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thirtysomethingloser92 · 4 months ago

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Wake Me Up When September Ends

Authors Note; 13k worth of Doug Bailey goodness. If anyone has any requests based off this story please feel free to inbox me them. I feel the need to flood Tumblr and Ao3 with Doug Bailey x reader fics.

Summary: Deputy Director Doug Bailey is forced to confront his feelings for you. Knowing that your relationship is complicated by your roles and the dangers you face daily, Doug decides to put his feelings into words. He writes a letter to you pouring out his deepest emotions and regrets. The letter is both a confession and an apology for the moments he failed to express his true feelings and for the times he might have pushed you away.

The atmosphere at Penelope's house was subdued, the BAU team gathered in small clusters, sharing memories of Deputy Director Douglas Bailey. You stood near the window, looking out at the quiet evening, lost in your thoughts about the man you had admired and secretly cared for. A small glass of wine was cupped in your hands, numbing the raw and gnawing ache in your stomach that grew every time you remembered why you were there. You spent countless hours this past week hoping that it was all just a bad dream, that someone would walk up to you in the office and tell you that it was all just a terribly timed joke. Each and every time you walked past his office you expected him to be sitting there, head down with a pen in his hand. You always expected to meet his brown eyes and share a smile that only the two of you knew the meaning behind. You could feel the tears welling up once again and the lump in your throat become tighter as you brought the glass to your lips, swallowing what was remaining of the wine. You didn’t mean to fall in love with the man, but somewhere between the passing glances in the corridors and the long nights when it was just you, him, and a few other agents, he became somewhat of a confidant. And somewhere after that, you found yourself falling in love with him. You felt sick each and every time you were reminded of that afternoon in the back-end woods, standing out the front of the large cabin, your gun in your hand watching him walking into the house. The single sound of a gunshot echoing throughout the clearing. You’ll never forget the knot that grew in your stomach, the feeling of your heart beating out of your chest. The feeling of the wind being knocked out of your lungs. Of course, none of this showed on your face. You kept it neutral, your gun strategically trained on the house in front of you, yet your mind was moving a thousand miles per hour. Your brain screaming that while you were wasting time out there, he could be in there seriously injured, You had hoped, even though you knew it was futile, that there may have been some chance that it was Bailey who had pulled the trigger. But you knew that it wasn’t the case. You knew that he wasn’t walking back out of that door the way you expected him to when you first arrived on the scene. Emily Prentiss approached quietly; her expression solemn yet her eyes held a world of compassion. You turned to face her, quickly wiping the tears from your cheeks. “How are you holding up?” She asked gently, placing a small reassuring hand on your shoulder. You nodded, a tight smile that never reached your eyes crossing your face, “It’s just been a really long week,” You lied, pushing some hair from your face and moving away from the window, “You know how it is,”. She held out a sealed envelope to you, saying softly, "This was found among Bailey's personal effects. I thought you should have it." She said it slowly, giving you time to register the words she was saying. You looked down at the black scrawl of your name, that familiar handwriting leaving a longing in your chest that only seemed to intensify. “Do you know what it is?” You asked, almost scared of the answer. You took the envelope with trembling hands, nodding gratefully. The worn edges showed that it had been carried around, the corners folded in ever so slightly. Flipping it over you saw the flap was the most creased, as if it had been open and closed over and over again “I have no idea,” Emily replied truthfully, “His father handed it to me at the funeral, said that I might know who this was,” You almost didn’t want to open it, you wanted to preserve one of the final things the Deputy Director had left you. You wanted to preserve his words, knowing that reading what he wrote will be the final things he would ever say to you. You were in a battle with your heart and your head, to read the letter in the comfort of the people around you, or to read it alone in the emptiness of your apartment, leaving yourself to grieve a lost love.

"I always suspected," Emily murmured, her voice filled with empathy. "The way Doug looked at you, the way he moved closer whenever you were in the room... It was more than just admiration. He cared deeply for you."

You nodded, unable to speak through the lump in their throat. Memories flooded back—the way Doug's gaze lingered, the way he purposefully searched you out in every room you were in. The unspoken words that fell between you both when it was just the glow of the lobby low lights at the end of an exhausting day.

"I saw his face when he saw you get injured in Atlanta by Voits booby trap," Emily continued softly. "He was terrified. He cared about you more than he let on." You could feel her watching you, watching your body language and how you reacted to what you were saying, you didn’t want to give anything away to her, but you also know that hiding anything from such an experienced profiler like Emily Prentiss was almost impossible; “Nothing became of it. He was the Deputy Director, and I was just-I was just me,” You stated simply, crossing your arm over your chest and leaning against the wall. Emily gave a sad smile, “He never saw you as just you though, did he? I've seen the way he looked at you, the way he listened when you speak. Doug may have been the Deputy Director, but that never changed how he felt about you."

Her words struck a chord, resonating with the memories you had tried to bury deep within. "It doesn't matter now," you replied softly, your gaze fixed somewhere in the distance, unwilling to meet Emily's probing eyes. "We had our roles, our responsibilities. Anything beyond that was... complicated." Even now, acknowledging something that will no longer come to be made your heart ache even more. You hated thinking about it, and you hated talking about it even more.

"He cared about you," Emily pressed gently, stepping closer as if to bridge the emotional distance between you. "Maybe he never said it aloud, but it was there, in every glance, every moment of concern."

You shook your head slightly, the weight of unspoken emotions threatening to overwhelm. "I couldn't afford to think about it then, and I can't now."

"He's gone," Emily acknowledged quietly, her voice carrying the weight of loss that hung heavy in the air. "But you're still here. Don't let his memory be defined by what wasn't said."

Her words stirred a mix of gratitude and pain within you. "I don't know how to fix everything," you admitted, finally meeting Emily's gaze. "The missions, the risks we took... and the feelings we never acknowledged."

Emily nodded knowingly. "Sometimes, closure isn't about finding answers. It's about accepting what was and allowing yourself to heal." Her words hung in the air, heavy with implications that mirrored the unspoken truths you had buried deep within. Emily Prentiss, ever perceptive, had a way of unravelling the complexities of human emotions with just a few carefully chosen sentences.

"I... I don't know," you admitted quietly, the weight of her insight pressing against the walls you had built around your heart. "Like I said, it was complicated. Doug... he was always so focused on his job."

Emily nodded knowingly, her expression softening with empathy. "It's never just about the job, especially not with someone like Doug. He cared deeply, even if he couldn't always show it."

A rush of memories flooded your mind—the stolen glances, the brief touches that spoke volumes in their fleeting intensity. The one night that had left a searing mark on your soul, the way his kiss burned into the very edges of your heart; the way his arms held you tight to him, his hand cradling your face as his eyes stared at you, making you feel the most vulnerable you have ever felt. Doug Bailey, the Deputy Director with a heart that few were privileged to see, had left an indelible mark on your life, one that went beyond professional respect and camaraderie.

"He's gone now," you whispered, the pain of his loss still raw and consuming. "And I never got the chance to..."

Emily's hand found yours, a gesture of comfort amidst the turmoil of emotions. "Sometimes, the chance never comes. But that doesn't mean the feelings weren't real."

Tears welled in your eyes, unshed emotions finally breaking free. "I miss him so much," you confessed, your voice trembling with the weight of unspoken confessions and regrets.

Emily pulled you into a gentle embrace, offering solace in the silence that followed. In that moment, amidst the echoes of memories and the ache of loss, you found a semblance of peace—a shared understanding of a love that had never been spoken aloud but had existed nonetheless in the quiet spaces between duty and devotion.

<><><><> You found yourself sitting on your couch, the heating burning away on the far wall, a cup of tea sitting on the coffee table in front of you. It was late, and you knew you should be sleeping, but after the events of the day, you don’t think you would be able to ever truly have a proper night sleep again. The white envelope sat in front of you, your name begging you to take a peek inside. To pull it open and read the final words the man you loved had written to you before his untimely death. Yet, fear and uncertainty held you back, the weight of potential truths contained within that letter threatening to shatter the fragile balance of your grief.

The room felt too quiet, suffocating in its stillness. Every tick of the clock echoed loudly in your ears, a reminder of the passage of time that had carried Doug away from you. His absence was a void you struggled to comprehend; his presence still felt in every corner of your thoughts.

With trembling fingers, you reached for the envelope, tracing the edges as if touching his memory one last time. The paper was smooth beneath your touch, its near pristine surface mocking the battle in your heart. Should you open it, unravel the mysteries and emotions Doug had left behind? Or should you leave it untouched, preserving the fragile cocoon of memories you had woven around your heart?

The decision weighed heavily on you. Part of you begged to know his final thoughts, to find solace in the words he had penned just for you. Yet, another part feared the revelations that awaited within—confessions of love unspoken, regrets left unresolved, or perhaps something that would completely break you all over again.

You took a deep breath, preparing yourself against the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm you. The tea on the table grew cold, abandoned, while you fought your internal battle. Time seemed suspended, each passing second a testament to the struggle between closure and the unknown.

In the end, it was curiosity that compelled you. The curiosity of not knowing, knowing that it would continue to gnaw at you until you gave into the temptation to open it. With a mixture of nerves and determination, you finally slid your finger under the flap of the envelope, breaking the seal that held Doug's final words captive.

As you unfolded the paper, the familiar scrawl of his handwriting greeted you, each word a testament to his soul laid bare. You felt your stomach drop, the twisting and turning of nerves making the pain in your chest grow and grow as you read the first line.

“You look beautiful today. It was strange seeing you in a pencil skirt and a blouse, but you walked past me with a smile and a wink, and I swore I felt my heart stop. I don’t remember the last time I wasn’t thinking about you. Waiting for any opportunity to catch a glimpse of you. The days when you come see me in my office are the days that I wait for. I don’t think I’ve felt like this in such a long time.” As you navigated the familiar corridors of the FBI headquarters, each step seemed to echo with the weight of the day's tasks pressing against your shoulders. The air hummed with the quiet bustle of agents and staff going about their duties, a constant backdrop to the rhythm of your thoughts.

Passing Doug Bailey's office, you couldn't resist stealing a quick glance inside. His office, normally a picture of focused efficiency, held a different atmosphere today. Doug sat at his desk, engrossed in paperwork, his brow furrowed in concentration. Yet, as if sensing your presence, he looked up, and your eyes met with an intensity that sent a flutter through your chest. It was a moment of connection, unspoken but palpable, a shared acknowledgment of something more beneath the surface of their professional relationship.

A small, involuntary smile tugged at your lips in response to that brief exchange. It was a rare glimpse into a side of Doug Bailey that few were privileged to see—a softer, more vulnerable aspect that he seemed to reserve exclusively for you. The warmth of that moment lingered, permeating your thoughts long after you had turned the corner and continued your way.

It was these moments, subtle and fleeting yet profoundly meaningful, that reminded you why you treasured the connection you shared with Doug. During the demanding and often intense environment of the FBI, it was these quiet exchanges that anchored you, offering a sense of camaraderie and understanding that transcended the usual professional dynamics. <>

You found yourself briefly looking away from the letter, your throat burning trying to keep the tears at bay. Your heart ached, you truly never understood how much you relied on those tiny interactions to get you through your days until you were no longer able to get them. The brief encounters in the hallways, the occasional visits to his office that seemed to stretch into moments of genuine connection. His presence, commanding yet subtly vulnerable, drew you in, leaving you almost excited for each opportunity to see him, to share those fleeting moments that seemed to bridge the gap between professionalism and something deeper.

You leaned back into the couch, trying to gather the courage to continue reading the letter. You knew you had to, for your own sake, but the memory of Doug's gaze and his words lingered. You couldn't deny the effect he had on you—the way he made you feel seen and appreciated amidst the demanding world of the BAU. Each interaction left you craving more, a silent yearning that mirrored his own.

Doug Bailey had unwittingly carved a space in your heart, one that was filled with promise and possibility—a connection that went far beyond the boundaries of your professional lives, waiting to be explored with every interaction between you both. A small smile crossed your face as you closed your eyes, the tears waiting to fall finally dropping down your cheeks, leaving a wet, salty trail in their wake. You needed to remember him, needed to remember his smell, his voice. Each hour that passed made you fear that you were forgetting him. Forgetting the slight smile that he saved only for you, the way his eyes would light up with a warmth that seemed to melt away the world's troubles.

The fear of losing these memories gnawed at you, each minute ticking by feeling like a thief stealing precious fragments of Doug from your mind. His laughter, a rare and beautiful sound that you had come to cherish, echoed faintly in your memory, a ghostly reminder of the joy he once brought into your life. The sound of his voice, calm and steady, a constant anchor in the storm of your daily battles, now felt like a distant whisper.

You recalled the scent of his cologne, subtle yet unmistakable, a comforting presence that lingered in the air long after he had left the room. You longed for those moments when you could catch a whiff of it as he walked by, a simple yet profound reminder that he was near. The thought that you might one day forget this scent, that it might fade from your memory entirely, filled you with a deep, aching sorrow.

His smile, the one he reserved just for you, was a lifeline you clung to desperately. It was a smile that spoke volumes without uttering a single word, a silent acknowledgment of the bond you shared. The memory of it brought a bittersweet ache to your heart, a mixture of joy and pain, knowing you would never see it again but needing to hold onto it with every fibre of your being.

Your mind drifted to the countless conversations you had shared, each one a thread woven into the fabric of your relationship. You remembered the way he listened, truly listened, with an intensity that made you feel seen and understood in a way no one else ever had. His advice, always thoughtful and wise, had guided you through some of your darkest moments. The idea of facing those moments without him now felt unbearable.

As the tears continued to fall, you hugged your knees to your chest, seeking solace in the physical reminder of your own presence, as if grounding yourself in the here and now could keep the memories of Doug alive a little longer. You tried to capture the essence of him in your mind, to bottle it up and keep it safe, but the harder you tried, the more it seemed to slip through your fingers. <>

The office buzzed with the usual hum of activity as you made your way to Doug's office, a stack of files balanced in your arms. Pausing at the doorway, you knocked lightly before stepping inside, greeted by the sight of Doug engrossed in his work.

"Hey, Deputy Director," you said with a playful lilt in your voice, "I've got the latest batch of reports for you. Try not to get too excited."

Doug looked up from his desk, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Ah, my favourite kind of delivery. How did you know paperwork was my guilty pleasure?"

You chuckled, setting the files down on his desk. "Just a wild guess. I mean, who wouldn't be thrilled by endless reports and statistical analyses?"

He leaned back in his chair, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Well, it's either that or my secret passion for organizing office supplies. But between us, I think the reports win by a narrow margin."

Raising an eyebrow, you crossed your arms, feigning deep contemplation. "Hmm, maybe I should surprise you with a color-coded filing system next time. Really spice things up around here."

Doug laughed, a warm, genuine sound that sent a flutter through your chest. "Careful now, you might make the other departments jealous with all the fun we're having."

You leaned against his desk, a playful smile dancing on your lips. "Jealousy is a powerful motivator. Maybe they'll start sending their own agents over with reports just to get a taste of the excitement."

Doug's gaze softened, his amusement giving way to a more tender expression. "Well, they'd have a hard time matching your delivery. You have a certain charm that makes even the dullest tasks bearable."

Feeling a blush creep up your cheeks, you decided to turn the tables. "Oh, is that so? I thought it was your unwavering dedication to the job that made everything bearable around here."

He shook his head, leaning forward slightly. "I think it's a combination of both. But if we're being honest, I look forward to these little visits more than I probably should."

Your heart skipped a beat at his admission, and you couldn't resist teasing him further. "Is that your way of saying you need more reports? Because I can definitely arrange that."

Doug chuckled, his eyes sparkling with that familiar mix of warmth and mischief. "Maybe it's my way of saying I enjoy your company more than the reports themselves. But let's keep that between us, shall we?"

You grinned, feeling a rush of warmth at his words. "Our little secret, Sir. I'll keep the reports coming and the company even better."

As you turned to leave, Doug called out, "By the way, you look great today. That pencil skirt really suits you."

Glancing over your shoulder, you shot him a wink. "Careful, Bailey. Flattery might get you even more reports to enjoy."

He laughed again, the sound following you down the hallway and leaving you with a smile that lingered long after you'd returned to your own desk.

And so it went, the day unfolding in a series of witty retorts and friendly challenges, each moment cementing the bond of friendship and camaraderie between Doug and you. Choking back a sob at the memory, you unravelled your legs from where you were holding them and placed your feet back on the ground, picking up the letter that had been laying abandoned next to you on the light grey cushion. Swallowing deeply and wiping your eyes, you looked down at the familiar scrawl once again, your heart aching more than it previously was. “When you got caught in that explosion, I felt my heart stop. I don't know how I made it through the next few hours, not knowing if you were okay. When you walked into the BAU, alive, I wanted to hold you, to never let go. But I couldn’t. I had to keep my distance. For both our sakes.”You loved your job, you truly did. You loved the adrenaline, the thrill of the chase. Every day brought a new challenge, a new puzzle to solve. The rush of excitement you felt when you pieced together clues, the satisfaction of bringing justice to the victims and their families—it was what drove you, what got you out of bed each morning. Your work with the BAU was more than just a job; it was a calling, a part of your very soul.

So, when Emily asked you, JJ, and Luke to travel to Georgia to chase a lead, you were the first one out the door. The prospect of being in the field, of following a fresh lead for a case that had you all confused and somewhat frustrated, sent a surge of energy through you. This was what you lived for—the unpredictable, fast-paced nature of the hunt. The anticipation of what lay ahead fuelled you, making your heart race and your senses sharpen.

You were focused, gun pulled, watching as Luke pulled open the storm cellar doors, and creeping down them, one step at a time. The ringing of a phone in the darkened cellar, the sound of something arming; the sound of Luke yelling to get out was when everything changed in an instant. The explosion knocked you down, a smoke burning your lungs, your arm screaming in pain as the ringing in your ears left you dazed and confused at what happened. You tried to roll over on to your hands and knees, your lungs screaming as you let out a long cough. Every breath in ached, every muscle in your body as you pulled yourself to your full height begged you to stop. You stumbled through the debris, almost colliding with JJ as you both silently agreed to look for Luke together. Looking down you saw the large gash in your arm that was pouring out blood. Finally, you found Luke on the ground a few feet away from where you met with JJ, unconscious, but thankfully alive.

Doug had been at headquarters with Emily, Dave, Tara and Penelope, overseeing the operation from the safety of the office. The moment he saw the explosion on the screen, his heart stopped. Panic seized him as he listened to the frantic voices of his colleagues next to him, trying to reach you all through the comms, trying to piece together what had happened. His mind raced, but all he could think about was you.

The next few hours were a blur for Doug. He directed resources, coordinated efforts, but his thoughts kept drifting back to you. Were you okay? Were you even alive? Each minute that passed without news felt like an eternity, a torturous wait that gnawed at his very soul. He tried to keep his composure, to focus on the mission, but the fear of losing you was a constant, overwhelming presence.

Finally, the call came the next morning from the Atlanta field office. You were alive, bruised and shaken, but alive. Relief flooded through him, a powerful wave that almost brought him to his knees. But even in that moment of overwhelming emotion, he knew he had to maintain his distance. He couldn't let his feelings show, couldn't let anyone see how deeply he cared.

When you walked into the BAU, straight after getting off the jet, your face smeared with soot and your clothes torn, his heart leapt. You were a mess, but you were there, standing before him. He wanted to rush to you, to pull you into his arms and never let go. But he couldn't. He had to keep his distance, for both your sakes.

"You're okay," he said, his voice steady despite the storm raging inside him, as he walked over to you; his eyes glancing over every part of your body, trying to make sure that what he was saying was the truth.

You nodded, offering a weak smile. "Yeah, I'm okay." You were beyond exhausted, but you were okay.

He forced himself to stay put, to not close the gap between you. "Good. We need to debrief."

Doug turned to lead you to the conference room, every step a battle to keep his emotions in check. He could feel your eyes on him, sense your exhaustion and relief. As you settled into the debriefing, he kept his focus on the task at hand, pushing down the urge to reach out to you, to offer the comfort he knew you needed.

Later, when the briefing was over and the others had dispersed, you lingered behind, your eyes meeting his with a mixture of gratitude and something else—something unspoken. Doug swallowed hard, forcing himself to look away.

"Get some rest," he said, his voice softer now, betraying a fraction of his concern. "You've been through a lot."

You nodded, a hint of understanding in your gaze. "You too."

As you walked away, Doug allowed himself a moment to watch you go, his heart aching with the weight of everything he couldn't say. He had kept his distance, maintained his composure, but the depth of his feelings for you had only grown stronger. And in that moment, he made a silent vow to protect you, no matter what it took, even if it meant keeping his distance. <>

You sat on your couch, the letter clutched in your hands, tears streaming down your face as the memory played out vividly in your mind. You could still see the concern etched on Doug’s face, hear the restrained emotion in his voice. You had always sensed there was more to his worry than professional concern, but reading his words now brought a new depth to those memories.

The realization of what he had held back, the love he had kept hidden, wrapped around you like a bittersweet embrace. Doug had cared deeply, more than you had ever truly known. His restraint, his professionalism, had been his way of protecting you both, but now, in the quiet of your apartment, the full weight of his feelings settled over you “I wanted to tell you so many times. Every time you smiled at me, every time you laughed at my terrible jokes, every time you walked into my office with that determined look in your eyes. But I couldn’t. I was too scared. Scared of what it would mean for both of us. Scared of losing you in more ways than one. That night at your apartment... I came to check on you, to make sure you were okay. But it turned into so much more. I don’t regret it, not for a second. But I knew it couldn’t last. We couldn’t last. It was a moment stolen from time, a moment I will cherish forever”

The night after the explosion, the weight of the day's events hung heavily over you. You had barely made it out alive, and the adrenaline was still coursing through your veins. Doug had shown up at your apartment, his concern evident in the way he looked at you. You weren't surprised to see him; he had always been the one to check on you, to make sure you were okay, even when you didn't realize you needed it.

When you opened the door, the sight of him standing there, a mixture of relief and worry in his eyes, made your heart skip a beat. "Deputy Director," you said, stepping aside to let him in. "What are you doing here?"

"I needed to make sure you were okay," he replied, his voice steady but soft. "After everything that happened..."

You nodded, unable to find the right words. The reality of how close you had come to not making it through the day was starting to sink in, and the fear and relief were overwhelming. "I'm fine," you said, though the tremor in your voice betrayed you.

Doug stepped closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "No, you're not. And that's okay."

You both moved to the couch, where you sat in silence for a few moments, the events of the previous day replaying in your minds. The unspoken tension between you, always present but never acknowledged, seemed to hang heavier in the air tonight. You talked about the case, the explosion, anything but the underlying current that had brought him to your door.

Then, without realizing how it happened, the conversation turned to more personal things. You opened up about your fears, your doubts, and he just listened, offering words of comfort and understanding. His presence was a comfort to your exhaustion and anxiety, a reminder that you weren't alone.

As the night wore on, the boundaries that you had both always maintained began to blur. There was a moment—a fleeting, almost imperceptible moment—when something changed. The space between you seemed to disappear, and before you knew it, you were kissing him, the emotions of the day spilling over in a rush of need and desperation. Doug's lips were warm and gentle against yours, a stark contrast to the chaos of the previous days. The kiss was tender at first, a hesitant exploration, but quickly deepened as the barriers you’d built around your heart melted away. The intensity of the kiss mirrored the storm of emotions that had been building up inside you, emotions that had found their release in this one, powerful act of intimacy.

His hands cupped your face, his touch both soothing and electrifying. You could feel his heartbeat in sync with yours, a rhythm that seemed to echo the unspoken words and long-suppressed feelings between you. Each moment stretched out, a mixture of relief and longing as you allowed yourself to fully experience this connection.

When the kiss finally ended, you both pulled away slowly, your breaths mingling in the space between you. The reality of the situation began to settle in, and you saw the vulnerability in Doug’s eyes, a mirror of your own. It had been a confession, a raw admission of feelings that you both had been too afraid to confront until now.

Doug's hand remained entwined with yours, and his touch was a constant source of comfort. His thumb brushed softly against your skin, a gentle reminder of his presence and his commitment to navigating this new chapter with you. You could see the same need reflected in his eyes, a silent plea for closeness and connection.

The tension between you was undeniable, and as you both settled onto the sofa, the room’s ambiance shifted. The casual proximity that once felt comfortable now seemed charged with something more profound. Doug's hand slipped from yours, but not before he gently cupped your face, his fingers lingering just long enough to elicit a shiver of anticipation.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked softly, his voice a mixture of desire and concern.

You nodded, unable to suppress a soft smile. "I am. More than ever."

Doug’s gaze held yours with unwavering sincerity as he leaned in, closing the distance between you once again. The kiss was more urgent this time, a melding of emotions and desires that had been building up for too long. The world outside seemed to vanish, leaving only the intimacy of the moment.

Eventually, the intensity of the kiss guided you both towards the bedroom. The transition felt natural, almost inevitable. You moved together with a shared sense of purpose, the unspoken understanding of what this moment meant hanging heavy in the air.

As you entered the bedroom, Doug’s hands gently guided you towards the bed. The room was dimly lit, casting a soft, warm glow that made the space feel both inviting and private. You both paused for a moment, taking in the significance of this step. The barrier between your professional and personal lives had finally dissolved, and you were standing on the edge of something new and deeply personal.

Doug helped you onto the bed, his movements tender and considerate. He took his time, making sure you were comfortable, his touch a constant reassurance. The weight of the day's events and the intensity of the kiss had created a dire need for closeness, and as you lay back on the bed, Doug’s presence was a soothing balm.

He followed you onto the bed, his body close to yours. The physical closeness mirrored the emotional intimacy you had shared earlier, and it felt like a natural extension of the connection you both had been yearning for. As you lay together, the initial urgency gave way to a more tender, explorative approach.

Doug's kisses were gentle and lingering, his touch reverent as if he were discovering you for the first time. The shared moments of tenderness and affection unfolded in a way that felt both profound and deeply satisfying. It was as if every touch, every kiss, was a way of affirming the bond that had brought you together.

In the quiet intimacy of the bedroom, you both found solace and connection. The worries and fears of the day were momentarily forgotten as you allowed yourselves to fully experience the closeness you had both been longing for. As the night wore on, you drifted into a peaceful, shared rest, comforted by the knowledge that you were no longer alone in navigating the complexities of your feelings and your lives. But as dawn broke, reality set in. You woke up beside him, the early morning light casting a pale glow over the room. The weight of what had happened settled over you, and you both knew that this was not something that could, or should, continue.

Doug was the first to speak, his voice barely above a whisper. "We let the emotions of yesterday get the best of us."

You nodded, looking down at the sheets tangled around your bare bodies. "We did. It shouldn't have happened." You weren’t going to lie to him, and you weren’t going to lie to yourself. You knew from the first kiss that this was something that not going to lead anywhere. It made your soul ache. All you wanted was to feel his hands on you again, his lips trailing your body, him whispering how much he had wanted this; but you knew deep down that you both only had last night.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "No, it shouldn't have. But it did."

You turned to face him, seeing the same conflict in his eyes that you felt within yourself. "We can't... this can't happen again."

He nodded, a hint of sadness in his gaze. "I know. It would complicate things too much."

There was a long silence, filled with unspoken words and lingering feelings. Neither of you wanted to admit what you truly felt, the depth of the connection that had always been there. It was easier to pretend that this was just a momentary lapse, brought on by the intensity of the day before.

"I don't regret it," Doug said finally, his voice steady. "Not for a second. But you're right. We have to move on."

You forced a smile, though your heart ached. "We do. We can't let this affect our work, or our friendship."

He nodded, and you both got dressed in silence, the intimacy of the night fading with the daylight. As he left your apartment, you felt a pang of loss, but you knew this was the only way it could be. You had to protect yourselves, and each other, from the complications that a relationship would bring. <>

Sitting on your couch, the letter clutched in your hands, you let the tears fall freely. The memory of that night was etched into your soul, a poignant reminder of what you had shared and what you had lost. Doug's words brought it all rushing back—the fear, the comfort, the unspoken love.

You had both known it couldn't last, but that didn't make the memory any less precious. It was a moment stolen from time, a brief respite from the chaos of your lives, and you would cherish it forever. Doug had been your confidant, your support, and in that one night, he had been so much more.

Now, as you sat alone in the quiet of your apartment, you felt the weight of his absence more acutely than ever. The letter was a testament to what you had both felt but never voiced, a bittersweet reminder of a love that had been real, even if it had remained unspoken. And in that love, you found a measure of peace, knowing that Doug had cherished it as much as you did.

“Seeing you every day, knowing what we shared, it’s been a bittersweet torture. I replay that night in my mind, the way you looked at me, the way you felt in my arms. It was real, and it was everything I’ve ever wanted, but it was also a dream that had to end. Our lives, our responsibilities, they’ve built walls between us that we can't break down”

The hum of the fluorescent lights was the only sound that broke the silence in the nearly empty office. Papers were strewn across desks, evidence of the tireless work the BAU team put into solving their latest case. You sat at your desk, the glow of your computer screen casting a soft light on your face. You were engrossed in your work, trying to push away the thoughts that had been haunting you for weeks.

It had been months since that night. The night you both let down your guards, the night you shared something so intense and real that it felt like a dream. But reality had a way of crashing back down, and your responsibilities, your careers, had forced you both to build walls around your hearts.

Douglas Bailey stood in the doorway of the office, watching you. He had been standing there for a few minutes, gathering the courage to speak. He knew that talking to you now, in the dead of night, when the office was empty, was the only way he could let out the emotions that had been suffocating him. He cleared his throat softly, causing you to look up from your work.

"Sir," you said, surprised to see him there. "I thought you left hours ago."

He stepped into the room, the door closing behind him with a soft click. "I needed to finish some paperwork," he lied, but the truth was evident in his eyes. He had been avoiding this conversation for too long.

You gave him a small smile, though it didn't reach your eyes. "Yeah, me too. There's always more to do, isn't there?"

He nodded, his hands in his pockets as he walked over to your desk. The tension between you both was palpable, the unspoken words hanging in the air. You both were trying to ignore the weight of what had happened between you, but the memory lingered in the back of your minds.

Doug stopped beside your desk, his gaze falling to the papers scattered across it. "How's the case coming along?"

You shrugged, trying to keep your tone casual. "Just fine. Nothing we can't handle."

He hesitated, then nodded. "Good to hear. If you need any help, let me know."

You glanced up at him, noting the strained professionalism in his voice. It was a far cry from the closeness you had shared. You wanted to pretend nothing had changed, to go back to the way things were before that night.

"Thanks, I will," you replied, your voice steady.

Doug shifted, his gaze momentarily flickering to the papers on your desk before meeting your eyes again. "I'll, uh, let you get back to it."

You nodded, forcing a smile. "Yeah, of course."

He turned to leave, his footsteps echoing softly in the empty office. As he reached the door, he paused, his hand on the handle. He looked back at you, his expression a mixture of frustration and resignation.

"Good night," he said, his voice soft but resolute.

"Good night," you replied, watching him leave. The door clicked shut behind him, and you were left alone in the dimly lit office.

The hum of the fluorescent lights seemed louder in the silence that followed. You tried to focus on your work, but the memory of that night, the intimacy, the vulnerability, was impossible to ignore. You could see Doug's reflection in the window, watching the lights of the city outside, and for a moment, you wondered if he felt the same sense of loss and confusion that you did.

As you continued to work, the office seemed to close in around you. The walls that you had both worked so hard to rebuild now felt like they were closing in on you, a constant reminder of the boundaries you had erected to keep your professional lives separate from your personal feelings.

Despite your efforts to move past it, the night you had shared haunted you both, lingering in every interaction and every unspoken word. The attempt to revert to the way things were felt like a fragile facade, and the weight of your unaddressed emotions remained heavy in the air.

The office was empty, and the quiet was punctuated only by the soft clacking of your keyboard. As you worked, you realized that moving forward would mean finding a way to balance the new reality with the old, a task that seemed increasingly daunting with each passing day. <> He could still see you, the way you had looked at him with eyes that held both longing and uncertainty. It had been a night like no other, a rare moment of vulnerability shared between two people who had always prided themselves on their strength. You had been working late, the two of you poring over case files in the dimly lit office. The tension had been palpable, not just from the gruesome details of the case, but from something unspoken between you.

As the hours had slipped by, the walls you both had built around yourselves had begun to crumble. You had leaned back in your chair, rubbing your temples, exhausted and frustrated. He had watched you, unable to look away, his heart aching with an emotion he had tried so hard to suppress. It was in that moment that your eyes had met his, and he had seen a reflection of his own feelings in your gaze.

The world outside had seemed to fade away as you stood and walked towards him. Each step had felt like an eternity, every heartbeat echoing in his ears. When you had finally reached him, you had hesitated, your hand hovering in the space between you. Then, as if drawn by an invisible force, you had closed the gap, your fingers brushing his cheek.

He had felt his breath hitch, a warmth spreading from where you touched him. Your eyes had held a question, one he had answered by wrapping his arms around you, pulling you close. The embrace had been tentative at first, both of you testing the boundaries of this new and fragile connection. But as the minutes had passed, it had deepened, the barriers between you falling away.

He had held you that night, feeling the steady rise and fall of your breath, the softness of your hair against his cheek. The scent of you had filled his senses, a mix of perfume and something uniquely you. It had been intoxicating, and he had felt a peace he hadn’t known in years. It was in those moments that he had realized just how deeply he cared for you, how much you had come to mean to him.

But with that realization had come the bitter sting of reality. The lives you led, the responsibilities that weighed on your shoulders, they were walls that could not be easily dismantled. You were both dedicated to your work, to the people you had sworn to protect. There was no room for distraction, no place for personal desires.

He had known, even as he held you, that this moment was fleeting. That it was a beautiful dream that had to end. The night had passed too quickly, and when dawn had broken, you had pulled away, your eyes filled with regret and sorrow. No words had been spoken; none were needed. The silence had been enough, a shared understanding that this could not continue.

Now, as he sat in his office, the memory of that night haunted him. Seeing you every day, knowing what you had shared, it was a bittersweet torture. He replayed that night in his mind over and over, the way you had looked at him, the way you had felt in his arms. It had been real, more real than anything he had ever experienced, and it had been everything he had ever wanted. But it was also a dream, one that had to end in the harsh light of day.

You moved around the office with a grace that seemed effortless, but he could see the weight you carried. He recognized the moments when your gaze would drift towards him, the flicker of emotion in your eyes quickly hidden behind a mask of professionalism. It mirrored his own struggle, the constant battle to keep his feelings in check, to maintain the distance that was necessary.

Every interaction with you was a reminder of what could never be. The casual touches as you passed each other in the hallway, the brief moments when your hands would brush against his, they were electric, igniting a longing that he couldn’t extinguish. He found himself aching for the simplest of things – the sound of your laughter, the warmth of your smile, the comfort of your presence.

He wondered if you felt the same, if the memory of that night haunted you as it did him. Did you lie awake at night, replaying the moments you had shared, the words left unspoken? Did you feel the same ache in your chest, the same sense of loss? Or had you managed to bury those feelings, to lock them away in a place where they could no longer hurt you?

There were times when he considered breaking the silence, of telling you how he felt. But every time, he was stopped by the same thought – that it would only make things harder. The walls between you were too high, the stakes too great. You had both chosen this path, knowing the sacrifices it would demand. To give in to his feelings would be to risk everything you had worked for.

So, he remained silent, the words trapped in his throat, the emotions locked away. He watched you from a distance, his heart heavy with unspoken love and unfulfilled desire. It was a pain he had come to accept, a constant companion that he could not shake.

The rain began to fall outside, the soft patter against the windows a melancholic soundtrack to his thoughts. He closed his eyes, allowing himself a moment to remember. The feel of you in his arms, the softness of your touch, the way your breath had mingled with his. It was a memory he cherished, even though it brought as much pain as it did joy.

In the end, he knew he would carry this with him, a silent witness to the love he could never express. It was a burden he bore willingly, for the alternative – a life without you in it, even at a distance – was unthinkable. So, he would continue on, finding solace in the small moments, the brief glimpses of the connection they had shared.

The day wore on, the office filled with the hum of activity. He watched you, his heart aching with a love that could never be, a bittersweet torture that had become a part of him. And he knew, no matter what the future held, that the memory of that night would remain with him, a beacon of what could have been, a dream that had to end.

“I can’t change what happened, and I wouldn’t if I could. But I need you to know that you’ve changed me. You’ve shown me a love I didn’t think I could feel again, a love that’s made every day brighter, even if it's also made them harder.”

Douglas Bailey stood in the doorway of the BAU’s bullpen, the familiar hum of the office filling his ears. The chatter and laughter of the team contrasted sharply with the heavy silence that hung around him. The room was alive with energy, a rare moment of levity in the midst of their intense work. He watched from the sidelines, the bittersweet ache of his emotions weaving through the scenes unfolding before him.

You were at the centre of it all, your laughter ringing out like a melody that seemed to lighten the entire room. You were animated as you recounted a story, your hands gesturing wildly, your face alight with a genuine, carefree joy. The team gathered around you, their faces reflecting the same happiness that you radiated. Even in the chaos of their demanding job, moments like these were a rare and precious reprieve.

He couldn’t help but focus on you, his eyes tracking your every movement. You had changed so much since that night, since the moment when everything had shifted between you. The memory of your touch, the feel of your body pressed against his, it was a ghost that lingered in his heart. It was a reminder of what could have been, and a testament to how profoundly you had affected him.

As you spoke, you caught the eye of one of the team members, and a playful exchange followed. The banter and jokes flew around, and Doug could see the way you effortlessly became a part of the group, fitting in as though you were the missing piece that completed them. It was something he had admired about you from the start—your ability to bring warmth and light to those around you.

But to him, you were more than just a bright spot in the office. You were a reminder of a love he thought was lost, a love that had made every day brighter, even as it had made them harder. The impact you had on him was profound, altering the very fabric of his existence. He had once been a man who had buried his emotions deep, convinced that he would never feel that kind of connection again. But then you had come along, and with you, a spark of something he had thought was long extinguished.

He watched as you playfully nudged one of your colleagues, the interaction so effortlessly affectionate. The sight made his heart ache with a longing he could not deny. It was in these moments of joy that the weight of his unspoken feelings grew heavier, the contrast between his silent suffering and your visible happiness stark and painful.

Doug’s eyes were drawn to the way you moved, the grace with which you navigated the room. It was a dance he had come to know well—the way you carried yourself with confidence and ease. Every laugh you shared, every touch of your hand against another’s shoulder, it was a reminder of what he had lost. The night you had shared had been both a gift and a curse, a fleeting moment of perfection that could never be recaptured.

He leaned against the doorframe, trying to reconcile the image of you laughing and enjoying yourself with the crushing weight of his unspoken love. He was a silent observer, a witness to your happiness, knowing that he could never be a part of it in the way he so desperately wanted. The walls he had built around himself were impenetrable, a fortress protecting him from the pain of revealing his true feelings.

Every glance you threw in his direction, every shared smile, felt like a cruel reminder of what could have been. You had changed him in ways he hadn’t thought possible. You had shown him a love that was both exhilarating and tormenting. It was a love that had rekindled a part of him he thought was lost forever, but also one that brought an unbearable weight of longing and regret.

As the laughter continued, Doug felt a pang of envy and sadness. He wanted to be a part of that joy, to share in the moments that you were creating with your team. But he remained a spectator, trapped in his own internal struggle. He had made peace with the fact that he could not change what happened, that the night you had shared was a beautiful, albeit fleeting, dream. But that acceptance did little to ease the ache in his heart.

He turned his gaze away, letting his eyes wander to the window. The city outside seemed distant, a world apart from the vibrant energy of the office. The grey sky mirrored his mood, a reflection of the bittersweet emotions that had become his constant companions. He knew that he could never fully express the depth of his feelings, the impact you had made on his life. To do so would be to risk everything, to shatter the fragile balance that had been established.

So he watched from afar, cherishing the moments he could observe without being a part of them. The pain of longing was tempered by the joy of seeing you happy, even if it was a happiness he could never fully share. In his heart, he carried the knowledge that you had transformed him in ways he could never fully articulate. You had brought light into his life, a light that made the darkness of his unspoken love even more pronounced.

As the team continued to revel in their rare moment of camaraderie, Doug allowed himself a small, sad smile. He knew that while he could not change the past, he could hold onto the memory of what had been. It was a bittersweet solace, a reminder of a love that had touched him deeply. And in the quiet moments of reflection, he found a measure of peace in knowing that, despite the pain, he had experienced something truly extraordinary.

“This is my confession, my truth. I love you, and I always will. Even if I can never say it out loud, even if I can never hold you again, know that my heart is with you. Always. But we both know that this can't go on. We have to keep our distance, for the sake of our careers, for the sake of the team, for the sake of everything we’ve worked so hard to build. I hate it. I hate the thought of not being able to be with you, to hold you, to love you openly. But I also know that we’re stronger than this. That our love, as hidden and unspoken as it might be, will always be a part of us.”

Bailey sat across from the Director, the tension in the room palpable. The meeting was not going well, with the Director questioning the recent decisions made by the BAU team, particularly those made under your guidance. Emily Prentiss stood beside you, her expression a mix of defiance and frustration. You, too, were holding your ground, your posture resolute, even as the Director’s criticism grew harsher.

Doug’s hands clenched into fists as he listened, his jaw tightening with each disparaging comment directed at you and your team. He had always been a firm believer in the capabilities of the BAU, but watching the Director undermine your authority was a different kind of frustration. He felt a deep sense of injustice, not just for you, but for the entire team that had worked tirelessly to solve cases and protect people.

When the Director's criticism reached a point where it seemed to question your integrity and judgment, Doug could no longer remain silent. He stood up, his face a mask of determination and resolve.

“I need to address something,” Doug said, his voice steady and clear. “The decisions made by the BAU, including those under Agent Prentiss’ leadership, are made with the utmost consideration and professionalism. I trust both Agent (Y/L/N) and the team implicitly. Their work is not just efficient; it’s essential. Questioning their judgment undermines the very foundation of the department.”

The room fell silent as Doug’s words hung in the air. The Director looked taken aback, his gaze shifting between Doug and you. There was a firmness in Doug’s stance, a conviction that could not be easily ignored. He continued, unwavering.

“I will always back the BAU’s decisions,” Doug said. “I’ve seen firsthand the dedication, the sacrifice, and the expertise that goes into their work. To question their decisions is to question the entire team’s commitment and capability. That’s something I won’t stand for.”

The Director’s expression softened slightly, his gaze now showing a hint of grudging respect. The meeting ended on a more conciliatory note, though the tension remained. Doug’s support had been a crucial factor in shifting the Director’s stance, and it was clear that his intervention had made a significant impact.

As the meeting adjourned, you and Emily exchanged glances of relief and gratitude. Doug approached you, his face a mix of determination and something softer—an understanding that went beyond words. The office slowly returned to its usual buzz, the weight of the confrontation beginning to lift.

When you caught Doug’s eye, you walked over to him, your steps deliberate, your expression one of sincere appreciation. There was a moment of quiet between you, the usual bustle of the office fading into the background.

“Sir,” you said softly, your voice tinged with emotion. “I want to thank you for standing up for us today. It means more than you know. You always have our backs, and I can’t tell you how much that means to me.”

Doug looked at you, his eyes reflecting the depth of his feelings—feelings he could never fully express aloud. There was a silent understanding between you, a recognition of the unspoken bond that existed despite the constraints of your professional lives. He gave you a small, reassuring nod, a gesture that spoke volumes in its simplicity.

“I know it’s not always easy,” you continued, your voice barely above a whisper. “But having you on our side makes all the difference. It’s a comfort to know that we’re not alone in this, that we have someone who believes in us and stands by us no matter what.”

Doug’s gaze lingered on you; the weight of unspoken words heavy in the air. There was a part of him that wanted to tell you everything, to lay bare the depth of his emotions. But he knew that some things were better left unsaid, for the sake of maintaining the delicate balance between personal and professional.

In that moment, he allowed himself to savour the connection you shared, the silent understanding that existed between you. He knew that while he could never fully articulate his feelings, they were there, a constant presence in his heart. And despite the pain of keeping those feelings hidden, there was a quiet strength in knowing that you were both stronger for it.

As the office resumed its usual rhythm, Doug and you exchanged one last look, a silent affirmation of the bond that connected you. He turned and walked away, his heart heavy with the weight of unspoken love and unfulfilled desires. But he carried with him the knowledge that, despite the challenges, he had made a difference, and that your mutual respect and understanding were worth every sacrifice.

In the quiet of his office, Doug sat at his desk, the memory of the day’s events replaying in his mind. He thought about the love he had for you, a love that he could never openly express but would always hold in his heart. It was a bittersweet reality, knowing that while he could never be with you in the way he wanted, his feelings for you would always remain a part of him.

And so, as he looked out at the city beyond his window, he found solace in the knowledge that, despite everything, you were both stronger than the challenges you faced. The love that existed between you, hidden and unspoken as it was, would always be a part of your lives.

“Every time I see you, every time our eyes meet across the room, I’ll remember that night. I’ll remember the warmth of your touch, the softness of your voice, the way you made me feel alive in a way I hadn’t felt in years. It’s a memory I’ll hold close, even as I keep my distance. Please, don’t let this break you. Don’t let my cowardice, my inability to stand up against the world, make you think that what we had wasn’t real. It was real. It is real. And it always will be, in my heart.”

The sky was an ominous grey as you and the Deputy Director sped through the winding roads leading to Elias Voit’s hideout. The police lights of your vehicle flashed intermittently, cutting through the shadows that clung to the trees lining the road. Doug sat in the passenger seat, his expression resolute but calm, while you gripped the steering wheel with a tension that seemed to vibrate through your entire body.

The forest was dense, the trees casting long, twisted shadows over the narrow path. Your gut was in knots, a gnawing feeling that something was about to go terribly wrong. This was Doug’s first real field operation, and the thought of him facing such a dangerous situation for the first time was almost unbearable.

Glancing over at Doug, you noticed how composed he appeared, his gaze steady and focused. Yet, despite his calm demeanour, you couldn’t shake the dread that had settled in your chest. It wasn’t just the uncertainty of the mission—it was the fear for Doug’s safety, the worry that he might not be as prepared as he seemed.

The car jolted slightly as you made a sharp turn, and Doug reached over, his hand finding yours on the gear shift. The warmth of his touch was grounding, a small comfort amidst the rising tension.

“Hey,” Doug said softly, his voice cutting through your thoughts. “Everything’s going to be fine. We’ve got this.”

His hand on yours was a lifeline, and you squeezed it gently, taking solace in his reassurance. The way he looked at you, with that quiet confidence, made you want to believe that everything would be okay. But the anxiety in your gut was persistent, a reminder of the stakes involved.

As you approached the cabin, the silhouette of the structure emerged from behind the tree line, its darkened windows and rustic appearance giving it an eerie, foreboding presence. You parked the car and killed the engine, the sudden silence of the forest intensifying the sound of your heartbeat.

Doug’s hand lingered on yours for a moment longer before he withdrew, his gaze meeting yours with a seriousness that made your stomach churn.

“I’m going in to talk to Voit alone,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “You stay here and cover me from behind. I know you’re worried, but I need you to trust me.”

You started to protest, a rush of words spilling out in a desperate attempt to keep him safe. “Doug, you don’t have to—”

He raised a hand to silence you, his eyes soft but firm. “It’s not up for discussion. I’ve got this. You need to stay here and be ready. It’s important.”

The finality in his voice made it clear that there was no room for negotiation. You felt a pang of helplessness, a frustration that you couldn’t protect him from the dangers ahead.

Before he stepped out of the car, you reached out and placed a hand on his arm. The words that you had been holding back for so long escaped your lips, your voice trembling slightly. “Doug, I-” you froze, the words suddenly becoming heavy on your tongue.

The non-confession hung in the air between you, Doug looked at you, his expression a mix of surprise and something more profound, something that spoke of shared moments and unspoken understanding. He gave you a nod, a gesture that acknowledged your feelings and what you tried to say without reciprocating them.

The rest of the BAU team arrived shortly afterward, their vehicles pulling up behind you with a flurry of activity. You and Doug exchanged one last look before he climbed the stairs to the front of the cabin, his form disappearing into the shadows. You took up your position behind the squad cars, your gun drawn and ready, your senses heightened.

The seconds felt like hours as you waited, the tension in the air thickening with each passing moment. Then, the sound of a gunshot shattered the stillness of the forest, echoing through the trees with a sharp, unmistakable clarity. The blood drained from your face as the reality of the situation hit you like a sledgehammer.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you watched Emily Prentiss and the rest of the team move into action. Will grabbed your arm, his own gun trained on the surrounding area as he moved closer to you, his concern evident despite his professional demeanour. Emily's voice cut through the chaos, commanding the team to secure the back and ensure that the perimeter was held.

The gut-wrenching realization that Doug had been shot struck you like a physical blow. The sound of the gunshot had been followed by a sense of dread that you couldn’t escape. You moved forward, determined to find out what had happened, your hands trembling but your resolve firm.

It wasn’t long before Emily approached you, her face a mask of controlled urgency. “Doug’s down,” she said, her voice tight with suppressed emotion. “He’s been hit. We need to secure Elias Voit.”

The drive back to the BAU felt like a blur. The once-familiar landscape seemed alien and distant, as if the world outside had shifted irrevocably. You sat in the back of the squad car, your gaze fixed on the floor, your thoughts a chaotic whirl of grief, anger, and disbelief. The arrest of Elias Voit had been a hollow victory, a fleeting moment of triumph overshadowed by the crushing weight of Doug’s death.

The journey was agonizingly slow, every mile stretching into an eternity. The once-comforting hum of the vehicle’s engine now seemed a cruel reminder of the silence Doug would never again fill with his presence. Your heart ached with a hollow, gnawing pain that seemed to have no end. The victory of bringing Voit to justice felt meaningless without Doug there to share it, to see it through.

When the BAU headquarters finally came into view, it felt as though you were being pulled back into a world that no longer made sense. The familiar sight of the building, the lights shining through the windows, seemed like a cruel mockery of the reality you were living. The sense of normalcy was jarring, a stark contrast to the turmoil that raged inside you.

As the squad car came to a stop, you struggled to maintain your composure. Your colleagues, who had been your anchors in this storm, were waiting for you. They looked at you with a mixture of concern and exhaustion, their faces reflecting the toll the day had taken on them. Emily, Will, and the rest of the team were there, their expressions a mirror of your own grief.

You stepped out of the car, your movements mechanical, as if you were operating on autopilot. Each step toward the building felt like a journey through molasses, the heaviness in your chest making it difficult to breathe. The hallway was a blur of muted colours and low murmurs as you made your way to your office, your sanctuary amid the chaos.

The moment you closed the door behind you, the floodgates opened. You sank into the chair, your body trembling as the reality of Doug’s death hit you with full force. Tears streamed down your face, each sob a visceral reminder of the emptiness that had settled in your heart. The room seemed to close in around you, the familiar walls offering no comfort, only an echo of your grief.

The memories of Doug’s last moments replayed in your mind, each image a fresh wound. His nod, the soft, unspoken acknowledgment of your love, seemed to mock the finality of his absence. The way he had held your hand, the reassurance he had given you—it all felt like a cruel joke now. His absence was a void that nothing could fill, a silence that seemed to stretch infinitely.

The realization that Doug was truly gone was almost too much to bear. You remembered the way he had stood up for you, the trust he had shown in your decisions. It was a profound connection, one that had transcended the boundaries of professional and personal. And now, that connection had been severed, leaving you adrift in a sea of sorrow and regret.

As you sat there, the pain of Doug’s death was a physical presence, an unbearable weight pressing down on your chest. You could almost hear his voice, see his reassuring smile, and yet, it was all a phantom of what once was. The room, the building, the team—they all felt like distant, irrelevant fragments of a reality you could no longer fully engage with.

The knock on the door was a jarring intrusion into your grief. It was Emily, her face etched with concern. She entered, her presence a reminder that you were not alone in this, that your pain was shared by those who had worked alongside Doug, who had known him as you did. She approached you gently, her hand resting on your shoulder, a silent offer of support.

The two of you sat there in silence, the enormity of the loss hanging heavily in the air. Words seemed inadequate, insufficient to convey the depth of the grief that you were feeling. You could only sit there, letting the tears flow

“I just hope one day, when the time is right, when the world isn’t watching so closely, we can find a way back to each other. But until then, I’ll be here, loving you from afar, hoping that you find happiness, even if it’s not with me. Take care of yourself and know that you’ll always have a piece of my heart. You deserve the world, and I’m sorry that I can’t give it to you the way you deserve. But I’ll be here, cheering you on, proud of the incredible person you are.”

You stood in the quiet corridor of the FBI headquarters, the walls lined with solemn photographs of agents who had given their lives in the line of duty. Your gaze was fixed on one particular image—a portrait of Doug Bailey, his face caught in a moment of earnest resolve. The sight of his image brought a fresh wave of grief, mingled with the faint hope of comfort found in the letter you held tightly in your hands.

The letter was folded neatly, its edges worn from being held and read repeatedly. The words on the paper were a balm for your wounded heart, a bittersweet reminder of the love he had felt for you.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as you looked at Doug’s photo. The letter had been a revelation, a confessional of his deepest feelings for you, feelings that had remained unspoken until the very end. The ink had barely dried, and yet, it held the weight of his love, his regrets, and his final thoughts.

With the letter clutched in your hand, you made your way to Emily Prentiss’s office. She was the one person who might understand the depths of your anguish and the confusion you felt about how to move forward. You knocked softly on her door, and when she called for you to enter, you stepped inside, your heart heavy with the burden of your emotions.

Emily looked up from her desk, her expression softening as she took in the sight of you. She could see that you were struggling, and without needing any words, she gestured for you to take a seat. You settled into the chair across from her, your hands still gripping the letter.

“I…” you began, your voice trembling slightly. “I need to tell you something. I need to talk about Doug. And what he wrote in this letter.”

Emily’s eyes were filled with concern and empathy. She nodded, giving you the space to share what was on your mind. You took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts and emotions before speaking.

“I’ve been carrying this letter with me,” you said, your voice cracking. “It’s from Doug. It was one of the last things he wrote. And it… it’s full of things he never had a chance to say to me before he… before he died.”

You unfolded the letter with careful hands, holding it out for Emily to see. She took it gently, her eyes scanning the words that had been written with so much care. After a few moments, she looked up, her eyes meeting yours with a deep understanding.

“Doug wrote about his feelings for me,” you continued, your voice gaining strength. “He wrote about how he loved me, how much I meant to him. He talked about his regrets, about not being able to fully express his feelings while he was still here. It’s… it’s both comforting and heart-wrenching.”

Emily’s gaze softened further, her eyes reflecting the shared pain of the moment. “I’m so sorry,” she said quietly. “It’s never easy to lose someone you love, especially when there are so many things left unsaid.”

Tears began to well up in your eyes again, the weight of your emotions pressing down on you. “I’m not sure how to move forward after this,” you admitted, your voice filled with uncertainty. “How do you keep going when you’ve lost someone so important? How do you find a way to heal from something like this?”

Emily reached across the desk, placing a comforting hand on yours. Her touch was warm and reassuring, a physical reminder of the support you had. “Grieving is a deeply personal process,” she said gently. “There’s no right or wrong way to do it. What’s important is that you allow yourself to feel, to mourn, and to seek support when you need it.”

She paused, giving you a moment to absorb her words. “It’s okay to feel lost and unsure. It’s okay to take time to process your grief. And it’s okay to lean on others who care about you. We’re here for you, and we’ll get through this together.”

Your eyes met Emily’s, finding solace in her words and the compassion in her gaze. The sense of shared grief, the understanding that you were not alone in your pain, was a small comfort amidst the overwhelming sorrow.

With a deep breath, you stood up and moved around the desk to embrace Emily. The hug was a silent exchange of grief and solidarity, a gesture of mutual support in the face of unimaginable loss. Emily held you tightly, her presence a steady anchor in the storm of your emotions. You walked out of Emily's office, the weight of the day's work heavy on your shoulders. The hallway was quiet, save for the soft hum of activity from other rooms. You were lost in thought, your mind replaying the conversation you’d had with Doug earlier. The emotional distance between you both seemed to grow more pronounced with every interaction, and you felt a growing need to bridge that gap.

As you turned the corner, you spotted a photo on the wall. It was a framed picture of Doug, taken during one of the agency's formal events. His smile was genuine, and his eyes held a hint of the warmth and determination that had drawn you to him in the first place. The sight of his photograph stirred something deep within you, a mix of longing and resolve.

You paused in front of the photo, taking a deep breath as you gathered your thoughts. The hallway was empty, and you felt an overwhelming urge to speak your heart. You could almost hear his voice, feel his presence, and it gave you the courage to say the words that had been weighing on you.

"Doug," you murmured softly, as if speaking directly to the photograph, "I love you. I want you to know that, no matter what happens, I'll make you proud."

You stood there for a moment longer, your emotions raw and unguarded. The photograph seemed to absorb your feelings, and for a brief second, you imagined Doug standing beside you, hearing your confession.

Just then, Penelope appeared in the hallway, her bright presence a stark contrast to the quiet seriousness of the moment. She noticed you standing by the photo, and her expression softened with concern.

"Hey, what’s going on?" she asked gently, stepping closer.

You turned to her, your eyes glistening. Without saying a word, you rested your head on her shoulder, seeking comfort in her warmth and understanding. Penelope’s arms wrapped around you in a supportive embrace, her touch a soothing balm to your troubled heart.

“It’s just… I needed to say it,” you finally whispered, your voice trembling slightly. “I needed him to know.”

Penelope’s embrace tightened, her own emotions clear in her gentle gesture. “I know,” she said softly. “And I’m sure he knows. Sometimes, we just need to remind ourselves of what really matters.”

You nodded against her shoulder, finding solace in her presence. The quiet support of your friend was a small but significant relief, helping you feel a little less alone in the complex emotions you were grappling with.

As you stood there, wrapped in Penelope’s comforting embrace, the office around you seemed to fade away. The weight of your unspoken feelings and the reality of the situation felt a little lighter, if only for a moment.

“Forever yours, Doug.”

#criminal minds #Doug Bailey x reader #Douglas Bailey x reader #Doug Bailey #Criminal minds Evolution #Deputy Director Doug Bailey #Emily Prentiss #Penelope Garcia #Luke Alvez #Jennifer Jareu #Nicholas d’agosto

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neysaadept · 29 days ago

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Prometheus Chapter 5

Emily Prentiss x Female CIA Reader

Chapter 5 - What Now?

Tags: Limited use of y/n but established last name. Swearing, mentions of the pandemic and human and sex trafficking. Canon typical violence. Sexual innuendos. Drinking. Minors DNI.

Word Count: 4.2k

AO3

Chapter 4

You didn’t go to Quantico today. Not that anyone would notice your absence besides Prentiss and that was fine by you. Let her stew while you figure out what you want. A difficult task since you had no idea what that was without someone telling you what to do. You rarely had the lead on your mission purpose. You could tell Brian what happened to gain some professional advice but decided it is best to keep it to yourself. Think things through for a bit before reaching out. And you were glad that the section chief didn’t contact you.

Not that you were expecting it. Prentiss wasn’t one to make amends so quickly, especially when she felt she was in the right. You respected her motivations for team preservation, but the woman went about it completely wrong.

You were not kind, either. But she provoked you, wouldn’t budge, and too fucking proud to admit she was wrong. You didn’t regret anything you said to her and probably continue being a petulant ass if she contacted you.

So here you were at the Botanical Gardens, sipping coffee from a to go cup you bought at the café, and casually stroll around the exhibits. The fragrance that you greedily inhaled was intoxicatingly calming. There was barely a sound, too, since it was a weekday and you were happy to learn from the cashier that there were no school trips planned for today. For a short time, you can pretend to have the place to yourself as you round the long rectangular pool in one of the exhibits far from the entrance.

Natural light filtered through glass ceiling, illuminating large trees hugged by well-manicured flowers. Wooden benches were tucked between large potted plants, the same ones that were placed around the pool, though on opposite ends were long planters with bright pink flowers that easily caught your eye.

You pause roughly a foot away from the pool and close your eyes, listening to the gentle laps of water hitting the edges. You could almost forget about yesterday’s argument. Eyes still close, you bring the lip of the cup to your mouth and take a healthy swallow while slipping a hand into your jean pocket …

… and felt your phone buzz.

You enjoy pretending nothing was wrong for a moment longer before opening your eyes and pulling the phone free from your back pocket. Should you take bets as to who was messaging you?

To your surprise, it was Rebecca. Did she know what happened?

You take another sip and unlock your phone to read the message,

Wilson sent 1043: Hey! Drinks this weekend?

So, she didn’t know.

Interesting.

A pang of guilt made your stomach ache thinking how the falling out with Prentiss would affect her if you didn’t go back to working with the BAU. The AG went to bat for the two of you when she didn’t have to.

Bailey would love it if you backed out and could resume causing trouble for the team. You couldn’t have that, but you equally couldn’t have Prentiss treating you like shit. Why you didn’t want to make any hasty decisions until you distance yourself further from the time of the fight and figure out what you wanted.

Whitlock sent 1055: Sure. Let me know when and where. Tara going to be there too?

Wilson sent 1057: Yep. We want to hear how things are going.

You sigh and look up at the large leaves hanging over your head.

Whitlock sent 1100: Sounds like a plan

No need to drop any major bombshells until you know what was going on.

Wilson sent 1101: 😊 Great!

And you have a couple of days to figure it out.

Today should have been a good day for the BAU. Tyler Green was apprehended before he could use the kill kit, but it was a clusterfuck of a joint task force with Domestic Terrorism. The BAU had gone after Green and Rossi had refused to call JJ and Luke back when ordered, which pissed Bailey off. But the deputy director had a sniper in place that he failed to mention to them. So, they were all in the wrong and kept secrets from one another since the two divisions didn’t trust either side. Everything settled into place with no casualties, but the fallout was intense.

Bailey’s press conference announced to Sicarius that they were on to him and right after it was over, fired Rossi as unit chief. He then ordered Prentiss to install a new team leader that would report directly to him. So of course, she said fuck that and would work two jobs. He wouldn’t approve of anyone currently on the team, and she wouldn’t approve of anyone else since Bailey would immediately try and manipulate the new member against them.

Emily would always protect her team.

Then a few hours ago, the case grew interesting as the team deduced that Green was Garcia’s informant. He never had any intention of setting off the bomb, already neutralizing the kill kit. The disgraced army veteran was attempting to lure Sicarius out by infiltrating his network so he could kill him for murdering his sister.

One saving grace for Emily is that everyone was on high alert today that no one questioned where you were. She didn’t offer any insight, either. Not that she had any.

You didn’t show up for work and she received no contact from you, nor anything from Langley. Not like she was going to poke that hornet’s nest. Until the issue of you and the contract came up, Emily had real work to do.

Which was a ton of it. More files and paperwork had exponentially piled up on her desk in a matter of hours. The long hours at work were about to double.

“Hey, Emily.”

She looks up with a tired smile towards Rossi as he approaches her desk. “Dave.”

“What a day, huh?” He sits down, folding his hands across his stomach.

Emily partly snorts as she leans back in her chair. “That’s being kind.”

His lips slightly turn upwards to acknowledge the severity of the unspoken truth of the BAU leadership shake up, but he was here for another reason. “You know, I was hoping to speak to Whitlock today.”

“Oh?” she gave away nothing but polite curiosity as to why Dave was interested in you.

“Wanted to finish our conversation from yesterday, but she never came in.” He studies Emily intently.

She doesn’t look away and says nothing to confirm or deny what he said.

“Her desk is clean,” he supplies after motioning over his shoulder towards the couch. “No Diet Coke bottles.”

Emily wouldn’t have guessed your soda addiction would end up being the clue to your absence.

“Wanna tell me what happened?” he presses.

She licks her lips, tapping pen in hand lightly on the desk as she struggles on how to begin.

Rossi chuckles at seeing her inwardly battle on what to say. “Wow. That bad?”

“Yeah,” she nods. “It was.”

“What was the argument about?”

Her face scrunches up as she takes a deep breath before explaining. “Not trusting her.”

His brows raise with admonishment.

“Oh, don’t do that. I have every right not to,” she argues firmly.

“On what grounds?”

“On the grounds that there’s absolutely nothing substantial on record about her.” She shakes her head with contempt. “You know she had legal trouble?” Rossi shakes his head that he didn’t. “That’s how she knows Wilson. Helped her out of it.”

He fans his hands out unconvinced. “And?”

“She admitted her file’s sealed and she did nothing wrong. That she made the right call in the field.”

“Every member of the BAU has been in trouble at some point or another in similar circumstances. Legal and otherwise,” he says with the tone of a wise, patient, parent. “And we’re not aware of any significant reprimand, otherwise why retain a high rank in the CIA.”

“Yes, but I know all of you. I don’t know her.”

“Hotch didn’t know you when you joined. Yet here you are.” He gestures around Hotch’s former office. “Section Chief.”

She remains unconvinced, face hardened with mistrust.

“Come on, Emily. Even you were given the opportunity to prove yourself. Why can’t you afford the same arm length courtesy?”

That is the question, isn’t it? Why doesn’t she like you besides the overall mistrust. Again, there were a lot of similarities to your careers that she should have some sympathy towards you and your situation. But it’s difficult to shake your reasoning for helping Wilson with this immense favor of the BAU budget resolution.

“It’s the stipend. Or the amount of the stipend that unburied us,” she admits carefully.

“Ah.” He smiles. “Too good to be true?”

“Yes,” she nods. “And why does she even has that much to use? Whatever happened was big and I don’t want that drama effecting the BAU.”

“Wow. Emily, with all due respect, that’s very hypocritical of you after what happened wi-“

“Don’t you dare.” She swivels the chair to face him fully. “Don’t you dare compare what happened with Doyle with her.”

“Why? Because you have nothing to compare the drama with?” He scoffs as she nods in affirmation. “Why does it matter?”

“Because Bailey’s still breathing down my neck trying to disband the unit and is clearly finding new creative ways to do it since the budget is no longer an issue.” She rests her head against the high back chair, staring at the ceiling.

Dave stiffens in the chair. “Emily, what exactly happened with you and Whitlock?”

She pensively pulls her lips together as she closes her eyes. “I may have admitted … that I only cared about her because of the money.”

Rossi could not help the surprise look on his face. “Emily, no …”

She sighs and opens her eyes, a hint of regret etching into her words. “I was angry after she joked about being the BAU sugar mama. Everything after that went to shit.”

He was starting to get tired of Emily speaking around what actually happened between the two of you. “What exactly are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I have no idea if Whitlock is still on board.” She raises her hand futilely at her office door. “She left, probably for good. Which means our contract with her is null and void.”

“And the money we were hoping for …”

“… doesn’t come,” she finishes soberly.

“And you didn’t think to contact her to see where she stands in all of this?”

“Oh, it did cross my mind,” she answers ruefully. “I just haven’t. And to be fair, the shit we dealt with today made it a low priority.”

Rossi wasn’t sure how being in exorbitant debt would be a low priority if the expectant help wasn’t coming. “And now?”

She finally shifts her gaze towards Rossi, lost. “I don’t know.”

“Sure, you do,” he chides as he stands up. “You just need to apologize.”

You were glad that the sports bar, Buddy’s, was still around to enjoy the football preseason despite the Bears not playing tonight. You were a true fan of your hometown team. Thick and thin, you bitched and cheered after every play during a Bears game, loyally critical. Perhaps you should be a tad loyal to the Commanders since you lived in the D.C. area when off mission, but you honestly didn’t care. You were happy to enjoy any game that was playing on the screens over the bar counter.

Right now, the Giants were playing the Patriots in a close game as you sat at the bar nursing a Stella on draft with a bowl of gumbo. Brian still didn’t know of your indecision, though you did end up feeling a twinge of guilt after watching the shitshow of a press conference Bailey held earlier today.

He was such a fucking tool, broadcasting that the FBI was on to Sicarius and taking full credit of capturing the unsub in Allaband Park. There was no way that the operation was a success without the BAU there and even you knew that Prentiss was just in the background to show that everyone was playing nice.

You briefly wonder if you could have helped the team, or more accurately, would have been allowed to help the team today if her majesty could get over her mistrust of you.

At least Brian had texted to check on you after hearing of Green’s capture.

Dad sent 1534: You ok?

Whitlock sent 1603: Yeah I’m good

Dad sent 1632: Glad to hear it.

You made sure to allow enough reasonable time before responding to make it look like you were busy after the capture, and to answer truthfully without being specific.

“Oh, come on!” You gesture at the screen when a defensive lineman wasn’t covered and sacked the Giants quarterback.

You didn’t really care who wins but you would always call out stupid plays, and that was one major fuck up. As the Giants took a time out, you went back to your gumbo and felt the counter vibrate twice, indicating a message was received. You had missed who it was from and go to unlock the screen …

… and drop your spoon in the bowl in shock.

Overlord sent 1932: I’d like to meet up and discuss last night.

Never did it cross your mind to think that you’d get a text from Emily fucking Prentiss.

You’re motionless as you stare at the screen, hands resting on either side of your meal and the phone as you consider the offer. Let alone that there was an offer so soon. You pinch your brows before you pick up the phone, thumbs hovering over the keyboard.

You write out several replies to get the smartass comments out of your system.

Fuck off

New phone, who dis?

Make sure when you come the pole’s dislodged from your ass

Now you wanna talk?

Oh I’m so relieved that the queen wishes to make time for her lowly servant

Are you drunk?

Each one was deleted, and Emily was probably wondering why it was taking so long for you to respond if she saw you were constantly typing a reply.

And what was going to be your real one?

You swallow down several gulps of beer, decision made.

Whitlock sent 1946: Sure. Come to Buddy’s. Know where it is?

You were tired of Prentiss having the home field advantage and if she really was earnest in wanting to speak, she would come to you.

Overlord sent 1949: I do not

Must not be her scene and thinking back to her office, there was no sports stuff displayed there, unlike the glimpses of Cubs gear in Rossi’s office when you walked by.

Whitlock sent 1950: I sent you the location

Overlord sent 1952: Got it. See you in about an hour

You fought the urge to send, ‘It’s a date!’, and simply set your phone aside. You were proud of yourself for behaving and flag the bartender over, immediately handing her your Platinum American Express card. “Start a tab, will ya?”

The blonde bartender that had been working your side of the bar counter took it with a smile. It accentuated her stud piercing above her lip. “Sure thing, sweetie.”

“Oh! And do me a favor?” Your eyes were alight with mischief that made the woman pause. “When you see a grumpy looking woman dressed like a Fed walk in, bring her a glass of your best red.”

It took Emily ten minutes to find a parking space, not expecting a sports bar to be this busy on a Thursday night. At least the five minute walk was pleasant with the light breeze and night clear enough of cloud cover to enjoy the bright crescent moon hovering in the sky. It was off center, reminding her of the Chesire Cat’s grin. Which then reminds her of you and your antics.

Ugh. Please don’t be an ass tonight.

As she enters, she immediately spots you, recognizing the suede jacket of yours hanging over the back of the bar stool to your left. She guesses it is to save a spot for her. As she approaches, she takes in your relaxed appearance, causally watching the game and sipping at the glass of beer you cradle with a hand on the counter. You had your hair pulled back in a loose braid that rested against a black tee and wore jeans that were fraying at the end that covered the top of brown work boots.

Before she even had a chance to greet you, a glass of red wine appears on the counter next to you. She catches the bartender and you sharing a knowing look before she disappears to take care of someone else.

“Hey, Prentiss.” You turn to remove your jacket and place it back where it belongs behind you.

Emily shrugs her long coat off and hangs it over the back of the chair. You couldn’t help but notice how out of place she looks. It wasn’t the clothes, no. There were a lot of suits that end up relaxing at a sports bar - throwing back some beer and cocktails as they yell at the screens in joy or contempt. It was why the beer and cocktails menu were long and the wine list short. And it was why Prentiss got a basic cabernet sauvignon while you got many drafts on tap to choose much to your delight.

She sits beside you and gestures to the drink. “Thanks.”

“Welcome.” Your face scrunches together in repentance. “Consider it an apology for basically calling you a functional alcoholic.”

You take a sip of your beer while watching highlights from the game. The Giants had won by a field goal.

Prentiss nods as she takes a sip from her glass. She makes a light face of approval at the taste of the wine. “Ironic offering this to the maybe functional alcoholic.”

“Touche.”

You both grow silent, Prentiss trying to recover from the peace offering she was drinking and the fact you apologized first. It was commendable to be the bigger person when Emily was in the wrong.

“Do you normally come to places like this?” she asks carefully, seeing where you two stand right now in this conversation.

“Nah. Just didn’t want to be at the apartment doing the same thing.” And you didn’t need to cook, which was a bonus.

“You like,” she gestures to the screen and awkwardly asks, “football?”

You found it cute she was trying.

“I’m not a die hard fanatic, but I enjoy the game a lot.” You finally turn to look at her. “I take it you’re not a fan.”

She shakes her head no and meets your gaze. “I am not.”

“Of all sports, right?”

“That would be right.”

You both stare at one another for a few moments before you shift in your chair to lean against the counter, resting your elbow on top to prop up your head. “If it helps to shake off some of my mystique, I’m a Bears fan. You probably don’t understand how sad that it is, but it is. My team sucks but I’ll always root for them.”

That jibe made Emily relax, even making the curves of her mouth turn upwards just enough to realize what you were getting at. “So, you’re saying you’re loyal?”

You nod. “I am. To those who treat me right.”

Emily takes a long sip of her wine to marinate on the accusation she deserves. You wait her out, watching Emily pay attention to commentary and statistics she doesn’t give a shit about on the screens across from you.

“I shouldn’t have referred to you as a means to an end.” Her hands rest on the base of the wine glass, steadying the drink as much as her own words. “It’s difficult for me to …”

You watch as she chews over what to say.

“… for me to trust you.”

You inwardly sigh and drop the arm holding your head up. Your body went on the defense, as did your tone. “Yes, we’ve been through this …”

“It’s not without reason,” she supplies quickly, but not rudely, as she cuts you off.

“I agree. But you dehumanized me,” you reply bitterly. “I was basically your money whore.”

“I didn’t …” But Emily pauses, realizing the joke you made was not your usual smartass retort, but a self-deprecating comment of how hurt you were.

She remembers you saying that you hide your trauma with humor, and what you just said admitted to a painful past of being underappreciated or undeserving.

“Stop profiling me, Prentiss,” you warn, eyes pleading.

She backs down and nods. “I’m sorry. It’s defensive most of the time in situations like this.”

“Okay, that I can understand. Social shit isn’t my forte either. Especially through all the bullshit we’ve been through.” You hold up your hands on the immediate defense as Prentiss starts to look suspicious. “And I mean generally. I’m not talking about any specifics. But people like us, with the shit we’ve done and lived through, have intense self defense mechanisms and shitty coping skills that we see everything’s a threat until we get to understand one another.”

“Ah,” she slowly nods. “Yes. That’s very true.” Then she narrows her eyes at you. “Why couldn’t you be this reasonable last night?”

“Why did you have to be a bitch?” you counter.

“Fair point,” she chuckles and looks aggrieve. “I was painfully informed I was as such earlier today.”

“Hence the text?”

“Mhm.”

“Well … good.” You down more of your drink as Prentiss does with hers, both avoiding the unspoken question - were you staying with the BAU?

Though as you watch the section chief, you see a shift in her facial features. A harden look as she comes to a decision inside her head.

“How about we start over.”

“Like, how?” you found this perplexing.

“Like this.” She turns on the stool and holds a hand out before you. “Hi, I’m sorry for the misunderstanding yesterday. I’m Section Chief Emily Prentiss.”

Your eyes go wide and look down at the olive branch. You could hear Brian’s voice reminding you that you never quit on anyone and why you shouldn’t start now.

So, you take Emily’s hand and squeeze it. “Special Agent Y/N Whitlock. Nice to meet ya.”

She lightly smiles before releasing your hand, but she starts to dread the roguish look you're directing towards her. “What?” she questions slowly, draping her arm over the back of the bar stool.

“Nothing bad, I promise.” Your smile disarms her as you notice she was genuinely concerned this would degrade into another misunderstanding. “I know you don’t know me, and I can’t say much, but to start this partnership off better, how about you get to ask me one question, and I promise to answer it to the best of my ability without joking around.”

Her lower lip protrudes with consideration. “All right.” She takes a hefty swallow of wine and sets it down to look you directly in the eyes. “How did you join the CIA?”

“Fuck,” you say, rolling your eyes. “I can’t say.”

You watch as the tiny bit of the wall Emily had taken down starts to build right back up. The shift in her brown eyes makes you feel miserable. “Wait!” you urge. “Please. I really can’t say, and that’s the truth. But I can offer something related to it.”

Emily becomes intrigued. “Go on.”

“Brian Korogoth recruited me.”

“Brian … Korogoth?” she repeats back for clarification.

“Yes.”

“The current Director of the CIA?” she stabs the counter with her index finger for emphasis.

“Yep.”

“That Brian Korogoth?” Emily needs to ask it again to make sure she was hearing this right.

“To be fair, he wasn’t that when I met him, but … yes.”

It took a few minutes for Emily to digest this new information. She had briefly worked with Korogoth when she was in JTF-12 before the Doyle case. He was an intelligent and calculating man. A natural leader. He liaised between JTF-12 and Interpol to track down members of the Armed Islamic Group* in Great Britain when a string of car bombings had occurred.

“Wow. Okay then.” She blinks a few times in realization and feels a newfound respect for the woman before her.

“I should have probably led with that when we first met to save us from all the bullshit between us, huh?” you say, as if reading her thoughts.

She laughs, an honest laugh, that echoes quite lovely over the din of patrons. “Probably, yes.”

You hold up your glass and offer Prentiss a bright smile. “To starting over?”

Emily didn’t hesitate in reaching for her wine glass to clink it against your drink. “To starting over.”

*Also known as the GIA

Chapter 6

Let me know if you want to be tagged.

Taglist:

@unkonw00 @ara-a-bird @rayisaknight @sevyscoven

#criminal minds #emily prentiss #criminal minds evolution #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss x female reader #emily x reader #emily x you

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whenthesnowfelloverwinterfell · 1 year ago

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Vatic - Chapter VI " Cardinal "

Series Description : The youngest daughter of King Viserys and Queen Alicent grows up split between the two sides of her family. With dreams plaguing her sleep of people she does not know, and a war looming ahead of her. She will be forced to choose between the two sides of her family, between the love for her brother, and the loyalty for her sister.

Chapter Description : Y/n Targaryen says goodbye to her sister, and finds herself in another dream at night.

Warnings : none in this chapter

Pairing : eventual Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader ( cannon typical targcest idk what to tell you )

Word Count : 1.9k

Y/n sat on top of a barrel that was likely full of mead or wine that had yet to be moved into the cellar of the kitchens , so it sat in the bailey of the Red Keep, and along with it, the princess, watching as men were readying the coach for Rhaenyra and her family. Rhaenyra’s ladies-in-waiting and the guards that would be going to Dragonstone would go by ship. Baby Joffrey and his wetnurse would also go by ship, along with Lucerys and Jacaerys. Luke didn’t have full control of his dragon yet, while Jace did. But that didn’t matter. Arrax and Vermax were not yet large enough to be ridden. Rhaenyra and Laenor would be on dragonback to Dragonstone. Taking Syrax and Seasmoke, flying alongside Arrax and Vermax.

They’d go to Dragonstone, and Y/n would be left here.

That was how Rhaenyra found her. Sitting on the barrel, staring at the coach as though if she stared long enough it might catch fire.

The oldest daughter of king Viserys had always had a soft spot for her youngest sister. Y/n was told often how when she was just a newborn babe, she was a small thing. The smallest out of all of her siblings, and yet, the strongest. Screaming and kicking like a goat as she was handed off to her lady mother.

Y/n had been told by her elder sister that due to her mother’s weakened state after her labors, Y/n was frequently with her wetnurse and nursemaid. But she shared the same wetnurse and Jace, so Rhaenyra was frequently with both her newborn son and sister, and had taken quite the liking to her new half-sister.

“While I do believe that we are from the house of the dragon, I do not believe that means that we can set things afire with our minds.”

Y/n’s attention snapped behind her, where her sister stood, wearing an old dress since her bump had yet to go down.

Y/n stared at her sister in silence, the mournful feeling she had was nearly sickening. She did not wish to see her go, And yet, after this day, her sister would reside at Dragonstone.

Rhaenyra sighed, flattening her hands over her deflated bump as she approached the youngest princess, reaching one hand out to cup Y/n’s shoulder as she came to a stop. “What troubles you, sweet girl?”

Y/n looked from her sister to the coach. Still being loaded. “I want you to stay.” Y/n confessed. There was never any use in keeping secrets from her sister. Rhaenyra saw right through her, always. Anytime the young girl tried to keep a secret, or wanted to hide the fact that she’d done something she shouldn’t had, Rhaenyra always knew. In the same way that her lady mother always saw through Aegon. Sometimes Y/n wondered if Alicent was truly her mother. If there was any possible chance that Rhaenyra was her true mother. But Y/n knew it to be true that Alicent had been the one Y/n was sired upon.

“I’ll always write to you,” Rhaenyra suggested, her voice soft. As it always was when she directed her speech to Y/n. “I cannot stay here. I wish you to know that it pains me to leave you here among the vultures.” Y/n picked up on the lace of venom she gave to ‘vultures.’ Though, Y/n knew not who she referred to.

A brief silence overtook the two sisters, both of them observing the chests of belongings being packed away to take to the ship awaiting the crowned princess’ staff in Blackwater bay. There was a silent understanding between the two. This was ending something. Not just Rhaenyra’s residence in the Red Keep, but something deeper. Only a child, and Y/n felt it deep in her bones that nothing would be the same again.

Rhaenyra pulled her hand away from Y/n and reached into the pocket of her dress, pulling something out. “I had the goldsmith make something for you.” She started, catching Y/n’s interest as she turned to look at her sister’s hands. Rhaenyra held out the gold pendant. It was large and thick, and the thin hinges on the side of it made it clear to Y/n it was a locket. Y/n’s smaller hands reached out and took it from her sister. The gold was ornately engraved with designs of branches and leaves, and the center of it, thin glass over a miniature painting of a red cardinal bird, soaring high.

Red.

“A parting gift. Though I suspect we will see one another soon enough after my departure.”

Y/n continued to stare at the necklace. The gold rope chain dangling from her small fingers and her index and thumb holding the pendant. “There aren’t any portraits in it. You should be the one to choose who you wish to keep close to your heart.” Y/n gave a small nod as she looked up to her sister.

“You will write to me once you arrive, won’t you?” Y/n questioned with a small voice, her eyes searching her sister for any clues. And in response, she received a look of adoration and a small nod.

“Absolutely.” Was Rhaenyra’s only response as she came to stand in front of her, leaning down to place a kiss on her forehead, holding her much like how her own mother would. “I’ll send you gifts every name day, every holiday, and perhaps just whenever I think of you, sweet girl.”

Y/n continued to stare up at her. Targaryen meeting Hightower eyes. But the rest of them were all the same. Targaryen hair, and features. To onlookers who were unfamiliar with the family of the king, they might assume that Y/n was Rhaenyra’s own child. She looked more like her half-sister than she did her mother or siblings. Yes, all five of Viserys Targaryen and Alicent Hightower’s children possessed silver hair, and four of them had the typical various shades of purple eyes, but Aegon, Helaena, Aemond, and Daeron all looked like their mother’s family. They were Hightowers at heart. They all happily wore green and looked upon their nephews with distaste, but Y/n?

She longed for the freedom to wear her house colors, and to freely speak to her nephews as real children did. But she knew her mother’s politics would never allow it.

Not long after, Y/n had to say her final goodbyes to her sister and her family. The entire Targaryen family, save for Daemon’s. all standing out in the outer yard to see them off, however, Y/n’s mother was absent from the group.

And Y/n wasn’t foolish enough to not notice how all Aemond and Aegon did was saying goodbye, with hardly any pleasantries exchanged. Helaena had given Rhaenyra a short and obligatory hug, and Viserys had seen her off warmly, while Y/n had embraced her sister with such a grip that would put Maegor the Cruel to shame. She’d said her farewell to her nephews, and to Laenor, and within moments, Rhaenyra and her household were gone from the Red Keep.

She was asleep in her bed, Aemond adjacent to her, a book long forgotten in his arms as he snored, sleep had finally found him. While sleep had found her long ago. She’d peacefully fallen asleep in his arms while he read stories to her about ancient princes and princesses from the age of heroes. some from the Reach or the Riverlands, but Y/n’s favorites were about the Westerlands. Lann the Clever’s descendants, ever the problem for the people of the Westerlands.

And though those stories brought her comfort, the dreams she had every night didn’t.

Some nights, she saw a giant war hammer slamming into the armored chest of a man with all the force of a dozen men behind it. The armor was dark, wth rubies encrusted into it, in the shape of house Targaryen’s sigil. Those nights where she saw him, she always woke up right before his body hit the stream of water beneath him. The rubies flying through the air.

Some nights, she saw a young girl, with Valyrian blood no doubt. When she saw this girl, she had to have been no more than seven. Sitting by a window, leaning her head against her arms, silver waves cascading around her head, shoulders, and back, violet eyes taking in the lemon tree right outside her window. It was a window far away from King’s Landing. She wasn’t from Westeros.

Other nights would alternate from images of a young man, dark curly hair, and dark eyes. Sometimes he wore all black, like a brother of the Night’s Watch, or he wore a very large fur pelt cloak around his shoulder that swallowed his frame, making him look larger than he was. The white and black hilt of his sword peeking out from his cloak. And then others, she’d see a young woman, sometimes with her golden hair down and around her shoulder as befitting a young unmarried woman, wearing bright reds and golds, stags and lions embroidered on her gowns, and others? In others she stood with her head held high, hair pinned up, and out of the way, her gowns darker, made with heavier materials, and metal work intermingled with it. In some images of the young woman, she carried a sword, and in others she didn’t, and in others, she carried a child with her, dark curly hair atop the young child’s head, dark eyes always staring up at her mother with adoration and love, even as an infant.

This was one of those nights, Where she saw the young woman and the child. She recognized the scenery. It was the gardens of the Red Keep, where the large party stood and sat. The young woman wore green this time. Golden embroidery and patterns. A golden rose pin on each side of her hips. The young child was in the arms of the man next to her. dirty blonde curls around his face, and a very similar motif in his clothing as well. Tyrell.

“My dear sister. Tell me, do you like theater?”

The young woman turned her head to the boy next to her, and finally, Y/n could see his face. Golden hair just like the woman’s, he was adorned in black and gold, a golden crown atop his head. Its shape reminds Y/n of a stag’s antlers.

“I've never seen theater.” She responded curtly.

“Everyone! Silence!” He shouted, hitting his fork against his golden goblet to gain the supposed crowd’s attention. The young woman shook her head and looked away from her brother.

“Clear the floor. There’s been too much amusement here today. A royal wedding is not amusement, a royal wedding is history. Time has come for all of us to contemplate our history. My Lords. . .”

It happened quickly, observing as the young woman took the child and handed her off to the older man next to her, likely the young man’s father based on the rose motif in their clothing.

“My Ladies. . . I give you, King Joffrey, Renly, Stannis, Robb Stark, Balon Greyjoy! The War of The Five Kings!”

It was interrupted.

The images of the young woman disappeared from her, being ripped away from her before she was ready, and very quickly, the sight was replaced with her maid’s face in front of her, sunlight blazing its way into the room from the windows.

“It is time to start the day, Princess.”

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