FF: Slow Surprise (Criminal Minds) JJ/Emily 14/14 NC-17
The morning dawned clean and clear over Mission Springs, the summer heat still at bay in the early light. Emily turned over in bed, watching as JJ continued to sleep, Henry nestled between the two of them, snoring softly. They were cuddled together in one of the clinic’s beds, a tight squeeze for two people, much less with a squirmy little boy, but Emily had never felt so settled, so comfortable. She’d travelled around the world, dined with royalty, slept in feather soft beds and the finest linens, and it wasn’t until that moment that she truly understood what it meant to be home.
Reluctantly she pulled herself from bed and got dressed, tiptoeing down the stairs to pull her boots on outside the clinic.
To her surprise, she found Erin Strauss walking up the street, a basket full of food in one arm and a pot of coffee in the other. She looked like Emily felt and sported two black eyes and a bandaged broken nose from where their attacker had slammed her face into the stagecoach the day before. Emily brushed her hair back out of her face and tied it loosely at the nape of her neck. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” Strauss replied. “Leaving already?”
“I have some business that needs attending,” Emily answered, dropping the Western drawl she’d acquired over the years for the pristine and polished New York accent of the elite.
The change didn’t go unnoticed by Mrs. Strauss, a none-too-subtle reminder that although Erin Strauss played along the edges of high society, Emily was high society and could return any time she wanted without more than batting an eyelash. “You and I started off on the wrong foot, Miss Prentiss. We don’t have to continue that way.”
“Oh, Mrs. Strauss, you and I both know we’re never going to be confidantes,” Emily said, barely keeping her smirk in check.
Strauss bristled, but kept her cool. “No,” she admitted. “We won’t.”
“But we don’t have to be enemies.”
Strauss pursed her lips, considering. “A truce then?”
“A truce,” Emily repeated with an affirming nod. “Here, why don’t you let me help you with that,” she offered, taking the basket of food from Strauss as she walked up the stairs to the clinic. “I think I’m the only one up so far, but the smell of that coffee should rouse the whole bunch soon enough.” And just like that, the relaxed, easy drawl was back.
Mrs. Strauss smiled. “Well, if the coffee doesn’t, these muffins should. I made them myself.”
Emily hadn’t been wrong about the smell of coffee waking the residents of the clinic and soon enough Hailey and Kevin came sneaking out of their patient’s rooms with grateful smiles and growling stomachs. Prentiss managed a good morning, promised to return quickly, and snuck out with a muffin and cup of coffee.
She made her way to the other side of town, smiling at the shop owners along the streets as they opened up for the morning and receiving, to her surprise, more than a few smiles back. The bank wasn’t open yet but that didn’t stop her from knocking on the door. Rossi opened up a few moments later.
“Emily, what are you doing up so early?”
“I need your help.”
The look on her face spoke volumes and David Rossi knew better than to argue. “Well, come on in then.”
*
U.S. Marshal J.B Books was a patient man. He was a thorough man. He never drew his gun unless he had to but when he did, he aimed to kill. And as a patient and thorough man, he’d been tracking a raping, murderous bastard across the plains for three years only to have his journey end in Mission Springs, Wyoming, a town so small it didn’t even have a sheriff, much less anything else of note.
He tipped his hat back as he trotted inside the town proper, taking a good long look at the layout, at the well-kept houses and buildings, at the relative prosperity. Small but nice, just the kind of place a predator would have chosen to make his hunting grounds. He found an empty rail and tied his horse up; a few inquiries and he was on his way to the town clinic.
Books took off his hat as he stepped inside, greeting the doctor - if a man that young could actually be considered a doctor - and a small contingent of visitors and patients coming in and out of rooms. “I heard ya’ll had some excitement the last few days. Shot and killed a man yesterday.”
Hotch eased himself into a rocking chair, happy to be up and out of bed if still strictly under Hailey’s watchful eye. “That’s right, Marshal.”
“Did he look like this?” Books pulled out a wanted poster and handed it to Aaron.
Hailey gasped as she saw the face; Hotch squeezed her hand reassuringly. “That’s him.”
“Mike Sweeney,” Books answered. “I’ve been tracing that no good son of a bitch across six states and territories.” As an afterthought he glanced at Hailey, muttering, “Pardon my language ma’am.”
“No pardon needed,” Hailey said grimly. “He was a no good son of a bitch. And now he’s a dead one.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, Mr. Hotchner, how’d it happen? I’ve been tracking that man for years… I have to tell you, I’m a little disappointed I didn’t get to see him hang.”
“Well, it started a few months ago…” It wasn’t a difficult story to tell, and Hotch told it with attention to detail and minimal embellishment, which Books appreciated. “And well, that was it. We didn’t even really know his name before now. Miss Penelope assumed the name he gave her was a lie.”
Books sat back, whistling. “That’s pretty damn impressive for a bunch of amateurs.”
“It was a team effort,” Hotch said, keeping his gaze steady on Books. His head might be thundering like a team of loose Mustangs were running wild inside his skull but he wasn’t going to be brushed off by the Marshal. “Amateurs or not, we managed to do what you haven’t for the last three years.”
“That you did Mr. Hotchner, that you did.” Books stood up. “I guess that’s about all I need to know then.”
Hotch stood up as well. “If you’d like to see his body, it’s being kept at the barbershop. We’re gonna put him in the ground today.”
“I think I’d like to see that.” Books nodded once and said his goodbyes before walking out of the clinic. On the street, he put his hat back and let his eyes adjust to the sunlight. From the story he’d just heard it wasn’t hard to spot the brunette with the matching pair of Peacemakers walking up the street and know it was Emily Prentiss. He tipped his hat. “Miss Prentiss?”
“That’s right,” Emily answered slowly. “And you are?”
“Marshal J.B Books,” he answered. “I appreciate you folks cleaning up what I couldn’t.” He eyed her guns. “Hotchner tells me you’re the best shot in town.”
“I’m all right, I guess.”
“Guns like those… you should be sheriff,” he smirked. “Backwater town like this could use one.”
Prentiss gaped at him. “I…”
“Have a good day, Miss Prentiss.”
Emily turned and watched him walk away down the street, whistling happily. The clinic door opened and JJ walked out, smiling at her dazed expression.
“What’s that look for?”
“The Marshal thinks I’d make a good sheriff,” Emily answered, still smiling in dazed amusement.
JJ looked at her, considering. “He’s not wrong.”
Emily laughed. “You and I are going to break all the rules, aren’t we?”
JJ smiled and leaned up, kissing Emily lightly on the cheek. “God, I hope so.”
“And people think I’m trouble.”
*
Epilogue…
Fall was starting to show signs of settling in any day, but Emily wasn’t worried. Oh, there were still a half-dozen things that needed her attention, but they were minor inconveniences. Her stock was solid, her barn and fences well-tended, but most importantly, her family was thriving.
All these things she noted with barely concealed happiness as she set about writing her mother for her once-monthly correspondence. Disowned or not, they kept in touch as a formality; it was simply poor manners not to, something her mother could not abide. Some might roil with jealousy over the parties and gala events her mother recounted from New York society, but not Emily. She took far more joy in describing her land and her friends, especially the stories she’d recounted from Penelope and Kevin’s wedding only the week before.
There were two events of note, however, that had her pen hesitating over paper as she searched for the proper words to convey their importance. One dealt with the rather surprising town meeting from the month before. The residents of Mission Springs were shaken to the core by the murders that had so easily happened around them, not to mention the violence done to several of their fellow citizens. In response, they’d voted Hotch as the official mayor - not just a title in name only - and had, to Emily’s surprise, voted her in as the town’s first official sheriff.
The explanation had been simple - she had the guns and had proven herself capable of using them. Was the job expected to be so uneventful that any fear of having a woman in charge had been minimal? Maybe, especially considering that with Hotch as Mayor, Emily would be reporting directly to him. Had Mrs. Strauss’ hand been behind some of the machinations? Perhaps. And yet, there had been no dissention, just a simple chorus of voices seconding and affirming the nomination made by David Rossi. Even now, Emily had to reach for the gold star pinned to her vest, her fingers tracing over it, to remind her it was indeed a reality.
The second event - no less ground shaking - was a far more delicate issue to broach with her parents. As an only child, and a female, she’d long been regaled with terrifying stories of “fortune hunters” - rakish, unscrupulous men who sought to take advantage of young women merely to obtain their money before leaving them distraught and penniless. Most of those stories Emily had accepted as apocryphal, until she’d been pregnant and nearly disowned at the age of fifteen. The lesson had been excruciating to learn, but since that time she’d never trusted anyone with her money besides herself. The trust fund her grandfather had left to her would keep her well taken care of for years, and despite their differences, she had little doubt that should something happen to her parents, the majority of their assets would pass to her as well. There was a reason she’d never been formally disowned. The real question that had plagued Emily was what would happen to all that money if something happened to her?
She’d taken the initial steps with Rossi but the rest had required a solicitor, and that had taken time given the closest one was a week’s ride away. But the paperwork was done now, and after more than a few discussions with JJ, the details arranged.
The partnership agreement had been easy enough to draw up after the deed to the land had been transferred into both their names, but it had been the longest argument. JJ refused to take a half-share in the land and wouldn’t budge despite Emily’s protests. No amount of logic or reason would convince the younger woman that taking any piece of the ranch back was anything but charity. Emily wouldn’t relent, and JJ refused to give in, until in a fit of pique Emily had finally blurted out: “It’s the closest I can get to marrying you, damn it, so just sign the god damn papers!”
There had been silence then. Solid, not-a-breath-silence.
And then JJ had simply straightened her shoulders and reached for the pen. “Well, why didn’t you say so?”
The conversations after that - writing a will, naming JJ and Henry heirs, establishing joint access to bank accounts - were much easier. Their lives were as entwined as the law would allow them and there was no turning back, not that either of them wanted to. In a meadow on the western part of the property, while Henry ran around chasing butterflies and the horses grazed, they stood in the sunshine and made vows to each other, vows that were far more permanent than anything a lawyer had written down on paper. But it wasn’t those vows Emily knew her mother would be concerned about and she had no idea how to explain one without the other.
A hint of lavender wafted over Emily’s shoulder a moment before JJ asked in amusement, “Are you still working on that letter?”
“It’s a rather important letter, don’t you think?”
With Henry tucked away in bed and snoring soundly, JJ had finally taken her hair down from the bun it had been in all day and let it flow in loose waves around her shoulders. Emily scooted back from the table just enough to tug JJ down onto her lap, one hand fisting in the long locks as she drew the younger woman down for a lingering kiss. “Hmm, what were we talking about?”
“The letter to my mother,” Emily teased, nipping at JJ’s bottom lip just to watch the other woman’s eyes flutter in arousal. This was a preamble of things to come, but Emily wanted to savor the moment nevertheless. Sometimes these small moments meant more than anything else.
“Ah, yes.” JJ settled onto Emily’s lap, indulging her own whim by twisting a lock of dark hair around her fingers. “You don’t have to tell her about us, you know? I don’t mind.”
“I mind,” Emily answered without hesitation. “They need to know who you are and what you mean to me.”
“And what do I mean to you,” JJ asked, already knowing but never tiring of hearing the answer.
“Everything.”
“Then tell her that,” JJ smiled, dropping a sweet kiss to Emily’s brow. “And then come to bed. We’ve got an early morning ahead and I’m not done with you yet tonight.”
A smile; a promise. Emily watched JJ cross the room and start to pull the covers down on the bed. She turned and put pen to paper once more.
“Dear Mother,
You’ll be happy to know that the possibility of my being asked to leave a foreign country again is highly unlikely…”
Finis