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It wasn’t like this was new, the late nights, lonely weekends, mornings interrupted by the shrill ring of her cellphone that has never once had a day off- But recently Emily had been feeling off. She rolled her eyes at herself trying to keep her scoff from alerting the rest of the team surrounding her on the jet. Rossi and Reid were deep into a game of chess, fingers methodically moving the pieces across the checkered board as JJ sat close by, one eye on the game, the other on a cheesy romance novel. Morgan and Hotch were reviewing some case notes that Morgan had thought might be related to another case they’d tackled years ago.
Emily hadn’t met to isolate, body curled in on itself, staring out of the small window watching the stars jump in and out of clouds twinkling brightly in the autumn sky. This case had been difficult for her, all of them really, it always was when kids were involved, more so when you couldn’t save them all.
The Unsub, Michael King, a 32 year old father of two, and just like the profile had said: White, married, compulsive liar, narcissist, unable to hold down a job and slowly losing the grip on his once perfect life. He had been killing young girls in pairs of two, always a blonde and a redhead.
Turns out he recently learned that his daughters were not biologically his and after killing his wife and informing his daughters she had ‘left them’ he turned out into his city and the surrounding county to find surrogates for the nine and twelve year olds he had raised for their entire lives.
Now two young girls were orphaned, their biological father having died a year prior in a fishing boat accident off the coast of Maryland. Emily shuddered again as she recalled the devastation of having to tell the girls the truth. Their father had poisoned their brains against the memory of their mother in the last few months and so their grief was compounded by a sort of guilt no child should ever have to face. Two sets of deep blue eyes had looked up desperately at the dark haired woman as she gathered them tight, all words caught in her throat as they sobbed into her.
It had taken hours to remove them from their home, helping each girl pack their most treasured possessions into tiny-sized pink suitcases, the Barbie stickers mocking Emily with their bright smiles. She found herself moving into their parents room, JJ currently humming a tune as she helps them fold up their blankets and choose which stuffed animals to take for now. With a heavy sense of duty and disgust at the man who chose to ruin the lives of three people in one move.
Emily pulled open a drawer of a dresser, bottom left of the dresser in the walk in closet, filled with women's pajamas. She grabbed two of the softest pairs she could find, then went into the bathroom. This wasn’t protocol, honestly Emily wasn’t entirely sure it was allowed at all, but consequences be damned, she was doing right by them.
Scanning the counter, her eyes quickly fell on a bottle of perfume, knees buckling just slightly as she realized the bottle matched the one sitting on her counter back at home perfectly. Susanna King had been a woman just a few years older than Emily, and now she was gone, leaving two little girls who would never get to feel the warmth of her again.
With a grimace she had picked up the bottle, grateful for the fact it seemed over half full. Another scan of the space, and a small nod to the photo of the woman and her daughters on the wall, she brought everything back down the hall. JJ shot her a sad yet understanding smile as she packed the clothes into the suitcase, knowing they'd need them tonight, the perfume safely wrapped in a sleeve.
“We’re starting final descent” The disembodied voice of their pilot started Emily fully back upright, blinking as the main lights came back up, everyone packing up their things, she needed to get out of her head and back into the present.
Tarmac
Parking Garage
Mercedes M-Class
Home
Bed.
Nightmares are not new either for the dark haired woman, an endless loop of mangled bodies she couldn’t save and unsubs who’ve gotten away. This one was brutal the six girls Michael King had slaughtered, sobbing up at her, holding their bloody bodies together and begging her for help.
She sat up with a gasp, eyes wide and scanning the room for any sort of threat. With unfocused eyes and a heaving chest she throws her legs over the side of the bed and searches blindly for her phone on the nightstand.
4:45 AM
Too early to go into the office, not to mention Hotch said no one was to come in before 9 unless Penelope called with a new case. The adrenaline was coursing through her veins, too alert to lay back down, a run she decides to herself quickly throwing on a pair of black leggings, matching sports bra and a navy FBI Softball league zip up from the last game. Grabbing her keys and headphones she heads out the door and l into the neighborhood to run off her thoughts.
A light jog became two miles, then four, the music bumping too loudly in her ears not doing enough to dispel the feeling of hopelessness, of not being enough for the victims, for the team, alone with nothing more than the demons of her past lives.
So she pushed, no one would believe it if you told them the woman would willingly be up before dawn, let alone on a run but nothing seemed to help. Finally she knew she needed to stop, her lungs were burning, chest heaving in painful gasps as she slowed to a stop on the harsh concrete.
A weird wave of sorrow rolled over Emily yet again as she raised her arms above her, interlocking her fingers behind her head, angling her head up at the sky and willing the tears not to fall.
Looking at her phone she let out a groan, it was just now about 5:30 and she had kept her 8 minute mile pace, meaning she had ran almost 6 miles and was definitely not in her neighborhood anymore- really she wasn’t too sure where she was. But in her haste to outrun her own internal demons she hadn’t thought to bring any water or anything to refuel for the trek home. With a quick roll of her eyes and another small groan she pulled open her GPS app, hoping to any sort of higher power that may be for something close, and open.
Hollis Coffee Co. A tiny coffee shop tucked into the corner of a multi-unit building, soft green door welcoming everyone in. There were flowers painted in soft yellows and pinks around the large windows. It looked like somewhere the FBI agent would literally never seek out, perfect.
The bell rang, a light little sound as Emily pushed open the door, feeling a little dishevled for such a sweet little shop after her run. There was soft guitar instrumentals playing, and if she didn’t know better Emily would have thought it was an acoustic version of a disney song.
“Mornin’ be right with ya!” A voice called out sweetly from the back, a long pink curtain hung across an archway hiding the person from view. Emily hummed in reply, eyes scanning the cute shop.
Nothing about Hollis Coffee Co. seemed to make sense for the corporate and grey architecture around Quantico. It was tiny, only a small counter to order, lined with cake plates filled with little pastries and muffins, three round tables with mismatched chairs, a sitting area by the front window with two huge wing back chairs, both covered in aging floral fabric. The smell of espresso beans and sugar seemed to permeate every inch of the space, Emily couldn’t help the small tug of a smile as she inhaled deeply.
The brunette scanned the menu hanging above the counter, classic coffee shop chalkboard, scrawling print in white and adorable spring themed drawings around the edges.
“If you can’t decide, I can make you my personal favorite.” The voice spoke again but this time right in front of her- she jumped slightly.
“Oh!” The woman giggled at the surprised look on Emily’s face. “Didn’t mean to scare you! My momma always said I should wear a bell.”
Emily snorted, finally making eye contact with the woman across from her.
The woman with big blue eyes. The woman with big shiny blue eyes that were blinking up at her from thick lashes. The woman with big blue eyes and the sweetest smile Emily’s ever seen. The woman with big blue eyes and a charming dance of freckles across her nose. The woman with big blue eyes who would start to think she was crazy if she didn’t say something soon.
SAY SOMETHING
“Sergio wears a bell and I still can’t hear him half the time.” Jesus Christ Emily. “Sergio my cat, not a human man, or woman I guess. Though I’ve never met a woman named Sergio or a man either for that fact… I-“ Emily rambled before cutting herself off with a head shake.
The barista just kept looking at her, a small smirk on her lips, very pink lips, “Sergio?”
“It’s a long story, but when my boss didn’t use the name for his son, I knew I needed to for mine.” She snorts at herself yet again, it had already been a weird day and it hadn’t hit 6 am yet.
“And I’m hoping his son got a more… current name?” At the brunette’s nod she grins again, “okay so now that I know you have a job, a boss with a son, and a cat… you are?”
“Emily.” She reaches her hand across the counter to her, “Emily Prentiss, cat mom, employed, and in desperate need of caffeine.”
“Charlotte.” The blue eyed barista had a name, one that seemed to fit in a way Emily wasn’t really prepared for. “Charlotte June Hollis. And I wish June was my middle name but my momma is from Georgia so it is in fact my first name.” Charlotte spoke quickly, like she was expecting Emily to already be tired of hearing her speak, but she couldn’t be more wrong.
“Charlotte June, owner of coffee shop, keeper of an outrageous amount of flowers…” Emily tapped her chin playfully, “mother of two cats.” She couldn’t keep the satisfied smirk off her face as the shorter woman seemed to sputter for a moment.
“How did?? How did you know?”
“Occupational hazard, really.”
“What are you? An FBI agent?” She chuckled tucking a stray curl back behind her ear
“Ding ding Miss Hollis. An FBI agent, a penchant for noticing too much and saying too little. How did you guess?”
The redhead smiled innocently before reaching across the counter to tap at Emily’s chest. “This gave it away.” Her painted nail scraped over the FBI logo embroidered in the fabric, Emily couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up out of her chest. “Right, you got me there.”
Charlotte pulled back, face turning serious. “Agent Emily Prentiss of the FBI, I’m pretty sure you mentioned a dire need of caffeine a few moments ago and I’d be remiss as both a southern woman and a shop owner to not offer up the very best latte you’ve ever had.”
“I lived in Europe for almost a decade, Charlotte. I’m not an easy woman to impress, latte or otherwise.” Thankfully some of her deeply ingrained confidence kicked back on in time to not make a complete fool of herself in front of this woman.
“I like a challenge.” She grabbed a pair of tongs and lifted the lid to one of the cake plates, selecting a chocolate pistachio croissant, and sliding a small striped plate across the counter. “Go sit, I’ll be over with it in just a sec.” She winked as Emily stared at the pastry that had caught her eye the moment she had started browsing.
With her back turned at the espresso machine, Charlotte spoke to the unmoving woman at the counter. “It’s not the FBI but I’m trained in baked good matching. I can guess just about anyone’s order. Now. Go sit.” She shooed Emily again with a giggle.
Emily squinted warily at her back before retreating to one of the big chairs by the window, the sun streaming in across the worn fabric and casting light shadows on the pale walls. As if for the first time, Emily noticed piano music coming from a set of speakers on top of the bookshelf in the corner and sighed as she settled deeply in the cushions.
“You picked the best seat in the house.” Charlotte appeared with an easy smile and a large pink mug, the brunette noticing the tiny chip near the handle, and the white flowers sloppily painted across the sides, sitting on a mismatched green and purple checkered saucer.
“Are you going to tell me what that is?” She nodded her head at the mug, setting the pastry on the side table.
“Is everything an interrogation with you FBI types?” Charlotte playfully rolled her eyes and handed over the mug, she had made a little swan out of the foam and it was all Emily could do to not break out in a blazing grin as she looked down at it.
“This could be poison, or worse… decaf.” She squinted at the redhead, using all of her ability to stay focused to not chuckle at the look of pure horror that crosses her face.
“Okay well, first off, if I wanted to poison you, I simply wouldn’t tell you this was poison. That feels like being a bad guy 101. Secondly, the idea I’d give a needy, desperate, absolutely pathetically exhausted federal agent anything but my absolute strongest blend of espresso and talent? No ma’am.” She shakes her head vehemently and looks at Emily as if she had suggested she was a threat to national security.
Her focus broke and Emily couldn’t stop the loud snort of laughter that bubbled up as the shorter woman had monologued at her, a southern lilt tingeing her words as she pretended to get worked up. “Woahhh now! Let’s not say pathetically exhausted! I ran here! Many miles! Lots of hard work thank you.” Emily teased the other woman, her smile easier than it had been in ages.
“Of course, Agent. Though I think as a federally trained badass you should be able to handle a few miles without caffeine. But maybe this is an oversight of the training department, I’ll write a strongly worded letter to my representative.”
Emily smirked, finally taking a sip of the still steaming mug in her hands, holy shit. Hot, scalding almost and maybe more delicious than anything she’s ever had. Her dark eyes widened as she licked a bit of foam off her top lip.
“Damn.” Is all she said before taking another sip. “I already know you’ve got a smug look on your face.” Emily says before turning to face the woman again, and yes. She did have a shit-eating grin on her face.
“That’s my specialty, a house made vanilla blueberry syrup and a pinch of cinnamon, and for you? An extra shot.” Emily hummed, “I mean, it’s no cappuccino on the Seine in Paris but…” the brunette trailed off, setting the mug down to take a bite of her croissant.
The moan that left her mouth was downright sinful, and the bright blush covering the shop owner's cheeks was maybe the most adorable thing she’d ever seen. “Who makes these? I’m marrying them yesterday.” Elizabeth would be mortified if she could see her daughter talking behind her hand- unable to finish swallowing before she could express herself.
“Agent, that’s all a bit forward don’t you think?” The blue eyed beauty winked before nervously brushing some wrinkles out of her apron. “You haven’t even taken me out.” Her voice is more shy than before, fluttering her lashes down at the sitting woman. “And I’m a good southern woman.”
Emily blinks her head swiveling from the pastry, the mug, and her. “Are you kidding? You’re this,” she points to the mug, “AND that?” And points to the treat, “And you’re going to tell me you drew the pretty little Lillies up on that board too huh?”
“Now I can’t tell if you want to marry me or murder me, and honestly I think you could get away with it.”
“Oh I definitely could, I know people.” She smirks, “but seriously, you made these?”
“Everything in here! That’s why there’s such a limited quantity of everything, and you’re the first of the day so you get the best options.” She shrugs, “I live above here, and between my oven and the one down here I manage!”
“Manage seems to be underselling what’s happening here. You’re quite good, really.” The redhead blushes again, cursing her pale skin and the way the agent is looking at her.
Before she can respond the bell of the door rings again and another customer enters. “Oh uh- I need…” she trails off, gesturing to the counter and Emily just nods, her eyes watching with rapt attention as she sees Charlotte give less enthusiastic service to the man at the counter.
For another hour Agent Emily Prentiss sits in an oversized floral chair, staring out at a petite redhead, floating around the space, easy smile and loud laugh, creating masterpieces and handing out free cookies to anyone who looks too longingly at one.
“Oh here hunny! This looks like it was made for you.” Emily watches Charlotte hand a small butterfly shaped sugar cookie to a girl no more than 4, chubby fingers grabbing at it happily, “what do you say?” Her mom gently prompts “Fanks!”
The agent can’t help the smile that takes over her face, there had always been a soft spot in Emily’s heart for the sweet faced little ones who were taking in the world for the first time. Now at 35 she didn’t think it wasn’t possible but her hopes grew dimmer and dimmer all the time.
As the mom and daughter were leaving the little girl waved excitedly at Emily in the front window, the other hand wrapped in her mothers, cookie crumbs already dotting her lips. Emily waved back sweetly, winking at the little girl as they left.
She stared at the door for a few minutes, lightly shaking herself out of the wistful feeling the tiny girl had created. Emily turned to look back at Charlotte, now wiping down the counter the other two had been at while waiting.
Just the cutest little nose…and freckles… well her eyes are also-
“Hello earth to Miss FBI” Charlotte’s voice was much closer than it should have been, in fact it was directly in front of her, and so was a manicured hand waving in her face. “I only asked you how everything was three times.” The redhead smirked, throwing herself into the chair next to Emily’s.
The brunette really had to use all her years of interrogation and field skills to not stutter and make a fool out of herself, instead smirking back, “I was just so distracted by this delicious cup of coffee and enjoying a calm I never seem to be able to create at home.”
Emily’s smirk deepened as a sweet blush took over the pale cheeks of her counterpart, “oh well…” the redhead trailed off shyly, “now you’re making me look like a bad hostess, and I can’t have that.” Charlotte tapped her chin a few times “oh! I know!” She spun on her heel and moved back to the counter.
“It’s rude to walk away from a customer mid-conversation Miss Charlotte June…” Emily chuckled at the gasp and the way Charlotte looked indignantly over her shoulder at her.
The shorter woman walked back over twirling a small business card between her fingers, before sliding it across the small table Emily was sitting next to. “Well I figured, before you were painfully rude to me yet again…” she sighed dramatically but kept a small smile on her face as she tapped the card with her nail.
“My hospitality is something I take seriously, and so if you ever want a redo…” she shrugged, grabbing the empty plate and mug from the table and turning away without another word.
Emily’s smirk was gone, replaced by a shocked look, eyes darting between the card and the woman now loading the dishwasher as other customers started to file in.
Tentatively she picked up the card, looking at the pink card stock with squinted eyes.
Hollis Coffee Co.
Charlotte June Hollis, owner and operator
Work phone: 555-112-5678
Email: [email protected]
Not exactly the warm message she had hoped to be reviving. When Charlotte’s laugh rang out over the quickly filling shop, Emily couldn’t help but turn to look at her once again. She was talking with someone who looked like a regular, an older gentleman wearing a golf cap and tapping his foot along to the quiet music playing around them. Charlotte handed him a to-go cup and kissed his cheek, his one hand cupping her cheek fondly as she did so. Seems Emily wasn’t the only one affected by this southern belle.
Breathing in deeply, the FBI agent pulled out her phone, ordered a car home and stood, business card firmly in between her fingers, prepared to ask the other woman for her cell as she turned the paper over.
I’d love to host you for real some time, Miss FBI. Text me.
555-676-0098 XX
She stopped short, almost running into the person near her, vying for her chair, “best seat in the house” Charlotte’s voice rang through her mind. Best seat indeed.
One last look back and the now very busy woman, a smile, and her bringing her hand up to her ear in a ‘I’ll call you’ gesture and she was out the door to wait for her car- leaving a blushing redhead, buried in coffee orders, but head in the clouds.