Fic: On Hold, Mandatory Evacuation (Criminal Minds, Emily/JJ)
Title: On Hold, Mandatory Evacuation
Author: speshtian
Recipient: urban_folk_girl
Pairing: Emily/JJ
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1105
Disclaimer(s): I don't own Criminal Minds, etc.
Comments: Written as a pinch-hit for urban_folk_girl. I wasn't sure of what you particularly like or dislike, so I guess this is just my brand of angst. Huge thanks to abrandnewboom for the beta.
Emily goes home to D.C., to an empty apartment and no messages on the answering machine. There's a nice view of Capitol Hill and a manicured lawn, and a bed that is never slept in any more.
Lately, she's been sleeping on the couch. It's not really long enough to hold her legs, but it's closer to the door and she doesn't ever have a chance of rolling over to find it half empty.
She sheds her jacket and kicks off her shoes, hesitating slightly before unhooking her gun belt. She makes sure it's still in her line of sight before arranging her body among the cushions.
She closes her eyes, but she doesn't sleep.
-
Reid is adding some coffee to his sugar and nods in greeting when she enters the pantry. JJ smiles at her. "Hey, Emily. Briefing in five."
"Sure." She pours herself a cup of coffee, grimacing when she sees how much of the instant powder has escaped the filter, and heads out to her desk. Tucked away behind the paperclips, the stash of Splenda is dwindling. Emily grabs two precious sachets and heads to the briefing room.
Gideon passes her on the way. "Prentiss," is all he says, or grumbles, but she can never be sure.
What did she expect? Truth be told, she doesn't really know. But she knows that Strauss will be calling to collect soon. Morgan's wrong; it's not just a job -- it's a way of life. A way of life she wanted so much from behind her desk job - she'd dreamed of travelling for work, but wanted an anchor. Emily's already been pretty much all over the world, she's seen it all, but nothing has been as eye-opening as the BAU.
She sits, and JJ promptly begins to distribute folders containing images of teenage girls, riddled with bullets and showing signs of strangulation. Their limbs are askew, their eyes are open.
Emily forgets about the Splenda.
-
They are two days into Arizona, with no more leads but no more dead girls. Emily utters a silent thanks to a God she doesn't believe in.
JJ walks up, the heat shimmering around her like a blanket. "They're ready to give the profile."
"You want me to drive?"
"It's fine."
It's twenty minutes from the pizzeria to the station and they travel in silence, apart for the grumbling of the air conditioner. Back at the police station, standing in the doorway of the cramped little side office they've been set aside, Emily's mind slides into gear as Morgan and Hotch deliver the profile.
"-to achieve sexual gratification-"
"-has extremely low self-esteem-"
She looks over and sees JJ hugging a folder to her chest, face expressionless. Then, when Morgan and Hotch are finished, JJ steps up to the podium to address the media. Emily watches her become a different person, confident and clear, eyes staring directly at the camera as if she is the only person there, luring the UnSub into their hands.
Six hours later, they're on the jet back to Virginia. From the sofa, JJ makes a small sound and kicks her legs restlessly. Emily watches her for the rest of the flight.
-
The cushion flies out of her loose grasp, glancing off the half-empty bottle of wine and nearly knocking it off the table. In a moment of recklessness and a backward glance, Emily leaves her gun where it is while the knocking persists.
JJ stands behind the fish-eye peephole. "JJ, hi." Emily squints into the dark hallway, wondering if this is just another part of the dream where the Ambassador was skulking around with a cat in her arms. "Uh, come on in."
It's an uncomfortable moment; Emily moves around, clearing things up a little bit while JJ stands in the middle of the foyer with a glass of water in her hand, hugging herself. Her eyes look wild, distant and disengaged, and her hair is a silken disaster. It doesn't look like she's changed since they got back, and she hasn't even brought an overnight bag. "JJ," Emily tries again, tossing the cushion back where it belongs, "You can take the bed. Do you want me to get you your-" She suddenly remembers, and nearly chokes on her saliva. "Um. I have something you might fit into."
JJ's hands fall to her side and she fumbles at nothing. "I was so tired, it was- I just-"
Emily stops JJ with a gentle, but firm hand on her forearm. "Hey," she says, "It's okay. Really."
-
L.A. is a hostage situation. It's pushing a hundred and Emily is sweating pools around her gun.
"He doesn't want to kill them," she hears Hotch explaining to the local uniforms. She catches the tinge of impatience slipping in like the sweat on her trigger finger. "It's the specific type he wants - petite, brunette, professional. If you go in now, he's going to panic and start shooting people."
"You just expect us to keep sitting back on this, Agent Hotchner?"
"You don't have to be here if you don't want to." Hotch's voice is calm, controlled, steel. "Prentiss."
"Yes, sir."
"The wife is here. Go with JJ and explain the situation, see if we can connect the cell."
JJ is already with the gunman's wife (a stay-at-home mother, blonde) in the trailer where S.W.A.T. is set up. They are conversing, JJ in low, reassuring tones, the wife in near hysterics. "-not Steve, he doesn't even own a gun-"
"Mrs Richards, please sit down," JJ says, not unkindly. She crouches beside the chair and offers up a bottle of water while the S.W.A.T agents whip out a tangle of wires and vests. "We would like you to talk to Steve..."
*
"You all right?"
"I'm fine."
"There was nothing you could've done."
"I know."
"I'm here, Em." JJ's hand touches Emily's shoulder, so light Emily thinks she may have imagined it.
-
The kiss is a prelude.
-
"You've been sleeping on the couch?"
Emily turns her head and looks sideways at JJ, whose blue eyes are wide without judgement. Milan Kundera wrote, there is no perfection, only life, but for the moment Emily believes in both. "It was easier," she offers simply.
"Reid said your posture looked off." JJ's smile seems to brighten the room, and Emily is caught off guard by her own laughter. JJ's eyes are full of warmth, and they're innocent, as if she doesn't see everything in every folder that is tossed like a burden across her desk every day.
The bed is an unruly mess of sheets and pillows and sweat. Emily closes her eyes and falls into a dreamless black.
Author: speshtian
Recipient: urban_folk_girl
Pairing: Emily/JJ
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1105
Disclaimer(s): I don't own Criminal Minds, etc.
Comments: Written as a pinch-hit for urban_folk_girl. I wasn't sure of what you particularly like or dislike, so I guess this is just my brand of angst. Huge thanks to abrandnewboom for the beta.
Emily goes home to D.C., to an empty apartment and no messages on the answering machine. There's a nice view of Capitol Hill and a manicured lawn, and a bed that is never slept in any more.
Lately, she's been sleeping on the couch. It's not really long enough to hold her legs, but it's closer to the door and she doesn't ever have a chance of rolling over to find it half empty.
She sheds her jacket and kicks off her shoes, hesitating slightly before unhooking her gun belt. She makes sure it's still in her line of sight before arranging her body among the cushions.
She closes her eyes, but she doesn't sleep.
-
Reid is adding some coffee to his sugar and nods in greeting when she enters the pantry. JJ smiles at her. "Hey, Emily. Briefing in five."
"Sure." She pours herself a cup of coffee, grimacing when she sees how much of the instant powder has escaped the filter, and heads out to her desk. Tucked away behind the paperclips, the stash of Splenda is dwindling. Emily grabs two precious sachets and heads to the briefing room.
Gideon passes her on the way. "Prentiss," is all he says, or grumbles, but she can never be sure.
What did she expect? Truth be told, she doesn't really know. But she knows that Strauss will be calling to collect soon. Morgan's wrong; it's not just a job -- it's a way of life. A way of life she wanted so much from behind her desk job - she'd dreamed of travelling for work, but wanted an anchor. Emily's already been pretty much all over the world, she's seen it all, but nothing has been as eye-opening as the BAU.
She sits, and JJ promptly begins to distribute folders containing images of teenage girls, riddled with bullets and showing signs of strangulation. Their limbs are askew, their eyes are open.
Emily forgets about the Splenda.
-
They are two days into Arizona, with no more leads but no more dead girls. Emily utters a silent thanks to a God she doesn't believe in.
JJ walks up, the heat shimmering around her like a blanket. "They're ready to give the profile."
"You want me to drive?"
"It's fine."
It's twenty minutes from the pizzeria to the station and they travel in silence, apart for the grumbling of the air conditioner. Back at the police station, standing in the doorway of the cramped little side office they've been set aside, Emily's mind slides into gear as Morgan and Hotch deliver the profile.
"-to achieve sexual gratification-"
"-has extremely low self-esteem-"
She looks over and sees JJ hugging a folder to her chest, face expressionless. Then, when Morgan and Hotch are finished, JJ steps up to the podium to address the media. Emily watches her become a different person, confident and clear, eyes staring directly at the camera as if she is the only person there, luring the UnSub into their hands.
Six hours later, they're on the jet back to Virginia. From the sofa, JJ makes a small sound and kicks her legs restlessly. Emily watches her for the rest of the flight.
-
The cushion flies out of her loose grasp, glancing off the half-empty bottle of wine and nearly knocking it off the table. In a moment of recklessness and a backward glance, Emily leaves her gun where it is while the knocking persists.
JJ stands behind the fish-eye peephole. "JJ, hi." Emily squints into the dark hallway, wondering if this is just another part of the dream where the Ambassador was skulking around with a cat in her arms. "Uh, come on in."
It's an uncomfortable moment; Emily moves around, clearing things up a little bit while JJ stands in the middle of the foyer with a glass of water in her hand, hugging herself. Her eyes look wild, distant and disengaged, and her hair is a silken disaster. It doesn't look like she's changed since they got back, and she hasn't even brought an overnight bag. "JJ," Emily tries again, tossing the cushion back where it belongs, "You can take the bed. Do you want me to get you your-" She suddenly remembers, and nearly chokes on her saliva. "Um. I have something you might fit into."
JJ's hands fall to her side and she fumbles at nothing. "I was so tired, it was- I just-"
Emily stops JJ with a gentle, but firm hand on her forearm. "Hey," she says, "It's okay. Really."
-
L.A. is a hostage situation. It's pushing a hundred and Emily is sweating pools around her gun.
"He doesn't want to kill them," she hears Hotch explaining to the local uniforms. She catches the tinge of impatience slipping in like the sweat on her trigger finger. "It's the specific type he wants - petite, brunette, professional. If you go in now, he's going to panic and start shooting people."
"You just expect us to keep sitting back on this, Agent Hotchner?"
"You don't have to be here if you don't want to." Hotch's voice is calm, controlled, steel. "Prentiss."
"Yes, sir."
"The wife is here. Go with JJ and explain the situation, see if we can connect the cell."
JJ is already with the gunman's wife (a stay-at-home mother, blonde) in the trailer where S.W.A.T. is set up. They are conversing, JJ in low, reassuring tones, the wife in near hysterics. "-not Steve, he doesn't even own a gun-"
"Mrs Richards, please sit down," JJ says, not unkindly. She crouches beside the chair and offers up a bottle of water while the S.W.A.T agents whip out a tangle of wires and vests. "We would like you to talk to Steve..."
*
"You all right?"
"I'm fine."
"There was nothing you could've done."
"I know."
"I'm here, Em." JJ's hand touches Emily's shoulder, so light Emily thinks she may have imagined it.
-
The kiss is a prelude.
-
"You've been sleeping on the couch?"
Emily turns her head and looks sideways at JJ, whose blue eyes are wide without judgement. Milan Kundera wrote, there is no perfection, only life, but for the moment Emily believes in both. "It was easier," she offers simply.
"Reid said your posture looked off." JJ's smile seems to brighten the room, and Emily is caught off guard by her own laughter. JJ's eyes are full of warmth, and they're innocent, as if she doesn't see everything in every folder that is tossed like a burden across her desk every day.
The bed is an unruly mess of sheets and pillows and sweat. Emily closes her eyes and falls into a dreamless black.