a simple invite.
jj isn’t entitled to their time. she knows that. reminds herself of it, over and over, like a quiet mantra in the back of her mind. emily doesn’t owe her anything. aria certainly doesn’t owe her anything.
but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t want it. doesn’t mean she doesn’t miss it. it’s been weeks since she spent real time with them.
sure, she sees emily every day at work. they talk, they joke, they exchange those familiar glances across the bullpen when reid is rambling or when morgan is being too much. but it’s not the same, it’s not before. not like being at the park, making aria belly-laugh, watching emily soft and unguarded, fully focused on the tiny girl who is everything to her.
not like knowing that, for a little while , she was part of something real with them.
jj sighs, stretching out against the couch, her socked feet tucking beneath her. her apartment is dimly lit, the warm glow of a single lamp casting long shadows against the walls. her blanket is thrown across her legs, soft, worn fabric she’s had for years, one she always curls under when the night stretches too long. she’s in an old t-shirt—navy, a little faded from too many washes—loose sweats hanging comfortably from her hips. her hair is damp from her shower, smelling faintly of lavender, pulled into a messy, half-dried ponytail.
her phone sits against her thigh, the screen dark, but she knows what she’s about to do.
emily still talks to her about aria, more now than before. she shows her pictures, videos, those tiny glimpses into their life together. and jj’s heart warms every time, but it aches too, because she wants more.
she doesn’t want to be sitting at her desk at work, watching a video of aria trying to walk in emily’s boots—she wants to be there when it happens.
she doesn’t want to see a picture of aria clutching a shiny red apple, her small fingers barely wrapping around it, her smile bright, eyes so proud—she wants to be there when she picks it out at the orchard.
she doesn’t know what that means, deep down. she doesn’t want to name it, but she feels it.
it’s been weeks since she signed as a witness on a legal document that made aria emily’s.
and she hasn’t been with them since. not really. she shifts against the couch, pressing the heel of her palm against her temple, forcing herself to breathe. and then—she takes the leap again.
just like she did before, just like she did when she asked emily to walk with her the first time. jj pulls her phone into her hands, the cool weight of it grounding her, and opens her messages.
jj: hey, would you and aria like to join me at the farmers market in the morning?
she stares at the message for half a second before hitting send. and then— she waits.
her heart tightens, fingers tapping absently against her knee, the apartment too quiet as she watches her phone. because she wants this. because she misses them.
because, whether she’s ready to admit it or not— they feel like home. a type of home she’s never felt before.
now that aria is asleep, the home is quiet. the kind of quiet that comes after a long day, when the weight of everything settles into the walls, into the floors, into the stillness of the night.
emily steps out of aria’s room, leaving the door cracked just slightly, just like she always does. just enough to hear if aria stirs in the night, if she needs her - even though she bought one of the most expensive baby monitors on the market.
it’s instinct. she doesn’t think about why she does it. just like she doesn’t think about why she lingers for an extra second, peeking inside, watching the slow, steady rise and fall of aria’s tiny chest. aria is curled onto her side, her little fingers tucked beneath her cheek, her well-loved rabbit pressed against her face.
she looks so small. so peaceful. emily exhales softly, barely even realizing she does, before finally stepping away, walking quietly down the hall toward the kitchen.
her phone buzzes against the counter. she hadn’t even realized she left it there. she picks it up, glancing at the screen, expecting a late-night text from work—something from derek complaining about paperwork, or penelope sending a ridiculous meme the emily will pretend to get.
but instead— jj .
her stomach does something. something she doesn’t want to examine too closely.
she swipes open the message.
jj: hey, would you and aria like to join me at the farmers market in the morning?
emily stares. the words settle into her chest, spreading warmth through her ribcage in a way she isn’t prepared for. she reads it again, and again.
jj wants them there. not just her. them. jj is inviting aria.
jj cares about aria, and why does that make emily feel like this? why does it make something soft press at the edges of her heart? why does it make her ache, just a little?
she doesn’t know, and she doesn’t try to figure it out. instead, she just types her response, quick, easy, before she can think too hard about it.
emily: yeah, we’d like that.
she hovers for just a second—just a second—before adding one more thing.
emily: what time?
her phone vibrates almost immediately.
jj: 9 work?
emily smiles—small, but real.
emily: yeah. see you then.
she sets her phone down, pressing the heels of her palms into the counter, inhaling deeply, slowly, like she can settle something inside her that refuses to be named.
tomorrow is going to be a good day. she knows it, she feels it. and she has no idea what that means, but she’s not sure she wants to. before she can spiral too much further into that thought, something rubs against her legs.
she blinks, looking down just in time to see sergio wind himself around her ankles, his sleek black fur brushing against her bare skin. he lets out a soft, impatient mrrp, his tail flicking as he stares up at her. emily exhales a quiet laugh, shaking her head.
“yeah, yeah,” she mutters, bending down to scratch behind his ears. “i know what you want.”
he purrs, arching into her touch, butting his head against her hand before promptly trotting toward the pantry—because of course he expects her to follow. emily sighs, rolling her eyes fondly as she pushes off the counter, already moving toward the cabinet where his treats are stored.
because that’s life. one second, she’s spiraling about jj and aria and what any of this means. the next, she’s being bossed around by a cat. sergio mews again, more insistent this time, and emily shakes her head, tossing a few treats onto the floor for him.
“so demanding,” she mutters, watching as he immediately starts eating.
sergio ignores her. emily sighs, running a hand through her hair.
tomorrow is going to be a good day. a simple day. just the farmers market. nothing more.
she repeats it to herself, and maybe—just maybe—she’ll believe it. maybe she won’t have a spiral about a simple text message about a farmers market shes been to a million times.