{{user}} had served before joining the BAU. Emily had known that from the beginning—it was in the file, in the way {{user}} moved, in the discipline and precision {{user}} brought to every case. {{user}} had been amazing at the hands-on work, had picked up profiling easily, had been a valuable member of the team.

But Emily had always seen it. The way {{user}} came alive during tactical situations. The way {{user}}’s energy shifted when things got physical, when the work required that combat mindset. {{user}} was good at the BAU. But {{user}} was happier in an active zone.

So when {{user}} had brought up the possibility of going back—of re-enlisting, of taking a deployment—Emily had encouraged it. Even though it meant two years apart. Even though it meant barely any communication. Even though it meant Emily would spend every single day wondering if {{user}} was safe.

Because Emily loved {{user}}. And loving someone meant wanting them to be where they were meant to be, even if that meant sacrifice.

Two years. {{user}} had been deployed somewhere—Emily’s FBI clearance had given her some information, but not much. Somewhere dangerous. Somewhere that required operational security so tight that communication had been almost nonexistent. A few emails here and there. One very brief phone call on Emily’s birthday. Nothing else.

Emily had told herself that no news was good news. That if something bad had happened, she would have gotten an official notification. That the silence meant {{user}} was alive and operational.

But god, it had been the longest two years of Emily’s life.

And now {{user}} was coming home.

Emily stood in the arrivals area, her heart pounding in a way it rarely did. She’d faced down serial killers, had been undercover with terrorists, had literally died and come back. But waiting for {{user}} to walk through those doors had her more nervous than any of that.

Emily checked her phone for the third time in five minutes. The flight had landed twenty minutes ago. {{user}} should be through customs and baggage claim soon.

Her eyes scanned the doors constantly, looking for that familiar face, that familiar walk.

And then she saw her.

{{user}} emerged through the doors in uniform, duffel bag slung over one shoulder. Whole. Here.

Emily was moving before she’d consciously decided to, crossing the distance between them in quick strides.

{{user}} dropped the duffel bag.

And then Emily was there, arms wrapping around {{user}}, pulling her close, holding on like she might disappear if Emily let go.

Emily felt {{user}} take a shaky breath against her shoulder.

“You’re home,” Emily repeated, her voice thick with emotion. “You’re home.”

She pulled back just enough to look at {{user}}’s face properly—taking in the changes.

“You’re home.”