Work Text:
Amelia has a boyfriend. Which is, you know, fine. Normal, even, for a seventeen year old.
Except when that seventeen year old is the daughter of one Emily Prentiss.
Emily doesn't like the idea. Hadn't, even when Amelia was 13 and had a “relationship” in middle school. Of course, you hadn't been there for that, but Amelia used it as an argument in many discussions with her mother, especially when annoyed about Emily's overprotection.
Alright, you remember what being a teenage girl was like. Your parents were constantly out to get you, even if they weren't, even if they really were worried about drugs, predators or something worse. You know that Amy will see it soon, she'll understand Emily's view on it when she's older, when she's not infatuated. You're sure of it.
That doesn't mean she understands it now.
In the living room, you've been witness to a few arguments. From the day Amelia sat Emily down and said she had a boyfriend, until today, when she sat her mom down, again, to ask if said boyfriend can sleep over.
“Absolutely not,” Emily says, once again.
“Why?!” Amelia exclaims, her face indignant, just like Emily's. “What difference does it make if he sleeps over or not?”
Her mother sighs. You stay very, very quiet.
“The difference is I don't want him to.”
“Oh, great argument, mom.” Amelia scoffs, “very convincing.”
Emily stands up, moving away from the couch to pace away her stress. “I'm your mother, I don't need to convince you of anything.”
Amy presses her lips together for a second. Then, in an honestly shocking action, calls your name. You look up at her, confused.
“Tell her she's being unreasonable.”
Widening your eyes, you notice Emily is also looking at you and waiting for an answer. Her eyebrow raised in a challenge.
“Oh,” you chuckle forcedly, “I'm not getting in the middle of that.”
“Why not?!” Amelia asks, waving her arms around indignantly. “You're getting married,” she gestures at the ring on your left hand, still recent and shocking to you when you look down at it. “You're like, practically, my mom too, right? You should have a say in this.”
Lips parted in surprise, you look over at Emily, whose shoulders have dropped ever so slightly. She nods, “tell us what you think.”
Clearing your throat, you look between them for a moment. God, it's annoying how much they can't see that they're exactly the same.
“Um, I don't see much of a difference if he's coming over, anyway,” you say, finally, and Amelia looks at you triumphantly. She points, making a face at her mother that says see?
In a second, you lift up a hand to stop her. “But, you said you'd just be sleeping, right? So, no harm in keeping the door open through the night.”
Amy scoffs, “that's ridiculous.”
Well, you don't really believe that. You're trying to be diplomatic, whatever, sue you. Of course, it doesn't make a difference if the door is open or not. If Amelia wants to have sex, she'll find a way to do it, at home or somewhere else. You'd much rather it be at home, safely, and you just want some time to discuss it, properly, with Emily before she has a stress induced stroke.
You look at Amy, begging her to understand that you need time to help Emily get used to the idea. She seems to get the hint.
“He can come over for dinner, and then he can stay over. Door open, that's it.”
You both look at Emily, bracing for her reaction. She keeps her arms crossed, lips pursed, but relents. “Fine. No closing the door and for one night. I need to meet him.”
Amelia looks at you gratefully, then thanks her mom, quickly darting away to her room with the excuse of telling Nick the good news. You take a deep breath, turning to Emily, who's still fuming, by the looks of it.
You walk towards her slowly, then softly uncross her arms for her, wrapping them around yourself. Resting your hands on her shoulders, you lock eyes, waiting. Emily sighs, again, like she has the weight of the world on her back.
“Compromises,” you say, trying to get her to understand.
“I guess,” she shrugs. Her lips are still in the cutest pout, though you'd never tell her that.
“Wouldn't you rather they sleep here instead of somewhere you don't know?”
“I'd rather they not sleep together at all,” she says indignantly.
You bite your lip to contain a smile, knowing it'll just add to her distress. “She'll be fine, she's a smart girl. Besides, if she wants to do something more, she'll find the time, even if it is in the middle of the day,” you say carefully. “You remember what being a teenager was like.”
Emily nods, “that's what worries me.”
In the end, dinner comes and goes easily. Nick sleeps over, they keep the door open, and Emily doesn't end up having a stroke. She even likes him, as much as she can. He seems like a good kid, and after dinner they even studied together in the den, so you're guessing this is as good as it'll get when considering 17 year olds.
Emily was touched that Amelia asked for your opinion. She'd smiled about it and kissed your cheek, and you told her she was allowed to say I told you so if she wanted to. She did tell you Amy would come around, and she had, a while ago as well. Now, though, after you got engaged, it seemed she was even more welcoming of your place in her life.
After a half day of work, your boss ends up letting you go home to finish everything remotely. It's a slow day, so there’s no need for you to be at the office, and you'll take any opportunity you can to work from home. As you drive, you call Emily to let her know about your change in plans and ask what she wants for dinner, figuring you'll whip something up in case she gets home late.
At the house, which you, sometimes, still can't believe you can call yours, you finally sigh after getting in, tired from the drive back. It's eerily quiet, which is to be expected. In the middle of the day, on a Friday, Emily at work and Amelia at school, you hope the silence doesn't lull you to sleep over your laptop and you actually manage to get some work done. Deciding you'll grab a coffee to keep you company, you leave your stuff in Emily's office, since you're both still working on redecorating the spare room as an office for you, and start towards the kitchen. You greet Leo in the hallway, scratching between his ears and letting him go when he quickly skips away.
On the way there, though, you hear a noise from the second floor. Immediately startled, you try to rationalize that it must be the wind, or one of the windows moving with the force of it. A beat later, though, you hear it again.
Reaching the second floor, you realize the sounds are coming from Amelia's room. The door is closed, so you guess she must've forgotten the window open, as usual, and there's a branch or something hitting the glass. Hoping there isn't actually an intruder, and praying to whoever is listening that if there is one, they haven't been able to get into Emily's gun safe, or you're about to be in big trouble.
Telling yourself you're being paranoid, you slowly open the door to Amelia's room, bracing yourself for someone to come swinging or pointing a gun at your face.
What greets you isn't that, but something much worse.
Sure, that's really dramatic, though the thought of explaining this to Emily brings immediate nausea, and your eyes widen in shock as you take in the scene.
Amelia yelps, hiding herself under the comforter, as you finally get control of your body back, slamming the door and walking quickly down the stairs. Defeated, you already know you won't be getting any work done today.
Because Amelia is home when she should've been at school. And Emily hadn't said anything, which indicated she was skipping class, a whole other can of worms that you don't want to unpack right now. And Amelia is home with her boyfriend, door closed, when they both should've been at school.
If you’re trying to grasp at silver linings, at least they were both clothed.
Although they were, most definitely, making out on Amy's bed. With the door closed. Skipping school. While Emily was at work, completely oblivious.
And, shit, you're going to have to tell Emily about this.
No matter what Amelia sees you as, no matter that you're finally growing into a proper role in her life. Emily has to know. And, fuck, you were the one who encouraged her to be fine with this relationship, you said Amelia was smart, you said she knew what she was doing,
And now Amelia is skipping school to make out or do God knows what with her boyfriend.
Oh, Emily's never gonna let you make a decision about this ever again.
It takes a few minutes for Amy to come find you, but she does, eventually.
You're sat at the dining table, staring at your laptop screen, pretending to work and not managing to convince even yourself. You see her in the reflection before she makes herself known.
Amelia clears her throat. As you turn, you notice her flushed cheeks, the way she's wringing her fingers together like her mother does when she's uncomfortable. You wait.
“I'm guessing there's no hope in asking you to keep this quiet?” She asks, yet she's already dejected, a self deprecating little smile on her lips.
You stay silent, raising your eyebrows.
“We weren't even doing anything,” she tries. “We were studying and got distracted.”
“Okay…” You nod, willing to hear her out. “And why aren't you at school?”
Amy shifts from one foot to the other, looking down at the floor. “We had a free period, then only an English class after, but there's this test next week and I was worried, so Nick was helping me study-”
At the perfect moment, of course, Nick comes down the stairs, his backpack in hand and looking redder than a tomato. It's an admittedly amusing sight, though you keep your laughter in. Leo skips down the stairs right behind him, probably infatuated with his new friend.
“Hi, Nicholas,” you say, enjoying the way he folds in on himself — it's funny, okay? You're still human, after all. “I think you should go home.”
He nods, quickly kisses Amy's cheek and makes his way out. She doesn't even look up at him, but you're guessing they're okay from her little wave.
“Amy,” you stand up, closing your laptop and walking around the island, moving to grab a glass of water just to have something to do with your hands. “I'm hoping you're going to be responsible enough to tell Emily about this yourself.”
Amelia opens her mouth to protest, but you silence her with a look.
“I'm not going to berate you for having a boyfriend, or wanting to spend time with him. I know your mom gets a little protective sometimes-” You ignore her scoff, taking a sip of your water before setting the glass down. “But she's still your mom, and she has rules for a reason. You skipped school, sneaked in here and did exactly what Emily was afraid you'd do.”
She sits heavily on the couch, keeping her eyes down, biting her lip in an effort to keep her emotions in check. It's cute to see how much she and Emily have in common, even in a situation like this.
“When you tell her about it, you should ask her why she’s so against you having a boyfriend. I'm sure she'll explain it to you.”
Crossing her arms, Amy looks up, “she's trying to ruin my social life.”
You smile despite yourself at her stubbornness, “ask her and you'll understand.”
She stays quiet, most definitely thinking about how her parents are the worst. Well, we've all been there.
“I thought you'd be the cool mom,” she rolls her eyes, leaving the den swiftly, and still slamming her door for good measure.
After a beat, she yells out Sorry! I didn't mean to slam it.
At least there's that.
Emily arrives silently, like always. She takes off her boots by the door, leaves her coat hanging, drops her bag on the couch.
She finds you in the kitchen, after following the smell of dinner, which is waiting for her on the stove. She grins.
God, you’re about to ruin her day.
Emily greets you in that low, raspy voice after an entire day of using it. Her tone would normally have your knees buckling. This time, your shoulders tense. She notices, of course, yet doesn't say anything.
She kisses your cheek, the side of your mouth, taking note of the two glasses of wine on the island. Wraps her arms around you from behind, then murmurs, “you okay?”
You hum in response, pushing the glass towards her softly. Tilting your head, you wordlessly ask for a kiss, to which she complies happily. Sighing into her mouth, you pull back slightly. “I have to tell you something.”
Emily nods, waiting. Before you can say anything, though, you both hear Amelia's footsteps behind you. Turning, Emily smiles at her, heart warming at the sight of her daughter, wearing pajamas with her dark hair in a braid.
“Hey, Hon.” She calls, hand still resting on your shoulder, like she's making sure you won't leave. There's nowhere else you'd want to go.
“Hi, mom,” she says, looking at you and nodding. You nod back, proud she's seemed to take your advice.
“Maybe we should move to the couch,” you suggest, causing Emily to frown immediately and look at the two of you, one at a time, cataloguing expressions and narrowing her eyes, trying to catch whatever it is by reading the faces of the two most important women in her life.
She doesn't say anything, again, and you know that's just her own style of profiling. Quietly assessing before she can get to a conclusion. Still, she lets herself be guided to the living room, sits down without prompting and accepts the glass you bring her. Amelia stands near the couch, shifting on her feet, as usual.
Emily frowns, and, finally, Amy starts talking.
If you weren't so tense, you'd laugh at the rollercoaster of emotions on Emily's face. Confusion, anger, then a shock so genuine you could kiss her, declare how much you love her and how adorable she looks when she's just, absolutely, lost. You don't do any of that, naturally, falling back into your role of spectator and waiting to see if you might need to be the extinguisher for Emily's fire.
For a moment, everything stills. Emily doesn't say a word.
For all her fame at the FBI, for how intimidating she looks, you know she's nothing like that in her personal life. At work, she needs to put up that front to earn people's respect, which is upsetting, but not unreal. At home, she's a loving, caring, understanding mother, even when Amelia tests her patience, even when the cat breaks one of her favorite picture frames.
At home, she prioritizes conversations instead of hard glares, she squeezes your hip when you look upset but won't tell her why, she plays with Amelia's hair when she needs comfort but won't ask for it.
The Emily you know is warm and sweet, truly comparable to marshmallow on the inside when it comes to you or Amelia. The Emily you know looks nothing like the woman next to you right now, who you're pretty sure just gained another gray hair in a span of thirty seconds.
“You did what?” She asks in an almost whisper, her jaw locked, eyes boring into Amelia's own, a mirror to hers.
Amy presses her lips together, then drops herself on the wooden coffee table, immediately placing her hands on her mother's thighs. “I'm sorry, okay? I am. And I won't do it again.”
“Of course you won't,” Emily says, way too calmly for you to trust it. “You're not going to see Nick again.”
Amelia jumps up, “mom! That's so ridiculous.”
Emily sits up, moving to the edge of the couch. Your hand on her thigh keeps her from standing up. “No… What's ridiculous is you making terrible decisions after starting to date this boy.”
“You said she'd understand!” She almost yells, looking at you. A fire behind her eyes that you've only seen before in Emily's.
Lifting a hand to placate her, and keep Emily from saying whatever it is you can see from the corner of your eye that she's about to. “I said you had to ask her, and that she'd explain it to you,” you say it slowly, not wanting to oxygenate the flame even further.
“Explain what?!” Emily finally asks, arms crossed.
Amy takes a deep breath, sitting on the loveseat this time, a little further away from you both. “Why you hate that I have a boyfriend.”
Your fiancée scoffs, “haven’t you given me enough reason? You skipped school, Amy! You defied a rule I specifically set.”
She shakes her head, “you never liked it, even before that.”
“I told you, I don't have to explain anything to you, Amelia. I'm your mother.” Emily grabs her wine glass, taking a long sip. “Fuck, now you've made me sound like my mother.”
You touch her arm, earning her attention. You find it sweet how her eyes immediately soften. “I think she might understand it better if you tell her about when you were a teenager.” Watching as realization dawns in her eyes, you quickly squeeze her hand. “Only if you want to.”
Emily thinks about it for a moment. Amelia taps her foot impatiently. You figure she's glad the attention is not on her for a brief moment.
Seeming to make a decision, Emily turns to her daughter, leaving her glass on the coffee table, but her other hand still in yours. Then, she tells her.
Emily tells her about Rome, and John, and Matthew. She tells her about the priest, the clinic, like it's a story she only heard of. Her voice never wavers, her resolve never falters, though her hand squeezes yours when she says the word ‘abortion’.
“I've always done everything I can to ensure this didn't happen to you,” she explains. “Not because I don't trust you, or because I wouldn't help you do whatever you wanted in that situation because, believe me, Amelia, I would.” Emily reaches a hand in front of her, waiting for Amy to hold it. She does, of course, not even taking time to think about it. “I would move heaven and earth to make it your decision, and I always wanted to be a mother to whom you could come to if anything like that ever happened, unlike the one I had.”
Amy shakes her head incredulously, “you are.”
Emily smiles at her, “something like that changes you, Amy. I know I did what was right for me at the time, and I don't regret it, but it's something that weighs on you. I didn't want you to have to make that decision.” She wipes away a single tear that had escaped, “which is why I always worry when you mention a boy, and why I gave you the talk when you had your first period, even if your grandmother judged it way too early.” She sighs, “I know you're a smart girl. But this decision you made was very stupid.”
Amelia bites her lip, embarrassed. She looks down at her hand that's still clasped with her mother's.
“I want you to date, to have fun. But I don't want you making stupid decisions, Amy, you’re my daughter and you know better than that.”
She nods, her eyes moving to you for a second, then back to Emily. “I'm sorry. And I'm sorry, too,” she looks back at you, “that I said you weren't the cool mom. You definitely are.”
You let out a surprised laugh. Amy smiles back and even Emily, with her tense shoulders, shakes her head with a small grin.
“I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that so you don't get an extra week without your phone.”
Amelia opens her mouth to protest, but is silenced with a single brow raise. She deflates, leaning against the cushions, defeated. Looking up shyly, “can I still see Nick? Mom, I swear we never did anything more, I would've told you, I promise.”
Emily looks at you with an indignant look, “that's what she's worried about?”
You shrug, “she's in loove,” you sing-song, delighting in Amy's blush.
“Fine, you can see him.” Before Amelia jumps up, Emily continues, “only at school, or here, with supervision. It'll be a while before he can go up to your room again.”
Amy nods, smiling softly. “Thanks, moms.” She hugs you both quickly, leaving her phone on the coffee table and swiftly leaving the room, her footsteps fast on the stairs.
“She called you her mom,” Emily beams, kissing your chin.
“Huh,” you jokingly consider, “I thought having a teenager would be harder.”
Emily stares at you, attempting a glare, “I almost had a stroke!”
“You should've seen my face when I caught them,” you shake your head, sipping on what's left of your wine. “Or Nick's.”
She, finally, guffaws, finding humor in the situation. “Fuck, honey, I'm gonna need a lot more wine to get through the night.”
You nod, grabbing her empty glass and starting towards the kitchen. “Whatever my lady wishes,” you call back with a chuckle.