Chapter Text
The case had dragged on for days, the kind that weighed on all of them, and when Rossi suggested drinks, no one argued. By the time the team spilled into the low-lit warmth of a bar near Quantico, they were already loosening their ties, exhaling the heaviness of the past week.
Leah Ryan pushed the door open last, boots heavy against the scuffed floorboards. She’d traded her blazer and badge for a muscle-fit black tee that hugged her frame, olive cargo pants, and her scuffed boots. The cotton clung to her shoulders and chest, highlighting just how in shape she was—though she wore it like it didn’t matter. Her cherry red curls tumbled loose down her back, catching the glow of the overhead neon.
JJ caught sight of her first and almost choked on her own laugh. Emily, sitting beside her at their booth, followed JJ’s gaze. Neither woman said a word, but both found themselves watching Leah cross the room, something magnetic in her stride.
“Lord,” JJ murmured under her breath, lips quirking as she leaned toward Emily.
Emily didn’t answer, but her smirk said it all. She tracked Leah’s movements like she was profiling her without meaning to, though her thoughts had very little to do with the case they’d just closed.
Leah flopped into the booth beside Reid, stretching her arms across the back of the seat, her septum ring catching the dim light. “Feels good not to smell like crime scene for once.”
Morgan barked a laugh. “And to think, rookie, you’ve only been here a year. Give it a few more and you’ll forget what regular air smells like.”
“Sweetheart,” Leah drawled, her southern twang soft and lazy, “I grew up in the middle’a Utah with nothin’ but dust and goat pens. I’ll take dead-air over goat-air any day.”
The table erupted in laughter. Even Hotch’s mouth twitched before he lifted his glass.
They were half a round of drinks in when it happened. Leah had just returned from the bar with another beer, leaning casually against the counter, when a man slid in beside her.
Tall, broad-shouldered, a uniform shirt unbuttoned just enough to show he wanted people to know he was a man of authority. The kind of man who thought the badge made him untouchable.
The team didn’t miss a thing—years of profiling meant every set of eyes flicked toward Leah, then to him, then back to Leah again.
“Evenin’,” he said, flashing the kind of smile that probably worked on plenty of people. “I’m Jared. Captain Jared, actually. Fairfax PD.” He nodded toward the dartboard across the room. “Care for a game?”
Leah blinked up at him with the kind of innocence that made JJ nearly spit out her drink. She layered sweetness into her accent like honey over tea. “Well now, that’s mighty temptin’. But what’re we playin’ for, Captain Jared?”
The man’s grin widened. “If I win, I get your number.”
Emily’s fingers tightened briefly around her glass, and JJ shot her a look that said, see, I’m not the only one watching.
Leah tilted her head, curls spilling across her shoulder. “That don’t sound too fair. Y’see, I ain’t much good at losin’. How ‘bout if I win… you cover my team’s tab tonight?” She gestured toward the BAU table, where six of the sharpest minds in the FBI watched with thinly veiled amusement.
Rossi raised his glass in silent toast, grinning like the devil himself.
Captain Jared hesitated, clearly calculating just how much that table might’ve racked up. But pride won out, as it so often did. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”
The game began. First round, Leah’s throws were decent—enough to impress a regular crowd, but not enough to dominate. She let Jared swagger, let him land his points and pump his fists. He won the round, chest puffed like he’d already sealed the deal.
Morgan leaned toward JJ, whispering with a grin, “She’s hustlin’ him.”
JJ bit her lip, her eyes locked on Leah. “Oh, she’s good.”
Reid, sipping his soda, piped up matter-of-factly, “She’s intentionally reducing her accuracy. Muscle groups don’t adjust that way without conscious effort.”
Hotch didn’t comment, but his eyebrow rose ever so slightly.
Second round, Leah’s posture changed. She straightened, rolled her shoulders, and in one fluid motion sank a bullseye. Then another. Then another. The bar went quiet around them.
Jared blinked, his confidence faltering as her third dart thunked into the center of the board with surgical precision.
Leah’s smile turned sharp, but her voice remained sweet as pecan pie. “Well, sugar, guess that one’s mine.”
Emily felt her chest tighten in ways she didn’t care to admit in public. JJ, beside her, was practically glowing.
Third round, Jared tried to recover, but Leah didn’t give him the chance. She sank every shot clean. Bullseye after bullseye. By the end, the captain was pale, the bar cheering, and the BAU team clapping like they’d just watched a Broadway show.
Leah strolled back to the booth, handed the darts back to the bartender with a wink, and dropped into her seat between Reid and Rossi. She tipped her bottle toward the team. “Drinks are on the good Captain tonight.”
Morgan howled with laughter. “Girl, you’re a menace.”
Rossi smirked. “And a damn fine shot.”
Hotch gave her one of his rare, approving nods. “Remind me never to underestimate you off duty.”
Leah just grinned, curls falling into her eyes. “Why thank ya kindly, boss.”
JJ and Emily exchanged a glance. That look said everything: they were in trouble. The kind of trouble that made JJ’s stomach flip and Emily’s mind wander.
Because Leah Ryan wasn’t just a teammate anymore. She was temptation in red curls and a southern drawl.
And they both knew it was only the beginning.