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The shape of almost P10 // Something unspoken

word count: 4.8 k Summary: A few days later, you meet Emily at a restaurant, where she wants to spend time with both of you away from the chaos and everything that happened. What begins as a relaxed evening shifts when Isabelle, of all people, appears at the restaurant, and you begin to notice a quiet jealousy in Emily that Claire doesn’t seem to pick up on. tags: college!reader, fem!reader, jealous!emilyprentiss, unitchief!emily prentiss, mutual pining, age gap, quiet tension, things left unsaid, unspoken connection, slow burn

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Emily had called Claire the night before, her voice calm, asking a question that hadn’t really been a question at all. She never would have accepted no as an answer. She wanted to see the two of you somewhere far away from fluorescent lights, briefing rooms, and police stations. Just one normal evening together. That was why she had suggested dinner at a small restaurant near the harbor.

Claire hadn’t even let Emily finish before accepting the invitation. You, on the other hand, had never been asked whether it suited you.

Now the two of you stand outside the restaurant, the scent of saltwater lingering in the evening air while seagulls cry somewhere in the distance. To your left, an old bookshop displays a selection of newly released novels in its window. Next to it, a florist glows warmly behind brightly lit windows, spilling soft golden light across the street even as dusk slowly settles over the harbor. Nestled between them sits the restaurant.

Claire slows when you reach the entrance. Your reflections meet in the glass, and for a second she doesn’t move.

“You okay?” she asks, noticing your hesitation.

You look at yourself for a moment longer than necessary. You look… like yourself. Or at least like someone who could pass as that, if no one had seen you crouched behind overturned furniture while the sounds inside a mall turned your entire world upside down.

“I think so.” Your voice is steadier than you expected it to be.

“That’s a start,” she nods, and pushes the door open.

Warm air greets you first, followed by the smell of freshly baked bread, herbs, and something sweet you can’t quite place. Chocolate? Vanilla cake? You honestly have no idea.

A low murmur of conversation washes over you, waiters weaving between tables, soft music barely audible beneath the voices. Your eyes take in the scene around you, but if you’re honest, none of it really holds your attention.

Your gaze finds Emily almost immediately. She is already on her feet. Claire slips away from your side and hurries toward her godmother, who greets her with a reassuring smile.

Emily moves without hesitation. She closes the distance between them, and the moment she reaches Claire, she pulls her into a firm embrace. Both arms wrap around her with the kind of certainty that suggests there was never any other possible greeting. One hand comes to rest against Claire’s back, stroking once, slow and grounding, the familiar motion easing a body that has been carrying too much tension for far too long.

“Breathe,” Emily murmurs against her hair. “You’re okay.”

You watch Claire let out a shaky breath, catching the way she discreetly wipes at the corner of one eye before allowing herself to sink into Emily’s embrace. Emily, for her part, makes no attempt to let go before Claire is ready. She simply holds her, keeping her close, as though giving her permission to stay there for as long as she needs.

A few seconds later, Emily’s eyes lift to yours. A gentle smile settles on her lips, and you find yourself returning it before you even realize you’re smiling at all.

When Claire finally eases out of the embrace and makes her way toward the table behind Emily, you follow a moment later. You come to a stop a few steps away, suddenly unsure what feels appropriate. Because really…

“Hey.” Emily’s voice cuts cleanly through the rush of your thoughts. “You’re here.” A faint smile lingers at the corners of her mouth. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“I am,” you manage in a soft voice.

She holds your gaze a moment longer than the sentence needs and then she steps closer.

Her hand finds your arm first, steady but gentle, like she’s confirming you’re real and still here. Her fingers move once, slow, grounding, not pushing anything away, just keeping you in place where she can reach you.

You don’t realize you’re leaning forward until you already are. Emily doesn’t stop you.

Her arms come around you with the same certainty she used with Claire, only this time there is no distance left between hesitation and movement. She holds you firmly, not in a way that traps you, but in a way that gives you the kind of safety that almost makes something inside you collapse.

Instinctively, your fingers curl into the silky fabric beneath your hands, desperate to focus on something other than your own body, which feels like it is spiraling completely out of control.

Your breath breaks against her shoulder before you can stop it, uneven and too sharp, and for a moment it feels as though your body is betraying you in a way you cannot quite bring back under control. But nothing about her pulls away from it.

Her hand remains against your back, gently pressing you closer, and you don’t miss the subtle change in her breathing.

Your fingers are still caught in her sleeve, but you don’t let go. Not even when you realize how tightly you are holding on.

Only then does Emily seem to notice the way you are clinging to her. Her hand stills for a moment, only to resume its movement a second later, slower now, tracing calm circles over your back.

Claire steps between the moment before it can stretch any further. “Sit,” she instructs, patting the space beside her.

Emily’s breath shifts slightly, and only then does she ease out of the space between you.

Her hand slides from your back slowly, as though she is buying herself another moment of contact, another second before letting go completely. The pressure of her touch fades, but you can still feel the warmth of her hand hovering there for a brief moment before it finally disappears.

For a second longer, she remains close enough that you can feel her breath against your skin, the sense of safety that seems to radiate from her without effort. You don’t know if you have ever felt this safe with another person before.

Emily takes a step back. Only then does the world begin to rearrange itself into chairs, the edges of the table, menus placed in front of you like the simplest possible version of structure.

The restaurant is warmer than the space outside, but it takes your body longer to accept that warmth again. Your shoulders remain slightly too tense, your breathing still carrying traces of what it had been only minutes ago.

“How are you sleeping?” she asks, leaning back against the booth.

Claire lets out a small sound of protest between her laugh. “You really enjoy starting with that, don’t you?”

“That’s just who I am,” Emily replies with a small smile. “You know me.”

“I’m not sleeping,” Claire admits then, more honestly than she probably intended, and you find yourself nodding in agreement.

Emily hums softly at her honesty. “I figured.”

Her gaze shifts to you. At first, she doesn’t say anything. She simply looks at you, giving you the space to find your answer. You don’t feel pressured to say anything, yet something in the way she looks at you makes you want to.

When you remain silent for a moment too long, one of Emily’s eyebrows lifts slightly.

“And you?” she prompts gently.

You swallow, suddenly aware that she has noticed your silence. “It’s… okay,” you admit after a moment. “Not great. But okay.”

Emily studies you briefly, but she doesn’t push. She simply nods, accepting the answer for what it is.

The waiter arrives before the conversation can settle into anything deeper, placing menus on the table and briefly explaining the specials before leaving you to decide.

Claire is the first to lean back into something normal. She takes the menu as if she is proving something to herself, flipping it open with exaggerated focus.

“I’m starving,” she admits sheepishly.

The corner of Emily’s mouth lifts, small and brief. “I already ordered appetizers.”

“Of course you did,” Claire mutters. “This is why you’re useful in a crisis.”

A beat passes before Claire adds more quietly, almost as an afterthought: “…and everything else.”

“You say that like it’s a compliment,” Emily counters, glancing at her over the edge of the menu.

“It is,” Claire replies. “Mostly.”

Emily’s eyebrow lifts. “Mostly?”

Claire shrugs, a small smile appearing on her face. “You have a habit of deciding you know what everyone needs before they even realize they need it. Like you somehow knew I would be starving the second I sat down.”

“And am I usually wrong?” Emily asks. “I’ve known you for too long not to know that you probably haven’t eaten anything proper since this morning. Am I wrong?”

Claire opens her mouth, then closes it again.

Before she can answer, her stomach betrays her with a quiet but very obvious growl.

Emily simply looks at her.

Claire looks away, pretending she didn’t hear it.

“That’s not the point.”

A quiet laugh escapes Emily, and something about the exchange makes you smile before you even realize it.

It is a different side of Emily than the one you have seen so far. Still composed. Still calm. But softer somehow. The kind of person who notices the things people forget to say out loud.

You have heard pieces of this before. Stories Claire told without ever making them sound important. Moments where Emily somehow knew what she needed before Claire had even admitted it to herself.

It seems almost impossible, and yet somehow completely believable.

“So she does this a lot?” you ask Claire before you can stop yourself.

Your voice cuts through the conversation more suddenly than you intended. After being so quiet for most of the evening, both of them look toward you, slightly surprised that you decided to join in.

“I mean…” you gesture vaguely between them. “Not the food thing. I mean knowing what someone needs before they even realize it themselves.”

You glance toward Emily. “Is that some kind of FBI superpower?”

Claire’s smile grows.

“I’m not saying she’s part of some secret organization that predicts people’s needs before they even happen,” she says, pausing for dramatic effect.

Emily gives her a look.

“But?”

Claire leans back slightly, clearly enjoying herself. “But I’m also not saying she isn’t.”

You laugh quietly.

“I remember one time she ordered me fish soup because I had once mentioned that I liked sushi.” Claire shakes her head, still smiling at the memory. “It was horrible.”

You try to hold back your laugh, but the image of Emily confidently ordering something so specific based on a completely unrelated comment is too much. A second later, you give up and let the quiet laugh escape.

“So…” you start, glancing toward Emily. “Should I be worried?”

Emily looks at you, slightly confused. “About what?”

“About letting you make decisions for me.” You gesture toward the menu in front of you, as if it is evidence against her.

Emily leans back slightly. Her eyebrows lift, and for a moment she looks genuinely offended by the accusation. “I think that’s a little dramatic."

“I made one bad decision,” she adds, looking between you and Claire. “One. And somehow years later, it’s still being used against me.”

“Is it?” you ask. “Because according to Claire, you once decided she needed fish soup because she liked sushi. And apparently there was also the time you packed her bag before a trip because you decided she would forget half of what she needed.”

“That is not what happened.”

Claire looks pleased that you have taken her side. “That is exactly what happened.”

Emily looks at her. “You told me you forgot your charger three times in one week.”

“And?”

“And I made sure you had one,” she replies, as if this alone proves her point.

“You packed my entire bag.”

“Because you would have forgotten something.” Her fingers drum lightly against the wooden table, the small movement betraying that she already knows this argument is not going in her favor.

Claire opens her mouth to argue, but then closes it again. “Whatever,” she murmurs after a second.

You can’t help but smile, hiding part of your expression behind the menu for a moment. There is something almost strange about seeing Emily like this. Still composed. Still calm. But somehow caught in a familiar rhythm with Claire, one that clearly comes from years of knowing each other.

“I was right,” Emily says, a small, almost victorious smile appearing on her face. “That’s why I can also recommend the Philly cocktail. The internet said—”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you interrupt, lowering the menu in front of you. “After everything I’ve heard now, I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”

Claire’s raised eyebrows and the amused expression on her face are enough to answer before she even says anything. Emily notices and presses her lips together, clearly trying not to smile.

“You’re exaggerating,” Emily huffs, but the amusement in her voice gives her away.

“Really?” you ask, tilting your head slightly. “Because all of this doesn’t sound very reassuring.”

For a second, Emily simply studies you. Then the smallest hint of amusement appears in her expression. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Maybe a little.”

“Interesting.” You hear the subtle change in her voice, the way it drops slightly, carrying a teasing edge. Her eyes stay on you, studying your reaction as if she is trying to figure out whether you realize exactly what you just admitted.

The way she says it makes you realize that you have somehow stepped into a conversation that usually belongs only to Claire and Emily. A rhythm built from years of knowing each other, from countless small moments you were never part of. And yet, somehow, Emily doesn’t seem bothered that you have found your way into it.

Emily finally looks back down at her menu, shaking her head slightly as if accepting defeat. “Well, then I’ll stay out of it,” she replies with a quiet laugh. “Do you two already know what you want to drink if not the Philly cocktail?”

A chaotic discussion about the drinks breaks out at the table, the menu is far too elaborate to simply settle for something ordinary like a soda, and somehow Emily manages to distract both of you completely, drawing you into a harmless conversation.

One filled with careful questions, but never lingering too long on any single answer, never making either of you feel as though you have to explain yourselves more than you are ready to. She just lets them exist in the space and then moves on.

You find yourself listening more than speaking. Not because you have nothing to say, but because there is something about Emily’s presence that makes you want to stay quiet and simply take it in.

The way she rests one elbow lightly against the table when she listens. The way her attention doesn’t scatter, even when Claire fills the space with stories that drift from absurd to almost painfully normal. The small shift in her expression whenever something doesn’t quite align with what she already knew.

There is something steady about her presence that makes the rest of the room feel slightly less sharp at the edges.

“You’ve been awfully quiet.” Claire’s voice pulls you back before you realise you’ve drifted.

You blink once, slow. “Oh. Really?”

Emily looks up as well, her attention turning without effort.

Claire laughs, leaning back in her chair. “You’ve answered every question with about three words.”

“I don’t have that much to say.”

“I don’t believe that for a second.” There is no tension in her words. Only familiarity trying to find its way back.

Emily leans in, as if she is choosing the moment carefully before speaking. “After everything that’s happened,” she offers in a calm voice, “I think silence is allowed.”

Your eyes meet for a moment too long, and your heart skips into a faster rhythm. You look down again, back to the table, to the menu, to anything that is not her. Emily doesn’t comment on it. She simply keeps listening to Claire as if nothing has shifted at all.

“Yeah, if we’re being honest…” you hear your best friend say, but your thoughts have already drifted somewhere else.

Since the incident at the mall, your thoughts have been difficult to control. The fear still returns in unexpected moments. And somehow, so does Emily.

A few days ago, you had still believed you had successfully pushed her out of your thoughts. Now she is more present than ever before. It doesn’t help that you keep watching her constantly, memorizing every small movement, every subtle change in her expression.

Claire picks up the thread before the moment can deepen any further, shifting the conversation toward university.

“You know what happened in Professor Miller’s lecture last week?” she starts, a small smile appearing on her face. “He walked in, put his coffee down next to his notes, and within five minutes managed to spill it everywhere.”

Emily raises an eyebrow. “Again?”

Claire points at her with a small laugh. “That’s the worst part. It was the third time in three weeks.”

“You’re telling me he has done this three times and still hasn’t learned?” Emily asks, a hint of amusement creeping into her voice.

“Yes,” Claire replies. “And the funniest part? He just stared at the pages like they had personally betrayed him.”

Emily actually laughs at the absurdity. Not a polite reaction or a restrained acknowledgment. A real laugh that breaks through her usual composure just enough to change her entire face. It catches you off guard. It feels so open. So effortless. So completely her.

You’re still smiling because of it when a voice cuts into the table from the side.

“…Claire?”

Claire turns so quickly that her chair almost scrapes against the floor. “Oh my God.”

Her eyes widen. “Isabelle?”

The name pulls your attention toward the person standing beside the table.

Isabelle stands a few steps away from the table, a tray balanced lightly in one hand. She wears the restaurant’s uniform, her hair pulled back neatly. For a moment, she simply looks at Claire, recognition softening into surprise, before her gaze moves past her.

And lands on you.

Something in her expression brightens when she sees you. “Oh. Y/N,” she laughs in disbelief. “Okay, I was not expecting to meet you here.”

Claire leans forward in her chair, visibly delighted. “You work here?” She asks, looking between Isabelle and the tray. “You actually work here?”

Isabelle smiles as she steps closer and carefully places the tray on the table, arranging the appetizers in front of you before looking back at Claire.

“Apparently I do,” she replies with a small, amused breath. “And I also bring you your appetizers. I told you I picked up shifts, but I didn’t think I’d run into you like this.”

Her attention flickers briefly back to you again, softer this time.

“And you’re both okay?” she asks. “After everything in the news, I wasn’t sure what actually happened in the end.”

Claire nods quickly. “We’re fine. Exhausted, but fine.”

Isabelle exhales as if that answer physically relieves something in her.

“Good,” she says simply. Then she hesitates, shifting the tray in her hand as if suddenly aware she is still technically working. “I should let you eat,” she adds, glancing between the three of you. “I can come back later when you’re done.”

Claire waves a hand dismissively. “No, stay. Seriously. As long as you can."

Isabelle lets out a small laugh and doesn’t leave. Instead, her gaze returns to you again, settling there in a way that feels steady rather than intrusive, like she’s simply making sure you’re really standing in front of her.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she admits, this time looking directly at you.

“Yeah,” you manage after a second. “I am.”

“I was thinking about you afterwards. It was kind of… a lot, that day.”

Claire gives a small, tired huff of agreement. “That’s one way to put it.”

Isabelle lets out a short laugh. “Right. Understatement of the year.”

For a moment, the table feels almost normal. As if none of it ever happened. As if the mall, the gunshots, the fear had been left somewhere outside these walls. But Emily’s silence hasn’t escaped you. It’s almost as though she isn’t part of the conversation at all. Slowly, you look up and it doesn’t surprise you to find her already watching you. You felt it.

Her fingers are still wrapped loosely around her glass, her posture relaxed, almost effortless. Only her eyes give anything away. They stay on you for another few seconds before drifting to Isabelle, then to Claire, and finally back to you. Her expression never changes.

Claire doesn’t notice. Neither does Isabelle.

“I just wanted to make sure I didn’t miss anything important,” Isabelle continues, turning slightly back toward you. “After the mall. I left before things escalated, but I read about it later and… yeah.” Her mouth pulls into a faint, almost self-conscious smile. “It’s kind of hard to imagine what it was really like from just reading articles.”

Claire nods in quiet understanding. “It doesn’t really translate into words.”

“No,” Isabelle agrees softly. “It doesn’t.”

She shifts the tray in her hands, the faint clink of cutlery and glass briefly filling the pause between you. “I should probably get back to work. But I’m on break again later… so maybe I’ll see you then.”

Claire lifts a hand with a grin. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Isabelle nods once. Before she turns away, her eyes find yours one last time. “Enjoy your meal.”

Then she slips back into the rhythm of the restaurant, disappearing between the tables as though she’d never interrupted yours at all.

A quiet tension settles over the table, although Claire doesn’t seem to notice it the way you do. Your eyes drift back to Emily almost instinctively. She watches Isabelle until she disappears between the other guests. Something shifts in her expression, so slight that you almost convince yourself you imagined it.

Claire, oblivious, tilts her head with an easy smile. “I’m still not over the coincidence of her working here. What are the chances?”

You smile faintly, but before you can answer, your attention shifts toward the appetizers Emily ordered earlier. The plate of tomato and mozzarella sits between the three of you, untouched until now. Almost at the same moment, you and Emily reach for the fork. Your fingers stop before they touch.

“You first,” Emily offers and the words come naturally, without hesitation.

You glance at her. “Are you sure?”

One of her eyebrows lifts. “I’m offering you a fork, not surrendering my entire plate.” The seriousness in her voice lasts only long enough for you to realize she is teasing you.

“Good. I was worried there were rules I didn’t know about.”

“There are always rules.”

“And somehow I’m supposed to know them?”

“You’re learning.” Her gaze settles on you for the briefest moment before moving to Claire. “How do you know her?”

The question is directed at the table, but somehow it feels as though she’s asking you.

The answer leaves your mouth almost automatically.

“I know her through Claire.”

“From university,” Claire explains at exactly the same time.

The two answers overlap.

Claire laughs, shaking her head. “Well… technically both are true.” She gestures between you as if she has done this explanation before. “Isabelle and I have the same literature seminar. They only actually met at the mall.”

Emily nods once. “Okay."

The conversation could end there, instead, the silence lingers. Not awkwardly, just long enough that you find yourself looking back at her. Emily takes a moment to process that, her gaze lowering briefly toward the table. It is the kind of pause you have learned means she is noticing more than she is saying. Then her attention returns to you. “So the mall was the first time you met.”

Again, it isn’t really a question.

You nod. “Yes.”

Emily lets another quiet moment pass. “When she came over…” she notes, almost thoughtfully, “…it didn’t feel like the two of you had only known each other since the mall. There was a familiarity there. A level of comfort that usually takes longer to develop.”

Your stomach tightens at her words.

Before you can think of an answer, Claire is already smiling. “Oh, Isabelle’s just like that.”

Emily’s eyes drift to Claire. “Like what?”

“She gets attached to people.” Claire shrugs. “Especially if she likes them.”

Emily doesn’t react.

Claire continues anyway, completely unaware. “I mean…” A grin spreads across her face. “I was actually trying to set them up.”

Only then does Emily look at her properly. “You were?”

Claire nods, laughing. “Yes, at the mall.”

Emily blinks once and repeats her words. “At the mall.”

“Before everything happened,” Claire explains quickly. “We bumped into Isabelle, they started talking and…” She smiles toward you. “I just thought they’d be cute together.”

For the first time since Isabelle walked away, something flickers across Emily’s face. Whatever it is, she hides it almost instantly, just a moment too late for you not to notice.

“You tried to set them up.” It isn’t really a question. More like she is repeating the information to herself, fitting it into a picture that is only beginning to make sense.

“Yeah.”

Emily shakes her head slightly, the smallest hint of amusement touching her expression. “Of course you did.”

Claire laughs. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m just saying…” Emily leans back slightly, folding her arms. “This isn’t exactly new behavior.”

“Oh my God,” Claire groans, already knowing where this is going.

“You remember when you tried to convince your brother that he and Maya would be perfect together?”

“That was different.”

“You made a spreadsheet.”

Claire’s face falls. “You promised you would never mention that again.”

A quiet laugh escapes you before you can stop it.

Emily studies her briefly, amusement flickering in her eyes. “No compatibility chart this time?”

Claire looks offended. “That was one time.”

“You made categories.”

“They were helpful categories.”

A quiet laugh escapes you before you can stop it.

Emily’s expression softens slightly before she looks back at Claire. “So,” she continues, “no spreadsheet, no color-coded plan. Just a feeling?”

Claire rolls her eyes, but she is smiling. “Yes.”

The humor fades slowly from Emily’s expression, replaced by genuine curiosity. “And why Isabelle?”

“She’s kind,” Claire explains with a shrug. “And she’s patient. She’s good at making people feel comfortable. I just thought… I don’t know. I thought Isabelle and Y/N might understand each other.”

Emily’s expression doesn’t change, but something in her attention shifts. She looks at you only briefly at first, as if she is considering whether to ask at all. “You seemed surprised when she approached you.”

The observation catches you off guard. “I was,” you admit. “I didn’t expect to see her again so soon. Especially not after everything that happened.”

Emily studies your face for another moment. “She seemed very comfortable with you.”

“Exactly,” Claire hums, relieved that someone else apparently noticed it too. “That’s what I was trying to tell her.”

Something about the way Emily says it makes you look up again. There isn't anything wrong with the observation, but there is something about being watched so closely by her that makes you feel like you should have an answer ready.

You lower your gaze toward the menu, suddenly very aware of the conversation you are having. “Maybe,” you murmur. “I don’t know.”

“And now?” she asks eventually.

The question is quiet enough that Claire doesn’t seem to notice anything unusual about it. You do.

“I don’t know,” you admit after a moment. “I mean… she was kind. She was easy to talk to.”

Your fingers tighten slightly around the edge of the menu. “I just don’t know if it meant anything.”

Emily remains silent for a second before giving the smallest nod. “I see.”

Claire glances between the two of you, visibly trying to follow a conversation that somehow became much more serious than she expected. “You two are weird sometimes, you know that?”

Your eyes move toward her, unsure whether she is joking or not. Emily, however, doesn’t seem bothered by the observation. She simply turns another page of the menu, the faint rustle of paper the only sound coming from her side of the table.

Claire shifts awkwardly in her seat. “She really was sweet,” she tries after a moment, almost defensively now. “Honestly. She was just being friendly.”

Emily looks up again. “I’m sure she was.”

Nothing in her tone suggests disagreement. Nothing in it suggests agreement either. Yet for reasons you can’t quite explain, those four words leave something inside you feeling tighter than before.

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