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The shape of almost P12 // In case you need anything

word count: 4.2 k Summary: Claire goes for a date with Josh, leaving Emily and you alone. You should go to bed, but Emily asks for a coffee so you end up in a small cozy café. tags: college!reader, fem!reader, unitchief!emily prentiss, mutual pining, age gap, quiet tension, things left unsaid, unspoken connection, slow burn

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The car comes to a stop in front of your building. The engine continues to hum softly, filling the silence that has settled inside the car. Outside, the campus is almost empty, the familiar buildings and pathways resting beneath the dim glow of the streetlights. It feels strangely peaceful compared to everything that has happened over the last few days.

Claire is the first to move. Her seatbelt clicks open as she reaches for her bag, her phone lighting up almost immediately in her hand. The small smile that appears on her face gives away who it is before she even looks at the screen.

Josh.

“I should go.” She looks between the two of you before lifting her phone slightly, as if the message explains everything.

You watch her for a moment, relieved to hear something normal again. Something that doesn’t revolve around the mall, the attack, or the fear that still seems to follow all of you even when nobody talks about it.

Emily turns toward Claire, studying her face. “You sure you’re okay?”

The question is simple, but you hear the concern behind it. She knows Claire well enough to notice when something is wrong, even when she tries to hide it.

Claire looks at her and for a moment, neither of them says anything. “I’m okay.”

Emily does not look away. Her eyes remain on Claire for another second, as if she is making sure the words match what she sees. “Okay.”

The smallest smile appears on Claire’s face. “You worry too much.”

“Someone has to.” A quiet breath leaves Emily, almost amused.

It is such an Emily answer that you cannot help but smile slightly.

Claire opens the door and steps out into the cold night air. Emily follows her, walking around the car as Claire reaches back for her bag. You hesitate for a moment, your hand still resting on the door handle. You do not want to interrupt them.

The cold reaches you instantly, a reminder that the warmth inside the car had been temporary. You pull Emily’s jacket slightly closer around yourself without thinking, still wearing it even though you had completely forgotten about it.

You follow Claires gaze and see Josh's car parked a few spaces away, waiting beneath one of the dim streetlights. You can see Josh’s silhouette behind the windshield, and when he notices Claire, the headlights briefly flash in greeting.

A small smile appears on your best friends face, and for a moment, everything feels strangely normal. There is no fear, no unsub hovering around the corner, no pressure to act. Just Claire getting picked up for a date. A date with Josh, the one she had bragged about in the mall. But you don’t ask her why she changed her mind. Maybe she just wants some normality back. Just like you.

Emily stays beside the car, watching Claire carefully as she gathers her things. She does not hover, does not ask again if she is okay. She already did that. Instead, she simply remains there, giving Claire the space to leave while making sure she knows she is not leaving alone.

Claire closes the passenger door and turns back toward the two of you. “Thank you. For everything."

Emily’s expression softens at her words. “Anytime.”

There is no hesitation in the answer. Because you know, Emily would do anything for Claire

“So, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yes. Have fun,” you smile at her and nod, “Tomorrow you will tell me everything.”

"I will."

"And you’re sure you’re okay if I leave now?"

You close your eyes for just a second, you really thought your best friend wouldn’t mention your fear of being alone. You know she did not say it out loud, but you can hear the real meaning behind her question. And so will Emily. She is a profiler after all.

"Absolutely." You take a small breath, try to mask your feelings. Trying not to show how vulnerable you feel. "I think, I will listen to the new podcast we talked about."

"Okay, have fun. I will see you tomorrow then. Tell me everything about it." Something unreadable crosses her face before she shakes it off and walks toward Josh.

You watch as Josh steps out of the car to greet her, pulling her into a hug before opening the door for her.

Only when Claire is safely inside does Emily finally look away. Josh starts the car and when they leave the parking lot, the quiet returns. Because now it is just the two of you. There is no longer Claire filling the empty spaces with questions or laughter, no familiar distraction to make it easier to ignore the things neither of you has said.

You glance toward the entrance of your building, knowing that this is probably where the evening should end. Emily should get back to her hotel, you upstairs, and both of you should try to get some rest after a day that neither of you will forget anytime soon.

“I should probably go upstairs,” you say eventually.

Emily nods, but she does not move toward the car and you do not move toward your dorm either. The hesitation hangs between you, quiet but impossible to ignore. You know you should go. You know this is where the evening ends. But you do not want to.

Emily exhales softly, her eyes wandering across the empty parking lot before returning to you. “Do you feel like getting some coffee?”

You blink, caught slightly off guard by the question. “Coffee?”

A small smile touches her lips. “Yes. Coffee.”

You glance toward your building again. “It’s late.”

“It is.”

“And you have work tomorrow.”

“I do.”

The fact that she agrees with every reason you could give somehow makes you smile. “And you still want coffee?”

Emily tilts her head slightly, the faintest hint of amusement appearing in her eyes. “Maybe I’m not always as reasonable as people think.”

The answer surprises you, because Emily Prentiss is someone who always seems in control. Someone who knows exactly what to say, what to do, how to handle a situation. Right now, standing under the dim lights of the parking lot, she is simply asking you to stay a little longer.

“Okay,” you answer quietly.

Something in Emily’s posture relaxes, so subtle you could have missed it, but you did not. Maybe because you have spent the entire evening paying attention to every little thing about her.

“Do you have a favorite spot?” she asks, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “I think I’ve made enough decisions for one day.” She glances at you for a brief moment, one eyebrow lifting ever so slightly. “Wouldn’t want to make my reputation any worse.”

“Not really," you suppress a laugh. "But we could try the new one around the corner. I was told the coffee is exceptionally good. Beans from Chile. Something about green grass notes…”

“Hopefully the beans aren’t pooped out by a goat or something like that?”

You burst into laughter, and Emily’s smile grows wider.

“I don’t know. But I don’t think any student around here could afford something that expensive.”

“You’re right. Let’s go.”

The two of you walk on, and for the first few minutes, you simply enjoy Emily’s company. The campus has grown quiet around you, most of the students having already retreated to their dorm rooms while the two of you head toward a coffee shop, neither of you quite ready to call it a night.

Almost absentmindedly, your fingers brush over the fabric of Emily’s jacket, feeling its softness beneath your fingertips. It is strange how something so simple can feel so personal. It belongs to her. It still carries the faint trace of her perfume, something unmistakably Emily, and somehow that makes you feel closer to her than you probably should.

When you look up, you realize Emily has noticed your movement. Her eyes flick briefly toward your hands before meeting your gaze again, and something unreadable passes through her expression.

“Sorry,” you mumble quietly, suddenly aware of yourself. “Do you want your jacket back?” She is only wearing a thin blouse, and you feel a little guilty about borrowing her jacket.

Emily looks down at herself for a moment, then back at you. “You’re still cold,” she states simply, “Keep it on.”

“But you’re not exactly warm either.”

A small smile appears on her face. “I’ll survive.”

And somehow, the way she says it makes you believe her.

The coffee shop near campus is nearly empty, the kind of place that stays open late for students who have lost track of time and people who are not quite ready to go home yet. There are only two people in front of you, ordering espresso and a black coffee.

At the counter, you both take a moment to decide what to order. The barista looks between the two of you more than once, especially when Emily steps slightly closer and places her hand against your lower back to guide you forward when the line moves.

It is barely a touch. Probably something she does without thinking, but you freeze beneath her touch. Warmth spreads through you, and your heartbeat picks up slightly at the simple gesture. It is ridiculous how such a small touch from her can affect you so much.

The young man behind the counter waits patiently, bobbing his head to a song that is playing in the radio while the faint scent of freshly ground coffee drifts through the café. You study the menu far longer than necessary. You don’t actually read most of it, you’re mostly pretending to.

Beside you, Emily doesn’t rush you. She simply waits, one hand resting lightly against the wooden counter until, eventually, she tilts her head ever so slightly. “Well?”

You look at her, one eyebrow lifting. “Shouldn’t you be deciding for me?”

“I’m making an effort.” A beat passes. “Claire would be very disappointed if I relapsed after twenty minutes.”

You can’t help laughing. “Just a coffee please.”

Only then does she turn toward the barista. “Two coffees,” she orders, before glancing back at you. “Anything else?”

“No. I think the expensive goat-free coffee is enough for tonight.”

Emily lets out a soft huff. “Probably for the best.”

The barista looks amused as he hands you the cups a few minutes later. “Enjoy.”

You look around, searching for a place to sit, and almost at the same time, you both choose the quiet bench in the corner. Plant pots sit in the windows and along the walls, making the café feel even cozier. Pictures hang on the brick walls, and you recognize famous people drinking coffee at some of the most iconic landmarks around the world. There is the Eiffel Tower, the Great Wall of China, the Niagara Falls.

Emily sits down across from you, placing her cup in front of her before setting her keys on the table beside it.

“So, tell me about university. Still hunting for the best lecture notes?”

“I’m trying my best.” You take a sip of the steaming coffee and let out a quiet sigh.

“Is it good?” She takes a sip of her own. “Oh… okay. That’s actually fantastic.”

“Right? Why have I never tried this before? The coffee in the dining hall is complete garbage compared to this.”

“I hated the food and coffee there too. It was never terrible, but it was never good either—just painfully average.” She smiles over the rim of her cup. “So tell me, what are your professors like?”

“I had a professor once who somehow managed to make a one-hour lecture feel like an entire day.”

Emily smiles. “That sounds familiar.”

“You had professors like that?”

“Unfortunately.”

“I thought the FBI would have saved you from boring lectures.”

“No,” she replies, amused. “The FBI just gave me different kinds of problems.”

The conversation continues naturally from there, and somewhere along the way, Emily starts sharing pieces of herself too.

She tells you about university, about choosing classes she regretted, about professors who seemed determined to make their students suffer. She laughs quietly when she remembers one of them, and the sound still catches you off guard.

It changes something in her entire face. She looks younger, less guarded, as if the years between university and now disappear and you are seeing a version of Emily that not many people get to know.

Her laughter feels rare, carrying a kind of openness you do not often see from her. It is something she allows herself only in moments when she forgets to hold back.

The conversation drifts from there. Traveling. Places she has been. Places she would return to. Places she never wants to see again.

“You travel a lot for work, though, right?” you ask.

“Sometimes more than I’d like.”

“Do you still enjoy it?”

She thinks about the question. “Depends on where I am going.”

You smile slightly. “That sounds like a very diplomatic answer.”

“Maybe it is.”

You cannot help but laugh with her. And somewhere between talking about cities, terrible coffee, and the strange things people do when they are exhausted, you forget that this started because neither of you was ready to say goodbye yet.

The conversation drifts naturally from one thing to another. From places you want to visit someday, to the things you miss from home, to the small habits people develop when life becomes too busy. Somehow, the topic of sleep comes up, how little time students actually spend resting, how everyone seems to convince themselves that functioning on a few hours of sleep is somehow normal.

“I think most people are just permanently tired,” you joke.

Emily’s attention shifts toward the window, following the movement of people passing outside. “Some people get used to it.” Something in the way she says it makes you look at her. A moment passes. “I don’t sleep much.”

The words pull you back to the conversation on the porch. The night when Emily had admitted that sleep was not always something she welcomed. That there were memories she carried with her into the darkness.

The words are casual, almost like she did not intend for them to become a bigger conversation. “You don’t?”

Emily shakes her head slightly. “Not always.”

You wait. Not because you expect her to continue. You simply know by now that Emily does not need someone to pull words out of her. She offers them when she is ready.

“The BAU makes switching off difficult sometimes,” she admits after a moment.

“The cases stay with you?” you ask softly.

“Sometimes.” There is no dramatic explanation. No attempt to make you understand everything behind the answer. Just a small truth she allows you to have.

“I guess that makes sense.”

A faint smile appears on her face. “Does it?”

You shrug. “Maybe not completely. But I think I understand a little.”

Emily’s eyes meet yours again, curious but quiet. “Because of the mall?” she asks.

You nod slowly. “I know it was different. I know I only experienced something like that once, while you’ve lived through situations like that over and over again. But I remember how it felt afterward. How your body keeps reacting even when your mind knows you’re safe.”

For a moment, Emily says nothing. You wonder if you have said too much, if you have crossed some invisible line you still do not fully understand when it comes to her. You glance at her cautiously, but if you are honest with yourself, she does not look uncomfortable. If anything, she looks thoughtful, her gaze resting on the coffee cradled between her hands as though she is carefully deciding how much she wants to share.

“I think that’s the part people don’t always understand. Your mind can know something is over long before your body believes it.”

Her eyes drift toward the window, toward the campus outside, where everything continues as usual despite what happened only days ago.

“Everyone expects you to feel better once you’re safe. Like that feeling just comes back on its own.”

A quiet breath leaves her, and the faintest trace of exhaustion crosses her features. “But it doesn’t really work like that.”

You listen without interrupting. Even though Emily is talking about herself, there is something about the way she says it that makes you feel as though she understands exactly what has been happening inside your own head.

“I spent a long time thinking I should be better at it,” she continues, her thumb brushing along the rim of her cup. You tear your eyes away from her fingertips the moment you realize you’ve been staring. “At separating things. At leaving work behind when I walk out the door.”

A small smile touches her lips, almost self-aware. “I’m not always very good at it.”

The honesty takes your breath away. You have seen enough of Emily to know how impossible that should be. She is so practiced at holding herself together that catching even the smallest glimpse of the effort behind it feels strangely intimate.

“You seem like you are,” you admit quietly.

Emily’s eyes meet yours again, a silent question in them. “Like I am what?”

“Good at handling everything.”

She studies you, and you realize that maybe this is something she has heard before. The assumption that because she knows what to do, because she stays calm when everyone else falls apart, she must somehow be untouched by any of it.

“That might be one of the biggest misconceptions about me.”

You look down at your coffee, thinking about that. Because from the outside, Emily Prentiss has always seemed like someone who knows exactly where to put every emotion. Someone who can walk into chaos and find a way through it. Someone who carries the weight of difficult things without letting anyone see how heavy they actually are.

“Being good at something doesn’t mean it doesn’t affect you,” she adds.

Her words settle deep inside you. Maybe that is exactly what you have been doing since the mall, trying to convince yourself that because you survived, because you are sitting here now, laughing and having a normal conversation, you should already feel normal again.

Emily notices the shift in your expression, but she does not ask you to explain it. “You don’t have to pretend it didn’t happen.”

“I thought I was doing okay.”

“You are.” The certainty in her voice makes you look back at her. “You can be okay and still have moments where you’re not.”

You let her words settle between you, understanding that maybe this is the first time someone has said something like that without making you feel as though there is something wrong with you for feeling the way you do.

Everyone else has been asking whether you are okay. Emily is the first person who makes you feel as though the answer does not have to be simple. She has managed to put your feelings into words you had never been able to find yourself. The fear. The exhaustion. The strange feeling of still being trapped somewhere between what happened and the fact that life has already moved on.

You have spent days trying to prove that you are fine. To Claire. To everyone around you. Maybe even to yourself.

But sitting across from Emily, you recognize that being affected by something does not mean you are weak. It does not mean you are stuck. It simply means something happened, and your mind is still trying to catch up.

Emily does not push the conversation any further. She does not ask you to tell her every thought that has been keeping you awake or try to make sense of feelings that you barely understand yourself. She simply stays there, sharing the quiet with you, and that feels more comforting than any answer could have been.

Eventually, Emily glances toward the window, where the campus lights reflect faintly against the glass. “I think we should probably leave before they start cleaning around us.”

A small smile pulls at your lips. “Probably?”

Her eyes return to yours, and for a second, you see a flash of amusement.

“You’re right. Definitely.”

The familiar dryness in her voice makes you laugh, and the sound feels different from the ones you have forced yourself to make over the last few days. Lighter. Easier.

Outside, the cold air meets you and you pull Emily’s jacket a little closer around yourself, the movement drawing her attention.

“You know,” she offers, “I’m starting to think you’re getting attached to my jacket.”

The teasing catches you off guard. You look down at it, pretending to consider the accusation. “It is a very warm jacket.”

Emily raises an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Yes.”

A small smile appears on her face. “I’ll take your word for it.”

By the time you reach your building, neither of you seems eager to be the first one to end the evening.

“Now is a good time to give you your jacket back, right?”

“You don’t have to.”

“I just thought… I should give it back before you leave. Besides, I’m practically inside already.”

“Before I leave?”

You look back at her, suddenly aware that you have made the thought more obvious than you intended. “I mean… you’re going back to Quantico.” Your voice softens a little. “And I don’t know when I’ll see you again.”

Emily studies you for a moment, her expression calm but thoughtful. She does not rush to fill the silence or brush away what you said with an easy reassurance. “I’m sure we’ll see each other again.”

The certainty in her voice takes your breath away. It is not a promise she cannot make. It is simply Emily acknowledging that this does not have to be the end of the evening or the last time your paths cross. And somehow, that makes it more comforting.

You look down at the jacket again, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Still. I should probably have a way to return it.”

A faint hint of amusement appears in Emily’s eyes. “That would be practical.” Emily reaches into the inside pocket of her coat and pulls out a card, holding it out toward you.

You take it from her and glance down. Her name. The FBI logo. Her contact information. “Your business card?”

Emily lifts one shoulder slightly. “In case you need anything.”

The explanation is completely reasonable. Professional. Exactly the kind of thing Emily Prentiss would say. But you both know there is more to it than that.

Your eyes move back to her. “Anything?”

For the smallest moment, something shifts in her expression. It is gone before you can fully understand it, replaced by the familiar composure you have already learned to recognize.

“Or if you need to figure out how to get my jacket back to me.”

You smile at her words and tuck the card carefully into your pocket, your fingers shaking slightly. The thought of hugging her crosses your mind, but you hesitate. The last time you had been in her arms, there had been no choice involved. You had been overwhelmed, shaken, and looking for something that felt safe after everything had fallen apart. This time is different. There is no fear pushing you toward her. No crisis making the decision for you. It is simply because you want to.

When you glance back at Emily, you notice the hesitation in her posture. For once, she seems just as unsure as you.

“Goodnight, Emily.”

Emily steps closer, her gaze meeting yours. You find yourself holding your breath, already knowing what is about to happen. Her arms slip around you, the embrace gentle, almost tentative at first, as though both of you are still trying to figure out whether this is something you are allowed to do. Then you feel her relax ever so slightly, her arms settling around you with the same quiet steadiness she has carried throughout the evening.

You lean into her, your hands resting lightly against her back, feeling the subtle tension of her muscles beneath the silky fabric of her blouse. You force yourself to relax, to accept the comfort instead of searching for a reason why you should not need it.

When Emily finally pulls away, she does so slowly, and you remain close enough to still feel the warmth radiating from her. Just before she steps back, you feel the faintest touch against your hair. Was it a kiss? Maybe. You are not sure. It is so soft that you almost question whether it happened at all, whether you simply wanted it enough that your mind filled in the missing piece.

“Goodnight,” Emily says quietly.

You watch her walk away across the campus lot, her figure slowly disappearing beneath the glow of the streetlights. Only when she is gone do you finally turn toward the entrance of your building.

As you walk upstairs, still wearing her jacket and carrying the memory of an evening you never expected to have, one thought keeps returning. The most dangerous thing about Emily Prentiss was never how easily she could read people. It was how easily she made you want to be understood.

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