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The Ambassador's Daughter
By scarimor


'What do you think your mother would do to me if she found out I was fucking you?'

Emily Prentiss almost lost her whole mouthful of kumquat desert down her throat in one lump. JJ's abrupt question came so far out of the blue – and so far from the depths of bizarre – that her gagging reflex took possession and threatened to choke her. A moment later, after she regained control of her oesophagus, Emily managed to swallow it safely without spluttering any diced fruit onto the pristine glass table.

'What?' she croaked.

Opposite her, JJ gazed into space, twirling her spoon in her dish with an air of detachment.

'Your mother. She'd be pissed at me, wouldn't she?'

Emily stared straight at JJ, her own spoon perfectly still as it hovered an inch below her chin. It took her a few seconds to process the question – if it really were a question; JJ's casual tone made it sound more like an assumption. God alone knew where it had come from.

'Why?' asked Emily.

The corner of JJ's mouth curved upwards slightly, but she still didn't look at Emily.

'Oh, come on. She must expect something pretty special for you. Someone with good prospects in the diplomatic service, maybe? Or perhaps an ambitious military officer?'

Emily stared at JJ for another few seconds, blinking several times in rapid succession. Then she set down her spoon.

'What do you mean?'

'I'm not exactly ambassador's daughter material, am I? Small town me.'

JJ said it as though she didn't really care. It struck Emily that it was unlike JJ to sound so blasé about her East Allegheny upbringing. Emily didn't quite know what to make of it. She didn't know what to make of this sudden topic of conversation at all.

'Well,' said Emily, trying for a little dry humour, since she wasn't sure what was really appropriate, 'it's not like you've asked me to marry you. Or vice versa, for that matter.'

'Yeah, we're just fucking,' said JJ, apparently unfazed. 'But at the very least she'd want you to shack up with another graduate from Yale. Or Harvard. Or a foreign equivalent.'

Emily's mouth fell open. She didn't get to wonder about the Yale part of JJ's remark. Her mental cogs got stuck on the "just fucking" comment. Fuck just fucking.

They were currently finishing dinner in Emily's apartment. Okay, Emily hadn't lit any candles this time, but the gourmet cold cuts and salad she'd bought at a very classy deli, plus the exotic honey and citrus desert she'd made herself – and spent a whole hour making – signified a damn sight more than just fucking. You didn't spend an hour dicing and blending when you were just fucking.

JJ was still speaking, apparently oblivious to the crash of gears behind Emily's popping eyes.

'If she knew I was keeping you from more suitable candidates, she'd put me in my place in a heartbeat.'

Emily took a substantial breath and managed to compose her incredulous features. Okay, enough already.

'JJ,' she asked in a serious tone, 'are you saying that I come from a family who look down on folk like you?'

Good grief. It wasn't as if JJ was a hick anyway.

But JJ still wasn't making eye contact. In fact she appeared to be day dreaming. Her tone was whimsical.

'You're classy. Sophisticated.' JJ actually smiled. 'I'm a bit of rough in the Ambassador's eyes.' She sighed, and it sounded a little like a sigh of contentment. 'Yeah, she'd have something to say about it; and more than just something to say. She'd want to punish me...'

A light dawned in Emily's mind. Her jaw threatened to succumb once more to gravity as she stared at JJ's dreamy expression. Oh, no way...

'No!' said Emily, raising her empty hands to nowhere in particular. 'Oh no! You're having masochistic fantasies about my mother?!'

At last JJ's eyes drifted back from whatever scene they'd been picturing and found Emily across the table. She raised her eyebrows slightly.

'I'm just saying,' said JJ.

'No you're not,' said Emily, her hands flapping uselessly. 'You're not just saying. You're fantasising!'

'About what?'

'About my MOTHER! About my mother... doing things to you.'

'Anything in particular?' asked JJ, her tone hopeful.

'Aaagh!' Emily's flapping hands made it to her temples and fluttered about her head without purpose. She was an inch from sticking her fingers in her ears and singing La la la la la – a cliché she refused indulge in. 'Don't ask me, for God's sake! That's a hell of a lot more than "just saying".'

JJ stopped twirling her spoon and used it to scoop up the last of her desert. She spoke with her mouth full.

'I don't see what the problem is, Emily. Your Mom's beautiful.'

'And you couldn't keep this thing to yourself?'

'Why should I?'

'Because she's my Mom, for crying out loud!'

'She'd have to be, to have a daughter as gorgeous as you.'

'What?' Emily realised she was now in no state to argue that JJ's last comment made no sense whatsoever. She chose to ignore it and continued on quickly. 'You can't expect me to be comfortable hearing you say this stuff about one of my parents, JJ.'

'What stuff?' JJ's expression was pure innocence. 'I haven't said anything. I haven't described anything I might imagine her doing to me.'

'Stop!' Emily pleaded. 'Hello? Parents! Sex! The inevitable icky factor?'

'I haven't mentioned sex,' said JJ. 'But now you have.'

Emily reached out and grabbed her wine glass. It was still half full and she downed the contents in one gulp. The dry red was bracing after the moderately sweet desert, but she was glad of it. She closed her eyes and decided not to let this conversation go any further. It was just too stupid and wrong. She would change the subject somehow. She could do that. It wasn't beyond her to find some witty, poignant segue that would steer them swiftly and subtly into safe territory, where JJ would revert to normal, and Emily could happily forget that either of her parents were sexual beings, like well-adjusted offspring the world over.

It wasn't until she opened her eyes and noticed JJ's decidedly no-longer-innocent smirk that the second dawn rose to mock her.

JJ was laughing at her. Silently. Without a shred of compassion for her obvious discomfort.

Oh my God. The scheming, conniving little...

It took all of what was left of Emily's presence of mind not to give in to a string of vile curses. She stared at a sweet, curled lip and the humorous glitter in JJ's eyes – more than humour, she realised; JJ's pupils were noticeably dilated. The devious blonde was getting off on Emily's distress...

Or was she getting off on Emily's mother?

Suddenly Emily didn't care. Two could play at this game.

She stood up abruptly, letting her chair scrape noisily against the hardwood floor. She stepped round the corner of the table and glared down at JJ.

'Stand up!' she ordered.

JJ's eyebrows lifted quickly.



JJ's smirk deepened, but she followed Emily's command – not too fast – and waited expectantly.

'Go to the kitchen,' said Emily.

JJ frowned, mildly bemused.

'What the hell for?'

Emily took a step towards her. She so was not going to take any crap now, not after the stunt JJ had just pulled. Caving in and admitting to being had was clearly not the way to go.

Besides, Emily wasn't entirely sure how much she'd been had. JJ's performance was pretty convincing.

'Do as I damn well tell you,' said Emily.

JJ grinned slowly but complied. She stood up and walked towards the kitchen. Emily followed her and couldn't help noticing the arrogant, almost bratty swagger JJ affected as she came to a halt and turned round to face her.

Emily pointed towards one of the kitchen drawers.

'Open it.'

JJ obeyed. It was the cutlery drawer. Emily pointed to a wooden spoon.

'Give it to me.'

Emily saw JJ's brow crease slightly as she picked up the spoon and offered it to her. Clearly JJ hadn't worked out what Emily wanted it for. As JJ was about to hand it to her, the puzzled frown abruptly transformed into one of enlightenment. JJ suddenly withdrew, holding back the wooden spoon as a look of surprise and trepidation overwhelmed her.

'No,' blurted JJ.

Emily deliberately hardened her gaze. 'Give it to me now,' she said sternly, her eyes uncompromising.

'What for?' asked JJ. Her apprehension was building quickly.

'What do you think?' asked Emily, her tone harsh and rhetorical. 'Why should I hurt my damn hand?'

JJ's eyes widened in alarm. She had the look of someone who was suddenly wondering whether she'd bitten off more than she could chew.

'That's so not fair!'

'Oh really?' said Emily, advancing towards her. She plucked the wooden spoon easily out of JJ's hand. She felt the weight of it – light and flexible. Boy, it would sting.

Emily relished the cascade of panic and arousal in JJ's face at that moment. It made her earlier discomfort more than worthwhile.

'Go to the bedroom,' Emily ordered. 'When I get there, you'd better be draped over the armchair in the corner with your pants around your ankles.'

JJ gaped, her mouth wide open. Her dismay was exquisite. Apparently she was too shocked to move.

Emily spun her round by the shoulder and shoved her hard. 'Go!' she hissed, giving her a vicious swat with the spoon.

JJ squealed and clutched her ass where the spoon landed, then fled to the bedroom.

Emily inhaled deeply, savouring the moment and taking her time. She thought about her next move. She had intended to keep her mother out of this, but now she paused and reconsidered.

What the hell. This could be fun.

She went to the closet and took out a pair of heels. They weren't as high as the ones Ambassador Elizabeth Prentiss liked to wear, but they would do. She slipped them on quickly and sauntered into the bedroom, the spoon tapping in her palm like a four-star general's baton. When she spoke her voice was low and sultry, and more than a little imperious:

'Special Agent Jennifer Jareau, my spies tell me you've been having your wicked way with my daughter...'

The End

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