Emily barely registered the landing touching down at the airfield, brain occupied with only one thought,getting home to you, her fingers already tightening around her go-bag strap the second the seatbelt sign clicked off. The jet’s overhead lights flickered to full brightness, illuminating JJ’s concerned glance. "You good, Prentiss?" she asked, nudging Emily’s arm with her own. "Just tired," Emily murmured, forcing a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. The case had been brutal—three weeks tracking a killer who left origami cranes folded from his victims’ skin. She could still smell the formaldehyde clinging to her clothes.
Emily barely remembered the drive home, just the blur of streetlights and the way her knuckles had gone white around the steering wheel. When she finally turned the key in the lock, the scent of vanilla, sandalwood and something suspiciously like worn paper enveloped her, the open book you'd left face down on the armchair the only evidence of life. She toed off her boots right there in the foyer, not caring when they lay sprawled in the middle of the hall.
You looked up from the couch, halfway through a crime documentary that emily would hate, and didn't say a word. Just opened your arms, the loose sleeves of your sweater slipping down to your elbows. Emily collapsed into you with a shuddering exhale, her forehead pressing against your collarbone. "They made origami out of skin," she mumbled into your shirt, and you didn't flinch. Just carded your fingers through her hair, slow and steady, until her breathing evened out finally succumbing to the exhaustion burrowed into her bones.
Emily barely remembered how she ended up horizontal, only that the couch cushions were warm where you'd been sitting and that the weight of your thigh beneath her head was the first thing that made sense in days. The television murmured softly the same true crime documentary you’d half-heartedly scolded her for rolling her eyes at earlier playing softly in the background, but the sound hummed with familiarity as your fingers traced idle circles against her shoulder. Her eyelids fluttered shut once more, then stayed that way for how long she doesn't know.
Three sharp raps at the door stole her peace, her hand automatically reaching for the gun she’d left holstered on the coffee table. You caught her wrist before she could fully wake, pressing a soft kiss to the inside of her wrist. “I’ve got it,” you murmured, but Emily was already sinking back against you, her cheek smushed into your thigh.The door flew open before you could even stand up-Penelope Garcia’s jibilant voice ricocheting through the apartment like a pinball. "Knock knock, sweetcheeks! We come bearing tequila and..oh!?" Her neon painted nails froze mid-air, the grocery bag dangling from her wrist suddenly forgotten. Behind her, JJ’s eyebrows shot up so high they nearly disappeared into her blonde fringe, while Tara tilted her head like a scientist observing an unexpected specimen.
Emily didn’t stir. Her fingers twitched against your knee, her breathing still slow and even, lips slightly parted against the fabric of your sweatpants. You could feel Garcia’s gaze flick from Emily’s socked feet -one striped, one plain black,she’d clearly dressed in the dark- to the way your palm hovered protectively over her shoulder.The silence in the apartment stretched for exactly three seconds before Penelope dropped the grocery bag onto the floor with a dramatic thud. "Well," she stage-whispered, her violet-lined eyes darting between Emily’s sleeping form and your frozen expression, "this explains why someone didn’t answer her texts for girls’ night prep."
JJ stepped around Penelope’s discarded alcohol haul, her smirk softening when she took in Emily’s exhausted sprawl. "and we thought she bailed," she murmured, nudging Tara, who was still studying the scene with forensic curiosity. "Not that she was...well. occupied."Your fingers froze mid-air where they'd been working their way through Emily's hair with ritualistic familiarity, acutely aware of three pairs of eyes dissecting the domestic scene like it was an active crime scene. Emily let out a soft snuffle against your thigh, completely oblivious, one hand curled loosely around the hem of your sweater.
Penelope's untamable curiosity forced her to recover first, her neon-pink heels clicking against the hardwood as she sashayed forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Okay, first of all adorable! Second of all," she jabbed a glittery fingernail toward Emily’s socked feet, "who dressed her, a colorblind raccoon?"You choked back a laugh, pressing your palm to Emily’s shoulder as if you could shield her from Penelope’s scrutiny. “She dressed in the dark,” you admitted, voice low. “Jetlag.” It wasn’t entirely a lie, Emily had stumbled into the apartment like a ghost, all hollowed out exhaustion and trembling fingers.
JJ crouched by the coffee table, her ponytail swinging forward as she examined the abandoned takeout containers and Emily’s half-finished coffee. “She didn’t even drink her espresso,” she observed, like it was a damning piece of evidence. Tara snorted, nudging the mug with one finger. “That’s how you know something’s wrong.”
Penelope gasped, pressing both hands to her chest as if struck by divine revelation. "Oh my god,oh my god!" she half yelled-half squeeled, eyes darting between Emily’s sleeping form and your increasingly flushed face. "You're the reason she turned down my spectacular blind date last month!" JJ’s head snapped up from examining Emily’s discarded blazer, her blue eyes widening. "And why she suddenly knew all the lyrics to that indie folk album in the car," she added, pointing accusingly at your innumerable display of vinyls littering the walls .Tara, ever the profiler, circled the couch with slow, measured steps. "This also explains the sudden interest in Thai food," she murmured, nodding at the green curry takeout container balanced precariously on the armrest. "Prentiss used to call cilantro 'soap leaves.'"
You swallowed hard, acutely aware of the way Penelope was practically vibrating with barely-contained glee while JJ leaned against the armrest with the smirk of someone who'd just solved a particularly satisfying puzzle. Tara, still circling, abruptly stopped behind the couch and playfully nudged Emily's shoulder, enough to make her grunt and nuzzle deeper into your thigh. "Prentiss," Tara said, her voice laced with unadulterated amusement, "you might want to wake up for this
Emily's brow furrowed, her nose scrunching adorably before she blinked one eye open, then immediately squeezed it shut again at the sight of her three coworkers looming over her. "Jesus," she rasped, voice thick with sleep, "are we being raided?" She lifted her head just enough to squint at Penelope's glittery nails now inches from her face. "Garcia, why are you holding a bottle of tequila in my living room at—" she glanced at the clock "nine-fifteen PM?"
Emily's sleep-slurred question hung in the air as she slowly registered the tableau Penelope's manic grin, JJ's folded arms, Tara's raised eyebrow. Her head snapped up when she realized she'd been using your thigh as a pillow, her dark bangs sticking up in five different directions. "Oh," she said unintelligently, her hand still tangled in the hem of your sweater.Penelope clapped her hands together with the force of a gunshot. "Surprise!" she whisper-yelled, neon nails fluttering. "Girls' night! Which you agreed to host, might I add, before apparently getting ‘distracted’." Her gaze flicked pointedly to where your fingers were still absently tracing circles on Emily's shoulder.
Emily blinked, her sleep-addled brain struggling to process the scene, Penelope's accusing fingers framing her face like a neon spotlight, JJ’s smirk widening by the second, Tara’s quiet chuckle as she nudged Emily’s discarded blazer with her toe. Then she looked up at you, your cheeks pink, your fingers frozen mid-stroke through her hair. For a heartbeat, she considered bolting. but she couldn't. no. wouldn't do that to you. Instead, she sighed and flopped back against your thigh with an exaggerated groan. "I forgot," she admitted, muffled by your sweatpants. "I forgot everything except getting home."
Penelope gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. "You forgot? Emily Prentiss, international woman of mystery, forgot girls' night?" She turned to JJ, faux whispering, "She’s whipped."
JJ's smirk deepened as she plopped onto the armrest, her elbow resting on the back of the couch right above Emily’s head. "Oh, she’s definitely whipped," she agreed, nudging Tara with her foot. "Remember when she refused to take that extra weekend in Miami? Said she had 'prior commitments'?" Emily groaned again, her fingers tightening reflexively around the hem of your sweater as if she could disappear into it. Tara, ever the quiet observer, crouched down until she was eye-level with Emily’s flushed face. "Prior commitments," she repeated slowly, her lips quirking. "Interesting choice of words."
The moment stretched, taut as a bowstring,Emily's fingers still twisted in your sweater, Penelope vibrating with barely-contained glee, JJ's smirk deepening by the second. Then Tara reached out and plucked Emily's discarded blazer from the floor, dangling it between two fingers like a forensic exhibit. "Prior commitments," she repeated, shaking the wrinkled fabric for emphasis. "Like, say, coming home to this?" Emily made a noise halfway between a groan and a whimper, burying her face deeper into your thigh. You could feel the heat radiating off her cheeks through the thin fabric of your sweatpants. "I hate all of you," she muttered, voice muffled.
Penelope's grin turned positively feral as she whipped out her phone with a flourish. "This," she declared, waving it like a conductor's baton, "is going in the group chat with soooooo many heart emojis." Emily lurched upright so fast she nearly headbutted JJ's elbow. "Garcia, I swear to god-" Penelope dodged Emily's grab for the phone with a practiced sidestep, her violet-lined eyes glinting with mischief. "Too slow, Sleeping Beauty!" She tapped her screen rapidly, her thumbs a blur. "There. Sent with three! kissy-face emojis—oh, and a winky face for spice."
Emily groaned, scrubbing a hand down her face. "You're the worst," she muttered, but there was no real heat in it. Her shoulders relaxed slightly when your fingers resumed their slow strokes through her hair, grounding her.
JJ plucked the tequila bottle from Penelope’s abandoned grocery bag with a grin, twisting off the cap with a practiced flick of her wrist. “Well,” she said, pouring a generous amount into Emily’s abandoned coffee mug, “since we’re already here…” She wiggled the mug toward you with a raised eyebrow. “Might as well make it official.”Emily sighed, but you felt the tension ease from her shoulders as she shifted to sit upright though she didn’t fully disentangle herself from you, her hip still pressed firmly against yours, arm lazily slung over your shoulder with casual familiarity. “Official?” she echoed, voice dry. “What, like an interrogation?”
JJ took a sip straight from the tequila bottle, grinning as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Oh, it’s definitely an interrogation," she deadpanned. She gestured at you with the bottle. "Starting with-how long has this been going on?" Emily’s fingers twitched against your shoulder, her thumb tracing idle circles. "Six months," she admitted before you could answer, her voice softer than usual. The confession seemed to pull something loose in her chest,her shoulders dropping, the tight line of her jaw relaxing.
Penelope gasped so loudly the neighbors probably heard it, clutching JJ’s arm for moral support. "Six WHOLE months?" she whisper-shrieked, her glittery nails digging into JJ’s sleeve. "You’ve been holding out on us for HALF A YEAR!?"Emily rolled her eyes, but her thumb didn’t stop tracing slow circles against your shoulder. "It’s not like we were keeping score," she muttered, though the corner of her mouth twitched when Tara snorted behind a poorly disguised cough.
Penelope’s gaze zeroed in on you like a laser sight, her violet-lined eyes narrowing with mock severity. “And you,” she declared, pointing a declarative finger inches from your nose. “You.whose name I don’t even know ”Emily stiffened beside you arm tightening a fraction, but you just laughed, catching Penelope’s wrist and gently lowering her dramatic accusation. “It’s (Y/N),” you offered, squeezing her fingers lightly.
Penelope’s theatrical gasp was cut short when JJ suddenly clapped her hands together. "Wait! So that's why you had that sketchbook full of doodles in the briefing last month!" JJ’s eyes sparkled with triumph as she pointed at Emily. "All those little hearts in the margins? That was for you?"Emily’s ears went pink. "Those were ‘case notes’," she grumbled, but the way her thumb dug into your shoulder betrayed her. You laughed, the sound bubbling up as Penelope dramatically clutched her chest. "Oh, I definitly like this one," she declared, spinning on her heel toward the kitchen with the tequila bottle held aloft like a torch. "Someone get the shot glasses! we're initiating a new member tonight!"
Emily groaned, but her fingers curled tighter around yours as Penelope rummaged through cabinets with the efficiency of a woman who'd raided this kitchen before. "Garcia, those are espresso cups-" Penelope waved Emily’s protest away with a flick of her wrist, already lining up four mismatched espresso cups on the counter. "Details, darling! Alcohol is alcohol, and tonight calls for celebratory alcohol!" She poured a generous splash of tequila into each cup, sloshing some onto the counter in her enthusiasm. JJ snatched one of the cups with a grin, nudging Tara with her elbow. "Remember when Prentiss swore she'd never date someone who watches true crime documentaries?" She gestured at the TV screen still paused on your abandoned show-a particularly gruesome cold case reenactment.Emily groaned knowingly, rubbing her temples as Penelope shoved a tequila-filled espresso cup into her hand. "I never said never," she muttered, her cheeks flushing darker when you smirked into your own cup.
Penelope gasped, nearly upending her drink. "Emily Prentiss.liar! You said and I quote-'anyone who enjoys watching murder reenactments for fun has a screw loose.'" She whirled to face you, her neon nails fluttering. "How did you even get this one to watch true crime? Bribery? Blackmail?"
You shrugged, absently swirling the tequila in your cup. "Made her dinner first."
Emily choked on her sip, coughing into her sleeve as JJ and Tara burst out laughing. "That’s not-" She spluttered, gesturing vaguely between you and the TV. "It was one time! And you made pad thai!" Penelope clutched her metaphorical pearls ( the sequins on her tank top) and gasped. "Pad thai? That's your weakness? Emily Prentiss, international badass, felled by….. noodles?" She spun toward JJ, who was already nodding sagely. "Note to self: stock up on takeout menus."
Emily groaned, rubbing her temples, but you caught the way her lips twitched when your fingers brushed against hers under the pretense of taking her empty cup. "You're all ridiculous," she muttered, though the warmth in her voice betrayed her. Tara, who'd been quietly observing the chaos with an amused tilt to her mouth, suddenly leaned forward. "Wait," she said, her sharp eyes flicking between Emily's disheveled hair and the blanket still tangled around your laps. "If you've been together six months-" She paused, tilting her head. "Does that mean your 'business trip' to Chicago in April was actually…?"
Emily's eyes widened comically before she grabbed the nearest throw pillow and lobbed it at Tara's head. "That was legitimate!" she insisted, voice cracking slightly as the pillow bounced harmlessly off Tara's shoulder. You bit your lip to keep from laughing, but the way Emily's ears burned scarlet gave her away.Penelope's gasp could have shattered glass. "Chicago?!" she shrieked, nearly upending her tequila as she whirled on Emily. "You told us you were interviewing a witness at Cook County Jail!" She jabbed a glittered finger at Emily's rapidly reddening face. "You lied to us!? To me!? Your best friend! Your soul sister!"
Emily groaned, rubbing her temples as Tara smirked into her espresso cup. "It was business," she insisted weakly. "Just... with a side of personal time. JJ snorted into her drink. "Personal time," she repeated, waggling her eyebrows. "Is that what the kids are calling it these days?" She leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm. "So tell us, Prentiss-did you at least see the jail? Or were you too... occupied?"
You couldn't help the laugh that escaped as Emily buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with silent mortification. Penelope seized the moment, throwing an arm around your shoulders with surprising strength. "You," she declared, her eyes gleaming, "are officially my favorite person now. Anyone who can make Emily Prentiss blush like a schoolgirl deserves a medal."
The teasing lasted well into the third round of tequila shots–long enough for Penelope to dig up Emily’s old FBI academy photo "Look at her! A baby-faced menace!" and for Tara to ‘accidentally’find your shared playlist titled ‘Soft Shit Emily Pretends To Hate’. Emily groaned into her hands when JJ discovered the doodles in her case files–little stars and your initials tucked into the margins of witness statements. "This is workplace harassment," Emily muttered, but the way her fingers kept finding yours under the table betrayed her.
You lost count of how many times Penelope gasped dramatically "Wait—’you’re’ the one who got her to try yoga?!", or how many knowing looks Tara exchanged with JJ "Explains why she suddenly knew all the lyrics to Hozier". By the time the tequila bottle sat empty on the counter, Emily had resigned herself to her fate, slumped against your shoulder with a fond eye roll as Penelope animatedly explained the "sacred rules of girls’ night" to you. The first rule of girls night was that naturally. you don't talk about girls' night! Rule two was simply no icky profiler talk. enforced of course by penelope.
The apartment smelled like salt and lime when you both finally shooed them out, Penelope blowing exaggerated kisses while JJ promised. threatened? to ‘bring better snacks next time.’ Emily locked the door behind them with a theatrical sigh, her forehead thunking against the wood. "I’m never living this down," she groaned, but her fingers were gentle when they found yours in the dim hallway light.
The bedroom was quiet, just the hum of the house settling and the distant sound of traffic six floors below. Emily toed off her mismatched socks with a tired chuckle, her shirt still rumpled from where Penelope had tugged at it during her impassioned speech about ‘best friend betrayal;’ You watched her move in the soft lighting, the way her shoulders finally relaxed, the way her fingers lingered at the hem of her shirt like she was relearning how to be soft.
Emily’s chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm beneath your cheek, the warmth of her skin seeping through the thin cotton of her worn t-shirt. You could feel the faint thrum of her heartbeat against your ear, slow now, finally untangled from the case’s residual grip. Her fingers traced idle patterns along your spine beneath your own (her) sleep shirt, pausing occasionally to curl into the fabric of your shirt when Penelope’s laughter echoed too loudly in her memory. "They’re gonna hold this over me for the rest of forever," she murmured into your hair, her breath stirring the strands. You hummed, pressing closer as her arms tightened around you instinctively. The scent of her shampoo–something faintly herbal, stubbornly clinging despite the length of her day–mingled with the lingering tequila on her breath. Emily exhaled sharply when your fingers found the knotted tension in her shoulder, her body arching slightly into your touch like a flower tilting toward sunlight. "Worth it," you mumbled with finality settling against her collarbone, smiling at the way her pulse jumped under your ear.
Her chuckle vibrated through you, low and warm. "Easy for you to say," she grumbled, but her hands were already sliding under your sweater, palms skating up your back with practiced ease. "You didn’t just get blackmailed into hosting monthly girls’ nights until" she paused, her nose wrinkling as she tried to recall Penelope’s exact threat, "until the heat death of the universe, or whatever." You laughed, nipping lightly at the hollow of her throat in retaliation. Emily’s breath hitched, her hips canting forward reflexively before she caught herself with a groan. "Cruel," she accused, tangling her legs with yours under the rumpled sheets, before succumbing to her exhaustion.
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