unraveling at the edges.
emily was running on fumes.
the last week had been brutal. the case the bau was working on had stretched across three states, leaving a trail of absolute mess that had kept her and the team buried in evidence, geographical profiles, and long, sleepless nights. and if that wasn’t enough? aria was in the middle of a very inconvenient sleep regression.
emily had spent every night this past week rocking her, whispering lullabies, rubbing circles into her tiny back—only for aria to still whimper for her hours later, little hands grasping at emily’s shirt like she couldn’t let go. it was gutting. and it wasn’t just the exhaustion of less than three hours of sleep per night. it was the guilt of not being there the way she wanted to be.
the kind of guilt that settled deep in her bones when she had to get up at 5 a.m. after a night of broken sleep and pry aria’s fingers from her collar just to go solve another case, or when she was murmuring good nights to aria over the phone when she was stuck in the office still at 7 p.m. she hated it. hated knowing that aria needed her and still having to leave.
which is why she had spent weeks—weeks—meticulously screening every single applicant for a nanny to cover these exact situations. and she had landed on caroline. a graduate student working on her master’s in child development. someone who knew the science, but more importantly, had a natural warmth to her that aria actually responded to. emily had interrogated the hell out of her—like she was a prime suspect in a federal investigation. not because she didn’t trust her, but because this was aria.
this was her baby. and no one was going to watch aria unless emily knew, without a doubt, that she was in good hands. caroline had taken it all in stride. she had answered every question with patience, unphased by emily’s intensity. she got that emily just cared. a lot. and more importantly? aria liked her.
emily had set up multiple playdates—watching from a distance, seeing how aria interacted, making sure she wasn’t uncomfortable, making sure she felt safe. when it was clear that aria did like her, emily hired her. she had even taken a plunge—leaving her for a few hours so she could have a baby-free wine night at penelope’s.
each time, she had gotten the expected tears when she left. the whimpers when caroline was there early at 5 a.m. taking on aria because emily had to get on a jet. but caroline always sent her pictures minutes later—aria smiling, playing, giggling, back to herself.
and that was the only thing that had gone to plan today.
because instead of heading home at a reasonable hour, where she could kiss her daughter goodnight, read her a story, and at least pretend to be a present mother? she was still here. at the goddamn bau. because people with twisted minds and a lack of therapy couldn’t stop killing people.
emily sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose as she stared at the case files spread out in front of her, willing the words to make sense through her exhaustion. her phone buzzed next to her hand. she grabbed it immediately—because even at work, even tracking a serial killer, she was always waiting for something to go wrong with aria. thankfully, it was a good message. one attached with an image of her sweet girl.
caroline: she’s all settled in, winding down for the night. she had some apple slices after dinner, played for a bit, had a good bath. she did con me out of an extra episode of blues clues though before bed. :)
emily exhaled, praying for some of the tension in her shoulders to ease — but she was still fuming. the case. the lack of sleep. the long hours. the entire day had been weighing on her shoulders, pressing into her ribcage like she could physically feel the burden of it all.
but the thing that wouldn’t leave her mind? the thing that kept replaying over and over again like a broken goddamn record, that continued to piss her off more than anything somehow?
jj, suggesting she stay back during the raid today. jj, saying it so casually while emily was mid-motion strapping her vest on, her hands moving instinctively as she checked her gun, double-checked her earpiece, tied her hair back in a quick, sharp ponytail.
they were moving fast—they had to. morgan was driving like a bat out of hell, tires screeching around corners as they tried to get there in time. the cartel they’d been tracking was on the move, and if they didn’t act now, they were going to lose them. adrenaline was already pumping through her system when jj spoke up.
“maybe prentiss should hang back and call command with hotch on the outside?”
emily froze. she felt morgan’s eyes flicker toward them in the rearview mirror. felt hotch tense beside her. her brows pulled together, her grip tightening around the vest strap she was fastening.
“what?”
jj’s lips parted just slightly, her eyes just a little too wide, like she knew this was going to get a reaction. but she kept her voice even.
“just… maybe it’d be helpful, i—”
emily cut her off.
“i can handle my job, jennifer.”
short. sharp. clipped. it wasn’t anger—not yet. it was bewilderment. it was confusion. because what the fuck was jj trying to say? morgan’s grip on the wheel tightened, his mouth pulling into a line. he felt the tension. he heard the edge in emily’s voice. but no one said anything else. jj didn’t argue.
emily turned her gaze back out the window, jaw tight.
they got to the scene. they did their jobs. and now? now, emily was here. hours later, still pissed off. still in her damn tactical pants, boots laced up, hair still pulled back too tight—but instead of tracking down cartel members, she was sitting at her desk, glaring at a picture of her daughter that caroline had just sent her. aria was curled up with her stuffed rabbit, eyes focused on blue’s clues, the soft glow of the tv illuminating her tiny face.
happy. safe. and emily wasn’t there. she should be there. she should be home, where she wanted to be, where her kid needed her. not here. not shifting through files. not replaying jj’s words over and over again in her head, feeling the anger twist into something that made her throat tight.
jj doubted her today. and that? that hurt in a way emily wasn’t ready to deal with. because this was jj. her best friend. her partner. the one person she trusted—the one person she felt something so strong for, something she couldn’t put words to, something she wasn’t ready to unpack. but now? now jj was questioning her ability to do her job?
to do the one thing emily had done for years—the thing she had built her entire life around? did jj think she couldn’t handle it anymore? did she think that just because emily was a mother now, she was somehow less capable? did she always think this? what was this even about?
it didn’t mix well.
the lack of sleep. the overwhelming stress of the case. the exhaustion pulling at the edges of her nerves like frayed thread. emily let out a slow breath, forcing her fingers to unclench from where they had curled into a fist on her desk.
she needed to calm down. she needed to go home. she needed to figure out why this—why jj saying that—had her feeling like something inside of her was about to break. she had made up her mind. she would go to jj’s office, and ask. she’d go up, close the office door and just ask why. demand to know why.
but emily’s phone buzzed twice in her hand, snapping her attention away from her previous thoughts. she glanced down, reading the messages — more from caroline.
caroline: we’re okay. if you’re busy, i don’t want you to worry. but aria is really upset tonight at bedtime, and i can’t get her to calm down right now. i had an idea.
caroline: if you’re not in a meeting, do you think you could facetime me really quick? i feel like if she saw you or heard your voice while she finished her bottle, she’d knock out?
emily didn’t even hesitate. she completely abandoned the plan to march up the ramp to jj’s office and demand an explanation. that could wait. aria couldn’t. she pressed the call button immediately, lifting the phone as it rang once—twice—before the screen flickered to life. caroline answered, her expression calm but concerned, the soft lamplight from aria’s nursery glowing behind her. but it wasn’t caroline emily was looking at. it was aria. her sweet baby girl was red-faced, her cheeks damp with tears, little hiccupped sobs shaking her tiny frame. and the worst part?
“ma ma ma ma!”
her cries were desperate—not the usual sleepy whimpers of ‘mommy’ she sometimes let out before dozing off, but full-on, body-wracking sobs. she was clutching at caroline’s shirt, her little hands gripping tight like she was afraid to let go, her whole body tense as she fought the exhaustion weighing her down.
emily’s heart shattered.
“bug,” emily breathed, her voice automatically softening, lowering into that gentle tone she always used at bedtime. aria gasped, hiccupped mid-cry, her body going still at the sound of her mother’s voice. she blinked up at the phone, her big, teary eyes wide with shock.
“there’s my girl,” emily cooed, forcing a soft smile despite the ache in her chest. “oh, baby, i know. i know, mommy’s right here.”
another hiccuped sob, but it was quieter this time. caroline shifted in the rocking chair, adjusting aria so she was resting more against her chest. “that’s it, sweetheart,” she murmured, soothingly. “see? mommy’s here. you’re okay, ari.”
aria’s little chest rose and fell rapidly, her breath still shaky, but she was calming.
“mommy’s here,” emily reassured again, watching as aria’s fingers slowly unclenched from caroline’s shirt. “it’s okay, my love. you’re so sleepy, huh?”
aria sniffled, blinking slowly, her head dipping forward slightly before she caught herself.
“there we go,” emily hummed, keeping her voice quiet, rhythmic. “you had such a big day, bug. i bet you played so much, huh?”
aria let out the softest hum in response, barely there, but acknowledging. caroline took the opportunity to guide the bottle to aria’s lips, and—thankfully—this time, she took it. emily exhaled, relief settling in as she watched aria’s little hands wrap around the bottle, her eyelids already growing heavier.
“you’re okay, sweetheart,” emily murmured, watching her baby settle. “just drink your milk, mommy’s right here.”
aria’s little fingers twitched slightly as she suckled, her body completely limp now against caroline’s chest. emily knew exactly what would help now. she inhaled deeply, her voice dropping even softer, and began to hum.
blackbird singing in the dead of night…
caroline glanced down, noticing how aria’s tiny fingers twitched just slightly against the bottle, her breathing evening out as her mother’s voice filled the space between them.
take these broken wings and learn to fly…
aria let out one last, tiny sigh—the kind emily knew all too well. the surrender sigh. she was asleep. emily watched as caroline slowly, carefully eased the empty bottle from aria’s hands, adjusting her in her arms, brushing some of the damp hair from her forehead.
“got her,” caroline whispered, glancing back at the screen.
emily exhaled, slumping back against her chair at her desk.
“thank you,” she murmured.
caroline smiled softly, shaking her head. “don’t thank me, im sorry i had to call you,” she said. “she loves you so much, emily. you’re her world.”
emily’s throat tightened.
“no apologies, its okay. i know its hard on her. i’ll be home soon,” she promised, voice barely above a whisper.
caroline nodded. “take your time. she’s okay now. just wanted to make sure she felt safe enough to sleep.”
emily gave her a small, grateful smile before the call ended. she stared at the black screen for a moment, then let her head drop back against her chair, exhaling slowly – before looking back forward. she barely had time to register the weight of the conversation, the way her body was still tense from hearing aria cry, before she looked up—and saw her.
jj.
she was across the bullpen, standing at the copier, but her movement had stalled. the pages she was supposed to be flipping through remained in her hands, untouched.
jj didn’t mean to stop walking.
she was on her way to the printer, a simple task, something automatic in her routine. but then she heard it. panicked, aching cries. not from emily.
from aria.
jj froze in her tracks, gripping the stack of papers in her hands a little tighter as she turned her head toward emily’s desk. emily was on the phone, eyes fixed on the screen, her expression tight with focus, but her voice—god, her voice—it was something else entirely. jj had heard emily prentiss in every tone imaginable. the sharp, commanding orders in the field. the teasing, sarcastic wit in the bullpen. the low, murmured confidences in late-night conversations over whiskey.
but this? this was a tone so soft, so achingly tender, it sent something twisting deep inside jj’s chest. emily was rocking slightly in her chair, phone in hand, whispering soothing words, her expression completely open, raw with love and exhaustion. jj didn’t have to see the screen to know exactly what was happening. she felt it. felt the weight of it in her bones.
aria was crying for her mother. begging for her mother. not just calling for her. not just whimpering. sobbing. that desperate, hiccupping cry that came from a child who needed the one person who could make it better.
jj felt her stomach drop.
she had heard emily talk about aria’s sleep regression, about how hard it had been leaving her this week, about how it physically hurt to walk out that door every morning and come home when she had gone to bed already. but hearing it? hearing aria cry for emily, hearing emily’s voice dip into that aching, aching softness as she soothed her baby girl over the phone— jj felt something inside her shatter. she didn’t even realize she had stopped walking completely, papers forgotten in her hands, just watching.
the moment that broke her even further— emily began to hum. jj sucked in a sharp breath.
blackbird.
she’d heard emily hum it before, sing it under her breath as she rocked aria after a long day, but now? now, she watched as emily sat in her chair, leaning slightly forward, humming through the phone, eyes slightly closed, like she was willing herself to be home, like she was trying to wrap herself around aria even through the screen. and it worked. jj heard it. the little sniffles slowing. the hiccupping breaths evening out. and then, emily whispered something, so soft jj almost didn’t catch it—
“that’s my girl, bug… close your eyes for me, i’m right here.”
jj’s throat tightened so hard she could barely swallow. she had to move. she had to stop watching this, because if she didn’t, she was going to feel something she couldn’t afford to feel right now.
but her feet would not fucking move.
she was rooted in place, stuck between the pull of wanting to go to emily—of wanting to hold her, touch her, do something—and the weight of her own tangled emotions. because the truth? this wasn’t just about emily being exhausted. this wasn’t just about aria crying.
this was jj, standing in the middle of the bau, watching the woman she— no. no. she couldn’t go there. not here. not now. she forced herself to breathe.
emily looked up when the call had ended, their eyes met. jj’s stomach dropped for the millionth time in five short minutes. emily blinked at her, still holding the phone in her hand, still rocking ever so slightly in her chair, but her gaze— her gaze held her.
jj felt her pulse hammer in her ears. she should go. she should turn around and keep walking, pretend like she hadn’t just been standing there, witnessing something so deeply intimate.
but her feet moved forward. because emily needed her in some way. or maybe because jj needed her. so she crossed the bullpen, forcing her shoulders to stay steady, her breath to remain even. by the time she reached emily’s desk, emily had set the phone down, fingers absently rubbing at her temples.
fuck. jj wanted to reach for her. wanted to take her hand, to run her fingers down the length of emily’s spine, to tell her she didn’t have to do this alone. she hesitated, then softened her voice.
“you okay?”
jj wasn’t expecting the anger.
she should have. maybe, deep down, she did. but when the words “you okay?” left her lips, she hadn’t expected it to be the thing that broke the last, frayed string of emily’s patience.
the sarcastic laugh was the first warning. it was sharp, humorless. emily shook her head, exhaling through her nose as if she couldn’t believe jj would even ask that. and then, jj watched as something snapped in her. a decision was made in real-time, right in front of her, and before she could do a damn thing about it, emily was already moving.
she grabbed her bag, slung it over her shoulder with more force than necessary, and started shutting down her workstation with clipped, tense movements. jj’s stomach twisted.
“emily—”
“no.” emily cut her off, voice sharp enough to slice through the air between them. “i’m fucking stuck here, and she needs me.”
she shoved a few files into her bag. the sound of paper crinkling under the force of her movements made jj flinch. emily didn’t look at her at first. but then, she did. and for the first time in her life, jj felt the sting of emily prentiss looking at her with coldness.
not frustration. not exasperation. just cold.
“and my team doesn’t trust me,” emily continued, voice tight, controlled, but lethal. “so no, i’m not okay.”
jj felt her chest ache. that was meant for her. team? was ‘you’. every syllable, every clipped consonant. jj parted her lips, wanting to explain, wanting to take it back— but emily wasn’t done. she yanked her coat off the back of her chair, slung it over her arm.
“have a good night.” her voice was final. distant. not emily. “i’m taking the rest home.”
jj didn’t move. she couldn’t. she just watched as emily turned on her heel, bag over her shoulder, coat draped over her arm, her body vibrating with tension as she walked straight past jj without another word.
she didn’t look back. not once.
jj clenched her jaw, hands tightening into fists at her sides as she heard the elevator doors slide open. and as fast as she got up, emily was gone.
jj exhaled slowly, running a hand over her face – her heart pounding. she had never seen emily like that before. not toward her, at least.
tears stung the backs of her eyes, hot and insistent, her throat tightening in that way it only ever did when something really mattered—when something cut too deep, hit a nerve she hadn’t been prepared to expose.
it was a feeling she could only compare to a handful of things: the first time her parents looked at her with disappointment rather than anger. the first time she and a best friend had a real fight, one that wasn’t just over something stupid, but something that actually hurt. the first time she’d seen doubt flicker in a significant other's eyes.
and now this.
the first time emily looked at her like that—cold. wounded. like jj had let her down in a way she wasn’t sure she’d ever recover from.
her fingers brushed against emily’s desk, and she noticed how out of order everything was. that alone said more than emily had before she walked away. emily was calculated, methodical. her desk, always neat. she kept her life compartmentalized in a way jj had always admired, because she knew it was out of necessity. now? the chair was pushed out too far. a file folder had been knocked to the side, papers slightly askew. a pen was resting precariously on the edge, like emily had set it down in a hurry—like she hadn’t cared enough to line it up neatly like she usually did.
jj let her gaze drift over the one thing that was more out of place than anything else.
a picture frame. knocked down, half buried under a stack of case files that emily had left behind, shoving the others into her bag. jj reached for it, setting it upright, and then—her heart stopped. she had expected to see a photo of aria. or maybe a picture of emily with the team. a shot of sergio for godsake.
but it wasn’t that. it was the three of them. emily. aria. jj.
jj’s breath hitched in her throat as she took it in.
it was from that night at penelope’s. wine night. the first one emily had ever brought aria to.jj could hear the moment captured in the frame. she could hear aria’s squeal of laughter, her tiny hands gripping the toddler-sized “wine” glass penelope had bought just for her. she could hear the way penelope had giggled behind the camera, how she had said, “this is the best thing i’ve ever seen in my entire life.”
she could feel the warmth of emily’s arm brushing hers, how naturally they had leaned into each other, fit together. jj stared at her own expression in the photo. she was looking at aria. grinning at her like she hung the moon. like she was the most precious thing in the entire world.
emily? emily wasn’t looking at aria. emily was looking at her. not at the camera. not at the moment happening around her. but at jj.
jj’s throat tightened.
her fingers trembled against the frame, and she let out a slow, measured breath as she placed it back exactly where it had been before. emily had framed this. not some random work photo. not just a shot of her daughter.
this. a moment that was theirs.
jj took a step back from the desk, but her heart wouldn’t slow down. she had seen it before. she had felt it before, the way emily looked at her sometimes, but she had never let herself dwell on it.
not like this. not with evidence staring her in the face. she didn’t just feel sick over how badly she had hurt emily today.
she felt sick over how badly she wanted her.
how badly she wanted to fix this. how badly she wished she was going home with emily, to help her with aria, knowing she’d be up almost every hour with aria fighting sleep.
how badly she wanted to figure out these feelings. her feelings. their feelings. before it was too late.