do you think about how “the lawn is dead” lyric in half return by adrianne lenker occasionally sounds like “lonnie’s dead” and what this means for miwi or are you normal
summary: things haven't been the same since emily's return: fragile & delicate. you won't allow your friendship to fall apart, not when you finally have her back in your life.
word count: 1.9k
disclaimers: set in season seven. emily is emotionally repressed and deflecting (naturally). case mentioned. kinda character study (i know its canon that emily rushed to repair her relationships after her return in s7 but i wanted to explore what it might look like with a reader where their relationship was deep. you know? someone emily had previously opened up too. because i think that could look very different - i could talk about this for hours. i may have to make a post).
You actually quite enjoyed research. There was something rather ritualistic about sifting through old records, jotting down notes in the process, and slowly trying to peace together a profile. It was slower, and the looming pressure of new victims didn't cease, but still it felt good to pause for a second in the otherwise constant chaos that was working at the BAU.
The mountains of boxes and loose paper currently spewed across Baltimore's stuffy filing room did however momentarily make you regret all your prior comments. As the towers threatened to topple over, crushing you under their inhumane heights.
Morgan had taken one look, muttered “Oh, hell no,” and legged it out the door and honestly you couldn’t blame him. Even you had winced.
Still, you weren't one to back down from a challenge. You squared your shoulders and with help from Spencer and Emily, slowly started to make progress. However, two hours in Hotch decided he needed Spencer back on the geographical profile and couldn't afford to send anyone else to assist you. Spencer apologetically waved his goodbyes, and you watched him go with only slight desperation.
Just you and Emily left.
Which was fine.
Good.
Normal.
You eye her over the police file. Things have been… not awkward exactly since her return, just delicate, maybe? Fragile. Like you were both waiting for the moment a mild gust of wind came and blew away the tattered remains of your friendship.
It still felt so surreal seeing her. The woman you'd spent seven months grieving was now sitting in front of you, brows furrowed as she tiredly flicked through a file, the biro in her hand tapping absentmindedly on her notepad beside her, ready to add to her collection of scrawled ideas and half-formed thoughts. Her hair slips into her eyes and she tucks it behind her ear as she turns a page in the file.
She often had her raven hair tucked back behind her ear now. You've always loved her full bangs, but the side part felt like a gift; revealing more of her face to you and allowing you to silently marvel in her beauty.
"Did you always imagine yourself doing this?" You ask as you grab the next report. Aiming for casual, but unsure if you succeed as your heart beats rapidly. Your fingers restlessly drum against the file, a nervous habit you've never been able to kick.
You feel sixteen again, like she's the popular girl in school you're desperately trying to impress, apart from this time it's worse. Your emotions are all caught up in the mess and you're hopelessly wanting for any sort of connection or normality.
There hadn't been this much of chasm between you in years and you don't know what to do with it. You weren't even sure why it was there. Everyone else seemed to be finding their rhythm with Emily again, and yet you kept missing your step, your heart reaching your throat each time.
She looks up, her brows rising and lips spreading into a smirk, “Sitting surrounded by hundreds of mind-numbing police records trying to track down what happened to our victims when they were teenagers in the off chance it's connected to the case? Oh yeah, that’s what I dreamed about every night as a kid, didn’t you?”
You roll your eyes, your lips twitching. At least some things stayed the same. “I more meant working at the BAU, or even the FBI. Is it what you always wanted to do?”
She bites her lips, her gaze rolling around the room playfully as she hums. A bid for time while she decides whether to answer truthfully or not.
Because while the chasm exists, like this, you're pretty sure you can still read her.
You try not to shift in your seat, hoping for just one small disclosure. Something new, something real.
“I had no idea. Not until college.” She admits, shaking her head, her lips pressed together. “Not until the world felt a bit more open.” Her mouth twitches, a hint of a self deprecating smile appearing, before she pulls it back, hidden.
You nod, lips tilting up just slightly. “You studied Criminal Justice, right?”
“Yes, which as you can imagine, my mother loved." She laughs wryly, her eyes meeting yours from across the table. You hold her gaze knowingly, a part of you wishing you could take her hand and soothe away the hurt. This wasn't the first time in the years you’ve known her that the Ambassador had come up.
"I used to think maybe if I'd gone into law she’d have been happy but I think she just likes to criticise my every choice.” She huffs and discards the file into the growing pile before selecting a new one, her lips twisting in silent displeasure before she can shrug away the sensation.
She looks at you as she opens it, her eyes curious. “What’s with the twenty questions?”
You shrug, “Making conversation I guess.”
Emily hums, her eyes continuing to watch you for a moment before she accepts the answer with a nod and returns to the report in front of her.
You can't do anything to stop the pleased smile on your lips as you look back to the report spread out in front of you.
June 2000. Elderly woman was car jacked.
Definitely nothing to do with the case. You throw the file easily onto the corresponding pile and select a new one. The silence feels lighter, warding off the stuffy air of the room which moments before had been clogging up your throat and making it difficult to breathe. Now, you feel settled, a warmth encompassing you and your confidence building.
Emily's watchful eyes land on you more than once. You can hear the cogs spinning in her head, but you let the silence stretch and give her the space to come to you. Eventually she turns the page of her report, eyes still trapped on the words below her as she murmurs, "What about you then? Was this the dream?”
You squish your lips together to hide the pleased smile threatening to take over your face, but when you look up and notice Emily's expression flicker you're certain she caught you anyway.
"Uh," You push forward, shrugging. There's curiosity in her gaze, but behind that you can see the assumptions beginning to form, the profiler at play.
“I think I just wanted to help people. Whatever form that took.” You admit with another shrug, feeling exposed as you bite your lip and duck your head just slightly.
Her gaze softens, a hint of a smile lingering on her face as she shakes her head in disbelief. "Of course you did. You’re good.”
You choke on your tongue, her sincerity flooring you. "What?"
"Oh, come on." She scoffs, "I'm not saying it again. You heard me and you know it's true."
"Emily," You shake your head, mouth opening and closing as you try to find the words to explain how she'd just split your chest open.
"I—" You blink. "Thank you."
She ducks her head, eyes scanning back to the file. "Have you found anything related to our victims?" She asks, the crease between her brows the only indication that your conversation has left an impact.
You know the case is important, but you hate when she does this: hides behind professionalism. It's not new, it's always, for as long as you've known her, been one of her go to tools when someone gets too close. But her tolerance for vulnerability seems to have weakened. It's like the second you try to inquire past the surface her walls slap you in the face.
It's the reason for the chasm. It must be.
Emily's never been an open book but there used to be some understanding between you both. On her bad days she would come to you, and although she'd rarely find the words, she'd sometimes let you see the tears, let you sit beside her until the world felt a little more steady. But since her return that trust had not been restored. She was going at it all alone.
And you just couldn't have that.
You sigh, eyes kind but knowing she's going to hate every word. "It's okay, you know. To stay in this moment. You don't have to always hide behind work."
She snorts, defensive. "Yeah, how much did you pay for a therapist to tell you that?"
You roll your eyes, sharper this time, but breathing through the hit. "Does it make it any less true? I feel like we hardly talk anymore."
That makes her blink, the file finally dropping. "We talk all the time."
"It's not the same. You must feel the distance."
She stares at you, mind spinning. Words forming and dying in her throat before she dares to voice them... And then, finally, a quiet, almost broken. "I'm trying."
You shake your head, heart aching. "No, Em. That's not what I'm—" You stand up and quickly round the table, file discarded carelessly in the process. You perch on the table beside her. Her gaze is fixated on the wall, distant and forlorn, and you carefully reach out and touch her arm, caressing the soft cotton of her t-shirt.
Her eyes rise to meet yours, guarded but powerful. She's never been weak, not even now when you've touched a part of her she's terrified of. She holds your gaze ready to take whatever blow comes. It makes you nauseous.
"You're not alone anymore." You promise. "I'm here. You can come to me with anything."
She looks away, her creased brows a dead give away to her pain even if she tries to deflect with a flimsy laugh. "Yeah, alright."
"Emily, listen to my words." Your hand slides up, caressing her face and delicately cupping her jaw, bringing her eyes back to yours. "I've already lost you once. I'm not doing it again."
She stares at you. Dark brown eyes, vulnerable and with a spark of something that might just be hope.
"It's dark in there." She croaks, voice choked with emotion and barely louder than a whisper.
"That's okay. Let's handle it together."
She stares at you for a long time. And you hold her, steady and purposefully. Trying to reassure her in the silence that you would not leave. Even as tears ghost her eyes, you stay; your fingers stroking the line of her jaw soothingly.
And eventually… one singular nod.
You smile.
You should pull away, you know. But you haven't been this close to her in forever so you linger. It's too intimate to be anything casual, but you can pretend, can eat up the moment greedily while she allows it. She closes her eyes, leaning into the pressure of your hand, just slightly, for only a moment. So short you think you might have imagined it.
And then she pulls away, humour dancing in her dark irises. The intensity of the moment fading away. "See, told you. You're too good."
You tut and close the distance again to place a careless kiss on her forehead. Neither of you are ready right now for more, you're too scared she'll disappear and she's too uncertain in her safety. But it's enough for now just to kiss her forehead and pull back. To smile at each other and feel the ghost of her hand, a silent squeezing thank you, almost like a promise, like you're both saying some day.
Considering five months ago you still moved through your days with the grief of her death weighing heavily on your shoulders.
