patience wears thin.
emily hasn’t told aria the details, hasn’t told her that ‘mom gave you up ’. she hasn’t told her that ‘i signed papers, so technically and legally, i am your mom now ’.
because— how the fuck do you do that?
how do you explain something so big, so permanent, to someone who still holds her pacifier in her mouth when she’s tired, who still needs help pulling her socks over her tiny feet and spooning nooodles? so she hasn’t, but that doesn’t mean aria doesn’t know something has changed.
things, on the surface, are fine. great , even.
at work? emily is excelling. she’s finally found her rhythm at the bau, her place on the team. she’s integrating seamlessly, fitting in like she’s been there forever. her relationship with jj? it’s good. jj is her best friend. for once—emily has that. someone she can text about random things, someone who always answers, someone who sees her in ways most people never have.
but her chest? her chest tells her jj is more. she’ll have a single glass of wine at night, after aria is asleep, and she’ll want to text jj. she’ll type it out, wanting to tell her you make me feel things i don’t know how to express. i want to hold your hand. i want you to come over. i want you to spend time with me and aria, often. i want you to be part of this.
but she doesn’t. she backs the message out every time, locks her phone and goes to sleep.
people would probably call this a crush, but emily won’t. she can’t because she has too much to focus on.
like the fact that she is a mother now, and how she’s trying to keep it together. it’s not that emily ever shows it around aria. she doesn’t let her see the nights she sobs into her pillow, terrified. she doesn’t let her see the nights she sits on the couch with her head in her hands, feeling like this is so much. because she is twenty-eight years old , now a mother. she didn’t ask for it, but she wouldn’t take it back for anything - ever. however, that doesn’t make it easier.
and kids pick up on stress. they feel change, and even though elizabeth was never around much— now, she isn’t around at all.
sometimes, kids just know.
over the last few weeks, emily has noticed it. aria talking less. instead of saying “emmy, up?”, she just reaches her arms up and waits for emily to understand. instead of saying “more?” at dinner, she just points to her plate and stares at emily until she notices. she doesn’t ask for her pacifier at night, she just holds her hand out with a frown until emily gets it. she doesn’t ask for much of anything. but she looks at emily. she watches her - like she’s waiting for something emily doesn’t know how to give. or worse, like she’s waiting for something that isn’t coming back.
and emily? god, she feels like she’s failing already. because the only change has been her signing her name on a paper, and aria slowly losing her words. how can she not blame herself?
the afternoon? had been rough. it starts out small, like the last few days—aria toddling into the kitchen, her little bare feet tapping softly against the hardwood, eyes locked on the counter. but this time, there’s no sign for what she wants. no easy gesture that emily will recognize immediately.
aria just stands there, pointing fiercely at something up high, her little brows knitting together, her small chest rising and falling as frustration brews inside her. emily turns, follows her gaze— sees the box of crackers sitting beside the fruit bowl.
“oh! you want crackers, bug?”
the second the words leave her mouth, aria huffs—a tiny, exasperated toddler sigh—but she still doesn’t speak. she just points harder, stabs her little finger toward them, like she’s willing them to move.
emily frowns slightly, reaching up to grab the box. “these ones?”
aria nods once, sharp and certain, but her mouth stays closed. emily sets the box down, crouching beside her. “you can tell me, baby. you know how to say crackers.”
aria’s bottom lip juts out, trembling, her little hands curling into fists.
but still no words - and somehow the toddler frustration builds too fast for her little body to contain it. her eyes glass over, her tiny hands shaking, her face crumpling all at once.
then, full sobs.
gut-wrenching, frustrated, overwhelmed little sobs that shake her tiny frame, her whole body curling in on itself, the crushing weight of something she can’t even put into words too much.
“oh, bug—” emily immediately moves, scooping her up, pressing her close, swaying slightly as she rubs slow circles into her back. she regrets telling her she can say crackers.
“shhh, baby, i got you, i got you.”
aria clings, desperate, shuddering with sobs, her face pressed into emily’s shoulder.
emily rocks her, murmuring soft little reassurances, pressing kisses into her damp hair, but fuck— this isn’t just a bad mood. this isn’t just a tired toddler moment. this is something else. this is aria not speaking. this is aria losing words she already knows. this is aria being unable to tell emily what she needs, no matter how badly she wants to. and emily—she doesn’t know why. she doesn’t know what to do, other than continue to blame herself and try to do better.
however, the night is hell.
no, hell isn’t even the right word. it’s worse than that. it’s the hardest night emily has ever experienced as a mother.
it starts at 1am.
aria’s cries ring through the apartment, shattering the silence, the kind of wailing that puts a panic in emily’s chest so fast that she nearly falls getting out of bed. full-on, screaming. red-faced, desperate sobs. aria is inconsolable . her little fists clench and unclench, her legs kick as if she’s trying to escape something, her body shaking with the force of her cries.
emily’s never seen her like this.
she tries everything .
a pacifier. a bottle. her stuffed rabbit. her blanket. all of it, hell no .
she sings to her, but aria just screams louder. emily rocks her, it doesn’t work - aria just squirms against her screaming. she bounces her, paces through the apartment with aria pressed against her chest, her own arms burning so badly from exhaustion that she thinks she might actually drop her.
“baby, please,” emily whispers, her voice breaking, her own heart splitting with every gut-wrenching sob that aria lets out. but nothing. nothing helps.
by 2:30am, aria is hiccupping in her sleep, her cries finally tapering into small, shuddering breaths. she had cried herself to sleep. her small, bare body is pressed against emily’s, her diaper the only thing left on her because she was so wet—with sweat, tears, drool, everything.
emily hasn’t even realized that she’s crying too.
her own face is wet, silent tears slipping down her cheeks as she slowly lowers herself onto the bed, aria still clutched in her arms. she doesn’t bother trying to put her back in her crib. doesn’t care that her shirt is soaked—with tears, snot, rejected milk, all of it. she just collapses onto the mattress, pressing aria closer, willing herself not to break down completely.
her head pounds. her eyes burn. her chest aches. emily closes her eyes, breathing deep, desperate to calm the storm raging inside her -because if she lets herself go, if she lets herself fall apart completely then who the fuck is going to hold aria together?
rest is a sick joke, because emily barely gets any. her alarm goes off at 5am, and the sound physically hurts. but she has to function, she has to get to work - but god, she doesn’t know how she’s going to do it. aria is still beside her, her small body clutched to emily’s shirt like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded. she looks pitiful. her cheeks are red—probably chapped from all the crying, her little brows are pulled together in an emotion that emily hates seeing on her face.
because whatever it is, it’s not happy.
and that kills her.
it takes her a full five minutes just to get aria’s fingers to let go of her shirt. even when she finally slips out of bed, aria whimpers slightly, shifting in the sheets, her little hand twitching like she’s reaching for something that isn’t there. emily swallows against the lump in her throat, forcing herself to step away, moving toward the bathroom.
she has to get ready, she has to make it through the day. she stands in front of the mirror, staring at herself, eyes swollen and puffy and forces herself to splash cold water on her face, willing the exhaustion to fade, but it barely makes a difference.
she gets halfway through her makeup, mascara wand in her hand, brushing it lightly through her lashes—when she hears it. a soft, tiny whimper from the bedroom.
aria.
already whimpering before she’s even fully awake. emily’s heart twists, and without thinking, she caps the mascara, tossing it onto the sink counter before moving toward the bedroom. she doesn’t care about the rest of her makeup. doesn’t care that she looks wrecked.
because aria needs her. and nothing - not work, not exhaustion, not anything, is more important than that.
emily steps into the bedroom, and the second she does, aria is already rubbing at her eyes, little fists pressing against her cheeks, her bottom lip jutting out as far as it can possibly go. aria always wakes up happy. always . smiling. grinning so wide some mornings that emily is genuinely shocked— because how can someone be that happy so early?
but not today. today, aria’s little face is scrunched up, her body shifting against the sheets, whining more with each passing second. emily leans down, scooping her up, adjusting her against her hip.
aria wiggles slightly, her breath uneven, her whimpers starting to increase—until, by some miracle, emily spots the pacifier beside her pillow and grabs it quickly, slipping it into aria’s mouth before the full meltdown can start.
aria settles immediately. not entirely, but enough.
emily exhales, brushing a hand over her curls, pressing a soft kiss to her temple.
“i got you, baby,” she murmurs, just grateful she grabbed the right thing. “let’s go downstairs, yeah?”
aria hums, her little arms tightening around emily’s neck as she nuzzles closer. but first, emily still has to get herself together. so she carries aria into the bathroom, perching her securely on her hip as she uncaps the mascara wand again, brushing it quickly over her lashes. she barely even looks in the mirror, barely even cares if she looks tired, if she looks wrecked.
because she is.
she tosses the mascara back into her makeup bag, zips it shut, and calls it good enough.
downstairs, she settles aria on the couch, flipping the tv on, and navigating to blue’s clues like she always does. she tucks aria’s blanket around her, makes sure her stuffed rabbit is right beside her. just like always.
aria stays still, calmer now, her fingers lightly clutching at the blanket, her pacifier bobbing slightly in her mouth as she watches the screen. emily waits for a second, making sure she’s okay, and when aria stays quiet, her body relaxed, she finally steps away.
she just needs two minutes . two minutes to grab the caffeine she desperately needs. but she barely makes it three steps before she hears it, aria’s tiny whimper, followed by a soft, urgent noise behind her. when emily turns, aria is already reaching for her, little hands grasping at the air, her eyes wide, and—emily can swear she sees tears ready to spill.
emily softens immediately, moving back to her, crouching in front of the couch, rubbing a hand over aria’s tiny knee.
“baby,” she murmurs, voice gentle, soothing, “i’m just gonna get coffee, okay? i’m not going anywhere, bug. you’re right here, and i’m right here.”
aria sniffles, blinking at her. emily tilts her head, squeezing her knee gently. “you’re okay, yeah? you got your blankie, and your bunny, and you got steve on the tv. and you know steve’s always got the answers to solve all of blue’s clues, huh?”
aria blinks again, this time her little eyes flickering to the screen, where steve is, in fact, about to solve the mystery of whatever clue he’s just found. her body relaxes, she settles, her eyes stay on the tv. emily waits a beat, making sure, then slowly, quietly, backs up toward the kitchen. where she finally gets to start the coffee.
emily breathes out. deep. measured. controlled. but it’s not working. she’s forcing herself to do a breathing exercise, something she uses for victims when they’re falling apart during an interview, something she tells herself to do in moments like this— when the world feels too heavy, when her body feels like it’s on the verge of collapse.
she just needs to get the coffee in the machine. just needs to function.
because she doesn’t get to cry, she doesn’t get to scream. she doesn’t get to break down.
so she keeps scooping. one. two. three. the last one clumsier, the coffee grounds spilling slightly over the edge of the filter. she doesn’t care. in fact, she brushed it off into the floor which is not at all her normal.
she shoves the lid shut, presses start, listens as the machine gurgles to life.
but then she turns around, and aria is standing at the fridge. her tiny hand pressed against it, her brows knitted together in concentration, her pacifier bobbing slightly in her mouth.
waiting, not saying anything.
at first, the feeling that bubbles up in emily’s chest is failure, because aria should just ask. aria has never hesitated before, has never needed permission to want something.
but now she is, now she’s waiting like she doesn’t know if she should, like she doesn’t trust that she can, and that kills emily.
but then the failure turns into something else. something she does not want to name.
anger. not at aria. right? no, never at aria. but at whatever the hell is making her baby feel like this. at herself, because she’s supposed to be fixing this, supposed to be helping her, supposed to be making things better—and yet, here they are, standing in a kitchen at 6:30 in the morning, and aria can’t even say what she needs. emily swallows hard, pushes the anger down, forces herself to kneel beside her, her voice gentle, calm.
“baby?”
aria doesn’t answer. just pats the fridge again, her knees bouncing a bit as she whines, her lip wobbling behind the pacifier. emily exhales, rubbing a hand over her face.
“okay,” she murmurs, soft but steady, reaching out to brush a stray curl away from aria’s cheek. “i got you, bug. let’s figure it out, okay?”
aria sniffles, her little fingers tapping against the fridge door, waiting for emily to understand.
and emily—emily will. she will try until she’s red in the face, even if it kills her. she takes another breath, forcing patience, willing herself to stay calm as she opens the fridge.
aria immediately points, but emily can’t tell at what. she follows the direction of her little finger, scanning the shelves.
“juice?” emily taps the carton, looking at aria, asking her. “is this what you want, bug?”
aria whines immediately, shaking her head violently. no. not it.
emily swallows down the frustration creeping up her spine, shifting her focus back to the area aria had pointed to. she searches. there’s a container of peeled apple slices - aria has wanted weirder things at six in the morning. emily pulls them out, doing the same thing she did with the juice.
“apple?” she asks, her voice still soft, trying to stay calm.
aria shoves the container away, her whine turning sharp, her body shifting like she’s trying to escape whatever this moment is. no. no. not it.
her protests grow louder. her little face scrunches tighter, her tears welling up are now matching the anger in emily’s chest.
“emily. calm down,” she keeps telling herself that in her head. “she is a baby. this is hard for her too.”
because no, aria isn’t trying to make this difficult, she isn’t doing this to be cruel.
but that knowledge, that rational, logical knowledge doesn’t stop the boiling frustration rising in emily’s body. she points at the milk carton, hoping—praying—that this is what aria wants.
no.
aria loses it. she falls to her bottom on the kitchen floor, her little body collapsing under the weight of her own frustration, her head tilting back, her mouth open in a full, guttural sob. and emily— emily loses it too .
she doesn’t mean to. it just happens .
“aria!” her voice snaps through the room, sharper than it’s ever been. “ you’re not making this any easier! you can say it! you can speak! i did not ask to be here, playing ‘guess who’ with whatever the hell you want! i didn’t ask to be yo—”
she stops. for two reasons.
the first? she realizes what she’s about to say, and she immediately hates herself for it.
the second? aria has stopped crying. not because she’s calmed down, but because she’s looking at emily with the worst expression emily has ever seen. an expression that will never leave her, ever.
heartbreak.
aria’s bottom lip trembles, her little chest heaving, her eyes wide with shock, her whole body frozen. because emily has never yelled at her before. not once. even if her and elizabeth got into it when she was in the picture, emily made sure aria was not in the room. even when there was a heated case call she had to take at home after hours, aria was never allowed to be in the room.
it’s not about what she said to her, aria probably couldn’t even comprehend the words over her own sobbing, over emily’s rushed, breaking voice.
but it doesn’t matter because emily snapped in the middle of the kitchen at 7am.
the softest cry starts slipping from aria’s lips. small. shaky. like it scared to even come out. but then, it grows. it breaks open into the most gut-wrenching sob emily has ever heard in her life.
aria folds forward, her tiny hands covering her face, her whole body wracked with tears. and emily—emily feels like she’s just destroyed the most important thing in the world. emily feels like she just broke something irreversible.
it happens fast, like a train slamming into her chest, knocking the air straight out of her lungs.
the realization. the regret.
the immediate and all-consuming self-loathing that makes her feel like she might actually be sick . her knees hit the floor harder than they should, but she doesn’t feel it. she doesn’t feel anything except the gut-wrenching need to fix this, to undo it, to take it back.
“oh, god - no aria, —no, no, no, no, no.”
her hands reach for aria, pulling her in, wrapping her arms around the tiny, shaking body that won’t stop crying because of her. because of her. aria clings to her, her little hands gripping onto emily’s shirt so tightly that emily swears she can feel the tremor of it in her ribs.
aria sobs. deep, gut-wrenching, heart-shattering cries. and emily? emily cries too.
“i’m so sorry, baby,” she whispers, pressing frantic, desperate kisses into her curls, rocking her gently. “i’m so, so sorry. please aria, im so sorry.”
because she is, she’s so sorry. for snapping. for losing it. for making aria feel like this.
her own body shakes, tears burning at her eyes - she hates herself. hates herself in a way she never has before. because she swore—she swore—she would never make aria feel unsafe. never make her cry like this. never be the reason for that heartbreak in her tiny, perfect face.
but she was. this morning? she is.
“shhh, baby, shhh,” emily whispers, rocking her, rubbing her back, her own voice unsteady, breaking on the words. aria keeps crying. her whole body trembles against emily’s chest, little hiccups breaking up her sobs, but she’s still holding on so tight, like emily is the only thing keeping her from completely unraveling.
she still trusts her, despite everything. and that? that hurts worse than anything else. emily squeezes her eyes shut, her forehead pressing against aria’s, whispering a hundred i’m sorrys, pressing a hundred kisses into her hair. until aria’s breathing starts to slow. until the sobs turn into quieter cries, the tears still streaming but the shattering, gasping sounds fading just enough.
until aria shifts, her little hand lifting from emily’s shirt, and pointing toward the fridge.
the fridge that’s still open. emily swallows hard, her hands shaking as she slowly turns her head. and then she sees it, her sippy cup. bright pink, sitting on the shelf, right there.
of fucking course. of course that’s what she wanted.
she has it every morning, and emily was just so fried, so exhausted, so completely overwhelmed that it never even crossed her mind.
and now? now it feels so stupid. so avoidable.
her own fucking fault.
emily swallows against the thick knot in her throat, nodding to herself, shifting slightly, still keeping one arm wrapped around aria as she reaches into the fridge, grabbing the sippy cup. she hands it to her immediately. aria takes it with both hands, still sniffling, her fingers gripping the plastic so tightly emily can hear it creak.
emily watches as she presses it to her mouth, taking a deep, shaky sip, her little body still pressed into emily’s chest, still hiccupping from all the crying.
emily wants to throw up.
this could have been so simple. this could have been nothing, but she made it everything. she lets out a shaky breath, pressing one last, firm kiss into aria’s hair, rocking her again.
“i’m so sorry, baby,” she whispers, voice barely there.
aria doesn’t respond. she just drinks her milk, still tucked into emily’s arms, exhausted. emily just holds her, because it’s all she can do. she shuts the fridge with the back of her foot, shifting slightly, adjusting aria in her arms as she scoots back and leans against it.
the cold metal presses into her spine, grounding her. her feet pressed on the hardwood, as she leans her headback against the fridge with a soft thud. closing her eyes, just trying to clear her mind. the breathe. to not fuck up, again, because it’s all she feels like she’s doing.
what feels like ten seconds, is ten minutes. she glances at the time on the microwave.
7:58. she needed to leave at 7:45. she lets out a slow, exhausted breath, reaching up blindly, feeling around the counter until her fingers find her phone. she grabs it, unlocks it, and types out a quick text with one hand.
emily: i’m going to be late for work. everything’s okay, just didn’t want anyone to worry.
she barely has to wait a second before her screen lights up with a response.
jj: i’ll let them know, see you later on.
emily exhales, her shoulders slumping slightly, grateful. she doesn’t have it in her to explain, doesn’t even have it in her to think about work right now. she just..she can’t. she lets the phone drop beside her, wraps her arms tighter around aria, curling her as close as she possibly can.
aria is practically nursing her sippy cup like a bottle, her little fingers still clutched around it, her breaths coming in slow, tired little puffs against emily’s chest. for comfort? because she’s exhausted from crying? emily doesn’t know. she has a hunch, but she doesn’t care.
aria needed something. emily should have seen it sooner. emily shouldn’t have snapped. she didn’t even realize it was happening, until the damage was done. she squeezes her eyes shut, pressing her lips firmly against the top of aria’s head, trying to get it together, trying to stop the guilt from swallowing her whole. and as she sits there, back against the fridge, aria tucked against her chest, the tiny body in her arms finally still— because aria falls asleep.
emily just holds her because she needs it just as much. but somehow, by the grace of god, emily pulls herself together emotionally. enough to try and attempt the day, again. she forces herself to breathe, to move, to function in the way she’s supposed to.
she gets aria ready for daycare, despite the fact that she’s still asleep, her little body limp in emily’s hands as she carefully pulls her into fresh clothes, smooths her hair back, tucks her blanket into her bag just in case. she feeds sergio, who has decided that today—after the hell of a morning they’ve had—he is hiding under the bed until further notice, until he deems it safe to emerge.
and then, she gets out the door, because she has to go to work.
she has to.
she has to let other people hold aria today, has to let other people be the ones to comfort her, has to leave her in the care of someone else until she can get back. all she wants to do is say no. all she wants to do is stay home, to hold her all day. to make sure she knows that emily doesn’t hate her. to make sure she knows that she’s not mad at her. to make sure she feels safe. but she can’t stay home, she can’t hold her all day.
she has to go, so she does - but she hates every second of it.
jj sees her the second she walks in, and she knows immediately. emily prentiss is good at hiding things—she’s good at hiding everything , really. she wears stress well, wears exhaustion even better, carries the weight of whatever hell she’s been through with the kind of poise that makes people assume she’s fine.
but when it comes to aria? it’s a different story. jj sees it in the tightness of her shoulders, the way her hands grip her bag a little too hard, the way her movements are sharp, like she’s forcing herself to keep moving so she doesn’t fall apart. jj doesn’t even hesitate. she moves toward her, meeting her at her desk, already reaching out as she goes to ask, what’s wrong?
but emily— she cuts her off immediately.
“i’m fine, jj. i’ve got to get caught up.”
jj stops, watches as emily keeps her eyes locked on her desk, as she avoids jj’s gaze, as she deflects in a way that jj has seen a hundred times before. the way emily walls up. but today? jj does not back down. not from this. not when emily looks like she’s drowning, begging for someone to just help .
“no, you are not.”
her voice is firm. unwavering.
“go to my office. now.”
emily freezes, but jj doesn’t wait for a response. she turns, already walking away, leaving the door open for her. she doesn’t check to see if emily follows, doesn’t wait to see if she listens.
emily follows jj to her office, because she doesn’t know what else to do - and sits.
jj closes the door.
silence.
jj doesn’t speak, she doesn’t rush emily, doesn’t push. she just waits. and emily? emily can’t wait. because if she waits, if she sits in it for even a second longer, she’s going to burst open at the seams or complete shut jj out.
so she talks, and once she starts, she can’t stop.
“it’s not just this morning,” emily says, shaking her head, her hands gripping her knees like she needs something to hold onto. jj listens, perched on the edge of her desk, watching.
“it’s been weeks, jj. a month, maybe longer. aria isn’t—” emily stops, swallows, exhales sharply, “she isn’t talking as much.”
jj’s brows pull together.
“what do you mean?”
emily laughs—short, bitter, like she hates the words she’s about to say.
“i mean—she used to ask for things. she used to tell me what she wanted, even if it was just one word. ‘up.’ ‘more.’ ‘milk.’”
her voice tightens, throat closing around the words.
“but now she just… looks at me.”
jj leans forward slightly. “looks at you?”
“yes!” emily bursts, running a hand down her face, frustrated—not at jj, never at jj, but at herself. “she just stands there. she just stares at me until i figure it out. until i—guess what she needs. and if i don’t figure it out fast enough, she gets upset, she cries, and i—”
her hands tremble slightly. jj sees it.
“i don’t know what i’m doing wrong.”
emily’s voice breaks on the last word.
jj shakes her head immediately, moving off the desk, kneeling in front of her. “em, hey. look at me.”
emily doesn’t.
“emily.”
she does.
jj holds her gaze, firm, but her hands are gentle when she reaches out, covering emily’s, grounding her.
“you are not doing anything wrong.”
emily laughs again, sharp, watery, disbelieving. “then why is this happening?”
jj watches her, sees the way her jaw tightens, the way her hands clench, like she’s bracing for something she can’t control. the way she is about to admit something that feels like poison on her tongue.
“this morning—” emily swallows, inhales sharply through her nose, “—this morning, i yelled at her, jj. i yelled at my baby because she couldn’t tell me what she wanted. and then she looked at me like—like she was heartbroken.”
jj closes her eyes for half a second, like the thought alone is enough to physically hurt her because she knows this isn't on purpose. she knows from other friends and family members that sometimes parents just snap. especially when they’re balancing it on their own.
emily shakes her head, like she’s trying to shake the memory out of her mind. “and i knew. i knew the second i did it that i fucked up, but i couldn’t take it back, and i just—” she cuts herself off, exhaling harshly, “—i feel like i’m drowning. ”
jj grips her hands tighter. “em-”
“i hate the way i feel, jj,” emily interupts her, her voice barely above a whisper. “i hate that i feel like i’m failing her. i hate that i feel like i’m failing at being her mom.”
jj’s heart breaks open. she doesn’t think, she just moves. she slides closer, holding emily’s hands tighter, her thumbs brushing softly over her knuckles.
“emily, you are not failing her.”
emily flinches, but jj holds steady.
“you love her. and she knows you love her.”
emily closes her eyes, lips pressing tightly together, like she’s fighting something.
“she trusts you, emily,” jj continues, voice soft, steady, sure. “she chose you. she’s always, chose you, and she will always do so.”
emily’s breath hitches, and jj watches her - watches the way she’s crumbling and holding herself together all at once.
“whatever is going on, whatever this is—you are not alone in it.”
emily exhales sharply, something breaking in her chest.
“ we will figure this out.”
jj’s voice is so sure, like it’s a fact, like there is no alternative.
them.
we, will figure this out together.
jj is right here. jj isn’t going anywhere, and its clear. for the first time in weeks, emily isn’t alone in this - and she believes it. jj watches emily closely, giving her a moment. she watches the way her shoulders tremble, the way her hands are still shaking beneath her own.
and jj makes a decision. no, not a decision. a promise.
“i’m coming over tonight.”
emily blinks.
“what?”
jj squeezes her hands, grounding her. “i’m coming over tonight. i’ll help with dinner. i’ll hang out with aria for a bit, so you can shower, or take a second, or just breathe.”
emily shakes her head immediately, already trying to protest. “j, you don’t have to—”
“i know i don’t have to,” jj’s voice is firm. “i want to.”
emily swallows, looks down at their hands, her fingers still curled into jj’s grip. jj sees the resistance—the instinct to argue, to push it away, to pretend she can handle it alone, but jj doesn’t give her room to fight it.
“you’re not going to tell me no,” jj says, tilting her head. “you’re not going to tell me that you’re fine, because you’re not, and i’m not going to let you sit in that alone.”
emily exhales sharply, her throat tight.
“jen, i don’t want to be a burden—”
“you’re not.” jj’s voice softens, but it doesn’t waver. “you will never be a burden to me, emily.”
emily closes her eyes, jj watches her. watches the way her whole body fights itself—wants to push away, but also wants to pull jj closer. for her to be the one thats held, just once.
and finally, emily speaks.
“okay.”
it’s small, but it’s there. jj nods, like that was always going to be the answer.
“okay.”
because jj was coming over either way. and emily? emily was finally accepting that.