes.

"Anyone special?" Rossi asked.

Rossi had never said as much to Emily, but she knew he worried about her being alone. Usually, it annoyed her, but today, she could hear the love in his voice. 

"I think so," Emily said, her voice full of hope.

"Good."

Emily sent 10.13: You free tonight?

Wil sent 10.14: Tonight!

Wil sent 10.14: Yes. Yes I am. 

They were entwined on Emily's couch, ending up at her apartment after a brief drink at Jade.

It wasn't a great date bar, too crowded and loud, but it had been nice to revisit the place they first met, now that things were getting more serious. Emily was shocked by how much more at home she felt in the queer bar since her first visit, how free she felt to be affectionate with Wil. 

It was a far cry from O'Keefe's, where she had worried — until she got drunk — that someone from the FBI would lay a judging eye on her. At Jade, she and Wil were the norm. There was something comforting in that. 

"So where are your other ones?" Emily said. The conversation had somehow wound its way back to Wil's tattoo.

"Spoilers," Wil said. 

"Spoilers?" Emily said incredulously. "What are you, a TV finale?"

"All will be revealed," Wil said cheekily. "You didn't see one last night?" 

"It was dark!" Emily said. 

"Well, you missed your chance," Wil said. "Do you have any?" 

"I don't," Emily said. "I was thinking about getting one, to cover a little scar I had. But I got the scar removed instead." 

Wil nodded.

"I like your little skateboard," Emily said, absently tracing the outline of the tattoo. "The story behind it." She brought Wil's wrist to her mouth and kissed it gently.

Wil smiled. "I'm glad I didn't put you off, telling my coming out story on the first date." 

"Actually, I don't think you told me about the coming out bit," Emily said. "Just what skating meant to you."

"Mm," Wil said. "You know, you haven't told me your coming out story either." 

Emily stiffened.

Oh no. 

Just tell her. You knew this was going to happen.

It's Wil. You know her now.

It's going to be OK.

"I don't really have one," she said.

"What do you mean? Everyone has one."

"I don't have a coming out story," Emily said carefully, "because you're the first woman I've ever dated."

"Very funny," Wil said.

"No, really," Emily said. She began to extricate herself from Wil. "You're the first."

Wil sat up too, the two women now side-by-side on the couch. 

"Come on Emily, stop kidding around. Did you never get around to telling your mom or something?"

Fuck.

Emily focused her gaze on the floor. Wil slowly realized she wasn't joking.

"Wow," she said. "OK. Huh." 

"Is that a problem for you?" Emily asked, her voice brittle.

"No…" Wil said, raking her fingers through her hair and looking stunned. "Look. No. It's fine. I'm just… surprised. You didn't seem like you were new to this." 

Emily had no idea what to say to that.

"And Tara and Rebecca…" Wil continued. "They didn't tell me anything. I mean, the first time Rebecca mentioned you to me, she described you as 'Tara's gay boss'."

I'm going to kill Tara.

"Tara thought I was… that I had dated women before. She didn't find out I hadn't until after that night at Jade."

"Am I… like…" Wil shook her head, half-laughing in disbelief.

"What?" Emily said.

"Am I an experiment to you? Am I just here so you can figure out if you actually like women, or if you just haven't met the right man yet?"

"What? No!" Emily said. "Wil, I like you. I really like you. I…"

Emily trailed off. She had been so caught up in the euphoria of her new romance. Every text and conversation and smile and touch — oh god, every touch — had felt electric, all-consuming.

Now it felt like her captivating new world was crashing down.

"So what are you?" Wil said. "Are you lesbian, bisexual, what?" 

"I don't know," Emily said. "I've been… I've been wondering if I'm gay. I feel so differently about you than I have about any man I've ever dated."

Wil groaned. 

"What?" Emily said defensively. "You didn't care if I had a label five minutes ago!" 

"It's not that I care about the label," Wil said. "It's that… are you even out to anybody?"

"Um…" Emily said. "To a few people."

Wil raised her eyebrows.

"Tara. And I assume Rebecca too," Emily said.

Wil closed her eyes. "Oh my god." 

"OK, obviously this is a problem for you," Emily said. She felt a hard lump forming in her throat.

Don't you dare cry, Emily Prentiss.

"Emily… coming out was really hard for me," Wil said, her voice tight. "Like, really fucking hard. I can't be with someone who's ashamed of who they are. I just can't be near that."

"I'm not ashamed!" Emily said, emotion rising up in her voice. "I just didn't know."

Wil didn't say anything.

"I didn't know," Emily repeated. "Tara didn't even tell me she was setting us up, and…"

She swallowed hard, willing herself into composure.

"It was a stupid misunderstanding. Until I realized I couldn't get you out of my head."

"Really?" Wil said, casting a sharp glance at Emily.

"Really," Emily said, meeting her gaze.

Really?

You had no idea, none whatsoever, zilch, until that night at Jade?

What about JJ?

"Really," Emily repeated firmly, not sure if she was saying it this time for Wil or for herself.

Wil sighed. "I'm sorry. You haven't done anything wrong."

"Then why are you making me feel like I have?" Emily said.

Wil flinched. "I'm sorry," she said again. But she didn't answer the question.

"I... we're fine, OK? I just need to think about this," Wil said, after a pause. "I'm gonna go."

The lump returned to Emily's throat as she watched Wil grab her things. She wanted to beg Wil to stay, to keep talking, to elaborate on the "we're fine" that didn't really sound like they were fine at all.

But she felt too numb to intervene.

Wil leaned down to kiss Emily quickly on the cheek. A month ago, the contact would have been thrilling. Now it felt like a devastating rebuke.

"I'll talk to you soon," Wil said. As soon as the door clicked shut, Sergio emerged from under the table, jumping up onto the warm spot on the couch where Wil had just been sitting, her legs entangled with Emily's.

Emily drew her knees up to her chest, hugging herself tight, still fighting the lump in her throat. Silence filled the apartment.

Then the tears began to flow.

Chapter Text

"Ouch," Tara said.

Emily had just arrived at the part of the story where Wil grabbed her things, kissed her on the cheek, and left.

"Ouch is right," Emily replied, stabbing forcefully at a piece of lettuce with her plastic fork.

It had been a tense morning at Quantico. The team had scattered when a clearly irritable Emily had stalked into the briefing room and started barking orders about a case down in Miami they had consulted on the day before.

Tara had half a mind to disappear too, but then Rebecca texted to say something had happened between Emily and Wil. She felt like it was her duty to bring her boss a salad and ask if she was OK. It had taken some prodding, but once Emily started talking, she didn't stop.

"So what are you going to do?" Tara asked.

"I don't know," Emily said, staring into her lunch as though it was the abyss. "I feel like such an idiot."

"Well, do you want to keep seeing her?" 

"I do," Emily said. "I really do. She makes me feel so… light."

Tara smiled. "That's really sweet, Prentiss." 

"Yeah, yeah," Emily said, momentarily embarrassed by her candidness. "So what should I do?"

"Um…" Tara thought for a second. "I think you should ask Wil to talk."

Emily nodded.

"But before you do that, you need to know what you want to say. And — I'm not sure you're going to like me saying this — but that probably means trying to answer some of her questions."

Emily grimaced.

"Not just for her. For you too," Tara said. "You know, whatever the answers are, it's OK. There's no age limit for coming out. But given how Wil reacted… it sounds like you need to be honest with her about where you're at."

"Whose side are you on?" Emily muttered.

"Yours, obviously, Prentiss. Wil clearly has her own shit going on. But if your aim is to keep dating her, then I would focus on how you and her can make it right. Not on who is right."

Ugh.

Tara can be so annoyingly sensible sometimes.

"Well, you know how I feel about therapy," Emily said. "No offense."

"None taken," Tara said.

"But I did do- I did start this online questionnaire thing. For people who are, ah, questioning. If they're gay."

"What were the questions?" 

"How old are you, what made you start thinking about this, your past, that kind of thing," Emily said. She pulled up the Reddit post on her phone and handed it to Tara.

A smile crept across Tara's face. "Late bloomer lesbians, huh?" Emily shot her a look.

Tara read through the rest of the questions in silence.

1. How old are you?
2. Are you single, in a relationship, married, separated?
3. What recently made you conclude you are attracted to women?
4. How old were you when you first felt you might be attracted to women? What was going on in your life?
5. What’s the earliest lesbian experience, either sexual or romantic, that you can remember?
6. When did you come out to yourself?
7. When did you come out to others?
8. Have you settled on a label for yourself? Why or why not?
9. How are you feeling in general about your sexuality and who you are?

"These are good questions," Tara said. "How many did you answer?"

"Three."

"Three including your age and marital status, or three actual questions?" 

"Three including my age and marital status," Emily snapped. 

"And your answer to number three was…?" 

"You setting me up with Wil," Emily said.

Please don't ask if there was anything else.

Like dreaming about JJ, for instance.

"OK, number four," Tara said. "How old were you when you first felt you might be attracted to women? What was going on in your life?"

Emily groaned. "This is the thing, Tara. I was 52! The only thing going on in my life was the goddamn Sicarius case."

"Really?" Tara asked.

"That is exactly what Wil said to me."

"It's fine if that's your experience," Tara said. "It's just, sometimes people in your position look back and see things differently. See relationships differently."

I can't go there.

I just can't.

"You don't have to tell me," Tara continued, reading Emily's mind. "But it's worth thinking about."

I'm sure as hell not going to open the can of worms in my head labeled JJ.

But maybe I should tell her about that other thing.

"When I first read this question a while ago, it reminded me of this time when I was 14," Emily said hesitantly. "It was just before we moved to Italy. I was a freshman, and there was this girl in debate club. I think she was a junior."

"OK," Tara said curiously. "And?" 

"I was a little obsessed with her," Emily admitted. "I loved watching her debate. She spoke French too and I'd pass her little notes with ideas or compliments that only the two of us could understand. And she had this nickname for me…"

Emily trailed off, cringing internally.

"What was it?" 

Emily looked at Tara.

"Oh come on," Tara said. "I won't tell anyone." 

"She called me 'Intense Emily'."

A loud guffaw escaped from Tara. "Oh my god, Prentiss," she said, trying to stifle her laughter with a hand across her mouth. "That's adorable." 

Emily smiled ruefully.

"Did you know it was a crush at the time?"  

"I didn't," Emily said. "I mean, it was the early '80s, it wouldn't have crossed my mind. Until…"

"Until?" 

"One day I was, I don't know, daydreaming I guess. I must have been watching her for a while without realizing. And she asked me, in front of everyone, if I was checking her out." 

Emily blushed as the memory came rushing back. It had been a very long time since she had put herself in that classroom. But the girl's voice echoed in her head like it was yesterday.

"Hey intense Emily. Are you checking me out?"

"Dream on," Emily had scoffed back, combative even in adolescence. The girl just flashed her a knowing smile.

Even now, Emily could hear the other debaters snickering; feel the heat on her cheeks and the churn of her stomach and the sense of wrong that had lingered deep inside her for weeks. Soon after, they had left for Rome, where she did everything she could to leave the feeling behind.

"Were you?" Tara said. "Checking her out?" 

"Yeah," Emily admitted. "God, it feels like another life." 

"Sounds like it," Tara said softly. "So what happened to intense Emily?"

Emily gave a tight-lipped smile. "I don't know."

JJ walked into Garcia's office expecting to find her alone. But Luke and Rossi were on either side of the technical analyst, all three of them intently focused on her myriad screens.

"What are you all doing in here?" JJ said. 

"Hiding from Prentiss," Luke said.

"And profiling," Rossi added.

"Do we have a new case?" JJ asked, confused. "I thought they made that arrest down in Miami."

"Profiling Emily's new boyfriend," Garcia clarified. "We've had zero leads since Luke's friend saw the two of them canoodling at O'Keefe's a few weeks ago."

JJ couldn't help but laugh, even as she shook her head.

I can't decide if I'm all in on this stupid quest or if I shouldn't touch it with a ten-foot pole.

"OK, I expect this kind of thing from you two," she said, jerking her head at Garcia and Luke. "But seriously, Rossi?" 

"Hey," Rossi said, ignoring JJ's judgmental tone. "I'm as curious as the next person about the mystery man our Prentiss is spending time with."

Two thick, unmarked files sat on a bench next to the senior profiler.

JJ picked one of them up. "What are these?"

"Candidates," Garcia said, as she kept typing.

"Sorry, did you just say candidates?"

"Even though we have a first name, our profile of Prentiss's prince is unfortunately not as narrow as I would like it to be," Garcia said. "The thicker file is single men who fit the profile, the other men whose marriages are on the fritz." 

JJ started thumbing through the long list of unhappily married men. Then a very familiar name jumped out at her.

You're kidding me.

Nope, that's his birthdate.

"How did you come up with this list of doomed marriages, Penelope?" JJ said, trying to hide the irritation in her voice.

"I ran a search for married men in the area called Bill, Will or William who have been to couples' counseling, whose wives earn more than they do, or who regularly rent hotel rooms using bank accounts only they have access to," Garcia reeled off rapidly. "We haven't gone through them yet," she added.

It was obvious from Garcia's tone she had no idea her parameters had captured JJ's husband.

"Do you guys ever think the FBI has too much personal information on people?" JJ said grumpily.

"No," Garcia, Rossi and Luke said in unison, their eyes glued to the screen where Garcia was scrolling through what appeared to be a random man's credit card charges.

"So much for privacy," JJ muttered.

She quickly scanned the page that listed WILLIAM LAMONTAGNE, JR. as Emily's potential paramour.

Well, at least he's not renting hotel rooms.

She silently removed the page from the file and tucked it in her bag, knowing Garcia would have a digital copy somewhere but hoping to hide it from at least Rossi or Luke's prying eyes.

JJ went to leave — if her husband was going to flash up next on Garcia's terminal, she sure as hell didn't want to be here to witness it — but as she walked out, the door opened and Tara came in.

"Hey Gar- what are you all doing in here?" 

"Hiding from Prentiss," Luke and Rossi said at the same time.

"And trying to profile her new boyfriend," Garcia added.

"I… didn't hear that," Tara said firmly. "Hey, JJ, Garcia — let's actually do this girls' night. Tomorrow? I just strong-armed Prentiss into coming out with us."

"Oh, don't mind us," Rossi said, leaning over to clap Luke on the back. "We're busy anyway." 

"Sorry guys," Tara said. "But also, not sorry, and you're not invited." 

JJ nodded, still reeling from her discovery. "Sure," she said. "Sounds great." 

"Tomorrow…" Garcia said. "I'm…" JJ watched as Garcia seemed to catch herself mid-sentence, realizing who was in the room.

Has anyone else noticed how weird she's been acting lately?

"I'm in!" Garcia said.

"Wow, finally," JJ said. "We've been trying to do this for weeks."

"Wait," Will said. "Tomorrow night?" 

"Tomorrow night," JJ repeated.

They were doing their usual evening song and dance around the kitchen. Will alternated between sipping at a beer and scrubbing away at the blackened crust on a roasting pan, while JJ loaded the dishwasher, made lunches for the next day, and wiped away the crumbs she felt like nobody else ever noticed, let alone did anything about.

She had been on edge since she got home, unable to get Garcia's file out of her head. Yes, a profiling search was an imprecise measure, but, still, there it was in black and white. Her marriage was unhappy.

I mean, it's not like I didn't know that.

"I was going to see Greg tomorrow night," Will said.

"I don't think you told me that," JJ said.

"I'm sure I did."

"Nope."

There had been a time when JJ found her husband's southern drawl genuinely sexy, but right now it sounded like fingernails on a chalkboard.

"Can't your mom watch the boys?"

"She's already back in East Allegheny," JJ said.

Sandy Jareau had been talking about selling their Pennsylvania home for years. JJ never thought she'd actually do it, but moving to Virginia and spending more time with Henry and Michael seemed to have changed something in her mom. 

Now Sandy had moved back, just for a couple months, to slowly spruce up the house before it went to auction. A coat of paint inside and out, a deep clean, a new garden. She had joked it was because she wanted to make sure the sale would cover college for the boys, but JJ privately thought she needed the time to say a final goodbye to Roslyn before the hammer went down.

"Well, I made a plan with Greg," Will said.

"Jesus, Will," JJ snapped. "We've been trying to find a night where everyone's free for weeks. We finally have one. And you're telling me you can't reschedule a beer with Greg ?"

"What's wrong with Greg?" 

"Nothing's wrong with Greg!"

"Jesus, JJ, calm down." 

JJ bristled with anger.

OK, I do need to calm down.

But jesus fucking christ I hate being told that.

"Please don't tell me to calm down," JJ said, in as neutral a voice as she could muster. "I would really appreciate it if you could reschedule your plans with Greg, which you did not mention to me, so I can have a night off."

Michael came clattering down the stairs.

"Can I play my computer game for 15 minutes before bed instead of reading?" 

"No," JJ said grumpily.

"Pleeeeease?" 

"Michael LaMontagne…" she said in a warning voice.

Michael trudged back upstairs. 

Will thought for a second, tossing up whether to keep arguing or bend.

"OK," he said. "But you owe me."

JJ rolled her eyes as she slammed the dishwasher door shut.

Tara got home before Rebecca, something that used to happen rarely but was more common these days with the BAU consulting from afar.

The two of them were doing well, all things considered. Rebecca had moved back in temporarily, but was now looking for her own place nearby. She and Tara agreed they had moved a little fast when it came to their living situation, and both thought having their own places would suit them better. For now, anyway.

Tara started to make a fish curry for dinner, knowing Rebecca would appreciate a hot meal when she got home. Her girlfriend had been flat out at the DOJ, doing everything she could to impress her bosses after the Silvio Herrera disaster. In her scant spare time, she was picking up more work from the LGBTQ legal center than she could handle.

Tara knew Rebecca was doing it as penance, trying to combat the guilt and shame she felt over screwing up all those years ago. It was hard to watch the woman she loved punish herself over a situation Tara had… well, not created, exactly, but been involved in. They both knew what had happened in the end was right. It just hurt. And there wasn't much Tara could say to make it better.

By the time Rebecca walked in the door, Tara was on the couch watching TV. 

"Hey babe," she said. "There's a plate for you in the fridge."

"Hey beautiful," Rebecca said, kicking her shoes off. "Thanks. I'll eat in a bit."

She dropped her bag and came over to the couch to give Tara a kiss.

"How was your day?" Tara asked, turning down the volume.

"It was fine," Rebecca said, sitting down next to her. "Busy."

"Just fine?" 

Rebecca sighed. "I still… every time I walk in there, I feel like everyone's looking at me. Thinking, there's the idiot who fucked the Herrera case."

"Oh babe," Tara said. She put an arm around Rebecca, pulling the shorter woman into her. Rebecca relaxed against her chest. "No one is thinking that." 

"I'm sure at least some of them are." 

"They're not,” Tara said. "People are usually just thinking about themselves."

"Is that meant to be reassuring?" 

Tara laughed. "Yes, unfortunately."

"Well, better everyone being self-obsessed than hating me," Rebecca said. "I guess." 

She shifted her body, sitting up against the end of the couch and draping her legs over Tara. 

"So… I had lunch with Wil," she said.

"And I had lunch with Emily," Tara said. "You go first. How's Wil?"

"She's a mess," Rebecca said. "She said she's falling for Emily, which, I mean, obviously she already has. The amount of time those two have been spending together… But she's torn. She has a pretty hard rule about dating people who aren't out. Or are still coming out."

"I really wish I had known that before pointing Emily in her direction," Tara said.

"I think there are a few other things we should have known before pointing Emily in her direction," Rebecca said dryly.

"That's true," Tara said. "Do you think she'll make an exception for Emily?" 

"She wants to," Rebecca said. "But she's scared. She thinks it'll make her feel closeted again. Bring all that stuff back up for her. You know." 

"What is her deal, again?" Tara said. "You've only mentioned it to me vaguely."

"The short version is, she was kicked out when she came out" Rebecca said. "She hasn't spoken to her parents in, god, maybe 20 years. Her brother rejected her too. It wasn't until he met his wife, and she found out he had a gay sister he didn't talk to, that she told him she was being an asshole and she'd break up with him if he didn't reconnect with Wil. So now she has this kind of uneasy relationship with him, and a good one with her, and is close to their kids. And then her parents are like these doting grandparents to the same kids and still want nothing to do with Wil."

"Christ," Tara said. "That's awful."

"Yeah," Rebecca said. "She hides it well. The whole laid back, nothing bothers me schtick. But honestly — don't tell Emily this — I don't think Wil's actually moved past a lot of it."

"Right," Tara said.

"I mean, I love her, you know that," Rebecca said. "She's one of my best friends. But I don't think bad luck is the reason she's never made it work with anyone. I think she's always looking to break her own heart first. Before someone else can do it for her."

Emily had stayed late at Quantico. 

She sometimes took work home in the evenings, but tonight, the thought of her apartment felt unbearably lonely. Her phone hadn't buzzed with a text from Wil all day.

She cast an eye over the bullpen. The last person had left hours ago.

I really should go home.

But instead, Emily opened her personal laptop. She had been thinking about what Tara had said. How she needed to be honest about where she was at, with Wil and with herself.

She pulled up the document where she had started the questionnaire and read over her answer to question number three. Weeks ago, she had written about being set up with Wil and fantasizing about JJ — or, as she had written in a fit of paranoia, "Jane Doe". At the end of the paragraph, she had written: "And now I can't stop asking myself if I'm attracted to women. And if it's new, or if it’s if it's something I've been pushing down for a while."

Jane Doe? Seriously?

Revisiting made Emily feel exposed, even though it was a private document she herself had typed. Pushing past the pit of discomfort in her stomach, she moved on to question four.

4. How old were you when you first felt you might be attracted to women? What was going on in your life?

Emily typed out a brief version of the story she had told Tara at lunch.

5. What’s the earliest lesbian experience, either sexual or romantic, that you can remember?

Pretty sure intense Emily was having a lesbian experience with that girl in her head.

Even if she couldn't admit at the time.

But that probably doesn't count.

So it's Wil, right?

Emily left the question blank. It was one thing to accept she might be gay. It was another to face the fact she had somehow gone 52 years of her life without acting on it.

6. When did you come out to yourself?

I don't know.

I have come out to myself. I know that. 

But when?

The idea of being gay, or at least not straight, had come to Emily so quickly after meeting Wil that first night at Jade.

It had floated into her brain a little too easily after she got home from the bar and lay on her bed, staring up at the ceiling, wondering what Tara was playing at. It was like it was there already, waiting patiently at the edges of her consciousness, certain she would find her way to it at one point or another. A thought that was tantalizing and terrifying and unable to be dismissed. 

But was that the moment she came out to herself? 

Was it later?

When I realized I actually wanted Wil to text?

When I asked Wil out?

When Wil kissed me?

Or...

Or was it earlier?

If Emily was honest with herself, so brutally honest that it hurt, that it made her feel raw, laid bare, like she wanted to run away and hide, possibly forever.

If she was that honest, which Emily was so very good at not being, especially with herself.

She knew the moment she came out to herself had nothing to do with Wil at all.

Chapter Text

JJ pulled up in the Quantico parking lot and switched off the ignition, tears pricking at her eyes.

Deep breaths, Jareau.

She picked up her phone and stared at it a few seconds, weighing up her options, before she tapped out a number and hit call.

JJ always dialed the landline, never scrolling to the contact in her cell that had, for some reason, always been labeled "Home", even though by the time mobile phones with contact lists became a thing, she had well and truly left East Allegheny behind.

She knew she would never forget the digits, that they would linger uselessly in her mind long after the wall phone was disconnected, long after a new family moved in, one that would hopefully make happier memories than the Jareaus.

"Hello?" Sandy's formal tone reminded JJ that only telemarketers still called landlines.

"Mom, it's just me."

"Oh, hi Jen," Sandy said. "I was just about to head out into the garden. How are you?" 

"I'm OK," JJ said, a lump swelling fast in her throat. "I was just calling to…" 

JJ's voice cracked. She let out a heaving sob.

"Oh Jenny," Sandy said. "What's going on?" 

"Will and I… we're not good," JJ said, barely making it through the sentence.

"Did something happen?"

JJ pushed herself back in the driver seat and brought her knees to her chest. Her face was scrunched, tears rolling down her cheeks, her throat so tight she could barely talk. She couldn't remember the last time she had cried this hard.

Sandy listened patiently, occasionally making soothing noises, waiting until JJ could get the words out.

"We had a bad fight," JJ managed to say. "But it's not just… Mom, most days it feels like we hate each other. And I don't know how to fix it."

"Oh Jenny," Sandy said again. "Where are you?"

"I'm in the car," JJ said, sniffing as she regained a modicum of composure. "At work."

"OK," Sandy said. "Talk to me, baby. Actually, hold on one sec." 

JJ listened to a clatter, some footsteps, the sound of padded furniture legs sliding on wooden floor.

She knew exactly what her mom was doing: putting the phone down on the little side table, and dragging a dining chair over to the wall so she could sit down and talk without stretching out the cord. She always did it for long conversations. JJ had pointed out several times she could just upgrade to a cordless and go about her day while chatting, but Sandy resisted, claiming to like the vintage style of the wall phone.

There was another clatter as Sandy picked the phone back up again. "OK," she said. "Talk to me."

"I don't know where to start," JJ said. She was able to talk normally again, soothed by her mom's familiar noises.

"Well, why don't you start with this morning?"

The fight had been building since JJ and Will woke up, each tightly rolled over to their side of the bed, a foot and a thousand miles apart.

The second the boys left for school, they had erupted.

It started, as fights do, with something small: Will still being snarky over his abandoned beer with Greg.

It escalated when JJ finally reamed him out for hiding his test results from her for months.

"That was fucked up. Full stop," JJ had said. "You kept it from me as some kind of screwed-up power trip. And then you say it's what we do? That it's who we are?" 

"You're being crazy, JJ," Will drawled back. "You hide things from me all the time." 

"I don't," JJ said. "Not like that. I don't."

"So I'm just meant to sit around and wait for a call from the ER every goddamn day? You tackled a guy with a bomb las-"

"That has fucking nothing to do with any of this, and you know it," JJ had hissed.

The look Will had given her in response made clear he did know it.

"You've never been able to deal with my job." JJ said, feeling the ugly weight of her words as she said them. "The fact your wife is more senior than you. It makes you feel small. But you know what? That's the part that's fucking pathetic, Will. Not your job, not my job. Your fucking complex about it."

"You think you're top shit," he spat back at her. "That you're better than me. You always have. You're too good for me, you're too good to spend time with the boys, you're-" 

"You really want to go there?" JJ said, issuing a dangerous laugh, her eyes glinting. "You really want to tell me I'm an unfit mother?" 

And it ended when JJ stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind her so hard she thought the plate glass might break.

She got in her car and screeched away, not knowing or caring if she had what she needed for work, just needing to get away from Will, to stop feeling so consumed with anger and regret and grief.

JJ told Sandy about all of it. And then she kept talking, her voice periodically cracking and erupting and finding itself again as she went.

She told her mom about the endless couples counseling, which Sandy already knew about, kind of — she had occasionally watched the boys while Will and JJ had what the three adults euphemistically called "mom and dad time" —  but not how many times they had tried it, nor how much they had struggled to put it into practice.

About the constant fights about parenting, the division of responsibilities, problems that the sheer force of their years together should have solved if either one of them had any willingness to budge, if they were capable of seeing themselves as a team and not two individuals locked in a power struggle they would only ever mutually lose.

About their sex life, how it had waxed and waned and waned and waned until they brokered a reluctant promise to do it twice a week, an agreement that had lapsed more than a month ago without either of them saying a word.

And about the resentment, the poisonous emotion that had infiltrated their relationship, become the third person in their marriage so long ago that JJ wasn't sure anymore if it had ever been just her and Will. It wasn't just that they had stopped being kind to one another, though they had. They had stopped wanting to.

When JJ finally finished talking, Sandy was quiet for a long time, so long that JJ wondered if the connection had been lost while she was rambling.

She took a beat to collect herself, to quieten her trembling body, to feel briefly grateful for the tinted windows of her car. 

"Are you there?" she asked.

"I'm here, darling. I'm sorry," Sandy said immediately. "I'm just thinking about what to say."

"Just be honest."

Sandy exhaled, and JJ could picture her again. Her legs crossed, head leaning against the hallway wall, sitting alone in the house that had so quickly become too big for their fractured little family.

"I know you struggle when you can't save things. Fix things," Sandy began slowly. "Some of it's just who you are. And some of it's my fault. After Ros… I left you alone with your grief. You looked after me, and it should've been the other way round."

"I meant it when I said I forgave you, Mom," JJ said.

Doing so had been a long, slow process, one that really only started when JJ became a mom herself. But it wasn't until Henry turned 11, a birthday JJ had dreaded almost as much as his 17th, that she felt herself finally starting to let go.

At first, Henry being that age had brought it all back for JJ, his sweet innocence a constant reminder of how sharply her own had been pierced. But one day, instead of zeroing in on Henry's vulnerabilities, she began to notice how resilient he was, how independent. How he managed to pick himself up after life's disappointments and setbacks.

JJ realized she wasn't her son, her son wasn't her, wasn't Ros. That she wasn't her mother. And bit by bit, she began to heal. 

She had always feared her trauma would cloud her ability to be a mom. When it hadn't, she understood for the first time how enormous, how immense, how unnavigable her own mother's pain must have been. How an inky, unrelenting sorrow had made Sandy's world so fuzzy and unreal that it cruelly cut her off from her remaining daughter.

And JJ forgave.

"I meant it," JJ repeated. "I forgive you." 

There was a brief pause. JJ knew her mom's eyes would be welling up, that she wouldn't know what to say in response.

"I love you," Sandy said, simply.

There was a pause.

"The point is, I've watched you try with Will," Sandy continued. "I've watched you try to fix your marriage, save it, keep it going. For a long time I was watching and worrying from a distance, and now I've been watching up close."

JJ let out another sob.

"I know how hard it is for you to stop trying," Sandy said tentatively. "At anything. But with Will, it might… it might be time."

JJ knew her mom was treading carefully, not wanting to overstep. The bond allowing them to even have this conversation was still fragile, forged relatively recently in the arc of their 44 years.

"You two might have run your course," Sandy said. She paused, and then gently added: "Life is too short."

"Will the boys be OK?" JJ said quietly.

As the words fell from her mouth, she knew she had made her decision.

To JJ's surprise, her mom laughed, a gentle, knowing chuckle, neither bitter nor mocking.

"Jen, the worst thing in the world happened to you. To me. And we got through it."

"I guess that's true," JJ said, sniffing.

"And your dad left, didn't he? And your work! You see so many horrible things every day."

"Mmm."

"Divorce is tough, any way you slice it," Sandy said. "But I know you. And I know Will. He hasn't always been my favorite man in the world, but he's been my family for years."

Divorce.

The word rang through JJ's head like a siren.

"I know you two will make the boys a priority," Sandy said. "Make sure they know they're loved. I'm not saying it'll be easy for them, it won't. But I promise you, they will be OK."

"I love you, Mom," JJ said.

"You're going to be OK," Sandy said. "And if you need me, I'm just a phone call away." 

JJ nodded, forgetting her mom couldn't see her. She felt spent, exhausted and dehydrated from her marathon cry. The tension in her body had eased, but a deep dread in the pit of her stomach was already setting in, apprehension over the days, weeks, and months ahead.

"Do… do you want me to come back now?" Sandy asked, misreading JJ's silence.

"Oh, no, mom," JJ said. "Thank you. But I'll be OK. Come at Christmas like you planned."

"OK," Sandy said. "If you're sure."

"How's- how's the house?" JJ asked. She needed to feel normal, just for a moment.

"Oh, I'm just getting started," Sandy said, her tone turning practical as she sensed what JJ needed. "It's going to take a bit of work, but I'll chip away at it. The realtor thinks a paint job and a new garden will really do a lot at auction. And you know I've got those college funds in mind."

JJ felt her throat closing up again, but this time, it wasn't about Will.

It was the thought of her mom knocking around that big house alone, fixing it up, getting ready to sacrifice her final physical connection to her long-gone daughter so she could give a gift to her grandsons. Maybe she was trying to make amends.

"Hey, Mom?" JJ said, swallowing hard.

"Yes?"

"Say hi to her for me."

"Oh Jenny," Sandy said. "I will."

"First round is on me," Garcia said excitedly, as she, Tara, Emily and JJ walked into O'Keefe's.

The technical analyst made a beeline for the bar as the others piled into a booth, Emily and Tara on one side, JJ on the other.

JJ had made it through the day not mentioning her morning to anybody. An odd feeling of detachment had settled over her as soon as she made it from her car to the bullpen. 

The team was on a case sent over from Cody, Wyoming. There was almost certainly a serial killer at work just east of Yellowstone National Park, with three bodies found in two months. But without clearance to fly, the BAU had been left to pore over crime scene photos and scribbled police reports from Quantico.

JJ threw herself into the documents, spotting a crucial connection between the three victims that no one else had seen. She felt, bafflingly, sharper than usual.

I am literally trained in how to compartmentalize, she reminded herself.

Or maybe it just hasn't sunk in yet. 

Or maybe it's a weight off my mind.

She had considered skipping girls' night, but then realized all she wanted to do was down a few drinks and have a conversation about nothing. Enjoy one more normal night before her inevitable conversation with Will.

Garcia soon returned with two jugs of margaritas.

"Hell yeah!" Tara said, rubbing her palms together.

Emily raised an eyebrow. "Tomorrow is a work day, you know…" 

"You're not the section chief tonight!" Garcia said. "Or the unit chief. You're just Emily."

Emily nodded. "Just Emily. Got it."

"So you agree," Garcia said slyly. "In that case…"

"Penelope," Emily warned.

"Who are you dating? We all know there's someone." 

JJ's eyes widened at Garcia's boldness. She briefly met eyes across the table with Tara, who looked similarly shocked, and — if JJ wasn't mistaken — a little panicked.

Emily was staring back at Garcia, as if turning something over in her mind.

She's not denying it, JJ thought curiously.

What is the big secret about this guy?

There was a cartoonish anticipation about Garcia's face as she waited for Emily's response, her eyes twinkling, her mouth agape.

"I…" Emily swallowed. She started again, more confident this time. "Penelope, when I want to tell you about it, I will. OK?"

"Oh, come o-"

"I don't know if it's going to work out," Emily said quickly, before Garcia could get any further.

There it is.

A small, slightly mean part of JJ had wondered which of Emily's classic excuses she would eventually pull on her mystery man.

JJ had seen Emily deploy them so many times that she had privately given them names. There was I'm Too Busy To Date, and the occasional He's Fine, But Nothing Special. Emily's go-to was It's Not Going To Work Out Anyway, So Why Bother. And JJ's personal favorite: I'm Too Screwed Up For Anyone To Love Me.

No matter how nice, how understanding, how attractive the guy she was dating, Emily would always reach for one of them sooner or later.

JJ had wondered if there was something different with this guy. Some reason Emily was keeping him so close to her chest. But the familiar refrain — "I don't know if it's going to work out" — was all she needed to hear.

He's just another guy.

Soon to be relegated to the Emily Prentiss memorial dustbin of rejected hotties. 

Garcia looked imploringly at Emily.

"I'm not going to talk about it," Emily said firmly. "So you can either accept that and we can have a fun night, or you can badger me every five seconds and I'll get annoyed."

Garcia held up her hands in defeat.

"OK," she said. "But if it does work out, I want to hear about it." 

"I'll FaceTime you from bed," Emily said dryly.

JJ and Tara had wisely stayed quiet, but at this, they couldn't help but snort. Emily was next to crack a smile, and then Garcia.

"Sounds hot," Garcia said flirtatiously. 

"You should be so lucky," Emily said.

Garcia changed her focus to Tara. "OK, you can spill then. How are things with Rebecca?" 

As Tara gamely launched into the story of how she and Rebecca patched things up, JJ found herself sneaking glances at Emily.

She had been keeping tabs on her feelings about the section chief these past few weeks, even as her mind had been preoccupied with Will.

Their strained friendship was slowly but surely improving. Weirdly, Garcia's ridiculous mission to find out who Emily was dating had alleviated JJ's irritation over all the secrecy. It helped her see the mystery as less of a personal rebuke and more of a stupid yet quintessentially Emily quirk.

They were yet to continue the conversation they had started in Georgia, about why Emily had grown so cold and distant. JJ still thought it was because of Emily's hurt, maybe even jealousy, over her husband and kids; her own tone-deaf failure to recognize it was happening. JJ wondered if the momentous decision she had come to in the Quantico parking lot would help or hinder their friendship. 

But it wasn't just that.

JJ had also been thinking about the unexpected stirring she had felt watching Emily interview Benjamin Reeves. And her dream a few days later, in which Emily had… 

As that particular thought entered her brain, JJ tipped her head back and finished her margarita. She had gotten through it quickly, emptying her glass before anyone else was halfway done. As she refilled, she noticed a look from Tara.

"Haven't had a night out in a while," JJ said, flashing a casual smile.

"I'm not judging!" Tara said. "I'm right behind you."

"OK, my lovely ladies," Garcia said. "You know what's weird?"

"What?" 

"When we started these back in the day, it was because we were outnumbered. Three women, four men. Not to mention the rest of the FBI."

"And outranked," Emily said. "Male unit chief."

"Right," Garcia said. "And now, women are two thirds of the BAU. And the unit chief!"

"And the section chief," Tara added.

"Cheers to that," Garcia said, enthusiastically raising her glass.

"Cheers!" they all said, clinking glasses, Emily looking a little embarrassed at the congratulations.

"I felt almost rude when we all walked out on Luke today," Garcia continued. "I mean, with Rossi in Seattle, it was like we were ganging up on him." 

"Reverse sexism isn't a thing, Garcia," Tara said.

"I know that! It just felt exclusive!"

"How is Rossi going up there, anyway?" Tara asked. "Is he making any headway with the Sicarius list?"

"Uh… he is very slowly getting through it," Emily said. "I wish I could spare him more often, or send more of you up there. But we're on thin ice as it is."

As the conversation meandered on, JJ's mind drifted to Will. She still felt strangely calm, disconnected from the situation, as though she had used up all her emotion on the phone to her mom.

I'm just numb, I guess.

But aided by the buzz from the margaritas, questions began to swirl in her mind about what would happen next.

How would Will react? Would he cry, snap, explode? How would they split custody? Where would she live? What would her life look like? Would she date?

At the last question, JJ's imagination faltered. After 15 years, it was difficult to fathom starting over with someone else.

Maybe I'll date a woman, she thought idly, as she admired the endless shades of silver in Emily's hair.

Not Emily, obviously. But someone like her.

"JJ? Earth to JJ."

JJ realized Emily was talking to her. 

"Sorry," she said, shaking her head. "I was zoned out."

All three women were looking at her.

"Are you OK?" Garcia said. "You've been a little spacey all day." 

I thought I was acting totally normal. 

"I'm fine," JJ lied. "Just… haven't been sleeping well."

Nobody looked convinced.

"Speaking of being tired," Garcia said, "I am going to love you all and leave you." 

She began to slide out of the booth.

"Penelope!" Emily said. "It's 8.30pm. Not even I'm old enough to call it a night yet." 

"Not even Rossi would be old enough to call this a night," Tara joined in. 

"Oh my beautiful BAU babes," Garcia said, standing at the end of the table. "I know my company is second to none. But I have an early morning laughter yoga class that I am not prepared to miss. See you all tomorrow." 

She blew each of them a kiss before turning on her heel and leaving.

"Laughter yoga?" Emily said. "Did Garcia overdose on crystals during Covid?" 

"I think she burned a little too much incense," JJ said.

"You guys," Tara said, shaking her head. "She's so much better at keeping a distance from the job now. I think all that crap has been really good for her." 

"Mm," JJ said, as Emily rolled her eyes.

"Both of you could do with a little self-care, is all I'm saying," Tara said.

I mean, that's probably true.

"And actually, I know I just ribbed Garcia, but I think I might head off too," Tara added. "Those margaritas went straight to my head." 

JJ waited for Emily to look at her, to say: "Shall we call it a night?"

A few years ago, they would have stayed, no question. But now they were older, and their easy rhythm had fallen by the wayside. She couldn't imagine Emily would want to stick around. 

I wish she would, though. So we could talk.

"Want to stay for one more?" Emily asked. "Or do you need to get home?" 

"I'll stay for another," JJ said, surprised.

"I'll see you guys tomorrow," Tara said. "Don't get too drunk. Or, actually, what do I care, get plastered." 

"We won't be doing that," Emily said, smiling. "Bye Tara." 

And then it was just the two of them.

JJ checked her phone while Emily went to the bar. Her lockscreen photo of Henry and Michael flashed up clear, no notifications covering their eyes.

She and Will hadn't communicated all day. Usually after fights they would at least coldly text about logistics, what was for dinner, school pick-ups.

The silence hurt, but JJ knew the space had been good for her. She had needed a day to take in the weight of her decision, to marinate in its potential consequences.

I wonder what he's thinking.

He has no idea.

"Here you go," Emily said, passing JJ a gin and tonic as she slid back into her seat holding a red wine.

They sat there on opposite sides of the booth, nursing their drinks. It had been years since they went out together, just the two of them. Before JJ and Will left for New Orleans, before Covid, before the big chill in their friendship.

A year ago, maybe two, I would have called Emily this morning. No question.

After taking a sip, JJ realized Emily was looking at her, a concerned expression on her face. 

"Are you OK, JJ?" Emily asked gently. "I know something's up."

Here goes nothing.

"I've decided to leave Will."

JJ delivered the line neutrally, as if talking about the weather.

Emily's eyes widened in shock.

"Oh my god," she said, before falling silent for a few seconds. "I... I don't know what to say."

"How about congratulations?" JJ said. She offered Emily a wan smile.

Emily exhaled nervously. "Jay…" 

"Sorry," JJ said, shaking her head. "I know, it's not funny. I feel... numb."

"I understand," Emily said. She reached out across the table and grabbed JJ's hand, squeezing hard. "Talk to me."

JJ felt relieved that she didn't have to relay everything she had told her mom. Emily had been there for most of it, the past couple years notwithstanding. She would understand. 

"It's just… it's just time, Em."

Emily nodded.

"I thought you guys were going OK," she said tentatively. "You told me a while back, in my office…"

JJ remembered the conversation. It was just after she found out about Will's test results, but before they had confirmed it wasn't cancer.

"We had good weeks here and there," JJ said. "I think that might have been our last." 

Emily squeezed her hand again.

"They just never turned into good months or good years," JJ added. "No matter how much I wanted them to."

Emily was looking at her with so much care that JJ felt a sob welling up in her again. She averted her eyes and stared down into her gin, willing herself not to cry in the middle of O'Keefe's.

I miss her so fucking much.

"Did anything happen?" Emily asked. "Or did you just wake up and know?"

JJ filled her in on the fight she and Will had that morning, how a routine argument over clashing schedules had turned into a blow-out over the cancer scare, which then transformed into an all-out brawl over everything they had learned to hate about each other.

"It feels so stupid," JJ said. "The final straw, after nearly 15 years… his canceled beer with Greg?"

"It wasn't that, though," Emily said, her voice practical. "You know, when it's death by a thousand cuts… one of them has to be the thousandth."

JJ nodded sadly, before realizing what Emily had said and starting to giggle.

"What?" Emily said, confused.

"You sound like Rossi," JJ said. "Doling out advice by adage." 

Emily snorted. "You're right. I'm sorry. It's true, though."

She got up and moved over to JJ's side of the booth, sliding in next to her, placing a warm hand on her thigh. JJ covered it with her own, stroking her thumb along the side of Emily's palm.

It felt so good to be close to her again, to bask in the physical intimacy that had always characterized their friendship. But the touch also felt different to what JJ remembered; a little strange, a little sensual. It felt nice.

She realized she was experiencing it afresh in the context of her renewed attraction. Or crush, maybe, or whatever it was that had recently rejoined the bevy of complicated emotions she felt toward Emily. When she had been in love with her all those years ago, their friendship had still been developing. They hadn't been as close. 

"I'm so sorry you felt like you couldn't tell me about Will's cancer scare," Emily said softly, neither of them moving their hands. "I wish I had been there for you." 

"It's OK," JJ said, leaning her head onto Emily's shoulder. "You're here now."

Chapter Text

"I told Will this morning."

JJ was sitting across from Emily, arms crossed, bomber jacket wrapped tightly around her chest. She had headed straight for the section chief's office after arriving late, dodging a joke from Tara about how she and Emily must have had a late one the night before.

"Wow," Emily said. "You don't mess around, huh?"

JJ shrugged. "Only for 15 years or so." 

Emily raised her eyebrows.

"Sorry," JJ said. "I don't know why I'm joking about it. I actually feel sick." 

"That's why you're joking about it," Emily said. "How'd he take it?" 

"He, um… it felt like he knew it was coming."

JJ looked bereft as she spoke, her eyes burning a hole in the polished wooden grain of Emily's desk. 

"It was weird. Like both of us had come to the same conclusion at the same time. He wasn't angry, he was just… sad."

She shook her head, trying to rid herself of the memory of Will's resigned gaze. The moment she had dared meet his eyes, JJ realized he felt it too. That it was really over.

"I was bracing for an explosion, you know?" she added. "But he didn't protest, at all. It's obviously going to be easier that way, but it- it sounds stupid, but it almost hurts more. That it was so anticlimactic."

"Oh Jay," Emily said softly. "I'm sorry."

They sat in silence for a few moments.

"So what happens now?" Emily asked tentatively.

"We're going to separate after Christmas," JJ said. "Let the boys have that, and then tell them. Beyond that, we didn't really get into the logistics."

"Is there anything you need here?" Emily asked. "Time off?"

"Don't be my boss right now, please," JJ said.

Emily nodded. "OK." 

"I'll ask you if there's something I need," JJ added. "Right now I just need my best friend."

The two women met eyes, each offering a weak smile.

As she looked at Emily, JJ was catapulted back to O'Keefe's the night before. The sensual buzz she felt while caressing Emily's hand as they sat close in the booth. The hot feel of Emily's palm radiating through her thigh.

She had enjoyed it. No doubt about it.

But in the cab home, it had been back to reality, as a distressing loop of Henry and Michael's possible reactions played through the margarita haze in her head. In the first version, they were lashing out in anger; in the next, sobbing, devastated; and in the third, silent and cold, blaming their mother for breaking up their family.

By the time she got into bed, Will was asleep, or at least pretending to be. JJ had watched the clock for what felt like hours before suddenly jerking awake, feeling like a robot as she made breakfast and packed lunches and herded the boys out the door, the knot of dread in her stomach growing larger by the minute.

And then she had turned to Will, who was sprawled on the couch staring at his phone, and forced herself to utter three words.

"Can we talk?"

So, yeah, the little rush of attraction she had felt for Emily at the bar was not exactly front of mind.

But as she surveyed her old friend, it came back.

It made her feel curious. Alert, but not alarmed. JJ figured her psyche was just grasping for comfort in the familiar. That it was normal to latch on to an old crush as her marriage fell apart.

Whatever it was, an unconscious self-soothing or pure lust or something else, JJ was confident it wouldn't snowball into the embarrassing unrequited love it had 15 years ago. She was older now, wiser. And she wouldn't do anything to jeopardize her friendship with Emily.

Especially now, when they had just found their way back to one another. 

As she returned JJ's smile, Emily, too, was thinking about their moment at the bar. In fact, she hadn't stopped thinking about it.

She had tossed and turned all night, drifting in and out of sleep as she processed the fact JJ was finally ending things with Will; relived the memory of JJ's thumb brushing gently against her hand as they sat in the booth at O'Keefe's; ruminated on the way her body had responded to the innocent touch.

It was not how Emily had imagined the night ending. She had arrived at drinks still feeling sick over what had happened between her and Wil. For two days, Emily's body had been full of tension, bracing for the inevitable text breaking things off.

But it hadn't arrived. Nothing had.

Tara had convinced her to come to girls' night for a distraction, but Emily couldn't stop thinking about the fact if it wasn't for her obtuseness, her inexperience, she would probably be out on a date with Wil instead. Or maybe back at her apartment making out. Having sex. Getting serious. Being happy.

When Garcia fixated on her and asked point blank who she was dating, Emily had felt almost overcome with anxiety. As she paused to get a grip on herself, staring back with an expression she hoped came across as cool indifference, her first thought was: Fuck.

Her second: If I can't tell JJ and Garcia, who can I tell?

But once again, an invisible hand had clamped itself over her mouth.

The way Wil had judged her for not being out had felt intensely unfair, but it had also made Emily think about why was she was struggling so much to open up to her closest friends.

Dating women was new, yes, but Emily hadn't exactly repeatedly tripped and fallen onto Wil's mouth. Her feelings were real and they made sense to her, even if she was still adjusting to them. And she knew her friends wouldn't respond with bigotry or hatred.

She did feel embarrassed that she had only just realized — or accepted, maybe — that she was into women. And that came with grief, a sea of sadness brimming within Emily at the thought of having cut herself off from something that could have brought her happiness decades ago.

And there was an element of shame. But that was trickier to parse.

Emily didn't feel it with Wil. She loved being physical with her; the way Wil made her feel instantly sexy, the desire that welled up in her body whenever things got hot and heavy. Gender aside, being with Wil felt refreshingly, fantastically uncomplicated.

JJ, though, was another story.

Emily had convinced herself she had no ulterior motives when she scooted over to the other side of the booth and laid a comforting hand on JJ's thigh. It was just instinct, the kind of silent communication she and JJ had finessed over 15 years. Their history was such that a hand-squeeze across the table felt practically impersonal; certainly inadequate for a confession as profound as "I've decided to leave Will."

But then JJ had placed her hand over Emily's. Started to stroke her thumb along the side of Emily's hand, tracing up her pinky. And Emily had felt an unmistakable rush.

You were into it.

You enjoyed touching her. Her touching you.

She hadn't moved her hand, paralyzed by a heady mix of wanting to comfort JJ in her time of need and the intoxicating feel of her muscled thigh, the steady motion of her thumb. As the minutes passed, intimacy and care and tenderness and arousal all coalesced, Emily unable to tell where one ended and the next began.

In the moment, it had felt natural. Like she and JJ were finally vibrating on the same frequency.

But on the way home, a wave of shame had begun to wash over her. She felt lecherous. Dirty. Like she had violated their sacred bond of friendship. It was the same panic, Emily realized, that she had felt when she pulled away from JJ in the first place.

Back then, she had been in resolute denial. Now she had admitted her feelings for what they were.

If only that made them easier to deal with, she thought, averting her eyes from JJ.

She knew the only reason she had been able to push down her feelings for JJ for so long because she was so fundamentally off limits. Not just straight, but a straight, married mom.

What now?

Emily and JJ's phones buzzed simultaneously, snapping them out of their mutual reveries. Usually, a group text only meant one thing, but this one was a pleasant surprise.

Derek Morgan sent 9.17: Hey crew, open invite to Christmas Day at my place. (JJ, know you'll have your own thing going on, just including you for old times' sake)

"Speaking of Christmas…" JJ said, catapulted straight back to her worry over Henry and Michael.

"At least it's not a new case," Emily said. 

"True," JJ said. "That's nice of Morgan. Will you go?" 

"Well, I'm sure as hell not going to spend all day with the Ambassador."

"That sounds even grimmer than my Christmas is going to be."

Emily laughed. "I don't know about that." 

JJ gave a wry smile and got up to leave.

"Hey," Emily said. "I'm here for you."

"Thanks, Em."

JJ sent 9.20: ✌️

JJ sent 9.21: Give my love to Savannah and Hank

Morgan sent 9.23: I will, same to Will and the boys

Rossi sent 9.25: T

Morgan sent 9.26: You need help texting, my man? 

Garcia sent 9.26: I'm volunteering, sorry! But thank you!

Rossi sent 9.28: Thanks Derek. Id love to. Joy and Portia will be with their inlaws.

Emily sent 9.29: Two questions… can I come late? (I have to see the Ambassador in the morning.) And will there be wine? (See above)

Morgan sent 9.33: Rossi, it'll be great to have you. Baby girl, you'll light up the soup kitchen. Prentiss, I will reserve a bottle for whenever you arrive.

Emily sent 9.34: Two please 

Emily put her phone down and tried to keep preparing for her weekly meeting with deputy director Bailey. But the JJ question was still front of mind, eclipsing everything else. 

What now?

Even when she was in denial, when JJ was committed to her marriage, Emily had barely been able to keep her feelings in check. She had blown up their friendship in the process of trying. Now here they were in the rubble, and Emily was gay, maybe, probably, and JJ soon-to-be single.

Emily's mind wandered, just for a second. Maybe they could…

Stop.

Emily, it will never happen. Never.

JJ is about to go through a divorce. And she needs you to be her best friend.

Not someone who's coming on to her.  

Emily's phone vibrated again and she picked it up, ready to mute the group chat. The incessant buzzing annoyed her, even if she didn't mind the banter.

But the notification staring back at her wasn't what she had expected.

Wil sent 9.40: Hey. How are you? I'm sorry it's been a few days. I'd like to talk, if you want to.

"I owe you an apology."

Wil looked serious, her brow creased with uncharacteristic worry, as she sat across from Emily, a beer and a wine glass and a flickering candle dotting the small table between them. They were back at the cozy bar where they had been so enchanted by each other on their first date.

The reunion had been awkward. A misaligned kiss, some restrained small talk while they ordered drinks. Emily felt pained at how much ease they had lost in such a short time, until she saw in Wil's soft eyes that she felt it too, maybe even more than Emily did.

We both want it back.

"I'm sorry for how I reacted the other night," Wil said. "I was unfair. And judgmental. I know everyone has their own path, and just because yours is different to mine doesn't make it… it doesn't mean you're out to treat me poorly."

It was obvious Wil had rehearsed what she wanted to say, which Emily found endearing, much to her surprise. She had arrived feeling prickly, but as Wil spoke, she felt her reticence melting away.

"I panicked," Wil continued. "You deserved better. I'm sorry." 

"Thank you for saying that," Emily said.

"I hope it didn't change how you see me," Wil said.

Emily smiled weakly. 

OK, maybe I'm still a little prickly.

"I was… upset," she conceded. "I had been so worried about telling you. The way you reacted, it made me feel awful. Like an idiot. And, yeah, it was a side of you I hadn't seen."

Wil looked suitably chastened.

"But" — Emily gestured to herself and the bar around her — "I'm here, aren't I? So. Not irredeemable." 

"Not irredeemable," Wil repeated. "I'll take it."

Emily took a sip of wine. "Why did you panic?" 

Wil sighed. "Does it matter? I'm not here to make excuses." 

"It does matter to me, actually," Emily said. "I want to understand why you freaked out." 

Wil nodded. She opened her mouth and then bit her lip, delaying whatever she was about to say.

"Just say it," Emily said. 

"I like you too much," Wil blurted out. "I'm normally not so… I don't dive in. It's been weird with you. Don't get me wrong, in a good way. But it's not what I usually do." 

"It was unusual for me too," Emily admitted. 

"I got ahead of myself, and then when I found out you hadn't dated women before, I just felt stupid," Wil said. "Like it was a fun fling for you, and here's me thinking we actually had something."

We did have something.

Do have something?

"And then when you said it was genuine, but you hadn't come out…" Wil trailed off. She briefly cast her eyes to the bar's low ceiling, and took a sip of beer.

"Coming out was very, very painful for me." Wil sounded rote, as if she were reciting words she had a distance from, that belonged to somebody else. "I've basically structured my whole life around forgetting that time. Avoiding those memories."

She laughed bitterly. "Probably not the healthiest way of doing it. But it's what I chose."

Emily could sense how much Wil was holding back. She grabbed her hand and gave it a quick squeeze. "I'm sorry it was so hard for you."

Wil squeezed back before letting go.

"When you told me you weren't out," she said, "the thought of sneaking around or not feeling like we could be totally open… it felt scary. Like it would undo everything I have worked to forget, or unlearn, or whatever. If I knew someone wasn't out, I normally just wouldn't go there. No way." 

Emily nodded.

"And the idea of holding your hand through you coming out, that freaked me out too," Wil said. "I totally get that it's 2022. It's not the '80s anymore, I'm not 15. It would be different. But…" She shrugged. "I panicked."

She took another swig.

"And I felt like you were dishonest with me," she added bluntly. "Not majorly, but some. The fact you didn't even mention that I was the first women you had dated, ever, that whole time? I mean, yeah. It was a shock."

"I was dishonest," Emily said. "Mostly by omission. But directly too, a couple times. I'm sorry." 

"When you talked about your ex…" Wil said.

Emily had mentioned Mark in passing once as she talked about London, just calling him "my ex". But then Wil asked a question using the pronoun she, and Emily had just gone with it.

"I should have corrected you," Emily said. "It just felt easier to pretend he was a she. I'm sorry."

Wil nodded.

"My main lie, though, was about having heard of The L Word," Emily said. "I've never heard of that show in my life."

"See, that one really got me," Wil said, a grin creeping across her face. 

"I felt so stupid the second I said it," Emily said, shaking her head. "Like, what am I doing? I'm lying to everyone else in my life about not being gay, and I'm lying to you about being gay."

"So what's the truth?" Wil asked gently.

Emily exhaled.

Oh god, I don't know, she thought instinctively, before catching herself.

Try to explain. Just try.

"I think overall, in my life, I've felt very… disconnected… from who I am. From what I want," Emily said slowly. "Sexually," she added, immediately feeling stupid.

"Thanks for clarifying," Wil said, winking. 

Emily rolled her eyes. "I'm trying to open up here."

"Sorry," Wil said. "I'll shut up."

"I don't know if it's my personality or my life experiences or both, but it's just never been easy for me," Emily said. "I'm secretive for no reason. I rarely agree to first dates, let alone second ones. Or I agree to them and then I cancel forever. I run from intimacy." 

"You didn't run from me," Wil said softly.

Emily held out her hands and raised her eyebrows, her body language obvious: Why do you think that might be?

Wil laughed. "I'm adorable, I know."

Emily knew Wil was being self-deprecating. But still, it was so warm inside the bar that Wil had stripped down to just a black T-shirt, an almost annoyingly low effort outfit in which she looked impossibly good.

Her toned arms, the way the slight bulge of her biceps pushed against the sleeve… it hadn't escaped Emily.

"I meant that you're a woman," Emily said.

"Right."

"But sure, you're adorable," Emily added. "I personally would have gone with hot."

As they met eyes, something sizzled between them, like a match had been struck. Wil shifted her leg slightly to brush her ankle along Emily's, the slight touch felt keenly by both of them.

"What you said about how you can't be with someone who's ashamed," Emily continued, doing her best to ignore the distraction. "The thing is, I don't feel ashamed when I'm with you. I'm attracted to you. I- I want to sleep with you. I feel fine about that. Really. I am not mixed up about it."

"That's great news," Wil said, the hint of a smile on her face. "But… sounds like there's a but."

"But," Emily said, "I do feel embarrassed that I'm a profiler — not just a profiler, the most senior profiler in the FBI — and I couldn't see that I was gay for 50 years?" 

"To be fair," Wil said, "knowing from birth is a little ambitious."

"OK, so let's factor in that it was the '80s. Give me til age 20, 25. Whatever," Emily said. "It's still decades of not knowing. And that's tough to swallow."

As the words left her lips, Emily felt a pang of sadness.

"I can see how that would be hard," Wil said carefully.

"Looking back, I've had some crushes," Emily said. "Some I didn't realize for what they were. Others I was in a bit of denial about."

Or a lot of denial.

"But also, there's a lot of my life I just can't explain. I've thought about it endlessly the past month, and I don't have all the answers. I don't know how I didn't know for so long."

Emily paused, before adding firmly: "And I don't want to date someone who's going to judge me for that."

Wil nodded.

"I can't say I empathize," she said. "But I think I understand. And you not having all the answers is fine with me."

There was a brief silence.

"So," Emily said. "Cards on the table. Am I gay enough for you?"

Wil laughed. "I think so."

"Jesus, that's not very convincing."

"Look," Wil said. "I believe that you're genuinely into me. For the record, the feeling is very mutual."

She drummed her fingers on the table, thinking about what to say next.

"I don't need you to come out tomorrow," Wil said slowly. "But if you're serious about this… about me… I need to know you're at least open to it. I know you need some time, and that's fine. But I can't sneak around forever."

"We're not teenagers, Wil," Emily said. "We don't have to sneak around at all."

Wil looked skeptical.

"OK," Emily conceded. "There are some people I need to tell. But I'm not ashamed to be with you in public, or to be dating you. I wasn't before you found out, and I'm not now." 

"That's true," Wil said. "You weren't before."

She reached over to grab Emily's hand. This time, they both held on.

On the way back to Wil's apartment, it became obvious they were going to have sex. 

It wasn't a discussion so much as a shared understanding, one that became more certain with every touch. Anticipation crackled in the air between them.

She has not had anywhere near enough beer to be this clumsy, Emily thought as she watched Wil fumble with her keys.

Oh.

She's nervous.

Whatever Wil was feeling, Emily was pretty sure it was eclipsed by her own trepidation. She might have been better at hiding it, but inside, she was freaking out. 

I'm about to fuck a woman.

Don't overthink it, Emily.

You're overthinking it!

But once Wil managed to open the door, Emily was quickly forced to stop overthinking it as Wil decisively unhooked her bag from her shoulder, tossed it onto the couch, and then took her hand and led her straight into the bedroom.

Wil flicked on the bedside lamp before maneuvering Emily into a seated position on the edge of the bed. She stood in front of her, her legs just between Emily's open knees, and first shrugged off her own coat and blazer —  how does she make a t-shirt so fucking hot — before doing the same for Emily.

Then she reached out to tuck a strand of gray hair behind Emily's ear. The tender gesture, an unconscious habit of Wil's, made Emily melt.

"So, section chief Prentiss," Wil said, her quiet confidence restored. "What do you want me to do?"

Emily grimaced. "I want you to never call me that again." 

"OK," Wil said. "Emily. Same question." 

Emily felt her face growing hot. She had had so many visions of this moment, but right now, her brain had gone blank. And Wil was so very distracting.

"Um…"

"Let's play a game," Wil said, putting her hands on Emily's shoulders. "Have you masturbated while thinking of me?"

Emily thought her head might explode if her cheeks got any redder. She nodded.

"Good. Me too," Wil said.

Fuck.

A jolt of heat ran through Emily.

"Oh, come on," Wil said, misinterpreting it as surprise. "Did you really think I haven't been getting off while we've been seeing each other?"

"No!" Emily said. "I mean, yes? I didn't think about it. I'm just- I…"

I am definitely not better at hiding my nerves than Wil.

"So what did you fantasize about?" Wil said, putting Emily out of her misery. "What was I doing to you? Or you doing to me… though I get the impression that's less your vibe."

"That's quite the assumption," Emily said, even though Wil was kind of right.

She reached out to grip Wil's ass, pulling her in closer between her legs. Her face level with Wil's abdomen, Emily lifted the black shirt and began to kiss around Wil's navel, her mouth lingering on the smooth skin. A few stray hairs led down to where Wil's boy shorts peeked just above the waistband of her chinos.

Wil groaned as Emily followed the trail with her mouth, kissing along the line where Wil's skin stopped and her underwear started. Wil threaded her right hand through Emily's hair, starting to undo the top button of her pants with her left.

Emily felt suddenly self-conscious. Wil's response, meant as encouraging, had only reminded her she was new to this. She had been lost in the moment, but now she had lost momentum, unsure where to go next.

Picking up on Emily's hesitation, Wil took back control. She gently pushed Emily back on the bed, the two of them laughing as they awkwardly shuffled away from the edge and onto the bed proper.

Wil straddled Emily, planting a knee on either side of her hips, and began to unbutton her blouse. Emily silently thanked her past self for putting on one of her less tattered bras that morning. Not that Wil seemed particularly interested in the garment.

"You have the best boobs I've ever seen," Wil breathed. 

"Seen a lot?" Emily teased.

"More than you, apparently," Wil said.

"Touché."

As Wil reached the final button, Emily propped herself up on her elbows and slid out of her blouse, resolutely ignoring the fact that the glow of the bedside lamp illuminated her scar. Wil, true to her promise, paid it no attention whatsoever.

She did, however, take the chance to unhook Emily's bra and toss it aside. In return, Emily immediately pulled Wil's t-shirt over her head, eager to maintain a roughly even level of nakedness. 

Thanks to the light, she could actually see another of Wil's tattoos this time. A turtle, small and green and swimming up her rib cage, one of its flippers obscured under Wil's plain beige sports bra.

Emily reached out to trace it.

"Before you ask, that one doesn't mean anything," Wil said. "I just like them."

"Show me the whole thing," Emily said, emboldened by Wil's raptured response to her breasts, by the intense pleasure building between her thighs at the feel of Wil's weight on top of her.

Wil slowly pulled her bra over her head, revealing her breasts. They were small and pert and had dark areolas and before Wil could do anything else, Emily had pulled Wil down towards her and slowly circled one of her nipples with her tongue.

Oh my fucking god.

It felt so ungodly good, so natural, to be doing this with a woman.

Emily usually felt stressed or indifferent during sex, either overcome with some murky feeling of shame or deceit she knew was probably related to Doyle, or just eager to get it over with so she and whatever guy she was dating could get back to wine and good conversation.

She knew on an intellectual level that she was attractive, that men thought so too. She liked her body. But she had always struggled to feel at ease in it when it came to sex, to truly relax and enjoy it.

But this? This felt right. 

She could feel Wil's weight shifting against her in response to her tongue, the grind of her hips as she held herself over Emily. As Emily sucked and licked and nipped she felt her fear ebbing, her confidence rising.

Wil sat up with a moan, moving her chest out of Emily's reach. Then she relinquished her straddle, lying down next to Emily. Her lips found Emily's, delivering a long, lingering kiss that started off hard and ended soft. 

"Fuck me," Wil said. "Who taught you how to do that?" 

"Pure instinct," Emily said, eliciting a laugh.

They made out for a while, their hands roaming all over each other, before Wil began to trace her fingers around Emily's thighs, wandering perilously close to Emily's increasingly wet cunt. 

Please touch me.

The thought repeated in Emily's mind a few times before she resolved to say it.

"Touch me," she breathed.

Wil briefly broke away from Emily's face.

"You sure?"

"I'm sure," Emily said, reaching her own hand down urgently to undo the top button of her jeans.

Wil got the zipper, and then moved her hand through the slim opening.

"Fuck," Emily said, as Wil gently pressed her index finger against Emily's cunt, feeling her wetness through her underwear. Emily could feel herself throbbing. She wanted more.

"Take my jeans off."

"You want me to stop doing this?" Wil said playfully. "And undress you?" 

"I hope you don't always joke through sex," Emily said.

"Sorry," Wil said hurriedly. "Jeans off. Yes ma'am."

She sat back on her knees and pulled Emily's jeans down her legs, her underwear coming with them.

Emily was now completely naked, except for her black socks. Wil took a second to survey her body, drinking in the sight of her, hair splayed over the ruffled doona, her breasts loose and large, the triangle of coarse salt and pepper hair covering her cunt.

"You're so fucking hot," Wil said.

"Please keep touching me," Emily murmured.

Wil slipped a finger into Emily's wet slit, not quite entering her, and began to stroke.

Oh god.

Emily began to moan, succumbing entirely to Wil's touch. She moved her hips to the motion of Wil's finger, pure pleasure radiating through her body.

She was so consumed by the sensation of it she barely registered Wil moving back up her body, holding herself up by her elbow as she kissed Emily's neck, all the time stroking, bringing Emily to the edge.

As Emily got wetter, Wil honed in on her swollen clit, drawing circles around the tender nub. Emily could feel herself getting close, her breaths sharp and shallow, the occasional spasm shuddering through her body.

As Emily's low moans turned into frenzied whimpers, Wil's touches grew harder and faster.

"Is that OK?" she mumbled from somewhere between Emily's neck and her collarbone.

"Can you go down on me?" Emily got the words out in one long gasp.

"Thought you'd never ask," Wil said. Emily could practically hear her grin.

She kept her finger in place as she kissed down Emily's abdomen, neither avoiding nor lingering on her scar, and assumed her position between Emily's legs. Then, without breaking eye contact, she withdrew her finger and slowly licked it.

Emily let out a half-exhale, half-moan, partly at the sight of Wil tasting her and partly at the fact Wil wasn't touching her anymore, and she wanted her to keep going, needed her to keep going.

Wil moved her mouth down between Emily's legs, taking a beat to kiss her vibrating thighs, before entering Emily with her tongue.

Emily gasped, arching her back on the bed. 

Fuck.

Holy fuck.

She had already been close. Now she felt like she might come in seconds.  

She clutched onto Wil's hair, not knowing or caring if she was gripping it too tightly, only able to register the feel of Wil's tongue on her clit, of the orgasm rapidly rising up inside her. 

"Fuck," she breathed. "I'm close. I'm close." 

Wil issued a muffled groan as she intensified her licking, driving her mouth against Emily's cunt, her hands an iron grip on Emily's hips, her tongue circling Emily's clit over and over.

For seconds, the two of them teetered on the brink.

And suddenly Emily was coming, her body racked with spasms, her hips rocking back and forth as she issued long, loud gasps, her hands pulling Wil's face into her, her body and mind and soul completely and utterly lost in ecstasy.

When it ended, she pushed Wil's head away as forcefully as she had held it in, her clit now agonizingly tender.

Emily lay back panting, her body slowly coming back to her, as Wil rose up and flopped down beside her, casually wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"How was that?" she asked.

Emily just looked at her and laughed. She was still breathing heavily, her mind racing, too overcome with emotion to speak.

Chapter Text

As JJ sat next to Will and watched Henry and Michael unwrap their Christmas presents, a surreal feeling settled over her. She couldn't quite believe it was the last time they would do this together, as an intact family.

This was the last holiday. Soon there would be a last breakfast together, a last dinner. The last time she and Will went to sleep in the same bed.

She shot her husband a sidelong glance. Will had a decent poker face, but JJ could tell he was thinking the same thing.

The two of them were trying their best to be upbeat. It was a tough task, made tougher still by the fact Henry had been in a foul mood for days. JJ had tried to extract the reason — School? His kind-of-girlfriend? — but her efforts had been in vain. 

At least Michael is having a good time, she thought, surveying her younger son as he ripped into his presents with gusto. The 7-year-old had saved the biggest for last, yelping in delight as the paper fell away to unveil the enormous LEGO set he had been hoping for.

"Can I start it right now, Mom?!" he asked, after opening the box and pulling out a seemingly endless supply of tiny plastic bags full of intricate, colored pieces. 

"Sure!" JJ said, laughing at his enthusiasm.

"I'm going to set it up in my room!" Michael said, haphazardly stuffing it all back into the box and running up the stairs.

Henry, meanwhile, was slowly stripping red and white striped paper off of the small parcel that had been waiting for him under the tree. For Michael's sake, it was labeled "From Santa", even though Henry hadn't believed for years.

After what seemed like an age, he finished unwrapping.

"Thanks," he said sullenly, appraising the pristine white iPhone box in front of him.

JJ and Will exchanged a look. Henry had been badgering them for the expensive phone for approximately 6 months.

"Woah, sport," Will said. "You're sounding a little ungrateful there."

Henry stared at the box for a few seconds, looking murderous. Then he turned his gaze to his parents.

"Are you guys getting divorced?"

He spoke loudly and rudely, issuing the words with all the teenage spite he could muster.

JJ and Will turned to each other, shock written across each of their faces. It was immediately obvious from their mutual expressions that neither had let slip to Henry.

"So that's a yes," Henry said, surveying his parents.

Michael came pelting back downstairs, discarded wrapping paper and plastic crunching under his feet as he headed over to JJ and Will, clutching part of his new toy.

"I need help opening this bit," he announced, oblivious to the tension.

"Sure, buddy," Will said, getting up from the couch. He herded Michael back upstairs, shooting JJ a look that said loud and clear: You're the one who wanted this, you explain.

As if he hadn't agreed things weren't working between them. 

As if he hadn't given up on their marriage too.

In that moment, JJ truly hated her husband.

"Henry…" she said, not knowing where to start.

"Don't lie to me, Mom," Henry said. "I heard you and Dad talking the other night. You're separating."

JJ ran some quick mental calculations, figuring Henry must have been sitting on the stairs as she and Will discussed the logistics of their split two days ago.

"What have I told you about eavesdro…" JJ stopped herself.

Not what he needs right now.

She began again. 

"You're right. We are separating," she said calmly. "I'm sorry that you overheard us. It's not how we wanted you to find out."

Henry just glared at her.

"We were going to tell you in a few days," JJ said, before adding lamely: "We wanted you and Michael to enjoy Christmas."

"Yeah, well, I'm having so much fun," Henry said sarcastically.

JJ took a deep breath. She patted the spot next to her on the couch, not knowing if Henry would accept the invitation. He took a beat, but then walked over and sat down.

"My baby boy," JJ said, putting her arm around him.

Henry shook her off angrily. "I'm not a baby!"  

Nice one, Jareau. 

Aren't you supposed to be an expert at delivering bad news?

"You're still my baby," JJ said, tentatively rubbing his back. "But, OK, sorry. You're a teenager. And you should know what's going on."

She took another deep breath, trying to remember the dozens of parenting blogs with titles like "How To Tell Your Teenager You're Getting Divorced" she had read over the past few weeks.

"The first thing you need to know is that your dad and I love you and Michael so much," she said. "That will never change."

Henry shot daggers at her. 

"Did one of you cheat?" he said bluntly.

"What? No!" JJ said. "Wh- why would you ask that?" 

Henry shrugged.

"Kaylen's parents got divorced because her dad was cheating on her mom. Now he lives in Florida and they never talk." 

"Um, OK," JJ said. Why don't I know more about his girlfriend's family? "Well, no, Henry. Neither of us cheated."

She sensed a very slight relief go through her son.

"We just… we don't love each other any more," JJ continued. "We've been trying to fix things between us for a long time, but it hasn't worked. And we really think this is the best decision for our family."

JJ fought the urge to fill the long silence that followed, knowing Henry would need space to respond.

"So are we going to have to, like, live in two houses now?" he said eventually, sounding furious. "That's going to be unbelievably annoying."

"Actually, no," JJ said. "You guys are going to stay right here. Your dad and I are going to be the ones moving around. Our plan is to do one week on, one week off."

"Where are you guys gonna live when you're not here?" 

"Well, Nana is in Pennsylvania for a little longer, so at first we'll take turns staying in her apartment," JJ said. "And then we'll… figure something out."

Henry looked oddly angry at this lack of long term plan.

He probably needs me to have all the answers right now, JJ reminded herself.

"Who else knows about this?" Henry said.

"Just the three of us," JJ said, before realizing that wasn't true. "Sorry, actually, and Nana. And Emily. I don't know if your dad has told anybody else."

"OK," Henry said flatly.

"I'm so sorry you overheard us, bud," JJ said, rubbing his back again. "I'm sorry you were dealing with this by yourself for a few days."

Henry shrugged.

"It's not like it was a surprise," he said darkly.

"What do you mean?" JJ said. 

"You and Dad don't exactly like each other," he said.

JJ was lost for words.

For years, she had told herself she was holding it together for the boys. Believed with all her heart she was doing what was right, her duty as a mom and a wife, sacrificing herself on the altar of family.

But she had just been a model of unhappiness for her sons.

What kind of an example is that?

"I'm…" 

Henry was waiting for her response.

"I'm sorry that you noticed that," JJ said, painfully aware of the uselessness of her words.

Henry rolled his eyes. Since about the age of 11, he had been an expert at detecting insincerity in his parents. He turned his angry gaze to the carpet, brushing the shag back and forth with one of his sock-covered feet. 

JJ watched him, suddenly gripped with the intense melancholy of motherhood. Fourteen is such a hard age, she thought. Henry was caught fast between childhood and adulthood, too old to be young and too young to be old.

"Henry, I need to ask you to do something." 

"What." His voice was flat.

"Don't tell Michael. Let your dad and I break the news to him together. We'll tell him tomorrow, when Christmas is over. OK?"

Henry didn't say anything.

"Henry?" JJ said. "I'm sorry this is happening. And I know it's a lot to ask. But it would mean a lot if you could do this for your brother. Just for one day." 

She and Will hadn't planned to tell the boys until closer to New Year's Eve, but JJ couldn't bring herself to ask more of Henry.

"One day," she repeated.

"So I've just got to pretend that everything's normal?" Henry said. "How is that fair?" 

"It's not fair," JJ said.

Henry nodded, his mom's honesty cutting a temporary path through his anger.

"Tomorrow?" he confirmed.

"I promise. And we can all talk about it as a family."

As a family.

Not for long.

The doorbell rang. 

"Nana!"

Michael again crashed down the staircase, eager to welcome Sandy at the door.

"Are you OK?" JJ asked Henry. 

"That's a stupid question, Mom," he said, as he peeled himself off the couch. 

JJ caught her son in her arms before he could depart, enveloping him in a hug. He stood there stiffly, resisting her embrace but not quite pulling away.

"I love you," she said into his tangle of blonde hair.

"Let go of me," he said.

JJ relented. Henry turned on his heel and disappeared up the stairs as Michael opened the door to Sandy.

"Merry Christmas Nana!" he said.

"Merry Christmas Michael!" Sandy replied cheerfully.

Above her, JJ heard a door slam.

"Mom?" 

Emily's voice echoed through the big old house. She had let herself in, a box of garish Christmas cookies she had bought despite knowing her mother would hate them in hand. Her shoes clacked on the polished wooden floorboards as she ventured down the hallway, avoiding an expensive-looking vase.

Why does she insist on living here, Emily thought grumpily, before answering her own question.

Appearances.

Why her mom, who had retired more than a decade ago, still needed to keep them up was anybody's guess. But old habits die hard.

You still think of her as the ambassador, Emily reminded herself.

Only makes sense that she does too.

"Hello Emily," Elizabeth said, appearing from the small corridor that led to the kitchen.

She looked polished and poised as usual, dressed a fraction too formally for the occasion, her nails immaculately painted blood red, her hair dyed a vibrant chestnut.

"Merry Christmas, Mom," Emily said, giving Elizabeth a hug. 

She hugged back primly. "It's good to see you."

They stepped back, appraising one another.

"You look well," Emily said, even though she thought her mother looked thin and unhappy.

"I see you still haven't made it to the hairdresser," Elizabeth said.

Emily had learned a long time ago to let her mother's thinly-veiled insults just bounce off her.

At some point in her 30s, she had begun to imagine the words literally ricocheting off her body, landing discarded in the corner of the room. Ping! There goes another snide remark about her being single. Whoosh! Goodbye to the comment about how she was overlooked for FBI director. Zap! Farewell to the disapproval over her undyed locks. 

"That's right," Emily said. "No time for that."

"Mm," Elizabeth said, giving her daughter another once over. "Would you like a coffee?" 

"Yes please," Emily said, following Elizabeth into the kitchen. "How have you been, Mom?"

"Oh, you know," Elizabeth said, as she put a capsule in the Nespresso. "I've been good. Up to this and that."

"Mm," Emily said, nodding. She had absolutely no idea what her mother did with her time.

"What about you?"

"Um…" 

Where do I start?

Do I even start?

Well, you have to talk about something, Emily.

"Is everything going well at the BAU?" Elizabeth said, filling the silence. "Your team has been in the news quite a bit recently."

"We had a big few months there," Emily said. "But things have quietened down." 

Because the team got benched.

Not my fault. But still.

"There was that awful business with Senator Reeves," Elizabeth said. "I can't believe she was murdered by her own son. And that he killed all those other people."

Emily contemplated explaining that Benjamin Reeves wasn't Sicarius, and that the only reason Senator Reeves had died was because the Attorney General had ordered them to release her son and deputy director Bailey had all the fortitude of a piece of wet cardboard.

But her mother had a knack for taking the opposite point of view to her daughter, and Emily wasn't sure she wanted to spend Christmas morning having that argument.

Actually, she was sure that she didn't want to.

"Mm," Emily said. "Well, since then, it's been manageable."

"And what else is going on?" Elizabeth said. "I don't suppose you're dating anybody new," she added, her eyes again landing on Emily's hair.

Zoing! The imagined corner of jettisoned insults in Emily's head was filling up rapidly. 

"I am, actually," Emily said.

"Oh?" Elizabeth's ears pricked up. "Who is he?"

Ugh.

Emily had been ready to say it, to just lay it out on the table and see how Elizabeth responded. Or she thought she had been ready. There was so much distance between them that she barely knew how to feel about coming out to her mom.

But the he… Emily hated the he. The sheer assumption of it. Like whoever she was talking to had pulled a hurdle out of their back pocket and set it up, right then and there, forcing her to jump over it in order to get to the truth.

"Uh… a lawyer. At the DOJ."

"Did you meet through work?" 

"No — well, kind of. A friend from work set us up."

"Well? Does he have a name?" 

Emily took a long sip of coffee. She knew that if she didn't correct her mom now, it wasn't going to happen in this conversation.

"Wil."

"How long have you been seeing each other?" Elizabeth asked, sounding a little exasperated by Emily's laconic approach.

"A few months," Emily said.

"Well, thanks for telling me about it."

Emily was about to add the remark to the pile, but stopped herself mid-toss. Her mom actually sounded kind of sincere.

She looked at Elizabeth, who was sitting straight as a ramrod and sipping at her coffee, giving nothing away as usual.

"He's nice," Emily said. "I like him a lot."

It was, in a strange way, the most honest thing she had said since arriving. 

Wil picked up after two rings.  

"Hey you," she said.

"Hey," Emily said, smiling at the sound of her familiar greeting.

"Where are you?"

"I'm at my mom's," Emily said. "Well, in the car outside. I just left."

"How was seeing her?" 

"It was fine," Emily said. "Just the usual stilted conversation."

Please don't ask if I told her about you.

She could hear birds chirping on Wil's end of the line. 

"Where are you?" Emily said. "It sounds peaceful." 

"I'm just out walking. Enjoying the cacti."

"You're not at your brother's place?" Emily said, confused.

Wil had left Emily's apartment in a cab early the morning before, heading to the airport for her flight to Arizona. She had been excited to spend Christmas in Tucson with her niece and nephew. But, as Emily was now realizing, she had been a little light on the details of her trip.

"Not yet," Wil said. "My… my parents are there right now. I'll go over this evening, once they're all done with lunch."

Oh.

"I'm sorry," Emily said, not knowing what else to say.

"It's fine," Wil said. "It works better for everyone this way." 

Emily tried to bite her tongue, but couldn't help herself.

"Does it?" 

All she could hear for a few seconds were the birds.

"It's better than not seeing Juan and Clara at all," Wil said, with an air of finality.

"OK," Emily said. "Sure."

She didn't understand why Wil put up with her own family treating her like a second class citizen, but recognized from her tone that now was not the time to push.

Plus, it's not like you and your mom are the model of a healthy relationship.

"You heading to your friend's place now?" Wil asked. 

"Yeah," Emily said. "I just wanted to hear your voice first. As a antidote to my mother." 

Wil laughed.

"Happy to oblige. So… guessing from your text this morning that you liked my present?" 

Wil had left a Christmas present on Emily's coffee table the morning she left for the airport.

It had felt suspiciously light, and when Emily had opened it, she realized Wil had put a printed piece of A4 paper inside a random shoebox and gift-wrapped it.

The paper revealed that she had signed Emily up for a wine subscription service. A new bottle of red, from a select group of boutique Italian vineyards, would arrive at her apartment each month.

"I loved it," Emily said. "A perfect gift. Thank you."

Emily knew she was good company, but was beginning to think she was kind of a bad girlfriend.

She had never gone to lengths for her past partners, partly because she rarely had time to plan cute dates or select nice gifts, but mostly because she just couldn't be bothered. The only person she had ever done that kind of stuff for was Doyle, all of it carefully calculated to draw him into her orbit.

But Wil was so thoughtful. She made Emily want to be thoughtful too.

"I'm sorry I didn't send you off with a present to open," Emily said. 

"You can make it up to me some other way," Wil said flirtatiously.

"I'm sure I can," Emily said, equally playful. "When are you back again?"  

"Wednesday."

"You're going to make me wait that long?"

"All the more time to come up with something special," Wil said, before her voice turned from silly to sincere. "Hey, I miss you. Wish you were here. Or I was there."

Emily smiled. "I miss you too."

"We'll get him," Rossi said. "I'm telling you, this list is the key." 

"It just seems like kind of a needle in a haystack," Morgan said, raising his hands in a gesture of defeat. "That's all I'm saying."

"You got a better idea?" Rossi fired back.

The two men were so engrossed in their friendly debate they hadn't noticed Emily arriving.

Morgan's sister had let her in, pointing her towards the large room at the back of the house where the festivities were taking place. She stepped inside to see Rossi, Morgan and a handful of other adults sitting around a table groaning with platters of food. Hank was among the small gaggle of mitten-clad kids playing in the backyard.

"Hi Emily," Savannah said pointedly, cutting through Morgan and Rossi's spirited conversation.

"Emily!" Morgan said, getting up to give her a hug. "Merry Christmas! Can't believe you made it, busy section chief Prentiss."

Emily waved her hand. "I've always got time for you, Derek."

"Now, we both know that isn't true," he said playfully, winking to let Emily know he wasn't serious.

She sat down, and Morgan poured her a glass of wine. 

"How was the ambassador?" Rossi asked.

"She was fine," Emily said. "Just the usual. You guys talking Sicarius?" 

"We are," Rossi said. "Our friend Morgan here thinks I'm on a fool's errand."

Morgan scoffed, but he didn't deny it.

"It's not like it used to be, Derek," Emily said. "We have the brass breathing down our neck every goddamn day. I can't approve a cent on Sicarius." 

"But he can fly to Seattle once a week?" 

"That is… an arrangement between Dave and I," Emily said.

"I'm flying coach," Rossi interjected, sounding aghast at the mere mention of it.

"That must be tough," Morgan said sarcastically. "Anyway, I don't envy you guys. Sounds like things have changed a lot." 

"You can say that again," Rossi said. 

The afternoon rolled on peacefully, everyone enjoying the food and drink and conversation, before people started to trickle on out.

Rossi took his leave first, and then most of Morgan's other guests, bar a few relatives who went upstairs to nap off their food coma. Emily insisted Savannah rest while she helped clean up the kitchen, which looked like a hurricane had swept through it. She got started on dishes, while Morgan wrapped leftovers for the fridge.

"A little birdie told me you might be seeing someone new," he said, as he broke off a piece of clingwrap.

Emily turned around, confused. 

"Penelope…?" 

"Just the old man out there," Morgan said. "He said you were keeping it close to your chest." 

Dave?

Emily remembered the morning meeting at which Rossi had accurately clocked she hadn't been home the night before.

OK, sure.

But, Jesus Christ, does the team not have anything to do other than gossip about my love life?

Emily exhaled. "You know I hate talking about my personal life at work."

"Last time I checked we were standing in my kitchen and I don't work for the FBI. So who is he?" 

There it was, the hurdle. Emily felt a tightness in her chest.

Get a grip, she told herself. It's Derek.

She had always felt comfortable around Morgan. He had a way about him, a casual, forthright demeanour that lent instinctive trust.

She knew that if she was seeing a guy who made her as happy as Wil… well, she probably still wouldn't be shouting it from the rooftops. And in all honesty, there was a fair chance she wouldn't have told her mother. But she definitely wouldn't be keeping it a secret from Morgan.

Coming out to people at work still felt impossible. It was the double whammy of friends and subordinates. People she would have to look in the eye every day. And JJ, who had so much going on in her life right now, and whose reaction Emily still feared the most.

But telling Morgan?

She could do that.

"Her name is Wil," she said tentatively, turning back to the sink and beginning to scrub a gravy-encrusted dish with intense focus. 

"Sorry?" Morgan said, momentarily confused by the female pronoun but the masculine name.

"Her name is Wil," Emily repeated, louder this time.

Scrub. Scrub. Scrub.

"You're seeing a woman?" Morgan asked. "Like… romantically?"

"Yes," Emily said. She could feel her heart pumping with adrenaline.

Morgan came up next to her, laying a gentle hand on her arm, forcing her to stop scrubbing. Emily set her face into a mask before looking up to meet Morgan's eyes. 

He was smiling at her, his eyes twinkling, mouth curved into a classic Derek grin.

"Am I the last to know?"

Emily sighed.

"You're kind of the first," she said. "Well, Tara set us up. But nobody else knows yet. It's… it's pretty new. All of it."

"I'm honored," Morgan said. "So tell me about this Wil." 

Emily turned back to the sink, color pouring into her cheeks.

"She's, uh…" 

"Are you blushing?" Morgan teased.

"Give me a break, Derek," Emily said. "Um, she works at the DOJ, in policy. She's 48. She's from Albuquerque. She likes basketball and beer."

"Sounds like my kind of woman," Morgan said. 

"Sorry, Derek," Emily said, her voice full of mock pity. "You're really not her type."

They both laughed. Emily began to relax, the thump of her chest receding into the background.

"She's funny," she added. "She's laid-back and modest and smart."

And hot. Emily wasn't quite ready to say that part out loud yet, not to someone who wasn't Tara.

Dish finally clean, Emily turned to put it in the drying rack. Morgan was watching her with a funny look on his face.

"What?" she said, a little defensively. 

"You really like this woman," he said.

"I really do," Emily said.

"I'm happy for you, Prentiss," he said. "Seriously. Hearing you talk about someone like that, it makes me so happy."

"Thanks," Emily said, briefly aware again of her beating heart. She took a deep breath. "That means a lot."

"So when do I get to meet her? Bring her for dinner next week?"

Emily snorted. "OK, let's not get too ahead of ourselves," she said, turning back to the sink for the next dish.

"But, at some point," she added over her shoulder, "that would be nice."

Chapter Text

Will left on a Sunday.

He spent a long time upstairs saying goodbye to the boys before slowly descending to the spot by the door where JJ was waiting.

She was leaning against the wall, the afternoon sun casting a band of light across her leggings as it streamed in through the window. In her lap, her hands absently turned the key to Sandy's apartment over and over.

Wil stopped in front of her, dressed in jeans and a thick flannel, a fat duffel bag in one hand. The air felt thick, almost funereal, the somber mood only exacerbated by the unseasonably nice weather outside.

As JJ handed over the keys and Will grimly accepted, it felt like they were moving in slow motion, their limbs wading through molasses.

Will put a hand on the doorknob.

"I'll talk to you soon," he said awkwardly.

"Yep," JJ said. "Remember the trick with the lock. You have to push it in." 

"Thanks."

There was a brief pause, each wondering if the other had anything more profound to say. If any eulogies, however cursory, would be offered for their marriage. 

But neither spoke. JJ pressed her lips into a thin smile. Will nodded.

And then he was gone.

JJ had been grateful when her husband volunteered to take the first week away from home. Henry, equally furious at both of them, had declared he didn't care who was in the house at any given time, but Michael was spilling over with an anxiety JJ was better at quelling. She couldn't bear to leave him, not yet. 

But once she was alone with the two of them, Henry shut in his bedroom and Michael asking every five seconds if he could FaceTime his father, she wondered if Will's offer had been out of self-preservation, not sacrifice.

The week passed by in a whirlwind of chores and missed buses and school pick-ups and breakfasts and lunches and dinners and navigating Henry's angry outbursts and helping Michael call Will whenever he wanted to, which was all the time. Not to mention work.

It was hard. It was sad. It was distracting. It was manageable. And then it was Sunday. At 4pm on the dot, just like they had agreed, Will rang the doorbell. It was JJ's turn to go.

She went grocery shopping, called her mom, cleaned the apartment, FaceTimed with Michael twice, looked over a case file, cracked a beer, picked at some potato chips even though she had no appetite whatsoever.

All in all, she managed to ward off her existential crisis for approximately three and a half hours.

But then she found herself pacing Sandy's kitchen, feeling agitated and lonely and unmoored, nothing to think about but the magnitude of her decision.

She hadn't felt this aimless since before Henry was born.

Earth to JJ, she thought wryly. Are you there?

Remember that whole life you lived before having kids and getting married?

She tried to imagine that she was in a hotel, away on a work trip. One that was exactly seven days long. She had been away from the boys before. This time felt different, but still. She had been through so much worse than a stupid divorce. A divorce that she wanted. 

Her phone buzzed.

Emily sent 19.45: How's it going?

JJ sent 19.46: 🙃🙃🙃

Emily sent 19.47: That bad already?

JJ sent 19.50: Michael cried when he saw me on FaceTime. Henry wouldn't come to the phone. And I've totally forgotten what I enjoy doing when I'm not being a mom or an agent.

JJ sent 19.51: Don't suppose you remember?

Emily sent 19.53: Want company?

JJ's heart skipped a beat. Yes, she wanted company. She wanted Emily's company, specifically.

Is that wise, Jareau?

You have a lot of nights like this ahead.

Why not make the first a little easier?

JJ sent 19.55: I would love company.

JJ sent 19.56: You choose the movie. I'll make popcorn?

Emily sent 19.57: Deal. Send me your mom's address and I'll see you in a bit.

JJ felt strangely nervous waiting for Emily to arrive.

She had been great the past few weeks, checking in regularly and offering a shoulder to cry on, literally, whenever JJ needed.

It almost felt like they were back to their old, easy rhythm. Now that JJ and Will were history, whatever had made it so hard for Emily to hear about her life seemed to have evaporated.

JJ still suspected Emily had been jealous of her, the way she had managed to have a family despite the challenges of the job. Now her life wasn't so picture-perfect — not that it ever was — so Emily's ugly feelings had dissipated. It all checked out.

But still, they hadn't talked it through. It was a delicate topic, and JJ was waiting for the right moment. For now, the divorce had eclipsed everything.

There was a knock.

JJ opened the door to find Emily, wearing a coat thrown over jeans and a turtleneck, her hair pulled back in a ponytail.

She wordlessly held up a DVD. JJ burst out laughing. Emily had brought Notting Hill.

It was a throwback to the early years of their friendship, when they frequently shared a hotel room on work trips and would flick on free-to-air TV as they ate, showered, and got ready for bed. The cheesy British romcom was somehow always playing, and it became a running joke between them.

"Wonder if Notting Hill is on?" one of them would say, idly flicking through the channels until they inevitably landed on Hugh Grant saying "whoopsie daisies!" or Julia Roberts making the case for the last brownie.

And then they'd watch it, usually sitting close on the same bed, scarfing down some takeout and looking over case files at the same time. JJ had treasured those moments of levity, a candle to the darkness of their professional lives.

"I wasn't sure if a romantic comedy was appropriate for someone in your situation," Emily said, a hint of humor in her voice. "But pretty much everything else I have is in French."

"It's perfect," JJ said. "Come on in." 

"You doing OK?" Emily said sympathetically, as she wandered inside and began to inspect Sandy's apartment.

"I'm alright," JJ said. It wasn't until her next sentence that her voice betrayed her. "I miss the boys."

"Oh Jay," Emily said. She put down the DVD and reached out to JJ, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Do you want to talk about it?" 

JJ shook her head. "I feel like I'm going crazy with it. I just need a distraction to get through tonight." 

"You're doing the right thing," Emily said.

JJ reached up to Emily's hand on her shoulder and squeezed it in a silent thank you, I know.

Emily let go before the touch could linger. 

"Popcorn," JJ said, turning toward the kitchen.

"I'll set up the movie," Emily said, spinning in the opposite direction.

A few minutes later, they were settled on the couch, separated by a bowl of warm, buttery popcorn. Emily hit play.

As JJ watched Grant's flustered bookseller and Roberts' high-flying actress have their meet cute, she was catapulted back to the late noughties, to those hotel stays with Emily.

I was probably still in love with her when we last watched this together.

She had spent those long evenings attuned to Emily's subtlest movements, detecting the most minuscule changes in her inflection, all the while swallowed up by what if.

But nothing faintly romantic, nothing even slightly sexual, had ever happened between them.

Unless I count silently masturbating in the bathroom.

JJ's face turned a faint pink at the memory.

Just once or twice.

OK, maybe a handful of times.

She jumped as Emily went in for another handful of popcorn.

"You OK?" Emily said, with a bemused laugh. "It's not a horror film…" 

"Sorry," JJ said. "Just distracted."

"Focus, JJ!" Emily said. "We're about to meet Spike."

JJ laughed.

They had watched films together since then, of course. But it had been a long time since JJ felt this aware of Emily's every move.

It was like her husband had been a floodgate, holding back the intensity of the feelings she harbored for her best friend and boss.

But now the dam had burst.

And, damn, if Emily isn't a silver fox these days.

JJ drifted in and out, sometimes paying attention and sometimes thinking about Emily, as the movie rolled on. Once they finished the popcorn, JJ shifted position to sit up against one end of the couch, stretching out her legs until her feet just pressed against Emily's thigh.

As they aww-ed at the final scene of the happy couple snuggling on a park bench, JJ briefly wished her head was resting on Emily's lap instead.

Then she realized she hadn't thought about the divorce in at least an hour.

Woah, Jareau.

The credits rolled.

"Thanks for coming over," JJ said, as she walked Emily to the door. "I think I would have gone crazy tonight if you weren't here." 

"I wanted to come," Emily said. "But you would have handled it just fine."

"I'll see you tomorrow," JJ said, stepping in for a hug.

She pulled Emily in tight, one arm curving around her shoulder and the other across the small of her back. For a few brief seconds, she relished the feeling of their bodies pressed together, of the curves and crevasses of Emily's torso.

Emily.

JJ knew she wasn't thinking straight. She was emotional. She was grasping for the familiar.

But still, Emily felt like home.

When Emily pulled away, JJ caught a glimmer in her eyes, something just short of melancholy, a pensiveness that JJ couldn't parse.

"Night Em," JJ said shyly, still feeling the ripple effects of Emily's touch.

"Night Jay."

Wil was still up when Emily got back to her apartment, her eyes glued to a basketball game on TV.

"Who's winning?" Emily asked, even though she had no idea who was playing in the first place.

"Seattle," Wil said, with a grimace. "We keep turning it over." 

Emily sat down next to her. "It's almost finished," Wil said apologetically, reaching over to squeeze Emily's thigh, before returning to her muttered commentary.

Emily had realized with fascination that her girlfriend morphed into a different person when she watched sports, intense and assertive in a way Wil rarely was in ordinary conversation. It almost made Emily want to understand what was going on on the field, or pitch, or wherever it was that people played basketball.

"Fucking hell," Wil said under her breath, as the final buzzer went. "We'll miss the playoffs at this rate."

She switched off the TV and turned to Emily. "How was your friend?"

Your friend.

Emily felt uneasy about the fact Wil barely knew who JJ was. She had mentioned her to Wil a couple times, but only ever as one of a revolving cast of BAU members, never the main attraction, so to speak.

She knew she had skated over the significance of her and JJ's friendship. Underplayed their history.

And she knew why.

But Emily was convinced her feelings for JJ would soon fade.

When she first started to fall for her old friend, she hadn't even come out to herself yet. She was stressed. Lonely. Sexually frustrated. Of course she hadn't been able to get over it.

Now she was in a relationship with a woman who made her really happy. She was having the best sex of her life. And she had come out, to Tara and Derek and — most importantly — to herself.

Still, she couldn't quite shake the way she had felt all evening, alone with JJ.

"She was OK," Emily said. "First night away from the kids, so, you know, it's tough. Thanks for being fine with the last minute change of plans."

"I got to watch the Mystics lose, so," Wil said cheerfully. She leaned over and kissed Emily on the top of her head. "You gonna come to bed?"

Emily nodded, letting Wil pull her up.

Wil makes you feel that way too, she reminded herself.

And she actually wants you.

Emily didn't recognize the man waiting outside her office door. 

"Hello," she said. "Can I help you?" 

"Section chief Prentiss," he said. "I'm Paul Ballard from the North Carolina bureau. We have a case in Raleigh I think the BAU may be interested in." 

"Sure," Emily said cautiously.

It wasn't really protocol for random agents to turn up at her office. But the BAU had been so hamstrung lately — unable to sneeze without Bailey apologetically demanding a costs analysis — she was curious about anything they could get their hands on.

Once inside, Ballard got straight to the point. 

"I know after the Silvio Herrera business the BAU was interested in a potential suspect in the Raleigh area named Cyrus. I also know that work on the Sicarius matter has since paused. But last week, we started looking into a Cyrus LeBrun who died recently. Lived in a cabin in the woods out by Falls Lake."

"Right," Emily said.

Ballard appeared to be choosing his words carefully. It wasn't lost on her that he described the Sicarius investigation as "paused" rather than "closed" or "solved". 

"It looked like natural causes. Kidney failure," Ballard continued. "But the local sheriff said something just felt off to him. Got the heebie-jeebies. So he called in a detective, who called us. Long story short, we found DNA from a number of missing persons and known murder victims in the home. One of them was Maria Jones."

Emily raised her eyebrows. "That sheriff has good instincts."

"You can say that again," Ballard said. "Look, it's early days, but Cyrus LeBrun has something to do with multiple disappearances. He might be the person you're looking for."

"Well," Emily said slowly, "we're not looking for anyone, because the Sicarius case is officially closed."

Ballard nodded, looking a fraction disappointed.

"But," she added, "if the North Carolina bureau was to formally request our assistance in the Cyrus LeBrun matter… well, I can't see any problems with that. Can you?"

"I can't." 

"Sounds like a plan."

"It does. I'll put that in today. Thanks for your time, chief Prentiss." 

"Emily, please." They shook hands.

Finally.

Maybe this is the lead we've been waiting for.

Maybe we're finally going to get this son-of-a-bitch.

Emily marched to Garcia's office as soon as Ballard left, entering to find her twirling a flamboyant pen between her thumb and index finger, focusing intently on one of her numerous screens. 

"Hi Penelope."

At the sound of Emily's voice, Garcia shut her screen quickly, as if hoping to hide whatever was on it.

Emily didn't blink. Garcia's job often took her into the ugliest corners of the internet, and she didn't particularly want to see everything the analyst was looking at, unless she really had to.

"O' Chief, my chief, what can I do you for?" Garcia said, spinning around.

"Everything you can find on a Cyrus LeBrun," Emily said. "He died in Falls Lake, North Carolina last week. They found Maria Jones's DNA in his house." 

"Maria Jones, as in, the woman in the photo in the Sicarius shipping container that uncovered the wrongful conviction of Silvio Herrera Maria Jones?" Garcia said, without stopping for breath.

"That's the one. Can you be ready to brief the team in an hour?" 

"Oh Emily, baby, don't underestimate me," Garcia said, turning back to her computer.

By the time they assembled in the briefing room 50 minutes later, the BAU was buzzing.

The news of a potential Sicarius breakthrough had spread fast. JJ and Tara eagerly flipped through the folders in front of them, while Rossi and Luke surveyed the image of Cyrus LeBrun staring down at them from the touchscreen.

Emily relaxed in her chair, one elbow casually perched on the backrest. For the first time in a long time, she felt cautiously optimistic.

The team hadn't put a foot out of line since the Attorney General closed the Sicarius investigation — or at least, not that the bosses knew about. None of the higher-ups appeared to have noticed Rossi's regular trips to the Pacific North West.

And Bailey had been on their side ever since Senator Reeves was killed. Emily was sure he'd back her up in a bid to reopen the Sicarius case if Cyrus LeBrun turned out to be the lead they were hoping for.

She leaned forward, opening the folder Garcia had just given her. 

"Penelope, this is the wrong case," Emily said. She held it back out to Garcia before changing her mind, taking a second look.

"What is this case?" Emily said curiously. "I don't remember looking for an unsub called William recently."

Garcia's eyes widened.

"That is…" she trailed off. "That is just something I was looking into." 

She reached out to grab the folder, but Emily snatched it out of her reach.

"Looking into… for your… job?" Emily said suspiciously. "Here? At the FBI?"

"I… uh…" 

Emily issued a loud, exasperated sigh.

"Guys, how many times do I have to tell you? We're being scrutinized. I have to account for every dollar we spend. We cannot go off on tangents or wild goose chases or personal matters." 

"Ah-" Rossi began, raising a finger.

"That's different," Emily snapped. "You all know I'll find a way when we need to. But I can't have your backs if I don't know what's going on. So Penelope, I'm going to ask one more time. What is this case?"

Garcia sat down, her fuzzy yellow cat ears now framing an intensely troubled expression.

"It was just a joke, I swear," she said. 

Just out of Emily's line of sight, Luke began to make a dramatic slashing motion across his throat. Garcia ignored him. 

"A joke about what?" Emily said, her voice brittle.

"Well," Garcia began slowly. "A while ago I overheard you mention something about a guy named Will."

This better not be going where I think it's going.

"And you were being soooo secretive about him," Garcia continued.

Luke delivered one more frantic gesture before giving up.

"And I was curious, as I tend to be, which my job requires, so, I thought we'd do what we do best…"

Luke, Tara and JJ all simultaneously winced at Garcia's transition into "we".

"Profiling," Emily said, her voice perfectly neutral. She could feel panic rising up inside her.

"Yeah!" Garcia said, completely missing the danger in Emily's tone. "I ran a search for Wills, Williams and Bills within 70 miles who were in a, uh, certain age range and fit other parameters too. We excluded men who were happily married…"

"But left in the unhappily married ones," Rossi interjected.

"...and those who had criminal records, or who were sober, or who worked in politics. That last one was Tara's idea," Garcia said, as if magnanimously offering Tara credit.

Tara glared at Garcia. Emily glared at Tara. "You were involved in this?" she said accusingly.

Tara flashed back a look that Emily accurately interpreted as: "What was I meant to do, out you?"

"But Emily," Garcia said, now continuing to talk out of sheer nervousness, "the thing is, I couldn't find anyone who had the right name and fit the other parameters and who bought drinks at O'Keefe's on November 10."

Pins and needles began to prick at the ends of Emily's fingers, the wave of panic washing over her intensifying.

November 10. Was I there with Wil?  

More importantly… what the fuck?

"Now you're spying on me too?" she said defensively.

"No! No no no," Garcia said, backtracking fast. "A friend of Luke's just happened to recognize you and said he saw you there playing pool with a man, so we added it to the profile, and honestly, Emily, we had a lot of information by that point but still no matches and then I got worried and…"

Emily took a deep breath, trying to ground herself.

"...are you sure your Will is who he says he is?" Garcia finished meekly.

Emily looked at Garcia in stunned silence.

What the actual fuck.

She had never felt so embarrassed, so invaded in her life. Certainly not by a friend.

She cast her eye around the table. Everyone looked some shade of aghast: Garcia concerned, Rossi uncomfortable, Luke nervous, Tara horrified, and JJ apologetic.

They were all waiting for Emily to say something.

"Honestly, guys, if I didn't hate FBI bureaucracy so much I would report you all to HR," she began slowly. "I thought you all interrogating me on the flight when you found out Mendoza had moved to Denver was bad, but this is next level."

As Emily glared around the table, only JJ met her eyes, the word sorry written across her face. Everyone else avoided her gaze, which only made her angrier.

"It's actual harassment," Emily said, punctuating each word. "And just because I'm the boss and it's meant to be funny doesn't make it OK."

The room was so quiet you could have heard a pin drop.

None of them had expected Emily to be thrilled, exactly, but none of them had expected… this.

"Anyway," Emily said brusquely. "I'm sick of this… speculation. And obviously, Penelope, you're not going to respect my privacy no matter what I say. So the reason Wil didn't show up in your profile…"

She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry.

"...is because she's a woman."

Finally, everyone looked at Emily.

Heat bloomed across her face as she defiantly stared back, this time meeting eyes with everyone but JJ, who she now couldn't bring herself to look at.

Emily's hands and arms were burning, the pins and needles so intense she had lost fine motor control. She relocated her hands to her knees so no one would see them shaking.

"Your friend needs his eyes checked," she shot angrily at Luke, unable to bear the brief silence.

Tara was the next to speak. "Did none of you ever consider that?" she said, looking around the table incredulously. "Seriously?"

"I had no idea," Garcia said softly.

"Never crossed my mind," Luke said.

JJ, who looked shellshocked, said absolutely nothing.

"What about you, Rossi?" Tara said. "Veteran profiler and bestselling author David Rossi?"

"I've never claimed to be an expert on relationships," Rossi said sheepishly.

Tara put her head in her hands, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like "straight people".

"Emily, I'm so sorry if we pressured you to say that," Garcia said, her brow furrowed and her lips trembling. "We should have left it alone. I should have left it alone."

"You should have," Emily said sharply.

She was doing an exceptional job at holding it together, her flushed face the only outward sign of distress.

But inside, Emily was reeling.

She felt embarrassed that her dating life was apparently so much of a joke among the team that they would go this far to try and pry into it.

She felt upset that Tara, who she had confided in so much over the past few months, had known this was going on and hadn't said a word to her.

And she felt completely unable to process the fact she had just told everyone — that she had just told JJ — about Wil.

She felt herself spiraling, and willed her instincts to kick in. She had held it together through much worse than this.

Get a grip, Emily.

As she regained a modicum of composure, Emily realized she was digging her fingernails deep into her thighs. She loosened her grip and briefly shook her hands under the table, willing the pins and needles away.

Normally JJ would be the one to defuse this kind of intense, awkward situation. But she hadn't said a word.

Emily felt a rush of anger at the fact nobody was stepping up to try and ease the tension.

How the fuck is that my job right now?

She wanted to walk out. But she knew it would make facing everyone later even more difficult. And she didn't want to crumble in front of the team. To show weakness.

She took another deep breath.

Get a fucking grip.

"I'm sorry, Emily," Garcia repeated. She looked more upset than Emily had seen her in a long time.

You fucked up, Penelope.

"It's OK, Penelope," she said, trying not to sound exasperated and mostly failing. "I was going to tell you all at some point." 

Garcia nodded. "I'm sorry, Emily. Really. I had no idea."

"Even if you did have an idea, you shouldn't have pushed it," Emily said. "But I appreciate your apology."

She didn't really mean it, not yet, but saying it helped her get a hold of herself. She was laser-focused on pushing down her emotions, on just getting through this meeting. She could deal with all the feelings churning in her stomach later.

"Are you… happy?" Garcia said tentatively.

Emily almost laughed at the question. Garcia was such an irrepressible gossip that not even having just pushed one of her best friends out of the closet at a work meeting could stop her relentless pursuit of information.

Or maybe she just cares about you.

"I am," Emily said, shaking her head at the sheer weirdness of the situation. "Really happy, actually."

"So, is it short for Wilhelmina, or what?" Rossi asked, sensing Emily had softened just a fraction.

"It is," Emily confessed. "But I get the impression that if anyone actually called her that, she'd punch them in the face."

The joke drew a few chuckles, everyone in the room trying to orient themselves to Emily's rapidly mutating emotions.

Everyone except for JJ, whose eyes were still trained on the beige folder in front of her, lost in her own little world.

There was another awkward pause.

Emily knew that so long as she didn't look at JJ, so long as she kept pretending she was fine, that she would get through the meeting. 

"So," she said, part of her wanting to make Garcia sweat a little. "What was the age range on your profile?"

"Well," Garcia said nervously, "the lower end was 25."

"We thought you had real cougar potential," Luke said, before hastily adding "I mean that as a compliment." 

Emily nodded approvingly.

"And the older end was 65," Garcia continued.

Emily winced.

"The cut-off was my age, if that makes you feel any better," Rossi said.

"It really doesn't," Emily said.

Rossi shrugged.

"OK, well, this has been sufficiently excruciating," Emily said. "And it's really time we moved on to Cyrus LeBrun."

"Wait!" Garcia said. "I have questions. Can I ask them?" 

"Penelope, you have got to be kidding me," Emily said.

Garcia looked at Emily dolefully.

"No," Emily said firmly. "My love life is off the table at work, forever. I hope that's crystal clear."

She paused, and added: "And while I'm at it, stop calling me Mommy. That's not funny either." 

Everyone nodded.

"Now for the love of god, Penelope," Emily said, "please tell us something about Cyrus LeBrun."

As Garcia finally started to run through what she had learned, Emily snuck a look at JJ, only to realize in horror JJ was doing the exact same thing.

They met eyes for a millisecond, before each tore their gaze away.

When Emily got back to her office, she closed the blinds and locked the door, slipping down against it to lean her back against the cool painted wood. She felt raw with hurt.

She closed her eyes, longing for respite, but all she saw was the wild betrayal she had glimpsed in JJ's eyes.

Emily was certain Wil's gender had been the last piece of the puzzle for JJ. She must have put it all together: the distance between them, Emily's secrecy, their hot and cold friendship. What it all meant.

She's figured out how I feel about her.

Fuck.

She must hate me.

She stayed there on the floor as time ticked by. Fifteen minutes passed, or maybe it was 45, Emily had no idea. All she could think about was the meeting, Garcia's word vomit and JJ's silence and the way she had felt completely and utterly exposed.

There was a knock.

Emily sighed. "Yes?"

"It's Tara," came a muffled voice.

Emily got up slowly and unlocked the door, letting Tara in, before returning to her desk as though she had been sitting there working the whole time.

Tara shut the door behind her.

"Are you OK?" she said, her voice full of concern.

"I'm fine," Emily said.

"Come on Prentiss," Tara said, sitting down. "That was rough."

Emily set her mouth in a firm line, unwilling to acknowledge how much what had just happened had affected her.

"Why didn't you tell me they were trying to profile Wil?" she asked bluntly.

Tara winced.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I… I didn't want to be that guy. I promise I wasn't really involved. I made a joke about excluding guys who worked in politics, and I guess Garcia took it seriously."

Emily raised her eyebrows.

"It was awkward for me because Garcia knew that I knew at least something about Wil," Tara continued. "But I didn't tell anyone anything. I swear."

Even through Emily's hurt, she could see Tara had been in a difficult situation. 

"I thought they'd knock it off sooner or later," Tara added. "Sorry I didn't tell you."

"I shouldn't have leant on you so much with this. Figuring it all out," Emily said. "It was inappropriate."

Tara looked slightly surprised at this. "You're my boss, Prentiss," she said gently, "but you're my friend too. It wasn't a chore. Don't stop talking to me about it."

Emily felt a rush of emotion. A few seconds passed in silence.

"I feel so embarrassed," Emily said quietly. 

"Oh my god, Prentiss, you have nothing to be embarrassed about," Tara said. "No one out there is laughing at you. They feel awful."

"It's not just the gay thing," Emily muttered. "It's that this was clearly some kind of hilarious joke. My love life is a joke. And everyone probably thinks I'm trying women after decades of failing with men."

"They don't think that," Tara said. "And even if they did, which they don't, you know that isn't true."

Emily didn't say anything. 

"What are you doing tonight?" Tara said. 

"I don't know," Emily said.

"Call Wil," Tara said. "Have her come over. If she can't, I will. You should be around family tonight."

"I mean, she's my girlfriend, but I don't know that I'd call her family," Emily said.

My girlfriend.

Tara laughed. "I mean around other queer people."

Other queer people.

Tara's words, meant to comfort, only sent another wave of anxiety through Emily. 

Queer people like me.

Everyone knows that I'm queer.

She had experienced it to some degree with Derek, the way coming out could make you self-conscious about things you thought you had accepted. How the harsh light of another person's gaze could turn you back into a stranger to yourself.

And this coming out was very different to telling Derek.

Emily started to think about what it meant to be out at work. She was probably the highest ranking queer person in the FBI. Actually, she was definitely the highest ranking queer person in the FBI. Was her coming out a news event? People would talk. The BAU was one thing, but how would everyone else who reported to her react? What about Bailey?

Emily's mind spun. How had she been dating a woman for months and never thought about any of this?

"Are you OK?" Tara asked again, sounding even more concerned this time.

"I'm fine," Emily said, putting her head in her hands. "I think I'm getting a migraine."

"Need some ibuprofen?" 

"I have some. Tara, I'm fine, can you just go? Please? I have a lot of work to do."

Tara nodded and got up to leave. She lingered for a second at the door. "Call Wil," she said.

"Close it behind you," was all Emily said in reply, her head still in her hands. 

"Sorry, what?" Wil said. "They were profiling me? But they thought I was a man?"

"Yeah," Emily said. "That's… that's pretty much it."

They were at Emily's place, drinking on the couch while they waited for takeout Chinese to arrive. Wil had come right over after Emily sent a cryptic text — "Something happened at work. Hard to explain. Can I see you tonight?" — and listened patiently as she recounted the whole story.

Or well, most of the story. Not the part where JJ had barely looked at her. Not the part where JJ had said nothing at all.

"What the hell is wrong with your colleagues?" Wil said.

"Oh, it's…" Emily sighed. "The work we do is very intense. The BAU has a sort of… family vibe. People get carried away."

"Sounds like it!" Wil said. "Was Tara involved in this bullshit?"

"Not really," Emily said. "She knew about it, but she was between a rock and a hard place. She didn't want to betray my confidences or be the person running to the boss, you know?"

Wil snorted with derision.

Emily wished Wil would tone it down. She needed support right now, not anger. And as touching as it was that Wil was so furious on her behalf, her reaction felt kind of outsized, given she wasn't the one who had actually been forced out of the closet.

First I had to console my team.

Now I have to console Wil.

"It's OK, really," she said. She took Wil's beer out of her hand and put it on the table before repositioning Wil's body so she could snuggle into her on the couch. "They didn't mean it vindictively."

"Why are you defending them?" Wil said. She pulled Emily into her, running a gentle hand up and down her arm. "They just completely invaded your privacy. Forced you out of the closet."

"I thought you'd be happy that I'm out of the closet," Emily said pointedly.

"I mean, sure," Wil said. "But didn't you want to do it on your own terms?"

"Obviously I would have preferred that," Emily said, an edge to her voice. "But Wil, it's done. I can't turn back time. I don't want revenge. I just want to… forget today ever happened. And move on."

Wil looked skeptical. "I'm not sure this is the kind of thing you can just forgive and forget," she said.

Every sentence that came out of Wil's mouth was annoying Emily more. Her face was starting to feel warm, though whether it was from the wine or the emotion of the day or the heat of Wil's body or a hot flash coming on — give me a break, universe — she had no idea. 

She extricated herself from Wil's arms and headed to the bathroom to splash some cold water on her face. 

There was a knock. 

"Food's here," Wil said redundantly.

"Someone must have let the delivery guy in downstairs," Emily grumbled. "They're meant to wait and ring the doorbell. So much for security."

"I'll get it," Wil said, hopping up from the couch.

"Thanks," Emily said, as she disappeared into the bathroom.

It was cold outside as JJ walked from her car to Emily's apartment building. The warm weather from the day before had disappeared as rapidly as it had arrived.

She had been sitting in her car for close to half an hour, trying to work up the courage to go inside. Second-guessing if she should. Figuring out what to say. 

She wrapped her coat around her as she punched in the door code, idly wondering if Emily's building management had changed it since she was last here.

She half hoped they had. That it would be a sign for her to turn around, to go back to Sandy's lonely apartment and send Emily a half-hearted text instead, to meet her in her time of need with all the distance she had thrown between the two of them.

But the door buzzed green and clicked open.

Guess that's my sign.

JJ took the stairs slowly. She knew what she should say to Emily.

I love you, Em. I'm proud of you. I don't care if you date women or men or both. By the way, have I ever mentioned that I'm bisexual?

But honestly? 

The words felt like a gut punch.

"She's a woman."

The furious, defensive way Emily spat them out. The cornered look in her eye. The way she had pretended she was OK almost immediately, not wanting the team to see how upset she really was. The furtive glance she had given JJ.

She didn't want me to know.

It stung so much.

Emily, her best friend, the person she had once shared everything with, who she had felt closer to than Will. Emily didn't trust her enough to tell her she was dating a woman.

And if that revelation had left JJ winded, the knock-out punch had been realizing Tara knew the whole time. JJ had no idea what had gone so wrong in her and Emily's friendship.

Is it my fault?

Did she think I wouldn't be OK with it?

That's so offensive.

You haven't told her you're bi, Jareau.

Yeah, and I haven't dated a woman since the Stone Age.

And it's not like she ever asked.

Is this why she was so distant with me?

Because she was struggling with her sexuality?

Is she gay? 

How long has she known?

How long has she hidden this from me?

There were endless questions jostling for space in JJ's mind, but she kept returning to the same one over and over and over.

How could she not tell me?

And that was all before she even scratched the surface of her own feelings. The wild jealousy that rose up inside her when she thought about Emily with another woman. 

She had told herself for years she didn't have a chance with Emily because she was straight. But the truth was so much harder.

It's not that she's not attracted to women.

It's that she's not attracted to me.

That stung too. More than JJ was prepared to admit right now.

So, yeah, she knew what she should say.

She just didn't know whether she would say it. 

Now standing in front of the apartment door, JJ took a deep breath and knocked. She heard footsteps approaching, the chain rustling, and braced herself for Emily.

But when the door swung open, a different woman was standing behind it.

She looked right at home in a gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt, the kind of clothes you only wear in your own house or somewhere you stay very frequently. She was in her mid-forties, maybe a little older. She had short, dark, messy hair.

"Hi," the woman said. Her eyes swung down to JJ's hands, as if she had expected her to be carrying something, and then back up to JJ's face. She looked confused.

JJ was frozen to the spot.

Oh my god.

It's her.

It's Emily's girlfriend.

Wil raised half an eyebrow, a quizzical expression on her face as she waited for JJ to say something.

"Is Emily here?" JJ blurted out.

Wil looked uneasy. She briefly glanced behind her, into Emily's apartment, and then looked back at JJ.

"I'm sorry," Wil said politely, "but who are you?"

Chapter Text

"I'm sorry, but who are you?"

JJ had to hand it to Wil.

It was a perfectly reasonable question. Asked so politely that her tone had bordered on the apologetic. And yet it was the most offensive thing she could possibly have said.

Ouch.

I'm Emily's best friend.

Who the hell are you?

"I'm JJ- Jennifer," JJ said. "Jareau." 

Wil's friendly but bemused expression remained unchanged. 

"I work with Emily," JJ added.

"Oh," Wil said. JJ noticed her tense slightly, the look on her face transform into something inscrutable. 

The two women sized each other up. They were standing about a yard apart, JJ still out in the corridor, Wil just inside the open door.

JJ was still taking in the fact this was who Emily had been seeing. Dating. Sleeping with. 

It all felt so incredibly foreign. Like it wasn't just Wil she was seeing for the first time, but Emily too.

She's not what I expected.

I don't know what I expected.

Meanwhile, Wil looked JJ up and down, cocking her head as if deciding whether or not to say something.

"Here to apologize?" she said.

JJ raised her eyebrows.

"Excuse me?" she said.

"I asked if you were here to apologize," Wil repeated, a slight edge creeping in to her voice. "Sounds like Emily had quite the day at work."

"I…"

JJ crossed her arms across her chest. 

"I just want to talk to Emily," she said coldly. "Is she here?" 

Before Wil could answer, Emily's familiar voice rang out from inside the apartment.

"OK, let's eat. Do we need cutlery, or are… Wil?"

"Your colleague is here," Wil called out, not taking her eyes off JJ.

"What?"

Emily appeared around the corner right away. Her face was newly splashed with water, a few stray droplets coloring the faded sweater JJ immediately recognized as one Emily had owned for years.

When she saw JJ, she stopped in her tracks.

"JJ?" she said.

"Hi," JJ said.

Emily took a few more steps toward the door, wiping her face with her sleeve as she moved. She stopped right next to Wil.

"I'm sorry," JJ said. "I didn't realize you had, ah, company."

"Um," Emily said. "Yeah." 

There was a brief, excruciating silence.

All three of them started to talk at the same time.

"I should-"

"Can you-"

"Why don't-"

They all stopped. 

"I should go," JJ said quickly, before Emily or Wil could get another word in. "Sorry for disturbing your night." 

"No," Emily said. "Wait. Wil, can- can you give us a minute?"

"I was about to suggest that," Wil said, giving Emily's arm a quick squeeze. "Nice to meet you," she said to JJ, before turning toward the kitchen.

"Likewise," JJ said.

It was painfully clear neither of them meant it. 

Emily took a step towards JJ, pulling the door half-closed behind her, as if trying to shield their conversation from Wil.

"What's up, Jay?" she said. She sounded tired.

JJ hadn't known exactly what she would say to Emily. But she had imagined how the evening might go.

Emily would answer the door, ask her inside, pour her a glass of wine. The two of them would sit down on the couch together, or maybe at the dining table. Emily would demur at first, but eventually she'd start talking, get out all her feelings about the unbearably tense moment in the briefing room. JJ would tell Emily how hurt she was at being frozen out. Emily would explain why, and also why she didn't tell JJ about Wil, who would still seem like a blissful hypothetical at that point. Both of them would apologize to each other. Things might finally go back to normal.

That's what she thought might happen. 

Well. Guess I'm a fucking idiot.

"It's nothing that can't wait until tomorrow," JJ said.

She didn't need to be a profiler — let alone one who knew Emily as well as she did — to see Emily was emotionally spent.

"Are you sure?" Emily asked.

"I'm sure," JJ said firmly. "Are- are you OK?" 

"I'm fine," Emily said, in the same guarded voice she had adopted in the briefing room, the one JJ had seen through right away. "Thanks." 

She's shutting me out again.

JJ felt helpless. As though all the work they had done to repair the friendship had been undone in a second. It was hard to believe the night before they had been watching Notting Hill together just like old times.

"OK, well… goodnight," JJ said.

"Night," Emily said.

JJ turned and walked down the corridor, the wave of cringe washing over her so powerful that she physically scrunched up her face.

She had made it about 10 yards when Emily called out behind her.

"Jay?"

JJ turned around, quickly rearranging her face into a more neutral expression.

Emily had stepped right out into the corridor, all but closing the door behind her.

"Are we OK?" Emily said, gesturing from herself to JJ and back again. "After I… after today?"

After you came out?

"Em…"

JJ felt so unbelievably frustrated with Emily.

She knew some of her anger was irrational. Unfair. Borne out of her complicated tangle of feelings about Emily and the divorce and her weird jealousy over Tara — and now Wil too, apparently — and anyone else whose company Emily seemed to prefer over JJ's these days, which, from where JJ was standing, seemed like pretty much everybody.

And she knew some of it was justified. She had been so hurt by Emily freezing her out, pushing her away. She had tried to reconnect and been rebuffed so many times it was frankly humiliating. And Emily had never explained why and barely apologized and even that was only after JJ was almost blown up.

But still, the hesitancy in her old friend's voice broke her heart.

"Em," JJ repeated gently. "Of course we are."

Emily nodded. 

Then she stepped back inside and shut the door.

Emily was surprised at how much courage she had to muster up to face the team the morning after she came out.

She had gotten into Quantico early and buried herself in work, trying to forget everything from the day before. The excruciating confrontation with Garcia. How irritated she had been by Wil's reaction. JJ's weird late-night visit. 

Emily was sure JJ had figured out how Emily felt about her. That's why she fell silent in the meeting. Why she came over. Why she seemed freaked out at the fact Wil had answered the door.

They had to talk. But Emily couldn't decide if she wanted to get the conversation over with or delay it for as long as possible, in the futile hope she might actually land on something to say.

She kept half an eye on the clock as it ticked closer to the time of the morning meeting. It hit the hour, but Emily stayed at her desk. One minute past. Two minutes past.

Emily, you have to go.

She forced herself to get up, to leave her office. The closer she got to the briefing room, the more uneasy she felt, the butterflies in her stomach multiplying with every grudging step.

This is why I told Derek first.

Because I knew I'd walk out of his house 15 minutes later and not see him again until I got used to the idea of him knowing.

She took a beat before entering, steeling herself. And then she walked in and took her usual chair, looking for all the world like unflappable section chief Emily Prentiss.

"Morning," she said.

"Morning," everyone said back in a motley chorus, as if they were a bunch of first graders.

Jesus, that was weird.

"Garcia?" Emily said crisply. "Fill us in." 

Garcia and the North Carolina bureau had dug up a lot on Cyrus LeBrun.

There was no doubt the mysterious man who died in his cabin in the woods had some connection to Sicarius. A couple more DNA samples had been linked to known victims of the serial killer network leader.

But the victimology wasn't right. It suggested an emotional killer, a lone wolf sexual sadist, not the coolly psychopathic family man they were seeking. 

"I'm sure you're all sitting here thinking, 'Garcia's a genius, so she must have discovered the link, right?'," Garcia said. 

"Get to the point, Penelope," Emily said.

"Yes ma'am," Garcia said hurriedly. "In 1992, Cyrus took custody of his nephew, a Lee Duval. Lee was 10 when his parents were killed in a fire on Second Street in Philadelphia. And Lee — you might remember — is a past Sicarius alias. He used it with Tyler Green's sister."

"What else do we know about Lee Duval?" Emily said.

"Almost nothing," Garcia said. "I have the Family Court record of the custody order, some Child Protective Services records showing Cyrus got a stipend to look after Lee until he was 18. After that… he seems to have dropped off the face of the earth."

Emily grimaced.

"But obviously," Garcia added quickly, "I am digging for more." 

"Great," Emily said, before grudgingly adding "Nice work."

The team scattered to pursue various leads — "Remember, we're working the Cyrus LeBrun case, not Sicarius," Emily warned — while she returned to her office to draft a proposal for the Attorney General to reopen the network investigation.

As Emily stared at the blinking cursor, she suddenly remembered Wil worked for the AG.

What will she think of me dating one of her employees?

She pushed the thought away and started typing. But before too long, she was interrupted by a knock.

Rossi peeked his head inside. "May I?"

"Come in," Emily said.

Rossi sat down across from her.

"How are you doing?" he asked carefully. 

"Great," Emily said brusquely, half-closing her laptop screen and looking at Rossi. "What can I do for you, Dave?" 

"I wanted to apologize about yesterday," he said. "I should have told Penelope to knock it off."

Emily stared back at him, unimpressed by the casual apology.

"Your job is hard enough. I know that. You don't need all of us making your life harder. And…" Rossi paused before continuing gently. "You've been happy. I've seen it in you. I feel terrible I helped turn that happiness into something negative. Even just for a moment. I'm sorry."

He looked at Emily, unflinching. She nodded.

Rossi exhaled. "I also wanted to offer my support."

"Your support?" 

"For you. Your relationship," Rossi said.

Dave, please shut up.

"Thanks," Emily said, "but I don't need your or anybody's else's approval."

"I know that," Rossi said, backtracking. "I just mea-"

"In fact I'd prefer it if you just treated me the same you always have. But with a lot less focus on my personal life. OK?" 

"OK," Rossi said, subdued.

Emily knew that in different circumstances, hearing Rossi say that would have been sweet, if a little old-school. But she still felt so upset, so prickly and vulnerable, at the way the team had violated her privacy. How they had treated her personal life like it was a joke.

A tiny part of her felt relieved to no longer be in thrall to the secret. She wanted to be over it. But she wasn't, not by a long shot. And she hated not being in control of her feelings.

Wil's voice floated through her head.

"I'm not sure this is the kind of thing you can just forgive and forget."

"Was there anything else?" Emily asked. 

"I have a flight to Seattle this morning, and if I want to make it, I have to leave now," Rossi said. "But I'm guessing I should cancel." 

Emily sighed.

"You can go," she said. "I have a feeling we're going to know a lot more about Lee Duval soon and it'll help to have you up there already. But if I call and say get back here, get back here."

"Got it, boss," Rossi said. He got up to leave.

"And thank you," Emily said. "About what you said." 

Rossi nodded and left.

Her words had been insincere, but in a strange way, saying them helped Emily claw back the tiniest amount of control. 

Her barely-contained anger, the raw emotion that kept slipping out, it made her feel like a caged animal. She was totally within her rights to still be mad. She knew that. But the team treading on eggshells around her was just making her feel worse.

Maybe if she just pretended she was fine, everyone else would believe it. They'd act normal. She would act normal. And eventually, her feelings would catch up.

She'd just be Emily again. Not newly out Emily, not dating a woman Emily, not gay Emily or queer Emily or whatever the hell Emily. Just Emily.

But there was one person she couldn't pretend with.

"Take a walk with me?"

JJ looked up from her computer to see Emily holding two take-out coffee cups, extending one toward her.

"Uh, sure," JJ said, standing up and taking the cardboard cup. "Where are we going?" 

"Not far," Emily said. JJ grabbed her coat. 

It had been a very long day at the BAU. Lee Duval had been such a promising lead, but the team hit dead end after dead end as they tried to track him down. There were no records of the man after he turned 18. The few people who recalled him as a child had no idea what had happened to him. It was like he had vanished into thin air.

They had, however, managed to connect the name "Lee" to a couple more Sicarius victims. His age and the limited history they had fit the profile. They were certain Lee Duval was the elusive serial killer network leader they had been hunting for months.

They just had no idea who Lee Duval was.

At least it's all been a good distraction from yesterday's meeting, JJ thought, as she and Emily rode down the packed elevator.

Not to mention the divorce.

She still felt ridiculous about turning up at Emily's house the night before. Her exchange with Wil especially stung, thought with what emotion, exactly — jealousy? embarrassment? irritation? — JJ couldn't say.

Even through her frustration, she had been worried about Emily, how she would pull up this morning. She had looked so incredibly drained at the door. And the hesitant, anxious way she had called after JJ to ask if they were OK — as if I'd ever reject her for something like that — had replayed in JJ's brain over and over.

But when Emily had walked into the morning meeting, she seemed her normal self. A little cranky, maybe, but otherwise full of her usual brash confidence.

They didn't say much on the way to the park near Quantico, too many evening commuters hastily passing by to be able to lapse into comfortable conversation. 

But the park itself was mercifully quiet. As they fell in step, JJ sipped at her coffee. It was bad, from the kitchenette pot, but Emily had added a dash of oat milk, just how she liked it.

They walked side-by-side for 30 seconds or so, their pace slow and steady, each waiting for the other to start.

"Yesterday really sucked," Emily said, breaking the tension.

"It did," JJ said.

They took a few more steps.

"All of you prying into my life behind my back. It made me feel ridiculous."

You not telling me you were dating a woman made me feel ridiculous.

"It really hurt that you went along with it, Jay."

It really hurt that you batted me away every time I tried to ask about your love life.

"And it hurt even more that you didn't say anything. After I… at the meeting yesterday."

It hurt even more that you froze me out for three fucking years.

"I'm sorry," JJ said. As the words left her lips, she could hear the frustration in them, how insufficient they sounded.

Emily looked at her. 

"I'm sorry?" Emily repeated. "That's it?" 

JJ sighed. 

"I am sorry, Em. I knew you'd hate what Garcia was doing. But honestly, I really thought it was just some guy you'd already stopped seeing. If I knew you were…" she trailed off.

Emily interjected before JJ could find the words.

"If you knew I'd hate it, why did you go along with it?"

"Why didn't you just tell me about Wil?" JJ fired back.

Emily scoffed. 

For a few seconds, the only sound was feet on concrete.

"I was… I wanted to," Emily said. "I just couldn't get the words out."

"Why?" JJ said. "It's me, Em. I'm not your mom, or the… FBI brass… or… whoever. I would have been happy for you." 

Emily didn't say anything. 

"I am happy for you," JJ said.

Emily just raised her eyebrows. "Sounds like it." 

Fucking hell, Emily.

You ignore me for years and now I'm the bad friend?

"I'm sorry for not responding perfectly to your coming out," JJ said snarkily.

"You didn't respond at all to my-" Emily cut herself off mid-sentence with a sharp exhale, still finding it hard to say the words.

JJ felt a pang of empathy.

She's struggling with this.

Are you mad because she was a shitty friend or mad because you're jealous? 

Because if it's the latter, Jareau, get over it.

JJ stopped walking and grabbed Emily's arm, turning to face her. 

"Can we start again?"

They found a bench and sat down, both of them warming their gloved hands on the coffee cups.

This time, JJ was the first to talk.

"Yesterday was awful," she said. "I'm sorry you felt so cornered that you had to tell us all about Wil. And I'm sorry I was so… shocked, I guess. I know I didn't react the way you needed me to." 

Emily nodded.

"For the record, Em, I don't care if you date men or women. I won't lie, I was surprised, but I want you to be happy. I want to know about your relationship. How you feel about it. How it happened!" JJ said, her voice briefly breaking into an astonished chuckle. "I want to know more about Wil."

Well, that's a lie.

But the rest is true.

"I came over last night because I thought you might need company," JJ continued, more slowly now. "But I also wanted to ask you why you felt like you couldn't tell me about her. If it was something I did or said."

Emily appeared to be having an internal fight about what to say next. She absently flicked the lid of her coffee cup and looked around the park. The sun had gone down while they were talking, and the remnants of daylight were fading fast, the paths and grass now lit by street lamps. 

"I didn't know how you'd react," Emily said eventually. "If you'd be OK with it."

Really?

I know I don't exactly have a pride flag on my desk, but I don't think I come across as a bigot.

There's something she isn't saying.

"Seriously?" JJ said. "When have I ever… why would you think that?" 

"I don't know," Emily said. "I guess I was worried you might feel weird about how close we were. Uncomfortable with me, or something." 

That is such a cop-out.

"Jesus, Emily," JJ said, frustrated. "I'm bisexual."

Emily looked at her.

"What?"

JJ looked back, her gaze resolute, the tiniest hint of color spreading across her cheeks. It had been a very long time since she said those words out loud. 

"Really?" Emily asked.

"Really."

"Why didn't you tell..." Emily began, before trailing off and laughing, throwing a hand in the air as if to say, well, whatever.

JJ started to laugh too.

"We probably could have let each other in on this a little earlier," she said. "Like 15 years earlier."

"In my defense, I only just realized," Emily said. "What's your excuse?" 

Oh Emily.

If only you knew.

"You only just realized?" JJ asked, ignoring Emily's question.

"Um... pretty much," Emily said, looking down at her feet.

"How did you and Wil meet?" 

"Tara set us up, actually." 

"Oh," JJ said. 

So she must have come out to Tara first.

"She just assumed I was into women for some reason," Emily continued. "She invited me out to drinks with a bunch of people, and sat me next to Wil. I was oblivious. But we hit it off, and turns out… Tara was right."

"Wait, she just set you up with a woman apropos of nothing?" 

"I know it sounds ridiculous," Emily said. "She thought I was- that I had always dated women and just didn't talk about it." 

Oh.

So she didn't tell Tara anything.

Tara… told her.

JJ felt some of her jealousy ebbing. 

"So Wil's your first…?"

"Woman I've been with? Yes," Emily said.

"Right," JJ said. "I guess I had wondered if it was something you'd been hiding for a long time." 

Emily shook her head slowly, her eyes fixed on the lid of her coffee cup. "It's new." 

"OK," JJ said. "Do you think it… works for you?" 

"Are you asking me if I'm gay?" 

JJ laughed. "I guess so, yeah." 

Her eyes were still cast downward, but Emily's lips curved into a small smile. JJ could sense she was growing more comfortable in the conversation.

"It… it feels really right," Emily said. "More right than any other relationship I've ever been in. I don't know about a label. Gay, maybe. But, yes, being with a woman works for me," she said, gently mocking JJ's awkward phrasing. "So far, anyway."

JJ put a hand on Emily's knee. "I'm proud of you."

"For coming out at 52?" Emily quipped. "Hold the parade." 

"Shut up," JJ said. "It's tough at any age."

"So what about you?" Emily said. 

"What do you mean, what about me?"

"How long have you known you're bisexual?"

JJ felt slightly taken aback by the question. It wasn't that she felt self-conscious. She was just so out of the habit of talking to people about it. And Emily was simultaneously the easiest and hardest place to start.

"Um… I guess since I was a teenager?" she said. "I had crushes on girls in middle school." 

"And you were just OK with that?" Emily asked curiously.

"Well, I didn't act on it until I was a little older," JJ said. "But yeah, I don't remember being that worried about it. You know, Ros had died, my dad had left…" 

JJ paused, trying to remember. It felt impossible to separate how she had felt about her nascent queerness from everything else going on back then.

"I mean, I was probably a little confused about it," she conceded. "But on my list of problems, wanting to kiss my best friend was pretty low."

"That makes sense," Emily said.

"Actually, when I first started hooking up with a girl, in high school, I used to think Ros was looking down approvingly," JJ said. "Not in a weird way! Just… she was always kind of a rebel, and I always fit the mould, you know? Or at least that's what everyone thought. I figured she'd get a kick out of her little sister being not so straight."

Emily nodded.

"It probably helped me feel OK with it," JJ added.

I've never thought about it like that before.

Ros being there for me, years after she was gone.

Emily placed her hand over JJ's and squeezed. They were silent for a few seconds, JJ thinking about Ros and Emily thinking about JJ thinking about Ros.

JJ took a deep breath. She wanted to stay here, to enjoy the strange new intimacy of her and Emily being out to each another.

But under the warmth, her frustration was still simmering away. And she knew it would boil over again if she wasn't honest with Emily.

"Em, I have to say something to you."

JJ felt Emily tense next to her, watched Emily's hand leave her own and return to the coffee cup, tightly gripping the flimsy cardboard.

"Go for it," Emily said tightly.

Here goes.

"I'm sorry I wasn't the friend you needed me to be yesterday. I really am," JJ began slowly. "But Em… you pushed me away for a long time. A really long time. Basically since Covid. I know things have been better between us lately. You've been great with the divorce and everything and I appreciate it. But I- I'm still angry at you." 

Emily was still as she listened to JJ.

"I don't want to make yesterday about me any more than I already have," JJ continued. "But it really hurt that you didn't tell me about Wil. It really hurt that I found out at the same time as Luke, as Dave. And not because I want to invade your privacy. Not because I feel entitled to know everything about your life. Just because it made me realize how far apart we are." 

JJ felt her voice about to crack. She took a deep breath.

"We used to be everything to each other. And then suddenly we were nothing," she said, staring out into the park, unable to look at Emily for this part. "You told me in Georgia you needed space to figure yourself out, that it was painful to be close to me. Why? Was it my family? Were you upset because I moved away? Were you struggling with who you are? Was it something else?"

JJ's voice had descended in volume as she ran through the questions. By the time she reached her final one, her voice was almost at a whisper. "What happened?"

Emily was silent, her face cast in a shadowy light from the street lamps. It was too dark for JJ to get a solid look at her eyes, to try and interpret what she was thinking.

Then something started buzzing in her coat pocket.

Emily pulled out her cell.

"Sorry," she said apologetically. "It's Dave."

"Go ahead," JJ said, frustrated by the interruption, but knowing Emily had to answer.

"Hey Dave," Emily said, pressing the phone to her ear.

JJ shoved her gloved hands into her pockets as she waited for Emily. She felt in equal parts relieved she had finally gotten it all out and nervous about what Emily's answer would be.

"Are you sure?" Emily said into the phone.

She sounded serious. Whatever Rossi was telling her, it was something big.

"What did she say?" Emily asked.

JJ could hear the tinny rise and fall of Rossi's voice, but not make out what he was saying.

"OK. Get to the local bureau. I'll call you back in 10."

Emily hung up and turned to JJ, her eyes wide.

"He thinks he's found Sicarius."

Chapter Text

"Dave, are you there?"

Emily's tone was tense as she leant over the briefing room table, waiting for Rossi's voice.

She and JJ had rushed back from the park after receiving his call, JJ navigating through the dark streets while Emily followed a step behind, phone pressed to her ear, barking out instructions to Garcia.

Both of them had switched into agent mode immediately. They were too experienced, too professional, to put a personal conversation — even one as profound as the one they'd been having — ahead of a breakthrough like this.

But still, JJ's revelation and her unanswered question and the impossibility of addressing it right now hung in the air between them. 

It wasn't until after they had pushed through the glass doors of Quantico, strode over to the lobby elevators, and were waiting anxiously for the lift to arrive, that Emily turned to JJ.

They looked at each other for a second, both of them slightly puffed from the race back to the office, their cheeks pink from the cold.

"We'll talk," Emily said, conveying with her eyes that she was serious, that she wasn't blowing JJ off yet again, that the timing was just impossible.

By the time we talk, I'll figure out what to say.

Whether that's the truth, or some other version of it.

"Yeah," JJ said. "Of course."

And with that, their exchange in the park wasn't forgotten, exactly, but they both pushed it to the very back of their minds. 

Now the team was gathered in the briefing room, waiting for Rossi to connect. It was already late, and if Rossi’s intuition was correct, their night was only going to get longer.

"Dave?” Emily repeated. “Are you with us?"

There was a crackle on the line. "I'm here," Rossi said.

"Tell us what happened," Emily said, not wasting any time. 

It had just been another doorknock, the second house Rossi tried after getting off the plane. One of thousands of addresses on his long list of long shots. The home, in a nice neighborhood in suburban Seattle, was home to the Voit family: Elias, Sydney, and their two children.

When Sydney answered the door, she had been polite and pleasant, asking Rossi inside. But her mood changed the second he showed her the grainy still from the security footage.

"You can't see much," he told her. "But a wife would know." 

And she did.

"Where was that taken?" Sydney had asked hesitantly. Rossi was certain she had immediately recognized that jawline, the sliver of a face visible under a cap in the Chattanooga hardware store.

Seconds later, she got a call, excusing herself to the kitchen where she spoke in hushed, anxious tones. Rossi could barely catch what she was saying, but the timing was clearly no coincidence. Whoever was on the other end of the line had been alerted to his arrival, probably by a motion-activated door camera.

After a minute, Sydney hung up. Then she turned back to Rossi and asked him to leave, saying she wouldn't answer anything more without a lawyer.

"I left my card," Rossi told the BAU. "Told her to call me if she had any questions. And that I'd like to talk to her husband too."

"OK," Emily said. She looked up at the team. "So what do we know?"

Garcia had dug up a lot of information on Elias Voit in a very short amount of time.

He was a network security analyst trained in high-end cryptography, who had been fired just after Thanksgiving. He and Sydney had been married 15 years and had two children, 14-year-old Holly and 10-year-old Harlow. They had his social security, his work history, his driver's license, his credit card transactions.

What they didn't have was clear proof he was Sicarius.

"He's scary good, in a bad way," Garcia said. "He's covered his tracks, kept his three lives completely separate. Nothing I've seen so far explains how Lee Duval became Elias Voit, or connects Voit to Sicarius." 

"Now that he knows we're after him, he's going to devolve fast," Rossi said. "We need a timeline of past travel linking him to known abductions. We need surveillance on his home. We need protective detail on his wife and daughters."

"We need approval to reopen the case from the Attorney General," Emily interjected, hating the words as they came out of her mouth, hating that she had to be the one to say them.

Why did I take this job, she thought, not for the first time.

The team fell silent, all of them as frustrated as Emily was.

"Here's what we're going to do," Emily said. "Garcia, keep digging. JJ, Luke, follow up any leads Garcia finds. He has to have made a mistake somewhere. All of you, keep it on the downlow. Tara, you and I are going to start putting together something for the AG."

"She's going to ask why Rossi was in Seattle chasing this in the first place," Tara said.

"And I'm going to tell her the truth and take the consequences," Emily said. "Dave, I need you to stay at the Seattle field office until I can get approval."

Rossi didn't say anything.

"Dave," Emily said sternly. "I need to hear you say you will not go vigilante on me."

"Emily…" he said.

"What?" Emily said.

"Voit just walked into the Seattle office. He's at the reception desk right now. I'm looking at him."

"What?" Emily repeated, louder this time. 

"I have to go."

"Dave, do not hang up," Emily warned. "Dave!" 

But all she heard was the dial tone.

"Fuck," Emily said under her breath. She pressed redial, but Rossi didn't pick up.

She briefly closed her eyes. 

This is all going to come crashing down.

When she opened them a millisecond later, the team was looking at her expectantly, waiting for the next command.

Emily felt a surge of irritation. Everyone's gaze was an unpleasant reminder of her announcement, if you could call it that, the day before. Operation Pretend It's Not Happening was going fine, all things considered. But the brief flashback was enough to make Emily feel self-conscious.

"Get to it!" she said grumpily.

On the way out, JJ briefly squeezed her shoulder, as if she had read Emily's mind.

The meeting with Attorney General Davis had been excruciating, but at least she had grudgingly given the BAU 48 hours to follow up Rossi's lead, greenlighting half the team to fly across the country.

It didn't come without a price.

When Emily had admitted she had authorized Rossi to keep following Sicarius, even after the investigation had been closed, the AG had given her such a searing look she could practically still feel the heat from it.

"When this is over, you and I are going to have a conversation about your position as section chief," AG Davis said.

"Yes ma'am," Emily said aloud confidently. The silent retort in her head was significantly less polite.

It was a problem for later. The clock was at something ungodly, and Emily had to figure out the team's next steps.

JJ, Luke and Garcia were en route to Seattle, probably somewhere over the Dakotas by now.

Tara was trying to get intel from Rebecca, who was, for better or worse, advising the Attorney General on Sicarius.

And Rossi was — as far as Emily knew, anyway — at the Washington field office, having survived his encounter with a brazen Voit.

He would never admit it, but as he recounted the conversation to Emily, she thought Rossi sounded intimidated. 

After waltzing into the field office, Voit had admitted to being in Chattanooga. Said yes, that was him in the footage. He had slyly taunted Rossi about his books, displaying an obsessive amount of knowledge.

But he wasn't a killer, he told Rossi. Just a true crime fan. And then he got up and walked right out there.

It was the boldest of moves. Voit knew the BAU didn't have what they needed to arrest him. His knowledge was scary, but his risky behavior was what spelled real danger. This was a man on the brink.

As soon as Emily began to strategise what came next, she got a call from Tara.

"The AG wants to see you again…" Tara said, trailing off in a way that made Emily's stomach flip.

"Bad news?"

"You could say that."

When Emily made it to the conference room, AG Davis was standing next to the TV that usually sat abandoned on a trolley in the corner, the remote in her hand.

"Care to explain this?" she said theatrically, before hitting play.

The screen lit up with footage of Rossi confronting Elias and Sydney Voit outside a grocery store. From behind the lens, Voit named Rossi as a profiler with the BAU and accused him of stalking him and his wife.

It looked bad. Very bad. 

"It's going viral on an anti-government Facebook page right now," the AG added, as the video ended.

Great.

Emily did her best to keep a poker face.

I'm definitely done as section chief.

"Has Agent Rossi lost his mind?" Davis said. "He's harassing someone in a parking lot completely without cause. It's obvious FBI overreach."

"Oh, we have cause," Emily said. "We ha-" 

"You told me he was at the field office," Davis growled back. "You've lost control of your agents." 

No one has ever had control of Dave.

"You gave us 48 hours," Emily said, bristling. "I don't recall a caveat that my agents had to sit in an office."

"Pull Rossi. Now," Davis said. "You can't justify his actions and you know it." 

"You're making a mis-"

"Now, Agent Prentiss."

Fuuuu-

"Yes ma'am."

Emily marched out and dialed Rossi, but he didn't pick up. She tried him a second time. A third time.

She called the Seattle field office, but he hadn't returned after his excursion to the grocery store.

She sent a message: "Dave, I need you to return to the field office and turn in your badge and gun. That's an order. Call me."

She tried him again. Again it rang out.

With each failed attempt, the feeling of unease within Emily grew.

It's like Dave to be obstinate. Push the boundaries.

But it's not like him to completely ignore me.

Something is wrong.

Hours later, Emily and Tara were huddled at the back of an unfamiliar jet, trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

Their surroundings were fancier than what the BAU was used to, all burgundy leather and faux marble tabletops. This plane was usually reserved for the upper echelons of the FBI. 

Bailey was up front, issuing gentle snores as he sat slumped in a comfortable seat. Emily had no idea how the deputy director was able to sleep at a time like this.

She was sure that if she closed her eyes, all she would see was Rossi in that shipping container, screaming for help.

God knows how long he'll survive in there. How much air he has.

He could already be dead.

Emily pushed away the thought. She didn't usually let herself think things like that. None of them did. Giving up hope was unproductive.

"But what is Gold Star?" Tara asked, for about the 17th time since they had taken off.

Emily just shook her head. She had racked her brains, and still she couldn't parse the two words, figure out where they fit in the complicated tangle of information before the BAU, decipher what was going on above their pay grade.

She knew Voit had Rossi. That he had locked him in a shipping container located god knows where and beamed a livestream of the panicking senior profiler straight to Garcia.

And then he had dialed Quantico and asked for Bailey.

Emily had been baffled by the request — why specifically request the deputy director of the FBI? — until Voit mentioned press conferences, which Bailey had always insisted on fronting when it came to Sicarius.

It's personal, she realized.

She and Tara had stood either side of Bailey during the call, listening as Voit demanded the FBI lift the alert on him so he could flee the country with his family. If they refused, he said, Rossi was a dead man.

Voit wavered between calm and brittle as Bailey inexpertly tried to negotiate. But then he said something that had obviously alarmed the deputy director.

"I know you're not the man in charge, but you're definitely the one who likes the gold star," Voit had said.

Emily and Tara exchanged a confused glance. Bailey didn't say anything, but his face betrayed that he understood the reference. After the call, he had gone off to privately confer with the Attorney General.

An hour later, JJ called to say she, Luke and Garcia had figured out where Voit might be holed up with his wife and daughters. They had discovered a remote property in northern California that was owned by Lee Duval's mother's family.

Emily had assumed Bailey would immediately greenlight the BAU going in. JJ was right there, and more than qualified to lead the operation.

But the deputy director had insisted on being there to personally negotiate Voit's surrender. Why? Because the Attorney General said so.

Emily had no idea what was going on, which was unusual for someone of her seniority. She didn't know everything that happened within Quantico's four walls, but she had been in enough rooms with enough power over the years to have a good sense of why the brass made the decisions they did, even if she didn't always agree with them.

But here, she only had guesses. And her best was that Gold Star was related to national security, something so classified that the fact Voit knew about it was a bona fide emergency.

Such an emergency that the Attorney General was willing to risk four lives — three innocent family members and Rossi — while waiting for Doug goddamn Bailey to touch down in California and save the day.

Jesus fucking christ.

Emily scrutinized the back of Bailey's snoozing head. Over the past few months they had become friendly, if not exactly friends. She respected that he had started deferring to her after the humiliation of misjudging Benjamin Reeves. A smaller man might have doubled down on his idiocy.

But insisting on flying to California to personally negotiate with Voit, while Rossi's time was running out?

Emily was going to need a better explanation than politics.

"My hunch is that Gold Star is a trump card for Voit," she said aloud. "A negotiating tool. But not the key to where Dave is."

Several minutes had passed since Tara had asked the question, but the two of them were in that tired, obsessive space where the conversation ran in fits and spurts, their streams of consciousness occasionally crossing over.

"You're probably right," Tara said. She rubbed her eyes. "I wish Rebecca had told me something. Anything."

"I do too," Emily said. "But you know she's just following protocol. And whatever this is, it's beyond classified. Be careful what you wish for."

Tara sighed. "I know." 

"You should get some sleep," Emily said. "I've told the team to do the same while they're waiting."

"So should you," Tara said. 

Emily gave a dry laugh. "Somehow I don't think I'll be able to nod off." 

"And I will?" Tara said skeptically. "You're right though, we should try."

There was a brief silence.

"How are you going?" Tara asked.

The question struck Emily as odd, in the context.

"You mean, other than worried sick about Dave and whatever the hell this genius" — Emily gestured toward Bailey — "plans to say to Voit?" 

"I mean about yesterday. Or the day before. Whenever it was." 

Oh.

"The meeting," Emily said grimly. 

"Yeah."

"I'm OK," Emily said. "I am…" She searched for another word and came up short. "...OK," she repeated.

Am I OK? I think I'm OK.

I really can't think about this right now.

"It's a lot," Tara said. 

"Mm."

"Did you end up seeing Wil? I was worried about you."

Jesus, Tara, take a hint.

"I did," Emily said. "If I were you, I'd make yourself scarce next time she comes over to see Rebecca. She needs a little time to cool off."

Tara winced. "That bad, huh?" 

"She was probably angrier at all of you than I was," Emily said. "And I was pretty angry. Am pretty angry," she corrected. 

"That's why I asked," Tara said hesitantly. "You seem OK." 

Then just let me seem OK in peace.

Emily shrugged.

"I have bigger things to worry about right now," she said. "I'm going to get some rest." 

Tara nodded, getting the message. Emily got up and moved across the aisle, settling into a double seat and leaning her head against the window.

When she closed her eyes, she wasn't met with Rossi screaming for help.

Instead, she found her mind drifting to a few hours earlier, to the park bench where she had sat next to JJ, the cold setting in after the sun's feeble rays receded over the horizon. 

Where she had listened to JJ pour her heart out, fumbled for what to say in response. And then been saved by her phone buzzing in her coat pocket.

In retrospect, Rossi's timing was almost comical.

After months of fruitless searching for Sicarius, of hunting for a needle in a haystack Emily wasn't sure he'd ever find, of course it was on this specific evening, at this specific time, that he finally spotted a glint of silver.

The call had felt like a deus ex machina, Emily saved once again from explaining herself to JJ.

She had had months to think about what to say. Years, if she was honest. And still she had no idea.

Especially after JJ's revelation: "Jesus, Emily. I'm bisexual."

Emily had absorbed it well, managed to disguise the intensity of her reaction. She was grateful that when she heard it her walls were still up, that she was still wearing the emotional armor she had donned that morning before facing the BAU.

But in truth, it hit her like a freight train.

"What?" she had said aloud. In her head, the word was magnified, her brain temporarily replaced by an enormous WHAT in flashing neon lights.

JJ? Bisexual?

My best friend JJ? My straight best friend who has been with Will for 15 years?

What?

Emily fought a bizarre urge to say "No you're not."

She knew JJ too well to question the resolute look in her eye. It was clear she knew exactly who she was.

Emily started to pose the next question that had flown into her mind —  Why didn't you tell me? — before realizing it was the exact thing JJ had just asked her.

She laughed. And then JJ laughed. And things eased between them, just a fraction.

The conversation that followed was almost sweet. Even though Emily's coming out had been so awful she could barely bring herself to think about it, and JJ's was seemingly done out of frustration, there was an intrinsic warmth to what they now knew about each other, to their tentative exploration of a commonality they hadn't known they shared.

But it wasn't lost on Emily that JJ had dodged her question — "What's your excuse?" — about why she hadn't said anything for so long.

Could it be the same reason I didn't tell her?

She dismissed the thought as quickly as it had flashed across her mind.

Unlike you, she's known forever. And she's never shown any interest in you.

So there's your answer.

As the conversation turned to Ros, and JJ's cadence took the faintest turn toward the plaintive, Emily grabbed her hand, because that was what they did. It was what they had always done. But Emily knew deep inside the touches they shared had started to feel different to her a long time ago. 

And this one, even through gloves, felt particularly saturated in intimacy, achingly familiar and alluringly foreign at the same time. 

She felt JJ take a deep breath.

Does she feel it too?

But when she spoke, her voice was serious. "Em, I have to say something to you."

Emily removed her hand, as if trying to destroy the evidence, and braced herself.

She knows how I feel about her.

In a strange way, she was relying on JJ to get the words out. To just say it — Em, I know you're attracted to me — and then the awkward truth would just be there and the two of them would have to wade through it together.

But then JJ started talking. Her words hurt, but they were fair, every last one of them. And as Emily listened, she realized her assumption had been totally wrong.

She doesn't know.

She has absolutely no idea.

She had gone into the conversation fully expecting to be confronted with her own reality. But now presented with an out, Emily found herself frantically sifting through which version of the truth she wanted to tell.

JJ, the truth is I was really offended when you moved to New Orleans and didn't take the unit chief job.

JJ, the truth is I'm jealous of your family. 

JJ, the truth is I've really struggled to come to terms with being attracted to women.

There were grains of truth to all of them, in the the push and pull of adult friendship, in the muted sting of perennial regret, in the shame and grief and joy of finding oneself. But none of them deserved the decisive prefix. None told the whole story.

Jay, the truth is I'm in love with you.

And then Rossi had called.

Dave.

Finally, the image of Rossi in the shipping container crashed into Emily's mind. The terrified look on his face as he screamed for help.

Rossi has spent decades clashing with killers. Delicately manoeuvred his way out of all kinds of life-threatening situations. But Emily had never seen him like this before.

She could see it in his eyes. He feared his time was up.

"Help! Help!"

Emily opened her eyes, figuring sleep was a futile pursuit.

She glanced across the aisle where Tara was still absorbed in the case file, her tired eyes scanning the paragraphs as she scrawled notes in the margins. 

"Get any sleep?" Tara said, not looking up.

"Nope," Emily said.

Chapter Text

Emily stood in the northern California forest, her body obscured by foliage, her gun trained squarely on the house. 

A couple yards to her left, JJ was in an identical stance. The two of them were stationed at the rear of the property, along with a handful of Washington field agents, while Luke and Tara and another group had taken the front.

All was quiet in the forest, the sounds of arriving SUVs and cocking guns and barked orders no longer resonating through the trees. 

They were waiting.

Two minutes earlier, deputy director Bailey had marched inside to negotiate with Elias Voit, leaving the scene in Emily's hands.

What is going on in there, Emily thought, as she shifted her stance slightly, a leaf crunching underfoot.

JJ gave her a sidelong glance, confirming all was still OK. It had been forever since the two of them were side-by-side in the field, guns drawn, but they had fallen straight back into their natural telepathy.

In some ways, the operation was routine, if you could ever use that word for what the BAU did. It was a classic siege, a killer holding captives. Emily knew how to handle it, where to station the agents, what to look out for and be wary of. She was a pro.

Still, she had no idea what to make of the situation.

Voit remained difficult to profile, a known unknown. And Bailey had been frustratingly tight-lipped, unwilling to offer the tiniest piece of information about Gold Star, or why he personally had to negotiate with the man they had known for months as Sicarius.

The way the deputy director had simply walked into the house had been remarkably brazen. 

I didn't think he had it in him.

Suddenly, Emily saw movement inside one of the rear windows. She felt JJ tense next to her. They exchanged another rapid glance.

See that?

Yep.

There was another, larger movement. Then the window opened, and a terrified looking Sydney Voit peered out. Her eyes widened when she saw the agents stationed in the greenery. 

Emily slowly raised her hand to catch Sydney's attention, and pointed to the FBI emblazoned across her chest. She gestured for Sydney to come out the window toward her. 

Sydney's head disappeared. And then a child started to climb out the small opening.

"That's Harlow," JJ said quietly.

"Go," Emily said.

The two of them approached the window, moving fast in a crouched, defensive stance. JJ holstered her gun and helped Harlow to the ground, pushing her into the arms of an agent who ran her to safety. Holly came next, the frame a tighter squeeze for the teenager.

As Sydney began to climb out, the window an awkward fit for a grown woman, a gunshot rang out from inside. Startled, Sydney fell back into the room.

Fuck.

Go or stay?

There was a second gunshot, followed by the sound of footsteps.

Emily didn't want to leave Sydney, but she and JJ were out in the open, sitting ducks if Voit made his way to the window. He had never harmed his family, and it was possible — if not a sure thing — that the boundary would stay firm, even in a situation of extreme stress. And if he was moving to the rear of the house, it opened up an opportunity for Luke and Tara to enter from the front, potentially apprehending him alive.

Emily had to consider it all in the blink of an eye. To weigh up the competing factors; ask herself the heavy question of who might live or die; and make a decision, knowing she would have to live with the consequences.

A split second after the second gunshot, Emily stepped back, gesturing for JJ to do the same.

Operationally, retreat was a no-brainer. And at times like these, operationally was the only sphere in which Emily could allow herself to function. 

She just had to make the call. That was the job. And if it was wrong, she had to deal with it.

"Luke, Tara, move in from the front," she radioed, as she and JJ moved away from the house, their guns still trained on the window. "Girls are safe. Wife in rear left room."

And then a volley of bullets rang out from the small window.

Emily and JJ started firing as they stepped backwards, moving cautiously across the uneven, stick-strewn ground, both still yards from the nearest cover.

And then JJ went down with a yelp.

The scene was so chaotic Emily couldn't tell if she had taken a bullet or just tripped over.

"Are you hit?" Emily said, her voice frantic with worry, eyes still fixated on the window where Voit had just disappeared below the frame. "JJ, are you hit?" 

JJ didn't reply.

"Cease fire!" Emily radioed, realizing Voit had stopped shooting.

As an eerie silence once again filled the forest, Emily flashed her eyes down for a millisecond to see JJ lying on the ground, her navy FBI jacket askew underneath her, chest heaving as she struggled for breath.

"Cover me!" Emily yelled at the surrounding agents, as she holstered her gun and grabbed JJ under her arms, dragging her behind the closest tree. She began to pat her down, trying to find the wound.

"Where are you hit?"

JJ was trying to say something through her ragged breaths. Finishing the pat down, Emily checked her hands for blood, but they were clean. She began again.

"Where are you hit, Jay?" she asked again, a waver infiltrating her voice this time, betraying her terror. "Just point if you can't talk."

JJ's right hand jerked upwards, hitting Emily's hands as if pushing them away. 

"Est…" she managed to get out in between breaths. "Best…" 

"Best? Jay, where are you hit? Just point for me, please."

And then Emily saw the bullet embedded in the center of JJ's kevlar.

Vest.

She's trying to say vest.

Relief began to course through Emily's body as JJ finally regained the ability to talk.

"I might… have… some cracked… ribs," she said, wincing with every word. "But…m'OK."

Now that Emily could see the small golden circle perforating the B in FBI, she didn't know how she had ever missed it.

"Shh," Emily said, gently brushing JJ's ponytail back from it had fallen across her face. "Shh. Just get your breath back."

A yell came from inside the house.

"Put the gun down! Hands above your head!"

Unholstering her gun, Emily peered around the tree. The Washington agents still had their guns trained on the window. No shots had been fired since the cease fire. 

Luke's voice crackled over the radio.

"Unsub in custody. I need a medic in here ASAP."

Sydney Voit had a faraway look on her face as she sat in the interview room, unaware three sets of eyes were scrutinizing her through the two-way mirror.

She wrung her hands nervously as she stared into space, lacing and unlacing her fingers over and over. The gray tracksuit she was wearing made her look younger than her 41 years.

JJ watched her carefully, taking in every anxious movement. 

She knew she should be thinking about the parallels between them, planning out points of connection and trust for the interview she was about to conduct.

But JJ was finding it hard to relate. She couldn't fathom how Sydney hadn't been at least suspicious of what her husband was up to.

Voit's murders had spanned their entire marriage. His kills were elaborate, his network sophisticated, his hand apparent in deaths all over the country.

His volatile personality, his absences — it had to have bled into his home life. And Sydney wasn't a girlfriend, a casual fling. She was a wife. She and Voit had shared a house and two children and a life together. How much had she looked past? 

It's not that I blame her, JJ thought.

I just don't get it.

She glanced at Luke. He was watching Sydney solemnly, his arms crossed, eyes haunted by the decision he had made in the field.

He had held his fire, just for a second, as he watched Voit hold a gun to Sydney's forehead and pull the trigger. Luke knew taking Voit alive was paramount if they wanted to find Rossi.

Sydney had flinched in terror, but all that came next was a click.

"Did he know the chamber was empty?" Emily asked, her question cutting through the silence.

"Honestly, I don't know," Luke said. "I can't read him." 

JJ patted Luke reassuringly on the shoulder. As it turned out, he was right to hold his fire. But she knew those moments stayed with you, the alternative endings lingering in the mind long after the case was closed.

"I think he has real affection for her," JJ said. "I know it's unusual for a psychopath."

"He's an unusual psychopath," Emily said. She turned to JJ. "You ready?"

JJ took one last look at Sydney.

"Let's do this."

"You sure you're up to it?" 

"Emily, I'm fine," JJ said, slightly annoyed at the insinuation. "The medics cleared me."

JJ felt like she had been walloped in the chest with a sledgehammer, but she had been checked over thoroughly and nothing appeared to be broken. It was just going to be a very nasty bruise.

She knew Emily felt bad about asking her to lead the interview when she was the only injured team member. But family members were JJ's expertise, and Rossi's life was on the line.

Garcia's best efforts hadn't been enough to pinpoint the location of the buried shipping container where Rossi had to be almost out of air by now. Their geographic profile just wasn't strong enough. He could be pretty much anywhere in the Pacific north west wilderness.

"Dave will have found a way to stay alive," Emily had told them all firmly. "He won't give up and nor will we."

But they all knew his time was running out. 

Sydney was their best shot at getting Voit to tell them where Rossi was. And JJ was their best shot at getting Sydney to do it.

"Just checking," Emily said. "Let's go."

The two women went in and sat down across from Sydney. The fluorescent light overhead cast a harsh glow on the table between them.

We should have done this somewhere more comfortable, JJ thought.

It feels like an interrogation.  

"Hi Sydney," JJ began. "I'm Jennifer and this is Emily. We're with the behavioral analysis unit at the FBI." 

Sydney barely seemed to register she was being spoken to.

"I can't imagine how you must be feeling," JJ said gently. "I'm so sorry about what you and your daughters went through today. I know it must be incredibly overwhelming and we're going to help you in every way we can."

Sydney's eyes slowly wandered up toward JJ.

"We can talk about witness protection, how we're going to shield you and your daughters from the media," JJ said. "But first, we need your help."

Sydney's lip quivered. "I feel so stupid," she said quietly.

It was as if she hadn't heard a word JJ said.

"How could I not see it?" Sydney said, in an almost whisper. "He was always out late. Always traveling. Always so secretive about his phone, his things in the garage. He told me so many lies."

"This is not your fault," JJ said. "You coul-"

"How is it not my fault?" Sydney said, her volume rising. "I married a murderer! I had kids with him! When I was pregnant, he was out killing people!"

"Syd-"

"Don't pretend you understand," she told JJ, her voice frustrated now, laced with despair. "I can see it in your face. You can't believe I didn't see the signs."

Well, yeah.

I can't.

JJ took a deep breath, hoping a pause would ease the tension.

"Sydney," she said calmly. "I kno-"

"Sydney, I get it," Emily interjected. "You feel stupid. You feel really, really stupid and you feel like everyone else thinks you're stupid too."

Sydney looked startled at Emily's brusque tone.

JJ kept her face completely straight, following Emily's lead, but inside, she was questioning the approach.

What's Emily's angle?

"How could you not know? Right?" Emily continued. "And you're angry. At him, yeah. Of course. But at yourself too. For not figuring out what was going on. Not seeing it. Maybe choosing not to see it." 

Sydney hung her head, making it hard for JJ to see how Emily's harsh words were landing.

I really think she needs a gentle touch right now.

"And you know what?" Emily said firmly. "You can spend the rest of your life wondering how you missed it. What signs you didn't see. Whether you really didn't know or you were just in deep denial. Beating yourself up about all those years. Grieving them. Wondering what your life might look like now, if you had just been able to see what was right in front of your face."

Huh.

It was clear Sydney was listening now, even as she refused to meet Emily's eyes.

"But Sydney," Emily said, her voice softening just a fraction, "none of that is going to change anything. You can dwell on it all you like. But nothing is going to get you back those 15 years."

Sydney looked up, desperation written across her face. It was obvious Emily's words had resonated. 

"I'm sorry," Emily said, her voice full of genuine emotion as she met Sydney's gaze. "I really am."

JJ almost felt as if she were intruding during the brief moment of silence that followed.

"But there is something you can do," Emily said quietly. "You can take a step forward. Just one. And then another, and another. And right now, we need your help."

Sydney nodded.

"I know your husband is the last person in the world you want to see right now. But David Rossi's life is in danger."

Emily paused for a second, letting the prospect of yet another lost life hang in the air.

"I know your run-ins with Dave were frightening. But I promise you he is a good man. A good man who we" — Emily gestured to JJ — "care about very much. And you're probably the only person in the world who can get your husband to tell us where he is."

Wow.

That was impressive.

Sydney fell silent for about 10 seconds, returning to her hand-wringing as she mulled over what Emily had said.

"Take the step," Emily said softly.

Sydney looked up at Emily.

"I'll do it," she said.

On the jet home, Rossi was practically boisterous.

He had looked ragged when he finally emerged from the container, covered in sweat and grime. But he had bounced back quickly, his high spirits soon overtaking — or perhaps masking — the terror of his ordeal.

It had taken Sydney mere minutes to guilt her husband into handing over Rossi's location. From a profiling perspective, it was fascinating — a cold-blooded psychopath vulnerable to entreaties from his wife — but the BAU didn't have time to mull it over. 

They packed into the jet and headed for the remote pocket of forest on the Oregon coast, the flight short but filled with dread. All of them feared what they would find.

But Emily was right: Rossi had figured out a way to stay alive.

He had managed to piece together an improvised bomb out of the materials Voit had left behind, using it to blow up one end of his makeshift prison. The explosion hadn't created an escape route, but it had opened a chink in the container door and the layer of dirt above, allowing air to flow inside.

A search and rescue team freed him in no time. After an IV drip and thorough physical, he was cleared to fly, and, by all appearances, back to his normal self.

Now he was regaling the team with the dramatic tale of his time in Voit's clutches, surrounded by a rapt audience of Luke, Tara and Garcia. Emily sat across the aisle, half-listening as she made her way through a stack of paperwork. 

JJ was at the other end of the jet, where, despite her protests, Emily had settled her with an ice pack and ordered her not to move unless it was absolutely necessary.

JJ watched Emily smile to herself at a particularly colorful line in Rossi's re-telling, before putting her papers down and stretching. She got up and made her way down the jet.

"How's your chest?" Emily asked, sitting down across from JJ.

JJ pulled her t-shirt up a few inches, tracing a finger along the lower edge of a bruise starting to bloom across her upper abdomen.

"Ouch," Emily said, wincing at the sight of her red skin.

"It's going to be impressive," JJ said, returning her shirt and ice pack to their former positions.

"You're taking it easy for a few weeks," Emily said.

"Oh, I'll be fine," JJ said. "At least I came off better than Bailey."

The deputy director had taken a hit to the thigh and a deep graze to the head, the kind of shot that could have been catastrophic were it an inch lower. 

Emily had briefly visited him in hospital while Rossi was being checked over. Though the thigh wound was more serious, it was the near-miss that appeared to be playing on Bailey's mind.

He thought the sound of Sydney falling back from the window had saved his life. After hearing it, he told Emily, Voit had fired a distracted shot at his head before spinning frantically toward the back of the house.

Still, Bailey had had refused to tell Emily anything about what he and Voit had discussed.

"Do you think they'll bring us in on whatever Gold Star is?" JJ asked. 

"I doubt it," Emily said. She paused before adding: "I don't even know if I'm going to be section chief for much longer."

"What?" 

"Let's just say the Attorney General is not exactly delighted with some of my decision making around this case."

"Seriously?" JJ said. "But… Voit is in custody. That's so unfair."

"It is," Emily said. She glanced around to make sure no one from the team was in earshot. "But also, Jay… I kind of hate this job."

JJ raised her eyebrows. "So much that you don't care if you're demoted?"

"Of course I care," Emily said. "But you and I both know they're never going to make me director. So what am I doing in middle management? If it's a stepping stone, to somewhere I can actually make a difference, it's worth it. If it's not, it's just… frustrating."

JJ surveyed Emily.

"You're not a natural bureaucrat," she said slowly. "You can be good at it, when you need to be. But it's not you."

"I hate the politics," Emily said. "And I'll have to take a desk job eventually. Maybe I should just stay in the field while I still can."

"Nah," JJ said. "You're going to be out there taking down unsubs when you're 90."

They both laughed at the thought. "Only if you're there with me," Emily said.

They sat in silence for a minute, exchanging smiles as the sound of Rossi's voice drifted through the jet.

"You were amazing with Sydney," JJ said softly.

"Oh, it was just…" Emily waved away the praise. "I felt like she needed some tough love." 

"You were right," JJ said. "I wouldn't have gotten through to her."

"You would have found a way," Emily said generously.

There was another pause.

"I know you were talking about yourself," JJ said. "But when you said 15 years, not getting them back… god, it made me think about Will."

"Oh… no," Emily said, a concerned look on her face. "I was talking about your marriage the whole time." 

JJ looked at her confused, before she realized Emily was joking. Emily broke into a grin as JJ aimed a kick at her ankle, immediately regretting the sudden movement as a sharp pain burst across her chest.

"The difference, I guess, is that I knew for a long time it wasn't working," JJ said, wincing as she settled back in her seat. "I wasn't even really in denial about it. I just… stayed." 

"Mm," Emily said. "You had your reasons."

"Did you really not know?" JJ asked quietly. "For all those years?"

Emily laid back against the headrest, looking out the jet window.

"You know I don't actually think my situation is the same as being married to a serial killer, right?" she said. "It was just what she said, about feeling stupid. I understood that."

"I know that, Em," JJ said. "And it makes sense."

Emily nodded.

"I mean, I can rewrite my life in my head," she said. "The friend at school who I actually had a crush on. Intense feelings that were actually, um, attraction, I guess. But I'd be lying if I said my brain had really, consciously, made the connection, before… well, a bit before I met Wil. Maybe a few years ago." 

"A few years," JJ repeated curiously, studying Emily's face as she stared out across the clouds.

"Tara's guess was still a guess," Emily said. "But I did sort of know when she set me up with Wil. It was deep down somewhere. But I knew."

"A few years ago is when things got weird between us," JJ said.

There was no judgment in her voice, no prying undertone, the words issued as though she was just stating any other fact.

Emily didn't say anything, so JJ kept talking.

"You know, I didn't really understand how you felt until today," JJ said. "You not telling me about Wil... I mean, obviously I assumed you had struggled with it. I know enough about your life to guess why. But what you said about feeling stupid, beating yourself up for not knowing, regretting that you can't go back and do it differently… it didn't even occur to me you'd feel like that."

"Yeah," Emily said. "It's OK. I'm OK. I just…"

She shrugged.

"It feels like I wasted a lot of time. What if I had met someone earlier? I could have… my life could have been really different."

She took a beat before adding sardonically: "And I'm a profiler."

"How could you have been so stupid, huh?" JJ said.

Emily rolled her eyes.

"I should have recorded that speech you gave Sydney," JJ said. "I could just click play right now."

"I wouldn't listen," Emily said.

"You're ridiculous," JJ said affectionately.

"I know."

"I'm here whenever you want to talk about those feelings," JJ said. "But also, Em, you don't know that you would have met the right woman at the right time. Your life wouldn't have been perfect if you came out 20 years ago. It just would have been different."

Emily raised an eyebrow. "In other words, I'd still be bad at relationships."

"No!" JJ said, her tone just a fraction too enthusiastic.

Emily scoffed, but JJ could tell she wasn't really offended.

"You just don't know," JJ said. "So don't idealize it."

Emily nodded. "I'll try," she said.

JJ's brow creased as she looked out the jet window and then back at Emily.

"Em, I… I think I get it now," she said tentatively. "Why it was so hard with me."

Emily's expression was unreadable.

"Knowing you were dealing with all that, it makes more sense," JJ said. "The idea that you thought I'd be unsupportive or even homophobic or something, I didn't get it. But I can see now it was more complicated than that. And I can see how it would be hard to talk to me about it."

She paused for a moment, before adding: "As Pen loves to say, sometimes we struggle to be vulnerable around the people we love the most."

Emily gave her a thin smile.

"And," JJ said slowly, choosing her words carefully, "I can see how it would be extra painful if that person had the things you felt like you had missed out on. That you wanted. Not the husband, apparently! But you know what I mean."

Emily smiled again, briefly. She took a deep breath and looked at JJ.

"Um," she began. "Yeah. Something like that. I guess I felt like it was too late for me. Like I had wasted my best years."

JJ nodded encouragingly.

"It just felt so private," Emily added. "Like it was something I had to completely sort out by myself before I could even let anybody else near it. And I thought maybe you'd figure it out. I was scared of that happening before I was ready. Unlike you and Will," she added, her intonation changing slightly, "I was very much in denial."

Emily flicked her eyes up at the smooth curved ceiling of the jet and back again, her intense brown eyes locking onto JJ.

"I'm so sorry, Jay," Emily said. "I never meant to hurt you so much. I think I told myself you were fine. That you had enough going on in your own life. You moving away, it helped with that. You didn't need me."

"Oh, Em," JJ said. "I always need you."

Emily's smile was easier now, more genuine.

"I always need you too." 

Both of them could feel the tension easing between them, like a pressure valve had been opened, the air beginning to hiss out.

"I get why you feel it might be too late for you," JJ said. "I mean, god, I've felt like that since Will and I split up. Wondered if I'll ever have sex again."

Emily laughed. "Now who's being ridiculous?" 

"But Em, my god, it's not too late," JJ said. "You're 50, not 90. And you've already met someone!"

"That's true," Emily said. "Remember when I'm 90 I'm going to be busy taking down unsubs though, so I probably won't have time to date."

JJ shook her head, amused, before looking back at Emily. She opened her mouth, and then closed it again, and then finally spoke.

"Look, I know Wil and I got off on the wrong foot, but I'd love to try again," JJ said. "If she makes you happy, I want to know her."

"Believe it or not, she's pretty nice when she's not furious about my team practically outing me," Emily said, a half smile playing on her lips.

"Just so you know, I'm going to feel bad about that for the rest of my life," JJ said. "And I'm sure she's wonderful."

"I actually think you'd really like her," Emily said. "You guys can talk about sports." 

JJ snorted. "Your girlfriend is into sports?" 

"Big time," Emily said. "And unfortunately I do not speak basketball."

"Em, you don't speak any sports! It's like the only language you don't speak."

Emily shrugged. "It's kind of cute, watching her watch the games." 

"Wow," JJ said, unable to hide her disbelief. "She must be good in bed."

Emily gave JJ a searching look.

"She's not bad," she said boldly, after a brief pause.

JJ forced herself to smile.

"So tell me more about her."

Chapter Text

Emily woke up slowly, roused by the dawn straining to make itself known through the window blinds.

She lay still for a minute, letting her eyes adjust to the light, listening to the sound of Wil's breathing.

It had taken a bit of getting used to, after a lifetime of truncated or arms-length relationships, but Emily was finally growing accustomed to going to sleep and waking up with someone else in her bed. She was even starting to prefer it.

She rolled over to spoon Wil, nestling herself in the now familiar curves and corners of her girlfriend's body, burying her face in the nape of Wil's neck. Wil stirred slightly as Emily's arm crept across her bare chest.

After the first few times they slept together, Wil had confessed she usually just wore underwear to bed, boy shorts and zilch on top, which was fine — more than fine — with Emily, even though she stuck with her usual old t-shirt and pajama shorts. Wil's range of outfits admittedly constituted a narrow field, but still, Emily's favorite ensemble of hers was nothing, or as close to it as possible. 

Wil groped for Emily's hand, finding it and pulling it close to her chest. 

"Mmm," Wil said sleepily. "Good morning."

"Morning," Emily said, squeezing Wil's hand before freeing her own, running it down Wil's exposed hip and across her abs.

The touch only added to the throb between Emily's legs that had been there since she woke up. She figured she must have been turned on in a dream, but it was one of those mornings she had no memory of where her brain had wandered as she slept.

Wil shifted against her, encouraging the touch. Emily slipped her hand lower, dipping her fingers under the band of Wil's underwear, running them over her pubes. There was a sharp intake of breath from Wil as she slowly bucked her hips, thrusting against Emily's fingers.

"Want me to wake you up?" Emily murmured into Wil's ear as she started to stroke.

"Yes please," Wil whispered back, her eyes still closed.

At first, Emily stayed in position, reaching her arm around to touch Wil from behind as she kissed her neck, enjoying the feel of Wil moving against their tessellated bodies.

When Wil's breathing became heavier, Emily withdrew her hand and moved down Wil's body, knowing she wouldn't come from fingering alone. She hooked her hands on Wil's waistband and stripped off her trunks, noting with satisfaction that the crotch was already glistening with a wet smear.

Then she shuffled back on her knees, getting into position.

The first time Emily went down on Wil, she had been nervous. 

Her stress hadn't been as acute as before the first time they had sex. The insecurity eating away at her had been more like background noise this time; easier to tune out, but impossible to completely quieten.

She went in knowing it was possible, even likely, Wil wouldn't come — she had told Emily she sometimes struggled to orgasm, especially with new partners — but Emily still wanted it to be good. To pleasure Wil, sense her arousal, turn her into the same putty in Emily's hands that Emily transformed into whenever Wil's tongue was anywhere near her cunt.

But… what if she was bad? What if she did something weird but didn't know enough about what she was doing to even know that it was weird? What if Wil just didn't like how she did it?

And those fears were eclipsed by a larger one: that Emily wouldn't like it. What if she hated every second? It would feel like a giant red stop sign, flung up out of nowhere to block the momentous path of self–discovery she had been traveling down.  

But it — it being licking Wil's cunt — was so much easier than Emily had anticipated.

Yes, the first time had been a little awkward, but in a good way, the sex raw and messy and full of the stops and starts and fumbles and confessions that accompany being intimate with someone in a way you hadn't before.

Plus, Emily's issue with sex had never been about not being able to please her partners. It had been about figuring out what felt good for her. And now she knew.

That gave her confidence, too.

She lazily stroked her tongue along Wil's inner thigh, enjoying the view of her lover's body from between her legs. Wil's pubes, dark but with a smattering of gray, always made Emily wonder what the hair on her head would look like if she didn't dye it. Perhaps a mess of salt and pepper waves, or something more subtle, the occasional streak of silver shining out through the short tousles.

Emily had stopped counting the number of times they had slept together. The first time, and more than a few after that, had felt so momentous she hadn't been able to stop herself from marking them, like notches in a belt, the second, fourth, seventh time she had slept with a woman.

The undergraduate urge to tally her experiences had faded, but the surreal quality of them hadn't. It still blew Emily's mind that sex could be this good. That it could be something she actually wanted and looked forward to, that she could wake up and want to initiate it with the woman in her bed.

Emily toyed with Wil a little longer, her mouth moving closer and then further and then closer again as she left lingering kisses along Wil's inner thighs.

And then she parted Wil's cunt with her tongue, running it long and slow over her wetness, relishing in the feel of Wil's hips rising up to meet her mouth. As Emily got into a rhythm, Wil barely made a sound, her right hand gripping onto Emily's hair, her left straining against the mattress.

Emily had realized Wil's communication in bed differed wildly depending on what she was doing. When Wil was giving, she talked — to the extent that she could, of course — casting her usual air of quiet confidence as she checked in on Emily, complimented her, asked what she wanted, occasionally cracked a coy joke.

But when she was receiving, she would almost go into herself, a subtle change in her demeanour that Emily couldn't quite put her finger on. She spoke with her hands, the softness or firmness of her grip showing Emily what and where and how and when she wanted it.

As Emily circled Wil's clit with her tongue, the movement of Wil's hips telegraphed that whatever Emily was doing, it was working. Emily could feel her own arousal swelling as she licked and sucked, the ache between her legs inching toward unbearable as she tried to bring Wil to orgasm.

"Sorry I'm taking so long," Wil said after a while, her voice breathless, self-conscious.

"Mmmph," Emily said, squeezing Wil's thigh encouragingly as she kept going, willing her towards climax.

For a minute or two, she thought Wil was about to ask her to stop, to gesture Emily back up the bed, put an arm around her and kiss her and say "That felt so good," smothering Emily in intimacy to let her know it was so completely fine she hadn't come, that it had nothing to do with Emily's skills or lack thereof.

But then she felt Wil's hips jerk, her motion change from rhythmic to frenetic, a sign Emily was fast learning meant Wil was on the verge. Wil's grip tightened on Emily's hair, as a preliminary spasm ran through her body.

The only thing on Emily's mind was Wil's clit, her sole fixation wanting to send Wil over the edge, desperately wanting it to happen this morning for some reason she couldn't readily identify.

And then Wil began to shudder, her legs spasming around Emily's head, a series of sharp, soft breaths issuing from her mouth as she rode out her orgasm. Emily tried to rock with the motion of her body, keeping her tongue in place, wanting Wil to feel the sensation for as long as possible.

When Wil finished, her hand was still entwined in Emily's hair. Emily shifted back only slightly, resting her head against Wil's thigh.

"Fuck," Wil said quietly. "I..."

Emily waited for her to complete the sentence. But the ending never came.

"Come here," Wil said instead, after a few seconds, releasing Emily's hair and scrabbling at her shoulder. 

Emily gently kissed Wil's clit before doing as requested. She lay down next to Wil, still in her pajamas and Wil completely naked, both of their heart rates slowly returning to normal.  

Wil leaned over and kissed Emily lightly on the forehead. 

"Thank you," she said, her voice thick with meaning, before all of a sudden it turned lighter. "So today's the day, huh?" 

"Yep," Emily said. She stared up at the ceiling, work stress suddenly colliding with the thoughts already bouncing around in her head of what was Wil going to say and jesus, I'm incredibly wet.

"Wonder what she would say if she knew you were fucking one of her employees."

"Ma'am, just before we get started," Emily said, putting on a mock professional voice. "You should know that your policy lead was screaming my name this morning."

"Screaming is more your department," Wil said, a smile playing on her lips. "She'd probably be like 'Who?'"

"Wil, I'm sure she knows who you are," Emily said.

"Once she called me Other Rebecca," Wil said. "Which I'm pretty sure is actual homophobia. But whatever."

Emily laughed. 

"I'm serious!" Wil said, but her flippant tone and the twinkle in her eye suggested otherwise. 

She rolled on her side to face Emily and slipped a hand under her shirt.

"Anyway," she said, running her palm over Emily's full breasts before starting to play with one of her nipples. "Feels like I should be the one relieving your stress this morning."

"Well… we've got time," Emily said.

Wil withdrew her hand and rolled over to check the time on her phone.

"You're right," she said. She looked back at Emily, a wistful expression on her face.

Emily returned the gaze curiously, wondering what Wil was about to say.

"What?" Emily said, after a couple of seconds.

"I was just thinking, this'll be my last time," Wil said. 

"Your last time?" 

"With section chief Prentiss."

"OK, now you've killed the mood," Emily said, as Wil broke into a grin.

"Shhh," Wil said in reply, putting a finger to Emily's lips before moving it down below her waist.

"Well, it's official," Emily said cheerfully, as she walked into the briefing room.

Tara and JJ looked up from the table, where they were making their way through a fat stack of case files, triaging the BAU's priorities for the next few weeks.

"You're no longer section chief?" JJ asked.

"Correct," Emily said. "I'm just a regular old unit chief now." 

"Who's your replacement?" 

"Actually, deputy director Bailey is taking over section chief duties," Emily said.

"Ugh," JJ said. Tara made a face.

"Guys, he's not that bad," Emily said. "This is actually a good outcome."

"I've never seen someone so happy to be demoted," Tara said.

Emily sat down. 

"Look, the case report was bad for us. For me," she said, as she took a stack of files from the large pile in the center of the table. "The AG isn't wrong to be angry about my arrangement with Dave. He could have died."

"Dave would never bla-"

"I know Dave would never blame me for what happened," Emily said. "Especially if he died, because he'd be dead. And anyway, it all turned out fine. But my point is, on paper, it's bad."

"But you were right," JJ said, unable to shake her sense of injustice, even though she knew Emily didn't really want to be section chief. "Reeves wasn't Sicarius! Voit was! And Bailey screwed up way more than you did." 

"Yes, but he's a lot better at managing up," Emily said. "Trust me, this is better for us. He actually came in for the meeting, hobbling around on his crutches, just to go in to bat for us. He convinced the AG to keep me as unit chief. And afterward, he told me he'll approve the jet if we need to travel."

"Huh," JJ said.

"The way I see it is, my boss stays the same — except now he majorly owes me one — and we're in a better position with the brass," Emily said.

She paused before adding: "And I don't have to deal with all the section chief bullshit anymore."

"There it is," Tara joked.

"As long as you're fine with it," JJ said, her voice still imbued with concern.

"I'm good, Jay," Emily said, leaning over to tap JJ's arm reassuringly. "You don't have to take up arms over at the DOJ."

"You know, I think Bailey has a little thing for you," Tara said, her face thoughtful.

"Oh, he does not," Emily said dismissively.

"I mean, pretty much every younger man in the building does," JJ said. 

"And probably half the young women too," Tara added. 

"Younger ma- Bailey is two years younger than me!" Emily said. "He just has a baby face." 

"Does he know you're with Wil?" JJ asked.

"I don't know who knows about Wil," Emily said, her voice a fraction sharp. "You know what it's like once news gets to Garcia."

"Penelope hasn't told anyone," JJ said. 

Emily looked skeptical.

"Seriously," JJ said. "I'm sure of it. None of us have."

She didn't add that she and Tara had gone around to the rest of the team after the dust had settled from Voit, asking them to promise they wouldn't breathe a word about Emily and Wil to anyone unless Emily had made clear she was OK with it. As it turned out, the conversations were unnecessary: everyone, wracked with guilt, had made the same silent pledge on their own.

"Well, Doug probably doesn't know then," Emily said. "I certainly haven't told him." 

"You might need to soon!" Tara said.

Emily rolled her eyes.

"He definitely could use some lesbian friends," Tara said. "I mean, Gold Star? Come on." 

JJ snorted.

"What does that have to do with lesbian friends?" Emily said. "Does Gold Star mean something?"

"Let's just say I'd bet my life savings you're dating one," Tara said, immediately chuckling at her own joke.

JJ laughed aloud too, earning herself a curious glance from Tara.

"I have no idea what you two are talking about," Emily said grumpily.

JJ took pity on Emily. 

"A gold star is a term for a lesbian who's never slept with a man," JJ said.

"What, like that's some kind of achievement?" Emily said, her brow creasing as she thought about it.

JJ shrugged. "I guess so." 

"Seems kind of judgey, is all," Emily said.

"It is," Tara said. "It's not something most people take seriously."

"Hmph," Emily said. She picked up the folder on top of the pile in front of her and started to flick through it. 

"JJ, how do you know that?" Tara said. "I didn't think the average straight woman knew about gold star lesbians."

"Maybe I'm not the average straight woman," JJ said. She had the faintest hint of a smile on her face as she also turned her attention to a case file. 

Tara glanced at Emily, who made a face that said don't ask me, and then back at JJ, who was steadfastly pretending not to notice her intrigue.

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" Tara said.

"What do you think I'm saying?" JJ said, not looking up. She absently turned a page and kept reading.

Emily stifled a laugh at the confused look on Tara's face. She could see Tara desperately wanted to straight up ask JJ if she was queer, but — for good reason, given how things had played out with Emily — was struggling with whether or not she should.

After a few seconds, Tara's curiosity got the better of her.

"Are you…?"

"A gold star?" JJ said mildly, her eyes still trained on the paper in front of her. "No. I think my marriage would have ended a lot sooner if that were the case."

Emily couldn't help but let out a guffaw.

A grin spread across JJ's face at the sound of Emily's laughter. She turned the page once more before glancing up at Tara, who looked perplexed.

"I'm bi," JJ said.

"Really?" Tara said, her expression turning to astonished.

"That's what everyone says," JJ said, putting on an air of pretend offense.

"Sorry," Tara said. "It's just that… you're so…"

JJ leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, cocking her head as she waited for Tara to finish the sentence.

"Careful," Emily said, now thoroughly enjoying herself.

"...married," Tara finished weakly.

"Not anymore!" JJ said. "And, Tara… got a mirror?!"

"Fair enough!" Tara said, holding up her hands in defeat. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

JJ started laughing. "It's fine. I'm just playing with you." 

"Wait. So you're not…?"

"No, I really am bi," JJ said. "I'm just not offended."

Tara shook her head, torn between confusion and amusement.

She grabbed a folder and opened it, before looking up again as though struck with an idea.

"So we're all…" 

"Apparently," Emily said. 

"And here I was thinking I was the only queer in the BAU," Tara said.

"Same," JJ said.

"Well, me and Emily," Tara said.

Emily gave her a look.

"What?" Tara said. "I was right, wasn't I?" 

"You were right," Emily said pointedly.

"We should go to Jade tonight and celebrate your demotion," Tara said. "I'll bring Bec. You bring Wil. JJ, you can-"

"I'll bring Penelope," JJ said, before Tara could finish. "Is Jade the gay bar on 3rd?" 

"Yeah, have you been?" Tara asked.

"Uh, it wasn't really Will's scene," JJ said. "But that's where you met your Wil, right, Emily?"

The question took Emily by surprise, her mind still lingering on the thought of all six of them hanging out together. Specifically, the idea of JJ and Wil meeting again.

On the jet home from the Voit operation, JJ had seemed so enthusiastic about Wil. She had listened to Emily talk about her for close to an hour, asking question after question as she hugged an ice pack to her bruised chest.

Toward the end of the conversation, JJ had looked her in the eye and said sincerely: "Em, she sounds wonderful. And you really deserve to be happy."

The conversation had felt like a gift on multiple levels.

One, it had put to rest the issue of why Emily had pulled away from JJ. Yes, it had been a lie by omission — one Emily had justified to herself as being not untrue, if not wholly true — but it had worked, allowing them to move forward.

Two, it had been a brutal but much-needed reality check that just because JJ was bisexual didn't mean she felt anything for Emily. Hearing JJ's support and eagerness for her relationship had helped Emily realize how stupid it would be for her to jeopardize what she had with Wil for something so desperate and unrequited.

Actually getting over her feelings for JJ was another story. But she was trying.

And three, there was the sheer joy of reconnecting with JJ, of feeling like they were finally getting each other back.

In the weeks since, Emily had tried to lean into it all, relaxing into her relationship with Wil and enjoying her and JJ's gradual return to normal.

But she had started to feel like there was something unspoken on JJ's side of things. Despite her saying multiple times how eager she was to get to know Wil, every time Emily had actually suggested a time and place, JJ had an excuse. 

It reminded Emily of when she was dodging JJ's invitations to girls' night, back when she had just started dating Wil and her life was consumed with the secret.

But JJ isn't seeing anyone.

So why has she been so reluctant?

"It is where I met Wil, yes," Emily said. She added cheekily: "You got a friend for JJ too, Tara?"

"Hmm," Tara said. "Let me think..."

"No matchmaking please!" JJ said, holding up a warning finger. "I am not ready to date." 

"Noted," Tara said. "But when you are…" 

"I'll get on Bumble like every other forty-something single mom," JJ joked. "And probably get zero matches."

"Oh come on," Emily said, without thinking. "Who wouldn't swipe left on you?" 

"You swipe right on people you like," JJ said. She briefly met eyes with Emily before she suddenly lowered her gaze, becoming so intently interested in the case file in front of her that it looked like she was cramming for an exam.  

"Who wouldn't swipe right, then," Emily said quietly, before doing the exact same thing.

Neither dared look up, in case the other detected the faint blush spreading across their cheeks.

Chapter Text

"So, I know the occasion is Emily's demotion," Garcia said, her voice close to a yell. "But why not O'Keefe's?"

The analyst looked the part as she fought to be heard over the '80s disco music thumping through Jade. Her colorful garb was a perfect match to the rainbow bunting that lined the bustling bar and criss-crossed the ceiling, her drink adorned with a tiny pink beach umbrella.

She took a sip from it, as Emily, JJ and Tara exchanged a glance.

"Not that this place isn't great," Garcia continued, putting down her glass and gesturing around the bar. "Love the decor. But it's kind of… loud?"

It was already hard to hear inside the crowded bar, where the BAU women had managed to snag a table for six. Emily and Tara were guarding the two spare chairs with an intense ferocity, both of them wishing Wil and Rebecca would hurry up and get there already.

As Garcia's question hung in the air, JJ realized Tara and Emily were looking to her to answer.

Oh.

I need to tell Penelope.

"Um, Tara suggested we come here because we realized all three of us are queer," JJ said.

"Oh yeah!" Garcia said. She mimed a hug as she cast a loving eye over her friends, looking completely unperturbed by what JJ had just said. "Well, can I just say, I'm honored to be your ally."

Wait

What?

"Yes, we're using it!" Emily snapped at the sixth person so far to try and take Wil's chair.

"I- I'm bisexual," JJ said loudly, unsure if Garcia had heard her properly.

"I know that, JJ," Garcia said, as if JJ had just told her she worked at the FBI.

"What?" JJ said.

"What do you mean, what?" 

"How do you know that?"

"Because… you… told me?" Garcia said.

JJ's face was a picture of confusion. Tara and Emily swapped a quizzical glance.

"When we first met you were dating that girl," Garcia continued. "The one you knew from college? Before she dumped you for the pro soccer player?"

"Oh my god, Pen," JJ said. She sat back in her chair, still looking completely baffled. "I had no idea I told you about that."

"You told me about it multiple times!" Garcia said. "If I wasn't such a delightful human, I'd say too many. Back when the girls' nights were just you and me."

"I thought that break-up was before I even met you," JJ said, pressing her right hand to her temple.

"It definitely wasn't!" Garcia replied.

"I guess not," JJ said. "Anyway, sorry. Sounds like I was pretty cut up about it."

"You can say that again!"

"I was young," JJ said sheepishly.

"Actually, you know what?" Garcia added, the unmistakable thrill of gossip creeping into her voice. "You didn't really get over her until…"

As her tone grew more excited, Garcia's eyes roamed around the table, landing first on Tara and then on Emily.

And then she clapped her hand over her mouth.

"What?!" Emily and Tara said in unison. 

Did I… 

Oh no.

"No no no no no," Garcia said, the sound muffled, her hand still firmly in place. 

"Oh come on," Tara said.

"Penelope," JJ warned, her heart suddenly thumping fast.

A minute ago, she would have sworn there was no way Garcia knew what JJ was pretty sure the analyst was about to spill all over the sticky Jade table. 

But what the hell else have I forgotten telling Penelope?

Emily felt irritated as she watched Garcia firmly shake her head, hand clamped over her mouth.

Ever since her coming out disaster, her patience for Garcia's theatrics had dwindled to almost zero. She had made her peace with the rest of the team, but things were still tense between her and Garcia, despite the offering and acceptance of a painfully sincere apology.

The fact she felt on edge about Wil's imminent arrival didn't help. Nor did the revelation that JJ had come out to Garcia so long ago, though it did make sense — they had known each other a couple years before Emily made it a trio, and it had obviously been a different time in JJ's life.

Whatever it was Garcia had stopped herself from saying, Emily was sure it was either exaggerated or irrelevant.

It's probably something embarrassing to do with JJ and Will, she thought.

"Penelope," JJ repeated, her voice now a plea.

"Spill!" Tara said, having fun.

"No!" Garcia said, still talking through her hand.

"OK, we get it, you can stop with the hand now," Emily said.

Garcia removed her hand. "My big mouth has gotten me into way too much trouble lately," she said. "So I'm exercising restraint." 

"How's that going?" Emily asked dryly, unable to resist the jab.

But before Garcia could answer, Wil and Rebecca arrived at the table, having threaded their way through the heaving crowd unnoticed.

"Hey," Emily said, getting up to greet Wil.

She felt slightly self-conscious as she kissed her girlfriend hello, aware that neither JJ nor Garcia — nor Tara, for that matter — had seen her be affectionate with another woman before.

"Hey you," Wil said, grabbing her hand and squeezing it, the familiar touch sending a tiny wave of relief through Emily's body. She smiled back at Wil, waiting for Rebecca to finish her round of hellos before making introductions.

During the brief pause, Emily couldn't help but wonder what Garcia and JJ were making of Wil. Of the two of them as a couple. She subtly appraised Wil, who was wearing her signature t-shirt and blazer and chinos, her soft masculinity so different to the sharp, feminine way Rebecca wore a nearly identical — albeit with heels — outfit.

OK, I kind of get why the AG called her Other Rebecca.

Emily knew she was deeply attracted to Wil's blend of masculine and feminine. What that meant about her sexuality, or her preferences, she wasn't sure. Maybe it didn't mean anything, other than she thought Wil was hot.

But she had been thinking about it.

A week after the Voit mission, Tara had invited her over for a reconciliatory beer, meant as a peace offering in the wake of Emily's coming out. They had talked late into the night, about Rebecca and Wil and sexuality and identity, and during the tipsy conversation Tara had asked Emily if she thought butch women were her type.

Emily hadn't known what to say.

Do I have a type?

Is Wil butch?

What about JJ?

Does it matter?

"I don't feel like I have enough experience with women to have a type," she had told Tara.

Emily thought she had a type with men, but was starting to realize — now with 20/20 hindsight — that it was a particular type of of law enforcement guy who had been drawn to her, not vice versa.

She had noticed, obviously, that Wil existed outside of certain gender norms in a way that often tripped other people up. It happened fairly regularly when they were out together, Wil being called "Sir" — or even, once, "young man" — or getting a second look from someone after they registered the timbre of her voice. Wil always responded with nonchalance, never correcting the other person, and Emily had learned to just follow her lead and ignore it, not wanting to embarrass her.

To Emily, the ambiguity wasn't a downside, something she liked Wil in spite of. It was a plus.

But the other woman she knew without a shadow of a doubt she was attracted to was JJ. 

JJ wasn't butch, not in the way Wil was. But Emily had never thought of her as particularly feminine either. Maybe when she was younger, she presented herself more that way. But as she grew up and into her role as an agent, became more confident in her place on the team, as a mother, everything — just within herself — her style had changed. It had become tough, sporty, practical. It wasn't really one way or the other. It was just JJ.

I guess I didn't really fall for JJ until later on, Emily mused for the thousandth time.

But is that the reason why?

Her eyes flickered over JJ, who was wearing tight jeans, boots and a bomber jacket, her impeccable hair flowing past her achingly perfect cheekbones and falling over her shoulder, just shy of her chest.

I think I just like women.

Finally Rebecca sat down next to Tara, and the table's eyes turned to Wil.

"So, you've met JJ," Emily said.

Wil and JJ both offered each other an awkward wave.

"And this is Penelope," Emily said nervously. 

She had warned Wil in a text that Garcia was going to be there — "Yes, she's the one who tried to profile you. Please don't mention it!" — but wasn't sure how their meeting would play out.

As Garcia got up, Wil's eyes hardened, just for a second, the flicker so subtle only Emily and Rebecca knew her well enough to catch it.

"Great to meet you," Wil said, sticking out her hand.

Emily watched on in horror as Garcia grabbed Wil's hand, pumping it enthusiastically before enveloping her in a bear hug. 

"I'm so so so pleased to finally meet you," Garcia said, as she wrapped her arms around Wil. "Emily's been so happy with you and even before I knew that you were you I was so curious about who you might be just because…"

From where Emily was standing, it was impossible to tell how Wil was reacting to Garcia's breathless monologue, which was being delivered at a million miles an hour.

"...and I wanted to know who this person was who was making our Emily act like she never had before, and I could tell that whoever it was just so good for her and I am so happy that she has you!"

When Wil finally emerged from Garcia's arms, she looked faintly pleased, if a little embarrassed. Emily had also turned a pale shade of pink, while Rebecca and Tara's eyes were twinkling with restrained laughter at the sheer weirdness of seeing Garcia and Wil's personalities interact.

"OK," JJ said, her voice just a fraction tight as she cut through the awkwardness. "Next round's on me. What's everyone drinking?"

As JJ threaded through the crowd on the way to the bar, Garcia in hot pursuit, all she could think about was Emily kissing Wil.

It had looked strange as Emily leaned in, just for a second, JJ's mind still shuddering into the gear of her best friend being gay.

But when their lips met, it had looked perfectly normal, which it was. Like Emily had done it a thousand times before, which she probably had.

So why am I thinking about it? 

You know why, Jareau.

"Wil is so cute," Garcia said, once the two of them were lined up at the bar. "I have to say, I did not expect her to look like that." 

"Mm," JJ said, appreciating that Garcia had enough sense to not say what she actually meant, which is that she hadn't expected Wil to look like such a stereotypical lesbian.

Nor had JJ, if she was being honest, though she struggled to explain why. When the door had swung open to reveal Wil at Emily's apartment, the same thought had flashed through her head: She's not what I expected. 

Wil's masculinity, her visible queerness, made JJ feel self-conscious. It wasn't that she wanted to emulate it, exactly, or at least not in the precise way Wil did. But she could only look at Wil through green-tinted glasses, see her as the woman Emily had been so attracted to that she got into a gay relationship for the first time in her life.

A woman who just happened to look nothing like JJ.

On some level, JJ knew that if Wil did look like her, or even if she looked different in a different way, that it would be equally painful. That she would still scrutinize her and end up finding something that JJ wasn't, or didn't have. That her self-consciousness had nothing to do with Wil and everything to do with her feelings for Emily.

Still, she couldn't help but wonder if it was the way Wil dressed, held herself, showed up in the world — if that was what Emily had been so drawn to.

For the first time in a long time, JJ felt annoyed at the fact people constantly assumed she was straight.

"And when did you meet her?!" Garcia said. "You never told me that!" 

"Oh, it was right before the Voit stuff all kicked off," JJ said. "I just… um, I went to pick something up from Emily's place and she was there."

"Right," Garcia said. "Speaking of Emily…" 

JJ glared at her. "I know what you were going to say back there, and don't."

"I had totally forgotten about your huge crush on her," Garcia said with a wide grin.

It felt completely mortifying to hear someone else say it aloud.

JJ glanced worriedly back at the table, but the bar was so noisy and crowded there was no way in the world Emily could have overheard. 

"Pen, please don't say anything," JJ said. "I'm serious." 

"Oh, you know I wouldn't tell anyone," Garcia said, her tone flippant. "But, it was so long ago. It's funny now!"

JJ gave her a look.

"OK, OK, I won't. I promise. I'm swearing off other people's secrets for a while." 

"You better be," JJ said grimly.

"What happened with that, anyway?" Garcia said. "You were head over heels for her when she first joined the BAU."

JJ shrugged.

"The three of us got close and… I just stopped thinking of her like that. It was just a crush. I was young. It ended pretty much as soon as I actually got to know her."

Well, that's a lie.

"And then I met Will," JJ added. "And got pregnant, and you know. It was just an embarrassing little thing from the past. It was nothing. I forgot about it."

You're overcompensating.

"I guess Emily was straight back then, anyway," Garcia said. 

"Well, she thought she was," JJ said.

"And look at her now!" Garcia said. "Bad timing, huh? Imagine if you guys had gotten together!"

"Yeah," JJ said flatly. "Imagine."

"What can I get you ladies?" the bartender asked, flipping down two napkins in front of the two of them. "Here for a bachelorette party?"

Ugh.

"You feeling OK after today?" Wil asked, after settling into the chair next to Emily.

"Oh, yeah," Emily said. "It all went pretty much as expected."

Wil looked at her with thoughtful eyes, anticipating something more substantial to come.

It wasn't that Emily had no qualms whatsoever about her demotion, which was simultaneously justified and unfair. But dating Wil, accepting her feelings for JJ, coming out — all of it had altered her perception of herself. It had been a fundamental shift, one Emily had been surprised to realize had implications far beyond her dating life.

Was it worth it, killing herself in a job she hated for a promotion that would never come? For a long time, her answer would have been yes. Of course it was. What else was there? But tasting happiness outside of Quantico's walls had changed her. And it wasn't like being unit chief of the BAU was a cakewalk.

"I'm good, I think," she told Wil. "It's weird, I know, but it feels right. And I really do think it's the best thing for the team."

"I'm proud of you," Wil said, putting a hand on Emily's thigh.

"For getting demoted?"

"For being you."

Emily rolled her eyes, though she was secretly touched by what Wil had said.

"You should have higher standards," she quipped.

"Impossible," Wil said.

She leaned over to kiss Emily on the cheek, her hand still resting on Emily's leg. Wil was always more touchy-feely at queer venues, whether Jade or the lesbian bar in D.C. they had gone to a couple times.

"Look at you two," Rebecca interjected, leaning across the table. "Can't keep your hands off each other."

Wil and Emily smiled back, embarrassed.  

"You've been great for her," Rebecca said to Emily, jerking her head toward Wil.

"That's nice of you to say," Emily said, not really knowing how to respond.

"Don't worry," Rebecca said, sensing her awkwardness. "I'm not about to hug you and scream nice things in your ear for a minute straight."

Emily grinned. "Well, thank god for that." 

"But I mean it," Rebecca added. "You've been so good for her."

"You know I'm sitting right here, right?" Wil said. 

"Do you hear something?" Rebecca asked Emily.

"Nope," Emily replied. "What were you saying?"

"She was on the fast track to a weird bachelor lifestyle before she met you," Rebecca said. "I thought I might have to stage an intervention." 

"Bec, shut up," Wil said, shaking her head and laughing. "At least have the decency to have this conversation when I'm not here!"

"Garcia got her chance with you!" Rebecca shot back. "Now it's my turn."

Emily observed their dynamic, amused. She often forgot Wil and Rebecca had been friends for a long time, much longer than she had known Tara. 

Garcia arrived back at the table, depositing a glass of red wine in front of Emily and a beer in front of Wil, before taking the empty chair next to her.

"So, Wil," she said, leaning over, chin propped up eagerly on her hands. "Tell me everything about yourself." 

Wil's eyes widened.

"Looks like you got your wish," Rebecca said. "Now, Emily. Where were we?" 

"Good luck," Emily said, patting Wil on the back as she turned back to Rebecca. 

As she juggled a pint of beer, wine glass and her own gin and tonic on the way back from the bar, JJ couldn't take her eyes off Emily and Wil.

She had met plenty of Emily's boyfriends over the years, but JJ couldn't recall ever seeing her this relaxed. It wasn't that she had been stiff or awkward with men, nothing that overt. But there had always been a barely perceptible barrier between Emily and her romantic partners, one only JJ knew her well enough to detect.

It's not there anymore.  

I should be so happy for her.

She distractedly set the three glasses down on the table, spilling some beer in the process. 

"Sorry!" JJ said, as she slid the wine over to Rebecca. She passed the beer to Tara before taking the seat next to her. "I'm not drunk yet, I promise." 

Tara laughed, and held up her pint glass.

"Time to change that," she said. "Cheers."

JJ clinked against it, taking a long sip from her drink as she watched Garcia interrogate Wil across the table. 

She and Tara talked shop for a while, ironing out a disagreement over which of two potential cases the BAU should make a priority. By the time JJ talked Tara around to her position, they had finished their drinks and were halfway through the next ones.

The conversation lapsed into a comfortable silence. Tara took a swig of beer.

We're both thinking about today.

"So, we have something in common," Tara said as she set her glass down, confirming JJ's thought.

"We do," JJ said. "I was going to tell you after I found out about Rebecca."

"Why didn't you?" Tara said.

"It just felt awkward," JJ said. "I mean, you coming out made sense because you were actually dating someone. What would I have said? 'Hey, Tara, just so you know, I'm also open to girlfriends. Or I was, before I got married!'"

Tara laughed. 

"Fair enough," she said. "Well, I'm sorry for assuming you were straight." 

"Oh, everyone does," JJ said, waving her hand in a gesture that said I don't care.

"Does it bother you?"

Here for a bachelorette party?

"I mean, sometimes," JJ said. "It's always annoying when people make assumptions about you."

She paused for a second, her usual approach coming back to her as the sting of the bartender's words faded.

"But I try not to dwell on it," JJ said. "I get it. Most people are straight, and I was married to a man for a long time, and I look the way I look — not that that means anything, but you know — and it… it just hasn't been relevant in my life for a long time. I wasn't exactly out there correcting people."

Tara nodded.

"And it's not like there aren't advantages to people assuming you're straight," JJ added.

"But what about the advantages of being an out bi woman?" Tara said. "I mean, think of all the threesomes you could have been invited to."

JJ cracked up.

It felt nice, sitting in a gay bar with Tara, joking about the ups and downs of being bisexual. It felt foreign, too. Even when JJ was dating women regularly, it had been back in the early noughties and mostly through sporting circles, a place and time where queerness was more a quiet understanding than a point of pride.

She had never felt completely at home in the queer community. She had also never really tried to be part of it. The two things seemed related, though which was the symptom and which the cause JJ wasn't sure. 

Time to change that.

JJ finished her drink.

"Anyway, does that make sense?" she said. "I know it's kind of a cop out. Or in, as it were." 

"No, I get it," Tara said, grimacing at JJ's terrible joke. "I mean, I didn't really tell people at work either."

"Right," JJ said.

"But that was partly because I really thought I was going to end up just with myself, or with a man — I hadn't dated women for a very long time before Rebecca — and partly because being a 6-foot Black woman is already different enough for a lot of people in that building, you know? I didn't want to be seen as a walking DEI seminar. But then Rebecca came along, and…" Tara shrugged. "It's been fine."

JJ nodded. "That makes sense."

"Things at work have been fine," Tara corrected. "Rebecca is great."

"I got you," JJ said, smiling. "And that's great to hear." 

"So," Tara said. "You said it hadn't been relevant in your life for a long time…"

There was something in her tone, the slightest hint of suggestion, as she looked at JJ and finished her sentence. 

"Is it now?"

Does she know something?

But Tara's face was impassive. 

"Um…" JJ began.

She jumped as Emily set down another round on the table in front of them. 

"Sorry," Emily half-yelled in JJ's ear over the thumping music. "Hey, can we switch seats? I want to talk to Tara about something."  

"Hello," Emily said to Tara, settling down into JJ's newly vacated chair.

"How's your night?" Tara asked.

"It's good," Emily said. "Tried to extract some gossip about you from Rebecca, but that woman would not tell me a thing."

Tara nodded approvingly.

"She's a keeper," she said. "So what did you want to talk to me about?" 

"Oh, nothing," Emily said. "I just wanted Wil and JJ to talk."

"Why?" Tara asked, laughing at Emily's blunt social scheming. "Didn't you say they had met already?"

Emily snuck a glance at Wil and JJ. The sight of them talking made her stomach churn, but it felt important that they ease the tension.

She and JJ were practically back to normal, for real this time, not the fragile sense of resolution that had settled over them after the Georgia explosion. And Emily's new normal included Wil. Plus, she told herself, when her feelings for JJ faded — when, not if — the two of them would still be friends.

"Well, they're both important to me," Emily said. "And they didn't exactly hit it off the first time."

"What happened?" Tara asked curiously.

"Oh, it was… that day with the meeting and Garcia and the stupid profile of Wil. Just before Voit," Emily said.

Tara nodded.

"JJ came over to my place that night. Unexpectedly," Emily said. "Wil was not happy to see her." 

"Wil was jealous?" Tara asked.

What?

Why would Tara ask that?

"No," Emily said slowly. "She was mad at all of you for forcing me to come out."

Tara eyes widened in a mild panic.

"What do you mean, jealous?" Emily added, her voice tense.

"Oh, I just meant… um… nothing, really," Tara said, trying to backpedal. "Just that maybe she thought you and JJ… ah. I just thought, especially after today…"

"Today?" Emily said, raising an eyebrow.

"When we were in the briefing room."

"What about it?"

Tara smiled in defeat. "Come on, Emily." 

"Are you talking about JJ coming out?" 

"I'm talking about whatever is going on — or was going on, I don't know — between you and JJ."

Granted, Emily was a few wines deep. But Tara's words sent her head spinning far beyond the potent effects of the bartender's generous pours. 

She looked at Tara, her mind fuzzy, heart pounding.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she managed to say. 

Tara's face said it all: Bullshit.

Regaining an iota of situational awareness, Emily looked around the table. She couldn't hear a word of what Wil was saying to JJ, nor Garcia to Rebecca. But some conversations were too delicate to risk an eavesdropper. 

"Come to the bar with me," she said, getting up abruptly. Tara followed suit, miming a drink as the others looked up from their conversations.

Once they were a safe distance from the table, pretending to wait in line in a quiet corner, Emily looked at Tara.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she repeated. 

Tara didn't say anything, her expression one of wary indecision.

Oh, just say it, Emily thought, frustrated.

I don't want to hear it. But if I don't hear it, it's going to drive me crazy.

"What?" Emily said. 

Tara sighed.

"I always suspected you and JJ had some kind of history," she said. "Especially after you started being distant and weird with each other. But I thought JJ was straight. That maybe it was a, uh, one-sided kind of thing."

Well that's humiliating. 

"But then I find out JJ isn't straight," Tara continued. "And the two of you in the briefing room today…" 

She paused, glancing back toward the table.

"What?" Emily repeated, her tone curt.

"You and JJ were obviously flirting with each other," Tara said, her voice matter-of-fact.

Emily scoffed, as if Tara was being completely ridiculous.

Tara just looked at her, before leaning forward.

"Who wouldn't swipe right on you?" she said into Emily's ear, before leaning back. "Come on."

"Well, who wouldn't?" Emily said defensively. "You've seen JJ."  

"Sure," Tara said. "I've seen JJ. I've also seen you see JJ."

Emily felt her cheeks burning.

"I'm with Wil," she said stubbornly. "There's nothing going on with me and JJ. Never has been, never will be. We grew apart after she moved away. Now we're fixing things. That's all."

Tara looked skeptical. 

"I didn't even know she was bi until a few weeks ago," Emily added.

"Really?" 

"Really."

"OK," Tara said, realizing from the distressed look on Emily's face that she had pushed too far, especially with them both having had a few drinks. "Obviously I've misunderstood. I'm sorry."

"You have," Emily said. "Misunderstood. Badly. There's nothing there. I'm with Wil and I'm happy. OK?"

"OK," Tara said.

Emily turned on her heel and marched back to the table. She and Tara sat down before realizing their hands were empty, having not actually gone to the bar. They sat there awkwardly, neither knowing how to move the conversation forward.

Emily's mind was racing with everything Tara had just said. The implications of it. Whether her heated response had been sufficiently animated, believable. Whether Tara would say anything to Rebecca, and if Rebecca say anything to Wil. Whether JJ had also interpreted Emily's comment as flirtatious. Whether Emily had meant it that way. 

But one thing Tara had said kept coming back, over and over, Emily turning the words every which way, obsessing over their meaning, knowing that after her fervent denial there was no way she could turn to Tara and ask her to explain, why she had phrased it in the way she had.

"You and JJ were obviously flirting with each other."

With each other.

As soon as JJ sat down in Emily's chair, she realized the seat swap had been a ploy to get her talking to Wil.

She looked daggers across the table, but Emily was already locked in discussion with Tara. Rebecca and Garcia were busy discussing god knows what. And it was too noisy to talk as a group anyway. 

JJ took a deep breath, willing herself into clarity over the haze of gin in her head.

OK, let's do this.

Wil took a long sip from her beer, almost draining it, before turning to JJ.

"It's nice to see you again," she said. 

JJ laughed awkwardly.

"Really," Wil added. "I know we didn't exactly hit it off last time." 

At least she's upfront.

"It's OK," JJ said. "I get it. And for what it's worth, it's nice that you were looking out for Em."

Wil nodded. "I appreciate that. I know you guys have been friends for a long time." 

Though not an apology, the sentence helped put JJ at ease. It felt like an acknowledgement of her role in Emily's life, a balm to the "Who are you?" she had been so offended by.

"I hear you're a sports fan," JJ said.

Wil's eyes lit up. "You follow the W? Or the NBA. Men can play basketball too, I don't discriminate." 

"I'm actually more of a soccer fan," JJ said. "I played college, way back in the day." 

"Huh," Wil said, appraising JJ as if seeing her in a new light. "Where did you go?"

"Ah, Pittsburgh and then Georgetown," JJ said. "I played D1. On an athletic scholarship." 

Why am I bragging?

"Wow," Wil said genuinely. "You must have been good."

JJ was flattered by her response. It had been a while since she spoke to someone who appreciated just how impressive her college soccer career had been.

"Yeah," JJ said. "Emphasis on the past tense. Now I'm pretty sure my 7-year-old could give me a run for my money."

Wil laughed. "Ah well. Can't last forever." 

"That's true," JJ said.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Emily and Tara get up and leave for the bar. 

No escape now.

The conversation with Wil flowed surprisingly well, sport a easy springboard to college and careers. And as they talked, JJ kind of got it. What Emily had been drawn to. 

First of all, Wil was hot. She wasn't the kind of person who turned heads when she entered a room. But she was attractive in a more subtle way, her handsome features more pronounced the longer you looked at her, noticed her soft eyes,  the way she ran her fingers through her hair when she laughed. 

And she was charming, again, in an understated way. Her interest in JJ was sincere, her self-deprecation perfectly pitched in a way that didn't fish for compliments, her dry humor collaborative, funny in a way that brought in the people around her rather than picking them apart.

Still, JJ couldn't quite figure out Wil and Emily as a couple. How they fit together. What they talked about.

Not that it's any of my business.

JJ's eyes landed on Emily as she and Tara returned to the table, no drinks in hand. She glanced over at the bar.

Was the line too long?

Wait, is Emily upset?

Maybe she's just drunk.

She realized Wil was watching her watch Emily.

JJ smiled back in Wil's direction, trying to clear her head, the effect of too many gins now almost impossible to conceal. She vaguely considered excusing herself for the restroom, just to get her head together, avoid saying something she'd regret to Wil, who seemed perfectly nice.

I like her.

I hate her.

I'm not her.

JJ grasped for something to say.

"So have you managed to turn Em into a basketball fan?" JJ asked.

"Oh my god," Wil said, shaking her head. "You would not believe some of the things she asks me during games." 

JJ glanced toward Emily as she laughed.

"I'm sure I can imagine."

"Talking about me?" Emily interjected from across the table, plastering on a smile.

She had noticed Wil and JJ glance her way at the same time before laughing, and was desperate to talk to someone — anyone — other than Tara.

"No," Wil and JJ replied at the same time.

Emily raised an eyebrow.

"OK, a little," Wil conceded. "All good though, babe."

"It better be," Emily said.

"I promise," Wil said. "Anyway, I'm going to the restroom, you can interrogate Jennifer about it."

"Call me JJ!" JJ said. "Please." 

"Sorry," Wil said. "JJ. Got it."

As she disappeared into the crowd, Emily and JJ met eyes across the table.

"Want a drink?" Emily said, even though she knew she shouldn't, it was getting late and she was already more buzzed than she wanted to be.

"I'll come with you," JJ said. Emily could see she was wavering on the edge of being drunk too.

They took orders from Garcia, Rebecca and Tara, who gave Emily a sidelong glance that she ignored, before making their way to the bar, where a line several people deep spanned the length of the counter.

JJ left for 30 seconds before returning with two plastic cups of water, pressing one into Emily's hand.

"Thanks," Emily said, eagerly downing it.

They stood in silence for a minute, JJ taking in the polaroid photos and queer paraphernalia pinned up behind the bar. It reminded Emily of her first time at Jade, where she had done the exact same thing, feeling wide-eyed and out-of-place.

"I had a nice chat with Wil," JJ said into Emily's ear.

Emily could feel JJ's breath on her neck as she spoke, the two of them standing close by necessity in the swaying crowd, both facing the bar.

"I'm glad to hear it," Emily said.

"I can see why you went for her," JJ said. "You make a cute couple."

"Thanks," Emily said quietly, turning her head to meet JJ’s eyes. JJ did the same.

They were close, closer than they needed to be, even with the people packed around them. Time seemed to stop as Emily searched JJ's face for sincerity, or perhaps the opposite, her deep brown eyes penetrating JJ's blue. The gaze lasted too long, but neither looked away, each trying to parse whatever unsayable thing was passing between them.

And then a man making his way through the crowd behind JJ tripped on a chair leg.

He fell over, starting a chain reaction that rippled through the waiting crowd. The domino effect reached JJ, who clutched at Emily and a stranger to stay upright. 

Emily swiveled to face JJ, grabbing her under her right arm and hoisting her up to a standing position. JJ's hand landed on Emily's hip as she steadied herself. 

"You OK?" Emily asked.

"I'm fine," JJ said. "Thanks. Sorry," she added to the man standing next to them. 

Though she was stable now, her hand lingered on Emily's hip, her thumb brushing the bone, the touch shooting warmth through Emily's center.

It wasn't like they had never touched before. It wasn't like, if Emily was being honest, they had never touched before in a way she found intimate. Even arousing.

But this touch? This one felt different. 

It felt deliberate.

You're not thinking straight.

Maybe JJ isn't either.

"Yes?" came an unfamiliar voice. 

Emily realized it belonged to the bartender, that they had reached the front of the queue. And then she felt a firm, friendly hand come down on her right arm. JJ's hand whipped off of her, like it had never been there at all.

"Thought you guys might want a hand carrying the drinks," Tara said. 

"That was a fun night," Rebecca said. "Emily and Wil are so cute together."

"Mm," Tara said.

She was holding Rebecca in front of her, her coat partly wrapped around the shorter woman as the two of them waited for a cab outside Jade.

"It's so nice seeing Wil with someone who she really likes. Who's good to her," Rebecca said. "I know they've had some bumps already, but I really hope they can make it work." 

Tara didn't answer, too distracted by the day's events. She was certain there was something between Emily and JJ, whatever it was. 

The fact JJ was bi. That Emily was obviously a lesbian, even if she wasn't quite calling herself that yet. Their strange falling-out and rapid return to closeness. The way they had teased each other in the briefing room. The unmistakable blush that had spread across both their cheeks. The uncertainty that had flickered in JJ's eyes when Tara had asked if her attraction to women was in play now. Emily's overly defensive reaction to the suggestion that anything was happening.

And then there was the look they had given each other at the bar.

Before the man fell, Tara could have sworn Emily and JJ had been about to kiss.

Am I making something out of nothing? Am I just drunk?

I don't think I am.

I really, really don't think I am.

"Also, Garcia mentioned JJ was bi?" Rebecca said. "I didn't know that." 

"Yeah, I only found out today," Tara said. "It's why we came to Jade." 

"You told me ages ago that you thought JJ was straight," Rebecca said. "Do you remember that? I think it was when Emily was freaking out about Wil. You said you thought she might have been into JJ, or that something had happened with them, but it wasn't mutual." 

"Yeah," Tara said. "I remember." 

As a cab pulled up at the curb, she unwrapped her coat from around Rebecca, kissing her girlfriend on the top of the head.

"Guess I was wrong."

Chapter Text

For a few surreal seconds, JJ thought the faint kitchen sounds were coming from Will.

That it was one of those rare Saturdays when her husband wasn't on shift and she hadn't been called in. That he had snuck out of bed to get a start on breakfast, gently pulling the door shut behind him before putting on some music and whipping up an omelet.

That it was a good day. One that would leave JJ thinking maybe she and Will would make it after all. 

She opened her eyes, just a crack.

The wall stretching out in front of her was white and bare, devoid of the framed family pictures and low messy bookshelf she could usually see from her side of the bed. The mattress was harder. The air in the house different. And the light still had the pink hue of dawn.

It wasn't Saturday, and JJ wasn't at home.

It was an off-week, as she had come to think of them. She was once again eking out an unfamiliar existence in Sandy's compact two-bedroom apartment.

But it was the first week she had done so with her mom.

Sandy had returned from Pennsylvania the week before, after the East Allegheny house received a tidy sum at auction. She seemed happy, lighter somehow, to have left it in her past.

She had politely offered to Will that he could stay at her apartment on his off-weeks too, and Will had just as politely declined, to the sincere relief of everybody involved. He was instead sharing rent on an apartment with another D.C. cop who had recently separated from his wife.

It was a good arrangement, all things considered. But between the mortgage and Will's divorced dad share house, the money just wasn't there for JJ to get a place on her own.

So now she and Sandy were navigating living together for the first time since the '90s. And on this particular morning, JJ felt like a teenager in more ways than one. 

Her head was throbbing. She grabbed the water bottle she kept by her bedside and took a swig, her stomach uneasy, as the night before came back to her. 

Oh god.

JJ rolled over, burying her face into the cool pillow next to her.

What the fuck, Jareau.

She's in a relationship.

Her memory was hazy in the worst way possible: not so distorted as to allow for blissful ignorance, but murky enough to leave a question mark over exactly what she had done. How Emily had reacted.

She could remember drunkenness creeping in on her when she was talking to Wil, caught almost unaware by her level of intoxication toward the end of their conversation. Going to the bar with Emily. The long, lingering look they had shared. 

Did it mean what I thought it meant?

Or was I just drunk?

She could remember the man tripping, the crowd swaying, losing her balance, clutching onto Emily, holding onto her long after it was necessary.

Maybe she didn't notice.

She could remember her thumb in the hollow of Emily's hip, brushing lightly across the bone, her fingers resting along Emily's side, feeling the shape of her. That the touch felt more intimate, more imbued with meaning, more blatantly sensual, than anything she and Emily had shared in the past.

There is no way she didn't notice. 

She couldn't remember how Emily had responded. If she had responded. If the two of them had met eyes again as JJ kept her hand in place. If the touch had lingered for as long as JJ feared, or if just a second or two had elapsed before the bartender called for their attention, before Tara arrived to help them carry the drinks.

Oh fuck, Tara.

Did she see?

JJ mulled it over, her face still firmly implanted in the pillow. Her one saving grace was that Emily had been just as drunk as she was. Yes, she must have noticed. But would she remember? Or was she at this very moment running over the same questions, trying to peer past the same haziness?

That look they had given each other, though. It was right after JJ had delivered — possibly with unconvincing sincerity — an endorsement of Wil.

"I can see why you went for her. You make a cute couple."

Emily had murmured a quiet thanks before turning to meet JJ's eyes. 

In the moment that followed, JJ had just been thinking Emily. How much she wanted to lean in and kiss her, to wrap her hands around her waist and pull their hips together, to entwine her fingers in Emily's hair. And she knew it wasn't just the alcohol talking. 

But what had Emily been thinking? In the moment, JJ had been certain she felt the same energy radiating from her old friend. That Emily wanted to do the exact same thing.

But then Tara had materialized out of nowhere, and the three of them had gone back to the table, and Emily had sat right back down next to Wil and acted the same way she had the whole night.

She's in a relationship.

The words hurt as JJ repeated them to herself, a mantra for her self-imposed purgatory.

She rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling, realizing she had to get up and shower and go to work and face Emily.

Ugh.

She pushed back the covers and got up, fishing through the pile of clothes spilling out from her travel suitcase. She knew she should pack them away, but it still felt easier to treat her weeks at her mom's apartment like a hotel stay. 

She found a sweater and pulled it over the singlet and tartan boxer shorts she had slept in, before wandering out to the kitchen.

Sandy was at the table, a mug of black coffee on the table in front of her, flicking through an open magazine. She had been an early riser before Ros died, and, JJ was fast learning, had since become one again.

"Good morning," JJ said. 

"Morning," Sandy replied. "I thought you'd need to be up soon."

"Mm," JJ said. She opened the cupboard and grabbed out a box of rolled oats.

"Where were you last night?" Sandy asked curiously, as JJ poured oats in a bowl.

Wow.

Just when I thought I couldn't feel any more like a teenager.

"Um… just out with work people," JJ said. 

"Thought you might have been on a date," Sandy said. 

"Oh my god, Mom," JJ said. "It's way too soon."

"I suppose it is," Sandy said, taking a sip from her mug. "There's coffee there," she added, pointing to the pot.

There was a short silence as JJ added water to her bowl and put in the microwave.

"Still, have you had any thoughts about getting back out there?" Sandy said.

"Not really," JJ said. She leaned back against the kitchen counter, crossing her arms. 

"I mean, I'm still legally married," she added. "And Henry and Michael are nowhere near ready for something like that." 

Sandy nodded. 

"Well, don't feel like you have to wait too long," she said, after a brief pause. "It's your life."

JJ's skeptical expression went unnoticed by Sandy, who kept talking.

"You never know who you'll meet. He might be totally different to Will."

"Or she," JJ said pointedly.

It wasn't a correction she had felt the need to make for 15 years. But all of a sudden, it seemed important.

Sandy raised her eyebrows, saying nothing. 

"What?" JJ said. "Don't act like that's a surprise to you."

"I didn't realize that was still… part of your life," Sandy said, her voice careful.

"Being married to a man for 15 years didn't make me any less bisexual," JJ said, before adding in a mutter: "If anything, it made me more."

"I suppose I wondered if it was just a phase when you were younger," Sandy said. She caught the expression on JJ's face. "I'm not supposed to say that, am I?" 

"Definitely not," JJ said.

"I'm sorry," Sandy said. "I'm trying here."

"Try harder," JJ said, with an exasperated laugh.

The microwave beeped, interrupting their conversation.

"Now that you mention it," Sandy said, as JJ retrieved her breakfast, "I do remember you had a candle burning for your friend Emily at some point."

JJ almost dropped her oatmeal onto the kitchen floor.

"Just before you met Will," Sandy continued. "You must have been almost 30."

What?

"So I do understand it wasn't a teenage or college phase, is my point," Sandy added, misinterpreting JJ's silence.

"That- Mom, we were barely speaking back then!"

"You came home occasionally," Sandy said, sounding a little hurt at JJ's largely accurate characterization of their relationship. "And when you did tell me about your life, it was all about her. Emily this, Emily that, isn't Emily amazing."

Sandy took a sip of coffee.

"It was pretty obvious, Jenny."

My mom knew?

Jesus.

JJ realized she was frozen to the spot, the hot bowl starting to burn her fingers.

She put it down with a clatter and distractedly opened a cupboard, partly looking for honey, but mostly just not wanting to look at her mom. 

"Emily is actually dating a woman right now," JJ said, her eyes fixed on the shelves. She was trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, but her voice come out strangled and brittle.

"Is she?" Sandy said mildly, as if JJ had just told her Emily was redecorating her kitchen. "How do you feel about that?" 

"I don't feel anything about it," JJ said, closing the cupboard a little too loudly. "It has nothing to do with me."

"You're not happy for her?"

"Of course I'm happy for her!"

"Well, that's feeling something ab-"

"Mom, can we please talk about something else?" 

"OK, OK, I'm sorry," Sandy said. "Just trying to show an interest in your bisexuality." 

JJ rolled her eyes and sat down to eat, while Sandy returned to her magazine. 

A few mouthfuls in, JJ's phone buzzed. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw it was Emily's name that had flashed up on the screen. 

Is it about last night? Is she angry?

Or…

Or does she feel the same way? 

JJ fumbled to unlock her phone.

Emily sent 7.08: We have a case.

"Hello?" Emily called out, after unlocking Wil's apartment door.

"Hey babe!" came Wil's voice. "I'm in the kitchen." 

Emily kicked off her shoes and put her bag down. Then she leaned against the wall next to the coat rack, taking a second to breathe

It had been a mercifully busy day at Quantico. All four BAU women were nursing relatively severe hangovers, but there had been no time to commiserate, or even mention the night before, which suited Emily just fine. 

Her morning had started with a 6.30am call from Massachusetts, where detectives had finally located the unsub in a case the BAU had been consulting on for weeks. After an early briefing, she had sent Tara, JJ and Luke up north to assist while she, Rossi and Garcia held down the fort from Quantico.

Was the decision rooted in who had the relevant field expertise? Yes.

Was it also influenced by Emily's desire to avoid JJ and Tara, possibly forever? Also yes.

She was grateful for the distraction of work. It had been one of those whirlwind days, the kind Emily relished, full of on-the-spot thinking and frantic phone calls and false starts and tough decisions, all of it underscored by a deep sense of duty, the knowledge that what the BAU did was hard, but it mattered. 

In the middle of it all, Emily's mother had called.

Elizabeth had invited her to dinner in a couple days time, an invitation that was — in a sad indictment on their relationship — supremely weird. It was rare they got together outside of Christmas and Thanksgiving, and even those, they participated in more out of obligation and loneliness than a genuine desire to see one another. 

What on earth does she want to talk about?

Emily had been curious, but she had been in the middle of negotiating with the Boston police chief and there had been no time to talk. She only picked up because it was so unusual for her mother to phone in the middle of a random weekday that she assumed there was some kind of emergency and, as far as Emily knew, Elizabeth had no one else to call.

But duty called, and as the day rolled on, she banished her mother to the same corner of her mind as the night out at Jade.

After a tense stand-off, the unsub was apprehended outside Boston. Emily completed the relevant paperwork, easier now that she wasn't acting in two roles. JJ, Luke and Tara booked a commercial flight home the next day, Emily yet to nail down with Bailey the finer details of when the BAU could and couldn't use the jet.

And then it was over. Not for the first time, Emily actually wanted the case to stay at the forefront of her mind. But she could no longer avoid the events of the night before.

It was, frankly, too much for one night. Hanging out in a group with her girlfriend for the first time. Her confrontation with Tara. Tara's implication that her feelings for JJ were mutual. The look she and JJ had shared at the bar, during which Emily was certain her eyes had given away every inch of her feelings. The way JJ had held onto her hip, which had felt impossibly, embarrassingly, guiltily good.

Still standing by Wil's coat rack, Emily absent-mindedly touched her own hip, trying to replicate JJ's hold, retrospectively investigate what it had meant. 

Am I making something out of nothing? 

She didn't know. She didn't know if she wanted to know. She did know there was no way of asking.

"Hey, JJ, when we looked into each other's eyes, was that a deeply romantic moment or just a platonic, normal best friends kind of thing? Totally fine either way!"

"Jay, got a minute? When you held onto my hip at Jade, were you trying to signal that you want to have sex with me, or simply trying to steady yourself? Just wanted to check."

"JJ, quick question. Were you hitting on me at Jade?" 

There was no combination of words that wasn't absolutely mortifying.

Plus, JJ's situation belied her actions. She was so newly divorced that she wasn't even divorced yet. She had even said it herself, after coming out to Tara: "I am not ready to date."

And then there was Wil.

Emily felt guilty, even though nothing had happened. With every day that her feelings for JJ didn't fade, she felt herself inch closer to having to face reality. 

Yes, feelings for other people was a thing that happened in relationships. It was human, and merely having them wasn't unethical, and they weren't always fatal to the relationship. But at what point did the way she felt about JJ go beyond that? When did it become unfair to Wil? Had it already?

Emily had never been invested enough in her past relationships to worry about really hurting someone. Or getting hurt herself. 

Denial really is underrated.

She finally peeled herself away from the coat rack and walked toward the kitchen, entering to find Wil poking a spatula at a sizzling pan. 

"Hey you," Wil said.

"That smells amazing," Emily said, kissing her hello. "How are you?" 

"Pretty good now," Wil said. "Rough morning though." 

"Tell me about it," Emily said. "I can't believe how many wines I used to be able to put away without feeling a thing." 

"Yeah, well. We're old," Wil said. 

"Not that old!" Emily said. 

Wil laughed. 

"Sounds like you had a big day?" she said.

"Huge," Emily said, shrugging off her blazer and taking a seat at the breakfast bar. "I honestly don't know how I got through it."

"Last night worth the hangover?" Wil asked.

The funny thing was, despite all the drama, Emily had still had a good time at Jade. There was an undercurrent of warmth to her roiling emotions about JJ and Tara and Wil.

Her initial self-consciousness aside, it had felt really nice to introduce Wil to her friends as her girlfriend. To sit there with other queer women, knowing they all had that in common, and laugh and banter and talk. Emily had been surprised by how comfortable she felt in the gay bar. How far she had come.

It made her feel tender, a vulnerable kind of pride deep in the pit of her stomach.

"Oh, yeah," Emily said. "It was fun. Jade was so busy though."

"It was crazy," Wil said, turning to focus her attention on the stovetop. Once her back was to Emily, she spoke again. "JJ is nice."

Emily felt immediately nervous.

"Yeah?" she said. "What did you guys talk about?" 

"Oh, sports. College. Nothing much." 

"I'm glad you got on OK," Emily said.

There was a brief silence.

"You didn't tell me she was bi," Wil said evenly.

Emily scrutinized the back of her girlfriend's head, trying to read her body language from behind.

"Did she tell you that?"

Wil turned around, spatula in hand. "Is it a secret?"

"No, it's just... I was just wondering," Emily said.

"Rebecca mentioned it at work today," Wil said, before turning back around to the stove. "I just thought it was strange, is all. That you've never mentioned your best friend is queer."

After Wil and JJ's disastrous first meeting, Emily had tried to give Wil a fuller impression of the role JJ played in her life. She had given her the broad brushstrokes of their shared work history, their friendship.

Obviously, she hadn't told her everything.

"I've only known for a few weeks," Emily said. "JJ told me after I came out at work." 

"OK," Wil said. "But... we've talked about JJ since then, a few times."

Emily shrugged.

"She told me right before the Voit operation. It slipped my mind." 

"Really," Wil said. There was no lilt at the end of her voice, the word more a statement than a question.

"Really what?"

"It just... never mind," Wil said.

"No, tell me." 

Wil switched off the burner, pushing the pan back off the heat, and turned to face Emily.

She raked a hand through her hair, her face slightly pink from the heat of the stovetop, before leaning forward on the breakfast bar. The sleeves of her button-up shirt were pushed up to her elbows, the top two buttons loose.

Emily, seated on the other side of the bar, clasped her hands in her lap, just out of Wil's line of vision. Wil's measured calmness was putting her on edge. There was something she wasn't saying. 

"I just thought that after your, um, realization, I guess, that JJ also being queer would be more of a big deal," Wil said. "I don’t know, I'm just thinking about how I would have felt if my best friend came out almost immediately after I did."

"I'm not a teenager," Emily said, frustration creeping into her voice. "And it's not a big deal to JJ."

Wil looked a little hurt.

"Sure," she said. "OK. But is there some reason you didn't tell me?"

"Reason like what?" Emily said.

She knew she had consciously kept it from Wil, but she couldn't coherently explain why. It was just too close to her feelings for JJ, even though they had started long before Emily knew JJ was bi. 

"I don't know," Wil said. "Like a… a history."

She tried to say it casually, but her voice betrayed her. Emily could tell it was the point she had been building to the entire time.

"Never mind," Wil said quickly, before Emily could say anything. "I'm just being stupid. Are you ready to eat?"

"Wait, Wil," Emily said. "Yes, I'm ready to eat. But what do you mean?" 

"I just…" Wil shook her head. "Seeing you guys together last night, and then hearing that from Rebecca. The way JJ came over that night without calling. It just made me wonder."

Emily swallowed. She felt eaten up with guilt.

"There's no history," she said. "We're just close."

Wil nodded.

"Remember the whole me having never been with a woman before?" Emily said. "It was kind of an issue for you, if I recall correctly."

"OK," Wil said. She gave one more final nod. "Like I said, forget it."  

Wil dished up, and they ate mostly without speaking, forks and knives clinking against the plates.

"I got a weird call from my mom today," Emily said, just to break the silence.

"Yeah?"

"She wants to have dinner with me on Saturday."

"That's weird?"

Emily sometimes forget she and Wil hadn't been dating for that long, in the scheme of things. Of course Wil knew Emily wasn't close to her mom, that their relationship was distant and strained and characterized by mutual disappointment. But there was parts of Emily and Elizabeth's dynamic — not to mention Emily's life in general — that were still unknown to Wil. And parts of Wil's life that were a mystery to Emily too. 

"It's just… not really something we do," Emily said. "We see each other when we have to." 

Wil took another bite.

"Maybe she just wants to catch up," she said.

"I doubt that," Emily said.

"Well, maybe this is a good time to tell her that you're seeing somebody," Wil said.

"She knows I'm seeing somebody," Emily said without thinking.

Ever since Christmas, she and Wil had skirted around the topic of coming out to her mother. Emily hadn't admitted that she told Elizabeth she was in a relationship with someone but lied about the pronoun, and Wil hadn't pressed her on it. Emily suspected she didn't really want to know.

Wil stiffened a little. "Not me, though, right?"

"Right," Emily agreed reluctantly.

"So she thinks you're seeing a man." 

Emily chewed slowly, trying to think of a good answer. 

"Yes," she said eventually, unable to land on anything better. 

"Did you just let her assume?" Wil said. "Or did you do the old swap out she for he trick?"

"Wil…" 

"Sorry," Wil said. "It just feels shitty."

"I know," Emily said quietly.

They had conversations on this theme a couple times, usually a short snippy exchange before one of them would let it go and instinctively move to console the other. But this time — whether it was crabbiness from being hungover, or the lingering tension of the JJ chat, or both — they both let the other sit in their discomfort.

They quietly cleaned up the kitchen, Emily scrubbing the pan while Wil packed the dishwasher. 

"What do you want to do?" Emily asked.

"There's a game on," Wil said. "Or we could watch some TV. I don't mind."

How is there always a game on?

"Maybe we can just do our own thing," Emily said. "I might go lie down and read." 

"Sure," Wil said. She sat down on the couch and switched on the TV, staring resolutely at the screen. 

Emily watched her for a couple of seconds, wondering if there was anything she could say.

Deciding there wasn't, she retreated into Wil's room, and gently closed the door.

Chapter Text

"So what's the occasion, Mom?" Emily said.

She gazed expectantly across the table. It had been almost an hour since she parked outside Elizabeth's cavernous house, giving herself the usual quick motivational speech in the car — don't let her get to you, just let it bounce off — before reluctantly going inside.

The two of them had engaged in their usual stilted small talk, Emily giving little away as she waited for Elizabeth to say whatever it was that had prompted the invitation. At the back of her mind, she wondered if her mother had somehow heard about Wil. 

She didn't want to ask, lest she come across as eager for her mother's opinion on anything. But Elizabeth hadn't been forthcoming, and Emily was tired of bracing herself.

Elizabeth set down her knife and fork and picked up a napkin, dabbing primly at her mouth, before answering Emily's question.

"I heard you got demoted." 

Oh.

"How did you hear that?" Emily asked.

"I still talk to people in government, Emily," Elizabeth said. "So what happened?"

Emily gave her mother the broad brushstrokes. How the brass had insisted Sicarius was Benjamin Reeves. How she had authorized Rossi to keep investigating regardless. How the senior profiler had ended up in Elias Voit's clutches.

"Well, that wasn't very smart, was it?" Elizabeth said, when Emily finally finished speaking.

Emily took a deep breath.

Just ignore her.

"Well, that depends," Emily said.

"On what?" 

"I don't know, on whether you think it's relevant that we caught one of the worst serial killers in modern history?" 

"Well of course it's relevant, Emily," Elizabeth said condescendingly. "But you can't just defy the Attorney General like that. Your colleague could very well have died." 

"I didn't realize being a diplomat gave you so much insight into policing strategy," Emily said.

"And," Elizabeth continued, ignoring Emily, "it doesn't bode well if you ever wanted to be considered for director again." 

There it is.

"That's not going to happen," Emily said.

"Why not?" Elizabeth asked.

"I don't want to relitigate this, Mom," Emily said. "I had my shot. It didn't work out. I got taken off the list. You don't get put back on it. End of story."

They ate in silence for a while.

"So what, that's it?" Elizabeth said. "It's just BAU unit chief until you retire?" 

"Unless I get demoted again," Emily said flippantly.

Elizabeth sighed. "It's just disappointing to see you slipping back down the ladder after all the work you've done to get up it." 

"I don't work hard to rise up the ranks of the FBI," Emily said, insulted. "I work hard because what I do is important. If I don't do my job properly, people die."

"Will you be able to work your way back up to section chief?"

"I hope not," Emily said. "It's an awful job." 

"I'm sure that's not true." 

"It's all paperwork and politics and sucking up to people," Emily said, knowing the description would irritate Elizabeth, hating that she was engaging in her mother's game.

"Hm," Elizabeth said.

Bingo.

As the conversation lapsed yet again, Emily's mind turned to her decision to simply acquiesce to the demotion. Elizabeth's curiosity wasn't unwarranted, even if she had gone about it in the wrong way. 

The Attorney General had been adamant someone had to take the fall. She was desperate to cover her ass in case the details of the Voit debacle were leaked and the media printed the real story, not the sanitized version that had been put out by the FBI press office.

If it all got out, they would need a scapegoat. But that person didn't have to be Emily. She could have protested, fought back harder. With deputy director Bailey in her corner, she might have even won.

She had been surprised to realize she didn't want to. Part of it was her genuine distaste for the job. But a much larger part was the way her priorities had shifted as a fulfilling life outside of work had beckoned, as she had come out to herself.

"While I'm disappointing you," Emily said, "there's something about the person I'm seeing you should know."

"You split up?" Elizabeth asked, so sure of the answer that she didn't wait for Emily to confirm. "What was his name again? Will?"

"No, we didn't split up, and yes, it's Wil," Emily said. "But she's a woman." 

Elizabeth looked at Emily intently, as if trying to determine whether her daughter was joking.

Emily looked back defiantly, refusing to break her mother's gaze, silently praying that her vulnerability wasn't showing on her face.

It was always dangerous to show Elizabeth her underbelly. And this part of her was still so very soft.

"Is that so?" Elizabeth said.

"Yes," Emily said. "I'm dating a woman."

Elizabeth scrutinized her daughter for a few seconds more, before looking down at her plate.

About 10 seconds passed by in silence.

"Are you going to say anything?" Emily said.

Elizabeth sighed.

"I'm just taking it in, Emily." 

There was another silence. Emily felt herself growing frustrated.

Saying the words had taken courage, so much so that it felt faintly ridiculous, especially considering she was 52 and had been telling herself for years that she didn't particularly care what her mother thought about anything. 

She didn't know what she had expected. Not a parade, or a hug, or congratulations. Judgment, definitely. Mild interest, perhaps. Elizabeth occasionally surprised her.

But not nothing.

The words had been out there on the table for a long time now, too long, and Elizabeth still hadn't said anything. Emily's nervous energy was re-circulating through her body, nothing to latch onto, nowhere to go. 

Elizabeth looked up, the news seemingly digested. Emily braced herself.

"Just because it hasn't worked out with men so far is no reason to exile yourself to some kind of exaggerated friendship for the rest of your life," Elizabeth said, her tone even as always.

It took a second for Emily to absorb what her mother had just said. 

"Wow," she said.

There was another pause.

"I don't even… Jesus, it's not friendship," Emily said. "It's…"

She trailed off, realizing Elizabeth was the last person in the world she wanted to have this conversation with.

"It's what?" Elizabeth said.

"It's, um, romantic," Emily said. "It's… physical."

This is excruciating.

"It's what a relationship should be," she added, unable to bear the word "physical" hanging in the air.

Elizabeth looked skeptical.

"Are you sure you know what a relationship should be?" she said.

Emily felt a surge of humiliation. 

"Why?" she shot back angrily. "Because you never showed me?"

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow at the barb, her expression otherwise unchanged.

Emily found her mother's relentless poise enraging. She never lost her composure, never relinquished the upper hand, even as she dug deep under her daughter's skin.

The thing was, Emily knew Elizabeth knew gay people. That she had been friendly, or at least courteous, with them over the years. Elizabeth was judgmental and harsh and image-obsessed, but she wasn't sheltered, or even particularly bigoted, considering she was born in the 1940s. She was a diplomat who had traveled the world and seen it all.

It made her reaction worse, somehow. Emily almost wished she could put her mom's displeasure down to a deeply-felt aversion, to a misguided strain of religious conservatism, to garden-variety disgust.

Then it wouldn't be so personal. It wouldn't be about the fact Elizabeth cared more about impressing others than her daughter's happiness.

It wouldn't be about Emily not being the person Elizabeth wanted her to be.

"Can we just be honest here?" Emily said. "I know that you know gay people, so stop talking to me about friendship like you're some kind of youth pastor."

She took a deep breath.

"You don't want me to be gay," she said. "Just admit it. You're embarrassed."

Elizabeth pursed her lips. 

"And you should be embarrassed," Emily said, her voice betraying how hurt she was. "It's embarrassing to act like that toward your daughter."

Elizabeth shook her head, issuing a short, patronizing chuckle.

"It's not that, Emily," she said.

"Then what is it?"

"Is this really…" Elizabeth sighed. "Is this you, Emily? Are you sure?"

"Sure about what?" Emily said bluntly. "About being gay?"

She was annoyed by Elizabeth skirting around the words, even though she had been doing the same thing for months.

"Are you really sure that this is what you want?" Elizabeth said.

The doubt in her mother's voice made Emily second-guess herself all over again.

Over the past month or so, slowly and with great hesitation, she had started to think of herself as a lesbian. She knew the label probably wouldn't make much sense to anyone else, given she had dated men her entire life. But she had to accept that the way she felt about Wil and JJ wasn't in addition to anything. It wasn't a "too". It wasn't an "as well". It eclipsed it all.

Still, she hadn't said the words "I'm gay" or "I'm a lesbian" out loud to anyone, not even Wil. Not without some kind of qualifier. I think, maybe, I might be, probably, who knows.

Elizabeth was watching her, waiting for an answer.

"I think so," Emily said.

"Have there been other women?" Elizabeth asked. Her phrasing somehow made it sound illicit, as though Emily had been having an affair.

"No," Emily said. "Wil is my- the first."

"So it's recent," Elizabeth said. "You giving up on men."

"I didn't give up on men."

Well, I kind of did.

"I just… I don't think they were ever for me."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow.

"It's a bit late to be figuring that out, isn't it?" 

It felt like a slap across the face.

It wasn't that Elizabeth had no filter. If anything, she had too many filters. She was a chameleon, able to mold herself to the social mores of any given situation.

But when it came to Emily, she could always be trusted to say exactly what she thought. What everyone else was too polite to say. And she had just given voice to one of Emily's greatest fears.

Emily was sure Wil thought the same thing. JJ too. Tara and Derek and Rossi, and everybody else who knew and would ever find out.

It's a bit late to be figuring that out, isn't it?

They all thought she was a complete fucking idiot.

"Well, it's… when I did," Emily said, completely thrown off.

"When you were younger, you latched on to whatever you thought would annoy me most," Elizabeth said. She hesitated for a second before adding: "And I know you had some problems with intimacy after going undercover."

The therapist Emily had been forced to see after everything happened with Doyle had encouraged her to talk to Elizabeth about how she was feeling about her life. The guilt she felt over her fake death. Her loneliness. The way she struggled to commit to romantic relationships. Her decision not to restart IVF.

Emily had tried to explain her relationship with her mother was broken long before she was even recruited by Interpol, let alone got into an undercover relationship with a terrorist.

But the therapist had pointed out — rather brusquely, in Emily's opinion — that she had very few people in her life outside of the BAU and, for better or worse, Elizabeth was one of them.

After a conversation that rivalled a 10-year-old learning about the birds and the bees in terms of mutual discomfort, Emily had vowed to never share her emotional life with her mother again.

"Some problems," Emily repeated, issuing a short, bitter laugh. "Yes, that mission fucked me up. In so many ways you will never understand. But that's not why I'm…"

She hated that she still couldn't bring herself to say it. 

"And thinking that this is some kind of rebellion?" Emily said, changing tack. "How self-obsessed are you? I don't know if you noticed, Mom, but I'm not young anymore. And this has nothing to do with you."

"If you say so," Elizabeth said.

"You know, I was hoping you'd be happy for me," Emily said bitterly.

"I want you to be happy," her mother replied.

There was another silence, as the distance between those two statements — so similar, and yet so contrary; so dishonest, and yet each containing a grain of truth — yawned between them.

Emily took a deep breath. 

You can just leave, she reminded herself.

Just go.

"I'm going to go," Emily said calmly.

"So soon?" Elizabeth replied. 

"Yep," Emily replied firmly.

She got up, scraped her plate, and put it in the dishwasher, silently willing herself through the minute or so until she could get out into the crisp evening air and start coming back to herself.

She grabbed her bag.

"Well, bye," she said.

"I'll walk you to the door," Elizabeth said, getting up slowly.

As Emily walked down the corridor, two steps ahead of her mother, she wrestled with a question, one that she did and didn't want to ask Elizabeth. 

Should I ask her?

Don't ask.

Ask.

Don't ask.

She put her hand on the doorknob, and looked at Elizabeth.

"Did you know?" 

Emily felt pathetic as the words came out of her mouth. Why was she turning to her mother for solace? The same woman who thought Emily was so emotionally stunted she didn't know what a relationship was?

She didn't want to need anything from Elizabeth. She had accepted financial support long after it felt good, figuring if she wasn't getting emotional sustenance she may as well take the cash. But in the decades since that ended, Emily had stopped expected anything from her mother.

Still, Elizabeth was the only person in the world who might be able to connect the dots between who Emily was as an adolescent and who she was now. At some point, young Emily had stashed away her queerness, locked it in a mental fortress so impenetrable that it endured long into middle age. Why had she done that? Did Elizabeth hold the key?

Is it her fault?

Or is it mine?

"Were there any, I don't know, signs?" Emily said. "When I was younger?"

Elizabeth looked at her, impassive.

"I couldn't read your mind when you were a child any better than I can now," she said.

Emily nodded.

I don't know what I expected.

"Well, bye," she said, a second time, before walking out the door.

After letting herself into Wil's apartment, Emily strode straight through to the living room, dropping her bag and kicking off her shoes en route to the couch.

She knew she'd find Wil there. Her girlfriend was lying down, dressed in sweats, one hand propped under her head as she lazily watched TV, the other resting on her stomach.

Emily sat down on the small piece of exposed couch.

"Hey yo-," Wil began, unable to finish the greeting as Emily pulled her into a deep kiss.

She needed an antidote to her mother's doubt. To remind herself of how Wil made her feel, of how real and genuine and, yes, physical, it was. To remember why she had ventured down this terrifying path in the first place.

Seeing Elizabeth had left her feeling completely adrift.

Wil returned the kiss passionately, grunting softly at Emily's enthusiasm, before she broke away, grabbing onto Emily to hoist herself up to a sitting position.

"Woah," Wil said, laughing gently. "What did I do to deserve that?"

Her expression changed to one of concern as she took in Emily's face.

"Are you OK?"

"I came out to her."

"Oh, Emily," Wil said. She grabbed the remote and switched off the TV. "What happened?"

At first, as Emily filled her in, Wil was engaged. She listened intently, absently stroked Emily's thigh and cheek, made sympathetic noises.

But as Emily kept talking, as she got into what Elizabeth had said, how it made her feel, she could sense Wil starting to withdraw. Her affect became flatter, her reactions increasingly monosyllabic. if Emily didn't know better, she would have thought Wil was bored.

Emily stopped talking, knowing from years of conducting interrogations that a gap in the conversation would force Wil to offer something more substantial. 

A few seconds passed.

"It sounds like she's worried about you," Wil said.

"Worried about me?" Emily said in disbelief. "She asked me if I know what a relationship should be like. Do you know how humiliating that is?"

Emily wasn't sure why she was repeating a jibe that made her feel so fundamentally pathetic. Maybe because she desperately wanted Wil to tell her Elizabeth was wrong. She didn't want to admit that deep down she agreed with her mother.

Accepting herself as gay had required letting go of the notion that her romantic past, if you could even call it that, had actually meant anything. And with that came the inescapable fact that Emily had reached her early 50s before entering a relationship that actually felt real, where she wasn't just going through the motions.

Maybe I don't know what a relationship should be.

She couldn't combat Elizabeth on her own, not this time. She needed Wil's anger to diminish her pain.

But Wil said nothing.

"She called what we have friendship!" Emily said. "Come on."

Wil shrugged.

"I don't know, Emily," she said. "A lot of old people talk about gay couples like that. The relationship thing, yeah, that's a low blow. But the rest? Honestly, it sounds like she's just surprised. Which…"

Wil thought better of finishing the sentence.

"Which what?" Emily snapped.

Wil just shook her head, looking annoyed at Emily's persistence.

"What, Wil?"

"Which, fair enough!" Wil said. "You're coming out in your 50s! What do you expect her to say? 'That's nice dear. And how's work?'"

Emily looked at Wil, too offended to know what to say. Whatever she had expected from her girlfriend, this was not it.

"She said some insensitive things," Wil said. "But it's not like she rejected you."

"She rejected me years ago," Emily said, feeling stung.

"I didn't know mothers who rejected their kids typically invited them over for dinner," Wil said, an edge to her voice.

"Just because your bar for parents is so low that it's fucking underground, Wil, it doesn't meant everyone else's are perfect," Emily said.

Wil scoffed.

"I don't get it," Emily said, frustrated. "You were furious at my team but now you're defending my mother? Who you've never even met?"

"Sorry, my invitation must have gotten lost in the mail," Wil said pointedly.

Emily glared at her.

"The thing with your team was completely different," Wil said. "That was an invasion of privacy. You chose to tell your mom, didn't you? Or did she try and profile me too?"

"That's not funny," Emily said. "And you wanted me to tell her." 

You pressured me, she added silently.

"So I'm too mad at your friends, and I'm not mad enough at your mom," Wil said. "And her reaction is somehow my fault too. I don't know what you want from me."

"I just want your support!"

"You have it!"

"No I don't!" Emily said. "I have your opinions. I have your judgment. I just want you to listen, not endlessly layer your own hang-ups over everything."

Wil gave her a bitter smile.

"Can't say I didn't warn you,” she said.

"Warn me?" Emily said combatively. 

"I told you I can't be around this kind of thing," Wil said, her voice spilling over into frustration. "Now you're mad at me for not dealing with it perfectly?"

"No, you told me that I had to come out," Emily said. "Not that I couldn't mention it." 

"Well, I'm telling you now."

"You don't want to hear about it?" Emily said incredulously.

"I don't want to hear about it," Wil shot back.

Silence fell over the apartment.

Wil unfolded herself from the couch, tossing the TV remote onto the newly vacated cushion. She wandered into the kitchen and opened a cupboard, getting out a glass.

It irritated Emily that Wil often physically walked away when they had an argument. It wasn't a dramatic flouncing off — she never left the room — but she would occupy herself with some mindless chore or activity, as if trying to create distance from the topic at hand. She knew it was a quirk of Wil's psychology, but it came across as dismissive.

Emily swiveled around on the couch to face Wil.

"You are pathologically closed off from whatever happened to you when you came out," Emily said, enunciating each word slowly. "And if you don't do something about it, it's going to eat you alive."

More than it already has.

As Emily's words landed, Wil stopped moving through the kitchen. She raised her eyebrows, just slightly, not looking at Emily. And then she continued to the tap, slowly filling her glass before looking back up.

"What can I do about it?" she asked flatly. "Got a time machine?" 

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but go to therapy," Emily said.

Wil snorted derisively. "I'm the one who needs therapy because I'm closed off from my past. OK Emily." 

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"What do you think it means?"

"Oh, we're going there?" 

"Sounds like you want to."

They glowered at each other, Wil standing behind the breakfast bar, Emily still seated on the couch.

She stood up.

"Don't fucking act superior to me," Emily said. "Just because it was so easy for you to figure yourself out."

She knew her words were unfair. That they would upset Wil.

She wanted to hurt Wil, to offend her, to fight. An ugly part of her was desperate for a reaction, for Wil to come out swinging, so Emily could take out all the anger and hurt stirred up by Elizabeth on Wil instead and feel like it was justified.

She wanted Wil to feel as awful as she did.

"Easy?" Wil said. She nodded. "Easy. Huh."

She slowly drank from the glass, which Emily found maddening, a reminder of her mother's preternatural calm.

"You have no idea how hard it is to do this," Emily said. "To have to admit over and over that I was so wrong about myself. To have everyone looking at me like I'm an idiot."

"I have no idea?" Wil said. "Are you serious?" 

"You came out when you were meant to," Emily said. "When it's normal to be figuring yourself out. You have no idea what it's like to do this at 50."

"You're right, Emily," Wil said sarcastically. "I have no idea what it's like to come out in 2023, because I came out in 1980-fucking-nine."

"Why do you resent me for coming out late? It makes no fucking sense, Wil. I…" Emily felt a lump forming in her throat. 

She swallowed thickly and kept talking.

"Do you know how sad I am about not knowing that? How different my life could have been? And then to finally find someone I actually like — who I like so much — and know she looks down on me?"

"I don't look down on you!" Wil said, frustrated.

Both of their voices were just short of a yell, growing louder with every sentence.

"You do!" Emily said. "You think it's insane that it took me so long to realize that I'm gay. And you haven't even tried to understand how much it hurts to have missed out on my own fucking life, because you have such an enormous fucking chip on your shoulder about something that happened 30 years ago!"

"Missed out?!" Wil said, with a sarcastic laugh. "You want to know what you missed out on? You missed out on hating yourself. Of sorting through all those fucking feelings as a teenager. With no freedom and no money and no support and, once they found out, no family-" 

Wil's voice cracked as she continued. 

"-and nowhere to go and no internet or clubs or gay marriage or pride flags or TV shows or the million other things that are meant to make me feel better about myself but have no fucking effect at all!"

"Wil, I-”

"You know what the most screwed up thing is?" Wil said. "People tell you enough times that you're broken and you start to believe it. That's when you break. And by the time you realize you weren't broken in the first place, it's too late. You can't undo it. It's done." 

Hurt was etched across Wil's face, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She was gripping the water glass so tightly that her knuckles were white.

"I don't resent you, Emily," she said. "I'm fucking jealous."

Emily briefly wondered if the glass in Wil's hand was going to shatter.

She wanted to press rewind, to take the two of them back to the moment Wil said "I don't want to hear about it," so she could just drop it. So they could watch some TV together, or Wil could and Emily could read with her feet in her girlfriend's lap. So they could go to bed, probably still feeling resentful, but hold each other anyway, wake up feeling better, apologize.

Or maybe she could go back further. Tell Elizabeth 'Sorry, I can't do dinner, see you at Thanksgiving'. Be honest with Wil from the outset. Accept her feelings for JJ before blowing up their friendship. See herself in her forties. Her thirties. Her twenties. Her teens.

Emily felt winded with regret.

And she had no idea what to say to Wil, how to even begin addressing the raw hurt she had just elicited from a woman who, if circumstances were different, she maybe could have loved.

Wil didn't look like she wanted sympathy. She looked like she wanted Emily to get the fuck out of her apartment. Maybe her life.

"I don't think you're broken," Emily said softly.

"Pathologically closed off," Wil repeated, her voice caustic. "Sure you don't."

The color had drained from Wil's face, every inch of her body taut with a quiet fury. Her hand was trembling as she placed the empty glass on the countertop, the apartment so quiet that Emily started at the clink.

"But, hey, you know what?" Wil continued, each word laced with venom. "At least I didn’t waste years of my fucking life pretending to be someone I’m not."

Emily flinched.

It was impossible to tell if Wil actually meant it, or if she was just aiming to hurt.

It didn't really matter.

It hurt so fucking much.

"You want to grieve your own fucking ignorance, fine," Wil said. "Go talk to your friend JJ about it. But don't put that shit on me."

"Fuck you," Emily managed to get out.

She grabbed her bag and shoes, not stopping to put them on, and left, slamming the door behind her.

Chapter Text

On the way back to her apartment, Emily turned the radio up full bore. 

She didn't care what was blasting through the SUV speakers so long as it was loud, deafening enough to occupy her senses, engulf her emotions, drown out her evening. Her mind was a blur.

"At least I didn’t waste years of my fucking life pretending to be someone I’m not."

Fuck you, Wil.

I wasn't pretending.

Forced to pause at a stop light, Emily ignored the sidelong glance she received from the driver to her left, who was no doubt surprised to see a middle-aged woman and not a group of rowdy teenagers occupying the vibrating car.

She jiggled her leg impatiently, aware she was probably too upset to be driving. But she needed to be in motion, to feel the physical sensation of moving away from Wil — from the fight, from coming out to her mom — even though she was just making the short trip home, even though she had no idea what she'd do once she got there.

"You want to grieve your own fucking ignorance, fine. Go talk to your friend JJ about it."

The light turned green. Emily pressed down on the accelerator, staring resolutely ahead at the road.

Maybe I will fucking talk to my friend JJ about it.

Should I call JJ?

I shouldn't call JJ.

Her instinct was to turn inward. To process what had happened by herself, and open up about it to one of the handful of people she trusted some other time, when she was feeling less raw. But the twin disasters of Elizabeth and Wil hurt so much Emily wasn't sure she could dull the pain with wine and cynicism alone.

JJ would know what to say. And she didn't have the boys this weekend.

But something gave Emily pause. Perhaps not wanting to act out Wil's final jab, perhaps the fact Emily knew deep down she had an ulterior motive for calling her friend.

Who else is there?

She cycled through a depressingly short list of candidates, ruling them all out in seconds. Tara was dating Wil's best friend and Emily already felt like their business was too intertwined. Morgan would listen, no doubt, but Emily would feel awkward, like she was intruding on his Saturday night. And though things were better with Garcia, Emily wasn't sure she'd ever allow herself to be vulnerable around the technical analyst again.

No one.

There's no one.

Emily pulled into her parking space and switched off the ignition, cutting out the music mid-lyric. At the sudden silence, a deep feeling of isolation crashed in.

She pulled out her phone, navigating to favorites and hit JJ's number. She pressed the phone to her ear, not knowing what she would say when JJ picked up.

I had a fight with Wil? No, that sounds pathetic. 

I came out to my mom? Too adolescent.

I'm having a crisis? Unnecessarily dramatic.

I need you? Waaaaay too loaded.

But the phone just rang… and rang… and rang.

There was a click, followed by a robotic voice. For security reasons, none of them had personalized voicemail messages.

"You've reached the voicemail of 724-"

Emily hung up, immediately feeling stupid.

What am I doing?

I had a fight with my girlfriend. Big fucking deal.

She shot JJ a quick text to say the call wasn't urgent, and got out of the car.

It was still relatively early, around 8.30pm. Emily had expected to be at Elizabeth's for longer, and then stay the night at Wil's, but now the remaining hours of Saturday night stretched out ahead of her.

As she entered her apartment she was immediately accosted by Sergio, the cat self-righteously demanding dinner even though Emily had left out plenty of kibble to tide him over for the night. She opened a tin, dumping the unpalatable contents in Sergio's bowl before getting out a wine glass for herself. As she poured, she realized with a pang of sadness that the bottle of red was one sent by the subscription service Wil had gifted her for Christmas.

She retreated to the couch, wine in hand, and switched on the TV, flicking through the Saturday night offerings until she found a crime procedural. Sergio jumped up next to her.

"Hey Sergio," Emily said, gently extending out her hand. "You don't judge me for coming out so late, do you?"

The black cat gave her hand a rare lick, the tiny show of affection so unexpected that Emily felt a lump form in her throat. 

Get a grip, Emily.

He's a cat.

She felt desperately lonely.

The regret that had overwhelmed her as she sparred with Wil had invaded every inch of her psyche. It made her life seem ridiculous. She was the expert profiler who didn't know herself at all. She felt like every decision she had ever made had been the wrong call. That everything she insisted on liking about herself had been a feeble attempt to compensate for the veritable ocean of flaws.

As she lingered on the couch, unable to focus on the uninspired dialogue emanating from the TV, her mind cycled between Elizabeth and Wil, switching from one to the other when the sting of their respective barbs became too much to bear. Every replay seemed to revive her anger, conjure up her grief anew.

Emily idly checked her phone, wondering if JJ would call her back. If Wil would text or call to say she was sorry. If she should do the same.

Eventually, she drained her glass and went to bed.

She grimaced at herself as she changed into pajamas, suddenly incapable of appreciating her middle aged body, her eyes drawn to the lines of her face, the stubborn softness to her once-toned belly, her scars.

She switched off the light and got into bed, her eyes fast adjusting to the darkened room. She had been staring at the ceiling for about 10 minutes when her phone began to buzz.

Emily rolled over to her nightstand to see a familiar smiling face, a photo she had snapped long ago, flashing up on the screen. She hesitated for a second before picking up.

"Hey Jay."

"Hey, Em. Sorry I missed you earlier." 

Already, JJ's voice was a balm. 

"No no, it's all good," Emily said. "How's your night?"

"Oh, fine. Watched a movie with Henry. Exciting Saturday for both of us, I know, but at least he's hanging out with me again."

"I thought Will had the boys until tomorrow night?" 

"We had a, uh, last minute change," JJ said. "Some of his friends invited him on a fishing trip." 

"A fishing trip?" Emily said skeptically.

"I know it sounds like he's skipping out on dad duty," JJ said. "Or parenting, as it's known. But I actually encouraged him to go. I… I'm not sure how he's taking it all, you know?"

"Yeah?" Emily said.

It was amazing how much easier she found hearing about Will now that he and JJ had separated. 

"Yeah," JJ said, sounding preoccupied. "He was on the same page about it being time to end things, but since we actually separated I've felt… relieved, honestly. Just, so much better. But he seems so sad. I thought he could use a weekend away. I mean, I don't know. I think a couple of his friends are divorced too, so maybe they can talk."

"If they can understand him," Emily quipped.

"Oh, he's not that bad," JJ said half-heartedly, but her laugh gave her away.

"Sure he's not," Emily drawled, smiling as she held the phone to her ear.

She heard the sound of something soft shifting in the background, perhaps a doona or pillow. She wondered if JJ was lying in bed too.

"I'm sorry he's not doing well," Emily added. "I hope the weekend away helps."

"Yeah," JJ said. "I wasn't doing anything anyway, and it's good to have a favor up my sleeve for when I need it. Plus, as much as I love my mom, she has a lot of questions about my life that I could really use a break from answering."

Emily laughed. The way JJ and Sandy had managed to drag their relationship out of the depths of disconnection into something so supportive and genuine had left her baffled. Envious, even.

Mom and I could never.

"Questions like what?" Emily asked.

"Oh, this and that," JJ said, suddenly evasive. "Anyway, sorry, I'm rambling. Was there a reason you called?"

"Oh, um…" Emily said, distracted by the easy flow of their conversation. "Speaking of moms. I came out to my mine. It wasn't great. And then I had a huge fight with Wil about it."

"Oh, jesus, Em," JJ said. "I'm so sorry."

"Yeah," Emily said. "I just… Sorry, I didn't know you had the boys or I wouldn't have called." 

"No, I'm glad you did," JJ said softly. "What happened?"

"Are you sure you can talk?" Emily said. "It's late."

"I called you!" JJ said. "I am in bed, though. So if I stop talking I've probably fallen asleep."

"OK," Emily said. "If you're sure."

JJ listened, occasionally offering commentary, as Emily explained what had happened, first describing the broad arc of her evening and then returning to Elizabeth. She told JJ about her mother's long silence after she said she was dating a woman. Elizabeth's comment about exaggerated friendship. Emily's mortifying clarification that, no, actually, Wil turned her on.

When she got to the bit about Elizabeth asking her if she knew what a relationship should be, JJ snorted.

"What?" Emily said, immediately defensive.

"Sorry but that's so ridiculous," JJ said. "What is she talking about? Does she think you've been waltzing through life with no idea of the human condition? Does she think you're a hermit? Does she know you're the most senior profiler in the FBI?"

Emily laughed hesitantly.

"Don't tell me she's in your head, Em," JJ said.

"It's just…" Emily sighed. "It's true that Wil is my first relationship that actually means something."

It occurred to Emily as she spoke that she hadn't yet told JJ she was pretty sure she was gay, as opposed to bisexual or some other label. But JJ moved right on, as if she completely understood what Emily was saying.

"Your past relationships don't mean nothing!" JJ said. "They're still… I don't know, human and intimate and real. You broke up because they weren't right for you. As it turns out, that's because they were men. But they could have been wrong for you in a million other ways."

"I guess so," Emily said, unconvinced.

"The idea that you don't know anything about relationships is so stupid," JJ said. "That's like saying you don't learn anything from anyone unless you marry them and stay together until you die." 

Emily wasn't sure she really believed what JJ was saying — though it did make sense — but regardless, it was helping her feel less pathetic. 

"I get that it feels right with Wil," JJ said gently. "And that's so important, Em. But knowing when a relationship is wrong is just as much of a learning curve as knowing when it's right." 

You can say that again.

"Trust me," JJ added.

Her firm tone made Emily wonder if — like during the Sydney Voit interview — JJ was thinking about the parallels to her own marriage.

"So what else did she say?" JJ said.

"Well, she asked if I was sure," Emily said. "She said it was, and I quote, 'a bit late' to be figuring it out. And she suggested I've resorted to dating women because I'm so fucked up from Doyle."

"You have to respect her creativity," JJ said thoughtfully, a hint of humor in her voice. "It's no garden-variety homophobia."

Emily smiled. JJ's refusal to take Elizabeth seriously somehow stripped the sting from her mother's words.

"My thoughts exactly," she said.

"Though I guess you're not a garden-variety daughter," JJ added.

"That's true," Emily said, feeling a pang of guilt over her fake death, which had — at least for Elizabeth — been all too real.

"Are- Are you out to your mom?" she asked JJ.

It felt bizarre that she didn't know. There was a time Emily would have sworn she knew everything about JJ, and vice versa — or at least as much as a person could know about another — but the past few months had obliterated that notion.

"I am," JJ said. "I have been for a really long time." She paused before adding: "I actually mentioned it to her again the other day, for the first time in years."

"How did she react? When you first told her?"

"Oh, the same way she reacted to basically everything I did as a teenager," JJ said. "By barely noticing."

"Oh Jay," Emily said.

"I wasn't like, walking around declaring I was bisexual," JJ said. "But I told her I was dating a girl when I was 17. I think I just wanted a reaction to check she was still in there, you know? She was so out of it that whole year." 

"I can't believe you were so bold," Emily said. "It was, like, what? The late '90s?"

"Yeah, but… I was blonde and got straight A's and was the captain of the soccer team and my sister had died and my dad had left," JJ said. "The great thing about having that much social capital and a tragic backstory is you can do pretty much whatever you want. And I… wanted to have sex with my best friend."

Emily cracked up at her bluntness. JJ could be so darkly funny sometimes.

"It's lucky I didn't want to do hard drugs," JJ added playfully. "Though the sex was almost as bad." 

"If it was anything like my experiences as a teenager, I can imagine," Emily said. "Or, for that matter, my experiences until… a few months ago."

Now it was JJ's turn to crack up. "Well at least you know why now, right?" she said.

"Right," Emily agreed. "So where is she now?" 

"My mom? At her apartment, I guess." 

"No, your best friend who you had bad sex with." 

"Oh!" JJ said. "Um, god, I don't know. Boston, last I heard? I'm pretty sure she's straight."

"Well, if there was anyone to make an exception for…" 

"You flatter me," JJ said coyly.

The phone call suddenly felt very intimate.

Emily listened to the sound of JJ's breath, conscious that on the other end of the line, JJ was doing the same. 

She had no idea what to say.

"Your mother's impossible," JJ said firmly, changing the tone. "Which we knew already. But what happened with Wil?" 

Emily silently flinched at the mention of her girlfriend.

"I don't even know where to start," she said hesitantly. "I felt so out of it after seeing my mom. I went back to her apartment and-"

Kissed her very passionately to remind myself that I like women.

"-I started telling her what happened and she was good, at first. A little strained. But then she just kind of shut down. I got upset and pushed her to say something, and she said basically it didn't sound like it had been that bad. And that she didn't want to hear about it. That she had warned me she couldn't hear about me coming out."

"Oh Em," JJ said. "Is that… true?" 

"Um, kind of," Emily said. "When we first started seeing each other, I didn't tell her right away that she was the first woman I'd ever dated. When she found out, she freaked out a little. Said she couldn't be around someone who was ashamed of being gay. And I said I wasn't and that I'd come out. Which… I don't know. Maybe I was naive."

"Right," JJ said slowly.

"Anyway, after she said all that about coming out to my mom, I got even more upset, and we got into it," Emily said. "Like, really got into it. About her coming out young and my coming out late and this kind of, who had it worse, bullshit. It was really brutal. I told her to go to therapy, that she was too hung up on something that happened 30 years ago. And she just exploded."

Emily's intonation shifted as she got closer to the climax of the fight.

"She was saying how hard it was for her, how I didn't understand. She actually said she was jealous of me for not knowing I was gay," Emily said, her voice a little rigid now. "But at least she didn't waste her life pretending to be someone she's not."

"Ouch," JJ said softly. "That is… a lot of pain she's throwing at you."

"Yeah," Emily said. 

"Is that when you left?" 

No, that's when she said "Go talk to your friend JJ about it." 

"Yeah, that's when I left."

"Oh Em," JJ said again. "I'm so sorry."

"I just… I feel so angry at her," Emily said.

"Of course you do." 

"She knows how hard I've found this whole thing," Emily said. "And after my mom threw it in my face, for her to just follow suit… it really, really hurt. I feel so fucking pathetic." 

"You're not pathetic, Em. Not even close," JJ said. "Coming out when you are… it's actually really brave. It's hard, and it's awkward, and I think some people in your position might just choose to keep pushing it down, or throw themselves into something else, you know?"

A swell of emotion rose up in Emily's chest as JJ spoke. 

"But you're choosing your own happiness," JJ said. "And I think that's really admirable."

Emily swallowed, worried she would start to cry if she tried to respond right away. 

A few seconds passed.

"Thanks," Emily said quietly.

"I mean it," JJ replied.

Emily paused again, mulling over the fight, her role in it. "It was just so intense," she said. "The way we were trying to hurt each other. I mean, it wasn't just her. I was doing it too. At least at the start." 

"Everyone does that," JJ said diplomatically. "I've done it to Will, he's done it to me. No one fights fair 100% of the time." 

Emily was slowly realizing JJ was being more cautious in what she was saying. She had freely made fun of Emily's mother, knocking her barbs down to size with abandon. But with Wil, she was holding back.

Why?

"Jay, is… is there something you're not saying?"

"I just…" JJ began.

Emily heard her sigh before starting again.

"I don't want to slam Wil," she said. "You didn't choose your mother, you know? But you did choose her. I can see how much you like her. And at the, um, at the bar other the, the other night."

JJ was stumbling over her words.

"At Jade. I could see how much she likes you too."

Emily and JJ had spoken several times since Jade, but this was the first time either of them had actually brought up the night at the gay bar.

Emily knew exactly why she had been studiously avoiding the topic, but couldn't say for sure if JJ had the same motive. She figured it hadn't come up either because the look and touch they had shared had meant everything, or it had meant nothing, which wasn't a particularly helpful conclusion.

Still, JJ bringing it up took Emily back to that heady moment. How she had felt as she had looked into JJ's eyes. What she had been thinking. 

It didn't mean nothing to me.

But what about her?

She heard JJ shift, prompting Emily to picture her lying in bed, staring up into the darkened room the same way Emily was, phone pressed to her ear.

"I just don't want to overstep," JJ said, her voice cutting through the silence.

"You wouldn't," Emily said. 

There was another pause.

"It sounds like she took out a lot of her own shit on you," JJ said. "You don't deserve that. Of course I'm angry she did that to you. But I also think it has a lot more to do with her than it has to do with you. You have to decide…" 

JJ trailed off.

"Decide what?"

"If you can look past it, I guess," JJ said, her voice quiet. "If you need someone — if you want someone — who can be there for you while you're still coming out."

Can I look past it?

"Not that you ever really stop coming out," JJ added.

Do I want to?

"Sorry," JJ said quickly. "Like I said, I don't want to overstep." 

"No, I'm just thinking," Emily said. "You're right. I… I don't know."

"If you can look past it?" 

"If I want to," Emily said, honestly. "Maybe I rushed into things with Wil."

"You think so?"

"I don't know."

There was a pause.

"It felt so amazing to be with her," Emily said. "It really did. Does. But I think I also felt some pressure from myself. Like I had finally found this part of me just when I was running out of time. And I didn't have any to waste."

And I really, badly, needed a distraction from you, Jay.

It hasn't worked.

JJ didn't say anything for a long time. 

"Think about it," she said eventually. "It's one bad fight. Give yourself some time."

"Yeah," Emily said. "OK." 

"And Em… you're not running out of time," JJ said. "I know it's hard, but maybe your brain just wasn't ready to accept this until now. I hate seeing you beat yourself up about it. You have to try and forgive yourself for not knowing earlier."

"Mm," Emily said, before adding glibly: "Any ideas on how?" 

JJ laughed. 

"No quick fixes, sorry," she said. "No way to go but forward. Which you're doing. Just be kind to yourself."

"Yeah," Emily said, her voice tinged with sadness.

"Oh Em," JJ said softly. "Are you going to be OK? Did- did you want to come over?"

"Oh, no," Emily said. "I'm OK, I promise. It's so late already."

"What time is- oh god, it's almost midnight," JJ said.

"And we wouldn't want the boys to get the wrong idea," Emily joked.

Oh god.

Did I just say that out loud?

JJ was silent for a few seconds.

"No, we wouldn't want that," JJ said. 

Emily thought she heard a smile in JJ's voice, but she wasn't sure.

"Sorry, I was just-"

"I know you were joking, Em," JJ said. "Hey, why don't you come to Michael's soccer game tomorrow morning? He'd love to see you." 

The invitation again conjured up the lump in Emily's throat, the human equivalent of Sergio's unexpected lick.

"I'd love that," she said thickly, doing her best to tamp down her emotion, still reeling from her awkward comment. "Thanks." 

"I'll text you the details," JJ said. "Just bring me a coffee." 

"So that's why you want me to come," Emily joked.

"You got me," JJ said.

There was a brief pause.

"Are you OK?" JJ asked.

"I am," Emily said, surprised to realize she meant it.

She still felt sad. Upset about her mother. Anxious about what would come next with Wil. But she didn't feel quite so desperate, so alone. She felt like she would be able to go to sleep, to get up in the morning, pull herself together and face the day.

Especially if it meant seeing JJ.

"Thanks for calling," Emily said.

"Of course," JJ said. 

"Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow," Emily said. 

"Yep," JJ said. "Looking forward to it." 

There was another pause.

"OK, goodnight." 

"Night."

"Sleep well."

"You too." 

"OK, bye."

"Bye."

"Love you."

"Love you too."

"Bye."

"Bye."

Chapter Text

As she waited in line at a cafe by the soccer fields, Emily wished away the butterflies in her stomach.

Don't be stupid, she told herself.

It's just JJ.

But the reprimand did little to settle her nerves. She had woken up feeling sad and jittery, the calm that had settled over her during her late night phone call with JJ replaced by anxiety over what it all meant.

If it meant anything.

Emily finally reached the counter and ordered, before retreating to a quiet corner of the bustling shop, dodging potted fern fronds and waiting customers as she went. She leaned against the wall and glanced at the barista, who had at least a dozen paper stubs lined up on the bench in front of him.

It's gonna be a while.

She sighed quietly and took out her phone, navigating — out of habit, more than anything — to her message thread with Wil.

The cursor blinked below their most recent exchange.

Emily sent 17.37: I'll come to yours after I see Mom. xx

Wil sent 17.39: See you then gorgeous. Hope dinner's OK.

See you then gorgeous.

Emily felt an ache at the easy compliment. Her eyes wandered around the cafe absently, the familiar grind and clatter of the coffee machine fading into the background as Wil — as the fight — came into sharp focus.

She wondered what Wil was doing this morning. Where she was right now. If she, like Emily, had reached out to someone, or if she had weathered the aftermath of their fight alone. If she was OK.

Should I message? Call?

I don't know what to say.

Go fuck yourself? I'm sorry?

Both?

Wil's parting line had made it abundantly clear she was suspicious about Emily and JJ. And while Emily could honestly say nothing had happened —  The moment at Jade was nothing, right? The phone call last night was nothing. — she knew that wasn't really the point.

She had to face facts.

And it was a cold, hard fact that as things with Wil had deepened — as Emily had grown accustomed to her habits and quirks; become attuned to the things that made her happy or irritated or turned on; lost herself in the intoxicating feel of her girlfriend's body; let herself feel loved, be loved — her feelings for JJ hadn't faded as she had hoped.

I'm in love with her.

It wasn't something Emily allowed herself to think very often.

In the same way she had avoided the words gay and lesbian, uncomfortable with their declarative ring, she had demurred when it came to JJ too. Other words were easier. Feelings was delightfully vague. Attraction suggested something physical, fleeting. A crush was frivolous fun.

She had told herself for months it would be easier to get over JJ now that she was out. That she would move on now that she was dating, having sex, in a relationship.

But it hadn't been easier. And she hadn't moved on.

She allowed herself the thought again.

I am in love with Jennifer Jareau.

It was true. She knew it was true.

She just didn't know what the fuck she was meant to do with it.

The tension between her and JJ was unmistakable. Wasn't it? There was something at Jade, something on the phone last night. Wasn't there? A spark. A fizz. An unspoken tension. Or maybe there wasn't. Maybe there was nothing. Maybe it was all in Emily's head.

And even if it was real, there was Wil. Sweet, complicated, prickly Wil, who had cracked open Emily's world and then taunted her for it, who had made her feel larger than life and then so very small, who Emily was furious at but felt sick about hurting all at once.

She didn't know what the fuck she was meant to do with that, either.

As she returned her eyes to her phone screen, a sudden motion made her jump. Three dots had come up, signaling that Wil was typing. She stood still, careful not to touch the screen in case it registered the same signal.

The three dots disappeared.

Emily kept her eyes on the screen, cautiously tapping to stop it fading to black.

The three dots returned, for longer this time. Emily watched them for 15 seconds or so.

"Emily?" the barista called out.

Emily pocketed her phone and grabbed the to-go cups, bracing for her message tone as she headed across the road to the soccer fields. But it still hadn't sounded by the time she spotted the woman she was searching for.

JJ was supervising Michael and his teammates, the unruly gaggle of 7-year-olds inexpertly shepherding soccer balls through a line of bright orange cones. She was in her usual sporty weekend clothes: black leggings, a pale blue singlet, and a hooded sweater, which was unzipped despite the cold, probably because she had been running around with the boys. There was a pink glow to her cheeks, her hair scraped into a loose ponytail under her faded baseball cap.

Emily felt an immediate, unmistakable rush of attraction.

This time, she stopped the thought in its tracks.

As Emily approached, her boot heels sinking into the grass, a coffee cup warming each hand, JJ looked up and broke into a smile. She said something indiscernible to the boys before jogging over.

"Hey!" she said. "Glad you could make it." 

"Morning," Emily said, passing JJ one of the cups.

"Ah, Emily, I love you," JJ said, as she took the hot beverage and sipped it eagerly.

Emily winced internally at the flippant declaration. Yes, they had said it before. They would say it again. She knew that.

But a tiny part of her had wondered if the way they ended the phone call the night before had been different.

I guess not.

Maybe it is all in my head.

"How are you?" JJ asked, as they fell in step, walking over to where Sandy had just settled into a folding chair, a tartan blanket draped over her lap. 

"I'm OK," Emily said quietly. "Managed to get some sleep." 

"Yeah?" JJ asked, looking over at Emily, her eyes full of concern. 

"Yep," Emily said firmly. "Thanks for the call last night. You really saved me." 

"Of course," JJ said.

"Hi Emily!" Sandy called out cheerfully from her spot on the sideline. "How nice to see you." 

It had been years since Emily last saw JJ's mom.

"Hi Mrs Jareau," Emily said politely. "Sorry I didn't bring you a coffee, I didn't know you'd be here."

"Sandy, please! And no problem, I came prepared," she said, brandishing a thermos. "How are you?"

"I'm good thanks," Emily lied. "And you? I hear the auction went well?" 

JJ flashed a smile and headed back over to the boys, leaving Emily and Sandy to make small talk. About 10 minutes passed before Emily realized Henry was there too, sitting under a nearby tree, his eyes fixated on a handheld console.

Before too long, JJ returned, having handed charge of the team over to a lanky teenage referee.

"Please tell me Henry has said hello to both of you?" she said.

"Um…" Emily said, not wanting to impeach Henry.

"He has not," Sandy interjected.

"Henry!" JJ yelled. "Say hello to your grandmother and Emily." 

Henry lifted one hand in a sullen wave before returning to his game.

JJ rolled her eyes. "Sorry," she said quietly.

"He'd rather be in bed, I take it," Sandy said. 

"Apparently if his dad and I were still together he wouldn't have to go to his little brother's stupid soccer game," JJ said, with a tight smile.

"He'll be OK," Sandy said reassuringly.

"I hope so," JJ said. Her hands were on her hips, brow furrowed with worry, as she scrutinized her teenage son.

Emily smiled sympathetically, not really knowing what to say.

"So, Emily," Sandy said, changing the subject. "Jen tells me you're in a relationship with a woman."

Emily's eyes widened.

"Mom!" JJ said. "Jesus christ!"

"What?" Sandy said. "I read that you're meant to talk about same-sex relationships just like any other."

"Read where?! Why are y-"

"It's OK," Emily said, shushing JJ. "Uh, yes, that's right, Mrs- Sandy." 

"How's it going?" Sandy asked.

"Um…" Emily began.

Terribly?

"...it's been an adjustment," she finished lamely.

Sandy raised her eyebrows.

"But, great, too," Emily added hastily.

"And how did you meet?" Sandy asked, somehow undeterred by Emily's bizarre response.

JJ was looking on in horror, her pink cheeks now a few shades darker. She was still abiding by Emily's shushing, but clearly wanted to intervene.

"Through a mutual friend," Emily said. "Actually, Tara from the BAU, who I think you've met. She introduced us."

"Ah, yes," Sandy said. "Lovely. And what's her name?" she added, nodding encouragingly as she stressed the pronoun.

"Um, it's Wil," Emily said. 

"Wil!" Sandy said. "Well, that must lead to some confusing situations."

"Um…" Emily said again, her mind now thrust back to Garcia's profiling debacle.

"Because it's a man's name," Sandy said helpfully.

"Oh, will you look at that, the game's starting," JJ said loudly.

She put a hand on the small of Emily's back, firmly propelling her away from Sandy and toward the sideline, calling out "Go Michael!" as they moved. 

"I'm sorry," JJ muttered quietly, once they were a few yards away and facing toward the field. "I did not know she'd go all Ally of the Year on you."

Emily snorted.

"It's fine, really," she said. "Honestly it's kind of sweet." 

"Yeah, well, she's trying," JJ said, her exasperation tempering slightly as she glanced back at Sandy.

Emily couldn't help but think of a few things JJ had said on the phone.

About how Sandy had barely responded when JJ first came out. How she had brought it up again recently, for the first time in a long time. And how Sandy had a lot of questions about her life JJ didn't want to answer.

Now Emily had a question too.

How did my relationship come up?

After the game, which ended in a somewhat chaotic 3-2 victory, Michael seemed quite pleased to see his godmother.

"Hi Emily," he said, wrapping his arms around her waist in an unprompted hug. "Did you see me score?" 

"Hey Michael!" she said, hugging back. "I did. You played so well!"

Michael stepped back, scrunching up his nose as he looked at Emily.

"Michael, honey, don't stare," JJ said.

"Why did you make your hair that color?" he asked.

"Actually, this is my hair's normal color," Emily said cheerfully. "This is how it's meant to look." 

"I liked it better when it was black," Michael said.

"Michael!" JJ and Sandy said at the same time. 

"I'm being honest about my feelings!" Michael protested right back.

Emily suppressed a laugh.

She knew Michael had been struggling with anxiety in the wake of the divorce, that JJ had spoken to him about expressing his emotions. Obviously, there were some crossed wires.

But she didn't want to hurt his feelings, or undermine JJ's authority.

"That's OK," she told Michael gently. "It was nice when it was dark too. But I like it better this way." 

He nodded, clearly still in disagreement, but happy his opinion had been heard.

"Michael," JJ said, kneeling down to meet her son's eyes, "you can't say things like that about how other people look, OK? It might make them feel bad, and I know you don't want that. When we talked about being honest about your feelings, that was about the divorce, and me and Dad and Henry."

"Emily doesn't mind," Michael said.

Emily raised her eyebrows at JJ, the hint of a smile on her lips.

"Well," JJ said, throwing Emily an amused glance, "not everyone is like Emily, OK?"

"OK Mom," Michael said.

"Thank you," JJ said, pulling him in for a hug as she stood up. 

"Can I have a hot dog?" Michael asked.

"Um…" JJ said.

"I can take him," Sandy said. "And Henry."

"Uh, sure," JJ said. "Actually, Mom, that would be great. Thank you."

Sandy nodded and got up from her folding chair. Michael tugged Henry away from his game with the promise of food, and the three of them set off across the park toward the stand.

Once they were out of earshot, JJ turned to Emily.

"Sorry about my entire family," she said, looking frazzled. "I don't know what has gotten into everyone."

"Well, I needed a distraction this morning," Emily said, grinning. "And the Jareaus really delivered." 

"Seriously," JJ said, shaking her head. "I'm sorry." 

"Really, it's fine," Emily said. "I'm sorry it's been so tough." 

"We're muddling through," JJ said, her tone self-deprecating.

"You're doing a great job," Emily said. She stopped herself from reaching out to touch JJ's arm, from letting her fingers linger a moment on the sleeve.

"Thanks Em," JJ said softly.

As they met eyes, Emily felt the same tension that had permeated their late-night phone call.

Does she feel it too?

Is it all in my head?

It can't be.

What if it is?

"So what's with your mom reading up on gay couples?" Emily said, unable to bear the silence any longer.

"Oh, I don't know," JJ said, laughing as she quickly broke Emily's gaze. "She must have taken the reminder that I'm bi to heart." 

Emily nodded. She wanted to ask more, but JJ's tone had been a fraction dismissive, as if she didn't want to talk about it. 

"Is Henry OK?" she asked instead. "He seems pretty angry still."

JJ issued a heavy sigh.

"He's not always this bad," she said. "He's just upset today because I made him come instead of letting him stay home alone. He thinks I'm babying him. Which… I guess I am." 

"Mm," Emily said, reluctant to offer parenting opinions unless they were actively solicited.

"I am, I know," JJ repeated, her voice firmer this time. "It's just… he's only 14, and he's been through this huge change and so angry and upset. I just worry that his emotions are running high, and he's not thinking clearly, and… I don't feel good about leaving him home alone. Sorry, I'm being stupid, I know. But teenagers can be… impulsive."

A distant, worried look had crept across JJ's face as she spoke. 

"He would be fine," Emily said, immediately understanding what JJ wasn't saying. "He would be absolutely fine at home for a couple hours. But you know what? He's also fine coming here." 

JJ nodded.

"You've been through a huge change too," Emily said. "If you need to keep him close for a little while, do it. You'll let him go again soon. I know you will." 

JJ nodded again, more confidently this time.

"You're right," she said. "Thanks."

Emily smiled. It felt nice to be here with JJ, to be trusted with the darkness that swam deep in her soul, to bask in the messy domesticity of her family. It didn't matter that it was heavy, that it was complicated, that Michael didn't like her gray hair.

There had been a time when she was all but part of the Jareau-LaMontagne unit, an honorary member of the family. That was years ago now, before the emotions JJ stirred up in her became uncomfortably — and then unbearably — intense. Before she had developed the strange antagonism toward JJ's husband that she now recognized as jealousy.

Before she had screwed it all up by slowly falling in love with her best friend, so slowly that she didn't realize it was happening, not until she was in too deep.

"Have you heard from Wil?" JJ asked, breaking the pause in their conversation.

"Um… no," Emily said, only realizing now that Wil's message had never arrived, that her girlfriend had evidently given up on whatever it was she had been typing.

JJ nodded slowly, the look on her face inscrutable.

"What's your plan?" she asked. Her voice was completely neutral, non-judgmental.

Not for the first time, Emily wished she could read JJ's mind.

What's my plan?

I don't know, Jay.

What's yours?

Emily had never been so happy to see deputy director Bailey.

When he limped into her office first thing Monday morning, clutching a case file, it was the distraction she had been hoping for.  

Sunday had dragged on long and lonely after she got home from Michael's soccer game. Emily had never had a problem being by herself, but as she knocked around her apartment alone, occasionally talking aloud to Sergio, the day had seemed to last an eternity.

She still hadn't spoken to Wil.

Emily knew their mutual silence was childish. Not only that, it was making her sad. She had grown used to Wil's company, to being someone's priority. To the small joy of having someone to check in with, co-exist with on an idle afternoon, text back and forth with about nothing at all.

But still, she felt like Wil owed her an apology more than she owed Wil one. And frankly, she could use the time to figure out what to do. 

Did she want to try and fix things with Wil? Did Wil want that? Was what they had some heady combination of lust and hope, or was it real? Had their blow-up been inevitable, bringing irreconcilable differences to the fore? Or was it just about JJ, to whom Emily had so predictably gone running? Did it matter?

The swirl of feelings was so intense that Emily briefly resented having figured out she was gay at all.

It was easier, she grumbled to herself, when she cared less. When her focus was on being really, really good at her job. When her aversion to relationships was a bemusing personal quirk, not a sign — a deeply obvious one, in retrospect — of repressed sexuality. When her personal life occupied a mere fraction of her time. 

Fucking Tara.

But Emily knew she didn't really mean it. In truth, she wouldn't trade the happiness she had tasted for anything, even if right now it hurt.

And it did hurt.

So, the case file in Bailey's hand?

Emily was happy to see it. 

"You'll need to travel for this one," he said, handing it over.

Even better.

Emily knew she was literally running — or flying, pending Bailey's approval — away from her problems. But she needed space. And surely there was a lot of it in…

"Arizona?" Emily said, as she opened the folder.

Seriously?

"Yes," Bailey said. "They've found three bodies in as many weeks in the desert outside Tucson."

Tucson.

Of course the case is in the exact same city where Wil's brother lives.

"Ah," Emily said.

"The most recent victim suggests a real escalation," Bailey added.

"Devolution," Emily muttered, as she continued flipping through the file.

"What?" Bailey said.

"It's called dev- never mind," Emily said. "You want us there today?" 

"Yep," Bailey said. "You can take the jet."

"Thanks, Doug," Emily said distractedly, her eyes raking over the crime scene photos, taking in every last detail. "I'll get the team together."

"Thanks," Bailey said, turning to leave. 

"Oh, Agent Jareau can't travel this week," Emily said, trying to sound nonchalant.

She and JJ had discussed a while ago how to handle her weeks with Henry and Michael. The solution was simple — she would just work from Quantico, as they had all done throughout much of Covid — but this was the first time it would be put into practice. Emily wasn't sure how Bailey would react.

To her relief, he just nodded. "OK," he said.

"She and Garcia will liaise with us from here," Emily said. 

"Well, if you need reinforcements in the field…"

Emily had no idea what Bailey was about to say.

"...you know I'm always useful on an outing with the BAU," he finished, eyes twinkling.

Emily let out a guffaw.

"After what happened in California?" she said. "I'm surprised they let you back in the building already, let alone the field."

"They, Agent Prentiss?" Bailey said. "I'm the they."

"I suppose you are, deputy director," Emily said. "Well, if this Tucson unsub needs to implement any cost-cutting measures, I'll be sure to call."

"Touché," Bailey said, smiling. "Good luck out there. Let me know if there's anything you need."

"Thanks," Emily said.

God, it's weird to actually get on with him.

As she watched Bailey's disappearing back, Emily was suddenly reminded of Tara's theory, that he was interested in more than just a productive working relationship.

I wonder if he knows I'm gay.

Less than an hour later, the team was briefed and Emily had issued the magic words: "Wheels up."

As Garcia had taken the team through the case, Emily had kept an eye on Tara. She assumed Wil would have mentioned the fight to Rebecca by now. But nothing about Tara's demeanor suggested she knew what had happened, which only made Emily worry about Wil. If she was OK. If she had support.

Rebecca's not her only friend, Emily reminded herself.

As the team rushed out to get their go-bags, JJ lingered.

"Em…" she began.

"I haven't forgotten our plan," Emily said. "You stay, it's all cleared with Bailey. Honestly, it'll be useful to have someone here."

"Thanks," JJ said. "But I was going to ask if you'd heard from Wil."

"Why do you, um…" Emily trailed off.

It was the third time JJ had asked. First at the soccer game, then via text on Sunday night, and, now, again. Perhaps she was just checking in, like a good friend would. But there was a curiousness to her question, one JJ was doing a fairly bad job at disguising. 

"Why do you keep asking?" Emily said, the question coming out more abruptly than she intended.

"Oh, I just…" JJ looked taken aback. "I can tell your mind's elsewhere. I hate seeing you upset. I want you guys to sort it out." 

She wants us to sort it out.

"Right," Emily said. "Sorry, I didn't mean that to sound the way it did. I just…" 

She glanced at her watch.

"I've really got to run, Jay," she said. "And my mind's on the case. We'll call you and Garcia from the jet." 

JJ nodded.

"I'm fine," Emily said unconvincingly. "Wil and I will sort it out. Maybe. I don't know." 

JJ nodded, shooting Emily another look that was impossible to decipher, the kind of expression someone who didn't know her well might mistake for uncomplicated warmth.

But JJ was nothing if not complicated.

"Take care of yourself, Em," she said. 

"I always do," Emily said.

After a long, productive day in Tucson, Emily flopped back onto the comically enormous hotel bed and closed her eyes. 

She knew lying down would just make it harder to get up again, to take her clothes off and shower and brush her teeth and get back into bed to actually sleep. But she felt so drained she needed to rest before she could rest.

The timezone difference — and Arizona's refusal to observe daylight saving — had injected an extra three hours into the day, almost making up for the flight across the country. The third victim had been discovered Sunday afternoon. By the time the BAU made it to police headquarters at lunchtime Monday, the local officers were in a frenzy.

These kinds of cases, where the BAU parachuted in to catch an unsub whose horrors eclipsed local capabilities, used to be the team's bread and butter. But Covid, and the way they had been frozen out in the wake of Sicarius, had left Emily out of practice. 

Being the unit chief in these situations was genuinely exhausting. There were relentless queries coming from all directions, local politics to be grasped and navigated, grieving families who had often been improperly treated, media strategies to consider and approve, and decision after decision after decision, often needing to be made in a split second, each choice one that could save or claim another life. 

It made Emily feel alive. What she was put on the planet to do. But at the end of the day, she was only human.

She was in the middle of a silent pep talk to actually get up and walk the four steps to the bathroom when a knock came at the door.

Emily sighed heavily, closing her eyes for a second before getting up. She padded across the room in her socks, looking through the peephole before undoing the chain and opening the door.

Annoyingly, Tara had already showered and changed in a comfy looking tracksuit.

"Hey Prentiss," she said. "I know you hate the whole lesbian grapevine thing, but… Bec told me you had a fight with Wil." 

Emily sighed again.

"I don't want to intrude," Tara said. "I know it's been a long day. Just… it sounds like it was kind of brutal. I wanted to check you were OK."

Tara's caution was warranted. She and Emily had been skirting around one another ever since their awkward, drunken exchange about JJ at Jade.

Emily, though she knew better, had been curt with Tara, and Tara, not prone to tolerating bullshit in the workplace, had been curt right back. It was an inevitable pitfall of mixing work and friendship, though both were mature enough to know they'd get over it sooner or later.

"Come in," Emily said, standing aside to let Tara pass before closing and re-chaining the door.

"I suppose Rebecca filled you in on what happened?" Emily said, as the two of them settled on the end of the bed.

"Well, Wil's version of it," Tara said. "That you came out to your mom and then you guys fought about... a lot of things."

Emily nodded.

"Is she OK?" she asked hesitantly. "Did Rebecca mention?"

"Um…" Tara said. "She said Wil isn't great." 

Emily felt a pang of sadness at the thought of Wil alone in her apartment.

"Bec's hanging out with her," Tara said, as if reading Emily's mind. "Or was. It's like midnight there now."

"OK," Emily said. 

"Are you OK?" Tara said. "Sounds like you had the worst Saturday night in history." 

"I don't know about in history," Emily said. "And it feels wrong to talk about when we're on a case. But, yeah, the double whammy of my mom and the fight was pretty bad."

"I'm sorry, Prentiss," Tara said. 

Emily shrugged. "At least one distracts from the other, you know?" 

"That is some silver lining," Tara said, with a chuckle.

Emily managed a smile.

"Your mom wasn't supportive?" Tara said tentatively.

"She was… no, she wasn't supportive," Emily said. "But she was also just… I don't, know, skeptical? She's not overly homophobic in general, which I know sounds weird after saying she wasn't supportive, but it's true. She just didn't want to hear it about me. But she also didn't really seem to believe me."

Tara nodded sympathetically.

"I don't know why I care," Emily added pointlessly.

"Maybe she felt threatened," Tara said. "Jealous, even." 

"You think she secretly wants to come out too?" Emily said, raising an eyebrow.

"No!" Tara said. "I just mean in general. From what you've told me she's kind of lonely and repressed, right? People like that struggle with the idea that you can just chase what you want and not worry about what people think. That you can just go for it, if you're brave enough."

Brave.

It was the second time in two days somebody had used that word in relation to Emily coming out.

It wasn't a foreign descriptor by any means. Emily had been called brave her whole career, by colleagues and bosses and the media and the people she helped. She had literally won awards for courage, which she had always felt awkward about, like she was being lauded for just doing her job.

But she felt oddly soothed by the thought it had required bravery to embrace her identity. That in order to truly see herself, she had deployed the same steely backbone that allowed her to confront pure evil day in and day out.

It made her feel more connected to herself.

Still, she wished someone had said it to her a little earlier in her journey. That it could have been a shield she wielded against her mother, instead of a bandage on a bleeding wound.

"Wil and I haven't spoken since Saturday," Emily said, realizing she didn't really want to talk about Elizabeth. "I don't know what to say to her."

"Rebecca said…" Tara paused for a second. "I don't know if I should be telling you this." 

Emily shrugged, her body conveying either say it or don't.

"Bec said this is kind of a Wil classic," Tara said reluctantly. "That she gets into relationships that seem promising and then invents some reason it's not going to work and turns it into a self-fulfilling prophecy."

Emily grimaced. She knew the last thing Wil had hurled at her was far from an invention.

"Bec said this to Wil, by the way," Tara said. "It's not gossip. Well, it is, I guess, but she said it to her face too. She can be pretty blunt like that." 

"What did Wil say?" Emily said.

"Um, I don't know," Tara said, in a tone that made Emily think she actually did know. "Bec was mostly venting about her take on the whole situation. She's… she's been here before with Wil. More than once."

"Right," Emily said. She wondered if Wil had told Rebecca about her JJ suspicions, if Rebecca had told Tara, if Tara had shared her own in return.

"Well, Rebecca knows Wil's history better than I do," Emily said. "But, this time… I don't know if it's an invention." 

Emily didn't know if Tara would assume she was talking about JJ. She didn't even really know herself if she was talking about JJ.

"We… we're really good together," Emily said. "But we're pretty different too. And Wil said some really hurtful things on Saturday. It, um… I guess it shattered the illusion a little. Made me wonder what I'm doing."

Tara was silent for another few seconds, clearly wanting to tread cautiously.

"What you're doing with Wil, or with a woman, or…?"

"With Wil," Emily said quickly. "You weren't wrong, don't worry." 

"Glad to hear my gaydar is still impeccable," Tara said.

Emily smiled ruefully before continuing.

"I don't know if we can come back from it," she said. "Or, well, I'm sure we could. I don't know if I want to. I don't know if Wil can… I don't know if she can be there for me while I'm coming out. I don't know if I need that from whoever I'm... with."

"That's a lot of 'I don't knows'," Tara said. 

"Yeah," Emily said. "Lucky I have a few days here to think about it. Or not think about it."

"Well, if you want to talk it through..." Tara said. 

"Thanks," Emily said. "And thanks for checking in. But I'm fine, and tomorrow is going to be huge. We should get some sleep."

Tara got the hint.

"Night, Prentiss," she said, before letting herself out. 

"Night Tara."

Emily checked her phone as she got up to chain the door.

Wil sent 21.27: Are you OK? 

The message had arrived while she was talking to Tara.

Emily sent 21.49: I'm fine. Are you?

Wil sent 21.52: Eh. One foot in front of the other. I've been thinking of you.

Emily sent 21.55: Me too. I'm out of town by the way. I had to leave on a case today

Wil sent 21.57: Yeah, Bec said you were in Tucson. 

Emily sent 21.59: Funny coincidence, I know. I've been thinking about your niece and nephew

Wil sent 22.02: Eat some decent tacos for me while you're there.

Emily sent 22.05: I'm not exactly visiting on a culinary tour… but if I have time, sure 

Wil sent 22.09: I'm really sorry about Saturday.

Emily sent 22.10: I am too.

Emily put her phone down and sighed. Their messages were awkward, each taking a moment too long to answer, lacking their usual easy flow. It felt like something was broken between them. Like they had seen each other's soft spots too soon, before they knew each other well enough to place them in context, handle them with the required care. 

She watched the three dots appear and disappear, appear and disappear. Wil was obviously struggling to phrase whatever she wanted to say next.

Emily felt a surge of frustration. She didn't want to do this over text. She didn't want to do it over the phone. She didn't want to do it at all, but she especially didn't want to do it tonight, when she was tired and it was past 1am on the east coast and she still had no idea how to sift through the complicated mess of her feelings. 

She tapped out a quick message.

Emily sent 22.15: Hope this doesn't sound cold but I can't think about Saturday right now. And it's so late for you and I'm exhausted. Talk properly when I'm back?

She didn't know when she'd be back. They had made a lot of progress today, but Emily knew a tricky case when she saw one, and predicted this unsub would take more wrangling than most. It could be a few days, it could be close to a week.

But I'll figure it out by then.

Right?

Wil sent 22.17: Yep, OK.

Wil sent 22.22: Take care, Emily.

Emily sent 22.23: You too.

Chapter Text

As JJ watched the team stream out of the bullpen on Monday morning, go-bags in hand, she felt a pang of regret.

I wish I could go with them.

Emily, already on the phone to the Tucson police chief, waved as she stepped into the elevator. JJ raised a hand in farewell before retreating to the briefing room, where she took a seat at the empty table and flipped through the case file, waiting for the team to call from the jet.

It's going to be a long week.  

Yes, Garcia was still around. But when on a case, the analyst may as well be on another planet, glued to her endlessly flashing screens, answering only to whatever hurried request someone had just phoned in.  

It wasn't that JJ wasn't grateful for the flexibility. It would have been impossible to keep her old travel schedule, now that she was a single parent every other week. Separating from Will had freed her in myriad ways, and this just happened to be one of the downsides. 

But she had known she would miss it, that feeling of jetting off with the team. She had missed it when she was on maternity leave, during her time in New Orleans, when the world had shuddered to a halt at the onset of the pandemic. 

Being out in the field was — had always been — a reminder JJ could handle whatever life threw at her. That at some point, she had seized control of her mind and body, vowed to never relinquish it, and then kept that promise to herself, year after year after year.

Some might say joining the BAU was an extreme way of proving the point. But it worked for JJ. It filled that visceral need. She knew it was why she had never been able to give it up, not for anything.

Anything.

It was a euphemism for Henry, Michael and Will, one JJ deployed regularly in a futile attempt at distance.

Even now, alone in the briefing room, JJ knew she should feel relieved to be returning to her boys at night. Relieved she didn't have to put herself in the firing line to save people she had never met and would never see again.

That's what a mom should feel.

Right?

It wasn't what she felt. 

The divorce had made her life better and her guilt worse. The relief she felt at having jettisoned Will from her day-to-day existence — if not her life, exactly — was tempered by the fact the other 75% of the Jareau-LaMontagne clan appeared to be suffering.

Within herself, JJ felt fine. But still, she tossed and turned at night, haunted by Michael's anxiety, Henry's anger, Will's doleful melancholy.

JJ glanced at the time. The team would have just arrived at the hangar. They would call as soon as they could after take-off, and JJ  — as the only profiler not currently in transit — would be expected to take the lead on where to start.

She set her eyes back down to the file.

Concentrate, Jareau.

There was another reason she wanted to be on that plane, and her name was Emily.

She had also been on JJ's mind, keeping her up at night. Occupying far too many of her waking minutes, and — if JJ was being honest — a fair few of her dreaming ones too.

JJ cringed internally as their parting words played in her head. 

She had asked, again, if Emily had spoken to Wil, anxious to know what was going to happen between the two of them. She thought her curiosity was adequately disguised under a layer of friendly concern, but apparently not.

"Why do you keep asking?" Emily had said suspiciously.

Fuck, I don't know, Emily.

Because I want you to break up with her and date me?

"I want you guys to sort it out," JJ had said limply.

Emily had made a fast exit, but not before adding, with a troubled, indecisive look on her face: "Wil and I will sort it out. Maybe. I don't know."

JJ couldn't get a read on how Emily was feeling about Wil. Did she really feel like she had rushed into the relationship, or was she just saying that? Was the coming out tension really insurmountable, or was it just Emily being Emily, beating a hasty retreat as soon as things got complicated?

JJ couldn't count how many times she had seen Emily hit the escape hatch on a relationship and be fine five minutes later. But this time was different.

Nothing about this relationship has been usual for Emily.

It was hard to imagine her wanting to end things at this juncture, after one bad fight, one that was cruel and messy and painful but at least within the realm of forgivable.

Especially after how happy she's been.

JJ had done her best to tread delicately during their late night phone call. Absorb Emily's feelings without coming down too hard on Wil, lest her ulterior motives be detected. Let the fact she didn't want to squander Emily's happiness override the fact she wanted Emily.

But.

The spark JJ had felt at Jade? It was on that call too.

It had reverberated down the line, enveloping her in a warmth that went beyond the heating properties of her doona. It had kept her on the phone, not wanting to hang up, hoping to hear that hint of flirtation in Emily's voice just one more time.

It was undeniable.

Wasn't it?

And then there was the soccer game.

As Emily had arrived, walking across the grass, JJ had felt such an overwhelming pang of attraction that she had to disguise her fluster as an enthusiastic appreciation for coffee.

Obviously, the outing hadn't gone to plan — though, as Emily pointed out, if the plan was to distract from her Wil woes, JJ's family had done an impressive job.

JJ had felt in equal parts annoyed and embarrassed by Sandy quizzing Emily over her "same-sex relationship". But then Emily had laughed it off, describing it as "sweet", and JJ had felt a little bad, ungrateful, even, as she suddenly remembered how Emily's own mother had reacted to her daughter's queerness the night before.

And then Henry's sullen disposition had spilled over into JJ voicing her deepest fear, one that she thought she had gotten over countless times but that always, one way or another, found its way back into her psyche. Emily had known just what to say.

And Michael criticizing Emily's gray hair — well, JJ personally thought her younger son had never been more wrong about anything in his life. But he was only seven.

It hadn't been ideal. But in a weird way, it had.

And through it all, there had been that spark.

Hadn't there?

The phone in the middle of the briefing room table began to ring. 

Fuck.

JJ hit accept. 

"I'm here," she said.

"Great," Emily said, her voice tinny through the conference call. "Can you kick us off, JJ?" 

"Uh… yes," JJ said, frantically flipping through the file.

By the time JJ got home from work on Thursday, it was close to 11pm.

She unlocked the door quietly, not wanting the sounds of her entrance to float upstairs and disturb Henry and Michael. She padded into the living room, where Sandy had nodded off on the couch.

"Hi Mom," JJ whispered, putting a gentle hand on Sandy's shoulder, not wanting to shock her awake. 

Sandy stirred, blinking. She had clearly been asleep for some time.

"Oh, hi Jen," she said. "I just nodded off. How'd it go tonight?" 

"We got him," JJ said.

"That's great," Sandy said. She rarely asked for detail on cases, preferring not to know. "You must be tired."

"Actually, I'm kind of amped," JJ said. "It's hard to wind down after an arrest. Even when you're working remotely." 

Sandy nodded.

"Do you want a cup of tea?" she asked.

"Yes, actually," JJ said, realizing that was exactly what she wanted. "That'd be great." 

They both went into the kitchen, shutting the door to keep out noise. JJ got out two mugs while Sandy put the kettle on.

"How were the boys tonight?" JJ asked.

"They were good," Sandy said. "Henry helped me with dinner and Michael seemed in good spirits."

"Oh!" JJ said, surprised. "That's… that's great. Did Michael ask to call Will?" 

"Just once," Sandy said. "They talked for 10 minutes or so after dinner. Then he didn't ask again."

JJ felt a wave of relief so intense that it was overwhelming.

She had grown so used to the boys fighting over nothing, to Henry shutting himself in his room, to Michael saying "Can I talk to Dad?" on a loop.

It had taken her a while to realize the divorce was bringing back some of the fears she used to harbor when Henry was little. That she would project her own trauma onto her kids, that being a mom wasn't coming to her as naturally as she felt like it should, that her pull to keep working was somehow wrong.

But she hadn't realized quite how much it had all been weighing on her, not until Sandy's simple assessment: "They were good." 

JJ felt tears pricking at her eyes.

"Are you OK?" Sandy asked.

"I'm fine," JJ said, getting a grip on herself. "I'm just… I'm glad they're OK. It's been a tough week." 

"They're going to be more vulnerable with you than they are with me," Sandy said authoritatively. "But Jen, they're fine. It's tough but they're fine." 

JJ nodded.

"You know I'd be the first to tell you if I was worried," Sandy said.

JJ smiled. "I do know that," she said, her tone bittersweet. 

They sat down at the table, each with a steaming mug.

"I've felt guilty about the boys lately," JJ said. "Some of the stuff I used to think back when Henry was little. I think it's just the stress of the split."

"Are you having second thoughts?" Sandy asked.

"No," JJ said. "God no."

"Tell me how you really feel!" Sandy joked.

JJ smiled self-consciously.

"No second thoughts," she said, her tone more measured this time. "Will's a great dad. But we were not good as husband and wife."

Wife.

It was a word that had never quite felt right to JJ. She was looking forward to the formal dissolution of her marriage, the day she was legally absolved of the title.

"I don't regret the split," she said. "At all. But it's hard not to feel like I'm being selfish. Like they're hurting for my choice, you know? I feel like I've failed as a mom."

"You haven't," Sandy said. "Take it from someone who actually did." 

JJ pursed her lips. She never knew how to react when Sandy said things like that. She wanted to reassure her mom, but at the same time not erode the truth of her words, diminish the ways in which Sandy really had let JJ down.

"Obviously I failed Ros," Sandy said, registering JJ's pause. "And then I failed you."

"Oh Mom," JJ said. "You can't blame yourself for Ros."

"And yet I have for all these years," Sandy said, smiling sadly. "I can't not, Jen. I don't expect you to understand. I don't want you to be able to understand."

JJ nodded.

They both took a sip of tea. The silence was comfortable, one they had shared before, filled by their mutual yet distinct loss.

A question drifted into JJ's mind, one that — perhaps inspired by Sandy — she decided to go ahead and voice.

"After Dad left, why didn't you ever date again?" JJ asked.

Mid-sip, Sandy's eyes widened behind her mug. 

"That's quite the question!" she said, as she set down her tea.

JJ resisted the urge to point out it was a bit rich of her mom, of all people, to say that.

"Well, I'm asking it," she said instead.

"Um…" Sandy said. "Well. I wasn't in the right frame of mind. You know that. And it's not like a middle-aged single mom is a highly sought-after dating prospect to begin with."

Ouch.

JJ raised an eyebrow, waiting for her mom to realize what she had just said.

A beat passed, and then another, before Sandy's eyes again widened, this time in horror.

"No- I didn't mean- oh Jen, I'm sorry," she said. "I was talking about me, not you."

JJ laughed incredulously.

She wasn't offended, exactly — she knew Sandy was being self-deprecating, not trying to hurt — but still, the comment stung.

Sandy looked stricken.

"That is so completely not what I meant," she said. "I'm sorry."

Let it go, Jareau.

"It's OK," JJ said. "I know what you mean. I've said the same thing to myself. About myself."

"Well, you shouldn't," Sandy said. "You're so beautiful. Inside and out."

"Thanks Mom," JJ said, her tone a fraction dry, unable to take the compliment seriously.

"Sorry," Sandy repeated.

"I get you not dating when I was younger," JJ said. "But once I went to college and you, um, got more of a handle on things. You never met a nice guy in your grief group? Or, I don't know, at the grocery store?"

Sandy looked at JJ, clearly tossing up how honest she wanted to be.

"A couple of times there was… interest," she said slowly.

JJ tilted her head curiously. 

"I just never…" Sandy sighed. "I don't know, Jen. It never went anywhere."

"Why not?" JJ said. "No spark?"

"I didn't pursue it," Sandy said.

She absently swirled her tea, staring down at the stray leaves as they settled in the center of the mug.

JJ waited for her to continue.

"It was penance," Sandy said quietly. "I felt like I had ruined my own family. My own marriage. And that I didn't deserve another chance."

JJ felt a wrench in her chest. The older she got, the more she understood her mother. The more she saw, with piercing clarity, the ways in which they were alike.

"I know that sounds dramatic," Sandy added. "I wasn't thinking it every second of every day. But now that I've had years to look back… I think that's why I always let it fizzle out."

"Right," JJ said softly.

"Always!" Sandy added sardonically. "I'm making it sound like I was constantly getting offers. It was twice."

JJ laughed.

"Two men with good taste, Mom," she said.

Sandy scoffed, but JJ could tell she was secretly pleased by the compliment.

"Do you still feel like that?" JJ asked.

Sandy thought for a few seconds.

"I'll never make peace with what happened to your sister," she said. "But I've made peace with the fact I never will. If that makes sense."

JJ nodded. "It does."

"So… no, I don't still feel the need to punish myself," Sandy said. "But by the time I got there, I was just so used to being alone. And I got old." 

"You're not old," JJ said.

"I am old!" Sandy said. "It's a fact, not an insult. I'm lucky to have lived this long." 

"OK, OK," JJ said, holding up her hands in a gesture of retreat.

Sandy looked like she was about to say something else, but fell into silence instead.

"That's really sad, Mom," JJ said. "I'm sorry you felt like that. I'm sorry I didn't know."

"It is sad," Sandy agreed, her voice wistful. 

She swirled her mug again before looking back up at her daughter.

"I have so many regrets, Jen," she added with a wry smile. "I don't want you to be like me."

Emily looked tired.

As JJ surveyed her from the seat opposite her desk, it was clear it had been a long week in Tucson. She had dark circles under her eyes, her hair pulled back into a ponytail, still dressed in the comfortable clothes, a deep red knitted sweater and jeans, that she had worn on the plane.

The team had come in Friday after the jet landed, eager to finalize the case, not wanting the paperwork to drag out over the weekend. They all needed a proper break.

"Can I help?" JJ asked, eyeing the stack of paper in front of Emily.

"Um…" Emily said.

"Let me help," JJ said authoritatively. "I've got an hour before school pick-up."

Emily gave in.

As they worked in silence, JJ occasionally stole glances across the desk. She wanted to ask what was going on with Wil. But Emily's suspicious "Why do you keep asking?" was ringing in her ears.

After about 30 minutes, the pile was almost gone.

"I spoke to her," Emily said, out of nowhere.

"Yeah?" JJ said, looking up.

Did she know I was thinking about Wil?

"Well. Texted," Emily clarified. She put her pen down and massaged her temples. "A few times. It was… strained. Bad."

JJ did her best to look sympathetic.

"It's hard over text," she said. "She didn't want to talk on the phone?"

Emily grimaced. 

"I know you didn't have much time," JJ added.

"I didn't want to talk on the phone," Emily said.

Huh.

"Right," JJ said.

"I know, I'm a coward," Emily said.

"I didn't say that," JJ said, breaking into a wan smile.

"We said we'd talk when I got back. Which is… now, obviously," Emily said. "I just have no idea what to say. What to do. It's so… the coming out thing is so…"

"It's a soft spot," JJ said.

"Yeah," Emily said. "It was already in my head, the idea she was judging me for it. And now that she's voiced that… even if she didn't really mean it… I just don't know."

JJ nodded.

"I think it's fair enough to still be upset about it," she said neutrally.

"And I don't want to string her along," Emily said. "Maybe I should just call it, you know?" 

"If that's what you want," JJ said.

She felt like Emily was studying her reactions as closely as she was studying Emily's. That there was an unspoken conversation happening in parallel to the one they were actually engaging in.

"But… I don't want to throw away something good either," Emily said.

JJ decided to play ball.

"Well, what's the alternative?" she said.

Emily looked taken aback, just for a second.

"Um…" she said. "You know, I've never… before Wil I was kind of in denial about it all. I've been single before, obviously. But I haven't been single when I… knew."

"You want to be single?" 

Emily paused for a few seconds, looking pensive.

"It's been overwhelming, figuring all this out," she said. "I've wondered if I need some time to get used to myself" — she absently put a hand over her heart — "without it being through the lens of a relationship."

It sounded more sincere than anything Emily had said so far.

"Do you know what I mean?" Emily asked.

"Yes," JJ said, honestly. "That makes a lot of sense."

"I'm just struggling with what I want," Emily said.

As JJ felt Emily's gaze pierce her, go right through her, she felt a sudden urge to tell Emily everything. To just blurt out how she felt, right there and then, and let the cards fall where they may.

What if you're wrong?

JJ looked down at the desk.

"Well, whatever you decide," she said. "I'm here for you."

"Thanks," Emily said. She glanced at her watch. "You should start getting ready to go. I can handle these last two."

"You sure?" JJ asked.

"Yep," Emily said. "Thanks for the help, Jay. You really halved the time."

JJ smiled. "Of course." 

Say it.

JJ got up. 

Say it.

She walked over to the door.

Say it.

She put her hand on the doorknob.

Say it.

She twisted the knob and pushed it open, before walking out of Emily's office. As the door clicked shut behind her, JJ felt an immediate rush of regret.

You should have said it.

But the conversation had been so ambiguous it had left JJ's head spinning.

"I'm just struggling with what I want." 

It reminded JJ of what Emily had said at the airfield in Georgia, the halting dialogue that was their first tentative step toward reconnection.

In fact, it was almost exactly what Emily had said that day.

Still standing outside Emily's office, JJ absently tugged at her blazer as her mind went back to that conversation. Emily had been cryptic, saying she was figuring things out, that hearing about Will and the boys had become tough, that being close to JJ had become painful. 

In that moment, JJ had been certain Emily was talking about kids.

She knew Emily harbored grief about having missed her chance. She had watched Emily waver throughout her late 30s, torn between wanting to be a mom and worrying she wouldn't be a good one. Her indecision confounded JJ, who had always thought Emily was a natural with kids, but she was there for Emily all the same.

She was there when Emily decided to start IVF at 39. She was there after the first unsuccessful cycle. And she was there after Doyle all but extinguished Emily's qualified hope. They were in Paris, at a corner table at a bar in Le Marais — the kind of situation a younger JJ would have prayed for — when Emily divulged what the doctors had said, her expression one of grim resignation, her words already at arms length from her sorrow.

Through it all, JJ had done her best to support, to empathize. But it had always felt like Henry was the elephant in the room. 

The fact he was unplanned changed nothing when it came to what JJ felt for her son, didn't diminish her immeasurable, wrenching, overwhelming love for him by one iota. But it had always made JJ feel awkward when it came to Emily — the inescapable fact that she had stumbled across what Emily wanted by accident, at least the first time, and Emily knew that, and JJ knew that Emily knew. 

She hadn't known how to talk to Emily about what happened in Afghanistan.

When Michael came along, JJ had made Emily the godmother. Emily had seemed genuinely touched, but JJ had wondered if she really appreciated the gesture, or if being handed that role, that prefix — when neither of them were religious anyway — only accentuated what she wasn't.

That's where JJ's mind had gone in the airport hangar in rural Georgia.

But then she found out Emily was dating a woman, and she had revised her theory. 

In the wake of Emily's coming out, JJ had wondered if she was making too much of the kids thing. Perhaps she was filing under tragedy something Emily herself put in c'est la vie.

Perhaps it was just part of a bigger picture, one that encompassed Emily's entire life. 

It made sense that Emily, only just recognizing what and who she really wanted, would compare herself to the women around her, and JJ was right there. The ease with which she had found Will and gotten pregnant with Henry and fallen into having this family, this ostensibly fulfilling romantic life without even trying — and yet she still wasn't always happy, wasn't quite fulfilled — JJ could see how that would be maddening to someone in Emily's situation. How it could hurt.

She had thought she understood. She had told Emily, on the way back from the Voit operation, that she understood.

Still, JJ couldn't quite reconcile the intensity of their friendship with their painful disconnection. Had the sting of jealousy really been so bad that Emily couldn't be around her?

It had to be something more.

"I'm just struggling with what I want."

What do you want, Emily?

Oh.

Oh fu-

"Forget something?" 

"Hm?" JJ said absently.

Tara was standing in the bullpen, just below the stairs leading up to Emily's office, cup of coffee in hand.

"You've been standing outside Emily's door staring into space for 30 seconds," Tara said. 

"Oh," JJ said, flustered. "Um… yeah. You know what? I did forget something." 

She spun around before Tara could respond and went back into Emily's office, not stopping to knock.

Emily looked up quizzically.

"Forget something?" she said.

Ignoring the question, JJ closed the door behind her. She took a couple steps toward Emily's desk, before stopping awkwardly in the center of the office, casting her eyes around the room.

It had changed over the years, as it passed hands from Hotch to Emily, as it was converted into a gym during the pandemic. It had seen different nameplates, different knick-knacks, a different array of degrees behind the desk. But the bones had stayed the same.

Say something.

JJ's brain was in combat with her heart, the two of them locked in a mortal struggle for the right words.

Anything.

Just don't sound desperate.

"You know this room is where we saw each other for the first time?" JJ said. 

Oh my god, Jareau.

Emily raised her eyebrows.

"You were trying to convince Hotch you were actually meant to be here," JJ continued, unable to stop what she had started. "And I interrupted. For a meeting."

"You remember that?" Emily said incredulously.

"Well, I had no idea who you were," JJ said. "But right after, I overheard Hotch and Gideon talking about you. It sounded so awkward. Walking into a new office with all your stuff, expecting to be assigned a desk, and being told, no, sorry? What a nightmare."

She was talking fast, too fast. 

Emily was looking at her like she was insane.

"So, yeah," JJ added, just to break the silence. "I remember." 

"That morning was pretty bad," Emily said carefully.

"But look at you now," JJ said.

Emily looked around her office, issuing a slightly self-conscious chuckle.  

"Yeah," she said. "Look at me now."

Say it.

"Is that what you came in here to tell me, Jay?" Emily said softly.

JJ took a deep breath. 

"No," she said simply.

In the brief pause that followed, Emily's face seemed to open up, even though her features barely moved. Her eyes, so dark and expressive to begin with, somehow seemed even softer, deeper, an invitation.

Maybe Emily was also thinking, say it.

Maybe even, one of us has to.

Maybe.

"I'm probably going to ruin everything by saying this," JJ said. "But if I don't, I think I'll regret it forever."

As they looked at each other, the sounds of the bullpen faded, the familiar office surrounds blurred.

It was just the two of them.

"I was in love with you," JJ said, the words erupting thick and fast from her thumping chest. "Back then. When you first joined the team. I fell for you so hard it was honestly embarrassing."

JJ exhaled.

She fixed her eyes on Emily's nameplate, afraid that if she met her eyes she might not keep going.

That she might not say the part she needed to.

"I got over it," JJ said. "Really. I mean, maybe in some little locked away part of my brain you were always there. But it wasn't… I didn't… it's not like…"

JJ took a deep breath.

"Let me try that again."

She stole a glance at Emily, who was looking right at her, her eyes still impossibly soulful.

JJ's eyes darted back down to Emily's desk.

"It was real, with Will. I wanted to make it work with him. Sometimes I thought I could." 

Stop talking about Will.

"But once I accepted it wasn't going to, it came back."

It?

"The way I felt about you came back," JJ said. "Like it had never left."

Over and over, her eyes traced the white letters of the nameplate.

Emily Prentiss

BAU UNIT CHIEF

"Whatever you thought you saw in my eyes at Jade, I meant it," JJ said. "When I held onto you at the bar, I meant it. I meant what you thought I meant. And on the phone on Saturday. That… it… between us. I felt it too." 

JJ's eyes moved up to Emily's hands, clasped and still, resting on the desk in front of her. Then her chest, her chin, her face.

Emily's mouth was slightly ajar, as though in the aftermath of a sharp intake of breath, though JJ hadn't heard a thing.

"Do you understand what I'm saying?" JJ said helplessly.

Emily nodded.

She looked stunned. 

Not confused. Not like she didn't understand. 

She looked like she knew exactly what JJ had said, but couldn't quite believe she had said it.

Nor could JJ.

"I know you're still with Wil," JJ blurted out. "I know she's been so good for you. And I know it's wrong for me to say this to you, when you're with her." 

But I want you.

And I think I can make you happy too.

"And yet here I am saying it anyway," JJ said self-consciously.

Emily finally broke JJ's gaze, staring down into the wooden grain of her desk.

"Maybe you want to see if it works out with her," JJ said, willing Emily to look back up, desperate to gauge her response. "I wouldn't blame you if you did."

After so long averting Emily's gaze, now it was all JJ wanted.

"But maybe you don't," JJ said softly. "And if you don't…"

The sentence hung in the air, unfinished.

Emily was still looking down, her reaction impossible to decipher.

"I mean, I can't jump into something right away either," JJ said, somehow pedaling backward and forward at the same time. "Not with Henry and Michael. It wouldn't be fair to them."

JJ thought she saw Emily nod, the movement so incremental she wasn't sure if she had imagined it.

"But maybe after the dust settles, we could give it a go," JJ said. "Give us a go." 

She felt herself running out of steam, words, composure.

JJ glanced up at the ceiling and laughed awkwardly, suddenly aware of her boldness, of what she had just proposed. She realized her eyes were wet with emotion.

"I'm getting ahead of myself," JJ said. "I don't even know if you feel the same way." 

She returned her gaze to Emily, who had looked up, was looking right at her.

"But I think you do."

They stared at each other, JJ out of words, Emily still searching for hers.

The trance that had settled over the two of them began to break. The ambient noise from the bullpen floated in, a traffic horn from outside proof that the world had gone on as they spoke.

JJ crossed her arms over her chest. The instinctive gesture was a tell of hers, an unconscious act of self-protection, of holding back. 

But this time, there was nothing left in her. She had given it all to Emily.  

"I just had to say that," JJ said. "Before you spoke to her. I hope…" 

She had begun the sentence valiantly, not knowing where it was going to end.

What do you hope?

"I hope you understand," she said.

It would have to do.

Emily was still looking at her.

Em, please say something.

JJ felt dazed. She needed to sit down.

Still, Emily said nothing.

"Thanks," JJ said, bizarrely, as if they had just finished talking about a case. 

She turned around, slowly walked to the door, and left, feeling like an automaton.

The click of the door behind her brought JJ back to her senses.

What the fuck am I doing?

For a second time, she spun on her heel and went back in, ignoring the quizzical glance Tara and Luke gave each other from their desks. 

As JJ stepped inside, she almost ran into Emily, who was approaching the door.

"Oh my god!" she said, startled.

"Sorry!" Emily said, stepping back. 

The door clicked shut behind JJ.

"I was just coming to-"

"I was just-"

"You-"

They both laughed, giving up on whatever they were trying to say.

There was a brief pause as they looked at each other.

"Yes," Emily said.

Her face was serious, her eyes shining, bursting with emotion.

"Yes?" JJ said tentatively.

Em, I said all that.

I'm gonna need you to say it.

"Yes," Emily repeated. "I… I feel the same way."

She broke into a shy smile.

JJ could feel her heart thumping, threatening to break out of her chest.

Is this really happening?

"Thank you," Emily said. "For saying all that. I… I don't know what to say. Yes. Yes yes yes. But I still don't know what to say."

"Nor do I," JJ said.

”It feels..."

"Surreal?"

"Yeah."

"I know it-"

"I don't-"

They both laughed nervously again.

"You go," JJ said. "I've said enough."

"I don't want it to be messy," Emily said, looking at JJ carefully. "And I don't want it to be sad. If we're going to" — she shook her head in amazement — "if we're going to do this… try this. I want to start it right." 

JJ nodded, understanding what she was saying, silently agreeing.

"It feels crazy to be saying this right now, but I actually meant it when I said I needed some time by myself," Emily said. "And I know you do too. The divorce, the boys. It's so new."

JJ nodded.

"But, um…"

Emily looked up at the ceiling, searching for the right words, eventually borrowing them from JJ.

"…when the dust settles."

It's really happening.

"Great," JJ said, a little breathless. "So it's… it's a plan."

Oh my god, Jareau.

JJ had never felt less in control of the words coming out of her mouth.

She watched as Emily broke into a smile, her eyes twinkling, her face abundant, full of a nervous hope that only seemed to elevate her joy.

God, I love you Emily Prentiss.

"It's a plan," Emily said.

Chapter Text

Is this really happening?

Emily couldn't erase the thought, even as JJ stood right in front of her.

There she was, flesh and blood, in Emily's office. The same JJ she had known for 16 years, the woman she had mentored, admired, cared for, missed, craved, loved. Fallen in love with. She was right there, raw and unedited, temporarily possessed by a singular audacity, but still herself, still JJ, quintessential, in her jeans and blazer, hair cascading over her shoulders. Her face. Her voice. Speaking words Emily had heard with her own ears. Words Emily understood, even if their meaning was yet to truly sink in.

If she wanted to, Emily could reach out and touch her.

Somehow, Emily had managed to respond. To confess same, the words tumbling out "yes yes yes". To run against her every instinct and urge caution, knowing this was too important to mess up. To agree: "It's a plan." 

But still.

Is it?

The whole thing felt like a dream. It was, confusingly, very similar to an actual dream that Emily had had, except this time JJ wasn't fucking her against the cabinet behind her desk and the FBI wasn't underwater, which Emily had to concede was a positive sign.

"Em…"

As Emily surreptitiously glanced out the window, JJ checked the time.

"...I have to go." 

"Right," Emily said, remembering JJ had to pick the boys up from school. "Um, of course. You should go."

"I'll call you later," JJ said, her face still flushed, her voice breathless, the wild look in her eyes finally beginning to ebb.

Emily laughed, suddenly overwhelmed by the absurdity of it all. The idea that she and JJ would simply pick the conversation — this conversation — back up once Henry and Michael were in bed. It was completely ludicrous. And yet here it was, happening.

It was really happening.

"You better!" Emily said.

"I'm sorry," JJ said, smiling self-consciously as she cast her eyes downward, the ramifications of her confession beginning to dawn on her.

Emily wanted to step forward and place a reassuring finger under JJ's chin, nudge her face back up to eye level. Smooth the crease in her brow.

But she stayed still. Kept her arms by her sides.

It was still sinking in.

"Don't be sorry," Emily said. "Really. Go get the boys. I need to… think."

JJ nodded.

"We both do," Emily added.

"Yeah," JJ said, looking back up.

As they locked eyes, JJ took a step toward Emily. She moved with purpose, seemingly animated by the last vestiges of whatever wild courage that had sent her back into the office, twice. Allowed her to tell Emily she was in love with her. 

That is what she said, right?

I didn't misunderstand?

JJ took another step forward.

Oh god.

Jay.

For a second, Emily thought JJ was going to kiss her.

But instead, JJ's lips landed softly on her cheek. It was gentle, quiet. Over before it began.

And yet it sent an intense thrill through Emily's body, the rush of an intimacy she and JJ had never shared before. It felt like a warm ray of sunshine through a just opened door. A new frontier.

Emily felt dizzy as she imagined the places they had yet to explore.

JJ stepped back and smiled shyly at Emily, color blooming anew across her cheeks.

As Emily studied JJ's face, it seemed to take on a new dimension; still achingly familiar, but somehow foreign, too. Full of surprises. An enigma.

A tiny tendril of fear began to coil itself around Emily's elation.

Everything is going to be different now.

"OK," JJ said. "I really have to go. But I'll talk to you tonight."

"Bye," Emily said faintly.

JJ turned and left Emily's office for a third and final time, closing the door behind her.

Rooted to the spot, Emily lifted a hand to her face. She thought the feeling might never fade, that JJ's lips would be imprinted on her cheek forever.

A few seconds passed. Or maybe it was a minute.

Emily lowered her hand, her mind coming back down to earth with it. She realized her hands were shaking, her body was weak with adrenaline.

Did that really happen?

Yes, Emily.

It really happened.

"Holy shit," Emily said out loud to herself.

What now?

It was late when the phone rang, shocking Emily out of her slumber.

Sleep had been the last thing on her mind as she drove away from Quantico, her thoughts a blur of exhilaration and disbelief and fear. Once home, she had patrolled her apartment, full of jitters, imagining every scenario, good and bad, that might come to pass. More than once, she wondered if she had imagined the whole thing.

Eventually, her intense week caught up with her. The physical exhaustion from working the Tucson case, the quiet dejection that had stalked her ever since she came out to Elizabeth, the emotional turmoil of her fight with Wil — it all collided with JJ.

It was too much.

As it all crashed in, Emily felt exhausted. She used the last gasp of her dwindling energy to message Wil, knowing she couldn't put off their conversation any longer, that Wil deserved to know where she was, even if she wouldn't like it.

Emily sent 19.45: Hey, I'm back. Are you around tomorrow morning? I can come to yours.

Wil sent 19.52: Welcome home. Want to swing by at 10? We can get a coffee and talk.

Emily sent 19.54: See you then

Wil sent 19.56: 👍

Soon after, she went to bed, resolving to stay awake until JJ called.

As her ringtone pierced the silence, Emily groped for her phone, disoriented. Her brain instinctively told her it was a work call, some kind of emergency. But as soon as she saw the name flashing up on caller ID, it all came flooding back.

"Hey Jay," she said sleepily, pressing the phone to her ear.

"Hey Em," JJ said. Her voice was quiet, intimate. "Did I wake you up?"

"Um…"

"I did, didn't I? Sorry. I just got to bed. Michael's been sleeping badly." 

"It's fine, really," Emily said, coming to her senses fast. "I went to sleep stupidly early."

She rolled over onto her back and looked up at the ceiling, wondering if JJ was doing the same.

"How are you?"

"Um…" JJ paused. "God. I don't even know how to answer that question." 

Emily felt a rush of panic. 

Does she regret saying it?

Is she going to walk it back?

"Are you OK?" Emily said, her voice full of concern.

"Did I…" JJ began. "Oh god, Em. Did I ruin everything?" 

What?

"No!" Emily said. "No. Oh my god. No."

"Are you sure?" JJ said. "I've been so out of it all night. I can't believe I just said all that. I'm so sorry."

Emily felt bewildered.

"Was I not…" she said, before starting again. "Jay, I said I felt the same way."

"Yeah, but I really put you on the spot," JJ said, her voice a fraction lighter for having heard Emily's reassurance.

Emily laughed.

"I mean, yes," she said. "You did. But I really do feel the same way. OK?"

The way they were talking around it — the awkward phrasing, with certain words unsaid — was reminding Emily of how she spoke about her own sexuality.

"OK," JJ said slowly. "Are you OK?" 

"Yes," Emily said. "I… yes. I'm fine. I'm great." 

"Are you sure?"

Emily took a deep breath as she stared up at the ceiling, her eyes almost fully adjusted to the light.

She thought about JJ kissing her on the cheek. How it felt. How everything else — oh god, everything else — might feel.

How much she wanted it. How much it terrified her.

Be honest.

"I just keep thinking that everything is going to be different now," Emily said.

JJ didn't answer for a few seconds.

"It is," she said eventually. "Are you… are you having second thoughts?"

Oh.

"Because if you want, we could just pretend it never happened." 

She doesn't regret it.

"We could agree, right now, to never ment-"

She's worried that I do.

"No," Emily said, cutting JJ off. "I could never have second thoughts about you."

Is that too much?

It felt like it was. Even in the context.

"It's just… a lot," Emily added quickly. 

"Yeah," JJ said. "It is a lot. I'm sorry."

She paused.

"Are you feeling OK about Wil?"

Emily felt a pang of guilt.

"I'm going to sort things out with Wil," she said firmly. "Tomorrow. But I don't think you're the person I should be talking to about that."

"No, I get it," JJ said immediately. "That's fair." 

"And then I just need to… I don't even know how I feel about myself," Emily said. "One day I think I'm good with it, and the next I can barely even say it."

"Will and I have to finalize the divorce," JJ said. "There's a waiting period. We have a few more months before we can legally go through with it."

"And you work for me," Emily said.

Why are we listing reasons we can't be together?

"Mm," JJ said. "I didn't think about that."

Emily laughed. "It's kind of hard to forget."

"Well, I do forget, because you're such a good boss," JJ teased. "But what does that mean? I've never paid attention to that part of the HR manual."

"Well, it's not allowed," Emily said. "Even when it's two agents, it's tricky. Unit chief, agent? That's a straight no."

"A straight no?"

"JJ…"

"Sorry. So…"

"So, I can't date someone I manage," Emily said. "Full stop." 

"OK," JJ said. 

There was a brief silence as they digested what that meant. The fact one of them would have to change jobs or teams. 

"We're getting way, way ahead of ourselves," Emily said. "We haven't even…"

Gone on a date?

Kissed?

Had sex?

Oh my god.

"...you know," Emily said. "We have time to figure this all out."

Emily heard JJ sigh.

"You're right," she said. "Enough planning."

"Yep," Emily said.

There was a pause as they both hovered on the line, neither knowing where to take the conversation next.