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emeraldsummers · 23 hours

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Fic: More Than An Ally?

Fandom: 9-1-1

Characters: Evan "Buck" Buckley, Hen Wilson, Chimney Han, Maddie Buckley, Christopher Diaz, Tommy Kinard

Pairing: Buck/Tommy (not the focus, it's more about Buck)

Summary:

Buck keeps referring to himself as an ally, mostly by accident, but also because he's not sure he's ready to say what he really is.

(Or, five times Buck calls himself an ally, and one time he doesn't.)

Buck couldn’t stop grinning.

Eyes scanning out across the room, he took in the sight surrounding him. Maddie and Chim, giggling together like they were teenagers, Christopher looking so damn grown up in his suit, Eddie sitting beside him nearly glowing with pride, Hen and Karen’s new daughter beaming at being able to show off her family, Tommy standing beside the buffet table, fully engrossed in conversation with an old teammate, wearing the hell out of his dress uniform in a way that made Buck feel like the luckiest guy in the room.

He played with the medal hanging around his neck. A medal he had earned for saving lives, for doing the right thing, for being a hero.

Yeah, today was a good day.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hen approaching him, and he turned to greet her.

“Hey! This is great, isn’t it?”

“Hmm? Yeah, this is fun,” she seemed distracted, looking over Buck’s shoulder as she spoke. “I haven’t gotten a chance to try dessert yet, have you?”

“Yeah, the chocolate mousse is…” he trailed off. “Is everything okay?”

She shook her head at that, and when she looked back at Buck she seemed less unsettled. “Sorry, yeah, everything is good.” At the pointed look he gave her, she admitted, “I’m just trying to avoid talking to Captain Gerrard.”

“Ah,” Buck responded. That made sense.

“You meet him?”

“Briefly,” Buck said. “But mostly I’ve heard the stories.” It had only taken five seconds of listening to Gerrard talk for him to realize the stories probably got worse than the ones he had heard.

“It’s not like I’m scared of him,” she hastily clarified. “I can handle him and any guys like him. It’s just… today is a really nice day. And I don’t need to blemish today with whatever garbage comes out of his mouth.”

And Buck understood that. “Makes sense. He doesn’t deserve even a second of your time. Just stick with me, and if he comes near, we’ll make a run for it.” He gave her a small wink, causing her to laugh.

“Thanks, Buck.” And she sounded like she meant it. Seemed like Buck wasn’t the only one getting sentimental today.

“I know things haven't always been this way. I know that under Gerrard your team didn't have your back. I just want you to always know that now, everyone at this station, we’re all allies here,” he said sincerely.

Hen made a face before letting out a short laugh. “Allies, Buck? Really? You?”

And, huh. Buck hadn’t realized he had said, so he quickly corrected, “I meant I’d be your ally. Which I am.”

It sounded like a weak explanation, even to him, but Hen gave him an odd, almost knowing look before saying, “Well, I'll say the same for you. I'm your ally, and everyone else at this station? They're here for you too. They're actually allies, Buck.”

Buck laughed at that, but the emotions of the day were starting to catch up with him and her words were hitting him hard. “I know, Hen. I'm really lucky I was assigned the 118 and I'm lucky it was under Bobby.”

“We both are,” she gave him a nudge before apparently deciding to lift the mood to something lighter. “Anyways,” she said with a grin, “There's definitely one benefit to Gerrard being from the dinosaur’s club.”

At Buck’s quizzical grin, she answered “We’d definitely be able to outrun him.”

II.

The apartment fire ended up being much smaller than originally anticipated, so by the time the 118, the third station to be dispatched, had arrived on the scene, the only job left to do was check the surrounding units to ensure they were still structurally sound. Buck and Chimney were heading up to the fifth floor, enjoying the easy call with casual conversation as they climbed.

“Tommy said he’s got a surprise for our date tonight, but I bet it involves the chopper,” Buck said with a smile. “He’s been hinting at it.”

Chimney gave a quick laugh. “Can’t say I’m jealous. I prefer my dates on the ground. At home.”

“Yeah, well,” Buck said with a sly grin, “The adrenaline is like nothing else, trust me. He took me up a few weeks back, and let me just say…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Chimney cut in. “I get it. Don’t need to imagine it.”

“Fine, fine,” Buck sighed. “I’m just saying, I’m excited for this shift to be over.”

After knocking on the last few doors of the fifth floor, the building was clear and it was time to pack up and head back to the station. The lobby of the apartment building was much busier than the stairwell had been, with members of the 273 and 142 packing up their stuff and doing final check-ins with the affected residents.

“You know,” Chim said. “What you mentioned earlier doesn’t surprise me. Tommy always had a thing for flying, even back in the day. He was obsessed with Top Gun.”

Buck laughed at that. When Tommy had found out Buck hadn’t seen it, he’d made sure to watch it for their next movie night, only for them to miss most of it due to getting a bit wound up and therefore distracted. Since it was important to Tommy that Buck actually watched it, they’d tried it again for their next movie night, that time with more success.

“He’s still obsessed, trust me,” Buck replied. Then, with another, louder laugh, “I’m surprised you weren’t able to clock him earlier.” At Chim’s confused expression, Buck continued, “Obsession with Top Gun? That’s like, the gayest thing I’ve ever heard.”

He didn’t realize how loud his voice had grown until the firefighter passing by him stopped dead in his tracks, like he wasn’t sure he heard what he just heard. He was from the 142 and very young, probably still a probie based on the nervous way he was carrying himself. He looked at Buck with his mouth open like he was going to say something, before deciding not to and continuing to walk past, shaking his head.

It took Buck a second before he realized what had just happened. What the probie was probably thinking.

Shit.

“Hey!” Buck called as he followed the probie through the crowd of people. “That came out wrong! I’m not - I’m not homophobic. I’m an ally, okay? Didn’t mean anything by it. I swear!”

The probie was determinedly not turning around to hear Buck out, but Chimney was following him at his side.

“Buck,” he said carefully. Buck knew that tone, knew it meant he was missing something stupidly obvious. He looked at Chimney waiting, but Chim just looked at him incredulously. “You’re dating a man.”

And, oh. Well, duh, Buck thought.

Buck turned back to where the probie had been walking, practically yelling, “Hey! I have a boyfriend! Not homophobic!”

But the probie was gone, slipped completely out of sight, and Buck had no idea if he’d heard him or not. The rest of the 142 definitely did hear him though, based on the way they were glancing at him awkwardly.

Chim patted him on the shoulder with a sigh before walking back to their own truck, leaving Buck to mumble a quick “Just a misunderstanding” before hurrying after him.

III.

Buck was always grateful for dinners with Eddie and Christopher at the Diaz household. Tonight, Eddie was insisting on cooking, much to Christopher’s chagrin, but even though Buck loved cooking for them, he was grateful for the opportunity to sit at the table and hang out with Chris.

Technically, he was supposed to be making sure Chris got his homework done, but Buck preferred to be a bad influence and instead talk about Chris’ day.

“Today, in social studies, we were talking about different kinds of families,” Chris shared.

“Oh yeah? What’s that mean?” Hanging out with Chris, he was always amazed at how different school was now from his own childhood.

“You know, how most people have a mom and a dad. But some people have step-parents. Or guardians. Or two dads. Stuff like that.”

“Oh,” Buck replied. That definitely wasn’t talked about when he was Chris’ age.

“Some people in my class were confused,” Chris continued, “But I already knew that. It’s obvious. Denny has two moms. Harry has a mom and a dad and two step-dads. I have Dad and Carla and you.”

And it was the fact that Chris said that last part so casually, like it was the simplest, most obvious thing in the world that Buck was a part of his family that left Buck speechless.

But Chris continued like he hadn’t just made Buck’s whole year. “Some people in my class had never even heard of people that are L-G-B-T-Q-I-A.” He spelled out the acronym slowly, like he wanted to make sure he said it right.

Buck hummed, trying to think of what to say. He wasn’t sure he was prepared to explain homophobia to a 13-year old, and he wanted to be careful with his words.

But Chris ended up asking something different.

“What does the A stand for?”

Buck let out a relieved sigh. “It uh, it stands for ‘asexual’ or ‘aromantic’. It means someone who doesn’t experience any attraction, or experiences it less than non-ace people.” Buck cringed a bit at himself, fully aware his explanation was lacking, but he wasn’t sure if Chris understood the difference between romantic and sexual attraction yet. “Sometimes, in some contexts, the A stands for ‘ally’”.

“What’s an ally?” Chris asked.

“An ally is someone who… it’s like me and your dad. Someone who isn’t L, G, B, T, or Q, but supports the community and wants to fight for their rights.”

Chris made a face, turning to stare at Buck quizzically. After a beat of silence, Chris finally spoke.

“Buck. You can’t be an ally. You’re with Tommy so you’ve gotta be the G or the B or the Q, right?” And again, he was able to say it like it was the most simple, obvious fact in the world.

Buck let out a nervous laugh that quickly became a genuine one. He had honestly forgotten for a moment, but of course Chris hadn’t.

“You’re right. Your dad’s the ally. I’m… one of those”. Chris didn’t seem to notice him trailing off, and before the conversation could continue, Eddie announced that dinner was served.

“No matter what he made, Chris, make sure you tell him it’s the best dinner ever.”

Christopher groaned, and Buck made his way to the table, eager to enjoy a meal with his family.

IV.

Maddie apologized as she excused herself for Jee-Yun’s night routine, but truthfully this was one of Buck’s favorite parts of visiting his sister after work.

Getting to be there while she went through the peaceful normality of every day routine with her daughter, it filled Buck with such a distinct sense of contentment. He sat in the kitchen, idly playing with his phone, but mostly listening to the domestic sounds around him. The apartment was small enough that he could hear Jee’s shrieks and giggles from the bathtub, hear Maddie negotiating her out of the tub with the promise of her choice of book tonight, and hear Jee trying to start playtime again as Maddie dressed her for bed.

When the apartment finally got quieter, only the low hum of Maddie’s voice audible, Buck quietly stood up and walked closer to Jee’s bedroom. From the hallway near the door, Buck was able to hear Maddie reading the book, a simple story about a princess on her quest to save her kingdom. He closed his eyes, and for a moment he was taken back to his childhood bedroom, to Maddie curled up next to him reading a comedic retelling of Little Red Riding Hood, to her rolling her eyes when he begged her to do the silly voices, to her agreeing just to hear Buck laugh…

Jee-Yun was a lucky girl. She really did have the best mom.

When he could tell the story was winding to a close, he silently made his way back to his spot in the kitchen, not wanting to seem like he was intruding.

A few minutes later, he could hear Maddie making her way back. “Sorry about that,” she said softly. “Bedtime without Daddy always means it takes more time to get her settled.”

“Hey, don’t even worry about it. Wasn’t long at all.” Then after a beat, “When’s Chimney getting home anyways?”

She shrugged. “Probably late. He hasn’t seen Albert in ages, and he hasn’t had a guys night out in even longer.”

He turned to see her carrying a beer in each hand as she made her way over to the table.

“Thanks,” he said as she handed it to him.

She smiled. “I’m never going to complain about getting one-on-one time with my brother.”

Buck laughed before sipping his beer, a thought from earlier coming back to the forefront of his mind.

“Hey, that story you were telling Jee. I noticed it ended with the princess falling in love with another princess…” he trailed off, trying to sound nonchalant, like that detail hadn’t immediately stuck out at him as he was listening.

“You caught that, huh?” She gave him a pensive look before apparently deciding to let it go. “We have books where the princess falls in love with the prince, we have books where the princess falls in love with another princess. We have a book where the princess becomes the prince. We just… we want Jee to know that these are all possibilities for her. That all of these possibilities have happy endings.”

“That’s… nice.” Buck was trying to piece his words together. “It’s like, she won’t have to learn what being gay is, or that it’s okay, she’ll just always know. And if she is queer in some way, it would be way less confusing for her when she figures it out. Huh.”

“Exactly,” Maddie responded, reaching out to take his hands across the table. “Buck, I’m sorry I never gave that to you growing up. I’m sorry if it ever made you feel confused, or if you were ever scared to tell me things growing up. I should have made sure you knew I would have loved you no matter what.”

“What? Maddie -” That wasn’t what he was trying to say. “I always knew you loved me. That’s not it. Any of the confusion, it wasn’t your fault. It was a different time, books like that didn’t even exist.”

“I know, but still -”

“What I was trying to say,” he cut in, “was that it didn’t even occur to me that I should be talking to Jee about stuff like this. What if I've subconsciously been teaching her all of these outdated norms and ideas? As an ally, I should have already been thinking of this!”

“Whoa, whoa,” Maddie released his hands to hold them out in front of her for a moment, before bringing them back down onto the table. “First of all, she’s three. So no, you haven’t permanently instilled homophobia in her by accident.” Buck rolled his eyes at her oversimplification of what he was trying to say. “Secondly, ‘as an ally’? You’re still going with that?”

“I-” Buck hadn’t even realized he had said that, let alone that that would be what Maddie caught from his rambling. “I don’t know, I guess not. It doesn’t matter, does it? You knew what I meant.”

“I mean, it matters a little bit, doesn’t it?” She softened her voice. “If I’m pushing too much, just tell me and I’ll back off. But we haven’t really talked about this.”

And Buck knew that was true. He knew his declarations were about dating Tommy, knew he never really wanted to actually talk about himself, never really let anyone know how much self-discovery he was working on. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

“Because,” and she lowered her voice almost to a whisper, talking to Buck like she was scared he would bolt. “You’re bi, right? Or pan?”

“I guess,” Buck said with a breath. “Why do I have to call myself anything?”

“You don’t,” she said quickly, “I’m sorry if I pushed. Really, it's none of my business. Especially as a straight person. But calling yourself an ally probably isn’t the move, right?” She gave him the kind of knowing, sly smile that only a sibling could.

And just like that, the mood was already lightened. Buck let out a relieved laugh. “Yeah, it’s uh, becoming something of a bad habit.” He took another sip of his beer. “But thanks, by the way. No one else is going to push me, and I think I might need it.”

“Hey, it’s what allies and sisters are for.”

Buck was antsy as he sat in the back of the firetruck. His shift was scheduled to be over two hours ago, but the drunk driver that caused a ten-car pileup on the highway had made sure he would be late, and Buck was eager to get back to the station so that he could head to Tommy’s.

They were supposed to be attending a comedy show for date night, but Buck had texted a couple hours ago that he was unfortunately going to be very late, and to see if they could get a refund on the tickets. Tommy texted back not to worry, he understood how these things went, and that he’d be waiting at home with a bottle of wine

God, how did Buck ever get so lucky?

Once finally back at the station, Buck didn’t even bother to shower or even change out his uniform, instead grabbing his bag from his locker and practically sprinting to his Jeep, laser-focused on the shower he would have at Tommy’s and the person who would be joining him in it.

He forced himself not to break traffic laws to get himself there faster, and when he finally knocked on Tommy’s door he was nearly breathless with excitement. As he heard the door unlock, he forced his face into a more casual expression as the door opened. That expression was promptly abandoned when he saw Tommy smiling in front of him, and he matched the smile tenfold as Tommy took his hand and welcomed him inside.

Closing the door behind him, Buck took Tommy’s face in his hands and crowded him against the wall, pressing their lips together with a soft hum. “Rushed right over,” he whispered against his mouth.

Tommy broke apart for a moment, hand reaching up to play with the collar of Buck’s uniform. “I can tell,” he said with a sly smile.

For a moment Buck stilled, once again worried he would come across as over-eager, but then Tommy kissed him deeper, his hands dipping to hold his waist tightly, and Buck was again reminded how well Tommy responded to the eagerness.

They broke apart after a moment, and Buck could see Tommy’s eyes travel from his eyes downward, landing on a spot on Buck’s shirt.

“I like the pin,” Tommy said with a small laugh.

Mind still focused on the weight of Tommy’s body against his own, it took Buck a moment to realize what Tommy was referring to.

He was staring at the small Progress Pride Flag pinned to his shirtpocket.

“Oh!” Buck laughed. “The station got these, since it’s Pride month. I know it’s a little hokey, but I wanted to make sure everyone we help knows that they’re safe with us. That they’re safe with me. That I’m an ally.”

“Evan,” Tommy deadpanned, his body stiffening.

Buck blanked for a moment before realizing what he had said. “Shit, yeah. Um, you know what I mean.”

“I mean, I do and I don’t,” Tommy responded. He didn’t sound annoyed, so at least there was that. “I didn’t realize you were still calling yourself an ally.”

Buck pulled away, suddenly feeling exposed. He turned towards the bathroom, hoping a shower would put this conversation on pause until it could be forgotten.

But no, he didn’t really want to run from this. Not with Tommy. He turned back around. “No, I don’t… not really. I know I’m not, I know I’m not straight. I know that. I don’t know why it feels so weird to say what I actually am.”

“It’s still new,” Tommy reasoned.

“Exactly! And I’ve called myself an ally for so long, in my head that’s still where I’m categorized. Even though I know… I know the definitions. I think I know which one fits, it just doesn’t feel like… mine yet.” Tommy was studying him, and suddenly Buck worried this crisis was going to put him off. Tommy had been out for years at this point. He had no problem calling himself gay and seeing himself as part of the community. Buck knew this problem was immature, a sign that he was still so new to all of this, something most people figured out in their teens or twenties.

But instead, Tommy walked closer to him and took his hands. “Whatever label you’re thinking of, it’s yours if you want it. You’re a part of this community, Evan, no one can take that away from you.” He moved one of his hands to Buck’s face, cupping his cheek. “But if the labels feel stifling, you don’t need to pick one. Lots of people don’t use them. It doesn’t matter to me, just as long as you know that this is real.”

And God, somehow Tommy always knew how to reassure him. The spiral that he had been about to send himself on started to unwind, and Buck remembered why he was so excited to get over here. He closed the distance between them, capturing Tommy in a deep kiss, and his anxieties became lost to the moment, because oh, did he know how real this was.

Buck was nervous. He’d only attended Pride once before, back in 2019 when the 118 was selected to participate in the parade, and so his experience was limited to standing in the bed of the truck, wearing his uniform and a rainbow feather boa and waving at the passing crowds. Every other year, he volunteered to work so that the queer staff members could attend the festivities, like an ally should.

This year, however, he was attending for real.

As it turned out, Pride was a lot more than just the parade. There were street fairs, art markets, concerts, movie screenings, and so, so many parties. Tommy would be Buck’s guide through the crazy, and so they were enjoying the afternoon heat by walking through the block party, browsing through the many vendors.

Walking hand-in-hand with Tommy, Buck’s attention was drawn not to the vendors, but to the crowds of people around them. Buck was struck by the sheer number of vibrant personalities surrounding them, a wave of contentment washing over him. Los Angeles was a pretty liberal city, but he realized this was the first time in his life he’d seen this much open queer affection in his entire life. In the daytime, no less. It was so affirming that he almost became overwhelmed, but instead he squeezed Tommy’s hand, basking in the fact that he felt so comfortable doing that.

The next booth they approached caught Buck’s eye. It was a simple booth, stocked only with dozens of rolls of stickers. The person behind the counter, young and welcoming, smiled as they walked up.

“Hey,” they greeted. “Stickers are pay-anything, with the proceeds going towards homeless queer youth.” They gestured at the donation box on the counter.

“Sure, why not?” Tommy said, reaching into his wallet and grabbing two five dollar bills. “Pick which one you like, on me,” he winked.

Buck studied the options in front of him, realizing the booth was offering every queer-adjacent sticker that could ever exist.

There were the identity labels, ranging from ones he was familiar with to ones he would need to Google later. There were pronoun stickers. Flag stickers, many of which he didn’t recognize. Stickers announcing relationship status. Stickers with puns and references to queer media. Stickers that were downright dirty or announcing preferred sex acts. Stickers that Buck was pretty sure related to niche fetishes but was too nervous to ask about. And many more with generic Pride-related sayings and images.

Buck was pretty sure that every single person that walked up to this booth would be able to pick out at least one sticker that applied to them, if not many more.

Buck took his time looking at his options, but truthfully he knew which one had caught his eye. He’d known as soon as he saw what this booth was offering. He considered making a joke and picking the ‘Ally’ sticker, but he knew the joke would only feel funny for a moment before it felt stale and he felt uncomfortable wearing it. He considered picking a random rainbow, not technically a lie but still feeling like a cop-out, before hastily pointing to his choice before he could change his mind.

The volunteer cut the sticker and handed it to Buck, who studied it for a moment before peeling it off and sticking it onto his shirt, on the right side of his chest.

Buck took a deep breath and turned back to Tommy, eyeing the “PROUD AS FUCK” sticker newly adorning his tank top, and saw Tommy’s eyes move to read Buck’s sticker.

“I like it,” Tommy said simply.

Buck glanced down at the sticker, its pink, purple, and blue background with “BISEXUAL” written in white letters. “I like it too. Bisexual.” The word came out without hesitation, without deflecting or even stuttering on it. “Feels like me.”

And Buck took Tommy’s hand, pulled him back to continue walking down the street, and Buck kissed him right there in the crowd under the sun, truly knowing what it meant to feel free.

#911 #911 abc #bucktommy #911 fic #evan buck buckley #evan buckley #tommy kinard #bucktommy fic #tevan #tevan fic #fic #myfic #911 fics #911 fandom

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em-prentiss · 2 days

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in another life, I would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you

————

Crammed just behind the door, littering the floor, is what Emily suspects might be the whole contents of her and Aaron’s closet. She doesn’t even try to count the baskets, her eyes roving over the ridiculous amount of clothes overflowing from them, hanging over the handles and poking through the large holes. Darks are mixed with whites, onesies and footie pajamas buried amongst blazers and slacks.

Socks are everywhere.

“Come on, I don’t think it’s that bad—” Aaron cuts himself off as he walks in behind her. His eyes widen as he surveys the mess.

He clears his throat, “Oh.”

Or, Emily and Aaron let the laundry pile up. Tackling it is a joint effort, one neither of them wants to do.

Word count: 2.5k

————

They really should’ve seen this coming.

“Are you kidding me?” Emily groans as she stares at her empty closet.

She doesn’t have a single pair of clean pants. She’s down to two shirts and—a check in the drawer confirms—no bras and a lonesome pair of underwear.

“What?” Aaron asks, frowning as he takes a look into his own side of the closet. His last clean shirt currently hangs on Emily’s body, falling to mid thigh as she crosses her arms and turns to glare at him.

“Why the hell didn’t you do the laundry?” She demands, as if he did this to her on purpose, as if his closet isn’t as empty as hers is.

Aaron rolls his eyes. “Well, believe it or not, I was on cases same as you.” He says dryly. Emily’s mouth pinches. “If I remember correctly, I even lead the team you’re a part of. But I might be wrong.” He leans against the closet.

Emily narrows her eyes at him, his sarcastic tone making her skin itch. She knows he’s right, but she also knows one other thing.

They both hate doing laundry.

“Don’t get all—”

“Mommy!” Lily bursts through the door and runs into Emily’s legs.

Emily sighs and bends down to pick her little girl up, hitching her on her hip and pressing her lips to her hair. “Lil, what did we say about knocking?” She murmurs.

“I hav’ta knock,” Lily says cheerfully, unbothered by the fact that she didn’t.

Emily hugs her closer anyway, not really in the mood for reprimanding. “Well, don’t forget to do that next time,” she says, her words lost in a kiss to Lily’s cheek.

“’Kay! Wan’ some Mommy snuggles,” Lily slurs, stuffing her face beneath Emily’s jaw, her small arms wrapping around her neck. Emily grins as her tangled hair tickles her skin.

“Oh yeah, I want some Lily snuggles too,” she hugs her daughter’s sleep-warm body to her own, her eyes flitting to Aaron. Her irritation somewhat thaws at the soft look on his face as he stands upright and walks toward them.

He holds his hands out, meaning to wrap them around his wife and daughter. “Don’t I get a good morning hug?” He teases as he reaches for them.

“No.” Emily says, her voice scathing as she backs away from his arms. “Not until you do the laundry.” Her brow arches.

“Oh, come on,” he groans as she turns away, “it wasn’t my fault—”

Emily ignores him. “Let’s go see if you have any clean clothes, hmm?” She presses a kiss to the top of Lily’s head, giving Aaron a half hearted glare as she walks out of the room.

It turns out Lily does have clean clothes—as does Jack, courtesy of Jess—and by the time Emily dresses both kids and walks into the kitchen, Aaron is holding out a consolatory mug of coffee for her.

She hums as she takes it, forcing herself not to smile at the flecks of cinnamon swirling in the coffee, the smell of hazelnut creamer wafting up with the steam. When she tips it back it’s just her preferred temperature, a few degrees above warm.

He’d pulled out all the stops.

He sees the corner of her lips twitch. Aaron leans in to kiss her temple, feeling her unyielding elbow dig into his chest. “Good?” He murmurs.

Emily takes another sip and pretends to think.

It’s perfect.

He was well practiced in making her coffee; half a teaspoon of cinnamon, enough creamer to turn it into a light, teddy bear brown.

“Okay.” Emily tells him, her tone aloof as she moves out of his space and sets the mug on the counter.

“Em.” He groans as she opens the fridge and takes out a handful of eggs.

Her laugh is soft, accidental; a slip of her tongue that she tries to hide in a twist of her lips, but her eyes shine faintly when she looks at him.

“Aaron,” she returns, setting down the eggs before turning back to the fridge and taking out bacon and cheese. “We’re gonna eat and then you’re gonna help me with that mess,” she kicks the fridge door shut and turns to him, barely suppressing a shiver at the thought of the full baskets in the laundry room. “Deal?”

Her tone brooks no argument.

He shouldn’t smile; it’s probably the last thing he should be caught doing right now, but despite the look in her eye, she looks adorable.

Emily like this is his favorite, with his shirt softly hugging her hips, the wide neckline exposing her collarbone. Her hair is tucked behind her ears, turned into ten shades of brown with the sunlight shining behind her. Her eyes are no different, and if it weren’t for the dangerous way her hands are planted on her hips right now, he’d think he was in heaven.

“Deal.”

Lily bounds into the kitchen then, careless and running straight for her mother. “Oh no you don’t,” Aaron scoops her up, the sound of her giggles making both him and Emily smile.

She wriggles in his arms as he tickles her. “How come I didn’t get any good morning snuggles, huh Lily?” Aaron asks, his voice rising above the sound of her squeals.

Lily throws her arms around his neck. “Daddy gets snuggles too!” She laughs, the sound sweet as Aaron kisses her cheeks. He stops his torment and hugs her to his chest, feeling her drop her head on his shoulder.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he kisses her hair, soaking in the comfort of holding her after a week of being away. Emily’s gaze flits to them and she bites back a smile.

“Nice of you to be so helpful,” she murmurs, no real bite to her words as she cracks the eggs into a bowl.

Aaron shrugs and holds Lily tighter. “I have to make sure she doesn’t go near the stove.” He protests.

“Right,” Emily hums, her lips turning upwards. Her eyes rest on something beside him and she smiles suddenly. “Hey, Jackers,” she says as Jack sits down at the island. “Omelet or scrambled eggs?”

He considers it for a moment. “Scrambled eggs.”

“Exactly what I was thinking,” Emily agrees, turning to the stove. Lily suddenly wriggles again in Aaron’s arms and he sets her down on the seat next to Jack before moving next to Emily. He grabs a pan and lays out the bacon, hearing the kids squabble behind him.

“I thought I was your designated sous-chef,” Aaron murmurs to her.

Emily takes a sip from her coffee, hiding her smile. “Hm, you’re on the black list.”

“Until…” Aaron prompts.

“Until I get clean bras back.” She bites out, narrowing her eyes at him when he laughs loudly.

“You’ll get them back, Emily.”

———

She’d lured him into a false sense of security. After breakfast, Aaron thought he was out of the woods, but he’d barely sat down on the couch before she tugged on his shirt—that he’d worn to sleep last night—and pulled him up.

“A deal’s a deal, Hotchner.”

Aaron sighs and follows her, only slightly dragging his feet as they walk to the laundry room.

Emily opens the door and wishes she hadn’t.

“Oh, god.” She rubs the bridge of her nose, cursing everyone from herself to her husband to the serial killers of America.

Socks are everywhere.

“Come on, I don’t think it’s that bad—” Aaron cuts himself off as he walks in behind her. His eyes widen as he surveys the mess.

He clears his throat, “Oh.”

Emily huffs, “Yeah, oh. This is unbelievable,” she mutters, grimacing at the mountains of clothes spilling out of baskets. The floor isn’t even visible anymore. Her body almost sags at the sight, but Emily forces herself upright.

She takes in a breath, “Okay, let’s start by washing the darks first.”

Bending down, she picks up one of the baskets and places it on the counter, huffing a little at the heaviness of it. She twists her lip at the sight of lights and darks all mixed up together, yellows and reds mixing with browns and blacks.

The other baskets are no different.

“Let’s start by separating the darks first,” Emily amends. She hears Aaron laugh and turns, finding him crouched in front of one of the baskets.

“Way ahead of you.” He grins up at her, his arms laden with dark clothes, hands cupped over his blazers and hers. His dimples are deepened by the sunlight flooding in through the windows. It casts shadows on his cheeks, turns his eyes into that warm brown she always loved.

Emily throws a sock at him.

“Hey!” He laughs and struggles to his feet. A few things drop from his arms to the floor, but he ignores them as he places the clothes on the counter. He turns to Emily, who heaves a sigh and starts separating her own basket.

Aaron wraps his arms around her in a sideways hug, halting her moving hands.

“Stop being such a grump.” He chides, ignoring her huff as he presses his lips to her cheek. His hand lazily wraps around her waist and squeezes.

“I remember you used to love wearing my shirts all day. What happened?” His voice drips faux agony and when Emily huffs this time, it sounds more like a laugh.

“I was really in the mood for pants this morning,” she says dryly, but her voice is softer. She turns and catches her lips with his, twisting in his arms to properly face him. His calloused hands on her cheeks soften her unnecessarily sharp edges. Just a little.

Emily leans back with a sigh. “Sorry.” She whispers, reaching her hand out and running her thumb over his bottom lip, “I’m not mad, it’s just annoying.” Her nose scrunches.

Aaron only smiles. “Go hang out with the kids,” he tells her softly, pressing another small kiss to her lips. “I’ll take care of this.”

Emily smiles, too. The realest one she’s given him all morning, her body growing warm at his stupid thoughtfulness. She shakes her head; it’s her fault, too, and half—if not more—her mess.

“Let’s both take care of this so we can finish fast and hang out with them,” she murmurs. They only came back yesterday afternoon, and the whole month had been a whirlwind of case after case, none of them local. They were both craving family time, the softness of the life they built together.

“Sounds good.”

It takes them the better part of ten minutes to separate the darks and dump them in the washer with a copious amount of detergent. They stay in the laundry room as the washer begins rumbling, painstakingly separating the whites from the colors.

If she’s honest, it’s a tiny bit therapeutic. Aaron hums beside her as he hands her whites and she hands him colors, his voice barely audible over the rumble of the washing machine, but there all the same. The sun streaming in through the window is pleasantly warm on her skin, and after a while the scent of detergent slowly diffuses throughout the small room.

Emily’s arms ache by the time they’re done. “Okay,” she lines up the rest of the baskets neatly on the counter; white, color, color. “That’s done, let’s get the hell out of here,” she mutters to Aaron.

He leaves faster than she does, though she’s close behind. Emily shuts the door to the laundry room, breathing a sigh of relief as the rumble of the machine gets muffled through the wood.

Aaron chuckles. “I don’t like doing laundry,” he says, pressing his lips to her hair, “but if it’s with you, it’s alright.”

Sap, Emily thinks as she looks up at him, his eyes sparkling in the late morning sun. But she’s just the same; it wasn’t all that bad with him by her side.

“Just alright?” She teases.

His dimples curve in his cheeks. “Glad to see you got your sense of humor back,” he murmurs, kissing her before she can spit out another response at him.

For the next four hours they get up to load the dryer and washer, tossing the clean clothes on the couch and working in tandem until Emily slams the door to the last load in the dryer, the late afternoon sun painting her golden.

“Last one,” she breathes, holding her palm up.

Aaron high-five’s her with a grin. “See that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Emily scoffs lightly, “Oh, it was bad. Let them pile up like that again and you’ll be doing it all on your own.” She threatens.

“I’d kill myself.” He deadpans, his face deathly serious until Emily laughs and messes up his frown with her fingers.

“And then you’d haunt the laundry room,” she muses, grinning as Aaron takes her hands off his face and kisses her knuckles one by one. “And then I’d dry clean all the clothes for the rest of my life.”

Aaron hums and wraps his arm around her shoulders, leading her out of the cursed laundry room. “And you’d wipe out half your trust fund paying for it.”

Emily laughs, winding her arm around his waist. “That’ll make Mother happy.” She tangles her fingers in his shirt, smiling until they reach the living room.

Her smile immediately disappears at the piles of clothes on the couch. “I forgot about those,” she groans, burying her face in Aaron’s neck to hide from the sight.

“Good thing we have nothing else to do,” Aaron sighs, his gaze drifting from the clothes infested couch to Bluey playing on the tv to Jack lying on the floor, his head cushioned on Lily’s leg as he plays with his Switch.

“Let’s get to work, Agent Prentiss.”

———

They’re still folding clothes long after the kids have gone to bed.

Drowning in a sea of clothes on the couch and trying their best to pass the mind numbing task with reality tv, Aaron groans, “I fucking hate laundry.”

Secretly, Emily agrees. Out loud, she throws a shirt on his face and says, “No slacking, Agent Hotchner.”

He promptly sticks his head into a pile of pants, hoping the lack of oxygen would suffocate him.

Emily threads her fingers through his hair and pulls his head up, scrunching her nose at him when his eyes meet hers. “You’re not dying on me, Aaron. You have to be at least 60 to do that,” she sighs, stretching over the mountain of clothes to slot her face between his neck and jaw.

“Besides,” she murmurs, “death by laundry is lame.”

“I’ll take it.” He grumbles. Emily feels him press a kiss to her hair, his lips lingering on her skin.

He doesn’t say it, and neither does she, but buried beneath a mountain of clothes, the house quiet but for their grumbling and the low volume of the TV, there’s nowhere else they’d rather be, nobody else they’d rather be doing this with.

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