You didn't drink. Being vastly underage during college meant that you didn't have the quintessential college experience—no wild parties, no drunken mistakes to laugh about later. Once you were of age, you didn't see the point. You didn't have any close friends to go out with anyway, and drinking alone never seemed appealing. When you were at the BDSM club waiting for your test results before entering the play zone, you stuck to water. Emily had always been big on unimpaired consent, which meant no alcohol for her, JJ, or anyone they were playing with in the dungeon. JJ was more relaxed but respected Emily's rules.
Tonight, though, you had no need to follow Emily's rules. You weren't planning to play with them. The relief from solving the case was intoxicating enough, but Garcia was already thrusting a cold bottle into your hand before you could even protest. Maybe one beer wouldn't hurt.
"You did good, kid," Morgan said with a warm smile, pulling you into a side hug. You weren't exactly the touchy-feely type, but you appreciated the gesture all the same. His approval meant something to you, more than you'd ever let on.
The breakthrough had come from the radio frequencies. After your hunch, Rossi and Emily had been able to close in on the unsub just in time to stop him from killing his latest victim. You hadn't been at the scene for the arrest—your talents were better used behind the computer with Penelope, tracking down the tiny digital breadcrumbs that the unsub had left behind. Between your machine learning background and Penelope's hacker abilities, it hadn't taken long to figure out how he'd found his victims, stalked them, and eventually kidnapped them.
That was why you and Penelope were the first to hit the bar after Hotch gave everyone the all-clear to go celebrate. Of course, it hadn't hurt that Deputy Marlowe, conveniently just getting off-duty, had offered to drive both of you to the bar. She'd been more than happy to buy the first round too.
You take a sip of the beer, its bitter taste hitting your tongue as you watch a group of locals trickle in. You feel a strange warmth settle in your chest—pride, maybe, or just the simple satisfaction of a job well done. Your first case had been nothing next to the emotional upheaval with your coworkers. Still, it finally felt like you could breathe.
Deputy Marlowe sidles up to you with a sly smile, her eyes scanning your face before she speaks. "So, how mad was that brunette of yours?" Her tone is teasing, but there's a genuine curiosity behind it, as though she's been waiting to ask this since you left with Emily this morning. It's obvious she pieced together that it wasn't just the blonde agent you had a messy history with.
You choke on the sip of beer you'd just been taking, the liquid going down the wrong way and burning your throat. You cough hard, the sound rough and loud, drawing a few eyes from nearby tables. Marlowe laughs, not maliciously, but clearly amused as she pats your back, her hand lingering a little too long. "Easy there," she says, her touch firm as if she's trying to soothe the sharp coughs out of you.
Unfortunately, Penelope, who had grown bored of watching Morgan play darts with some locals, chose that exact moment to join you. She sidles up to your tabletop, eyes twinkling with mischief as she catches the end of Marlowe's question.
"You talking about Doc's thing with Puss and Boots?"
You wish that beer had literally drowned you. Your entire face is on fire now, and Marlowe's hand, which hasn't left your back, isn't helping. The heat of her palm through your shirt feels suddenly too intimate, especially with the thought that JJ and Emily could walk into the bar at any minute.
"Puss and Boots?" Marlowe asks, her grin widening as she turns her attention to Penelope, clearly delighted by the nickname.
"Yeah, you know," Garcia replies with a casual wave, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Puss—JJ—and Boots—Emily. It's my pet name for them. Given their... history, 'Puss' just makes sense for JJ, and then there's Emily—always so in control, like she's wearing boots even when she's not."
You want to melt into the floor, to somehow disappear into the fabric of your chair, but instead, you force out a shaky laugh, trying to play it off. "I didn't know they had pet names."
"Oh, honey," Garcia says, leaning in closer with that familiar conspiratorial tone, "I have pet names for everyone. You should hear the one I've come up with for you."
You groan internally, the impending embarrassment hanging in the air. You risk a glance at Marlowe, who's leaning in, thoroughly entertained by the conversation.
"Oh, I'vegotto hear this," Marlowe says, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she glances between you and Garcia.
Before you can protest, Penelope narrows her gaze at the Deputy, her smile turning just a little sharper, a little less playful."I think I'd rather know your intentions towards my roomie here, Deputy," she says, a teasing edge to her words, though her eyes flick to the hand still resting firmly on your lower back.
Marlowe doesn't budge under Garcia's scrutiny, and instead, her fingers begin tracing slow, lazy circles against your back. The touch is intimate, calculated, and you know it's meant to get a reaction. You're slightly confused. She knows that you are…not exactly unspoken for at the moment.
"Oh, just seeing if I can goad Puss and Boots into making a move," Marlowe says with a smirk, raising her beer slightly in the direction of the door.
Your stomach drops. You don't even need to turn around to know who's there. You understand now why her hand has lingered. Sure enough, when you glance up, Emily and JJ are standing at the entrance, their eyes locked on your table with expressions that mix curiosity and something far more intense. Emily's eyes immediately zero in on Marlowe's hand on your back, and her lips tighten into a thin line. JJ's smile falters, though she quickly replaces it with a neutral expression, her eyes darting between you and the Deputy with a questioning gaze.
Garcia, always quick on the uptake, glances between them and Marlowe with obvious amusement. "Oh, I like you," she says with a grin, clearly enjoying the tension Marlowe is stirring up.
You, on the other hand, feel like you're about two seconds away from running for the exit. Unfortunately, Marlowe on your left and Garcia are your right pen you in. The air in the bar feels thick, suffocating. Emily's sharp gaze is like a laser focused on you, and JJ's raised eyebrow does nothing to calm your already frayed nerves.
Marlowe leans in closer, her voice low and teasing as she murmurs in your ear, "Let's see how jealous we can make 'em, huh?"
You shake your head quickly, whispering, "No, no, absolutely not. This isn't a good idea."
Her grin only widens, as she lets her lips graze your ear. "Come on, live a little, pumpkin."
Before you can protest again, Emily's voice slices through the space like ice. It's the kind of voice that could freeze the air around you, and you feel a shiver run down your spine. Garcia had mentioned something about Emily's upbringing, and right now, you're getting a front-row seat to the Ambassador's daughter. "Mind if we join you?"
Marlowe doesn't flinch, but she does move her mouth away from your ear. Her hand stays exactly where it is, pressing just a little more firmly against your back, and her smirk deepens as Emily strides toward the table, eyes never leaving the Deputy. JJ is right beside her, eyes drifting to the other woman's hand on you but occasionally flicking up to your face.
Garcia is practically vibrating with excitement at the drama unfolding. You feel like a toy being fought over by a pack of wolves, and no one's sure who gets to make the final claim.
You take another sip of your beer, briefly hoping it'll go down the wrong pipe so they'll have to call an ambulance and get you out of this mess. But, of course, it doesn't. Your self-preservation instinct kicks in, and the bitter liquid settles in your stomach like a rock instead of choking you out of the situation.
"So," Emily says as she takes the seat directly across from you, her tone deceptively casual but razor-sharp, "what exactly are we talking about?"
Marlowe's smirk never falters as she leans back in her chair, her hand still on your back, fingers tracing those same slow circles that are beginning to feel more and more like a brand against your skin. "Oh, just discussing some interesting dynamics," she says smoothly, her eyes flicking between you and Emily, clearly enjoying the tension in the air. "Doc was just telling us about yourdynamic, I'd love to hear your take on it though."
Emily doesn't even flinch. Her poker face is perfect, the kind of calm composure that you know she was raised to maintain. The Ambassador's daughter had mastered this skill long before stepping into her role as a profiler. Emily leans forward slightly, her hand reaching across the table until it's resting on top of yours. Her fingers interlace with yours in a gesture that feels far too much like a claim to be comforting. This isn't for your benefit—it's for Marlowe's.
"Our dynamic?" Emily's voice is cool, deceptively casual, but there's a sharp edge to it. She's not just answering Marlowe's question; she's issuing a challenge of her own. "It's not something I'd expectyouto understand."
"Oh, I don't know," Marlowe teases, her hands moving slowly from your back to around your waist, she is half pulling you into her lap with the movement. "I might not have a psychology degree or that fancy FBI profiler title, but I know power plays when I see them. And you, Emily," she leans in, her voice dropping to a mockingly hushed tone, "you like to be in control, don't you? Must be tough, trying to keep your hands in every part of the game."
"Some of us don't need to play games to be in control," she says smoothly, the words coated in ice. Her hand squeezes yours just enough to remind you that she's still very much aware of the Deputy's presence—and her touch.
Marlowe chuckles, clearly enjoying herself. "Right, because being a top is all about having control, isn't it? But how much control do you really have when you're sitting there, holding her hand, while she's inmyarms?"
"DARTS!"
The word bursts out of you, loud and unexpected, making nearly everyone in the bar turn to look in your direction. Clearly, the beer has started to go to your frontal lobe. You clear your throat, trying to recover from the outburst. "I mean, I think we should play darts."
Your suggestion of darts seems to catch everyone off guard, but you latch onto it like a lifeline. The tension around you feels like it's suffocating, and you're more than ready for a distraction. Maybe a silly game of darts will break the mood, stop this invisible tug-of-war between Emily and Marlowe. Maybe you can pretend things are normal for just a little while longer.
"Darts!" Penelope claps her hands, looking all too pleased with the idea. "Yes! A little team competition will be fun. JJ, me, and Doc against Emily and Deputy Hot Pants."
Emily raises one perfectly manicured eyebrow at the nickname, her lips pressing together, her jaw tight, but she doesn't say anything. You almost feel the heat of the dozen sarcastic comments waiting to be unleashed. Instead, she releases your hand, and you're relieved to find that Marlowe also lets go of your waist. The tension between them is palpable, and it leaves you standing awkwardly in the middle, like a piece of disputed territory. JJ is quick to swoop in with a small smile, her hands gently supporting you as you get to your feet.
One beer in, and you're already more tipsy than you expected. It shouldn't have hit you this hard, but you can feel the alcohol buzzing through your system, making your movements just a little clumsy. Penelope hands you another beer as you make your way over to the dartboard, and you take a long sip before setting it down. You should probably pace yourself, but with Emily and Marlowe already exchanging sharp jabs, you decide that keeping your mouth occupied might be the safer option.
"I... I'm not very good at this," you mumble, glancing at the darts in your hand. It's a futile effort at deflection, but it works for a moment. Both Emily and Marlowe offer to help at the same time, their voices overlapping, but JJ is already there, wrapping her arms around you from behind, guiding your stance. Her hair tickles the back of your neck as she leans in close, her breath warm against your ear.
"Is this alright?" she whispers, her voice soft, careful.
You nod, feeling your heart thud heavily in your chest. "Yah… it's nice," you murmur, a little dazed. The beer, JJ's proximity, and the lingering tension between everyone is starting to steep together in a way that makes you feel lightheaded.
The game is a blur. JJ stays close, her hands guiding yours as you awkwardly throw the darts, though you're sure your aim is terrible. Emily and Marlowe continue their quiet verbal sparring, each word laced with more tension than the last, but you're too focused on the warmth of JJ's touch and the way the room is spinning ever so slightly.
By the time the game wraps up, you've lost track of the score completely. You're pretty sure you didn't contribute much to the team's success, but JJ's steady presence made it bearable. The tension between Emily and Marlowe hasn't dissipated; it's simmering closer to the surface, threatening to boil over at any moment.
As you make your way back to the table, you realize how unsteady your legs feel. Your stomach flips slightly, the alcohol starting to turn sour, and you grip the edge of the table for support. Penelope, always observant, nudges you gently.
"You alright, sweetie?"
You shake your head slightly, your voice quieter now. "I don't feel great."
Penelope's brow furrows, and she wraps an arm around you, her touch warm and comforting. It doesn't feel like the others. It feels safe, friendly, and not at all like you're being pulled in a million directions. "Come on, let's get you to the bathroom. You probably just need a minute."
You let her guide you through the crowd toward the back of the bar, your feet unsteady beneath you. When you finally reach the bathroom, you slump against the sink, gripping the edge as the cool porcelain presses into your palms. You turn on the faucet, not waiting for the water to warm before splashing it on your face, the cold shock bringing some clarity to your foggy mind. You had seen other college kids do the same thing when they were trying to sober up, though it never seemed to work well for them.
"I think I drank too much," you admit, your voice weak. It feels like an embarrassing confession, especially since you've only had two beers. But for someone who never drinks, it's hitting you hard.
Penelope gives you a sympathetic smile, rubbing your back gently. "How bad is it?"
You groan. "Impaired motor coordination… gastrointestinal motility," you mutter, rattling off the symptoms like you're diagnosing a patient.
Penelope chuckles softly, her hand continuing to rub your back in slow, soothing circles. "Well, if you can still speak medical jargon, I'd say you're not too far gone. But I think we should cut you off for the night." Her tone is light, but you can hear the concern beneath it. You're relieved that her touch doesn't feel invasive like Marlowe's had earlier.
"I think I just want to go back to the hotel," you sigh. You feel like a party pooper, but the thought of staying any longer with the tension between Emily, JJ, and Marlowe feels overwhelming. You don't want to deal with it while you're tipsy. "I can catch an Uber."
"Absolutely not," Penelope says firmly. "That's how you get stolen or worse." Her face is suddenly serious, and you realize she's probably watched one too many true crime documentaries.
You almost laugh but think better of it. "Emily and JJ would be—"
"Nope, too messy," you cut her off quickly. The last thing you need is to leave with them right now, not when you're about five seconds away from slipping into sub headspace. JJ's arms had felt too good, and the wetness between your legs hasn't gone away since she'd been close. If you leave with them, you're definitely going to break Emily's unimpaired consent rule.
"Messy?" Penelope asks, her tone curious as her eyebrows raise. Of course, she's going to use this moment of vulnerability to dig for answers.
Your alcohol-lowered defenses are too weak to lie, and the truth spills out before you can stop it. "Yah, I don't do messy anymore. Bad,bad— I mean like almost got me kicked out of Harvard bad — past relationships. I'm not going there again. So if things with them are messy, I think I should just… you know, end it there."
Penelope's face softens with understanding. "Oh, no, Doc. I think they might actually—"
"Please don't finish that sentence," you say, cutting her off again. "Feelings are messy, P."
She sighs but doesn't push further. "Fine. Then why don't you get a ride with Deputy Hot Pants? I'm sure she won't mind."
You groan at the suggestion, but Penelope's smile only widens. "In fact, why don't you invite her to stay? I kind of like her. We can have a movie night! Candy and trash food will help you feel better."
"I seriously doubt that," you mutter, rubbing your temples.
Penelope shrugs, undeterred. "Why don't you go back with Marlowe, and I'll have a little chat with JJ and Emily?"
You give her a queer look, but the exhaustion and tipsiness weigh you down too much to argue. "Fine," you mumble, reluctantly agreeing.