Chapter Text
It was a Sunday afternoon. You and Emily were soaking up the quiet and the fact that you didn't have a case. She had put on a movie and you were cuddling on the couch. The minute the movie was playing you started to feel your eyes drooping and had turned your body away from the TV to nestle yourself in the crook of Emily's neck. She had her arms tightly wrapped around you, trying to stop you from falling off the couch as your body went limp from being in such a deep sleep.
You were rudely awakened when Emily moved, and then you hear the ringing of a phone and it makes sense as to why she moved.
She pulls it to her ear and says, "Prentiss."
You're close enough to her that you can hear the person on the other end.
"Gosh it's so weird you answering Y/N's phone," you hear Garcia say.
"Huh," Emily says. You feel her move around and open your eyes to see her flipping the phone to check the phone case, and it was indeed your phone she had answered.
She puts the phone back to her ear.
"You called for a reason, Garcia?"
Your eyes drift closed again and you don't hear the end of the conversation.
Emily pulls back the blanket and you're faced with cold which you groan at.
"C'mon baby, gotta get up," she says sliding out from under you. This causes you to fall face first into the couch.
You reach for the pillow Emily was leaning on and slam it over your head.
"It's a Sunday!" You cry.
You hear Emily's chuckle fade as she walks down the hall.
"Serial killers have no concept of the weekend!" She yells back. This makes you groan into the pillow even more.
-----
You and Emily walk into the BAU hand-in-hand. It's weird. It's weird because one, you are walking in with Emily and not staggering your arrival, and two, you're walking in holding her hand.
You try and stifle a yawn as Emily yanks the glass door open with her free hand. Morgan's already there, grabbing his go-bag from under his desk.
He chuckles at the sight. It's to be expected, Emily put together as always, and you looking like you just stumbled out of bed.
"Why are you yawning? It's 3pm," he asks.
"Ever heard of naps, Morgan? Seems like serial killers have no respect for Sunday's or for naps."
"Serial killers don't have respect for date nights either," Morgan adds.
"Amen," Emily retorts. She lets go of your hand as she makes way to her desk for her go-bag and you move for yours.
The others hadn't arrived yet, so you took the opportunity to plop into your chair and close your eyes for just a moment. You sense movement around the office but take no notice of it.
You feels hands that start to massage your shoulders. You breathe in the smell of lavender, so you don't even need to open your eyes to know who it is.
You lean to rest your head on her arm.
"In such a rush to get here and the rest of the team aren't even here yet. Could've napped for longer," you say opening your eyes to look up at Emily.
"You can nap on the jet," she says, leaning over to place a kiss on your lips spider-man style.
This was when JJ, Garcia and Spencer decide to walk in.
"No PDA please, it makes Reid uncomfortable!" Garcia says as she marches through the office.
Reid stutters and tries to deny the claims but everyone knows physical, intimate affection of any sorts makes Spencer revert back to a 10-year-old boy and be super uncomfortable by it.
You feel Emily grin on your lips and deepen the kiss. You laugh into it knowing what she's doing.
She pulls away with the biggest smile on her face and you can't stop laughing.
"Well that woke you up didn't it?"
"Yes it did," you say, laughing and looking over at Reid's disgusted face, which makes you laugh even more.
-----
Emily swipes the keycard across the door, turning the handle and holding the door open for you. You walk past her, dump your bag on the ground and plop face first onto the bed. You starfish out, leaving little to no room for Emily.
Hotch had called it a night and sent everyone back to their rooms for rest. One pro to your open martial status is there's no more sneaking into each other's rooms and wasting money on the other, you were automatically booked to share a room.
Emily flops herself onto the bed, in what little space you had left.
She kicks off her shoes and unbuckles her belt. Your eyes were closed at this point but the noises were enough to clue you in to what she was doing.
"Babe," she says, nudging your side, "take your shoes off."
You dramatically groan and roll onto your back. You had never regretted your choice in footwear more. The combat boots were practical. Comfortable, durable, stylish, prepares you to be on the move. But right now? They're the obstacle between you and getting in bed and you do not have the willpower to sit there and undo all the laces, but you can't simply just kick them off.
"I will submit to all your sexual desires if you take them off for me," you chuckle, looking towards Emily.
"You do that anyway, so I don't really get anything out of this," she laughs.
"I will," you pause, having to think about the alternate proposition. "I will make you brownies when we get home and let you eat them off of me."
She sits herself up. "Just the brownies would've been enough, but you've got yourself a deal."
You laugh and swing your feet onto Emily's lap. She begins loosening your boots one lace at a time. When they were finally loose enough, you kick them off and groan at the freedom your feet feel.
"Are you able to take your pants off or do I need to do that for you too?" She teases.
"I'm capable," you say, unbuckling your belt and shimmying out of your pants. Emily does the same. You do the famous trick of stripping your bra without taking your shirt off, deciding the shirt you're currently in is good enough to sleep in.
Emily, ever the exhibitionist and so comfortable nude, strips everything from the waist up.
You shuffle to get under the covers as Emily turns the lights off and pulls the curtains closed.
She shuffles in the bed behind you and pulls you to her chest. Her love of skin to skin contact prevails as she decides your shirt isn't a good enough sleep shirt, so wiggles it up your torso. You get the message and slip it off.
She pulls you even tighter to her, her bare chest against your bare back. Her coping mechanism. She can feel the warmth of your skin, feel your heartbeat and your pulse, the rise and fall of your chest, as a reminder you're alive. After the cases you've seen, and especially what you're seeing she needs that reminder sometimes.
You hug her arm to your chest and succumb to the tiredness with the sensation of small breaths on your neck.
-----
You were talking with one of the local officers in what you would call their version of the bullpen when you see Emily storm from the small room your team had stationed themselves in.
She rushes off to the bathroom with such anger that makes you concerned.
"Excuse me," you interrupt the officer, honestly you stopped listening to what he was saying when you spotted Emily out of the corner of your eye.
You promptly follow her into the secluded hallway and into the bathroom you know she's locked herself in.
You knock on the door once saying, "babe?" before letting yourself in.
When you walk in you see her hunched over the sink trying to calm her breaths.
"Everything okay?" You ask, trying to approach her slowly.
"Yeah," she sighs after a moment, straightening up and pushing her bangs back from her face. "Yeah, they're just a bunch of homophobic assholes is all."
A frown is plastered over your face. You both still wear your rings, wedding rings equate to more respect as a woman in the south, but neither of you specify to whom you're married to.
You walk up to her and place your hand on her back rubbing comforting circles as you rest your hip against the counter.
"Don't worry about it," you say.
"I know," she says, "I'm not worried about it but it's fucked that in a city like this I'm forced to keep my mouth shut about my most amazing wife and I have to sit there listen to them talk about you like a piece of meat! It sucks!"
"I know it does," you say, moving your hand to tuck a hair that has fallen from her ponytail behind her ear. "But you know I love you, and I know you love me, and that's all that matters."
She finally turns to look at you for the first time since coming into the bathroom.
"God, I love you." She smiles, leaning down to kiss you.
You smile into the kiss back, and only lean away to say, "I love you too."
-----
The jet ride home was quiet. It was a physically and mentally exhausting case. The team did everything right but it still ended with the unsub dead. Cases like those are the hardest, so many lives lost and no justice served for the families. No closure.
You had popped your headphones on and was playing some meaningless playlist. Honestly, you weren't paying any attention to the sounds that filled your ears, it was there to drown out the sounds of the world and your mind. You had your legs drawn to your chest with a blanket draped overtop.
You stared out the window at the spread of blue and white. You held Emily's hand in your lap. The coolness of her wedding ring was grounding. She made no effort to converse or actively comfort you, she knew her being there was enough. It was enough for her too.
You didn't understand how her position was comfortable in the slightest, she was turned with her right side on the back of the seat, her body facing yours. Her left hand was stretched to be with you but she never wiggled and showed signs of discomfort, but as to how that was comfortable you'll never know. She had her eyes closed, trying to get some sleep.
Rossi looked at your position with adoration in his eyes. He loved your love. He knew there was something there long before the revelation was made, but a man of secrets himself said nothing.
There was never a twinge of jealousy in his eyes as one would expect after three failed marriages. No, his looks were of pure contentment and happiness for the both of you. You loved him with all your heart.
Hotch and JJ had their heads stuck into paperwork, keen to get it done to return to their children as fast as they could.
Spencer had once again sprawled his lanky body across the couch and had magically fallen asleep. Morgan had his head back with his eyes closed and also had headphones on, but whether or not he was sleeping you'll never know.
It would be lovely to have sleep overcome you. Your body craves it. The aches deep in your bones, but your mind was racing and anxiety was far too high.
Rossi reaches into his jacket pocket. You watch him curiously. He pulls out a bottle of pills and rattles them to make a display of them being there and places them on the table.
You know the bottle has your name on it. The bottle gets passed between the necessary members in case of emergency. You didn't know Rossi was the last to have it.
You and Emily had been fighting your anxiety for years. It comes with the territory of the job you'd say to your therapist. She agreed but encourages medication.
Diazepam, the bottle reads.
May cause drowsiness.
Of course it does, you laugh to yourself. Technically a sleeping pill as well.
Rossi leans forward to nudge the bottle in your direction.
Your music is quiet enough for you to hear him say, "there's no shame in taking it."
Screw him and his ability to read you like a book.
Your eyes flicker between Rossi and the bottle. You have a natural aversion to taking medication, but what the hell, might as well get some sleep.
"Can you open it?" You ask, gesturing to your current position. "I'm kind of incapacitated."
He grabs the bottle, opens it, and wiggles it to plop one in his hand. He screws the cap back on and holds his hand out ready to drop the single pill into your available hand.
It emerges from under the blanket, and in a few seconds the pill is popped in your hand and you're throwing your head back, swallowing it dry.
You wiggle back and readjust yourself to be comfy again, ready for the medication to take charge. You feel a slight squeeze coming from Emily's hand although her body shows no movement. You wished that Emily was enough, but some days you need a little extra help from science, and that's okay.