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It’s been years since she last went undercover like this.
That’s what Emily is thinking as she runs her fingers through her loosely teased hair, trying to drown out the faint hammering of her heart in her chest. That, and that she’s too fucking old for this.
That’s more or less word for what Bailey had said when she ran the plan past him. Which, of course, had only made her more determined to follow it through. It’s no secret she can be… cagey about the ageism in the bureau, particularly when it’s aimed at women. The general consensus when she stopped dying her hair was that it was a mistake - one that would permanently put her out of the field, and ensure she was stuck behind a desk for the rest of her career.
That’s the other reason for pushing so heavily for this plan. That, and the fact she knows it’ll definitely work.
Still, as much as she has put up her usual impenetrable facade of nonchalance, she does have some concerns. Letting her eyes drift over her reflection, the simple black knit dress she’s picked out, Emily is drawn to every single one of her flaws. The parts of her that have changed since the last time she went through these motions. The soft pouch of her belly, no longer firm and muscular like it had been in her youth, still somewhat visible despite the pair of Spanx she’s squeezed into. Her tits still look good - but that’s more her bra, and the cut of the dress, than anything else. Emily always has known how to play into her strengths, and had been made perfectly aware as soon as she’d gained them, that her breasts were, unfortunately, one of those. Still, she’s self conscious of them, moreso of the scar tissue above them, the shimmering lines only visible when the light hits her skin just so.
She knows men still find her attractive. It’s just… well, what if it isn’t enough? What if she’s long past her days of being dangled in front of their unsub like bait?
It’s stupid. She’s the right age, the right build. Victimology says he’ll be all over her. And if he’s not, well it’s not like it’s personal. Her worth doesn’t come down to whether or not the worst of the worst can still be lured in by her femininity… or whatever.
Fortunately, if there’s one thing Emily’s learnt over the years, it’s that sex appeal is easily faked. Confidence can be only skin deep. She knows how to play this game, even if it has been a few years. There’s no use in losing faith in her own ability now. Not when it’s crucial to getting this son of a bitch.
It’s a part, a role. None of it’s real.
Well, there in lies the other problem. She’s pushed it down, that sharp pang of unease that sits in her stomach at so much as the thought of JJ sitting opposite her at the bar tonight. The pair of them having to push through the tension that’s built between them for the last few years, patching up the fraying edges of their friendship for the sake of pretence. Emily isn’t quite sure she has it in her. With anyone else, maybe, but not JJ. She’d practically begged Tara to take her position, though she knew it was a moot point; Tara wasn’t quite fit for the role, and JJ was. The convenience of the whole thing - the fact it’s so clear cut that it has to be them, that they both fit the part so so well - is part of what makes the plan such a good one.
Even if it requires her to wear her heart on her sleeve for a couple hours.
There’s a soft knock on her open office door, followed by a low whistle, and Emily turns, can’t help the impish grin that settles over her features as she meets Tara’s eye.
“What do you think? Passable?”
Tara rolls her eyes, leaning across to tuck a stray strand of silver hair behind Emily’s ear. There’s a glimmer of mischief in her dark eyes, a grin tugging at the corner of her mouth, that makes Emily want to let out a groan.
It isn’t that she’d meant to confide in Tara. It hadn’t been a choice. She’d seen straight through the way JJ and Emily tiptoed around each other, and, some time ago, when they’d both had a little too much to drink, called Emily out on her bullshit. It helped, she’d supposed, that Tara was queer herself. She might not have been so willing to come clean to any of the others.
“I don’t understand the problem,” Tara had said, in a tone she never would have dared use if not for the alcohol thrumming through her veins, “she’s separated. You’re single.”
It wasn’t that simple though. It had never been that simple when it came to JJ. Perhaps if all the years in between hadn’t happened, if JJ hadn’t become a mother twice over, if something other than the job and Will’s resentment for it had crawled into the space in their marriage and shunted them apart. It was too close to home. Emily felt, in the midst of their initial separation, like both of them in part blamed her, despite her having very little to do with any of it.
Maybe that was naive. She and JJ had always been close, a smidge too close maybe. But she’d kept that close to her chest, JJ moreso. Any possibility between the pair of them had fizzled out a long time ago, replaced with the uncomfortable anonymity they experienced now, that feeling of knowing someone a little too well, but at the same time feeing as though you knew nothing about them at all. She’d changed in the time Emily spent in London, and then again in New Orleans, the months before her marriage finally came crumbling down around her.
Now it’s simply too late.
“Just wait until your date sees you,” Tara says, now, grinning in a way that shows all her teeth.
Emily does groan, after all.
-
There had been a time, of course, where squeezing into tight dresses and too-high heels had been the bread and butter of Emily’s career. She remembers the electricity of a palm pressed to the flat of her back, a zipper pulled up for her, deft fingers arranging her hair just so around her shoulders. She’d had to close her eyes at the contact, so afraid that the yearning would be obvious if JJ was able to scrutinise her. Another time, JJ insisting on applying her lipstick, standing unbearably close. So close that Emily could smell the coffee on her breath, cut through with mint, could count the individual barely-there freckles on her nose. It was a well practiced dance by that point, but Emily had still felt the tightness in her chest, still worried that something in the unsteady inhale of breath would give her away.
It was probably for the best that they’d gone to separate rooms to get ready. Definitely for the best, if the way Emily’s heart is racing now is any indicator.
Still, the reveal almost takes her clean out. At least if she’d seen the outfit JJ had prepared, over the contours of a coat hanger rather than her body, she might have been prepared.
The thing is, JJ, overwhelmingly, looks like JJ, but also doesn’t.
With her dirty blonde hair pulled back slick to her skull, and twisted into a tight bun at the base of her head, JJ’s jawline looks more chiseled than ever, her cheekbones brushed bronze. An assortment of gold glints in her ears. She’s wearing a darker lipstick than Emily thinks she’s ever seen her in, more eye make up than she’s worn in years. Her outfit is simple, a pair of tailored leather pants, with a short-sleeved white button down tucked into their high waist, the first few buttons open to reveal the slightest hint of golden cleavage, the cuffs rolled up to reveal the gentle swell of her biceps.
The result is an exhilarating kind of attraction that Emily doesn’t quite know where to place. It’s like that moment when you see a stranger in a bar, and your body reacts before your brain has caught up with it. Only, it isn’t a stranger. It’s JJ. More masculine than Emily has ever seen her - despite years of seeing her predominantly in work appropriate pants and blazers, or casual tanks paired with sweats - and exactly what they know presses their unsub’s buttons, but damn if it doesn’t press Emily’s too, in a very different way.
She suddenly feels stupid in the relatively demure dress, even though she knows it’s part of the character. It pales in comparison. She still looks like Emily Prentiss. JJ looks exceptional.
JJ offers an almost wry smile as they meet each other halfway. Her eyes do dart down to take in Emily’s outfit, but her expression is unreadable. Emily only hopes hers is as indecipherable, but doubts it is. Her chest and cheeks feel warm, her pale skin no doubt giving her away.
“You look…” JJ starts, but trails off, her hands gesturing.
The awkwardness burns in Emily’s throat. “Yeah, you too.”
She pulls a face, and Emily smiles at the familiarity in it, reminding herself she’s known this woman for close to two decades. They’ve gone undercover before. She can do this.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve gone on a first date - real or otherwise,” JJ states, laughing humourlessly, and it’s reassuring that she’s feeling it too, this tension fizzling between them like uncontrolled electricity. A little exciting, but also wholly terrifying. Something a little bit thorny under the exterior. At least it’s comforting to know she’s willing to try to break the ice.
“Oh, well, you know I’m an expert at first dates. It’s the rest of the relationship I suck at,” Emily throws back with a smirk, relieved when JJ’s laugh is a little easier this time, a lot less self-deprecating.
Something in her gaze becomes serious, blue eyes quickly studying Emily’s, the smile that tugs at her lips comfortable, honest.
“We’ll have each others backs, then,” JJ states, simply, and for the first time in a while, Emily thinks she might mean it.
-
The bar is, thankfully, on the quiet side when Emily arrives. Perfect to scope the place out under the guise of first date nerves. Once she’s given the bartender her order, she takes a seat at the bar, leaning one elbow against the polished glass top, angling her body so she can take in the rest of the room. The light isn’t so low that she can’t make out the faces of the other patrons, scattered around the two levels - any one of the men could be their unsub, but she doubts he’d show up this early, doubts he’d leave her sat at the bar alone if he was there.
Ice clinks in her glass as she lifts it to her lips, meeting her own eyes in the mirror behind the bar, noting Alvez’s presence somewhere behind her, sipping on a cocktail.
“I hope that’s alcohol free,” Emily murmurs, knowing he’s heard her by the soft tinkle of laughter in her earpiece.
“Is yours?”
He has a point, but there’s no way she’s doing this completely sober. Besides, it would be suspicious for her to be sitting here nursing a club soda - she almost says as much, but then movement in her peripheral stops her. A quick glance to her left, and she’s sipping her drink again, rearranging her legs in a way that she knows makes her look enticing - or did, ten years ago, and she’s hoping still does. From the look of appreciation in her target’s eyes, the way he drags his eyes along her body, it’s had the intended affect. The way her skin crawls at the smarmy smile that drifts onto his thin lips, a bony hand running through his dark hair, could be indicative that they have the right man. Or he could just be a regular creep. It’s getting harder and harder to tell.
“Keeping an eye on him,” Luke breathes into her ear, “we’ll give you a few minutes to read him, then send in JJ.”
The sound of her name seems to evaporate all moisture from Emily’s mouth, but she nods, draining her glass and ordering a second one.
“I’ll take care of that. And a whiskey for myself, please.”
Turning to face him, Emily catalogues her immediate findings: Southern accent. Below average height. Mid 40s. Grey eyes. No ring on his finger but a slight tan-line like maybe he’s only just stopped wearing it. His shirt is cheap, masquerading as expensive. So far, he fits their profile to a t.
“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” she says, giving him her best doe eyed expression from under thick lashes.
“For the most beautiful woman in here? A drink is a small price to pay to get to speak to you.”
Ugh Emily thinks, but her expression gives nothing away. She’s well practised in maintaining a smile, teeth sinking into her bottom lip just slightly. “Well, that’s very kind, if entirely untrue. I… should tell you I’m meeting somebody, though.”
That gives him pause, but only momentarily, the smile faltering for only a second. Emily tries to measure his response, to work out whether the disappointment is genuine or hiding anger.
She can’t tell.
“A date? I should have known - a stunner like you. Maybe I could give you my number… Incase things don’t work out?”
Seems genuine, she decides, but is waylaid by the appearance of a familiar blonde behind him. Despite expecting her, and despite having already seen her, the sight of JJ leaves her a little breathless. The swagger to her step completes the whole look, and Emily can’t help the way she falters over her, something tightening in her abdomen.
“Oh… uh… I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” Emily tells him, barely dragging her eyes away from the sight in front of her. The attraction in her voice is probably adding to the facade, if the way he follows her gaze is anything to go by.
She forces herself to look at the man, to gauge his reaction. The tight swallow. The tinge of embarrassment on his high cheekbones.
JJ leans around him to press her lips to Emily’s cheek, the contact sending a jolt of electricity tingling through Emily from head to toe.
“I… enjoy your drink,” the man sputters, hastily making his exit, and JJ laughs, low and throaty, the sound of it settling in Emily’s belly.
They wait until he’s out of earshot and JJ’s sitting on her own stool, tugging it closer to Emily’s, before both chuckling lightly.
“Not our guy?” JJ asks, tongue darting out to lick her lips.
Emily shakes her head, looking down and away, “no. I almost feel bad for him. Almost.”
Waving over the bartender, JJ orders herself a beer. Emily watches her demeanour, the casual lean against the bar, one hand in her pants pocket, the way she lifts the bottle to her lips. It’s an act, but it also isn’t. JJ looks comfortable, the same way she would in a sports bra and leggings. More than she does in a gown and heels. It’s something Emily has noticed before, but it’s more prominent here, how much more comfortable she is in masculine clothing. How much it suits her. And not only because Emily finds her incredibly attractive in it.
JJ’s hand covers hers on the surface of the bar, and Emily almost starts, having zoned out completely. It’s unprofessional, and dangerous, and Emily finds her cheeks flushing yet again.
“I’m so glad we’re finally doing this,” JJ says, and the smile on her lips is so soft, so familiar that for a second Emily forgets this whole thing is a ploy. JJ really is just that good.
But then she blinks out of it, their objective snapping back into focus. Her red-painted lips do their own dance. She turns her hand palm-up, laces their fingers together, leans in closer to JJ, so close that she can smell the underlying sweat beneath her perfume, the coconut of her shampoo.
“Me too, it’s really been a long time coming.”
JJ sets her beer down, lifts her hand to tuck a loose strand of silvery hair behind Emily’s ear, allows her touch to linger a little too long. It sends Emily’s pulse racing, and she meets JJ’s eyes, seeking out her tells, the pretence in her gaze. She can’t find it. Unable to resist, Emily turns her head, ghosts her lips across JJ’s palm. JJ’s breath comes out in a sharp exhale that whistles against her teeth, and the moment is only interrupted by Alvez’s voice in their ear, picking out a man a few tables over who is showing them a little too much interest.
“Want to bait him a bit more?” JJ leans in to whisper, her breath so close to Emily’s ear sending a small shiver through her.
“I’m in if you are.”
Her heart feels as though it’s ricocheting off her ribs as JJ withdraws, taking a swig of her beer. The hand that was in hers shifts to her lap, squeezing through the fabric of her dress, the heat of her palm scorching. The other returns to her hair, fingers carding through the waves, until she’s cradling the side of Emily’s head.
“If it’s not too forward… can I kiss you?”
God, yes is Emily’s initial reaction, but she knows JJ will see through her, see that it’s genuine. She’s not used to losing control, least of all in these undercover assignments, but something about JJ has that effect on her. Has always had that effect, if she’s honest. She’s her hamartia, and has been almost since the moment they met.
Swallowing, she gathers her courage, wordlessly nodding, knowing she can’t trust her voice. JJ stares intently into her eyes, clearly trying to convey something but Emily is too tightly wound to recognise it. Then JJ’s hand is tilting her chin up, and bringing their mouths together. In all the multitude of scenarios where Emily imagined this to happen, she never expected it to be like this: JJ kissing with a firm determination, her lips as soft as Emily had always expected, but the force behind them almost ferocious, despite their public setting. Tentatively, Emily kisses back, trying not to lie her carnal desire out on the table, and no doubt failing. She catches JJ’s generous bottom lip between her own, sucking ever so lightly, surprised by the faint little moan it elicits, the way JJ’s fingers tighten in her hair. She might have lost herself more fully in the kiss if Luke hadn’t chosen that precise moment to clear his throat.
“We’ve got him,” he states, and Emily looks up to see a flash of him reflected in the mirror in front of them, his lean body landing on the bottom level with ease. The man approaching them has a pistol in his left hand, partially concealed by the sleeve of his jacket, and JJ wastes no time in leaping off her bar stool, drawing her own weapon from god knows where - her pants certainly left little to the imagination. Emily turns to join her, retrieving her badge from her purse, now that both Alvez and JJ have their guns trained on him.
“FBI. Drop your gun, and keep your hands where I can see them.”
When she glances at JJ, she sees a smear of her own lipstick across her glossed lips, and despite everything, it continues to light a path in her belly.
-
“That was quite the kiss.”
Wearily, Emily looks around from where she’s busy hanging her discarded clothing up in her office. She cringes, giving Dave what she hopes is a warning glare. He holds his hands up in defeat, and she softens, if only a little.
“I suppose everybody saw it?” She laments, sitting back at her chair, “I’m sure that’s going to go down well with the director.”
“Probably about as well as when you and JJ finally come clean about whatever it is that’s going on between you.”
“Nothing is—“ Emily starts to object, but Rossi holds a hand up to her, making a sound that makes it clear he’s not done speaking.
“Whether anything is officially going on between the pair of you or not, we both know you want there to be. And, no offence, but JJ isn’t that good of an actress,” he shrugs, looking at her poignantly, “don’t you deserve to be happy, Emily? After all these years?”
“Believe it or not, it’s not that simple.”
His eyes sparkle, as he shrugs his shoulders, and for a moment there’s over a decade’s worth of these conversations spilled out between them - she knows he’s never going to take no for an answer, never going to back down. There’s no use trying to placate him. He knows her too well.
“Just don’t leave it too late. You never know how long you’re going to have with someone, you know.”
Emily softens at that, the unsaid lingering heavy between them. “I’ll think on it. Good night, Dave.”
Once he’s finally left her to finish up in peace, she slips her jacket on, flicking the light switches that plunge her office into darkness. As she boards the elevator, pressing the button for the parking garage, she almost misses the hand sliding into the gap between the closing doors. A moment later, JJ is breathlessly standing beside her, looking a little more herself.
“I’m sorry… I—“ Emily starts, but she’s cut off when she sees that same look of fiery determination in JJ’s eyes as before, moments before their lips meet. There’s no pretence this time, no unsub lurking around the corner. Just the two of them doing what they should have done 16 years ago.