papers II
it’s been a week.
a week of pretending things are fine, of moving through life like she doesn’t have custody papers hidden in the bottom drawer of her home desk like some kind of forbidden thing. she hasn’t looked at them since the night they arrived. hasn’t touched them, hasn’t even thought about touching them. because if she signs them—if she puts pen to paper and makes it real—then there’s no going back. it cements the fact that she is it, that she has no backup, no one to step in and say, hey, you don’t have to do this alone.
but she’s not signing them. not because she’s in denial, but because she’s terrified that signing them will only make it easier for elizabeth to disappear, to act like aria never existed. and even though elizabeth doesn’t deserve her, aria doesn’t deserve the hurt.
and aria—sweet, trusting, innocent aria—has no idea. but she feels it.
tonight, she cried.
emily had been cleaning up the living room when she heard a tiny, broken “mommy?” —not directed at her, but at the framed photo of elizabeth on the bookshelf, one of the only pictures of her that aria has ever seen. aria had reached for it, confused, hurting, her little face scrunched as she turned to emily with wet, pleading eyes.
“mommy gone?”
emily felt her stomach drop, because something seemed to click in aria. she knelt beside her, wrapped her arms around her, pressed a slow kiss to her hair. “no, baby,” she murmured, even though she didn’t know if that was true anymore. aria had sobbed, gripping emily’s shirt, curling into her like she was all she had left. in reality, she was.
emily let her sleep with her tonight.
in the dim quiet of her bedroom, aria is curled against her, her tiny body tucked into emily’s side, one hand still fisting the fabric of her sweater like she’s afraid emily might leave too.
and then—her phone rings. the screen lights up, and emily knows before she even looks who it is.
elizabeth prentiss.
emily exhales, dread sinking in, before carefully shifting out of bed, easing away from aria’s grip, pressing a pillow in her place before stepping out into the hallway.
she answers, pressing the phone to her ear. “what?”
elizabeth sighs on the other end, sounding annoyed, like this entire situation is an inconvenience to her. “the lawyer said they haven’t heard from you yet,” she says, clipped, like this is nothing. “no paperwork has been returned.”
emily clenches her jaw, bracing herself against the doorframe. “yeah, no shit.”
“emily.”
“elizabeth.”
a pause.
then, as calm as ever—
“if you’re not planning to sign them, i should let you know i have other options.”
emily’s stomach turns. “what the fuck does that mean?”
“it means,” elizabeth says, unbothered, “that if this is too much for you, i have an alternative arrangement.”
emily’s breath catches. “alternative— what?”
“there’s a family i know in new york,” elizabeth continues, like she’s discussing the weather. “they have more than enough resources to raise a child. they understand the situation and have agreed to keep it quiet.”
emily’s blood runs cold. “you want to put her in foster care?”
“not foster care,” elizabeth corrects smoothly. “a private adoption. a quiet one. aria would be raised with wealth, with access, with—”
“you want to fucking sell her,” emily seethes, her whole body shaking with rage. “like a fucking secret you want to get rid of.”
“i want her to have a stable life,” elizabeth says, clipped - as if she actually cared. “which, at this point, i’m not sure you can provide.”
emily grips the phone so tightly she swears she hears the plastic creak. “you listen to me, ” voice shaking with fury, “you are not taking her from me. you are not shipping her off like she’s some problem to be dealt with.”
elizabeth doesn’t react. “then sign the papers.”
“i don’t need your fucking papers to keep her,” emily snaps. “i don’t need anything from you.”
elizabeth sighs, a tired, put-upon sound. “if i don’t see movement on this soon, i will make other arrangements.”
emily’s hands shake. “she is not a fucking arrangement.”
another pause.
then, like she isn’t talking about her own daughter—
“then prove you can handle this, emily.”
click.
the line goes dead. emily stands there, gripping her phone, breathing hard, rage thrumming under her skin.
- fuck no. aria isn’t going anywhere.
and if elizabeth prentiss wants to try her?
she’s ready.
emily doesn’t hesitate. she can’t.
her hands shake as she yanks the drawer open, pulling out the papers, unfolding them with too much force. the edges crease, the weight of the entire thing pressing down on her. she slaps them onto the desk, grabs a pen, and presses it to the page.
emily elizabeth prentiss.
the ink bleeds across the stark white paper, her name solid, permanent, binding.
her stomach turns.
elizabeth.
she barely even thinks about her middle name most days, but right now, it’s mocking her, written out in full. a reminder that she carries a piece of her mother even when she wants nothing to do with her.
aria does too. her middle name—another fucking gift from elizabeth, another thing meant to tie them to her, to link them.
but what does it mean now? now that elizabeth has thrown them both away? now that she’s made it clear she wants nothing to do with the little girl she left behind?
aria doesn’t belong to elizabeth. she never did, really.
emily grips the pen tighter, pressing harder as she finishes the last loop of the s in prentiss.
there. it’s done. her breath comes sharp, but she forces herself to keep moving, flipping through the rest of the pages—until she reaches the last one. where she sees it.
witness signature required.
her stomach drops. she can’t do this alone. she wants to, god, she wants to—wants to handle it without anyone seeing how much she’s falling apart—but she needs someone.
legal protocol, her brain supplies numbly. just legal protocol. but that doesn’t make it easier. she stares at the empty line. then, with slow, deliberate movements, she presses the pen to the margin.
jj.
jj will do it.
jj will sign.
jj will know.
tomorrow, she’ll tell her. why she’s been shutting her out, why she’s been so cold this past week.
because jj deserves the truth, and emily is done keeping it to herself.
emily exhales, long and slow, forcing the tension out of her body as she carefully folds the papers, tucking them back into the drawer.
it’s done. or—almost. she’ll deal with the rest tomorrow. right now, she needs to breathe. she pushes off from the desk, her limbs heavy, exhaustion finally creeping in, dragging at every part of her. she moves through the dim apartment, stepping back into her bedroom, her eyes immediately landing on the small figure curled in the middle of her bed.
aria.
she’s so tiny, lost in the blankets, her little face relaxed in sleep, her breaths slow and even. emily feels the weight in her chest shift, not gone, but softer, manageable, as she carefully slides into bed next to her. as soon as she settles, aria stirs, shifting instinctively toward the warmth of emily’s body. then—her tiny hand reaches out, grasping at emily’s shirt, fingers curling into the fabric like she knows—even in sleep—that her safe space is right here.
emily melts.
her throat tightens, but in a different way this time—less from panic, more from something deep, something unshakable. she presses her lips to the top of aria’s head, breathing her in, her arms wrapping securely around the small, warm weight against her chest.
“ive got you,” she murmurs, voice barely a whisper, but full of something solid, something permanent. aria hums softly, nuzzling into her, safe and sound.
-
emily wakes up to the softest touch against her cheek.
it’s light, barely there, like the whisper of a breath against her skin. at first, she thinks she’s imagining it, that maybe she’s still somewhere between sleep and waking, caught in the haze of exhaustion that never quite left her. but then, there it is again—tiny fingers, brushing over the high point of her cheekbone, ghosting down to her jaw before trailing up to press against her forehead.
aria.
emily doesn’t move, just lets herself feel it for a moment. aria’s touch is so delicate, so careful, like she’s studying emily the same way emily has studied her a hundred times before. after another second, emily finally lets her eyes crack open.
aria is watching her, dark eyes wide and curious, her tiny hand still resting against emily’s forehead. the second she realizes emily is awake, a sleepy little smile peeks from behind the pacifier in her mouth. emily melts.
“morning, bug,” she murmurs, her voice rough with sleep.
aria hums around the pacifier, her fingers curling slightly in emily’s shirt. emily shifts, stretching her limbs, adjusting to the soft morning light filtering in through the blinds. aria is still close, tucked into her side like she belongs there.
which—she does.
emily presses a kiss to the top of her head, then slowly sits up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “let’s get moving, huh?”
aria hums again, nodding, but makes no effort to actually move.
emily chuckles. “lazy girl.”
aria just nuzzles against her side, content.
in the bathroom, emily goes through the motions of getting ready—brushing her teeth, washing her face, moving mechanically through the steps she’s done a thousand times before. aria is there the whole time, sitting cross-legged on the floor, a board book clutched in her tiny hands.
she’s ‘reading’ to emily—at least, she thinks she is.
aria’s version of reading is a string of random words, babbled in a determined little voice, her chubby fingers turning the pages every so often, even though the words don’t match what’s on them.
“red car… go fast… big dog… where cat go?”
emily hums, half-listening, half-absorbing the warmth of the moment. “that so?”
“mhm.” aria nods seriously, flipping another page. “big house… moon… goodnight…”
emily glances at her through the mirror, watching as aria concentrates, her little brows furrowed in focus.
god. she’s so small. so trusting. so good. and part of emily hopes she’s still too young to fully understand what their mother did—to process that elizabeth isn’t coming back, that she chose to leave. but the other part of emily worries, because aria noticed. she noticed enough to cry over a picture, enough to reach for someone who wasn’t there. emily swallows hard, forcing down the lump in her throat. she won’t let this break her. she won’t let aria feel like she’s missing anything, like she’s been abandoned, like there’s some hole in her life that emily can’t fill.
she will fill it. she has to.
“alright, bug,” emily exhales, grabbing a towel and crouching down in front of aria. “your turn.”
aria grins, slamming the book shut and immediately reaching her arms up. “up!”
emily lifts her, settling her on the bathroom counter, going through the same careful motions she always does—gently wiping down her little face with a warm towel, fixing her hair with extra care, deciding on pigtails today because aria’s hair is getting longer and it keeps falling into her eyes.
aria hums contentedly, swinging her feet slightly, letting emily get her just right.
“pretty girl,” emily murmurs, securing the last elastic.
aria grins. “mhm!”
—
drop-off is even harder today. aria clings, little hands fisting emily’s sweater, not letting go.
“baby,” emily murmurs, bouncing her slightly, pressing a kiss to her temple. “you gotta let go, sweetheart.”
“no..,” aria whimpers, shaking her head, her grip tightening. “..no go.”
“bug,” emily sighs, rubbing a slow hand down her back. “seven hugs?”
aria sniffs, but nods, lifting her little fingers. “sev’n.”
one.
two.
three.
aria shudders against her.
four.
five.
six.
the last one, emily holds longer, breathing her in, letting the warmth of her small body ground her.
“i love you, baby,” she whispers.
aria whimpers, but finally, finally lets the daycare nanny pull her away, still reaching, still teary.
emily waves, forces a soft smile, then turns away before she lets herself stay.
she drives straight to work, the signed papers tucked deep in her bag. they feel heavy. or maybe it’s just her. either way, the second she walks into the office, she doesn’t even hesitate. she beelines straight for jj’s office. doesn’t stop at her desk, doesn’t acknowledge anyone, just walks straight through the bullpen and into jj’s doorway. jj looks up immediately, eyebrows raising in mild surprise.
“hey,” she says, tilting her head. “what’s—”
“i need you to witness something for me,” emily cuts in, her voice tight.
jj blinks. “okay?”
emily steps in, closing the door behind her, pulling the papers from her bag and setting them on jj’s desk. jj frowns slightly, glancing at them, then back at emily. “what is this?”
emily exhales, long and slow, her hands shaking as she shoves them into her pockets.
“custody papers,” she murmurs. “for aria.”
jj’s face shifts instantly—her expression dropping into something softer, something serious, something concerned.
“em,” jj says gently, “talk to me.”
emily swallows hard, her throat tight.
“jj…”
she doesn’t want to say it. but she has to, so she does.
“elizabeth gave her up.”
jj stares at her, brows furrowing in confusion like she must’ve heard her wrong.
“what?” she says, her voice softer now, like she’s treading carefully. “what do you mean, ‘gave her up’?”
emily exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over her face. “i mean exactly that, jj. she’s gone. she’s not coming back. she signed her rights away, and now aria is—” she swallows, the words thick and heavy on her tongue, “—mine.”
jj’s expression softens, but her eyes sharpen, scanning emily’s face like she’s looking for all the things emily isn’t saying.
emily hates it. hates that jj sees through her so easily.
“when did this happen?” jj asks, reaching for the papers, flipping through them.
“a week ago,” emily mutters, voice tight. “she had a lawyer send them to me. didn’t even call until last night, and that was just to bitch at me for not signing them yet.”
jj looks up so fast, her blue eyes flashing with something sharp. “she called you?”
“yeah,” emily says, voice bitter, “to tell me that if i didn’t want to sign them, she had some rich family in new york willing to take aria off her hands.”
jj’s entire body tenses. “are you fucking kidding me?”
“i wish i was,” emily mutters, shaking her head. “but no. she was serious. she was going to send her away. make her a secret for some high society family that promised to be ‘hush’ about the whole thing.”
jj presses her lips together, jaw clenching hard. “that’s—” she shakes her head, angry, “that’s disgusting.”
“yeah,” emily mutters, voice hollow. “yeah, it is.”
jj is quiet for a second, flipping through the pages slowly, scanning the signatures, the legal language, the reality of what’s in front of her.
then, softly—
“why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
emily exhales, shaking her head, looking away. “because i didn’t want to deal with it, jj.”
jj watches her, waiting.
emily clenches her jaw. “because if i said it out loud, it was real.”
“but it is real,” jj says, so gently, but it cuts deep. “and you’ve been holding it all alone for a week?”
“what was i supposed to do? ” emily snaps, voice sharp, before exhaling, forcing herself to breathe, to not take this out on jj. “i didn’t plan for this, jj. i didn’t sign up to be a parent. i don’t know how to do this.”
jj’s gaze softens, her expression open, steady. “em, you already are one.”
emily stills.
“you’ve been raising her,” jj continues, voice even, calm. “you feed her, bathe her, put her to bed, take care of her when she’s sick. she reaches for you when she’s scared. she trusts you.”
“that doesn’t mean i know what i’m doing,” emily mutters, voice hoarse.
“none of us do, kid or not,” jj says simply. “we just…figure it out.”
emily swallows hard, eyes flickering down to the papers, staring at her name written in full, written in a way that binds her to aria forever.
“i just don’t want to mess it up,” she whispers. “i can’t mess it up.”
“you won’t,” jj says firmly. “emily, you love her. that’s what matters. that’s what makes you hers.”
emily blinks, breath catching slightly, looking up to meet jj’s gaze. it’s solid. unwavering.
jj reaches for a pen.
“you need a witness?”
emily nods, her throat tight. “yeah.”
jj uncaps the pen.
“then give me the damn papers.”
emily watches as jj presses the pen to the page, her strokes deliberate, steady, her handwriting smooth and practiced.
jennifer anne jareau.
her full name.
emily had never known jj’s middle name before. there had never been a reason to. but watching jj spell it out in careful cursive, something about it—something so small, so unnecessary to notice—puts a warmness in emily’s chest.
not enough to fix the moment. but enough that she feels it, something soft pressing against the sharp edges of her emotions. jj underlines her name with a slow, purposeful stroke, then sets the pen down with a quiet click.
“there,” jj murmurs, her voice still so even, so unwavering. “it’s done.”
emily swallows, her throat thick, eyes flicking between jj’s signature and her own, both names written in ink, finalizing something that emily still isn’t sure she knows how to handle.
“yeah,” she exhales. “it is.”
jj watches her, studying her face the way she always does, picking up on everything emily isn’t saying.
“do you feel any better?”
emily huffs a short, dry laugh. “no.”
jj nods, like she expected that answer. “do you feel worse?”
emily hesitates. her fingers twitch slightly on the edge of the paper, the weight of it sinking into her hands. but when she really thinks about it—when she pushes past the frustration, the anger, the deep-rooted ache that hasn’t left her chest all week—she realizes something.
“no,” she admits, voice quieter now. “i don’t.”
jj gives her a small nod. “then that’s something.”
emily exhales again, pressing her fingertips to her forehead before finally folding the papers neatly, tucking them back into her bag.
“thank you,” she murmurs, still looking down, not sure if she means it just for signing or for all of it.
“of course,” jj says easily, like it was never even a question.
there’s a pause, just for a moment, then jj leans forward slightly, resting her elbows on the desk.
“so,” she murmurs, “are you ready to talk about how you shut everyone out for a week and pretended you were fine?”
emily groans, rubbing her hands over her face. “jj—”
“because,” jj continues, undeterred, “i did just legally sign your kid’s custody papers, so i feel like i’ve earned at least a little honesty here.”
emily sighs, drops her hands, and finally meets jj’s eyes.
they’re warm. open. steady. like they always are.emily shakes her head, but something eases in her chest, just slightly.
“fine,” she mutters.
jj doesn’t smile like shes cracked emily, because thats not at all what this is. she just waits, giving emily the space to start, to let it out.
emily exhales slowly, tapping her fingers against the desk before dropping her hand, settling into the chair across from jj. she stares at her bag for a long moment, at the place where the signed papers now sit, before finally speaking.
“i’ve always taken care of her,” she murmurs. “always.”
jj stays quiet, listening.
“even when i wasn’t supposed to be the one doing it,” emily continues, voice tightening slightly. “even when she was a newborn and i didn’t know what the fuck i was doing, it was still me most days.”
jj nods, watching the way emily’s fingers clench slightly where they rest on her knee.
“she cried for me,” emily says softly, shaking her head like she’s back there now. “not for our mother. when she was scared, when she was sick, it was me. i was the one she reached for.”
jj can see it—can hear it in emily’s voice, the way she feels this in a way that runs deep.
“and i did it,” emily murmurs, “because i loved her. because it was never even a question for me. because someone had to.”
she exhales sharply, shaking her head. “and then, two weeks before i started at the bau, elizabeth dropped her off at my apartment, said she had work overseas, and that was it.”
jj blinks, surprised. “she just… left?”
emily lets out a hollow laugh. “yep.”
jj’s brows furrow. “no warning?”
“nope.”
“how long did she say she’d be gone?”
“she didn’t.”
emily can recount the night in her head, well.
emily had been exhausted. she’d barely had time to breathe since stepping into the bau—learning new cases, adjusting to the rhythm of the team, trying to prove herself without making it look like she’s trying too hard. her apartment is quiet when she gets home, the kind of quiet she should find comforting after a long day. but she doesn’t. it just makes her feel… adrift.
she shrugs off her coat, tossing her keys onto the counter, rolling the tension from her shoulders. she wants nothing more than to collapse on her couch for just five minutes before even thinking about dinner. but then—a knock at the door. a sharp, authoritative knock. her stomach twists, because she knows that knock. she doesn’t want to know it, though. she exhales, slow and controlled, pushing down the unease as she moves toward the door. and when she opens it— there stands elizabeth. perfect as always, her suit pristine, her posture straight, her presence imposing. and on her hip, looking so out of place in her arms, is aria.
emily stares.
no call. no warning. no anything.
just her mother standing in the hallway, a single suitcase beside her, her baby sister in her arms.
“emily,” elizabeth says smoothly, like this is the most normal thing in the world. “good. you’re home.”
emily doesn’t move. she doesn’t trust herself to move. she shifts her gaze to aria—tiny, dark-eyed, barely two, her little fingers gripping the fabric of elizabeth’s expensive blazer.
she looks fine. but emily knows better than anyone—looking fine means nothing.
“what are you doing here?” emily asks, forcing her voice even.
elizabeth exhales, like she can’t be bothered to go through the motions of explaining something she’s already decided.
“i have to leave,” she says, shifting aria slightly. “ambassador duties. i’ll be out of the country for a few months.”
months. emily’s stomach drops. she’s barely processed it when elizabeth continues, as effortlessly as if she’s ordering a drink at a bar.
“you’ll keep her.”
emily blinks.
“what?”
elizabeth doesn’t falter. doesn’t react to the disbelief in emily’s voice.
“i don’t have time to arrange anything else,” she says simply. “and it’s not as if you haven’t been keeping her already.”
it’s a statement, not a question. because elizabeth knows. she knows emily has been taking care of aria more often than not. she knows she’s the one aria reaches for, the one who soothes her when she cries, the one who makes sure she’s loved. and still—elizabeth stands here, like it’s nothing. emily’s hands curl into fists, she wants to argue. she wants to fight.
because aria isn’t her child, she’s her sister.
but then—emily looks at her, really looks at her - and all the fight drains from her bones.
because she sees herself. those dark, familiar eyes. that quiet way of watching, absorbing, trying to understand, and she knows. she knows what it’s like to be flung around like an afterthought. she knows what it’s like to be her, but there was no one for emily. she didn’t have a big sister to catch her, to protect her, to love her the way she should have been loved.
aria shifts slightly in elizabeth’s arms, her little hand already reaching absently toward the edge of emily’s shirt. like she already knows - she belongs with her. elizabeth doesn’t hesitate, she just hands her over. just hands emily this little girl, this child, without a second thought, without so much as an explanation, without any care for what it means. emily barely has time to steady her grip before elizabeth picks up her suitcase.
“i’ll call when i can,” elizabeth says, brushing invisible dust from her sleeve as if aria tainted her dry cleaning. “try not to let her pick up any bad habits.”
emily’s blood boils, but she doesn’t react. she just holds aria closer. and elizabeth? she leaves, just like that. emily stands frozen in the doorway, aria pressed against her chest, her tiny fingers fisting into her shirt.
she feels sick. months. her mother is leaving her for months, and she doesn’t even care. emily presses her lips together, inhaling a slow, steady breath. then, she glances down. aria’s eyes are heavy, her small body warm, relaxed, trusting. emily exhales, closing her eyes briefly.
then, voice barely above a whisper— “it’s okay, bug,” she murmurs. “i’ve got you.”
and she means it, because no one caught emily when she was falling.
but she will damn well catch aria.
jj exhales, pressing her lips together, anger flickering in her expression. “jesus, em.”
emily shrugs, exhausted. “i waited. i thought maybe she’d call. maybe she’d check in. but she didn’t.” she looks away. “and after a while, it just… became clear she wasn’t coming back.”
jj shakes her head, barely able to process it. “that’s—” she stops, exhales. “that’s so fucked up.”
“yeah,” emily mutters. “it is.”
a heavy silence hangs between them. then jj speaks, voice softer now. “you’ve been carrying this alone this whole time?”
emily huffs a quiet, humorless laugh. “guess so.”
“why?”
emily shrugs again, but it’s forced, like she doesn’t know how to explain it. “what was i supposed to say, jj? ‘hey, i’ve been raising my sister alone because my mother couldn’t be bothered’?” she shakes her head. “it was just easier to not talk about it.”
jj sighs, leaning forward slightly. “but it wasn’t, was it?”
emily looks at her then, eyes sharp but tired. “no,” she admits. “it wasn’t.”
“so why now?” jj gestures toward the papers. she knows why, but she knows emily needs to get it all out.
“because,” emily murmurs, “i’d rather make it official than risk elizabeth deciding she suddenly cares again and trying to take her back. or sends her to some family in new york. or takes her out of my life completely.”
jj frowns. “do you think she would?”
emily clenches her jaw. “i don’t know. but i’m not going to give her the chance.”
jj nods, understanding. “so this is you protecting her.”
“it always has been,” emily says, voice quiet but firm.
jj sees it, feels the weight of it—how deeply this has been ingrained in emily, how automatic it is for her to do everything to make sure aria is safe.
“you know you don’t have to do this alone, right?” jj says after a moment, her voice gentle.
emily exhales slowly, looking down at the papers again. “yeah,” she murmurs, “i know.”
jj watches her, her gaze steady, full of something—something warm, something solid, something emily isn’t sure how to let herself lean into.
“you know you’ve got us,” jj murmurs. “all of us. me, hotch, reid, morgan, garcia— everyone. we’re family, em. you don’t have to carry this alone.”
emily doesn’t answer right away. she’s staring at jj’s signature. jennifer anne jareau. neat cursive, precise strokes, but undeniably jj. and she hates herself for it—hates that now, in the middle of this, her brain has the nerve to wander to something she has no business thinking about.
but god. she wishes jj was more than a friend. she wishes taking aria on legally wasn’t so fucking terrifying if she had jj at home too—someone to stand next to her, to be in it with her, someone who loved them both, in different ways, but in a way that mattered.
in a way that would never leave. in a way that didn’t threaten to leave. aria deserved that. she deserved that. but that wasn’t how this worked. jj wasn’t hers. jj wasn’t available to be hers. emily forces those thoughts out of her head, pushing them down, far down, where they belong.
she swallows, nods, and pastes on the smallest, most neutral smile she can manage. “yeah,” she says softly. “i know.”
jj studies her for a second, something unreadable flickering in her expression, like she knows there’s something else—something emily isn’t saying. but she doesn’t push. not today.
she just nods, pressing a hand briefly over emily’s forearm before leaning back in her chair. “good.”
emily exhales. it’s not real relief. but it’s enough to let her breathe.
emily stands, grabbing her bag, ready to leave, ready to move past this moment, past the weight of everything pressing against her ribs. but as she reaches the door, her fingers pause on the handle, her grip tightening.
she hesitates. jj notices immediately.
“what are you thinking about?”
her voice is soft but direct, cutting straight to the heart of whatever is pulling at emily’s thoughts before emily even has the chance to speak. emily exhales sharply, pressing her lips together, then lets out a dry, bitter laugh, shaking her head. “i don’t know if i tell her,” she mutters.
jj’s brows furrow slightly, her blue eyes scanning emily’s face. “tell her what?”
emily scoffs, shifting on her feet, her voice biting, layered in something sharp—something wounded. “hey, aria! mom abandoned you—somehow even worse than she did me! she set a new record!”
she lets out another humorless laugh, but there’s no real amusement in it. “or maybe, ‘she was going to send you to a nice, rich family in new york, like you were a rescue dog.’”
jj flinches at that, but emily barely notices. she’s caught in the spiral, words spilling out faster than she can stop them.
“or do i just… let it be?” her voice is lower now, tighter, like it’s hurting her to even say it. “do i let her feel? do i let her adapt? let her youth fix it?”
she swallows hard, jaw clenching, her eyes flickering toward the floor. “she’s so young. too young to remember this the older she gets.”
her fingers twitch slightly at her side, restless, her breath shallow. “but i don’t know, jj.”
then—so quietly it almost gets lost—
“how the fuck do you go about this?”
jj opens her mouth, but stops. because for the first time since she’s known her, she sees it.
mist in emily’s dark eyes.
it’s barely there, so faint that if jj wasn’t looking so closely, she might’ve missed it entirely. but she doesn’t. she catches it. and she watches as emily blinks it away just as fast, her body tensing, her hands clenching like she’s physically forcing herself to shut down whatever she just let slip through.
jj’s throat tightens. because emily prentiss does not cry. but right now, for the briefest moment, she almost did.
jj exhales, soft, measured.
“i don’t know, ” she admits, her voice quieter now, more careful. “but i know you’ll figure it out.”
emily stills. her lips part slightly, her breath catching—barely, but jj sees it.
“and if i don’t?” emily murmurs, voice almost too even.
jj tilts her head slightly, looking right at her, into her, not letting her hide.
“then you’ll keep figuring it out,” jj says, steady and sure. “because that’s what you do.”
and maybe, for the first time in a week, emily believes it.
or at least—wants to.
____
emily worked.
she read reports, signed off on paperwork, nodded at the appropriate times during case briefings. she gave input when needed, answered questions when expected, kept herself moving forward like the well-trained, high-functioning machine she was.
but her mind was elsewhere.
because everything—every single fucking thing—came back to aria. it wasn’t even a conscious thought. it was just there, lingering in the back of her mind, waiting beneath the surface. the papers in her bag, tucked deep inside like she could hide them from herself. the weight of what she had done, of what she had signed.
her eyes drifted to her desk, to the photos pinned and framed between case files and classified documents. one from last halloween—aria at a year and a half, dressed as a tiny black cat, her face painted with soft little whiskers, standing on shaky toddler legs with a pumpkin bucket almost too big for her to hold. emily was crouched beside her, her hand resting on aria’s back, steadying her. another from aria’s first birthday, her chubby hands gripping a slice of cake, her face absolutely covered in frosting, the grin so wide and uninhibited that emily had kept the picture despite the mess.
but the newest one—that was the one her eyes kept catching on. penelope had put it there last week without telling her.
“you needed an updated one!” she had beamed when emily noticed it for the first time, and before emily could even argue, garcia had tapped the frame. “look at you! she makes you happy.”*
it was from the annual bau barbecue a few weeks back.
in the photo, emily was sitting cross-legged on the grass, aria in her lap, her tiny arms wrapped around emily’s sweater. aria’s face was lit up, her mouth open in mid-laugh, pure joy captured in an instant.
but then herself in the photo, caught her attention now. because she was smiling. not a small smirk. not just an amused look. really smiling. her face was soft in a way she didn’t often allow herself, warmth radiating from the moment, the easy way aria fit against her, the trust, the love so obvious in the way they held onto each other.
it made something tighten deep in her chest. because emily hadn’t been looking for this. but somehow, she had found it.
she thinks about when aria was born.
it was 2 a.m. emily wasn’t excited. she wasn’t eager. she was twenty-six, almost twenty-seven, years old and annoyed that her mother, of all people, had been dumb enough to get pregnant in her fifties.
out of wedlock, too—not that emily gave a shit about that. but if she had done it? if emily had been the one to get pregnant before marriage?
elizabeth would have ruined her. she would have disowned her, humiliated her, called her reckless and selfish and unworthy of the prentiss name. she would have sent her away.
and for a brief moment, her mind flickers back—fifteen years old, a pregnancy test burning in her hands, the realization of it, the immediate panic that turned her stomach inside out.
matthew was the only one who knew. the only person she ever told. he had held her hand, had sat outside that clinic with her, had made bad jokes because he knew she hated silence. he had known she wouldn’t have survived if elizabeth found out. and she never did.
emily forces herself back, away from it, away from the what ifs, back to the moment she first met aria.
she had walked into the hospital with no real emotion about it. a baby. her mother’s baby, apparently a sibling for her. it felt so far from her own life, like something that wasn’t real, something that was happening to someone else. she climbed the steps to the labor and delivery floor, a small stuffed rabbit in her hand, something she had picked up a few weeks back.
it felt like a formality.
at the very least, she could welcome this baby nicely into the fucked-up prentiss family.
but then—she stepped into the hospital room, and she saw her. she hadn’t even known if elizabeth was having a boy or a girl. but there, wrapped in soft pink, so small, so delicate, barely more than a bundle of warmth in the cot— a girl. her name was already printed on the plastic cot.
aria elizabeth prentiss.
emily had barely processed it before elizabeth made some offhand comment about how she had screamed just as loud as emily did when she was born. but even then—even then—emily had felt it.
the absence.
the lack of warmth from elizabeth, the way she spoke of her own child like she was something distant, something separate from herself. but from her? from emily? there was already so, so much. she had felt it immediately, deep in her ribs, like something was clicking into place, like something was settling before she could even begin to understand it.
she placed the stuffed rabbit in the cot beside the newborn, feeling awkward but drawn in at the same time.
“hi,” she had mumbled, the word foreign on her tongue.
aria, barely hours old, turned toward the softness, her tiny face seeking something—someone—like even then, she was looking for warmth, for reassurance, for something solid in the world she had just entered.
emily had swallowed hard, reaching out before she even realized what she was doing, lifting the impossibly small bundle into her arms. she moved away from the cot, away from their mother, settled down in the chair across the room, adjusting the newborn against her chest, one hand pressing gently against the soft, tiny back.
she was so light. so fragile. her eyes fluttered open, unfocused but dark—familiar—so much like emily’s own that it made her breath catch.
she just looked at emily. quiet. knowing. like she was waiting for something. and emily had just stared back, taken by this tiny, soft thing in her arms.
aria blinked up at her, her mouth slightly parted, her little fingers twitching against the fabric of emily’s sweater. like she was saying, i think i will love you forever.
and emily—she had felt it. so strong, so unshakable, that it made her chest ache. she had barely known this baby for ten minutes, but she knew. she knew she would love her forever, too.
she still does. god, she still does. so much, she doesn’t know how to hold it all.
a phone call pulls her from her thoughts, and emily tries to work through the rest of the day.