Archive of Our Own ^beta

The first time they met, he called for her to hold back the goddamn elevator and had she known who that voice belonged to, she probably would’ve pretended not to hear it. But it had been an okay morning thus far and Éponine liked to believe she wasn’t that much of an asshole anymore. She didn’t like people in general, those working in Quantico in particular but she tried to stay civil with the latter — she was no political animal but a little courtesy could go a long way when one had ambition — and she wasn’t about to make some poor fella late on a Monday.

Regrets filled her when the fella in question materialised by her side while she still had a finger pressed on the door open button. All blond curls and broad shoulders nicely filling a suit that was clearly tailored to his exact size, one not so different from the one he wore in the picture from his FBI records. She’d read his file a couple of weeks prior. Most people would probably have forgotten his face by now but Éponine couldn’t afford such luxury, although it wasn’t as much the eidetic memory as it was resentment. With Marius gone, off to build his perfect family with his perfect wife in their perfect house, the team needed a new leader. By all standards, the position was hers. As soon as Marius had informed her of his resignation, she’d applied for it. Sure, she wasn’t exactly the poster child for decorum and she would not be voted Miss Congeniality by anyone outside the team any time soon but she was a damn good agent, she had the records to prove it and a few degrees to boot.

For once, Éponine had thought she stood a chance, especially with Marius recommending her for his replacement. For once, she’d let herself hope, only to see her uncharacteristic optimism crushed by the Bureau’s lifelong misogyny when they’d announced they would bring in another man.

An outsider.

It had triggered eyerolls and annoyed sighs among her teammates while Éponine’d gritted her teeth in silence, swallowing back furious screams and frustrated tears. A few years ago, she would have jumped out of her chair and given a piece of her mind to her boss. She’d done it already, a couple of times, when Marius hadn’t been quick enough to pull her back and calm her down, whispering wise words about biding her time and picking her battles. He’d just stood by the deputy director’s side then, eyes lost somewhere on the wall above everyone’s head — avoiding hers. Thoughts of transferring had crossed her mind as voices had slowly drowned to background noises but after a few days, she’d decided against it.

Because she wanted to stay. She wanted to see what was just so great about her competition. What a man could possibly have that she didn’t. Not much, except the support of peers of the same gender who, frustratingly enough, weren't impressed in the least by her PhDs in forensic anthropology and psychology, her high IQ or the mere fact that she'd graduated from high school at barely fourteen after seeing her whole world crash and burn. It would most likely never be good enough and while she was perfectly aware of it on a logical, rational level, some perverse curiosity had pushed her to stay. To see for herself.

Now that she was trapped in a considerably small space with the dude, Éponine was questioning her decisions. With her particular skill sets and — mostly — clean records, she probably could have requested her transfer to any field office across the country and have it done in a couple of weeks with a little push from Prouvaire. He’d stalled the process once when she’d tried to put some distance between her feeble heart and Marius, so he could probably hasten it as well.

Yeah, she probably should have instead of letting her pride get in the way.

“Special Agent Thénardier, right?” she heard on her left, much to her dismay.

Engaging in small talk was not one of Éponine’s favourite hobbies, far from it. She needed purpose to converse with strangers, usually because horror and tragedy invited themselves in their lives, and her few friends knew she preferred silence over mindless chitchat. So did the — her — team.

But Curly wasn’t part of the team. Not yet.

Plus, he’d clearly only skimmed over her file and had her rank wrong.

With anyone else, she would have let it slide. Most people didn’t have her memory and it was a common mistake, after all. She was an agent, a young one at that and she'd been told on more than one occasion that she looked barely old enough to be out of college, certainly not enough to be called doctor. But he had stolen her job and Éponine would rather be damned than be lenient with that custom-suit wearing, tall as hell, gloriously curly-haired asshole.

Staring at the floor numbers that seemed to flash incredibly slowly today as the elevator kept going, Éponine willed herself to relax, shoulders sagging subtly. Four siblings and too many childish disputes had helped cultivate her expertise of the silent treatment during her childhood, her vicious parents and high school had polished it. She wanted to correct him though, she was dying to do it but once again, her pride got the upper hand.

When they finally reached the 6th floor, he had been gawking at her profile long enough to bore a hole in her skull but had yet to hear the sound of the voice. Victory, as often, tasted sweet.

It tasted even sweeter when Éponine smirked at Prouvaire, ever the kind, polite one who’d definitely volunteered to welcome their new unit chief, a cup of coffee in each hand and a boyish grin on his pale face. Without a word, she grabbed both goblets and trotted to the bullpen, head high, almost giddy with satisfaction. She felt the weight of two pairs of eyes on her back as she made a spectacle of dropping half her loot in the crashcan by her desk.

Not her most mature move, admittedly, but a rather fitting final touch to her own version of a welcoming party. In her opinion, at least — Prouvaire was livid and could not meet her eyes nor their new chief’s for the next couple of days, holing himself up in his lair of technology, surrounded by computer screens who wouldn't stare at him like Curly did. But it was worth it, for all thirty minutes that it lasted before Tall, Fair and Handsome decided to properly introduced himself to the team, every single word from his stupid name to his wish for them all to get along reminding her that she’d failed.

The first time they fought, Thénardier bolted from his office. Enjolras liked to think he was a patient man and he’d tried with her, he really had. Although she kept things essentially professional on the job, she’d also been purposefully antagonistic from the get-go — which he understood, to a reasonable extent, considering the situation. His predecessor, Pontmercy, had warned him it would take the team — and her, specifically — some time to warm up to him. They were a tight bunch, more family than simple coworkers, and they didn’t take to newcomers interfering so easily. But things had gone rather smoothly, except with Éponine Thénardier. Being denied a promotion she most definitely deserved — he’d read her file, all of their files, before setting foot in the BAU — had probably stung but there was only so much pettiness Enjolras could handle.

He’d given her time and space to lick her wounds and adjust herself to the new chain of command. He’d let her ignore him whenever they happened to walk in the building at the same time in the morning — he wasn’t there to befriend anyone and she was clearly not much of a talker, even with her friends, often greeting them with a quiet nod and only opening her mouth when they’d step into the briefing room when she had a question about technicalities or a supposition regarding victimology. He’d even ignored the sneers and the eyerolls whenever she disagreed with his analysis, mostly because it usually came with an astute counterproposal that sometimes made him revise his own views on a case.

Éponine Thénardier was intelligent — a genius, really, he could admit as much — and intuitive, she could handle herself perfectly well in an interrogation room and her team clearly held her in high regards — as did Pontmercy, Enjolras had gathered as much after listening to the man go on and on about what a good collaborator she was. But God, she was an absolute child and a pain in his ass and after two months, Enjolras had grown tired of it.

Their latest case had ended on a relatively good note — they’d managed to catch the unsub before a fourth victim could be added to his morbid list and the sheriff, albeit a bit reluctant to let the FBI lead the chase at first, had thanked them so profusely for their help they’d made it to the jet 30 minutes late. The flight home had been quiet and, truth be told, Enjolras enjoyed every second of it, especially once Thénardier was sound asleep, curled up on her seat. Peacefulness was rarely an option when she was around — awake, that is — and being on high-alert at all times tended to be tiring. Unexpected, fleeting moments of calm were most appreciated but he should’ve known better than to let this one lull him into some naive sense of security infused with hope that maybe, just maybe he’d be able to go home without another of her jab dampening his mood.

Wishful thinking, really.

He’d barely started wishing the team a good night that chocolate brown eyes were already shooting daggers in his direction, mouth ready to fire a snarky remark. But no, not tonight.

“Thénardier, my office. Now,” he snapped, the cold tone startling half-asleep agents.

Coufeyrac and Combeferre shared a worried look, Feuilly quite distinctly winced but none of them breathed a word, relieved to be sent on their way with orders to stay away from the building until the next afternoon.

They all got along just fine, despite Pontmercy’s reservations, but Thénardier’s behaviour never went unnoticed, not by Enjolras nor her friends’. It had to end. Now, before it put a serious strain on the team’s morale. Or worse, before she started actively undermining his authority in public.

They’d never been alone in the same room, he realised when he closed the door of his office. The accidental shared trips in the elevator didn’t count much — she ignored him, because she could and he’d stopped trying to talk to her after the first few times his polite good mornings had been met with pure silence.

Enjolras foolishly thought it would be different here. That she’d accept she had to, at least, acknowledge him. Respond even. He wasn’t expecting any excuse, simply hoping they could find some common ground.

Instead, Thénardier plopped down on one of the chairs facing his desk and, arms crossed over her chest, kept her eyes fixated on the bookshelves above his head, one of her feet taping a grating rhythm on the floor.

Without a word, without as much of a glance to his face.

Much later, he would blame fatigue, too many short nights on mediocre motel beds and the pressure that came along with his position. But really, in the end, silence pulled her trigger on his self-control — her silence.

“You’re a child and I’m starting to understand why you’re on this side of that desk,” he blurted out after a couple of minutes.

Thénardier was out of the door before he could even take a breath and for a second, Enjolras considered letting her go. It had been a long day — week, actually, a whole week spent in a tiny town sent into a terrified frenzy — and he still had a detailed report to write before he could even think about driving home. But there would always be another case, another pile of paperwork, just like there would always be Thénardier and her fucking attitude. It had to end. Now. Tonight.

He caught her in front of the elevators, right before she smashed the down button.

“Don’t touch me,” Thénardier growled when he grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the call box.

Her shoulder hit him square in the chest with the full force of her indignation, brown melting with anger as she twisted to glare at him.

“I swear to God, I will shoot you if you—”

“Do you care that little about your career? Really?”

From what he’d been told, Enjolras had been under the impression that she did, in fact, care much more than she let on. That under the nonchalance and complete disregard for dress policy and paperwork, Éponine Thénardier was just as hungry for success as he was.

She shoved him away, straightening her leather jacket, and violently punched the down button, turning her back on him in a matter of seconds. Enjolras wasn’t used to being dismissed so easily — so childishly. Did she really believe he’d let it go once again?

When the doors opened with the usual ding that sounded defeaning in that uncomfortable silence, he stepped into the elevator, hot on her heels. He expected her to protest, to try to remove him forcefully even, but Thénardier didn’t flinch, already hiding behind the impenetrable walls of her mind — and what a brilliant mind that was. It intrigued him, when she wasn't using it to aggravate him into an early grave.

If she didn’t want to talk, fine. Enjolras wasn’t sure he wanted to hear any of it anyway but she’d have to listen.

“I know you wanted that job. My job,” he glanced at her, burying his hands in the pockets of his slacks. “I won’t pretend to know what you’re going through or that I understand how hard it must be to see me every day, leading a team that should’ve been yours but I empathise, I really do.”

Her mouth quivered like she was biting back on words fighting to get out. Nasty ones, Enjolras suspected but he’d dealt with enough of them by now to not let it impress him.

“Still, you can’t go on like this. I’m not the enemy, Thénardier, and I sure as hell won’t let you walk all over me just to make you feel better because I got the promotion you wanted. I’m not that kind. Or that stupid.”

He thought about Pontmercy lamenting over their hierarchy’s decision, genuinely distressed for his friend. He thought about the whole five minutes his predecessor had spent whining about the Bureau being too strict and unfair and how his recommendations hadn’t been considered at all. He thought about how, had their places been switched, the man would’ve let Thénardier get away with anything just to relieve himself of his own guilt.

But Enjolras didn’t feel any. Not when he’d accepted the position, knowing he’d had remarkable competition, not when he’d introduced himself to the team as their new unit chief while she was glowering in a corner. Not even now. Especially not now.

“You had two months to deal with it,” he pointed out, studying her profile with as much calm as he was capable to maintain while simultaneously wanting to scream his lungs out — he hated how effortlessly she’d gotten under his skin, with those furious big brown eyes and the bitter scowl twisting her mouth. “Now get over yourself or get out. You might be brilliant but that’s not enough anymore.”

Her hands twitched by her sides, tight balls of knuckles whitened in frustration, and for a hot second, Enjolras expected her to try and raise a fist to his face. But she simply huffed out, her cheeks bright red, and pivoted on her heels to face the closed doors.

She might have been the one with the violent urges and the sharp tongue, the burning resentment and the clenched hands but Enjolras was the one who just landed a punch.

He almost regretted it when she finally hissed a yes, her voice rough and trembling like a wounded animal. Almost. Until the elevator reached the ground floor and she scampered out, a loud, distinctive curse on her lips.

Dickhead.

The first time she tried to make amends with her unit chief, Éponine didn’t actually plan it. They’d find some common grounds after he’d chewed her off out of the blue — granted, she hadn’t expected him to last that long, so technically, she had it coming for a while but still she hadn’t expected it that day — but she had tried to steer clear of him as much as working under his command allowed her. She’d even gone out of her way to learn a thing or two about him to ensure they wouldn’t cross paths outside of his office — the model of his car, his address, the coffee shop near their building where he’d usually stop in the morning, when he favoured public transportation over driving to and from work and before she’d realised, his whole fucking schedule was stored away in her annoyingly efficient brain. It was definitely too much information to have on someone she didn’t particularly like but at least it was helpful.

Enjolras was awfully consistent — coming in a whole hour before the team every morning, driving on Mondays and Tuesdays, various buses and sometimes cabs the rest of the week, and he had a specific suit assigned to each day, like some sort of fashion ritual that helped him keep track of the time — until he wasn’t. Until one morning, he was standing in front of the fucking elevators a whole hour late and by the time Éponine recognised that mop of blond curls and the suit — he’d worn that one thirty-three times already since his arrival at the BAU and really, she didn’t mean to remember that — she was already too close to walk away.

She pondered her options for a moment, standing in the middle of the busy hall. Wondered if she could just wait for him to disappear into one of the elevators while she took the stairs. It’d be a mere workout, six floors to reach, a small price to pay for her peace of mind.

But then, she’d be late and it wouldn’t take a genius to put two and two together when she’d show up in the bullpen, slightly out of breath with bright pink cheeks.

They were civil to each other, butted heads on occasions on a case but it was never serious. It was work and they were both good at it, with quite different approaches, sure, but still. While he never chose to pair himself up with her whenever they went out on the field, Enjolras listened to her. He valued her input and her brain, she knew that much.

But he’d made himself clear regarding the rest and Éponine knew she’d already used up all his tolerance regarding her, well, antics.

You might be brilliant but that’s not enough anymore.

So yeah, maybe she did go out of her way to stay out of his and maybe, just maybe, it had become a much bigger deal than Éponine ever intended it to be. Maybe. Probably.

A deep breath left her lungs with what was left of her dignity and Éponine crossed the distance to join her chief, hands slightly shaking around the warm paper cups. She could do this. Thousands, hell, millions of people probably greeted their boss every day. It couldn’t be that hard, right?

“Rough night?” she said in lieu of a hello.

Brows shot up high on his forehead, wrinkling his pale skin.

“Is this your way of saying I look like shit, Thénardier?”

It wasn’t but now that she was looking at him, well. Enjolras didn’t look bad, not exactly. Not that she was attracted to him in any way but her eyes were perfectly functional — he couldn’t even remotely look like shit on his worst days, not with that face. Or that body. Especially that body.

She shrugged. “No, but you’re late. And you forgot this,” she added, lifting one of the coffees up to his nose.

Prouvaire would be mad that, once again, she'd have deprived him of his morning shot of caffeine. She’d make it up to him. He’d been talking her ears off about that new cat coffee that just opened near his flat for weeks now. And if Éponine had to spend a couple of hours among fluffy tails and meowing to be forgiven after breaking the morning coffee tradiction, then so be it.

Enjolras grabbed the cup, albeit reluctantly. “How did you know?”

“Let’s call it an educated guess.” Much better than I tailed you a couple of times and I know you’re a boring predictable control freak addicted to his planner. “You’re usually in your office when I get here and I’ve heard you complain about precinct coffee when we were in Connecticut for a whole morning.”

“I thought eidetic memory only involved things you read?”

“Trust me, there are many things I’ve heard or seen and wish I could forget,” she mumbled.

The doors to the elevator on their left opened, Enjolras wordlessly inviting her to lead with an open hand. It annoyed her, the constant politeness. She’d thought it was all an act first — had wanted it to be, almost, so she could have one more reason to despise him — but no, the man was a paragon of polite charm and quiet kindness outside of an interrogation room, much to her dismay. It reeked of loving parents and happy childhood, despite how cold and aloof he seemed at times. He'd been raised well nonetheless and it fucking showed.

Éponine rolled her eyes when entering and pressed the 6th floor button. They’d been there before, standing side by side in silence. And it’d never bothered her until now but suddenly, it felt heavy. Uncomfortable.

“Are you alright?” he asked softly and from the corner of her eyes, she could see him watching her with what looked like actual concern.

Shit. Why did he have to be so goddamn nice with everyone and, least of all, her? She’d been an absolute bitch from day one and there he was, worrying about her wellbeing.

Éponine cleared her throat, praying to every deity she’d ever read about that her voice wouldn’t falter. “I’m sorry. About… about before.”

There was a pause, one long enough that she finally caved and looked up. Just to check if he’d heard it and, if so, how he was taking it. Apologies weren’t her forte and that one clearly wasn’t her best.

But he was smiling. What a dickhead.

“Yeah, I know.”

The first time he was genuinely, absolutely, irrevocably elated to see her, Éponine barely seemed to register his presence. Which, in hindsight, was fine. Normal. Understandable. Thénardier had just spent six months on the bench after a particularly nasty injury that had scarred them all — Enjolras included, he could still see her body go grotesquely limp when he closed his eyes after a long day, could still hear the gunshots ringing in his ears sometimes. But she was back, finally cleared out for desk duty, and of course, Prouvaire had put together a welcome committee, waiting for her by her cubicle in the bullpen. Enjolras didn’t get the memo, not that he minded. As friendly as the whole team behaved, he was still their boss, appointed by higher-ups who had blatantly disregarded their former chief’s wishes. He wasn’t one of them, not really, and he knew better than to impose on such intimate moments.

Leaning on his office door’s frame, he settled on watching them from afar, her dark curls lost among the heads of her much taller teammates. Their eyes met for a brief second over Courfeyrac’s shoulders as he squeezed her into a hug.

Enjolras nodded before retreating back to his desk, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

It was good to have her back. A year ago, he wouldn’t have told her so because talking to her about anything that wasn’t work related was something of a herculean task. And if she didn’t go for the jugular every time he opened his mouth anymore, they weren’t exactly friends either. Civil was a much better epithet when it came to them but she was still a member of the team. His team. And she’d been injured under his watch. There was nothing weird about him telling her. No, absolutely nothing.

And yet he felt absurdly nervous when she joined him in the elevator at the end of the day.

“It’s good to have you back,” he said softly.

She threw him a surprised look and for a brief moment, Enjolras expected a sneer but she beamed at him. Bright and blinding, despite the clear exhaustion he could read on her pretty face. Beautiful.

“It’s good to be back,” she replied with a content sigh.

Uncharted territory, that. Just like the erratic rhythm of his seemingly distraught heart. Well, that was one problem he never thought Éponine Thénardier, of all people, would cause.

The first time she thought about kissing him, she’d been asked to escort him out of the building. Him. Enjolras. She’d never thought she’d see the day — if anything, she thought she’d be the one suspended and kicked to the curb because she was allergic to protocol and couldn’t be bothered to respect the dress code or something equally bothersome. But no, it was him, pushed to the side because he wouldn't fire a member of his team over so-called budget cuts and decided to stand up to his hierarchy.

He was tense in the lift, silently seething over his suspension but she was willing to bet he didn’t regret it. Everything about this man carefully thought out, deliberate. Every word out of his mouth, every look flashing through his eyes, every movement of his long limbs. He’d stick his neck out for the team — his team and for the first time since he’d gotten there, it didn’t hurt to think about it — all over again if necessary because that was the kind of man Enjolras was.

It was astonishing that she knew that. Knew him. Éponine had been careful to keep him as a distance. For the principle of it or out of pettiness, she wasn’t sure, but somehow he’d gotten close. All the tidbits of information about him — from his personel file she had no business skimming through to how he took his coffee and the fucking weekly rotation of his suits — and the snippets of the person he was behind the badge, he’d deposited it all in her memory and she’d let him.

And now that she’d been awarded a front-row ticket to his downfall, the one thing she’d hoped for in the beginning, she couldn’t even enjoy it because she cared about him. Fucking hell.

“It won’t last,” she muttered to herself.

He mistook her quiet outrage over her own stupidity for compassion regarding his situation. He turned to her with a trace of a smile tugging the corners of his lips, his own indignation put on hold for a moment.

“I would’ve thought you’d be happy. Isn’t this your first step toward the job, Thénardier?”

The job. She fucking wished it was just that.

Éponine scowled, fisting the hem of the sleeves of her bomber jacket. “Shut up.”

“I thought we’d make progress,” he chuckled, so clearly amused by her behaviour.

He’d been practically sacked and here he was, making fun of her like it was the most pressing matter at hand. What a gorgeous idiot. Bristling, almost trembling with furor, she took a step in his direction, face tilted towards his. An elegant, straight eyebrow rose on his forehead, the only sign of his surprise as she breathed fire and rage under his nose.

“Ah. But we did, didn’t we?” He blinked and his smile dropped completely. “I see. I hoped it wouldn’t come to that, given the circumstances.

“It won’t last” Éponine repeated, vehemently this time.

Her gaze fell to his rosy mouth, twisted in a grimace she’d never seen before. She’d seen it curled in a faint smirk at some of her teammates’ terrible jokes, frozen in a terrible fake smile in interrogation rooms, pressed in a tight line during the initial briefing of a new case and bitten raw when he was frustrated. She’d saved each and every single one of his facial expressions in a corner of her already chock-full head for further analysis but Éponine had never felt so aware of his stupid mouth before. Never so violently wished to learn more about it either, its warmth and how well it would fit against hers at the forefront of her mind.

“So that’s what you meant,” Enjolras scoffed, drawing her attention back to his eyes. “I hope you’re right, for both our sakes. Excuse me,” he added, leaving her alone in the cabin.

The first time she broke his heart, Éponine Thénardier left him. Enjolras had known it was happening for quite some time. She’d come to him for advice when the position in the Baltimore’s Crimes Against Children unit had been vacated and he’d overseen the paperwork for her transfer himself. He owed her that much, no matter how bleak it was to part with her. After all, she was one of his best, if not his best, elements. While it wasn’t exactly a promotion in itself, she’d be on a clear path to a leading post there. Éponine was gifted in many ways and driven, he had no doubt that in a couple of years — maybe even sooner, if she played her cards right — he’d hear of her advancement through the back channels. She would probably tell her former teammates herself then. They were a close knit group of friends and they had opened their ranks to him too after a while but Enjolras had preferred to keep his distance for the last four years. It was necessary — for both Éponine’s and his careers — especially making the mistake of caving in once, a couple of years ago.

Well, not anymore.

She was leaving.

She was leaving.

Éponine was leaving, moving to another state, to work for another FBI office and he’d fully approved it because he couldn’t refuse her anything, besotted moron that he was. It didn’t even feel like a mistake. At least not until her very last day.

A case had lead the whole team to California on her last week and since they’d already celebrated her departure the weekend before that, no one bothered to stick around when they landed home late in the evening. No one except Enjolras, every laden with paperwork. For once, he was relieved. He’d run to his office as soon as they’d made it to the building, avoiding the awkwardness of goodbye. There had been no clean cut and this way, he could still pretend for a couple of hours that he would see her the next day.

A knock on his door and a familiar face popping in destroyed what little peace of mind he’d come to find.

“You’re still here.” It sounded too much like a question to his own ears and Enjolras cleared his throat before repeating the statement, frowning for good measure.

What, exactly, was she still doing here? She was leaving. He was trying to convince himself that she’d already left. Good God, when would she stop tormenting him?

“And you’re hiding,” she shot back, walking the rest of her body inside the room. “The boys thought you might wanna grab a bite but you didn’t pick up your phone.”

He’d turn it off earlier, precisely to avoid that. So, yes, as usual, Éponine Thénardier was right. Damn her.

“Why are you hiding, SSA David Enjolras?” she asked, too playful for his somber mood.

“You’re smart, Doctor Thénardier, I’m sure you already figured it out,” he replied dryly.

“I might have a theory and I would be inclined to share it if you walked me to the elevators. Come on,” she insisted when he opened his mouth to decline the invitation. “We spent hours on a flight and I’m pretty sure you’ve been glued to your chair since we got back. Stretch those long legs of yours, Big Guy.”

He breathed out a frustrated sigh. There was no winning with her, absolutely none. But it was over and Enjolras could indulge her. One last time. Maybe.

“What makes you think I’m interested in any theory you might have?”

“I know you are. Didn’t you tell me once you were fascinated by my mind?” she smirked, a teasing glint shining in her big brown eyes.

Enjolras cursed under his breath. Leave it to her to play dirty and bring up that moment of weakness they’d agreed to brush under the carpet. It had taken him months of desperately trying to get over that night they’d spent together until he’d caved in and resorted to absolute denial, locking the memories of fevered kisses and whispered confessions to a dark corner of his mind. And yet, he could still see it clearly. The rumpled sheets twisted around her petite body, her hair cascading over one shoulder in a mess of curls, her eyes crinkling with laughter and a little emotion at that particular admission. Each of their scars, every mark, every quirk laid bare for the other to see. He’d never hated such clarity as much as he did right now — now that she was leaving.

“Well?” Éponine pressed, clearly not budging.

“Fine,” he conceded, rising to his feet.

Not even her warm smile could soothe his aching heart but he took it anyway. He’d taken each of them since she’d started sending them his way, three years ago. Treasured every single one quietly, in the solitude of his own home. The collection didn’t seem finished, not by a long run, but if he was lucky, maybe he’d get a parting gift. A bright, beautiful smile to cherish to save for a rainy day.

“You’re wearing Friday,” she pointed out as they passed her empty cubicle.

Too busy staring at the clean desk, Enjolras didn’t register the words. Nor their implication, for that matter. She was leaving and he was accompanying her for one last walk to the goddamn elevators. The rest didn’t matter.

“That was my first clue,” she continued on, glancing at him every two steps. “Because today’s Thursday, you know, and I know how detail-oriented you are. It’s almost a chronic condition in your case, especially that thing with your wardrobe, so I knew something was up as soon as I saw you this morning. Add to that the fact that you’ve barely spoken two words to me since we left for California and how— are you even listening to me?”

No, he wasn’t, not really. Every word that passed her mouth could’ve been the last and Enjolras couldn’t focus. He hummed noncommittally and tried to smile, to no avail.

“You don’t want me to go, do you?”

He stiffened, his mouth so dry he didn’t think he could manage to speak. “It’s a sensible step for your career. I’m proud of you,” he managed to say, the damned elevators in sight.

This was it. The end. The goodbye he didn’t want to give.

“I don’t give a crap what you think of my career. It’s almost one in the morning, you’re no longer my unit chief,” she pointed out, waving her lit up phone screen in his face, the time taunting him. “So you can drop the cold, professional act and admit that it’s eating you alive to see me leave.”

He closed his eyes, aware he would crumble if he actually looked at her. She hadn’t changed much since they’d first met. She still wore a leather jacket and the same old boots all year round, she still glared at most employees of the building with those enormous eyes. She was still that scrawny, passionate little thing who’d make his life so difficult in the beginning but she’d grown into herself with confidence and determination. And he, of course, had gotten attached. Damn it. Damn it all.

“See? I knew you figured it out,” he deadpanned, looking away. “So get your ass in that elevator and go home.”

Put me out of my misery, he wanted to say but he’d already revealed too much.

She stepped into his space, one of her hands slipping under his open jacket. Shivering under her touch, he couldn’t bring himself to stop her or even remind her that they were in a federal building, every inch of it covered by cameras.

“Or,” she whispered, her breath hot on his neck, “you could get your ass in that elevator too and go home with me. Officially, you’re no longer my boss.”

He blinked, confused.

“What?” She laughed softly, her second hand joining the other on its promenade over his ribs. “Did you think that me leaving the BAU meant I’d walk out of your life?”

“Yes,” he hissed, struggling to keep himself upright and immobile under her ministrations.

“You might be brilliant, Supervisory Special Agent Enjolras, but that's not enough sometimes.”

Her arms slid around his chest, avoiding the holster secured at his waist, and she nuzzled his throat with a happy sigh. It was too much — much more than he’d expected when he miserably imagined telling her goodbye. She was everywhere — tracing his spine through his shirt with the pads of her fingers, invading his nose and his lungs with that rich, spicy perfume that had become his favorite scent, pressing against his shattered heart — and a part of him wished it would never stop.

But it would. Because she was leaving.

He reminded her, his voice low, almost muffled by her wild curls. She grew rigid against his chest. With an annoyed groan, she pinched his back. Enjolras yelped, praying to God no one was paying attention to the security footage of their floor at that precise moment.

“I know I’m leaving, you absolute dumbass, but you clearly haven’t been listening if that’s what you’re still stuck on.” She glared at him and Enjolras couldn’t stop himself from smiling at the sight. So familiar. “Don’t even try to tell me that you’ve been a moody dickhead all week only because you’re down a profiler or any other inane shit about work. Don’t,” she raised a hand to cover his mouth. “I don’t know how you managed to convince yourself that I wouldn’t keep in touch but allow me to clear up any misconception you might’ve cooked up in that otherwise sharp mind of yours. I’m into you, really into you, and I’ve been dying to put my hands on you again for a fucking long time so now that I actually can, you bet your sweet ass that I’m gonna fucking try. If you’d be so kind as to allow me to, of course.”

His grin widened under her palm and, seeing as she wasn’t making any move to release him, he kissed it.

“Don’t be cute,” she growled, “I’m actually mad at you for thinking I’d just disappear when I’m just moving to Maryland. What the hell Enj?”

Her hand stayed firmly in place. He raised an eyebrow and, finally, Éponine seemed to get the message. She let go, her arm dropping to her side. He looked at it for a moment, her voice still echoing in his ears — you’re not longer my boss, I’ve been dying to put my hands on you, you’re not longer my boss, I’ve been dying to put my hands on you, you’re not longer my boss, I’ve been dying to put my hands on you. Sweeter words had never been spoken. Not to him, at least.

“How long is a fucking long time?” He asked, grabbing her free hand to lace their fingers together.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d held hands with anyone, let alone liked it. It seemed a bit silly, to enjoy such a small, innocent gesture at his age, especially in the workplace of all places, but Enjolras found that he didn’t care. Partly because of Éponine, mostly thanks to her. He’d never adhere to her bold, laid back attitude regarding regulations and he suspected they’d never find common grounds on many a subject but she’d rubbed off on him a little over the past four years. God knew he wouldn’t have let himself get so intimate with someone else anywhere near Quantico. Not with anyone, especially Éponine Thénardier.

“How about,” she used his own grip against himself, dragging him to the elevator door, “you follow me to my car,” she pressed the down button without looking away, not even for one second, “and I’ll explain in great details what a fucking long time is on the way to my place? I’m all packed but I haven’t taken the sheets off my bed yet.”

Tempting. Excruciatingly so. But Enjolras shook his head and brought their linked hands to his mouth. Lost in her eyes, he brushed his lips against her knuckles. A long shiver shook her shoulders and a familiar insult left her lips.

“Dickhead,” she whispered but made no movement to pull away. “You’re not coming with me.” It wasn’t a question. She knew him too well to ask. “Why? I know you want to, I know you can feel whatever this is.” Her hand left his back to gesture back and forth in the small space between their bodies.

Whatever this is.

Mutual respect. Profound affection. Magnetic attraction. Enjolras had many, many words to describe their relationship. Too many to settle for another one-night story. He wanted — needed — to use them all but if they were to do this, he would choose them carefully and lay them on the metaphorical paper one after the other. What was the rush? They had waited for literal years.

“I want to, yes,” he admitted because Enjolras was nothing if not honest. “But I’d like to take you to dinner too. Do this, whatever it is, the proper way.”

“Fuck proper, we already slept together, you big oaf.”

Like he needed the reminder.

Éponine Thénardier was definitely meant to be the proverbial thorn in his side. And he loved it.

“I may not have your memory but I don’t think I could ever forget it. Still, dinner. I’m partial to Italian, as you already know, but I’m open to any suggestions you may have. Maybe a movie too? I think that’d be nice.”

“You actually wanna date me,” she croaked in awe.

“Yes?”

“You actually wanna date me,” she repeated, clearly still surprised by the fact — something to think about and explore, later. “And you expect me to leave you here instead of dragging you to my car to blow you? Fuck, I could get on my knees right here.”

The elevator dinged its arrival and Enjolras had never been so relieved and frustrated to see those damn doors open to an empty box. It was certainly — absolutely — for the best. The last thing any of them needed was a black mark on their record for indecency. Not that he really cared in that particular moment but still. He had a reputation to uphold and she was turning a new leaf in her relatively impeccable career.

“Go. I’ll allow you to put your hands on me some other time.”

Making plans in their line of work was precarious at best and maybe he should’ve jumped at the opportunity to stay with her without any interference while he could but if the last four years had taught anything, it was patience. Éponine was worth the wait. She was leaving, yes, but come hell or high water, he would do his damn best to keep her.

The last thing he saw before the doors closed on her was a warm smile full of promises he couldn’t wait to hear. Not the last smile he’d ever get from her but genuinely, absolutely, irrevocably the jewel of his collection.