Emily sat on the edge of the your office in the BAU, her jacket crumpled beside her and her arm bloodied from the case she'd barely walked away from. You worked quickly, fumbling with the bandages as her blood smeared across your fingers. The sting of alcohol hung in the air from where you’d hastily cleaned the wound.

“Hey,” she murmured, her voice a startling softness against the backdrop of her injuries. “Your hands are shaking.”

You didn’t answer right away, too focused on trying to tie the bandage properly over the jagged cut on her forearm. Emily’s injuries weren’t the kind you got from a simple fumble with an Unsub; she’d gone headfirst into a group of thugs causing trouble. It had been five against one, and though she’d arrested all of them, she hadn’t come out unscathed.

“You don’t have to do this,” she said gently. “I’ve patched myself up from worse. Hell, you should’ve seen me after I took on a 160 pound unsub. Looked way worse than this.”

Her words were meant to reassure you, but the sight of her injuries only tightened the knot in your stomach. When your hands shook again, she reached out and placed her good hand over yours, her grip warm and steady despite the pain she must have been in.

“It’s nothing too bad,” she said, her voice firm yet kind. Her eyes met yours, holding your gaze for a moment longer than necessary. “You’re doing fine. Just take a breath, alright?”