A/N - In this story, Emily turns down the Interpol job offer.

Reid's drunken visit to Emily's hotel room and their subsequent sleepover didn't erase the hurt between them, but it was the turning point that Emily had been so desperately waiting for.

She woke up at the first buzz of her alarm the next morning to the familiar weight of his lanky arm slung across her waist. For someone who spent so much of his life avoiding touch, Reid had always been a surprisingly snuggly bedmate. Reaching over to turn off the alarm, Emily heard his low groan behind her; his voice, always husky first thing in the morning, was raspy and hungover.

"Emily?"

She rolled over to face him, watched him take in the situation, note that they were both fully clothed, replay the night before in his mind. His hazel eyes were bloodshot, the dark circles even more defined than usual, and his longish hair had tipped past stylishly mussed into hobo.

"Morning, handsome," she quipped, grasping for normalcy.

He pulled back, propping himself up on one elbow and squeezing his eyes shut against what Emily assumed was a pounding headache.

"Need a couple more Advil?"

He ran long fingers through his hair and then collapsed face down into the pillow without answering. Unsure of where they stood, Emily resisted the urge to run her hand down his back, and instead rolled out of bed to retrieve the pills.

When she sat back on the edge of the bed a minute later with two Advil and a glass of water, he gingerly rolled over, sat up, and obediently swallowed the pills she handed him.

"Thanks," he rasped, avoiding her eyes. "And I'm sorry about last night. Thanks for not kicking me out."

"No thanks necessary, Spence. I'm glad you came to find me."

He glanced up then, exhausted hazel meeting slightly less tired chocolate. She waited.

"I want to move past this."

She nodded, and held his gaze.

"I'm still angry. And scared," he said. "But I miss you too much to keep pushing you away."

Not trusting herself to speak, Emily nodded. Reid looked relieved, hungover, but relieved. A minute passed in silence, broken only by the crinkle of sheets when he finally leaned forward and pulled her into a hug.

Relationships take work, but as the weeks past in a flurry of cases and a handful of weekends at home, Emily and Spencer put in the effort to repair their friendship. Sometimes it was easy and sometimes they stumbled, but over time it got easier. Weekday lunches turned into weekend brunches, which eventually turned into movie nights. He never asked for his key back and she never offered to return it.

8 months later

"Emily Prentiss, do you really think that I don't see what's going on here?" Morgan smirked, leaning across the booth to clink his beer bottle against her's.

The team was out for drinks on a Friday night, celebrating a full week without travel. The bar was crowded, but not so loud that you had to shout to make yourself heard, which suited Emily much better than Morgan's original suggestion that they all go out clubbing.

"I'm not sure what you're talking about," she answered, straight faced, taking a sip and scanning the room. Hotch and Rossi were taking on JJ and Reid in a round of darts (JJ appeared to be carrying the team) and Garcia was god knows where, probably securing a round of overly complex shots.

"Oh yeah, sure you don't," Morgan snorted and took a long pull of his beer, the corners of his mouth turned up. "Well let me just say that I'm happy you two are… enjoying each other's company again. It's about damn time."

"For the record, I still don't know what you're talking about, Morgan," Emily said, but then let her face relax into a grin. "But off the record, he was worth the wait."