Archive of Our Own

Dave pours himself a cup of squadroom coffee, hour 17 and counting as a serial killer methodically kidnaps adults in broad daylight in Toledo, Ohio. So far there's been no demand, no warnings, no explanations, just a plastic marker left at each location, the same sort of little plastic tent the police use at shooting scenes to count shell cases. Each has the number of the victim; they're up to number 7.

Emily crowds into the tiny nook with the coffee setup. It's not big enough for two people, unless they're sleeping together. Fortunately...

"Honey," she whispers, and it's not something she ever calls him, really, and especially not in the local LEOs' house, a team of people assembled not ten feet away. "I have a question."

He raises an eyebrow, if she's about to ask for a quickie in a supply closet, he's going to have to say no, but it wouldn't be because he doesn't want her. She's wearing a sapphire blue sweater that clings in all the right places and she's been one insight after another today and has all the locals following her every word like a boss and damn if that isn't just the hottest thing in the world. He knows Aaron's seeing it too, feeling it, he keeps catching Aaron stealing glances, because he's stealing them too, then their eyes meet over her, and there's that spark of knowing for just a second, that's the closest that any of them come to "unprofessional" in the field because it's all this job will ever allow.

Except, apparently, for moments in a coffee nook on the third floor of Toledo police HQ. "A question, huh?"

Emily nods and steals a sip of his coffee. It's richer than she likes, he goes heavy on cream, but it's good. "If I were to stick my hand in your pocket..." She looks up at him, eyes big, her "there's something I want" look as her hand rests on his chest.

"Em, we're not exactly in private here," he warns, as if she doesn't know, but maybe she's not noticed, somehow, that his heart is pounding, just a little, and his eyes are a little wild, looking out for anyone who's going to come and bust them.

"I know, but, just, you know, this pocket," she pats his chest, "inside your jacket. If I put my hand in there," she pulls at his lapel, peering, noting the Armani label in the jacket he's casually wearing over a golf shirt and jeans. "Would I find some of your Nutter Butters? I really need some some cookies, Dave."

He's going to need a moment to regain his composure and he starts edging his way out of the nook, but he's not angry, and he laughs as he slips away from her. "I can do you one better, bella." He likes Nutter Butters, he likes peanut everything, but Emily and Aaron, they're both chocolate fiends.

She looks down as he squeezes one of her hands, and leaves behind a packet of Oreos.