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Emily adjusted the lamp on her desk as the Teams pop up loaded on her laptop. She was not looking forward to this meeting. In fact, she was so confident it was going to piss her off that she already had a glass of wine poured, sitting just out of view of her camera.
She should’ve known better than to get excited when she had first received the automated memo. Deputy Director Bailey will be on medical leave until the end of the month. Please direct all rescheduling and inquiries to his assistant. She thought she would finally get to escape his incessant micromanaging for a week or two, but no. Three days post-op and he was already insisting on online check-ins with his section chiefs. Medical leave my ass, she thought as she pressed ‘Join Meeting’.
It only took about five seconds for him to accept her into the meeting room. Emily straightened her blazer and plastered on her most political smile. Hopefully she wouldn’t have to hold it for too long.
“Good morning, Prentiss,” he greeted as soon as the screen loaded.
“Morning, sir,” she replied automatically. “How are you feeling?”
“Oh, you know, like I got hit by a truck,” he tried to joke, although the fatigue in his tone made it fall flat. “But duty calls.”
“It truly doesn’t,” she said. “You were approved for more time off.”
“I’m fine,” he shrugged. “I don’t like staying still for too long.”
“Uh-huh,” she responded absentmindedly, finally taking a good look at the screen. He appeared to be in a home office, just as devoid of warmth and personality as his office at Quantico. His hair was a little mussed, and his usual suit and tie were swapped for a polo, something he normally wouldn’t be caught dead wearing outside of casual Fridays. She didn’t miss the way his eyes were glassy and vaguely unfocused, undoubtedly from whatever pain meds they were pumping him with. She didn’t think much of his slightly disheveled appearance— it was expected considering the circumstances— until she realized the shadow along his jaw wasn’t just a result of poor lighting.
“Oh,” she vocalized before she could stop herself.
“Oh? Oh what?” He asked, although she barely registered his words. Her eyes were still locked on the lower half of his face, taking in the stubble that trailed across his jawline and down his chin.
It was a jarring sight to say the least. Never in a million years did she think she’d see Doug Bailey without a clean shave. He was an anal retentive, neurotic control freak, and there was no exception when it came to his physical appearance. Seeing him with a five o’clock shadow, a little rough around the edges, felt downright unnatural. Even more shocking? It worked.
“Prentiss?” He questioned again.
“You didn’t shave,” she blurted out without thinking. His eyes immediately widened, clearly caught off guard by her sudden bluntness.
“Yeah, uh,” he rubbed his jaw with the heel of his palm. He seemed uncharacteristically sheepish, self conscious, even. “Didn’t trust myself with a razor while I’m on these meds.”
“No, right, of course,” she shook her head, trying to brush off the awkwardness. “I didn’t mean-“
“Technically, I’m still on medical leave, so I didn’t think the same standards of professionalism applied,” he cut in. Whether or not he was genuinely defending himself or just trying to cut the tension with an explanation, she wasn’t sure.
“Right, and I don’t care about professionalism,” she argued quickly. Too quickly. She mentally facepalmed at the terrible choice of wording. “God, no, that is not what I meant. I mean obviously… professionalism…” She trailed off, suddenly unable to form a coherent thought. All she could do was stare at him, study him, admire the way he looked at least five years older and ten times more distinguished like this. Jesus, what the fuck was wrong with her?
“You meant you don’t care how I look,” he finished for her.
“Yes,” she exhaled a heavy sigh of relief. “That’s what I was trying to say.”
“Well, that’s kind of you,” he said, running a hand through his tousled hair. “But regardless, I’m sorry for making you witness this. I know I’m a disaster,” he joked, although there was an air of vulnerability beneath it.
“You’re not a disaster,” she said softly. And then, before she could stop herself, “In fact, you look kind of good.”
“I-“ He stared blankly, struggling to process the compliment. “Uh- thank you.”
“Yeah,” she replied. She felt a heat rise to her face, a heat that should definitely not be there. Just play it off, Prentiss.
“You could pull off a beard, you know,” she joked.
“I’m sure that would make headlines in both right and left wing media,” he snorted.
“I’m being serious,” she laughed. She wasn’t used to laughing with him. It was weird, but she kind of liked it.
“Oh, I am too,” he said. “You know, I used to keep it like this.”
“Oh?” She questioned, raising one eyebrow. “What changed?”
“I went to Georgetown,” he said dryly. “They shaped me right up. Taught me professionalism, political correctness, all that.”
“Ah,” Emily nodded. “So a clean shave…” She trailed off.
“More professional,” he confirmed. “Anyway, enough about me,” he said, switching back to his usual on-the-clock demeanor. “Let’s talk performance.”
Emily nodded and let him speak. She tried to pay attention, she really did, but she was still transfixed on him. It wasn’t just the facial hair that had her mesmerized; it was his entire demeanor. The way he had softened when she mentioned it, how he had actually joked and smiled, not in his typical slightly condescending way, but genuinely. It was charming, attractive even, and she liked it. She liked it a lot. Doug Bailey was still everything she thought he was— arrogant, patronizing, and a general pain in her ass— but maybe there was more to him than she assumed. And if he showed up tomorrow still unshaven? Well, she always thought professionalism was overrated anyway. She wouldn’t mind at all.