You step out of the locker room with Marlowe right beside you, still feeling the lingering effects of her kiss on your cheek and the perfume clinging to your skin. You're doing your best to keep your face neutral, but there's a certain weight hanging in the air, a tension that you can't quite shake. As you walk toward the front of the station, you notice Marlowe smirking out of the corner of your eye, clearly pleased with herself.
The station is quiet, early enough that only a few officers are milling about, but as you near the entrance, your heart skips a beat. Emily and JJ are there, just coming through the doors, their eyes already fixed on you.
And on Marlowe.
JJ's gaze sharpens first, flicking between you and the deputy, her blue eyes narrowing just slightly as she takes in the scene. There's a moment—just a fraction of a second—where you see something in her expression that's not quite anger but certainly isn't amusement either. Her lips press into a thin line, and her jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.
Emily's reaction is more subtle, but no less intense. Her dark eyes lock onto yours, but they flick briefly toward Marlowe, then back to you. There's a coolness in her expression, the kind of calculated distance she usually reserves for suspects. It sends a shiver down your spine, not because you're afraid, but because it feels like she's assessing you, trying to understand what she's seeing.
You quickly clear your throat, trying to dispel the growing awkwardness. "I was just going over some details of the case with Deputy Marlowe," you say, forcing your voice to stay even, though your pulse is racing.
Marlowe, ever the playful one, steps just a little closer to you, her hand brushing lightly against your back in a way that feels deliberate. "She's a quick study," the deputy says, flashing a smile that feels a little too familiar, especially with Emily and JJ watching. "Has definitely taught me a lot ofthings."
You swear you see JJ's eye twitch, but she doesn't say anything at first, just crosses her arms over her chest. Emily, on the other hand, raises an eyebrow, her gaze lingering on you in that way that always makes you feel exposed. It's like she can see straight through whatever façade you're trying to maintain.
"Interesting," Emily finally says, her voice calm but with a slight edge to it. "I didn't realize you two had such a close working relationship."
You feel your cheeks heat up, the weight of her words settling over you like a blanket. "We—uh—just met, actually," you stammer, feeling like a teenager caught sneaking out past curfew.
Marlowe's grin widens, clearly enjoying the tension. "We hit it off right away," she says casually, and the way her eyes flick toward JJ doesn't go unnoticed.
JJ's lips press even tighter, and you can practically feel the tension radiating off her. Her usually playful demeanor is absent, replaced with something far more guarded. "Is that so?"
You know this is not going to end well. You can almost feel Emily and JJ's gaze burning into you, and the weight of their attention makes it hard to breathe. You swallow hard, feeling the panic rising in your chest again, but you try to keep it at bay. Not here. Not now.
Marlowe gives your back one last lingering pat before stepping away. "Well, I'll leave you to it," she says, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she heads for the door. "Nice working with you, Doc. I look forward to next time we can… go over the case."
The way she pauses makes it sound like you were doing anything but discussing work. You want to groan and bury your face in your hands, but you know that would only give Emily and JJ more ammunition to believe Marlowe's thinly veiled flirtation was something more than it was. At least Marlowe didn't know about Emily being the blonde's wife. That was one blessing. The last thing you needed was herreallytrying to push both of their buttons.
"Outside," Emily says, her voice low and dangerous. The edge to it is unmistakable. It's the tone you've heard her use before—when she's teetering on the edge of letting go completely, the darkness inside her barely concealed. It's the voice that means if you don't follow her, this conversation will take place right in the middle of the station.
"Em," JJ starts, her hand reaching for Emily's shoulder, but Emily shrugs her off, her eyes locked on you. Without another word, she heads for the door, expecting you to follow.
JJ's expression softens just a fraction as she looks at you, though her frustration is still clear. "I'll tell the team you're both grabbing coffee for everyone," she says, her tone somewhere between sympathy and warning.
You want to argue. You want to tell JJ that you need to be in the conference room, sharing the information you'd just pieced together about the unsub's connection to the victims. But you know better. You know that voice Emily used. If you don't follow her now, she'll make sure this conversation happens in front of everyone, and you're not sure you can handle that level of exposure.
So, you follow.
Emily's already seated in one of the SUVs, the engine running by the time you slide into the passenger seat. Before you can even get your seatbelt on, she puts it in gear, driving a few blocks away from the station. She parks abruptly in a quiet spot, far enough away that no one can see or overhear, but close enough that you're still technically on duty.
The air inside the car feels thick, almost suffocating. You sit there, waiting, your heart pounding in your chest as you mentally prepare for whatever's coming next. You try to remind yourself that you didn't do anything wrong. Not really. You weren't sneaking around. But the look in Emily's eyes when she walked away said she didn't see it that way.
"Do you know how unprofessional it is—" Emily's voice cuts off sharply as her hand slams into the steering wheel, the sound echoing in the confined space. The anger in her is palpable, radiating off her in waves. For a second, you can't help but think that she wishes it was your ass she was hitting.
"So much for compartmentalizing," you mutter, barely loud enough for her to hear.
But she does. Her head whips toward you so fast that your breath catches in your throat. Her dark eyes are blazing with a mixture of frustration and something deeper—something that has always scared you and drawn you to her in equal measure.
"What did you just say?" Her voice is quiet, deadly, and you can feel your heart rate spike again.
"I said," you repeat, though your voice isn't as steady as you'd hoped, "so much for compartmentalizing."
For a moment, the air between you is crackling with tension. Emily's hand tightens on the steering wheel, her knuckles white with the pressure. She opens her mouth to speak, but it's like she can't find the right words, the weight of her own emotions stopping her.
"You think I'm not compartmentalizing?" Emily finally says, her voice dangerously low, a quiet storm brewing beneath the surface. "You think this is me losing control?"
The familiar tension rises in your chest, your heartbeat quickening as your body instinctively reacts to her intensity. Panic threatens to claw its way up, tightening your throat, but you clamp down on it, forcing yourself to stay grounded. You can't afford to unravel now, not in front of her. Not with Emily looking at you like that—sharp, dark eyes burning into you, expecting submission.
But something else stirs beneath the panic. Another part of you—smaller, but no less potent. The part that loves to test boundaries. The part that loves to push her buttons. To see how far you can go before Emily, the controlled, careful Emily, finally snaps. You take a slow, deliberate breath, your pulse thudding in your ears as you let that impulse rise to the surface.
The brat and her brat tamer.
You take another slow, controlled breath, your pulse thudding in your ears as you let that impulse rise to the surface.
"Yeah," you say, your voice deceptively calm. "I think you're losing control."
Emily's eyes narrow, the tension in her body coiling tighter, like a predator preparing to strike. Her jaw clenches, and you can see the muscles in her neck working as she bites back a sharp retort. The signs are all there—physiological cues that are impossible to miss once you start cataloging them.
You start profiling her the way you've been trained to do, breaking down each visible clue into its components: her rapid breathing, the tightness in her voice, the flush in her cheeks, the way her hand flexes against the steering wheel. It's all there, clear indicators of heightened emotional arousal—anger, frustration, something she's barely keeping in check.
"Your breathing is shallow," you say, your voice slipping into the clinical tone that feels like your only defense. "Your pulse is likely elevated. That muscle in your jaw"—you gesture slightly, feeling your own pulse jump in response—"you're clenching it too hard. Classic signs of stress. Elevated cortisol levels. You're compartmentalizing, yes, but not successfully. You're not in control."
Her eyes darken, her grip tightening on the steering wheel. You can see the fine tremor in her fingers, the visible struggle to maintain composure. There's something inside you—something reckless, desperate—that pushes you to keep going. You know you shouldn't. This is Emily. But the brat in you wants to see her lose that last sliver of control. It's a dangerous game you're playing, one where you know you don't come out on top.
But maybe, deep down, you're more than willing to lose. If you took a moment to really think about it, you'd realize what you're doing—goading Emily into taking control. It's not just a game. It's something you need, something that pulls at the very core of you. You crave her command, her authority, as much as you need your next breath.
Your world has been spiraling since the moment you saw them in the office. Wheels spinning fruitlessly, the ground unsteady beneath your feet. JJ had been right—you were running. But from what? From them? From yourself?
"And you're using aggression," you continue, your voice low and steady, each word calculated to hit their target. "To cover up your own emotional vulnerability. You're angry because you feel exposed. It's a defensive reaction."
Emily lets out a harsh laugh, disbelieving, almost mocking. "You're profiling me now? That's rich. Day two on the job and you think you know everything?"
"It's not like you haven't been profiling me," you shoot back, snorting at her answer. This seems to annoying her as much as anything. "But you didn't know I was an FBI agent. What did you think I was, hmm? A doctor? A nurse?"
The way her jaw clenches tells you that you've hit a nerve. You latch onto it, pressing harder before she can compartmentalize it away, as she always does. "Is that why you're pissed? You think you should've known? That the great profiler failed at recognizing her littlesubmissive sluthad another life?"
"That's not it," she spits, but the strain in her voice betrays her. You can see the crack in her armor.
Target acquired.
"I think it is," you press, leaning closer, the tension between you thick and suffocating. "You're pissed because you didn't know. Because the one time you thought you had control, you didn't. And now you're scrambling to get it back."
And then it happens. The thing you've been pushing for.
Like a dam bursting, Emily snaps, turning fully to you. Her eyes darken with something raw and primal, her restraint slipping away as she leans in, her voice low and dangerous.
"And you're begging for someone to take that control from you, aren't you?" Her words hit like a physical blow, knocking the wind from your chest. She leans even closer, her breath warm against your skin. "That panic attack, the way your hands shook when Penelope knew who you were. You've been in a downward spiral ever since."
"That's not true." The words feel weak, like they belong to someone else. Even as you say them, you know they don't hold any weight.
The submissive part of you is thriving in this moment, relishing the tension, the sharp edge of power dynamics at play. But there's another part of you—the panicked, logical side—that's beginning to worry you've pushed Emily too far this time.
Emily smirks, that dangerous smirk that makes your stomach churn with both dread and anticipation. "You need to learn to lie better," she murmurs, her eyes locking onto yours, her voice like silk and venom intertwined. "Your pupils dilate when you're scared." Her hand moves, fingers brushing against your neck, just below your jaw, where your pulse races beneath her touch. "Your pulse—" she presses her fingers just a little harder, enough to make your breath hitch, "it's racing. You're terrified, aren't you? Terrified that I'm right. That as much as you crave control, you're scared to give it up again."
The touch of her fingers against your skin is enough to send your thoughts spiraling, but it's her words—the truth in them—that cut the deepest. You want to deny it, to push back and regain some sense of control over this conversation, but you can't. You can't because she's right.
"You want to submit," Emily continues, her voice dropping to a whisper, her lips so close to yours that you can feel the heat radiating from her. "But you hate that you need it. You hate that you need me and JJ to give it to you. That's why you reacted the way you did to Penelope. You're ashamed of what you want."
You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. You're frozen, trapped between the weight of her words and the undeniable truth of them. Your body betrays you, every reaction—your pulse, your breathing, the way your skin tingles under her touch—confirming exactly what Emily already knows.
"You're ashamed," she says again, softer this time, almost as if she's teasing you with the knowledge. "But you shouldn't be."
Emily's fingers linger at the pulse point of your neck, her thumb brushing lightly against your skin in a way that sends jolts of electricity straight to your core. Her face is so close now, her breath mingling with yours, her eyes dark and intense, locked onto you like a predator circling its prey. The space between you feels suffocating, charged with something dangerous and electric.
"You shouldn't be ashamed," she repeats, her voice barely more than a whisper now. Her lips hover just a breath away from yours, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from them. Your heart hammers in your chest, each beat syncing with the pulse beneath her fingers.
Before you can think, before you can rationalize the dangerous line you're crossing, Emily closes the gap, her lips crashing against yours. The kiss is fierce, demanding, like she's trying to claim every part of you in one breath.
Your hands grip her shoulders instinctively, pulling her closer, needing her in that moment as much as you hate admitting it. The world narrows to just the two of you—her lips on yours, the press of her body, the heat coursing through you. It's like a release and a punishment all at once, giving in to the very thing you've been fighting.
Emily's hand slides from your neck down to your waist, pulling you closer as she deepens the kiss, her tongue sweeping across your bottom lip, demanding entrance. You open for her, unable to stop yourself, losing yourself in the taste of her, the feel of her lips on yours.
But just as quickly as the moment ignites, it's shattered by the sound of your phone buzzing loudly between you, the sudden intrusion breaking through the haze.
Emily pulls back, her breath heavy, her eyes still dark and hungry as she stares at you. The phone buzzes again, and this time she glances at it, her expression flickering between annoyance and something unreadable.
You fumble for the phone, your hands shaking as you pull it from your pocket. JJ's name flashes across the screen, and the weight of reality crashes back down on you like a tidal wave.
Emily raises an eyebrow, still breathing hard, but her expression has already shifted—back to that controlled, calm exterior she wears like armor. She leans back in her seat, running a hand through her hair, her eyes never leaving you as you answer the call.
"Hello?" Your voice is shaky, still breathless from the kiss.
"Where the hell are you two?" JJ's voice comes through, sharp and impatient. "Hotch is about to brief the team and you're both MIA. Get back here, now."
"Uh, yeah," you stammer, glancing at Emily, who's now watching you with an unreadable expression. "We'll be right there."
JJ sighs. "Hurry up."
The line goes dead, leaving you in the sudden, suffocating silence of the car. You lower the phone slowly, your heart still racing, your mind spinning from what just happened.
Emily watches you for a moment longer before speaking, her voice low and steady again. "We should go."
You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. The intensity of the moment lingers between you, unresolved and heavy, but there's no time to process it now.