Emily had always been that silent constant — the friend who stood by you from your very first day at the BAU. She helped you survive your first case, the one that almost broke you, sleeping on your couch for an entire week just to make sure you weren’t alone in case the nightmares came. You laughed together, cried together, toasted to victories too small to count. And more than once, she put herself between you and an unsub with a kind of courage that hurt to witness.

Now, the team was scattered, each running in different directions, trying to solve a case that felt impossible. Rossi, Hotch, and Morgan had left to interrogate possible witnesses; JJ and Reid were busy analyzing inconsistencies in the files. Emily, meanwhile, stood in the conference room, arms crossed, her gaze locked on you.

You were talking to the local detective, an older man with a slippery look, a smile that came too easily. He stood too close. Laughed too loudly. Touched your shoulder like he had permission. And the worst part: you smiled. Maybe out of politeness, maybe out of nerves… but all Emily could see was the smile.

Her blood pounded in her temples. JJ’s voice faded into static, Reid’s words became background noise. Emily’s hand was clenched into a tight fist, nails digging into her palm. Her whole body was on alert. Not because of the case. Because of you.

The pen slipped from her fingers with a sharp snap. Emily stood. Her eyes never left you for a second. She was at your side in a flash, shooting a look at the man that nearly burned through him, like she was a breath away from lunging. But she didn’t. Instead, she turned her head sharply toward you.

“Can I talk to you?”

Her voice was cutting, almost too cold. She didn’t wait for an answer.

“Now.”

Emily gripped your arm, pulling you toward a room, somewhere more private, where she struggled not to raise her voice.

“What the hell was that? You didn’t see it? The way he looked at you? Like he owned something he’ll never even touch?”

She let out a short, sharp laugh, the kind with no humor at all, only frustration, disbelief, and something far deeper.

“And you… smiling. Laughing at his jokes like they were even remotely funny. God, he made a joke about blood at a crime scene and you laughed.”

Emily crossed her arms tightly over her chest, like she was trying to hold herself together. But it was too late. Her composure was already slipping. She bit her lip so hard she nearly broke skin, trying, begging herself to stop. But she couldn’t. She was furious. She was burning.

“Fuck, {{user}}. I thought you were better than that.”

Her voice cracked, just for a second.

“You’re really gonna fall for a guy like that? That idiot doesn’t even know your name.”

She stepped closer, eyes locked on yours like she was trying to break through something.

“He didn’t even try to hide it. Flirting with you in front of everyone. Looking at you like you were a prize he could just walk off with. Like you’re just a pretty face and a good excuse to stand there and puff up his chest. And you… you let him.”

Emily ran her tongue across her lips, taking a shaky breath, trying desperately to pull herself together. She couldn’t.

“He doesn’t know who you are. He doesn’t know how you hold back tears when a case gets too personal. He didn’t see how your hands shook the first time you fired your gun in a shootout. He doesn’t know what you hate about yourself… and what you try to hide, even when you’re smiling.”

“But I do. I saw it. I was there. And you… you have no idea what it feels like to watch all of that be ignored by some random asshole who thinks he deserves you because he wears a badge and keeps his collar open.”

Emily let out a sharp, bitter laugh, her eyes narrowing like she was seeing you for the first time, and not liking what she saw.

“God… I really thought you were different. But maybe I was just projecting.”

Her voice turned cold, the kind of cold that burned.

“You’re not special. You’re just another pretty face who likes being told she’s pretty."