Down by the fire, it's a game of musical chairs.
JJ shifts to the armchair, Emily takes the couch. JJ shifts to the couch, Emily sinks down in the armchair. Emily can't look too hard, not in a room full of profilers. JJ's bundled into a windbreaker with her legs tucked underneath her and her baby blues staring lazily off into the flames and Emily doesn't trust herself not to look for a split second too long and give it away.
She can't be too close to JJ, but then, she can't be too far apart either. There's a killer prowling the tiny town and even though it's completely irrational to think anything could happen to them in the safety of the inn, she still needs JJ to be within arm's reach. Emily's heart aches to turn the ten inches between them into one, and yet her head, stoic and stubborn, tells her to stay where she is and keep her eyes trained on the patterns carved into the deerskin rug. She plays with her lips and picks her fingernails, all while JJ's perfume fills her nostrils and begs for her attention.
The conflict exhausts her. She remembers her elation as they stood on the sidewalk in DC, the promise of a weekend with JJ filling her with hope. Now she is tired; the extra emotion sapping her of her energy. She just wants to sleep, rather, she wants to drift into a dream where she can freely gaze into JJ's powdery blue eyes and pepper her blonde strands with kisses, because reality wasn't delivering.
She waits until it ticks over to ten, the first acceptable hour to bail. before she excuses herself, draining her mug and giving a wry smile at the team, deliberately avoiding JJ's gaze.
"Guys, I'm out" She doesn't even stop to return her mug to the bar "Wake me with any news"
"Is she coming down with something?" Reid's voice is the last thing she hears as she ascends the stairs.
Emily hasn't been back to the room all day and what she sees when she enters doesn't help. She curses her brain and the way it works; the way it pieces together scenes she doesn't want to see. The fire has burned out but the bathroom lamp and half-ajar door throws a glow across the room. It's dim, but not dim enough to hide the flannelettes in a pile on the floor, nor the black cotton briefs discarded next to them. Emily, even with her heart starting to thump uncomfortably, can deduce that JJ left the room in a hurry. There's a crease in the sheets, suspiciously JJ-shaped in nature and the comforter is strewn across the foot of the bed, the remainder of clothes and a novel thrown from JJ's duffel bag. The scene is reminiscent of something that Emily can't put her finger on; something far removed from the horror of bloodied bodies and night stalkers. It's almost comforting, the disarray their room is in. Their room. Our room.
"Em?" JJ's voice is like velvet. In her trance, Emily has forgotten to shut the door all the way and JJ has crept into the room in the time it has taken for Emily to burn the image of JJ rising, still in a half-panic, shedding her pants and underwear and rifling through her bag for her day clothes, into her head.
"Jay - I..."
I can't do this with you. She wants to say it. She should say it so the whole stupid fantasy stops compromising her professionalism. On any other night, she'd still be downstairs with her team, looking at the file until her eyes ached.
"Jayje..."
JJ's fingers ghost across the back of her maroon sweater, pausing to rest on her spine.
"Em, I may not be a profiler but I'm not stupid"
"Course you're not, JJ" Emily lets out the breath that she's been holding, and shuts her eyes. She can't bear even the slightest inkling that she may make JJ feel insufficient. You are enough Jayje, the problem is that you are more than enough.
"Em, I'm scared too"
JJ says it quietly and Emily clenches her fists. She hasn't moved an inch - can't move an inch. JJ's fingertips are burning through her sweater, setting every vertebrae they come into contact with on fire. She remembers the fear in JJ's eyes the night before, the nightmare coupled with Garcia's screams, culminating in a distress that Emily wished she could forget.
We're not scared of the same thing, JJ. Emily is frustrated and she thanks a higher cosmic power that JJ isn't a profiler, because she's sure that her face reflects her turmoil. Still, she can't ignore JJ's admission of fear, so innocent and fragile and beautiful. Emily's instincts, primal and protective, don't want JJ to be scared.
"Hey, JJ. Look, it's cold and... we're tired" Suddenly Emily has a purpose; a distraction. She needs to make JJ feel safe, even if it ruins her. "Let's get some sleep".
The routine from the previous night all but repeats itself. JJ uses the bathroom while Emily arranges the kindling. She triple - quadruple - checks the door is locked and yanks it for extra measure just as JJ emerges in black sweats, giving Emily a small smile of appreciation for her extra efforts. Emily showers, keeping her hair out of the spray because she's too tired to blow-dry the pesky bangs. She draws a heart in the steam and then rubs it away.
When she exits the bathroom, JJ is still awake; curled up on her side and staring unblinkingly at the bathroom door. Emily notices the file, expanded to include the mutilated animals, open again on the bedside table. C'mon Jayje, you don't need to look at this stuff. She wants to reprimand JJ aloud, but the blonde looks ten-years younger without make-up on, and can't meet her eyes, so she closes the file and makes a point of putting it in her bag before flicking off the light.
Only when the room is plunged into complete darkness does Emily allow herself the small respite of a tear. It's single, silent, cold before it even makes its way over the bridge of her nose. She manages to keep it to one.
The digital clock on the nightstand ticks over to three, and somewhere outside their window a wolf howls.
JJ wakes immediately, startled from her sleep for the second night in a row, and instinctively rolls over. Emily holds her breath, waiting for the feel of supple curves moving against her own to stop. She barely has time to readjust to the proximity of JJ's body when an arm is thrown over her waist and Emily has to will every muscle in her body not to react because JJ is just scared. There's a psychopath somewhere outside our door in the dark and the cold, and JJ is away from her family and scared.
"Cold, hey?" Emily tries to laden her voice with sleep, when in reality she hasn't slept for a minute. She has never been a master of conversation, but the fire - she estimates in its fifth hour - is looking a bit miserable and so it's not out of the realm of possibility that JJ is cold.
A face presses into her spine, firm and unapologetic in response. Jesus. JJ is hiding in her back and if Emily could just bring herself to roll over she could wrap all of JJ up in her arms and press her lips to the crown of her head like she'd imagined only the evening before. That is not what she needs, Prentiss. It wasn't the way friends reassured friends, and JJ was her friend first and her hormonal girl crush second. Trying to ignore the hand cupping her belly and the cold toes brushing her calf muscles, Emily speaks with tenderness.
"Jayje, we're safe here. We'll get him. It's okay, don't be scared of the case"
"Em'ly" JJ's voice is properly sleepy, and muffled in response. There's a pause. To Emily it lasts a lifetime as they lay together unmoving in the dark.
"Jayje?"
"I never said I was scared of the case"