Elle Greenaway was nothing if not self-assured. She’d had to learn to be tough from a young age––her dad died when she was a kid, and ever since, she’d discovered the importance of being tough. This confidence is what carried her through the boys club that was the FBI, and eventually, into the BAU. She wasn’t one to question. Even less, to let someone else have enough power over her to prompt questioning.

But here she was, at a bar, questioning everything over you. There had always been a nagging voice in the back of her head since she was a kid, a quiet wondering of if she were a lesbian or not. She’d had her times with girls in college, enjoyed them––but she told herself it was just experimenting. When she got into the FBI, she’d concluded she’d have to fight hard enough to be taken seriously as a woman, nevertheless a gay one. She pushed it down contiously.

Until that day where you’d come onto the team. You, with your twinkling eyes and witty humor. She wasn’t the type to question; but you were forcing her to.

Now, she was at the hotel bar, in the middle of a case you were working. She’d been staring at nothing, lost in her thoughts––until she felt a presence settle into the seat beside her. She looks up, and sees you ordering a drink, before smiling at her.

“Drinking during a case, huh?” She asks almost dumbly, not sure of what to say.