Work Text:
The smell of pad thai has faded, the scent of the vanilla candle Emily lit after dinner taking its place in the apartment. She’d opened the doors to the terrace, letting the light summer breeze in. After a long few weeks, Emily was grateful for the quiet night in. The team had been all across the country, working back-to-back cases. The first had been tough and exhausting, but had ended up all right in the end. The second had seemed pretty cut and dry, and it was local, which was even better. It had proved to be much more difficult, costing them almost a week of their time and resources, and in the end they hadn’t even been able to save their final victim.
Tonight, on the way home, Emily had ordered dinner, timing it perfectly so that it would arrive just as she and Tara shuffled in from work. The whole flight home she had been looking forward to spending an uninterrupted evening with Tara. She found herself glancing over to Tara occasionally, seated next to her on the jet, blanket pulled up around her, head resting against the window of the jet. She looked so peaceful, Emily had almost felt bad waking her up when they landed.
Neither of them are quite sure when their occasional wine nights after work turned into real dates. At some point over the last couple of years, they could no longer deny whatever it was between them. The longing glances, the almost touches. The yearning. God, the yearning. Emily found herself thinking about Tara constantly, in little ways. Wishing that she could do something with all the feelings she had inside her, wishing she could tell her how her mere presence keeps Emily calm, how her smile lights up the room.
One night after a few too many glasses of wine, they’d given into the feelings, the wanting. Fuck it. At that point, Emily had been demoted, Tara had been transferred, working a job she hated, and everything seemed hopeless. Emily and Tara had spent a lot of time together during all of that. Tara’s calm demeanor had kept Emily grounded. When Peter Lewis had taken Tara’s brother, Emily had made sure to check in with Tara, keeping her close. She didn’t hover, but even after they’d gotten Gabriel back safe and sound, Emily had continued to check in. She knew Tara was like her in that she would compartmentalize to a fault. She wouldn’t let anyone see how she really felt, until the feelings had consumed her to her breaking point. Emily wasn’t about to let that happen, so she kept an eye on Tara, made sure she took care of herself.
When Reid had been in prison, and Emily couldn’t eat or sleep or do anything but blame herself, Tara had been there. Tara had just shown up at Emily’s apartment, takeout and wine in hand. She didn’t ask Emily if she wanted to talk, didn’t make Emily feel like she had to do anything. Ever since then, Emily felt herself naturally drawn to Tara when she’s feeling anxious. When one of them had felt particularly drained by a case, Emily would pair herself with Tara, so that they could be each other’s constant.
Emily found herself grabbing an extra bottle of water for Tara, packing extra granola bars, sitting next to her on the jet. If anyone else noticed, they did not mention it. Emily suspected that the rest of the team likely had some kind of betting pool going on.
Though, she and Tara never labeled themselves, never called it what they both knew deep down it was. They just continued their weekly wine and takeout nights. Just one bottle, maybe two, Rarely would they open a third. They’d learned pretty quickly that it was best to stop at two, unless they wanted to end up tangled in Emily’s bedsheets.
It had only been a few weeks ago that Tara decided to set the record straight. She was done tip-toeing around. Either they were something or they were nothing, the murky middle ground wasn’t cutting it anymore. Emily had been too afraid to call it anything, too afraid to take the risk. Thank God Tara had pushed, because now Emily couldn’t imagine spending her nights any other way.
The sound of the dishwasher humming to life fills the apartment as Emily finishes cleaning up from dinner. She grabs the bottle of red wine that she’d left chilling in the fridge and pours herself and Tara each a glass.
She finds Tara out on the terrace, she’d ditched her work clothes almost immediately upon arriving and exchanged them for a pair of Emily’s pajama pants and an oversized crewneck. Emily sits down next to her on the bench outside, handing her one of the glasses. Tara pockets her phone, she’d likely been playing a mindless word game, one of her favorite ways to wind down.
“Thanks, honey,” Tara says, bringing the glass to her lips and taking a sip.
Honey.
Such a simple word, for most it might even go as an unnoticed term of endearment. The word had slipped off Tara’s tongue so naturally, as if she’d called Emily honey a thousand times. As if the word was meant for her. She had started randomly throwing in the word a couple of weeks ago, once she and Emily decided to be serious.
She hadn’t grown up in a family that used pet names, the closest thing she had was when her mother would refer to her as Em. She had noticed early on that this was typically only when Elizabeth was around her colleagues and wanted to come across as a family-oriented diplomat. Just part of her political agenda, like so much of Elizabeth’s motives. Emily was lucky if her father even remembered she existed. Her grandfather, the one she spent her summers with, would sometimes call her ma petite. My little one.
As Emily had grown, she’d been called sweetheart by condescending men who thought she was too ambitious for her own good, sweetie by some particularly awful girls in high school who bullied her for reasons Emily couldn’t quite remember, but she would always remember the way they seemed to spit the word like venom. Of course, in all her romantic relationships, there has been the exchange of hon, baby, babe. To Emily, they had never felt natural. Never felt like they really fit her, or anyone else she had been with for that matter. While these nicknames never felt natural to her, she felt herself unconsciously tensing up when someone would refer to her affectionately. When she had been undercover, Doyle had called her a stór when they were alone, always so quietly, just for her to hear. My treasure. She shudders at the thought.
After that, she had been afraid to get that close with anyone. If she did decide to try, she always felt like there was a wall between herself and her partner, a thick, strong wall that she couldn’t seem to ever break down and no one else could break through.
Until now, it seems.
When Tara had called her honey that first time, Emily had felt her stomach flutter, but this time, not with anxiety. Her stomach had fluttered with something like hope, anticipation. She could listen to Tara call her that forever, she thought.
She hadn’t said anything to Tara initially, she wasn’t quite ready to talk about it with her yet.
Yet, every time Tara said it, she felt the corners of her mouth turn up into a soft smile.
“You know, you do that every time,” Tara comments, pulling Emily from her thoughts, gently swirling the wine in its glass, stem of the glass between her fingers.
“Hmm?” Emily asks, taking a sip. For courage or for pleasure, she wasn’t quite sure.
“When I call you honey, you get this sweet look on your face,” Tara says.
“No, I don’t,” Emily protests, but she feels a blush creep up on her cheeks at the denial.
“You do,” Tara smiles, nose scrunching. Emily’s heart melts, just as it always does when Tara smiles.
Emily shrugs, deciding instead to try being nonchalant. “I just like hearing you say it,” She says.
“Really?” Tara asks. “I wasn’t sure,”
“I…” Emily starts to speak, but can’t find the words. Tara has a way of making her speechless. Never in a negative way. She takes a breath, another sip of wine. Tara waits patiently, as always, casually lifting her glass to her lips.
“I actually really love hearing you say it,” She admits.
“Then I can keep saying it,” Tara says easily.
“It’s just … I’ve never really been called a pet name and liked it. It always felt fake, but it doesn’t feel fake with you,” She says.
Tara smiles again, this time, placing her glass on the coffee table in front of them. She moves closer to Emily, so close that their knees are touching. Emily follows suit, her glass next to Tara’s. Tara takes Emily’s hands in hers, gently rubbing her thumbs across the back of Emily’s hands. They don’t speak for a moment, just linger in the comfortable silence.
“It’s never been fake with you,” Tara says honestly.
Emily smiles, feeling her face flush again. The way that Tara makes her feel, like a lovestruck teenager, had been terrifying at first. The walls Emily had built around herself, around her heart, had proven to be nearly impenetrable. Tara had taken her time, her patience unmatched. Even when she had sat Emily down and explained that she needed them to figure it out, she had been nothing but kind and compassionate and willing.
Emily looks at Tara now. She is looking at Emily with so much love, her big, beautiful brown eyes somehow able to see right into Emily’s soul.
“I had kind of given up on finding something like this,” Emily says finally, her voice soft and genuine.
Tara leans in, presses a kiss to Emily’s forehead.
“I’m not going anywhere, honey,” She promises.
And for the first time in her whole life, Emily believed that was true.