butterflies and big steps.
emily had been at the bau for a few months now. she had settled in, learned the rhythm of the bullpen, figured out how to match her coworkers’ banter and become part of the team in a way she hadn’t let herself imagine when she first arrived. she’d caught herself allowing a few walls of hers to come down; sometimes that scared her. she wasn’t used to this kind of camaraderie—casual lunches, inside jokes, late nights spent working cases but somehow still laughing through the exhaustion. it had been a long time since she let people in.
and then there was jj.
their friendship had grown naturally, steadily. they spent more time together, lingered a little longer after team drinks, stayed in each other’s offices just a little too long under the guise of paperwork. they called each other friends. emily wished she could call her more than that.
most nights, she kept her world separate. the bau belonged to one part of her, and aria—her soft, delicate, too-precious world—belonged to another. she had spent years learning how to compartmentalize, and this was no different. except the lines were beginning to blur.
she would go out with the team for drinks when she had a sitter, aria wasn’t mentioned much. no one had asked. she liked it that way.
but then came spring, and with it, the bau’s annual cookout. grilling. baseball. a whole afternoon of normalcy at a park where they could all pretend, for a moment, that their lives didn’t revolve around monsters and murder.
they had, of course, invited emily. but it was jj who had made sure to add, bring aria too, because she understood aria - was a part of emily.
emily had nodded at the time, but the thought of it stuck with her. the team didn’t know about this part of her life, aside from a toddler in the frames of her desk. they knew she was good at her job. they knew she was adjusting well. they knew her name, some of her past assignments, the things that mattered.
but they didn’t know much about aria. aria, who had become her world. aria, who she wanted to protect from everything—including the people who would probably love her. because how could they not? penelope, who had never even met her, had bought her a soft pink pajama set last week, saying she just thought it was cute. that was it. no reason other than she wanted to.
emily wasn’t used to that kind of warmth.
she had spent her life surviving on her own. no one had ever simply wanted to do something for her. and now, here were these people, weaving themselves into her life without her permission, making space where she had never allowed anyone before. and the thought of them knowing aria—knowing this part of her—was terrifying. but also…not.
that night, she watched aria pick at her rice, her small fingers clumsily gripping her spoon, determined to do it all by herself. emily set her fork down, leaning forward slightly.
“bug…” she started, voice gentle. “do you..wanna go meet some of emmy’s friends?”
friends. it felt foreign on her tongue. she hadn’t had friends in years. not real ones. aria blinked up at her, processing. then, slowly, a small smile formed on her precious little face. she nodded once before scooping another bite of rice into her mouth, chewing happily.
that was that, the decision was made. mainly because she knew if she told aria, she couldn’t back out. aria would ask about it if they didn’t go.
the next morning emily got ready like she always did, but this time, something was different. she was casual in a way no one at the bau had ever seen her. leggings. sneakers. a loose-fitting bau shirt with prentiss printed across the back—the ones they had handed out earlier in the week to wear at the cookout. she clipped her hair back messily, loose strands falling around her face, not bothering with anything beyond the bare minimum. it was spring, humid and she was toting a toddler today. emily moved through the motions as she dressed aria carefully, taking her time - like she always did. a simple white shirt with soft ruffles around the sleeves. denim overalls. tiny white socks and bright red sneakers. and, as a final touch, she clipped a small white bow into aria’s silky dark hair. she smiled as she did it. it was adding the smallest things in, the extra .3 seconds, that emily loved doing.
aria beamed up at her, kicking her little feet excitedly against the chair.
“ready, prentiss?” emily asked in a silly little voice, crouching down to zip up one of her sneakers. aria nodded eagerly, her tiny hands patting at her overalls like she was making sure everything was just right. emily swallowed against the strange but familiar feeling pressing at her chest. it was warmth. it was belonging.it was change. off they went to meet emmy’s friends.
the drive is quiet, but emily’s mind is anything but.
she keeps one hand on the wheel, the other resting on her thigh, fingers tapping absently. the hum of the radio fills the silence, a soft acoustic song playing through the speakers. it’s one of those easygoing, forgettable songs—something that should settle her nerves, but it doesn’t.
she sneaks a glance in the rearview mirror. aria sits in her car seat, swinging her little feet, her pacifier bobbing gently between her lips. she’s quiet, as she usually is, just watching the world pass by. but emily knows her, knows the way she chews just a little harder on her pacifier when she’s uncertain.
she’s nervous, too. aria likes the idea of people, but shyness often takes over quickly when the ideas become reality. emily exhales, forcing herself to focus on the road. she’s fine. this is fine. aria will be fine, and emily..will be fine.
the bau has only ever seen pictures of aria. framed stills on emily’s desk, ones they would glance at but never comment on. not yet, at least.
jj had seen more. a few pictures, and—one morning, in a rare lapse of emily’s carefully placed walls—a video. it had been early, coffee still warming their hands, both of them standing too close in the quiet of jj’s office. emily had opened her phone to check something and hesitated before pressing play on a short clip. aria, sitting on the floor in her pajamas, gripping a foam letter in her tiny hands, attempting—so seriously—to say her abcs.
she hadn’t gotten far, her raspy toddler voice coming from the phone speaker.
“buh… bee… beee…ceeeee”
jj had laughed softly, something warm in her expression. emily had felt something shift then, something subtle but real. now, weeks later, she wonders if jj remembers it. the thought makes her grip the wheel tighter.
emily pulls into the parking lot, scanning the open field where the team has already started setting up. the smell of a grill drifts through the air. baseball equipment is scattered on the grass, coolers opened, conversations flowing easily. her chest tightens.
she parks, shifting in her seat to look back at aria, who’s still swinging her feet, still quiet. emily reaches out, brushing her hand over the top of her head.
“alrighty..” she murmurs. “we’re here.”
aria blinks up at her, eyes wide and dark. her fingers twist in the straps of her car seat. emily doesn’t rush. she unbuckles herself, turns fully to face her. “you remember how i told you about my friends?”
a small nod.
“they’re all here,” she continues, keeping her voice light. “and they’re really excited to meet you.”
aria’s grip tightens. emily smooths her hand down her tiny arm, offering comfort. “there’s going to be food,” she adds. “and games. and—” she tilts her head, a small smirk playing at her lips, “—i bet penelope brought something pink just for you.”
that earns the smallest reaction—a flicker of interest in aria’s expression. emily leans in, voice softer. “and jj’s here too.”
aria’s pacifier stills for just a second. she had never met jj, but the warmth in emily’s tone when she says the same settles aria. emily smiles. she takes that as a yes. she reaches for her bag—packed with everything aria might need. a bottle. a spare pacifier. a change of clothes just in case. it’s a habit she doesn’t even question anymore. slinging the bag over her shoulder, she steps out, moving to the backseat to unbuckle aria. she lifts her carefully, tucking her against her hip, pressing a kiss to her temple.
“you ready?”
aria doesn’t answer, just nestles closer. emily holds her tighter, and then, they go.
the moment jj sees her, the sound of laughter and distant conversation fills the park. the team is spread out—reid gesturing animatedly about something, morgan tossing a baseball back and forth, rossi already manning the grill. she was standing by a cooler, a bottle of water in her hand, mid-conversation with penelope when she feels it.
a shift. something tugs at her before she even looks. and when she turns— she sees her. emily. and then—aria. jj’s breath catches. she has only seen pictures before. a few small frames on emily’s desk, nothing more.
and one video.
she remembers it. the way emily had held her phone so still, something hesitant in her expression, something vulnerable. now, jj is seeing aria in real life. and it hits her. the way aria is tucked against emily, head resting against her shoulder. the way emily is holding her—not just with care, but with certainty. like it’s the most natural thing in the world. jj knew emily took care of her, knew she was raising her from the looks of it. but seeing it? it’s different.
emily is—soft.
not the sharp, put-together version of herself that she brings to work. her hair is pulled back loosely, strands falling around her face. she’s wearing leggings, sneakers, a bau shirt with prentiss printed across the back. a backpack slung over one shoulder, filled with toddler essentials. and aria— aria is in denim overalls, a white ruffled shirt, tiny red sneakers. a small white bow clipped into her dark hair that jj can imagine emily placing so gently in the girls hair. jj’s heart clenches. she knew emily had a sister. but this isn’t just a sister. aria is hers.
jj realizes it in an instant. not biologically, her daughter. but in every other way that matters. because the way emily moves, the way she presses a kiss to the top of aria’s head, the way she keeps her arm curled around her even as she walks—that’s not just responsibility. that’s love.
jj feels something unfamiliar settle in her chest. and when emily gets closer, when their eyes meet— she wonders if she’s the only one feeling it.
emily walks across the grass, adjusting the weight of aria on her hip. the park is alive with the sounds of laughter, the distant sizzle of food on the grill, the occasional thunk of a baseball hitting a glove. it’s the kind of atmosphere that should make her feel at ease. but her chest is tight. she watches, sees, the team take notice of her. she expects it. she knows what they’re thinking.
morgan is the first to react, a slight pause in his throw as his eyes flicker toward her and aria, his mouth twitching in what she knows will soon turn into a teasing remark. rossi, standing near the grill, tilts his head just slightly, studying the scene with quiet amusement. reid’s fingers twitch at his side like he’s already forming questions.
and then there’s jj.
jj, standing by a cooler, mid-conversation with penelope, her fingers curled around a water bottle. the moment she sees them, sees aria, something shifts in her expression. emily can’t name it. she just feels it. jj’s eyes don’t just see aria—they linger. not with curiosity. not with surprise. with something else. something emily isn’t sure she wants to analyze just yet.
jj moves first. she starts toward them, penelope right behind her, bright excitement practically radiating from her. aria tucks herself closer into emily’s chest, her small hands fisting into the fabric of emily’s shirt.
emily rubs her back gently. “she’s just shy,” she murmurs before either of them can ask. “she’ll warm up.”
jj slows just slightly at that, like she doesn’t want to overwhelm her. but she does reach out—light, barely there, just the softest brush of her palm over aria’s back. emily stills. jj’s touch is warm, careful. she doesn’t linger, doesn’t try to force a moment. but it’s gentle. more gentle than elizabeth has ever been. it hits emily all at once, a sharp realization in the middle of a sunny park with a grill smoking in the background.
her mother—aria’s mother—has never touched her that softly.
jj, with just that one motion, has already done more.
emily swallows, pushing the thought away. jj steps back slightly and gestures toward the picnic area, where blankets are spread out beneath the shade of a few large trees.
“come sit with us,” she says softly, her voice smooth and inviting.
emily exhales and nods, and so she does.
the next hour is filled with warmth. morgan, as expected, teases her about keeping secrets. “didn’t take you for the ‘work first, share later’ type, prentiss.”
emily smirks over the rim of her water bottle. “and i didn’t take you for the ‘act surprised when i keep my private life private’ type.”
morgan grins. “touché.”
reid, predictably, asks a very in-depth question about childhood cognition, to which emily answers, “she’s two, reid.”
but she still tells him about the time aria sorted her blocks by color before she could even say blue. penelope spends the most time next to them, sitting just close enough that aria can get used to her presence without pressure. she doesn’t push, doesn’t reach out, just speaks softly, occasionally tossing in the most dramatic sighs of affection about how precious aria is.
emily appreciates that. she appreciates all of them. and when she realizes she isn’t on high alert—when she realizes that she’s relaxed—it startles her. she’s never had something like this. a team. a family. she’s never had friends she could trust like this. and yet, here she is. by lunchtime, they’re all settled on the picnic blankets, eating and talking in the warmth of the sun.
aria hasn’t left emily’s lap, but she’s not cowering either. she sits with her back against emily’s chest, comfortably sucking down an applesauce pouch, her small fingers curling around the edges of it. it’s the most at ease emily has seen her since they arrived.
jj, sitting across from them, is finishing up her plate, absently picking at a few strawberries. she lifts one between her fingers, and as she does, she catches something— the way aria’s dark eyes flicker toward it. jj pauses, glancing at emily.
“does she like strawberries?”
emily looks down, noticing the way aria’s gaze lingers on the bright red fruit.
“she does,” emily confirms. she shifts slightly, preparing to move. “i’ll grab her some—”
jj shakes her head before she can finish, lifting her hand instead.
“here.”
she holds out the strawberry, and emily stills. shockingly—aria looks. not at emily. at jj. at her open palm, at the strawberry, at the calm, easy way she’s holding it. and then—aria reaches out. tiny fingers brush against jj’s as she takes it gently, hesitantly, before pulling it toward her chest. jj doesn’t move. doesn’t react. just lets it happen. emily feels something in her chest shift. a slow, heavy pull of warmth she wasn’t expecting. aria brings the strawberry to her lips, biting into it quietly. jj watches, just watches, like she doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it. and emily…emily doesn’t know what to do with the feeling unraveling in her chest.
because it’s not just about aria. it’s about how jj is, with aria. it’s about the way she’s looking at both of them.
the sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting a golden glow across the park. shadows stretch long over the grass, and the laughter from their team feels warmer, softer in the fading daylight. conversations flow easily, the kind of casual, comfortable talk that only comes when people trust each other. emily is sitting where she has been all afternoon—on a picnic blanket, aria resting comfortably against her. her little girl has stayed close the entire day, pressed into her chest, her small hands occasionally tightening in the fabric of emily’s shirt when the world got a little too big. but she isn’t hiding anymore. she’s watching, intently. her quiet, observant gaze flickers between the people around them, studying them in the same way emily does, and has been for weeks now.
jj sits across from them, engaged in conversation, but emily notices. she notices the way jj’s attention keeps shifting, the way her blue eyes flicker toward them more often than not. jj watches the way aria sits so still, nestled into emily like she belongs there. the way emily absentmindedly runs her fingers through aria’s hair, smoothing it down whenever a breeze ruffles it out of place.
and emily watches her back. she can’t help it. she’s never felt like this before. something deep, something pulling, something she doesn’t want to name.
jj looks different in the glow of the sunset, softer in a way emily can’t quite place. maybe it’s just the light, or maybe it’s the way emily is seeing her now—seeing her as more than just a friend, more than just a colleague. she doesn’t know what to do with it, or what to call it. but before she can think too deeply— a butterfly flutters past them. it’s small and delicate, its orange and black wings catching the light, and then— a tiny, barely audible gasp escapes from aria’s lips. emily feels it more than hears it. and then, in a hushed, awed voice—
“emmy, futter fye.”
butterfly. emily softens instantly. aria loves butterflies. she always has. jj hears it, and emily sees the exact moment it hits her. her expression changes—not just with affection, but with something more. something deeper. and she isn’t the only one. around them, their team—people who have spent their lives profiling, analyzing, understanding human nature—feel it too. it’s in the slight shift of morgan’s posture, the small, wistful smile that tugs at penelope’s lips, the way rossi’s gaze lingers just a second longer than usual.
love, simple and quiet, washes over all of them.
jj can’t stop herself. the words come naturally.
“do you like butterflies?”
aria turns, blinking up at her, hesitant for a moment. then, finally, she nods. emily feels the smallest shift in her weight as she glances toward a nearby bush, where a small cluster of butterflies has gathered, their delicate wings fluttering in the evening light.
jj follows her gaze, and then—softly—
“if you want,” jj says, her voice easy, warm. “and if emily doesn’t mind… we could go see them?”
but by the end of the sentence, jj is looking at emily, waiting for her approval. emily is already prepared to pull aria closer, to feel the familiar way she tucks her face into emily’s chest when people suggest taking her somewhere. because aria is shy. she doesn’t go with people, doesn’t leave emily’s arms without hesitation.
but this time—she doesn’t hide. she nods. and then, without a word, she shifts, moving out of emily’s lap, her legs wobbly from sitting so long. emily stills. jj’s eyes widen just slightly, like even she hadn’t expected it. emily watches as aria straightens, glancing between her and jj before slowly, hesitantly, reaching a small hand toward jj.
jj barely breathes. she doesn’t rush. she doesn’t react too quickly. she just waits. emily’s heart clenches - because jj knows. she understands how to move in this moment, how to make sure aria doesn’t feel like she’s being pushed into something she isn’t ready for. and then, finally— aria takes her hand. emily watches as jj’s fingers gently curl around aria’s much smaller ones, securing her in the same soft way she had touched her back earlier. and this time, emily doesn’t feel like she needs to intervene. she just lets it happen.
jj glances up at her, something unreadable in her expression. emily swallows and nods. and then—without another word—jj leads aria toward the butterflies.
jj feels the warmth of aria’s tiny fingers curling around hers, soft and hesitant but sure. it’s delicate in a way she wasn’t expecting, and she lets out a quiet breath as she starts leading her toward the small patch of bushes where the butterflies have gathered.
the grass is uneven beneath their feet, and when they hit a thicker patch, aria wobbles, her legs going just a little too fast beneath her. jj instinctively tightens her grip, steadying her before she can fall, but aria doesn’t seem fazed. because deep down—jj can tell—she’s excited. something pangs deep in jj’s chest, in the best way possible. it’s so small, so quiet, but it’s there.
jj knows that excitement. she remembers it.
she used to love butterflies when she was little. she still does.
when she was a girl, she would chase them in her backyard with her big sister, arms outstretched, giggling as their wings flickered just out of reach. sometimes, she would manage to catch one, holding it ever so carefully in her palms, marveling at the way it looked like something magic. she had a collection once. books filled with them, and stickers she had placed carefully in a scrapbook.
jj loved butterflies. and now, watching aria, that same warmth spreads through her. something so simple, but shared. she smiles as they walk, slowing her pace just a bit, her voice soft as she speaks.
“you like butterflies, huh?”
aria glances up at her, pacifier still tucked in her mouth, but she nods - and jj’s heart swells.
“my sister and i used to chase them when we were little,” she says, keeping her tone light. “she always told me that if we were super quiet, they might land on us.”
aria looks thoughtful, her little legs still working to keep up, her fingers tightening ever so slightly around jj’s. jj notices. she notices everything.
and then, they reach the bush. it’s small but full, the deep green leaves stretching outward, bright with tiny purple flowers. dozens of butterflies are there, flitting from bloom to bloom, their wings catching the last golden rays of the sun. jj slows, crouching beside aria, letting her fingers slip from the little girl’s hand just for a moment before lowering herself onto the grass.
she looks up, meeting aria’s eyes. her heart stops for a second. because aria looks so much like emily. those same huge, dark brown eyes, the same soft tilt of her nose, the same way she watches the world so intently, like she’s absorbing everything around her. jj swallows against the weight in her chest. she offers a gentle smile.
“if you sit super still,” she murmurs, “they might just land on you.”
she doesn’t expect aria to fully understand. she doesn’t expect her to listen, really. but then— aria looks at her. her big, chocolate brown eyes flicker between jj and the butterflies, and then— without hesitation, aria sits down in jj’s lap.
jj freezes. for a second, she doesn’t even breathe. because it’s so natural, so easy, like aria has known her forever. like this isn’t something new, like this isn’t their first real moment together. like she belongs there, to a woman she met mere hours ago. jj swallows thickly, hesitating for only a second before slowly, carefully, wrapping an arm around her, securing her close. aria doesn’t flinch. doesn’t tense. she just nestles in, her tiny body fitting so perfectly against jj’s - appreicative of the feeling of being held by someone who feels the same type of safe emily does to her.
jj’s heart hurts with how much she already loves this little girl. she exhales slowly, tilting her head to look down at her.
“here,” jj murmurs, lifting aria’s small hand in hers, steadying it with gentle fingers. “let’s hold still.”
aria watches intently. jj keeps talking, her voice soft, explaining what she’s doing, making sure aria knows this is safe, that she’s safe. and then— a butterfly drifts down, its delicate wings fluttering, hovering for just a second before it lands. right in the center of aria’s tiny palm.
jj feels everything in that moment. the way aria gasps, the softest, most heart-tugging little sound that only innocence could create. jj’s throat tightens, a lump forming that she can’t swallow down. because this? this is pure. this is everything good in the world.
aria stays still, her breathing slow, her wide eyes fixed on the tiny creature in her hand. jj doesn’t move. she doesn’t dare move. because this moment—this exact moment—is one of the most beautiful things she’s ever experienced. and she’s never going to forget it.
emily had watched them go.
aria’s tiny fingers curled around jj’s much larger hand. the way her little legs move a little too fast when she gets excited, making her wobble slightly over the uneven grass. the way jj’s grip adjusts—effortlessly, naturally—keeping her steady without a second thought.
she watches as jj slows her steps, softens her voice, talks to aria like she’s always belonged here. emily can’t hear everything she’s saying, but she sees the way jj tilts her head slightly, how she keeps glancing down to make sure aria is keeping up, how she stays completely focused on her, even when the rest of the team is still around, still laughing, still carrying on. jj isn’t distracted. she’s just there, with aria. emily’s throat tightens before she exhales, pressing a hand against her knee as she shifts slightly on the blanket, trying to shake off the feeling creeping up her spine. but she can’t, because she’s never seen aria take to someone like this before.
jj crouches beside her now, sitting down on the grass, completely unbothered by the dirt or the fading light. emily sees jj gesture toward the butterflies, her lips moving, her voice undoubtedly warm and full of patience.
aria listens. she watches. and then—emily sees it happen. aria—her shy little girl, her always-close, always-tucked-against-her little girl—moves. she sits in jj’s lap. emily’s heart stops for a second, she's damn sure of it. jj barely moves, like she’s stunned too. but after just a beat, her arm shifts ever so slightly, adjusting, holding aria close in the same effortless way she had steadied her before. emily swallows thickly, her fingers curling against the fabric of her leggings.
because aria doesn’t do that. she doesn’t go to people like that. not to strangers, not to people she doesn’t know. but right now, she’s sitting there—fully trusting, fully safe—in jj’s arms. like she’s always been there. emily watches as jj moves carefully, guiding aria’s tiny hand in hers, keeping it still. she talks to her—explains things softly, smoothly, the way only jj can. and then—the butterfly lands. emily sees the exact second it happens—the way aria’s small fingers don’t even twitch, how her lips part, how her body still goes still.
then that sound. that tiny, heart-melting coo of pure innocence. emily feels it. she feels it deep in her chest, down to her bones, a pang of something so overwhelming she has to press her palm against her stomach just to steady herself. her vision blurs for half a second, the sunset’s golden glow catching in her eyes, making everything feel softer.
jj isn’t moving. she’s just watching, just being there, just existing in the moment with aria. and for the first time since emily arrived today—since she made the decision to bring aria into this world—she doesn’t feel the need to protect her. because jj is already doing it.
emily lets out a slow, shuddering breath. and for the first time in a long time— she lets herself feel it. really, feel it. comfort in knowing not everyone will hurt them, like elizabeth continues to do.
jj leads aria back across the grass, their hands still linked, small fingers wrapped in hers. aria is excited, still buzzing from the butterflies, her little feet moving just a bit too fast. but the moment they get closer to the group, her steps falter.
she slows. and then—she sees them. everyone is watching. not in a bad way. not in an overwhelming way. but it’s new, unfamiliar. different. so, she does what she always does—she tucks herself back into emily. emily barely has to react—her arms open automatically, catching her little sister as she clambers back onto her lap, small hands gripping onto her shirt. emily strokes her back gently, reassuring. jj crouches beside them, watching the way aria curls in so naturally. the way emily’s arms hold her like she belongs there. like she always will.
penelope, ever the softest presence, speaks first, her voice gentle.
“did you see the butterflies?”
aria hesitates for a second, glancing toward her. then, slowly, she nods, her little brows rising just a bit—serious, thoughtful.
the right one quirks slightly higher than the left. just like emily’s does.jj notices it immediately.the similarities between them have always been obvious—dark hair, deep brown eyes, the same way they both watch people—but this? this small, unconscious expression? it makes something tighten in jj’s chest.
the conversation shifts around them, winding down as the day stretches into early evening. aria shifts slightly, turning her face up toward emily. and then, without hesitation—she lifts her small hands and signs. milk. emily responds just as automatically. she reaches beside her, grabbing a bottle from the cooler, popping the top off with practiced ease before slipping it into aria’s waiting hands.
aria nurses it immediately, sighing softly, pressing her small body deeper into emily’s hold. reid, who had been quiet for a while, tilts his head slightly.
“she signs?”
emily hums in confirmation. “yeah. she’s quiet—she talks here and there, but i figured some signs would help her out in shy situations.”
reid lights up, already moving into his element. “that’s actually great for her cognitive development. studies show that sign language can significantly enhance early language skills, particularly in children who are naturally reserved or slower to verbalize…”
he keeps talking, listing statistics about toddlers and language, but—
jj notices. aria isn’t really paying attention to him, or emily, for once. her dark eyes are floating toward her. jj doesn’t know why. she doesn’t know what makes her do it—maybe it’s instinct, maybe it’s the way aria’s fingers twitch just slightly against her bottle, maybe it’s the quiet pull of something unspoken—but before she can stop herself…
she lifts her hands. soft, open. an invitation. and then she realizes what she’s doing. regret flickers, embarrassment creeping in—why did she do that? what if aria doesn’t want to? what if she hides away again? but then—she doesn’t.
she looks at jj’s hands, and she reaches. one small, hesitant hand lifts toward jj. jj freezes. emily freezes. penelope pouts—who has been waiting all day for her turn to hold aria. but aria only has eyes for jj. emily hesitates for only a moment before adjusting her hold, carefully, so carefully, transferring aria into jj’s waiting arms.
and to everyone’s surprise—aria tucks right in. jj barely breathes, adjusting her grip, settling her more securely against her chest. aria shifts, repositioning just slightly, her tiny hands pressing against jj’s shirt, her body melting into the warmth.
emily is stunned.
she expected aria to be shy. to stay close. to be hesitant. but she isn’t. jj swallows, looking down at the little girl now resting against her, her bottle still in her small hands. jj doesn’t need to do anything. aria is perfectly capable of holding it herself. but something about this moment—about this feeling—makes jj want to. so, gently, she covers aria’s tiny hands with her own, holding the bottle steady. aria doesn’t react, not in a bad way. she just watches her. her dark eyes—so much like emily’s—stare up at jj, her little brows soft, her lips still wrapped around the bottle as she drinks slowly.
jj isn’t sure what’s happening. but it’s something. something she doesn’t want to name, because that would link in the feeling she’s tried to bury about emily since she saw her for the first time.
she rocks her slightly—instinctively, absentmindedly, back and forth in the smallest, most natural motion. and she doesn’t stop. even when she rejoins the conversation. even when morgan teases emily about how she definitely should have introduced aria sooner. even when penelope dramatically sighs about how “unfairly jj is already the favorite.”
jj barely even notices when time passes. when the conversation flows around her. when the warmth of the sun starts to dip lower, casting everything in softer light. because at some point—without a sound, without a single fuss— aria’s tiny body goes completely slack. jj looks down, and she realizes aria fell asleep in her arms.
jj exhales. soft. disbelieving. she tightens her grip just slightly, securing her a little more, even though she doesn’t need to. she glances at emily—who is already watching her.
their eyes meet and something—everything—shifts.