Chapter Text
Lola squinted into the dim early-hour light spilling through Spencer’s kitchen, silently cursing mornings, sunlight, and the fact that her body absolutely refused to cooperate before noon. How anyone could live in a place with such optimistic lighting at this hour was beyond her. But Spencer looked so adorably focused, his forehead creased in concentration as he spooned honey—too much honey, if she had any say—over a bowl of oatmeal. Her bleary mind was jolted to alertness by the sight.
“You’re supposed to taste oats, not get a sugar high,” she murmured, managing a sleepy smile.
Spencer looked up, a spoon poised midair, his eyes bright with what she privately thought of as his “curious puppy” expression. “Well,” he started, predictably about to explain, “there’s actually a correlation between glucose and the brain’s production of serotonin and dopamine, which affects mood regulation. And if you think about it, this honey provides not only glucose but trace vitamins that help in neural functioning…”
She squinted again, trying to keep up. “So… honey makes you happy?”
“Exactly,” he said with a grin, taking a spoonful of the sticky, candy-like oatmeal, apparently quite pleased with himself.
She smirked, curling her fingers around her coffee mug. “You’re like a hummingbird who reads neuroscience journals.”
Spencer chuckled, still undeterred. "Is this your way of saying you want to try some?"
Lola waved a hand, groaning softly. “Don’t ruin this. Let me be grumpy and feel superior about my coffee. Bitter. As nature intended."
“Oh, right,” he murmured, smiling gently as he lowered the spoon. “Not a morning person.” There was a softness in his tone, a fondness that made her feel as if she hadn’t really woken up until now. As if her first sight of him in his quiet, sleepy focus had reset her clock entirely.
She offered him a wry grin. “I'm making an effort here,” she said, lifting her coffee with a dramatic yawn. She realized she’d gotten distracted watching him again, though, because she barely noticed the cup miss her lips until it was too late, coffee splashing over her wrist.
He stifled a chuckle as he handed her a napkin, his expression a blend of affection and amusement. “Need more sleep, maybe?”
“Maybe,” she muttered, blotting the spill. “You’re sweet to let me sleep at all. I mean—not let, like you’re in charge of my sleep, obviously—ugh, it’s too early for puns and feminism, ignore me.”
Spencer only smiled and reached across the counter to steal a sip of her coffee. “I like you like this.”
Lola made a face. “Grumpy?”
“Unarmored.”
She paused, coffee halfway to her lips. That word sat differently than she expected it to. Not bad, exactly. Just... heavier. Like it had roots.
Her fingers tightened faintly around the mug. She watched him stir his oatmeal again, eyes bright with that light she was beginning to recognize—the one that meant he wasn’t just looking, he was seeing.
“Your gait’s a little off,” he said casually.
She blinked. “Sorry?”
“Your walk. You were favoring your right foot when you came in. Slightly. Did you land weird on it last night during that spin drop you do?”
She stared. “I didn’t even notice I was limping.”
“You winced. A little." He shrugged, like it was nothing. "I don't think anyone would’ve caught it. You mask discomfort well.”
Lola let out a soft laugh. “Jesus, how many things about me have you already filed away in that scary brain of yours?”
He glanced up, and something about the look on his face—completely sincere and open—made the question feel more vulnerable than she meant it.
“Just the important ones,” he said.
She offered a crooked smile, but inside, something tugged. Not badly. Curiously, maybe? Like stepping onto a moving walkway and realizing it’s going faster than you thought.
Like his brain was. Always seeing. Always piecing things together. And not just the things she meant to show.
She took a sip of her coffee, letting the heat sting her tongue a little, and looked at him again. This brilliant, unreasonably kind man who’d seen straight through her sleep-mussed scowl and still wanted her in his kitchen at sunrise.
Had he already mapped her soft spots? Her cracks?
Had he started assembling the blueprint of what might one day make her leaveable?
Spencer, oblivious to the current detour of her thoughts, leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her temple. “I like my mornings with you in them.”
She closed her eyes and let herself lean in. This was real. That much she knew.
But the thought lingered in the quiet space behind her smile—a flicker in all that sunlight, like a shadow thrown by something too fast to name:
What happens if he sees everything?
This was recon, not a night out.
JJ was scanning the room—low lights, velvet booths, a wall of antique mirrors warped just enough to make you second-guess what you saw. Laughter rolled out from a bachelorette party already two cocktails in, and a DJ spun ambient remixes under a string of gold-tinted bulbs. It wasn’t her kind of place. If it ever had been, she couldn’t remember. But her cousin had insisted on “fun but classy,” and JJ had volunteered to scope venues because no one else would vet the exits, sightlines, or security with the same clinical precision.
Well, that may not have been on her cousin's list of criteria, but years of fieldwork didn’t switch off.
Her eyes clocked the raised platform in the back—definitely for cabaret or live acts—and that was when she saw Spencer.
He wasn’t hidden in a corner with a book or drifting at the edge of conversation. He stood there, waiting. Standing a little off-center near a group of people by the bar, not fully engaged. His hands were in his pockets, but his attention was focused on someone else entirely.
Lola.
She was in full work mode, that much was obvious. Dressed like she’d stepped out of a concept shoot—structured black coat, something metallic flashing beneath, dark curls framing her face. One hand held a tablet; the other cut clean lines through the air as she spoke. The men around her—producers, maybe—wore expensive shoes and indifferent smirks. They weren’t really listening.
But Spencer was.
He wasn’t hovering, but he was clearly... present. Tracking her with quiet precision, like he was attuned to a frequency only he could hear.
JJ blinked once, slow.
This was... not how she’d pictured it. Them.
Back in November, when she first noticed the shift, she’d asked—half-joking, more curious than concerned. His response had been deflection: It’s new. That was odd in itself.
Spencer didn’t keep things from her. Especially not something like this.
Then December came. They’d teased him about smiling at his phone, and he’d confirmed he was seeing someone. Still vague. No names. On New Year’s Eve, he showed up to Rossi’s alone. Garcia asked about his mysterious girlfriend. She’s working, he’d said.
That was when the guessing started. Garcia had put two and two together.
Lola.
JJ hadn’t been surprised by the possibility. There’d been a charged energy between them during the case—Lola’s vulnerability under pressure, Spencer’s steady calm. But JJ had assumed it was mostly one-sided. Emotional transference. Lola, scared and under pressure, latching onto the most empathetic presence in the room. Spencer responding, as always, with compassion. And boundaries.
But now, watching them—how he leaned forward slightly when Lola spoke, how she paused long enough to glance back at him—it felt different.
Closer.
JJ hated that it threw her. Just a little.
She started walking before she could talk herself out of it. The heels she never wore anymore clicked against the tile, swallowed mostly by the low thump of bass filtering through the lounge. She didn’t want to interrupt. But she was going to.
“Fancy seeing you two here,” she said, tone easy.
“Agent Jareau!” Lola's smile flicked on—stage-ready, effortless. “Didn’t expect a profiler in a place like this.”
Spencer lit up in that unguarded way he always had around people he liked. “JJ! Hey—what are you doing here?”
“Scouting,” she said, gesturing around. “My cousin’s getting married. I drew the short straw for bachelorette planning.”
Lola laughed. “This is some choice for that.”
“It wasn’t mine,” JJ replied, not unkindly. Her eyes slid to Spencer. “Didn’t realize you were into the nightlife now.”
He shrugged, glancing at Lola, then back. “I’m not. I’m just—hanging out.”
There was a loaded pause, long enough for something unsaid to flicker in the space between the three of them.
JJ nodded slowly. “Right.”
Her eyes flicked back to Lola. Up close, she looked exactly as composed as JJ remembered—maybe more. The coat, the makeup, the careful polish. It wasn’t vanity. It was armor—applied with care, worn with purpose. JJ knew the type. She wore the same mask in front of cameras when the wrong words could ruin a case.
Still, something about Lola’s presence felt calculated. The way her smile clicked into place. The way those green eyes scanned the room discreetly. It wasn’t aggressive, but it was unmistakable. A quiet recalibration—two women assessing how close the other stood to the man they both knew, though in different ways. Neither possessive nor territorial—simply alert.
Maybe it wasn’t fair, judging someone on instinct. But JJ couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something didn’t add up.
Lola tucked a stray curl behind her ear and tilted her head slightly. “You two go back a long time, huh?”
It sounded casual, but the pause before it had been deliberate. JJ recognized the tactic. She’d used it herself.
“We do,” she said evenly. “Almost twenty years.”
Something shifted behind Lola's eyes. “Wow. That’s impressive.”
Spencer, oblivious, added, “She was one of the first people I really trusted when I joined the team. JJ basically taught me how to talk to other humans.”
JJ felt her mouth twitch. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
He grinned. “I would.”
He meant it, too. It came out so effortlessly that it cut through whatever fog had settled over the conversation. JJ couldn't help but look away for a second.
Lola’s gaze lingered. Curious. Measured. JJ couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed subtly. That maybe she had revealed more than she meant to.
“You’re here for work?” she asked her, partly to redirect, partly because she wanted to see how she answered.
Lola nodded. “It's a quick check-in, really. We’re hosting a one-night revue here next week. I like to make sure the green room isn't a mop closet before I unleash the showgirls.”
JJ raised an eyebrow. “Fair.”
“I also needed a second opinion on sightlines and ceiling clearance,” Lola said, taking a sip from her glass. “Spencer's weirdly good at imagining things from a lighting tech’s perspective. That brain of his.”
JJ smiled politely, nodding. “That brain’s good for a lot of things.”
She meant it—fondly, she thought.
Lola’s gaze flicked again to Spencer. Checking something. JJ caught it, that quick little moment of wariness behind the glamour.
Suddenly, she realised: Lola didn’t quite know who JJ was to Spencer. And Spencer hadn’t clarified. Or hadn’t really clarified.
JJ didn’t blame her for keeping a slight distance. But the knowledge sat strangely.
Because lately, JJ wasn’t sure where she fit either.
They’d been partners, once. Confidants. A strange, specific closeness forged over years of late-night coffee in hotel lobbies and adrenaline crashes after bad cases. The kind of quiet bond that builds when the common ground is survival. JJ had always thought she could read Spencer better than most. But lately... she didn’t know what was going on inside his head. And he didn’t seem eager to let her in.
She looked at him again—how relaxed he was. The easy smile. The softened stance. She hadn’t seen him like this in... maybe ever.
Spencer had never needed permission to change.
She just... wasn't used to being the last to know.
A moment later, Lola excused herself with a smooth gesture toward the bar. Something about sound specs and checking with the tech guy—JJ didn’t catch all of it. What she did catch was the way Spencer’s gaze followed her. Not possessive, not even infatuated.
Protective. As if half-expecting her to vanish the moment he looked away.
“She seems… intense,” JJ said, casually.
“She’s passionate about her work.” Spencer’s tone was matter-of-fact. “And good at it.”
JJ nodded. Let the silence weigh itself.
“You haven’t said much about her.”
He hesitated. Barely—but she knew him. She saw it.
“I didn’t want to make a thing out of it,” he said finally. “It’s… still new.”
JJ studied him. The answer made sense. But there was something behind it, too. A caution. And not one she was used to in him.
“She makes you happy?”
Spencer glanced toward the bar. “Yeah,” he said softly. “She does.”
The tension in her shoulders eased. Barely. She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Good. I’m glad.”
The words tasted odd in her mouth. She wasn’t lying. But a different truth hovered beneath, a question she wasn’t sure how to ask.
She brushed his arm lightly. “Take care of yourself, okay?”
He gave her a puzzled look, but nodded. “Always. You too.”
Lola returned then, expression unreadable, holding some paperwork and gesturing vaguely toward the back of the venue. JJ cleared her throat.
“Anyway. I should finish making the rounds. The bride’s expecting options.”
Spencer stepped forward slightly. “Do you want a recommendation? Lola knows every venue in the city.”
JJ looked at him too quickly. Reeled it back. “I’m good, thanks. But I appreciate it.”
There it was again—that flash of something unreadable on Lola’s face. Like she’d caught a whisper in a language she almost recognized but didn’t quite speak.
JJ smiled politely at Lola. “Nice to see you again.”
“You too, Agent Jareau.”
“Just JJ,” she corrected reflexively.
Lola smiled. “Right. JJ.”
There was something magnetic about her. JJ could admit that. And something in the way she stood next to Spencer—not leaning in, or holding on. Simply there. Like she belonged, and didn’t need to prove it.
JJ didn’t understand it. Not fully.
But Spencer looked… unburdened. Like someone had opened a window in his head and let the air in.
That was what she wanted for him. What everyone wanted for him.
JJ told herself not to overthink it.
And promptly ignored her own advice.