Chapter Text
Emily Prentiss is certain. Certain that she hasn’t lost her wits. Finds it stranger that her heart thumps—too fast, too hard—against her ribcage when Hotch points out the replacement among the suit-wearing agents.
She’s not into girls.
She’d experimented once, back when she still wrote Bible verses in Italian, with her mother’s Montegrappa cramping her fingers, and again, when she pressed her lips onto Bianca Panconi’s cheery-red mouth.
She’s not into girls.
But when Agent Todd smiles, and her honest-to-god first thought is she’s pretty. She’s uncertain. Fucking uncertain whether she swings both ways, or it’s one-way street.