DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything, I'm just a fan and borrowing the characters.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
"Okay, he knows." Emily Prentiss sneaked into Jennifer Jareau's office and closed the door behind her in one, smooth motion. Leaning against it, she took a deep breath and then quickly peaked through the closed blinds of a window that gave into the corridor. Spotting Derek Morgan not too far from where she was standing, Emily quickly removed herself from his line of sight and pressed even tighter against the dark grey door. Her hand blindly searched for the handle, and after fumbling with the lock it finally made a familiar clicking sound, indicating that it was locked. At last turning fully to the blonde media liaison, Emily was met by a blank stare.
"Emily, what are you doing?" JJ was still holding a pen against a document, a document she'd obviously been writing when the brunette agent had decided to storm, unannounced, through the door and basically barricaded herself inside.
"Morgan said you have great taste in shirts," Emily said in an anguished manner, as if it would've explained everything. "That...jerk! We are not supposed to profile each other. Right?" There was a tinge of panic in her voice now. "Right?!" she repeated when all JJ did was stare at her.
"Emily," JJ began, clearly trying to remain calm. "I'm not a mind-reader. Hell, I'm not even a profiler, so you need to give me a little more to work with here." Her eyebrows rose in a questioning manner, and Emily recognized the look on the blonde's face as the one she always wore when she was slightly irritated.
"JJ, you're wearing my shirt." She pointed to herself for emphasis.
"Yeah, but that's only because you ripped..." She let her words fade away and swallowed. "Oh."
"I...I'm sure it was just an innocent remark and didn't really mean anything." JJ tried to reassure them both, but she could feel her cheeks grow pink.
"We're talking about Morgan here, JJ. A walking, 170-pound bulk of testosterone. He doesn't compliment people's fashion sense!" The last part was a determined whisper.
"Okay, umm..." JJ pushed herself up from the chair, weighing the possible options. Leaning against the desk, she finally glanced up at Emily. "Say he does know. Does it really matter? I mean, I'm sure he would've come right out with it if he was against...this."
"Yes, it matters!" Emily's voice rose an octave. She was pacing restlessly around the room now, mumbling under her breath, but JJ was only able to distinguish random words like 'damn profilers' and something about investing in a new wardrobe.
"Emily, this isn't the end of the world. We both knew this would happen eventually." JJ couldn't believe she was actually being the more level-headed of them. Emily came to a halt and looked at her, blinking.
"JJ, if he knows, soon the rest of the team will know too! We need to work with them! Every day!" Emily's eyes were big as saucers. "Every day!" she huffed furiously and resumed pacing.
"Aren't you being a little too paranoid?" JJ had to bite her lower lip to keep from laughing; Emily was deliciously adorable when she freaked out.
"Tell that to the chief who's probably on her way over as we speak!"
"Em-," JJ tried to interject, but Emily kept on rambling:
"JJ, our careers are over! We need to...to emigrate to Europe!" JJ rolled her eyes and walked calmly to the brunette who was still suffering from verbal diarrhea: "France, we should go to France, I haven't been there since my 25th birthday and the wine is exquisite anyway and-." At that point JJ stopped her girlfriend the only way she knew how.
She kissed her.
In an office not too far from JJ's, Morgan's eyes were glued to one of Penelope Garcia's computer screens. The security camera feed of JJ's office was plastered across the said screen, and Morgan couldn't believe what he was seeing.
"I'll be damned!" he muttered, unable to tear his eyes away from his kissing team members.
"Told you." Garcia's voice was as chipper as ever. She watched the scene play out in front of her with a satisfied smile on her face. "Nothing goes unnoticed by the information goddess, moi, around here."
The two colleagues gaped almost giddily at the black & white video footage, chuckling, when suddenly Emily's hand was under JJ'swell, technically her own, Garcia notedblouse, and JJ fervently urged the other woman towards her desk, papers and files flying to the floor as the two women reached its edge.
The surprised observers knew exactly where it all was leading to, their heads tilting slightly to the right as JJ's back hit the surface of the desk. It wasn't until then that they also found out why JJ had needed to use Emily's shirt to begin with, and at that point, with a quick keystroke combination, Garcia closed the camera window and self-consciously cleared her throat.
"Hey!" Morgan whined, and Garcia aimed an incredulous glance at his direction. "Oh, like you've never done it! How else would you know about those two?" Morgan crossed his arms on his chest, his eyes narrowing expressively.
"Oh, I would never!" Garcia gasped, acting shocked, but he continued to stare relentlessly at her. "Okay, maybe once." Morgan pursed his lips at that. "If you absolutely need to know, I came across it by accident. It was strictly for research purposes! And I watched it with one eye closed!"
"You're unbelievable." Morgan looked at the blonde firecracker, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "What would I do without you?" Shaking his head, he offered one of his cutest smiles and then turned to leave.
"Oh, my personal adonis, you forgot something." Garcia batted her eyelashes innocently and extended her hand suggestively towards Morgan, palm turned upwards. With a submissive sigh the agent reached into his pocket and retrieved a fifty-dollar bill from his wallet.
"Last time I accept a bet from you, baby girl." He slapped the money in her hand and left, complaining under his breath about the non-existing privacy in the building, and how he would never be able to look at JJ's office the same way again.
Grinning widely, Garcia, the computer tech of utter superiority, wheeled around in her chair, a pink glitter pen twirling between her fingers and the newly earned bill tucked safely down her cleavage.
Sometimes profilers were just way too easy to figure out.
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