Chapter Text
Epilogue:
“Looks like this is it,” Brian gave Justin a pseudo-mournful look, the effect of which was somewhat mitigated by the knowledge that Justin could still taste him on his lips. Airport bathrooms weren’t exactly comfortable, but they were cleaner than some places they’d fucked.
“You’ll be ok?” Justin couldn’t help asking again, even though he knew it would drive Brian nuts. Maybe because he knew it would drive Brian nuts, and that was a comfortable status-quo.
“I’ll be fabulous,” Brian dismissed Justin’s concern immediately, though one corner of his mouth tugged up in a ghost of a smile in response.
“I’ll see you at Christmas,” Justin promised. “It’s only six weeks away. Assuming I survive this workshop with Geraint in the meantime-“
“Don’t worry about it,” Brian shrugged, grabbing Justin’s hips and pulling him in close. The sounds of the airport mezzanine faded into the background, totally inconsequential buzzing that only served as a distraction. “I’m not.”
“I know,” Justin laughed, closing his eyes and focusing on the feeling of Brian’s hands on his hips, his breath gently ruffling Justin’s hair. “I’ll be brilliant,” he anticipated Brian’s next comment, a little self-mockingly.
“Not brilliant,” Brian corrected, his lips barely grazing Justin’s forehead as he spoke. “Fucking brilliant.” His fingers closed compulsively on Justin’s belt, and he tipped his head down to rest his forehead against his lover’s. Just for one more moment. He claimed Justin’s mouth with a kiss, first hard, then soft, lingering there for a heartbeat as he drew back.
They breathed together.
Justin smiled, though he knew Brian couldn’t see it. He murmured his response without looking up. “I love you, too.”
The boarding call sounded over the PA system and Justin pulled back, shouldered his duffel bag and squeezed Brian’s hand one more time. He headed for the escalator down to security, looking back and holding Brian’s eyes only once his feet were planted on the moving staircase that dragged him down and away into the throng.
Brian turned and rested his forearms on the railing, let his shoulders curve and his back slump a little. He followed Justin with his eyes, the smile lingering. He watched him as he wove his way through the crowd with practiced ease, stayed exactly where he was long after his last glimpse of tousled blond hair, a white leather coat, and a shapeless, battered black duffel.
--
The thrum of the jet’s engines were a familiar soundtrack to the end of a case, a reassuring epilogue. Rossi was on the phone as he dropped down into the seat opposite from Hotchner at the front of the plane, the rest of the team chatting quietly at the back. “Thanks, Horvath,” Rossi finished, and fumbled with the buttons for a moment as he hung up.
“Straker’s going to survive,” Rossi reported, his expression a little ambivalent at the news. “Thanks to Morgan and Prentiss. He’s on suicide watch for now.”
“I should have known that he was devolving,” Hotch shook his head, his expression dark and brows lowered. “Removing his control over the process by relocating his victims was the final straw.”
“You can’t predict everything, Aaron,” Rossi shook his head, the last thing Morgan caught in the conversation as he moved easily back down the plane aisle to rejoin the others.
Morgan grinned, glancing up at the pair of agents at the front of the jet before settling down in the seat across from Prentiss. JJ was in the window seat to his left, facing Reid. “So who’s going to tell Hotch?” Morgan asked quietly, a light in his eyes.
“Not me,” Prentiss replied quickly, putting up her hands in a warding-off gesture.
“Tell him what?” Reid asked, looking up from his book.
“Just look at him,” Morgan advised.
Reid popped up in his seat briefly, and caught a glimpse of the back of Hotch’s head and neck over the seat a few rows ahead. Rossi was looking his way, though, and he ducked back down again just as quickly. “Ohhhh.”
“Don’t laugh,” JJ riposted with a grin of her own and a small laugh, despite her light-hearted warning to the contrary. “That stuff’s insidious. It was still coming off me in the shower this morning.”
“We can’t let Strauss see him with glitter in his hair,” Prentiss objected, but only half-heartedly. “She’ll have a field day.”
“Fine,” Morgan replied. “You tell him.”
“I’m not telling him! You saw it, you do it.”
“Rock-paper-scissors you for it?”
“Fat chance.”
I have everything, yet have nothing; and although I possess nothing, still of nothing am I in want.
Terence (185 BC - 159 BC), Eunuchus