She wakes to the sound of clothes being ruffled. She opens her eyes, mildly surprised that the sunlight doesn't incinerate her retinas. The she notices how the curtains that are never drawn are drawn. She also realizes, a little too late, that whoever that was in here is gone, and has left the door agape. She gets up, wary of her nakedness but too darn hung-over to care, and shuts the door, silencing the squeaky hinges. She runs her fingers through her hair and lets out a sigh. 'They always leave in the morning anyway.'
--
Dressed and refreshed, she's back in the precinct, smiling at whoever, whenever. She sees the woman who was in her bed 2 hours before, and both of them avert their eyes. 'They're all the same.'
--
Hours later, their paths cross. Lady luck always had a thing for the uncanny. They share brief smiles and curt greetings. She looks at her colleague, desperately shutting out any thoughts of her body being slick with sweat and scents. She tries to forget how good the sex was and walks off before they have to engage in small talk. That's what pantries are for any way, small talk that means nothing.
--
She's almost always the last to leave, save for Hotch who seems to have taken quite a liking to the couch in his office. Her finger depresses the 'down' button and she stands somewhat awkwardly as she waits for the ding of the elevator to resound in the empty corridor. She feels a slight depression on her shoulder through her corduroy overcoat. She doesn't turn around. She knows who it is. The person knows she knows too.
"JJ, how about dinner tonight? -Just dinner." The voice adds in the last two words in an afterthought.
Agent Jennifer Jareau smiles. It's a Friday night,. There's no such thing as 'just dinner' on Friday nights.
"Sure Em, why not."