I brought the bottle up to my pursed lips, my hand tightly gripping the glass bottle, causing my knuckles to turn white. My eyes scanned the room and stopped on the clock just above the entryway to the kitchen while my foot tapped anxiously on the tiled flooring covering the area under the couch. We had decided to have a girls' night; beer bottles already strewn across the coffee table, counter and floor, an empty pizza box leaving grease stains across the table where it had been dragged multiple times to accommodate each of our needs, and Sergio transferring from one person to another, although never being able to reach his owner due to the new agent practically sitting on her lap. A smile was strewn smugly from one side of Emily Prentiss' face to the other, and she was damn mistaken if she thought I couldn't see her fingers tracing over the other agent's thigh ever so sneakily. Things had the potential to get horribly awkward if things kept going at this rate. After all, it was only the four of us, and Garcia always had a way of saying exactly the right thing at exactly the right time. It was never a dull moment with her around, and even though pieces of Emily's attention was on the sly comments that the other blonde was making, it was obvious that her mind was only zoned in on one thing; Tara Lewis. I had perched myself on the armrest of the leather surface so as not to disturb the flirting fest that was occurring, however, I hoped that my presence would cause some sort of discomfort.
Spoiler alert. It didn't stop a damn thing.
By the time Emily's hand reached an unholy placement on Lewis' thigh, I was already about six beers and two tequila shots in (since Emily only supplied us with the finest). My cheeks burned red with assistance from the alcohol and my throat burned from the liquid making its way down, but it kept me busy. I pretended not to notice when Emily's lips first connected with Lewis' cheek, dangerously close to the corner of her lips, my head tipping back to receive its own kiss from the bottle of beer in my hand.
It doesn't bother you, Jareau.
It shouldn't bother you, Jareau.
What the fuck are you so jealous about, Jareau?
Oh fuck… You're drunk, Jareau.
My mind seemed to be on a constant loop of only these four statements, and the next thing I knew, I was making my way to Emily's master bathroom. My hands rested on either side of the porcelain sink once I had damn near slammed the door behind me and I glared at myself in the mirror. In the background, Garcia's voice could be made out to be commenting on the two agents on the couch, but I began to mumble to myself words of nonsense to drown it all out. Truly, there was no reason for jealousy to be burning what seemed to be holes in my stomach. There was no reason for my hand to want to grab Lewis by the back of her shirt and throw her out of Emily's apartment. And there definitely was no reason for me to be wishing that it was me sitting in Lewis' position on that couch, for Emily's hand to be making its way slowly up my thigh, for Garcia's comments to be directed towards the two of us, and for the thoughts of what else were to come to cloud my mind.
Immediately, my head shook as though to completely shake all of those thoughts from my mind, but that didn't work even in the slightest. If anything, they got worse. In frustration, my hand began to scan the sink area for my beer, but to no success when my hand only connected with the bottle of soap that rested near the taps. A loud groan escaped my glossed lips and I cursed quietly into the air shortly after. This was nothing but a fucking mess.
After having spent quite some time in the washroom I made my way back out to the living area, using the wall as somewhat of a method of staying on my feet. Usually I wasn't bad at holding my liquor, but apparently something about this night found it amusing to stack up the odds against me. I walked straight passed the two on the couch, Tara literally on top of Emily, her hand fiddling with the collar of Emily's work shirt as the brunette kissed along her jawline. In a fit of rage accommodated with a loud huff, my body hunched over as I took a seat at the table. Somehow my hand had managed to grab another bottle of beer and was clutching it tightly by this point, my blue eyes having narrowed in on Tara and the woman that should have been mine. Once again I accepted a kiss from the bottle, the familiar liquid tasting more and more like water with each swig and the pit of rage growing in my stomach each time I even so much as dared to look up from the oak table. Of course, I could hardly look straight by that point, but as soon as I saw Emily's lips connect hungrily to Tara's in its blurry haze, I stood to my feet wobbily, my hand slamming the bottle on the table. This event caused for only Garcia to jump, the other two just continuing their conquest of each other's mouths. My eyes welled up with tears (much to my embarrassment now) and I sat back down, placing my head in my hands and releasing a loud sigh through the crack in my lips. God dammit! I hated this! Why? Why was I, Jennifer Jareau, hating this so goddamn much? It was as though the pair didn't even acknowledge my existence! With my head in my hands and my elbows resting on the cold surface of the oak table, I found a sort of solace, a loud exhale escaping once again even though the world seemed to be spinning around me. The only thing that snapped me out of my drunken trance was a gentle hand resting on my shoulder and another brushing some hair from where it was being pulled between my forehead and fingers. Not expecting it to be anything other than Garcia, I just allowed for her to brush the hair back, the other hand rubbing the centre of my back while the two of us waited for the world to become a little more still.
Once I felt confident enough in my ability to lift my head, I did such, and my blue eyes widened at first at the sight beside me. None other than Emily Prentiss was bent down next to me, her hand rubbing soothing circles in the same place that she had been before, her brown eyes looking up to me in pure concern.
"Hey, Jayje? Are you okay? You went to the bathroom and came back and… Well… You've been over here for a while. Should I call you a cab?" In my horribly drunken state, however, I knew what that meant, and there was no way I was letting Tara Lewis steal my spot in Emily Prentiss' bed. My head practically lolled over to face her, a goofy grin spread across my lips as I took in all of her features. She was beautiful. Her dark hair was strewn carelessly over her shoulders, she wore only the tiniest bit of mascara, and dammit I was pretty sure there were some pizza crumbs trailing across her lips.
Damn that woman for charming me with pizza crumbs.
"Don't call a cab! I'm fine! I - I'm completely fine!" My back arched forward in a weak attempt to move away from her hand. It wasn't until Emil's hand found its way to my cheeks and began wiping at a damp spot that I realized I was crying. I, Jennifer Jareau, was crying over Emily Prentiss.
Her fingers traced gently over my cheekbones, my eyes never once leaving those beautiful brown ones that held my gaze as though in a fist. A gulp caught in my throat, making me a give a small and very alcohol induced giggle before I lifted up a hand to land on hers. We stayed that way for a few moments before Emily leaned in and pressed her lips to mine, no words needing to be exchanged in the event. This kiss was unlike the way that she had been with Tara, however, in the sense that it was gently. Oh, how it was gentle. At first it was barely there, as though her lips were just ghosting over my own, but with the persistence of myself, the kiss became a little more intense. A smirk was placed on my lips as Emily pulled back, and I could hardly contain myself when I heard the last words escape her mouth.
"Tara, Penelope… I'm going to get JJ to bed. Would you two mind calling a cab?'
Spoiler alert. They did.