coffee shop observations.
the bell chimes as emily steps into the coffee shop, shifting aria higher on her hip. the space itself is warm, filled with the scent of coffee and the low murmur of voices, but the noise isn’t what catches her attention—it’s the chaos. toddlers shriek, shoes stomping against the wooden floor, parents half-heartedly calling after them as they dart between tables.
emily feels aria tuck herself closer, small fingers curling into the fabric of her coat.
she’s not a fussy toddler. not in the way others are. she watches instead of participates, observing with wide, dark eyes. sometimes, emily wonders if it’s just who she is, or if it’s something else. if it’s because she’s had to adapt to emily’s world, one filled with whisperd phone calls behind closed doors, case files scattered across their kitchen table, and a mother who had handed her off like she was little more than an inconvenience. emily couldn’t decide which was worse - elizabeth dragging emily through the embassy lifestyle her whole life, or just dumping aria like she was tuesday’s recycling.
aria stays quiet as emily moves to the counter, places her order, rocking her slightly out of habit as she waits. it’s natural at this point, the rhythm of holding her close while moving through the world.
emily shifts her weight, adjusting aria once more, and the little girl mumbles something against her shoulder. at first, it’s too soft to catch, but then—“lellow,” she whispers, her voice warm and sleepy.
emily follows her gaze to a small vase of daisies on the counter, their bright yellow centers catching the light. “yeah, baby,” she murmurs, brushing a hand over aria’s back. “yellow.”
her coffee is ready. she takes it, balancing the cup in one hand while keeping aria steady in the other, her fingers flexing slightly against her small back. she glances around for a table.
and that’s when she feels it.
a pair of eyes on her.
she glances up, scanning the room, and her gaze catches on a woman sitting alone near the window. dark hair, sharp eyes, an unreadable expression. she’s watching emily in a way that isn’t just passing interest—it’s familiarity.
emily doesn’t recognize her. but elle recognizes emily.
jj had mentioned to elle in passing that they were getting someone new. and elle, even though she’d left, had been curious enough to look her up. emily prentiss. well-traveled. overqualified. thrown into the bau under questionable circumstances. but it isn’t just that. it isn’t just the job. it’s the way emily carries herself. the careful way she shifts the toddler on her hip. the dark eyes, the sharp cut of her features, the way she looks at the world like she’s always cataloging it. and then there’s the little girl, quiet, observing everything with a focus too strong for her age. she’s young, but already emily’s shadow—tilt of the nose, shape of the eyes, even the slight arch of her brow when she watches something closely.
elle doesn’t realize she’s staring until emily catches her gaze. it’s a brief moment, just long enough for elle to make a decision. she stands, moves toward her, slipping into something easy, familiar. she’s always been good at doing that.
“you’re prentiss, right?”
emily blinks, shifting slightly. the way elle says it—it’s not a question. more like confirmation. like she already knows the answer.
“yeah,” she says cautiously.
elle offers a small smirk, tipping her head slightly. “elle greenaway.”
and that’s when it clicks.
jj had mentioned elle before, but never in detail. a former agent. left under complicated circumstances. the kind of departure no one really talked about.
“right,” emily nods, gesturing toward the empty chair across from her. “you used to work at the bau.”
elle slides into the seat, watching her carefully. “yeah. left a while ago.” a pause, then a small nod toward aria. “your daughter?”
emily hesitates. she gets that a lot. she could say yes. it would be easier. but she shakes her head.
“my sister.”
elle’s brows lift slightly, something unreadable flickering across her face. for a moment, she looks like she might ask—like the question is right there, teetering on the edge of her tongue—but she doesn’t. instead, her gaze drops to aria.
she studies her—the small fingers curled loosely in the fabric of emily’s jacket, the slow, assessing blink of dark eyes so familiar it’s almost unsettling.
the questions hang unspoken between them. aren’t you too old for a baby sister? isn’t your mom in her fifties? are you sure she’s your sister? because she’s staring at me with your same stare.
aria shifts against her, still quiet, still watching.
elle doesn’t say a word.
she just looks back up at emily, waiting.
“she’s quiet,” elle comments, eyes flickering to the toddler, who is still tucked against emily, still taking the presence of this stranger in.
emily follows her gaze, adjusting the collar on aria’s jacket that flipped up. “she usually is.”
elle studies her for a moment. “she looks like you.”
emily exhales softly, fingers smoothing over aria’s dark hair. it’s something she hears often, but when elle says it, there’s something knowing in her tone. like she’s really seeing it—the way aria mirrors emily without even realizing. aria shifts slightly, and emily reaches into her bag, pulling out a small bottle of milk, handing it to her. aria takes it without a sound, small fingers curling around it, gaze back to sweeping the café like she’s processing everything at her own quiet pace.
elle watches the interaction, then glances back at emily.
“so. how’s the team treating you?”
emily takes a slow sip of coffee, considers her answer. “they’re good. it’s different than what i’m used to.”
somehow, they fall into an easy rhythm of conversation. it’s not forced, not awkward, though emily still feels a little off balance. elle has that way about her, sharp but not unkind. she talks about the bau like it’s a past life, like she’s moved on but still feels its pull. and then—
“jj’s still there?” elle asks, leaning back slightly, as if she didn't know the answer already.
emily nods. “yeah. she’s great.” her tone is careful, measured.
elle smirks slightly. “she is.”
emily doesn’t know why that makes her stomach twist. it’s not jealousy, not really, but there’s something about the way elle says it, like she knows jj in a way emily doesn’t. like there’s history there. and maybe there is. maybe jj isn’t just the woman emily’s been helplessly falling for. maybe she was something else to elle once too.
something past tense. something emily doesn’t want to think about.
jj is hers. not really. not technically. not at all, in a way that she can claim, but in her mind, in her chest, in the way her heart stutters whenever jj smiles at her—she is. a weird familiar sense that she hasn’t been able to let go of since she met the blonde a few weeks back, when she walked into the bau with a box of her things.
and emily? she can’t—won’t—think about anyone else being with jj. she simply nods, sipping her coffee to distract her scrabbled mind.
elle doesn’t say anything, just watches her for a moment, like she’s piecing something together.
aria shifts again, mumbling something under her breath, and emily immediately turns her attention to her, wiping a bit of milk from her chin with a napkin - thankful for the break of analyzing a situation that wasn’t even hers to do so. the tension that had been sitting between them—whatever it was—breaks, the moment dissolving. emily breathes.
elle glances at her watch, exhales slightly and nods at aria. “well. it was nice meeting you, prentiss. she seems ready to crash herself.”
emily nods, adjusting aria as she starts to doze against her shoulder. “yeah..you too.”
elle lingers for half a second, like she wants to say something else. but then she just gives her a small, unreadable look before standing. emily watches her go, fingers tightening slightly around her coffee cup.
she doesn’t know what just happened. but she knows she’ll be thinking about it for a long time.
and so will elle. but she’ll discuss it just a few hours later. in a small steakhouse, she and an old friend meet up to discuss and catch up every two weeks.
the late afternoon lull settling in as jj slides into the booth across from elle, setting her phone down without glancing at it. she exhales, rolling out the tension in her shoulders, then offers elle a tired smirk.
“if you’re about to tell me i look exhausted, don’t.”
elle chuckles, taking a slow sip of her wine. “wasn’t gonna say it. but since you brought it up…”
jj huffs a laugh, shaking her head. “long case.”
elle just nods, because she gets it. they fall into their usual rhythm, the kind of conversation that flows easily after years of history—some of it complicated, some of it not. none of it with remorse, though.
but then, after a pause, elle tilts her head slightly, watching jj over the rim of her cup, her expression unreadable.
“ran into your new girl this morning.”
jj furrows her brow, confused for half a second before it clicks. prentiss.
“prentiss?”
elle smirks slightly, like she’s holding onto something just for the fun of it. “yeah. coffee shop. had a kid with her.”
jj blinks. a kid? she’s seen the framed photos on emily’s desk—the neat arrangement, the way they’re positioned just so, not for display but for something quieter, more personal. but she never asked. not yet.
elle picks up on the surprise instantly. “you didn’t know?”
jj shakes her head. “i noticed a few pictures on her desk, but… i didn’t ask.” she hesitates, considering. “you sure it was hers?”
elle nods, the answer coming easy. “said she’s her sister. but she’s ‘hers’ in every way that matters, it seems.”
jj tilts her head slightly, filing that away. emily prentiss with a kid. it’s not that it doesn’t fit—it does, in some way—but it’s an angle jj hadn’t considered before. its a version of emily she attempts to wrap her head around.
“what’s she like?”
elle leans back, tapping her fingers idly against the table, gaze flickering toward the window like she’s replaying the moment in her mind.
“quiet,” she says after a beat. “observant. looks just like her.”
jj exhales, trying to picture it. emily with a little girl. one who watches the world with the same sharp eyes, the same way of processing things a beat slower than everyone else—like she’s thinking too much before speaking.
and suddenly, jj wonders just how much she doesn’t know about emily prentiss.
elle watches jj’s face carefully, then, after a beat, says, “she shifts when i bring you up.”
jj blinks, eyes snapping back to elle. “what?”
elle smirks, just slightly. “not in a way a normal person would notice. but as a former agent, i did.” she pauses, letting it sink in. “so i know you notice it too.”
jj swallows, keeping her expression carefully neutral. “i don’t—”
elle cuts her off with a look. “jj.”
jj exhales, leaning back slightly, arms crossing like she can make herself smaller. she has noticed. the way emily’s posture subtly changes, the way her focus sharpens when jj enters the room, the way she always seems just a little more aware of herself when jj is near.
jj rubs the back of her neck. “i wasn’t gonna say anything. i thought maybe she was just nervous at work.”
elle grins. “i was certainly going to say something.”
jj rolls her eyes. “of course you were.”
elle just smirks, then shifts slightly, getting comfortable, her eyes glinting with something jj can’t quite place. “so. wanna know what i found out?”
jj lifts a brow. “you did research?”
elle shrugs like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “she took my old job. i was curious.”
jj smirks. “you mean nosy.”
elle lifts her glass in a lazy toast. “same thing.”
jj shakes her head, but there’s no real annoyance there. “okay. hit me.”
elle sets her cup down. “emily prentiss. diplomat’s kid, bounced all over the world growing up. fluent in at least three languages, maybe more. overqualified for the fbi, but spent time working undercover overseas before landing at interpol. got recruited to the bau under questionable circumstances—meaning, the higher-ups wanted her there for a reason, but it wasn’t exactly a warm welcome.”
jj listens, absorbing it all. she already knew emily’s résumé, but hearing it from elle, pieced together like a profile, makes it feel different.
elle continues, “and then there’s the kid. two years old. emily’s sister, but she’s the one taking care of her, or at least that’s what it seems. didn’t see a ring, didn’t see a partner—just emily, carrying a coffee with one hand and making sure that little girl had a bottle with the other.”
jj exhales, staring down at her glass like it holds an answer she isn’t ready to say out loud - watching the deep red swirl around.
elle watches her, waiting just long enough for the silence to press in. then—
“you like her.”
jj’s head snaps up, eyes narrowing. “what?”
elle shrugs, her smirk lazy, like she’s been sitting on this conclusion for a while. “as a person. as a colleague. whatever.”
jj opens her mouth, but no words come. she shuts it, swallows. because it’s true. because she does.
she likes the way emily moves through a room, the way she speaks—carefully, but never hesitantly. she likes the way emily thinks, the way she observes before she acts, how her intelligence is sharp but never loud. she wants to know her, to pull apart all the layers she knows are there, to understand the full picture that emily prentiss never quite hands over.
but she also knows herself. knows the way she sometimes takes too long to realize things. knows the way realization, when it finally comes, hits deep.
jj lets out a breath, softer this time. “yeah, fine. i do.” she admits, voice quieter. “as a friend. nothing more. quit giving me that look.”
elle leans back, looking satisfied, like she’s solved something jj hasn’t even worked through yet.
jj shakes her head, muttering, “you’re insufferable.”
elle grins, raising her cup again in a slow, smug toast. “you love me.”
jj rolls her eyes. but she doesn’t disagree.