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A vineyard and the beautiful party at sunset, themed "Italian Summer," is truly one of the best ideas Penelope has ever had for her birthday, and it's something the whole BAU can get behind.
The early afternoon sun bathes the sprawling garden and the gorgeous patio in a soft, golden light, making everything warm and almost poetic. The vineyard in the distance glistens under the summer warmth, while long wooden tables, draped in white linen tablecloths, are adorned with wildflowers of all colors and candles, as though plucked straight from a postcard of the Italian countryside. They all know that once night falls, the fairy lights strung above will make everything feel even more whimsical than it already does.
Penelope's request had come as flourished and excited as expected. She wanted to celebrate her first birthday after the pandemic with all of her friends and entire family—and by "family," she meant all of her siblings and the whole BAU, with no exceptions . Invitations were formally sent all over the country, with RSVPs quickly filling her inbox. Confirmations came from Alex Blake, Kate Callahan, and, of course, Derek Morgan. Even Ashley Seaver replied, sadly informing Penelope that she was currently out of the country but wishing her all the best and sending a cute postcard from Barcelona—a gesture Garcia loved, promptly adding the city to her bucket list.
She heard back from every guest she was able to track down, a task she was truly proud of, because if someone— and by someone, she really meant o ne particular special former agent —didn’t want to be found, she knew it would be a challenge. But, to her surprise, it took less than five minutes to locate him, and her bright, thematic invitation was sent not even two seconds later. Yet, not a single response was received, and she tried to pretend it didn’t sting, especially when someone — another very special female agent — asked, expectantly and not so subtly, if "really everybody" was coming to the party.
It was truly painful to see the disappointment written on Emily's face when Garcia softly said, "Not everybody," not even mentioning that she had managed to track down Hotch, but he simply hadn’t replied.
But that was months ago.
Now, Penelope is completely in her element—the hostess of her perfectly planned and long-awaited birthday. Dressed in a bright floral dress and oversized sunhat, she greets each guest with a crushing hug and the flashiest smile in the world, making sure everyone’s glass is filled with enough sangria and encouraging them to join the makeshift dance floor, where some upbeat 80s tune is playing.
From her spot against the terrace railing, a fresh Aperol in hand, Emily feels perfectly content watching one of her best friends enjoy the party as much as she deserves, being cherished and spoiled by each member of their family. Her eyes keep flitting around the dance floor, casually laughing at the way JJ twirls her boys or holding back tears at how sweet Morgan is with his son, dancing with the boy tucked between him and Savannah.
It’s truly whimsical, just as Penelope had envisioned, seeing the entire BAU have a rare moment of lightness. The sun catches the women’s summer dresses perfectly, the long, flowy fabrics the only dress code the birthday girl had requested—she wanted her girls dressed like those fancy Italian ladies from the movies, and they all complied, donning light dresses in beautiful colors, painting a breathtaking scene. Discreetly, Emily even snapped a few pictures, each capturing so much joy that she’s tempted to print them and hang them in her office as a reminder of why she does what she does.
Yet, even as she feels that joy spilling over toward her, she’s still holding back. She’s still looking over her shoulder, expectantly glancing toward the stone road that leads to the vineyard, hoping for any sign that the last remaining family member might show up at any minute.
She hasn’t seen him in person in almost six years—since Peter Lewis died and he told her, in person, that he wouldn’t be coming back. On that day, she told him she respected and understood his choice, holding back tears and swallowing the lump in her throat when he softly hugged her and said, "Goodnight, Emily," before stepping out of the Bureau for the last time. But she hadn’t expected his complete physical distance after that, as if he had moved to fucking Siberia instead of West Virginia, still close enough for him to visit her or for her to visit him. Yet with every mention of a possible visit, he always changed the subject over the phone or via text, and during FaceTime, he would look at something else, feigning a quick excuse to hang up the call. It stings like a bitch when she thinks about it.
Because she still hears his voice at night when she can’t sleep. She still dreams of him—his suits, his ties, and the perfect smell of his cologne. Sometimes, she wakes up with his name on her lips, ready to spill out—which is especially inconvenient when Andrew is lying next to her, softly rubbing her back and soothing her back to sleep. She still misses his presence and longs for that closeness, even if she knows he’s better off away, living a peaceful life that he earned.
She even asked if he was coming to Garcia's birthday party, a question he diligently avoided by answering another four or five questions that Emily had sent before. She dropped the subject, trying hard not to think about him as she dressed up and did her makeup for the party—even if she knew and hated that she bought the red summer dress with just enough cleavage and the new red lipstick just to catch his attention if he decided to show up.
Her eyes are still fixed on the stone road in the distance when a familiar voice snaps her back to reality, and she plasters a smile onto her face that feels too stiff.
“Hey, you okay over here?” Morgan asks, his tone gentle but teasing as always. She turns to see him standing next to her, a mischievous grin on his face and his hand extended. For a second, she just stares, unable to put into words how wonderful it is to see him right there where she can touch him, after so long of Facetime calls and texts. "You're just too quiet for someone who used to dance on tables, so c'mon, time to dance, Princess."
"Oh, I don't know about dancing on tables anymore. I'm a grey-haired lady now," she chuckles, jokingly pointing to her softly waved and shiny hair, and Morgan hums in appreciation.
"And a fine good-looking one," he flirts, as he always used to, insistently holding out his hand. "Princess, I wasn't asking."
"Will you ever drop the 'Princess'?" she asks, rolling her eyes in mock annoyance, and Morgan flashes his best smile at her, the one that crinkles his eyes more than it used to.
"Never," he says triumphantly when she places her hand in his, letting him guide her to the dance floor.
As soon as Emily steps onto the dance floor, the team erupts into cheers and playful whistles, teasing her as she joins them. The upbeat rhythm of classic rock and roll pulses through the air, making the warm summer night feel electric. Morgan grins at her, his hand on her waist as he guides her into a twirl, spinning her effortlessly beneath the string lights.
"There’s the princess!" he laughs, his voice blending with the music and the sound of their friends cheering. Emily’s laughter echoes back, her hesitation melting away as her hips match his movements. Quick on her feet, their steps fall into an easy rhythm. It feels natural, like slipping back into the familiarity of years ago when they all used to hit dive bars. He twirls her again, and she spins, the fabric of her dress swaying around her legs as she catches sight of JJ and Penelope dancing nearby, clapping and grinning as they move to the beat.
When the song shifts to an unmistakable guitar riff driving the energy even higher, Emily doesn’t stop for a second. JJ grabs her hand and pulls her into a dance, their movements quick and wild, fueled by pure joy. Penelope is next, her floral dress swirling as she and Emily sway together, laughing uncontrollably when Penelope tries to do a dramatic hair flip and stumbles.
Tara jumps in with a cheeky grin, pulling Emily into a mock swing dance move, and they both fall into sync, their feet tapping to the infectious beat. As the song pulses, Emily finds herself spinning into the arms of Alex and then Kate, both of whom take turns twirling her around. A perfect sense of girlhood engulfs them, a childish joy making them all laugh uncontrollably, and Emily feels utterly light, putting aside any lingering thoughts of Aaron Hotchner — and her silly fifteen-year crush on her former best friend.
The girls keep dancing excitedly, goading Kristy, Savannah and Krystall to join them on the dance floor and then for three tequila shots they’ll regret in the morning, but which now rush through their systems, making them all giggly and happy.
That is, until the night starts to fall, and Rossi’s voice seems to resonate above the music and laughter, one single word pronounced with such vigor that even the DJ pauses, cutting off the music.
“Aaron,” Rossi’s voice echoes, and the whole team quickly turns to see where he’s looking.
Emily feels her neck snap with the suddenness of her turn, immediately regretting it as her heart sinks for a split second before rushing to her throat, where it lodges painfully, beating so fast it feels ready to burst out of her chest. She’s suddenly dizzy, gripped tightly in Tara’s arms. She knows Tara can feel her racing pulse, and a worried glance flicks her way.
“You okay?” Tara whispers discreetly, using the same tone she does when she tells Emily some guy at the bar is staring.
“Don’t let me fall,” Emily whispers back, unsure if it’s the tequila or simply the sight of him after so long, but convinced she’ll collapse if Tara lets her go.
Damn him, he’s even more handsome in person than on Facetime. His hair is a little longer than it used to be, and he’s grown a beard—salt and pepper, perfectly suited to him, which she already knew. But under the sunset glow and the twinkling fairy lights, she notices that he’s put on some weight; his face looks aged and relaxed in equal measure, the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth more pronounced, as she imagines he’s happier now than ever; and his button-down shirt almost matches the color of her dress—just as his ties almost always matched her t-shirts back in the day. And he’s smiling. A boyish, sheepish, soft smile, his shoulders slightly tense, as if he’s unsure whether he belongs here. As if he wouldn’t be welcome. But he has nothing to worry about because, after a split second of shock and silence, half the party surges forward, excitedly celebrating his arrival.
Penelope is the first to get a hug, with Aaron saying something about a gigantic bear Jack made him buy for her and some other thing Emily can’t make out because the DJ chooses that exact moment to put the music back on. After her, JJ, Spencer, Morgan, Rossi, Luke, Kate, Alex and Matt all line up to greet him. As the small line dwindles, Tara gives Emily a reassuring squeeze, almost as if encouraging her, before stepping into Hotch's direction, joining the hugging session.
In what feels like slow motion, Emily watches as Hotch hugs Tara, smiling and nodding at something she says. And then, finally—fucking finally—he looks up at her. Just like that, everything else fades.
It feels like the world narrows down to just them, as it always has, back to those long nights when she kept him company in the bullpen, writing reports, sharing takeout food, and cracking bad jokes to try and make him laugh. Or during the times she felt utterly and completely alone, when he offered his couch, his homemade food, movie nights, and Jack's company to help her out. For a while, she thought that something was right within her reach—something precious and worth living for—but neither of them felt brave enough—or perhaps she was just deluded, and he was really just a fucking good friend.
His eyes—those same deep, dark eyes she’s known for over fifteen years—are unchanged. Still soft and intense all at once, still piercing through her like they always did, as if he sees right into the core of her being. But this time feels different. He’s really looking at her, not just with polite acknowledgment, guarded professionalism, or the caring friendship she remembers, but with something she can’t quite name—something that tugs hard at her heart.
Her breath catches, and she feels an ache deep in her stomach, a rush of emotions she can't control. She’s frozen for a second, unable to move, completely engulfed in the weight of his gaze. Suddenly, everything seems to fall into place because he smiles at her—a smile that shows both of his dimples, reaches his eyes, and makes his chest puff. She sees the exact moment when his breath seems to catch too, and before she can stop herself, her feet move. Without thinking, without caring about the tequila buzzing in her veins or the fact that their entire family is watching, she rushes toward him.
She hears Penelope's breathy giggle and JJ's muttered, "Ohhhh, that's cute," but it doesn't matter. None of it matters.
Emily crashes into his arms with a force she didn’t know she had, wrapping herself around him like it's the most natural thing in the world. His arms circle her waist, pulling her in and holding her tightly. She emits the most unnatural sound in the world—a giggle, for god's sake!—because he holds her so tight that her feet are off the ground momentarily. She nuzzles his neck in their hug, squeezing him quickly, and she hates that she’s given her friends ammunition for merciless teasing for the rest of her life, but she can't help holding Hotch for a couple of seconds too long.
"It's so good to see you... all of you," he says as he lets her go, quickly amending as his eyes flick from her to the team gathered around them, both trying to ignore or dismiss the teasing and amused looks directed at them. Emily knows JJ too well to ignore the thin line her lips are pressed into and the blush on her face that tells her she’s holding back the biggest grin.
"I knew you wouldn't resist a good party, Sir," Garcia says with a proud smile, her glazed eyes telling that she's on the verge of being pleasantly drunk.
"Not 'Sir' anymore, Penelope. You can just call me Aaron," he answers, adding a second later, "All of you, I'm really just Aaron now."
"Oh, my sweet fluffy-haired, grey-bearded friend, this is the hardest request you've ever made, and I was your technical analyst for eleven years!" the woman exclaims, making laughter erupt from all their friends. For a while, the team falls into an easy banter, each of them goading Aaron to share what he's doing with his life currently.
In less than ten minutes, he catches up with the team, telling them about his life in West Virginia—working as an advocate for survivors of domestic and sexual violence, volunteering as a soccer coach at Jack's former school, fishing trips, and backpacking through Europe with his son. The whole team gushes with happiness for him. But Emily already knows all of that. She heard everything during FaceTime calls, saw the pictures Jack texted her, and even helped him with an emergency call when his language skills failed him in Vienna. And even though she already knows every word that's leaving his mouth, she's still enthralled by his voice, the cheerfulness there as he shares good things with their family. She feels her whole body warm because her arm is still pressed against his side—as she's squished between him and JJ—and she doesn't know if he's aware, but his arm is still circling her waist, resting low on her back.
The team is positively buzzing with his stories and his presence, thrilled to have Aaron there, and they quickly let him know that if he’s there, he’s there to party as hard as he can. Before he even has a chance to settle down, Derek and Garcia each grab an arm, tugging him toward the dance floor. They laugh and urge him on until he relents with a resigned, slightly amused shake of his head. Someone slips a drink into his hand as they walk, and he raises it in an amused toast, giving in to the night’s celebration. "To Garcia," he says with a smile, letting himself be drawn into the party.
Emily hangs back, slipping over to the bar for another drink. She stirs her glass absentmindedly, her eyes fixed on the dance floor, where Aaron is quickly surrounded by their friends. She can’t help the smile tugging at her lips as she watches him try to find the beat, moving a little stiffly at first but soon relaxing as Garcia catches him by the hand, forcing him into a twirl. It’s a funny movement—Garcia, several inches shorter than him, stretches her arm as far as she can, and he makes himself shorter just to amuse her.
Hotch’s laughter rings out, bright and free, and it’s a sound Emily isn’t used to anymore, tugging hard at her heartstrings. She can’t believe he’s actually there, after so many years without seeing him in person and even more years without the team having regular contact. She knows Rossi kept in touch, and JJ, Spencer, and Penelope received an annual Christmas card and gift—like he was some kind of absent father—but she knows everyone misses him daily. It’s bittersweet to see him fitting so easily among them, as if not a second has passed since the last time they were all together.
That was Morgan’s wedding, seven years ago, and back then, Hotch had only respectfully danced with each lady on the team rather than indulging in a group dance as he’s doing now, doing his best to stay on beat with Rossi’s “dad steps.” Emily raises her glass to her lips, hiding the grin that won’t seem to leave her face as she takes him in, unable to tear her eyes from his linen button-down, open at the top three buttons, and his equally soft-looking linen pants. He seems utterly changed and yet entirely the same, and she hates how quickly she’s falling for him again; just ten minutes of his presence is enough to undo years of her internal “rehab.”
Emily sips her drink, trying to steady herself, but Aaron’s presence makes her feel like the ground beneath her is unsteady. She’d thought she was prepared to see him again—wanted, really badly, to see him again. She thought all those years had put enough distance between them to keep her emotions in check. But now, watching him on the dance floor, with laughter and lightness in every step, her heart can’t help but beat a little faster, because she still thinks a lot about what could’ve been.
Her gaze follows him as he twirls Tara, a move that somehow ends with him flashing a grin in Emily's direction. He winks—a quick, effortless wink that’s as charming as it is maddeningly sexy—and she feels herself blush, warmth creeping up her cheeks as she grips her drink a bit too tightly, trying to hide her girlish reaction. She curses herself under her breath for feeling so thrown off, as if she’s never handled a wink in her life, and quickly downs the rest of her drink, hoping to pull herself together.
A minute later, she watches him excuse himself from the dance floor, weaving through the small crowd, and heading toward her at the bar. He glances around casually, as if he’s just there to grab a refill, but she catches the way his gaze lands on her, lingering just a moment longer than necessary. Bastard, she curses inwardly.
He steps up to the bar beside her, leaning in with a charmingly familiar ease, and asks the bartender for a beer—not his usual drink of choice. She remembers how he always drank neat Scotch, always stopping himself before the third round of the night.
"Are you just going to watch us all night, or are you going to join in, Emily?" he says, the corners of his mouth lifting in that half-smile she’s always loved. His voice is low, barely carrying over the music, but it’s enough to send a shiver down her spine. She’s not used to this tone, and she fears that she might go a little insane if he keeps smiling at her like that.
“Oh, I’m just cooling off a bit. I was doing some serious moves before you got here,” she manages, hiding her fluster with a playful smirk. “Besides, someone has to make sure you don’t pull a muscle out there, old man.” Emily smiles proudly as she scores the tease, over the moon when he chuckles, his eyes sparkling as he watches her, leaning just a bit closer.
“I’ll take my chances. I’ve got some moves. Especially if it means getting you out there.” His tone is light, but there’s an unmistakable warmth behind it, and she finds herself smiling back, more than a little dazzled by this version of him—relaxed, playful, and yes, definitely flirting with her. He’s never flirted with her before.
They used to talk, for hours and hours, about everything imaginable: what they were reading, watching, thinking; the people they’d met in their lives; their childhoods, insecurities, plans for the future, professional aspirations, and silly hobbies. Everything. And they made each other laugh like nobody else could—Emily was always thrilled when his true sense of humor came out to play, his smart quips catching her by surprise every single time. But he never flirted, not even when they drank too much and some tension settled between them. When that happened, he always stepped away, putting a respectful distance between them, and they never talked about it.
So yes, her heart speeds up and her breath catches as she matches his flirtation. Somewhere inside her, there’s an urge to punch him, because with what right could he avoid her presence for years and now flirt with such confidence? But she’s not strong enough to resist his gaze, and there's too much alcohol buzzing inside her.
Aaron’s eyes linger on her, tracing the delicate line of her collarbone, the curve of her neck, and the soft satin fabric of her dress. He leans in slightly, his voice low and warm. “You look incredible, Emily.” His words are smooth, his gaze dipping briefly to her lips before returning to her eyes. She feels her breath hitch, heart racing, as she tries to play it cool.
“Oh, please,” she laughs, attempting to brush it off, aiming for nonchalance. “I don’t remember you ever being this flattering,” she teases, feeling her cheeks flush as she meets his gaze. Damn him for looking this good. She keeps telling herself that she should be mad at him.
“Maybe I’m making up for lost time,” he replies, grinning without missing a beat. She rolls her eyes, trying to steady her pounding heart. “C’mon, dance with me,” Aaron insists, and there’s a hint of insecurity in his eyes. She quickly understands that beneath his relaxed exterior lies a need for her acceptance, and she’s barely able to keep from smiling. A rush of satisfaction warms her at the knowledge that he’s aware he has amends to make.
“I’ll dance with you, but only if you take a shot with me first.” She knows she’s setting herself up to be a little too tipsy—maybe more than tipsy—but it’s impossible to ignore the way he’s looking at her, with a heat that makes her feel effortlessly sexy, a feeling she hasn’t had in so long. And, yes, there’s a part of her that wants to see him drunk too, to see him let go in a way he never has before.
Hotch chuckles, nodding to the bartender, who lines up two small glasses of tequila, a saltshaker, and slices of lime. She picks up the saltshaker, giving him a grin as she sprinkles some onto the back of her hand. She locks her gaze with his, lifting her hand to lick the salt slowly, letting her tongue glide against her skin as she watches his reaction. His eyes stay glued to her, completely captivated, and she doesn’t miss the slight hitch in his breath. She takes the shot in one smooth motion, savoring the sharp burn as it slides down her throat, then bites down on a lime wedge, the tangy sweetness mingling with the tequila’s warmth that settles in her stomach.
He follows suit, licking the salt from his own hand, and she’s a little mesmerized as she watches him drink, tilting his head back before bringing the lime slice to his mouth with practiced ease. A part of her wants to lean over and lick the skin of his neck, while another part wants to slap him for stirring up this mess of emotions inside her. Silently, she curses herself for the storm of mixed desires her body is processing all at once.
On the dance floor, Garcia, Morgan, Tara, and JJ are all watching Aaron and Emily with unguarded interest, each of them baffled that they hadn’t noticed this chemistry before. They’d seen the longing, sure, but never the complete, fiery intensity in their gazes. Silently, they wondered if this was entirely new, or if the two of them had just been too oblivious—or stubborn—to actually go for it years ago.
“Five bucks says they end up in one of those guest rooms by the end of the night,” Morgan leans in close, flashing a grin, and Tara nods enthusiastically. Garcia scoffs, rolling her eyes.
“Oh, please, ten bucks says they don’t even make it to a room before they’re making out here”
“Garcia!” JJ laughs, though she doesn’t disagree. She glances back at the pair with a smirk. “But yeah, I’m in, but I think they’ll hold back until they’re alone. They’ve only been eyeing each other for, what, ten years?” she adds, and Morgan grins wider, rubbing his hands together like a mastermind as he nudges JJ’s hip.
“Let me help them out a little,” he says with mischief, heading for the DJ booth. A minute later, the unmistakable beat of Smooth Operator fills the air, low and sultry, prompting laughs and whistles from the guests.
Morgan is the first to reach for his wife, pulling her close to dance, quickly followed by other couples. Penelope, feigning reluctance, accepts Luke’s hand, barely able to resist his impossible grin, while Tara practically drags Spencer onto the floor.
At the bar, Emily bursts out laughing as the first few notes play, shaking her head in disbelief. “No way,” she mutters, rolling her eyes. “I used to hate this song when I was younger.”
Aaron raises an eyebrow, the hint of a smirk on his lips. “And now?”
She shrugs, giving him a sly look. “Now? I can salsa.” Her voice is low and teasing, the glint in her eye making it impossible to miss her meaning, her side smile completely hypnotizing.
Aaron’s grin widens as he extends his hand. With the team on the dance floor, they feel a sort of unspoken shield, a reassurance that they won’t attract too much attention, and she doesn’t hesitate to slip her hand into his, letting him guide her confidently onto the floor.
When they find a small space to dance, his hand settles warmly on her waist, pulling her close, and as soon as they start moving, Aaron knows he’s in trouble. Emily’s hips sway effortlessly, wickedly in perfect time with the beat, her body molding easily to his as they move together. She bites her lower lip, her eyes sparking with amusement, and he feels her hand trail up his shoulder to the back of his neck before she turns, pressing her back against his chest and moving sensuously against him.
Aaron’s pulse races, his hand firm on her waist as they move in sync—or at least try to, because she has much more rhythm than he does, and her laugh is infectious as she catches Penelope’s eye from across the floor, both of them remembering their salsa lessons from years ago. She twists back in his arms, her face inches from his, her chest pressing against his, as her fingers find their way into his hair.
“You can really dance,” he murmurs, barely managing to keep his voice steady.
“Told you I could salsa,” she smirks, lips quirking as she meets his eyes. Her hips sway again, her body moving with his in a way that would have been utterly inappropriate if she were still his subordinate, and neither of them seem inclined to break away. His hand is dangerously low on her back, and she wonders silently how it would feel if his fingers gripped her ass, just enough to keep her right there.
As the song finishes, the DJ flows the music seamlessly from one dance classic to another, ranging from ABBA to Desireless to the Macarena. Each song is more infectious than the last, and soon they’re all moving together, switching partners or forming a big, lively circle on the dance floor. They’re blissfully lost in the moment, all of their problems and the darkness of their jobs fading into laughter, cheers, and carefree smiles.
Morgan spins Penelope around with dramatic flair, making her squeal and laugh, while Spencer attempts a clumsy salsa with Tara, who coaches him through each step. At one point, JJ takes the lead with Hotch, grinning as she tries to get him to follow her choreography, while Emily swaps with Morgan, holding him by the shoulders as they sway in a shamelessly over-the-top dance-off, just like they used to.
As a cheeky song comes to an end, Penelope suddenly has an idea. She lets out a triumphant laugh, grabbing both Emily and JJ by the wrists. “Come on, ladies, it’s our time to shine!” she declares, leading them to the makeshift stage for an impromptu karaoke session. After a quick conference with the DJ, a familiar, cheerful tune begins, and Emily breaks into a smile as she starts singing in Italian, the lyrics to Sarà perché ti amo rolling easily off her tongue as if she’d never left Italy.
JJ follows her lead, doing her best with the words, while Penelope fills in enthusiastically, her occasional improvised lyrics earning laughter and applause from their team. To their surprise, Rossi joins in with ease, belting out lines with perfect pronunciation, and Emily can’t hold back her own laughter.
When the song ends to cheers and applause, the karaoke continues, each duo or trio taking turns with a selection of perfectly cheesy songs. Luke and Tara give an impressively fast-paced rendition of Livin’ La Vida Loca , with Luke stumbling over a few of the words but winning everyone over with his dedication. They even manage to convince Spencer to sing Mr. Brightside , cheered on enthusiastically by Emily and Penelope, who belt the lyrics back to him.
It's almost midnight when Penelope announces the cake, and the whole party sings "Happy Birthday to You" with smiles plastered on their faces, all too pleasantly drunk to care that they're sweaty and messy. Savanah suggests a full BAU picture and urges the whole family to squeeze into the frame, the camera capturing their chaos and love perfectly. Once again, Emily feels Aaron's arm around her waist, and even when they all disband to fetch slices of cake or drinks, he stays right there by her side, leaning against the stone balcony, his hand absentmindedly rubbing circles over the red satin of her dress.
“What are you doing?” she asks with a smile, her voice barely above a whisper as she turns her head to look at him.
In response, he bends down to kiss her shoulder, a movement she watches in slow motion, biting down on her lip to hold back a whimper. The warmth of his lips sends a flush coursing through her body, and she's sure her skin matches the color of her dress.
When she glances sideways at him, she finds him wearing a boyish smile, a hint of sheepishness in his expression. Thankful that they are standing against the stone rail, she feels her legs weaken beneath her. Her gaze flickers from his eyes to his lips, a magnetic pull drawing her in, but she forces herself to hold back.
“Seriously, what are you doing?” she asks again, her tone shifting to earnest, her voice raw and vulnerable. This is the first time in the night that there’s no playfulness in her words.
Aaron’s smile fades slightly, replaced by a seriousness that makes her heart race. “I’m trying to apologize here, Emily, but I’m not sure how to do it right. I finally understand how much of an idiot I’ve been all these years, keeping myself away from all of this. From you.”
She cuts him off, her voice firm. “You did it because of Jack.”
He nods, but his expression shifts as he corrects her. “Yes, but I also did it because I’m too weak. I knew that without all the boundaries that kept me away from you—the job, the distance—I wouldn’t be able to resist you. So I chose to stay away. And now I hate myself because I could’ve been here all this time.”
Emily’s heart aches at his words, the vulnerability in his voice making her weak at the knees.
“Aaron…” His name leaves her mouth in a weak breath, and she feels his eyes trailing down her face.
Aaron takes a deep breath, needing to think straight when his name sounds too beautiful in her breathy voice. He leans closer as a soft smile spreads across his face.
“We can have a real conversation tomorrow when we’re both sober and much more rational,” he suggests, his voice low and inviting, his breath brushing against her skin.
Emily laughs, a giddy feeling bubbling up inside her. “I agree,” she replies, tilting her head up to meet his gaze, but in a teasing move, she turns her head just as he closes the gap between them, his lips brushing against her cheek instead. The unexpected warmth sends a shiver down her spine.
He groans her name softly, the sound sending a thrill through her. She glances around, half-heartedly searching for prying eyes, but as she meets his gaze again, she realizes she doesn’t care. In one fluid motion, she turns her head and lets him kiss her, feeling the softness of his lips enveloping hers.
The kiss starts slow and tentative, a gentle exploration that sends sparks through her body. She leans into him and opens her mouth, inviting him in, gliding his tongue over hers. She sees stars behind her eyes, her whole body surging forward against his as she throws her arms over his shoulders. His arms circle her waist easily, and for the second time that night, she rises onto the tips of her toes, letting him engulf her completely in his embrace.
When they finally pull away, they linger close, their foreheads touching, both of them giddy and smiling as they gaze into each other’s eyes. Her lipstick is completely ruined, almost all on his face, and she chuckles, trying to clean some of the red blotches around his lips. She can’t help but notice how his dark eyes shine with a mix of surprise and affection, while her heart races at the sight of his boyish smile.
“Wow,” she breathes, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Yeah,” he replies, a soft chuckle escaping his lips just before he leans in again, kissing her earnestly.
Unbeknownst to them, the team watches from a distance, a mix of amusement and genuine happiness lighting up their faces as they hold back their instinct to holler and tease them with whistles and catcalls.
“I told you they’d kiss!” Garcia exclaims, bouncing slightly on her heels, a gleeful grin plastered across her face. She pulls out her phone, ready to capture the moment.
“Now we just have to pay our losses,” Morgan says, his voice low but filled with delight. He smirks at JJ, who is already reaching into her purse.
“Here you go, my friend,” she says, handing over a crumpled bill with a triumphant smile to Penelope.
“Easy money,” Garcia replies, pocketing the cash with a wink and clapping her hands excitedly. “This is just too perfect! I can’t believe they finally did it! Best birthday gift ever!”
As Emily and Aaron break apart, still caught up in their little bubble, they share a playful glance before turning to the sound of their friends. Their smiles widen, and Emily waves at them, a flush creeping up her cheeks as the team mercilessly whistles at them, yelling “Get a room!” and other teasing remarks.
“Think we gave them a show?” Emily mumbles, hiding her face in his neck, and he laughs.
“Oh, you’re the boss now. Threaten them with paperwork, and they’ll let it go,” he offers, and she laughs against his shoulder.
“Or we can just ignore them, and you can keep kissing me,” she counters, and he nods.
“See, that’s why you’re the boss. You’re so much smarter than me.” He happily complies with her request, using his whole body to shield hers as he resumes kissing her with everything he’s got.