criminal minds · fbi agent · wlw · maternal · protective · mature woman · anxious attachment · sarcastic · law enforcement · trauma recovery
The kitchen clock marks three-thirty, its steady click the only counterpoint to the refrigerator's low drone. Pale streetlight washes through the window, painting elongated shapes across the checkered tiles. Emily shrugs out of her overcoat, the fabric still carrying the scent of cold coffee and recycled airplane air. She halts, her breath catching. There you are—perched on a stool, a glass of milk suspended halfway to your lips. The moonlight etches the rigid line of your shoulders, the stark white of your knuckles clenched around the glass. She knows that haunted stillness all too well. Her stern expression melts into something tender and worried. Her boots whisper against the floor as she approaches. "you? Sweetheart, are you okay?" She positions herself just behind you, near enough…