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When Emily feels the unfamiliar flame of jealousy lick her insides, she doesn’t know where it’s coming from. It’s a Tuesday, a regular day, and she’s taken her regular seat on the jet next to her regular seat-partner Derek. It’s all so painfully normal that the strange jealous feeling is amplified. And Emily doesn’t know where it’s coming from, but she knows she shouldn’t feel this way.
Derek, acutely aware of the sour mood of typically cool Emily, tucks his phone into his front pocket.
“Okay, what’s up? You’re tense,” he points out.
“No, I’m not,” Emily replies, stubborn.
“Yes, you are, Prentiss.” Derek narrows his eyes, peering at Emily. “I called Penelope, took my eyes off of you for half a second, and now you’re all pissy.”
Penelope.
The unfamiliar jealous feeling, then, has a source.
Emily, embarrassed as ever, tugs her headphones over her ears, silencing Derek with a half-playful side-eye. She’s grateful he chooses to drop the subject there. How would Emily explain to him that the reason she’s upset is the absolutely petty fact that she wants to be the one to call Penelope and tell her the team is safe and on their way home?
Emily knows it’s irrational. Derek is always the one to call Penelope on the jet, always the one to reassure her that everyone is alive and well and we’ll see you soon . He gives her a few flirtatious remarks, and through the static of the phone, Emily can usually make out Penelope’s coquettish replies. She imagines a big grin on Penelope’s face as she twirls her shiny, soft blonde hair and flirts with Derek. Just once, Emily wishes Penelope was flirting with her.
And, okay--Emily isn’t normally a sap. But Penelope makes her feel different . Makes her feel...tender. As much as Emily hates to admit it---it makes her feel like a teenager---she has a crush on Penelope.
As she blasts her music loud enough that her headphones rattle, sinking lower into the comfy leather jet-seat, she recognizes this crush . She feels a bit conflicted about it, actually.
Save for the fact that the word “crush” itself feels like a cyanide pill in the corner of her mouth — Emily feels ridiculous for even having feelings toward Penelope. She’s so good , so soft and good-natured...and Emily is rotten, complicated, closed-off — Emily stops before she can think of any more mean words about herself.
How could sweet Penelope ever look twice at her?
Emily lets out an audible huff, causing Derek to turn towards her.
She sticks her tongue out at him like a child, tugging her worn fleece blanket up over head as if it makes her invisible.
------
When Emily Prentiss gets shot in the field during a case, it’s entirely her fault.
Well, to everyone else, it’s not, but to Emily it is.
Her fault for being distracted, her fault for not protecting her legs enough, her fault for not apprehending the unsub sooner, her fault, her fault, her fault.
She feels like she’s floating through the hospital halls, bright lights causing spots in her eyes. The room they put her in after her surgery is clean, too clean.
The wing she’s in doesn’t even carry the same sadness one expects from a hospital —- it’s called the recovery unit. It feels like hope.
It makes Emily sick.
It smells like Clorox wipes and sunshine, and Emily desperately wants to smear dirt on the walls or track mud into the room.
Maybe then it would feel like she deserved to be there.
Her teammates congregate outside of the door, thinking Emily is still asleep. She can hear them, murmuring about who should drive her back to Quantico. Spencer offers to, with brightness in his voice, and after a beat of silence, Emily hears Derek make a light-hearted joke at Spencer’s expense. The sound of them laughing together is comforting enough to break Emily from her self-deprecating cycle of thoughts.
“Come in,” She calls out, voice hoarse from a period of disuse.
Her friends file into the room quickly. Spencer is nearly shaking with excitement, pushing past Hotch to find Emily’s bedside. He hugs her to the best of his ability while remaining hyper-conscious of her injury.
“Hi, Spence,” Emily murmurs, clutching his sweater vest in her hands tightly. They embrace for a while, long enough to make the others in the room uncomfortable, but Emily doesn’t mind. Spencer is so good, so kind, and if Emily hugs him long enough she thinks maybe she could be good too.
When they finally part, Emily steels her gaze at Derek, mentally preparing herself to switch from her terrible mood of self-loathing into a more casual, socially acceptable one.
“Derek,” she starts, and he’s looking at her like she’s telling the secrets of the universe, “I heard you tell Spencer that gay people can’t drive.”
Any residual awkwardness in the room pops like a bubble, laughter rippling over the people in the room. JJ relaxes, leaning against the wall next to Rossi. Spencer takes a seat on the edge of Emily’s bed, Derek finding a seat next to him. Hotch sits in the chair closest to her, and it feels warm.
For a split second, Emily embraces the warmth.
But something, some one , is blatantly missing, and Emily is acutely aware of it. “Has anyone called Penelope?” she asks, scanning the room.
Derek and Spencer exchange a quick glance, and Emily pretends not to notice.
She’d told Spencer about her feelings for Penelope, naturally. It’s unsurprising the news had made it back to Derek. Emily wonders if Derek had known about it a few weeks ago, when he called her out for being upset on the plane ride home.
“I did,” JJ says, snapping Emily back into reality. “She’s upset you’re hurt, obviously, but she said she’s excited to hang out with you and Sergio while she quote, ‘nurses you back to health.’”
Emily tries to stifle her grin, to no avail. “Cool.” She attempts nonchalance.
She turns to Hotch, who’s lounging against the back of his chair, drinking in the casually wholesome interactions of his subordinates. He looks calm for once, Emily notes, and it makes her crack a half-smile. Here she is, laying in a hospital bed, bullethole in her leg, and Hotch takes this moment to be a human capable of emotion? “When can I get out of here, Hotch?”
“Whenever your co-workers decide who’s driving you back,” Hotch replies, bracing his hands on his knees and pushing himself up out of the chair.
Derek stands then, as well, ruffling Spencer’s hair. “I’m driving, and Spencer is insisting on co-piloting.”
Emily shakes her head, raising her eyebrow jovially. “You think I’m letting Spencer ride shotgun? Fat chance.”
----
“Just stay the night,” Emily says, tossing a stiff throw pillow in Penelope’s direction.
Penelope catches the pillow, clutching the deep red cushion to her chest. She pauses, pursing her lips in a kinesthetic attempt to help her find her careful next words.
“Well...no offense, but you aren’t particularly fun to be around right now, so I’m just gonna go home.”
There’s a moment where the air feels tight. Sergio’s tail whips around, the only sound in the living room.
Emily feels, quite frankly, like shit.
And this is the part where she, on any normal day, would throw her head into her hands, tug on her bangs, and absolutely wallow in any negative emotion she could find.
I’m so vile , she’d think, I can’t even be around Penelope without spewing disgusting energy out of my pores. I’m radioactive. One more second here and I would turn her into a pile of ruin, a pile of toxic dust.
Penelope had spent her past week driving to Emily’s apartment immediately after work to dote on her. She burst in the door with tote bags full of blankets on Monday, candies on Tuesday, and when Emily told her to please stop buying things for me , Wednesday was a tote bag of stuff for Sergio.
Penelope cooked a different soup each evening, made sure Emily’s water bottle was filled and ice cold, administered pain medications as needed, and was a light in Emily’s dull, dreary apartment.
Emily hated it.
Hated that Penelope was wasting her time hanging around her when she probably had better things to do. Hated that she was so helpless that she needed an aide. Hated everything about the situation, really.
And of course, she was grateful. In any scenario, Emily wants to be near Penelope, and she’s acutely aware of Penelope’s benevolence in taking time to care for her. But she’s not very good at expressing that, and instead of thanking Penelope profusely, she’s lashed out.
She knew it was wrong, and she felt like shit about it, but she had resigned herself to just being a terrible person so long ago that it was just so.
Emily is tired.
She’s tired, so tired, and she’s the worst, but Penelope is looking at her, begging to understand, and Emily cracks.
Penelope is peering intently at Emily. Treading lightly, she asks, “What’s wrong?”
Emily hangs her head.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “Sorry for being mean to you. I appreciate you being here.”
Penelope nods, leaning over to pat Emily’s arm. “I know you do.” Then she’s leaning over and wiping Emily’s cheeks and oh , Emily didn’t even realize she was crying.
Once she notices the tears, she can’t stop them. They flow down her cheeks like she’s never cried before, and for a moment she doesn’t believe she has.
Penelope is holding her, tenderly, like Emily is glass.
Stop being so nice to me, Emily thinks. I don’t deserve it.
Once Emily has calmed down, Penelope says, “I’ll stay the night if you promise not to be so pouty.” Her pinky finger sticks out in Emily’s direction, perfectly manicured.
Emily hooks her own pinky with Penelope’s and nods.
—--
Weeks later, when Emily gets in her car with a small grin on her face, Penelope asks, “How was it?”
“Really good,” Emily tells her, handing her a small stack of bright-white papers. “She wants me to work on my thinking patterns.” Emily points to the paper titled “Thinking Patterns” in big black block letters.
“So you’ll go back, you think?” Penelope asks casually. Emily puts the car in reverse and pulls out of the parking lot.
She hums. “Yeah, I’ll go back. I liked her.”
Penelope puffs her chest out a little, proud of herself. She was the one to find the therapist for Emily, after all.
“So thank you,” Emily adds, as if she read Penelope’s mind.
There’s a few moments of silence. Penelope watches the trees whip past the car as they drive.
“Hey, can I run something by you?” Emily asks. Her voice is uncharacteristically shaky. Emily continues before Penelope can even react. “When I’m like, good at this therapy shit, and feeling better, can I, like” — she pauses— “like, take you out or something? On a date?”
Penelope smiles something radiant, reaching for Emily’s hand and interlocking their fingers.
“I’d like that.”