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The hum of the SUV’s engine filled the air, the steady sound of tires rolling over asphalt. Outside, the winter afternoon was all muted grays and pale light, the kind of day that made the world feel quieter than it really was.
JJ was focused on the road, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually near the gearshift. She looked calm, collected—like she always did behind the wheel.
Emily wasn’t even really paying attention at first. She’d been scrolling through the victim’s statement on her phone, trying to memorise the details before they got to the address.
And then—without warning—it hit her.
She looked over at JJ, meaning only to say something about the case, but her brain didn’t go to the file in her hand. It went to her.
The curve of JJ’s jaw in the pale sunlight. The concentration in her eyes as she scanned the road. And—God help her—the way her veiny hands gripped the steering wheel.
Emily’s gaze slipped lower, tracing the way the tendons and veins stood out under her skin, up the firm line of her forearm to the subtle bulge of muscle in her bicep beneath the fitted sleeve of her shirt.
Her stomach did a slow, traitorous flip.
Oh.
The thought came unbidden, crystal clear, and far too vivid. I wouldn’t mind that hand wrapped around my throat.
Emily’s eyes widened slightly at herself, heat rushing straight to her face. She jerked her gaze toward the passenger-side window, suddenly fascinated by the passing blur of trees and houses.
No. No. Absolutely not.
Her heart was hammering now—not from danger, but from the weight of what she’d just let herself think. She’d been in enough dangerous situations to recognise the shift in her own pulse, and this was not about adrenaline.
Her mind scrambled to backtrack, to rationalise. This was just a moment, a stray thought. She respected JJ. She trusted JJ. JJ was her—
I’m her boss now.
She repeated it again, firmer in her head this time. I’m her boss.
But the words felt flimsy, like paper against a storm. Because the truth—the dangerous, undeniable truth—was already unravelling in her chest: she wasn’t just attracted to JJ.
She was in love with her.
And if she was honest with herself, she probably always had been.
Emily kept her eyes fixed out the window, trying to will the flush from her cheeks, hoping JJ wouldn’t notice her sudden, suspicious silence.
But God, she could still see JJ’s hands in her mind. And it made her squirm in her seat despite herself.
Emily had spent the rest of the drive staring out the window, answering JJ’s questions with her usual measured tone, acting like nothing had happened. She told herself she was fine. She was in control.
By the time they got back to Quantico later that day, she’d buried the moment so deep it felt almost like a dream—a sharp, dangerous flash she could chalk up to being overtired.
Except it wasn’t gone.
A few days later, the team was in the bullpen, finishing up reports from their latest case. JJ was leaning over Luke’s desk, laughing at something he’d said, her hair falling over her shoulder in a soft curtain. Emily was standing near the railing, pretending to review a case file but… not actually reading it.
Her eyes found JJ without her even meaning to. The curve of her smile, the way her fingers brushed her hair back, the easy warmth in her voice—Emily felt that same low tug in her chest she’d felt in the SUV. The one she’d been trying to ignore.
She didn’t notice Tara had walked up beside her until a quiet voice broke through her thoughts.
“You look at her,” Tara said, eyes still on the bullpen floor, “how I look at Rebecca, Emily.”
Emily’s head snapped toward her, startled. “What—”
Tara gave her a knowing side glance, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Don’t play dumb. I’ve been on this team long enough to see it.”
Emily opened her mouth to deny it—her instinctive, automatic reaction—but the words didn’t come. Instead, she glanced back at JJ, still laughing with Luke, oblivious to the conversation happening just above her.
Emily’s throat tightened. “It’s not… like that,” she said finally, though even she could hear how unconvincing she sounded.
Tara’s smirk softened into something gentler. “It’s exactly like that. You just don’t want to admit it yet.”
Emily forced a light, dismissive tone. “I’m her boss.”
“That’s not what your face says.”
Emily let out a short, frustrated exhale, snapping the file closed in her hands. “I’m not having this conversation.”
“Fine,” Tara said, still calm, still watching her. “But you’re going to, eventually. And I hope it’s with her.”
Emily didn’t answer. She just turned and walked back toward her office, file clutched a little too tightly in her hand.
But when she shut the door behind her, she let herself lean back against it for a moment, eyes closed, Tara’s words still echoing in her head.
Because deep down, she knew Tara was right.
Another few days passed, and the case file was officially closed. Rossi suggested drinks at one of the quieter bars the team liked — somewhere they could actually hear each other without shouting over music.
By the time JJ slipped off her coat and made her way to the bar to grab the first round, the rest of the team had already claimed a booth in the corner. She ordered with her usual easy smile, leaning one elbow on the counter while she waited.
The bartender, a tall man with sharp eyes and an easy manner, came back with the beers and wine, setting them in front of her. Then he hesitated, glancing toward the far side of the bar.
“There’s a woman who’s been staring at you over there,” he said casually, voice low enough not to carry.
JJ blinked, caught off guard. “Oh?”
The bartender just tilted his head toward the booth.
JJ followed his gaze and—sure enough—found Emily. She was in the corner seat, dark hair catching the dim light, eyes fixed squarely on JJ. The second their gazes met, Emily’s expression flickered—surprise, then something unreadable—and she quickly looked away, reaching for her wine like she’d been mid-sip the whole time.
JJ’s lips curved into a faint smile as she turned back to the bar. “Oh, that’s just my best friend and, well, boss.”
The bartender raised one eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “A best friend. A boss.” He leaned in just slightly. “Doesn’t look at you like that.”
JJ felt something low in her chest tighten at his words, but she kept her expression calm, playing it off with a shrug. “What do you mean, like that?”
He just gave a knowing half-smile, already moving to serve someone else. “You’ll figure it out.”
JJ stood there for a second longer than she meant to, his words replaying in her mind.
She finally picked up the tray of drinks and walked back to the booth, sliding into the seat next to Emily like nothing had happened. But as she handed Emily her glass, JJ let her fingers brush against Emily’s a beat longer than necessary.
Emily glanced at her—brief, questioning—but JJ just smiled.
And now, JJ was the one thinking about the way someone looked at someone else.
The night rolled on easily — drinks, laughter, the kind of storytelling that only came after a case was closed. Emily stayed in her corner of the booth, wine glass in hand, smiling more than she usually did in public.
JJ, though… JJ kept stealing glances. The bartender’s words were still echoing in her head, impossible to shake. Doesn’t look at you like that.
By the time Rossi announced he was calling it a night, the group had thinned. Tara offered Emily a ride, but Emily waved her off, saying she’d get a cab. JJ stayed, helping finish the last of the drinks and gathering her coat.
It was cold outside — the kind of sharp chill that bit at your cheeks. JJ stepped out onto the sidewalk, tugging her coat tighter. She was halfway to her car when she heard the door open again behind her.
“Hey,” Emily’s voice called softly.
JJ turned to see her walking down the steps, hands shoved into the pockets of her coat, breath puffing white in the night air.
“Thought you’d already grabbed a cab,” JJ said.
Emily shook her head. “Needed a minute.”
They stood there in silence for a moment, the distant hum of traffic and the muted thump of music from inside filling the space.
JJ tilted her head. “You were quiet tonight.”
Emily gave a small shrug. “Just… watching.”
JJ’s lips quirked. “Yeah, I noticed.”
Emily’s brow furrowed slightly, as if trying to gauge her tone. “Not in a creepy way.”
JJ took a slow step closer, smirking faintly. “Bartender thought it was something else.”
Emily blinked. “What?”
“He told me there was a woman staring at me from across the room,” JJ said casually, though her pulse was starting to race. “I turned around. Guess who it was.”
Emily’s mouth opened, then closed again. “JJ—”
“I told him you were my best friend. And my boss.” JJ’s voice softened, teasing but careful. “He didn’t seem convinced.”
Emily swallowed hard, eyes darting away for a second before coming back. “And what exactly did he say?”
JJ stepped closer again, until there was barely a foot between them. “That a.. best friend… and a boss… doesn’t look at me like that.”
The air shifted between them — heavier, charged. Emily’s breath caught, the faintest flush blooming in her cheeks.
JJ tilted her head, studying her face like she was trying to read a file she already knew the ending to. “Should I believe him?”
Emily’s voice was quiet, almost too quiet. “I don’t think you want that answer right now.”
JJ smiled — small, knowing, dangerous. “Maybe I do.”
Emily’s lips parted like she might reply, but a cab pulled up to the curb, its headlights cutting across them. She stepped back, the space between them filling with cold air again.
“Goodnight, JJ,” Emily said, voice lower than usual.
“Night, Emily.”
JJ watched her get into the cab, and as it pulled away, she realised her heart was pounding for reasons that had nothing to do with the cold.
The morning sunlight spilled through the tall windows of Quantico’s bullpen, casting long shadows across desks and filing cabinets. JJ sat behind her office window, arms folded, eyes fixed on Emily across the room.
Emily was busy at her desk—focused, efficient, the picture of control. But JJ saw the subtle tells beneath the surface: the way Emily’s fingers tapped nervously on her notebook, the slight flush in her cheeks when someone caught her glance.
JJ didn’t move. She just watched.
For days now, she’d been standing at this silent crossroads—wanting to reach out but holding herself back. The bartender’s words echoed in her mind, and the memory of Emily’s quiet blush only deepened the ache inside her.
She was afraid.
Afraid that crossing the line might shatter whatever fragile balance they had. Afraid that what she saw in Emily’s eyes might vanish if she acted too soon.
She told herself patience was strength. That watching from afar was proof she cared enough to wait.
But none of that stopped Tara from appearing beside her with a loud sigh and a smirk that made JJ jump.
“You two are two of the smartest people I know,” Tara said, folding her arms and leaning casually against the window frame. “But fuck, you’re dumb sometimes.”
JJ blinked, startled out of her thoughts. “Excuse me?”
Tara rolled her eyes, eyes flicking to Emily below. “You’ve been watching her like she’s some unsolved case, but it’s obvious you’re falling apart over her.”
JJ’s cheeks warmed. “I’m not—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Tara interrupted with a grin. “You’re scared. You think if you make a move, you’ll lose her.”
JJ looked down, voice quiet. “I don’t want to risk the team. Or our friendship.”
Tara’s smirk softened into something more sincere. “Sometimes, you gotta risk it to get what you want. And trust me—Emily’s waiting for you to stop pretending.”
JJ’s eyes lifted, meeting Tara’s steady gaze. “How do you know?”
Tara shrugged. “I just do. Besides, I’m pretty sure she’s been sending you signs longer than you’ve noticed.”
JJ let out a slow breath, the weight on her chest easing just a little.
“Thanks, Tara,” she said quietly.
Tara clapped her on the shoulder with a grin. “Anytime. Now go do something about it.”
JJ watched Tara walk away, then turned back to the window, her gaze finding Emily once more.
This time, there was something different in her eyes—a new kind of resolve.