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“Emily, what the fuck?”
“Good morning to you too, Bailey,” she rolled her eyes as he stepped into her office.
“What are you doing here?” He asked with an exasperated sigh.
“I work here. Unless you decided to fire me in the last 24 hours,” she snapped.
“You know, it’s funny you say that because I actually could fire you for the stunt you pulled,” he shot back before softening. “But that’s not why I’m here. I want to make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine,” she muttered.
“You’re not,” he replied, his eyes locking with hers. “You wouldn’t be talking to me like this if you were. Not anymore.”
They both knew he wasn’t wrong. While they still didn’t always see eye to eye, their relationship had strengthened significantly over the last few months. The tension that used to surround all of their conversations had withered away, and neither of them had made a genuinely passive aggressive remark towards the other in weeks. The fact that she was suddenly biting his head off again proved she was struggling.
“Emily, you were shot yesterday,” he said. “You’ve only been out of the hospital for eight hours.”
“The bullet only grazed me,” she brushed off.
“In the ribs,” he pointed out. “Without a vest.”
“I’ve been through worse.”
“Prentiss, you’ve literally died in the field. I don’t think we should use what you’ve been through as the standard,” he deadpanned. She gave him an annoyed look before responding.
“Doug, I know my limits. I’m telling you, I’m fine.”
“Okay, okay, let’s just-“ he dragged a hand down his face, “Let’s just start over.” She raised a weary eyebrow but let him continue.
“How’s your morning been?” He asked.
“Business as usual,” she shrugged. “This after summary report is a pain in my ass though. I might need to open a bottle of red later if you want to join.”
Doug’s eyes widened in concern. He hesitated for a moment, not wanting to cause a fight after he had just agreed to let it go, but the comment was too worrying for him to ignore.
“You’re planning to drink on the meds they gave you? That shit is strong as hell,” he voiced his thoughts as nonchalantly as possible.
“Yeah, which is why I’m not taking it. They overprescribe opioids like crazy. These are all I need.” She waved two bottles in front of him. He squinted to make out the letters.
“Ibuprofen and acetaminophen,” he read. “That’s it? For a bullet wound?”
“Alternate between them every three hours and it’s just as good as any narcotic,” she argued.
“You’re unbelievable,” he shook his head, a sense of fondness creeping in through his tone.
“So I’ve been told… in several contexts,” she said suggestively.
“Have you now?” He gave her an amused look as he stepped closer to her desk. “Care to give me an example?”
“I would, but I don’t think we’re at that point yet,” she smirked, looking up at him.
“Mmm…” he hummed. It was taking everything in his power to keep his eyes from drifting to her lips, or worse, even lower. Luckily for him, the tension was broken by an involuntary wince as Emily shifted in her chair.
“I’m fine,” she defended before he could say anything.
“I know,” he sighed, knowing he couldn’t win. “I’m not gonna make you go home, but can you please skip the wine tonight?”
“Maybe,” she gave a tentative shrug, picking up a document and pretending to examine it. “What’s in it for me?”
“Not destroying your liver, for a start,” he said plainly. She ignored him, her eyes not breaking away from the paper in her hand.
“Okay, fine,” he groaned. “I can’t complete your case summary for you, but,” he picked up a folder from the edge of her desk, “I can do your budget reports.”
“Really? That’s so sweet of you,” she drawled with mock kindness. He rolled his eyes knowingly; there was nothing she hated more than budget reports.
“Yes, really, but only if you promise me you won’t drink tonight.”
“Deal,” she grinned.
“And you have to leave at five,” he threw in.
“What?”
“Hey, I’m taking hours of work off your plate with these,” he feigned innocence. “That means you can afford to go home at a reasonable time.”
“But five? Really?” she groaned.
“Take it or leave it,” he smirked, taunting her with the folder.
“Ugh, fine,” she gave in. “You win.”
“I’m pretty sure you’re the one winning,” he pointed out. “A lesser man would never agree to do these for you.”
“Would a lesser man also be less arrogant?” She deadpanned. “Because I might prefer him.”
“Shut up,” he rolled his eyes, but there was an unmistakable sense of fondness in his tone. “I’ve got to get to a meeting, but promise me you’ll take it easy today?”
“Yeah, yeah, alright,” she said with playful annoyance.
“I’m serious, Prentiss. If I find out you got yourself into another near death experience, I may just have to kill you myself,” he joked.
“Yes, because I’m so intimidated by a man that hasn’t fired a gun in fifteen years.”
“We should go to the shooting range together sometime,” he smirked. “I might just surprise you.”
“I may have to take you up on that,” she smiled. “Anyway, get out of here. Go butter up D.C.’s finest politicians or whatever the hell it is you do.”
“That is definitely not what this meeting is about, but I appreciate the encouragement,” he chuckled.
“I wouldn’t say it’s encouragement. It’s more of a ‘I’m tired of the sound of your voice, so get out of my office’ thing,” she teased.
“Uh-huh. Sure, Prentiss. Sure.”