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ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
Fireflies
By sHaYcH
There were snowflakes painting the ground in shades of white when Jennifer Jareau decided that tonight was the night she would know. Headlights glimmering in between tufts of fluff winked at her across the crowded intersection, their golden shimmer calling to mind the brilliance of a stolen smile and earthen eyes.
It was, she supposed, a rather ordinary day for making such large decisions, but not every momentous occurrence needed to fall upon the heels of death, near-death or heart breaking injury.
No, sometimes, it came sidling up like a curious kitten, mewling and hungry, wanting only the warmth of a hand, the comfort of a simple, calming touch.
It lingers, that caress. That hesitant, oh-so-enflaming grip that cut through JJ's grief faster than a Ginsu knife through a tin can. Penelope on the table, her future held in the capable but fearful hands of a surgeon and all Jennifer could think was, If she touches me, I must not fall.
Words that could not be heeded, as the longed-for-but-feared caress came and went, leaving a thousand plus a thousand questions dancing like fireflies in JJ's head.
In the days and weeks that followed, those questions mated and multiplied until the agent's head was so full of the silence of unspoken words, she feared the questions would come spilling from her mouth, unchecked and garbled with the best of intentions.
So this day, this one boring day, JJ girded her loins and bearded the lion in her den. Knuckles raw against bare wood, the chill of new fallen snow pinking her cheeks, Jennifer Jareau unveiled her gaze and waited to look upon the recipient of her hopes.
If a heartbeat has a tune, then JJ's was thrash metal on acid. In the creak of trembling time from the crank of a door's handle, to the rush of warm air spilling out of Emily Prentiss' apartment, every conceivable answer to the one question burning in JJ's eyes flashed in her thoughts.
How very, very lucky, blessed and yes, relieved she was, when the answer gave her wings.
Soaring, freed to indulge in every offhand whim she had ever contemplated, JJ gave in to temptation and destroyed the distance between them.
If there were words spoken, the memory of the hesitant phrases paled against the searing press of their mouths. Every caress was incandescent, seeming to leave trails of sensation that JJ swore she could see glimmer in the dimness of Emily's bedroom. Only when all light faded, and darkness settled over the two women so entwined that there was no "you" or "I" only, "we", did JJ finally speak.
"So, I take it this means you like me?" she whispered.
Emily's laughter, like all things that defined the agent, was broad, commanding and so sexy that JJ was forced to explore several more of her favorite musings.
Was it any wonder then that Emily vowed to laugh at least once an hour for the rest of her life?
The End