sick day, I.
emily stirred in her sleep before anything. something was off.her body knew before her mind caught up. it wasn’t the buzz of her alarm or the glow of the monitor. it was the heat, heavy and unnatural, radiating off the small body curled against her. then came the sound. a soft, high-pitched whimper. it wasn’t sharp, like a startled cry. it was aching. tired. the kind that had been building beneath sleep for hours and finally spilled out into the morning. emily blinked awake, her eyes sticky and dry with exhaustion. her arms were still wrapped around aria’s little frame, her cheek pressed gently to the crown of her daughter’s head. she could feel her breath—hot and shallow. her skin? still burning up.
she looked at the clock on her nightstand. 5:04 a.m.
it had been just past midnight when she’d finally managed to get aria settled last night. she had stripped her out of her pajamas after another fever spike, left her in only a diaper, and tucked her into bed with her, desperate to get her cool and soothed. the baby tylenol had bought them a few hours. emily had hoped for four. however now the warmth against her chest was not comforting in the slightest bit. it was too much. she slowly sat up, letting aria stay tucked against her who whimpered again, her brow furrowed tight, her little fists curling against emily’s bare shoulder. her cheeks were flushed an angry red, lips dry, breath coming faster than emily liked. her little nose stuffed up. she pressed the back of her hand gently to aria’s forehead, then to her back. clammy. burning. no better.
“oh, sweetheart…” she whispered, rubbing slow circles into her back. “you’re still so warm.”
aria stirred, eyes barely slitting open. “ mommy…” she whimpered, her voice hoarse.
emily’s heart cracked.
“i know, baby. i know.”
she eased out of bed, gathering aria into her arms without even thinking, walking them toward the bathroom with a kind of mechanical precision. sergio stirred at the foot of the bed, hopping down and trailing behind them silently, his presence calm and certain, as always. emily flipped on the light and blinked against it, cradling aria tighter. they couldn’t give more tylenol yet. not for at least another hour. but she needed to get the fever down. cold water. she hated it, even the idea of it, but she had no choice. she sat on the bathmat, settled aria on the rug for a moment with a whispered apology, and turned the faucet. the sound of rushing water was loud in the early-morning quiet. she let it run cold. aria whimpered again, her eyes barely open. she didn’t even have the strength to cry fully now.
“we have to try something, bug,” emily said softly, rubbing aria’s damp hair off her forehead. “you’re too warm.” she reached down and tested the water, swallowing. she knew this was not going to go well. at all.
“okay..” she murmured, trying to will herself to do this as she trashed the diaper once on the toddler. she picked aria back up. “we’re just going to sit for a second, alright? just for a second, baby.”
she lowered aria slowly into the cold bath. the scream was immediate, of course. aria thrashed, her tiny arms grasping for emily.
“no no no no no!” she sobbed. “no—no cold! no!”
emily couldn’t do it. she lasted ten seconds, maybe less. then she pulled her right back out.
“i know,” she breathed, clutching her close again, wrapping her in the towel she’d laid out earlier. “i know. i’m sorry. i’m so sorry.”
aria sobbed into her shoulder, hiccuping from the shock of it. emily looked down at her flushed skin. her arms. her face. that heat. that wasn’t enough. emily knew that. she wasn’t cooling down from a 10 second dip in cold water. emily’s breath caught in her throat, she closed her eyes.
“okay,” she whispered again. “okay, we’re doing this together.”
she set aria gently on the bathmat for the briefest moment and tore off her own tank top, then her sleep shorts. she turned the shower on, all cold – it hit the tile like a drumbeat. emily didn’t let herself hesitate. she scooped her back up, one arm beneath her legs, the other around her back, and stepped directly into the freezing stream.
every nerve in her body jolted awake. her teeth clenched. her breath punched out of her chest. aria cried again—but this time, emily could hold her. she tucked her in, burying her against her shoulder, rocking them both gently as the water soaked them. aria’s small body squirmed in protest, kicking against the chill, her sobs echoing off the tile.
“i know,” emily whispered. “i know, baby girl. i hate this too. just a minute. just a minute, and it’ll help. you’re okay. i’ve got you. mommy’s got you.”
emily’s hands ran slow strokes down aria’s back, trying to soothe her as the cold seeped into both of their bones. the sound of the water. the crying. the trembling. the heartbeat racing in emily’s chest. it was all too much and not enough.
but then, aria’s body sagged slightly. not asleep. not okay. but less frantic. less fire. the sobs softened. she whimpered. emily felt her forehead press back against her neck. she closed her eyes and kept swaying, lips brushing aria’s temple.
“almost done, baby. you’re doing so good. so brave. mommy’s right here.”
soon, emily turned off the water with a trembling hand, her fingers barely closing around the slick handle as the freezing stream came to a halt. the silence left in its place was thick and heavy, broken only by the soft, exhausted hiccups aria let out against her neck. she wasn’t crying anymore, not really, just letting her small body tremble and fold into emily’s arms. too worn out to fight. emily adjusted her hold, brushing her cheek against the top of aria’s head as she stepped out of the shower. her limbs were shaking from the cold, her skin clammy and damp, but she didn’t care. she reached for the towel she’d laid out earlier, and without pause, wrapped it around aria first.
priority always .
“oh, my bug,” she whispered, holding her tight, cupping the back of her head as she walked them both out into the hallway. “i’m sorry, sweetheart. that was awful, i know. you did so good, though. so good. mommy’s proud of you.”
aria’s tiny arms were limp now around her, her face buried in emily’s shoulder. her little breath still caught every few seconds, remnants of sobs and the cold clinging to her. emily tucked her own towel around her quickly, shifting her weight and heading toward the nursery with bare, damp feet against the floor. sergio was already curled outside the door like he always was when something was wrong, his green eyes watching carefully. he stood and followed them in.
emily laid aria down carefully on the rug, keeping a hand on her belly to keep her grounded, shushing her softly as she unwrapped the towel.
“there we go. i know, i know. just for a second, baby,” emily murmured as she reached for a diaper and a fresh onesie. she chose the thinnest cotton one she could find—a soft lavender color with tiny stars stitched along the chest. “we’re gonna keep you nice and cool, okay? not too warm, not too chilly. just right.”
aria whimpered and rubbed her eyes, turning her head and trying to curl in on herself as the cooler air kissed her damp skin. emily leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to her temple.
“almost done..” she said gently, taping the fresh diaper on and pulling the onesie over her head. aria sniffled once, her brows drawn and lips trembling, but she didn’t cry. just blinked up at emily, dazed and feverish and so very tired. emily scooped her back up, and walked them back into the master bedroom. the bed was still messy, the pillows crooked and case files from the night before stacked beside the lamp. emily lowered aria onto the mattress just long enough to dry herself off with a clean towel and throw on a loose sweatshirt and pajama pants. she caught aria rubbing at her face again, a soft little “mmmh” escaping her lips.
“i know, baby. i know your eyes hurt because of that mean ole fever. i hate it, too.”
she scooped her up again with care and headed downstairs. the kitchen was still dark, and emily flipped the lights on low, just enough to see but not enough to hurt aria’s eyes even more. she started the coffee pot with one hand, still balancing aria on her hip.
“almost there, bug,” she said softly, opening the fridge and pulling out one of the bottles she’d prepped the night before. aria’s head had slumped against her shoulder again, her pacifier still missing, but her breathing was shallow and warm against emily’s collarbone.
emily glanced at the clock. 5:56 a.m.
“four more minutes and you can have your medicine, okay? then we’re gonna snuggle up, get you all comfy, and you’re gonna rest. just rest, baby.”
she walked them gently around the kitchen, bouncing just slightly, humming under her breath. aria’s lashes fluttered, half-lidded and struggling. emily rubbed her back, pressing her lips to her forehead.
“you scared me, you know that?” she whispered. “i’ve never done that before. i didn’t know if it was going to help. but it did, i think. you’re cooler now, just a little. that’s all we needed. just a little. i promise, im trying .”
the warmer beeped softly, and emily moved quickly, testing the bottle against her wrist and then carrying it to the couch. she sat, cradling aria with one arm as she offered it. aria accepted it without question, latching on, her eyes fluttering again as the warm milk soothed her.
“that’s it,” emily whispered. “you’re okay. you’re safe. mommy’s got you. always.”
the room was quiet, the hum of the fridge the only sound besides aria’s breathing. emily looked down at her daughter, watched the way her fingers curled around the fabric of emily’s shirt, how her feet stretched slightly against her thigh.
“i love you more than anything,” emily said quietly. “more than sleep. more than coffee. more than my now long-gone sin-to-win weekends. more than simple case files and crossword puzzles and every single one of sergio’s moody stares.”
aria’s lips tugged faintly at the bottle, like she almost smiled. emily just held her tighter.
the rest of the day was a blur of whimpers and sobs. aria barely slept for more than twenty minutes at a time, and each waking brought with it new waves of distress. emily’s arms ached from carrying her nearly non-stop, her legs sore from pacing the house in slow circles, bouncing and rocking and whispering every soothing word she could summon. the cold compresses helped, barely. the medicine? a battle every time.
she had taken three more cold showers with aria since the first one at dawn, each one leaving her shivering and clenching her jaw, whispering encouragements into her daughter’s damp hair while aria cried into her shoulder, inconsolable and furious. emily tried to hold it together, tried to breathe, tried to remind herself that this wasn’t forever. but she was running on fumes. the kind of exhaustion that had long passed tired and tipped into something sharp and borderline hurt.
it wasn’t until around noon that the pediatrician arrived. emily had paced the front window waiting, aria red-faced in her arms, still burning up. she whispered “it’s okay, baby, it’s okay,she’s almost here, mommy’s got you,” like a chant. when dr. harrow finally stepped inside, emily nearly cried out of sheer relief. the woman was calm and kind, thorough in her assessment. rsv, she said, early signs, not too advanced—but it needed close care. she wrote everything down, a guide, left dosage instructions, gave emily her cell number. she had done house calls for the prentiss family for years. emily could afford this, with help from the prentiss trust fund she had years before her own birth.
now, at 3 p.m., emily sat sunken into the far corner of the couch. her knees bent up, her body curled, cradling aria against her chest like a shield, finally asleep. emily’s cheek rested against the top of her warm little head. she hadn’t bothered changing out of the sweatpants and long-sleeve she’d thrown on hours ago. her shirt was crusted with spit-up medicine and damp with tears, some of them hers, if she was honest. her hair was twisted into a messy bun at the top of her head, tendrils falling loose, her eyes stung from lack of sleep. aria’s body was soft now, boneless in the way toddlers sleep when they’ve cried too long. she was wrapped up tight in one of emily’s sweatshirts now because she had sobbed for it, her legs bare, her tiny socks mismatched. she’d finally fallen asleep after another dose of tylenol, one that took forty minutes to administer, and left them both crying. emily had had to hold her tight with one arm while she used the other to slip the syringe in the corner of her mouth. it was brutal, but necessary.
the house was still, the kind of still that feels sacred after a day of chaos. the sound machine in the nursery buzzed faintly through the monitor she kept on the coffee table. sergio laid on the floor in the patch of sunlight near the sliding door, his green eyes flickering to emily every so often. emily blinked slowly, her chin still resting on aria’s hair. she didn’t think she could move if she tried. she didn’t want to.
ding.
when the doorbell rang, emily didn’t move right away.
she sat frozen on the couch, her hand gently cupped over the back of aria’s damp neck. the toddler had finally fallen asleep, her little body heavy and limp against emily’s chest. she was fever-warm again, flushed despite the last dose of tylenol and two cold baths. emily was running on caffeine, adrenaline, and a maternal instinct so raw and loud it had become the only voice in her head for the last twelve hours.
she hoped it was just a delivery. she hoped it would go away.
but it rang again. still polite—but not going anywhere.
emily sighed through her nose, stood slowly, careful not to jostle aria more than necessary. she adjusted her on her hip, the toddler whining softly but not waking, and padded barefoot toward the front door. her sweatshirt was inside-out. her sweatpants had a faint smear of something near the thigh—medicine? food? she didn’t know. she didn’t care. sergio darted ahead of her, tail flicking as if he, too, was annoyed at the interruption. emily reached the door, unlocked it with her free hand, and opened it.
there she was. jj stood on the front porch for a second, they just stared at one another. the last time they’d spoken, emily had been spitting with anger—sharp, tired, wounded. she could still feel the sting of her own words from two nights ago. could still see the look on jj’s face as she walked away. but this afternoon, jj didn’t look defensive. she didn’t look proud. she looked… wrecked. guilt and worry were carved into every inch of her expression, and in her hand was a small cloth bag. her other hand twitched like she didn’t know whether to wave or reach out or disappear completely. they hadn’t spoken since emily’s sharp words in the bullpen. since she walked out without a second glance. emily stared at her.
the anger was still there. or the ghost of it, at least. lodged deep under her ribs, sitting somewhere next to the ache she’d been carrying around since she watched jj stand in front of the suv and suggest she not go into the field. but it was buried now—by exhaustion, and by the reality of the tiny body sleeping against her chest.
so she didn’t bring it up. she stepped aside.
“come in,” she murmured.
jj’s shoulders fell a fraction, not in relief exactly, but in something close. she nodded and stepped inside quietly, the door shutting behind her with a muted click. the house was dim and warm. blues clues playing in the back, toys were scattered across the living room rug. a thermometer sat on the coffee table, beside a lukewarm bottle and a blanket. the scent of eucalyptus clung faintly to the air, from the humidifier still running in the hallway. everything smelled like toddler and stress and home . jj took it all in. she didn’t speak. she didn’t know what to say. emily shifted aria gently in her arms and walked toward the kitchen. jj followed, still holding the bag.
“she’s finally sleeping,” emily said quietly, just loud enough to be heard over the faint hum of the fridge. “only took… four rounds of tylenol, two cold showers, a lukewarm bottle, and me offering up my soul.”
jj set the bag on the counter. “i’m so sorry.”
emily didn’t answer right away. she turned her face into aria’s hair and pressed a quiet kiss to the curls at her temple. aria whimpered in her sleep, then settled again. emily considered that apology could be in relation to aria being sick, but she knew better. she knew it was about what lingered between her and jj.
“i’m too tired to be angry,” she said softly, almost to herself.
jj felt the weight of it land in her chest.
“i didn’t mean—what i said, or how i said it, or… i just—”
emily waved her hand slightly, confirming she knew exactly what this was about.
“not now. not today.”
jj nodded. she understood. the guilt hadn’t left her chest since she saw emily walk away at the office. and it only thickened now, standing here, seeing the circles under her eyes, the shape of her slouched shoulders, the soaked washcloths hanging over the kitchen sink.
“i brought some food for you both,” jj said. “i figured she wouldn’t eat it, maybe we could try though. im sure you haven’t ate much.”
“i had a granola bar. i think.”
jj didn’t say anything else, just nodded. emily hadn’t moved. aria still laid heavy in her arms, her small hand fisted in the fabric of emily’s shirt. jj didn’t know what to say. there were too many words and none of them fit. she could still feel the sting of emily’s anger. could still hear her voice:
my team doesn’t trust me.
“she'll probably be up again soon,” emily murmured, voice catching with exhaustion and pulling jj from her own spirling thoughts. “this is the sickest she’s ever been. i’ve never seen her like this.”
“do you want me to stay a bit?” jj asked, her voice quiet - but like the words had been begging to come out since emily opened the front door and ler her in. emily hesitated. her jaw flexed once, her eyes tired but steady as she looked at jj. part of her wanted to say no. part of her wanted to keep the wall up, to protect whatever bruised feeling still ached from earlier this week. but aria whimpered then. just a little. just enough for her body to shift in discomfort.
emily looked back at jj, nodding slowly. her hand rubbed absentmindedly against aria’s back, like it had been all day. like she didn’t know how to stop. jj watched them both in silence. how naturally they fit.
how easy it had been to fall in love with one, and then—somewhere along the way—fall in love with the other, too.
emily didn’t ask why she came. jj didn’t offer a reason, or how she knew. but when emily moved to the couch and sat down, settling aria again on her chest, she looked up at jj, the faintest flicker of something softened behind her eyes. jj followed, sitting at the far end. not touching. just close enough. sergio jumped up between them a few minutes later, curling into the space of peace that somehow existed, even between exhaustion and fractured trust.
it wasn’t forgiveness yet. it wasn’t healed. but it was something. it had to be enough in this moment.
aria started to stir in her sleep, it was barely more than a stretch. her tiny fingers flexing in the crook of emily’s arm, the smallest whimper curling out from behind her pacifier. but for emily, it was a jolt. a spike of tension through her already fraying nerves. she closed her eyes, jaw tightening just for a second, as if bracing for a full sob to erupt again, praying for it not to. jj saw it all. the way emily’s shoulders stiffened, her breathing hitched for just a second, how the subtle whine made every muscle in emily’s body pull taut. but aria didn’t cry. not this time. she settled again with a faint sigh, burrowing closer into emily’s chest, her damp lashes fluttering just once. jj didn’t say anything at first. she let the moment settle . emily needed space, needed stillness, needed not to be asked or expected. jj could see the weight on her, pressed into her shoulders, sitting heavy behind her eyes, in the way she hadn’t even changed out of her shirt and old joggers, hair still half-wet from the last cold shower she’d taken with aria.
“i can hold her,” jj said finally, her voice soft, but steady. “you should shower, a real reset one. eat something. even just sit down in the bathroom by yourself if that’s all you’ve got the energy for.”
emily blinked at her. not in disbelief, but like she was trying to process the words through the static that seemed to buzz in her ears due to the exhaustion.
“i mean it,” jj added, stepping a bit closer. “you don’t have to do everything all at once, em. i’ve got her. i promise.”
emily hesitated, glancing down at aria, her baby. her whole world, warm and slightly flushed in her arms. the thought of transferring her even for a second made her stomach twist. but so did the dull ache in her neck, the pounding in her head, the clinging sense of barely holding everything together by a thread. she could hear that reasonable, quiet voice in her head, some part of her that had softened since becoming a mother, telling her it was okay to let go , just for a moment. just long enough to remember that she existed too.
her eyes lifted back to jj’s.
“you sure?”
jj nodded without hesitation, arms already lifting – her eyes practically begging: ‘ i know you’re upset with me, but let me be here. for you. for her. please.’
“i’ve got her,” she said again, and the steadiness in her voice made emily finally nod. the transfer was careful. aria’s small body stirred, her brows beginning to scrunch, a whimper threatening to rise as she was lifted out of emily’s arms, but jj was already whispering to her, shifting her weight to rock her slowly.
“shhh, hey, hey, it’s okay. i’ve got you, sweet girl,” jj whispered, one hand cradling the back of aria’s head, the other keeping her snug against her chest. it was almost magic. as if aria knewthis voice. knew this chest. this rhythm. her body sank into jj’s with a sigh, one fist clinging lazily to the shoulder of jj’s sweatshirt.
emily stood still for a second, watching, barely blinking. she didn’t know what was making her heart ache more: the way jj instinctively moved like she’d been holding aria every day of her life, or the fact that her daughter seemed to melt into her like she had.
jj looked up. “go,” she said again, softly. “whatever you need to do. i’ll be right here.”
emily nodded, slower this time. she reached out, brushing her knuckles softly over aria’s cheek—warm still, but not as much. “okay. just… just fifteen minutes.”
jj gave her a small smile, rocking a little as she adjusted to aria’s shifting weight.
“take twenty.”
emily let out the smallest huff of a laugh, not really amused, but grateful. grateful enough that it caught her off guard. she turned and made her way up the stairs, one heavy step after another. her knees ached. her heart ached. but for the first time in twenty-four hours, she felt just a little less alone, even in the pit of feelings she had.
she shut the bathroom door behind her quietly, the soft click of it sounding far too final for how unsure she felt. aria was silent downstairs, but jj’s voice weaved through like a lullaby she couldn’t quite hear, but trusted anyway. she tugged her shirt over her head, her joggers following. her limbs were heavy, stiff with exhaustion. she stepped into the shower, twisting the dial all the way to the left, turning on the scalding hot water before she even thought about it. her body moved from habit, muscle memory formed over a decade of handling everyone else’s chaos but her own. steam filled the room quickly. the fog covered the mirror and blurred the edges of the white tile. emily stepped under the spray.
the heat hit her skin with a sting, but it was welcomed. her shoulders hunched forward immediately, breath catching in her throat, but she didn’t move. she just let it burn. let it crawl down her neck, over her spine, across the back of her legs. it had been nearly fifteen hours since she last felt warmth like this. since she wasn’t in a freezing cold shower holding her screaming child, teeth chattering, mind spinning on a loop of what-ifs and i-don’t-knows. her hands came up slowly to her face, rubbing over her eyes. she exhaled, deeply. tried to breathe in the steam like it could dissolve everything she was carrying.
she was still mad at jj.
that realization came sharp and sudden, there, underneath the exhaustion, underneath the gratitude. even after everything. after jj showed up at the door. after she held aria like she was hers. after she instinctively knew how to rock her and hush her without any prompting. emily was still mad. because it had hurt. it had hurt, hearing jj suggest that she stay back. that she sit out. like she wasn’t capable. like she wasn’t already killing herself trying to prove she could do it all.
and that was what made it worse. because if anyone should’ve understood her, should’ve seen her, it was jj. right? emily rested her hands against the tile wall, water cascading down her back. her head dipped. her hair clung to her face, wet and tangled, like the weight of everything was dragging her forward. she lowered herself to the floor. the tile was slick and cold, but the water was hot, and for a moment she didn’t move. didn’t think.
then the sob broke free.
it was small at first, a sharp inhale that stung more than it relieved. then another. and then her whole body gave in. shoulders shaking. arms wrapping around her knees. she pressed her forehead to them and let go. she cried for aria, who had been so feverish and weak in her arms. she cried for the guilt because she was mad at jj when maybe jj hadn’t meant to hurt her. because it didn’t matter. because it still had hurt. she cried because the baby she loved more than her own life had spent the last twenty-four hours screaming in her arms, too sick to sleep, too hot to comfort. and emily had done it alone, because that’s what she did. she handled things. she figured it out. she held up the world on her back and didn’t let anyone see when it was too heavy. but here, in the quiet of the bathroom, steam curling around her like the arms of a friend she didn’t know how to ask for, she let it all crack open.
her breathing slowed after a while. the tears slowed too. the water started to lose its sting, cooling against her skin. her hands moved absently, scrubbing the sleep from her eyes, washing the sweat and worry and spit-up from her shoulders. by the time she turned off the water, the silence felt different. still heavy, but not unbearable.
she dried off slowly, pulling on clean clothes, soft joggers and one of her old fbi academy sweatshirts. jj had borrowed it a few weeks back when she was over for an afternoon, and it still smelled faintly like her. which didn’t help, or maybe it did. she didn’t know anymore. emily opened the bathroom door and stepped out into the hallway and slowly made her way down the stairs.
she had stopped midway down when she first heard jj’s voice. soon lingering at the bottom of the stairs for a second longer than she meant to, her hand braced lightly against the railing.
her voice. soft, soothing, almost whispered like it belonged in the pages of a bedtime story.
“…and your mommy’s getting clean now, ‘cause she’s been doing such a good job taking care of you. don’t you think? she’s loves you so, so much.”
a pause. the faint sound of skin and aria’s soft onesie being rubbed gently.
“…and sergio? i think he misses you playing with you. he’s been circling the room like he’s planning his next snuggle ambush. you better watch out.”
emily felt her chest twist. a knot pulled tight by something fragile and aching. she walked forward slowly now, the stairs groaning softly under her feet as she rounded the corner into the living room. aria was awake. just barely. her lashes fluttered heavily from sleep sleep, her body limp from exhaustion. but she wasn’t crying. she was resting against jj’s chest, wrapped in the sweatshirt emily had swaddled her up in earlier, her little fingers curled loosely around jj’s shirt collar.
jj’s hand was drawing slow, lazy circles over aria’s belly with one finger. her other hand was bracing the toddler securely. there was something about the way she was holding her, like she’d done it a hundred times before, like she would do it a hundred more if given the chance. that made emily’s breath catch. aria’s eyes fluttered, and then, as if sensing her, they found emily. the second they met hers, aria whimpered softly. a sound that wasn’t quite sad but wasn’t comforted either. it was tired. needy. a fragile little string of a plea that emily felt deep in her bones. but before she could move, before she could reach for her, jj rose carefully from the couch, cradling aria like a heartbeat against her.
jj looked at her gently, her voice low. calm. steady.
“let’s heat up what i brought,” she said, shifting aria slightly so her tiny head could tuck more comfortably into the curve of her shoulder. “you need to eat. she does too.”
emily opened her mouth, already ready to protest—habit, more than anything. to say she’d be fine. that aria wouldn’t eat. that she’d eat later. that she’d figure it out. but jj stepped closer before she could say a word, her tone firm but kind.
“i’ll sit next to you while you eat, so she knows you’re near.”
emily closed her mouth. the lump in her throat formed before she could stop it. she swallowed it back down. not now. she nodded instead. small. grateful. she didn’t trust her voice, not yet.
jj gave her a soft smile before brushing a thumb over aria’s warm temple. “your mommy needs some food, huh? you too. ” she whispered to the toddler, and then looked back at emily.
“let’s feed our girl.”
emily couldn’t even bring herself to correct her, because ‘our girl’ sounded exactly right. she watched as jj crossed the kitchen, balancing aria as she pulled the insulated bag up onto the counter, her voice hushed as she unzipped it.
“i didn’t know what sounded good, so i brought a bit of everything.”
she began to pull things out gently as if each item might shatter the peace they currently had. small tupperware containers — soft butter noodles, mashed sweet potatoes, applesauce, a couple rolls, a few chocolate chip cookies wrapped in wax paper. emily hovered beside her, arms crossed gently over her stomach, still drying her damp hair with the towel looped around her neck. when jj held up the container of chicken and rice soup, emily’s eyes went there immediately. she gave the smallest nod, already reaching for it.
“that,” she said softly. “she might actually take that. we can try, at least.”
emily popped the container open, and set it in the microwave. the soft hum filled the room. aria stirred in jj’s arms, her head still nestled on her shoulder but her body curling inward as if the scent of food reminded her that she hadn’t eaten much all day.
jj kissed the top of her head. “let’s see if we can get some soup in you, huh? i made it for you and mommy.”
emily turned away to grab a couple of spoons and napkins, setting them on the table, her movements efficient but muted. soon, the bowl of soup in the middle. there was something unbearably quiet in the space between them. not anger exactly, not anymore. just the kind of unspoken tension that hangs in the air after too many things have gone unsaid.
jj sat down first, easing into the chair with aria still cradled in her lap. she grabbed one of the bowls and poured in just enough soup to cool quickly. she stirred it carefully with the back of the spoon, blowing softly on the edge. emily sat across from them. her own bowl in front of her. she didn’t speak right away. just watched. watched jj.
watched how she murmured something close to aria’s temple before gently coaxing her upright. how her hand rubbed soft circles on her back as she adjusted her in her lap. how aria’s lashes blinked heavy and slow, her cheeks still a soft pink from the fever, her body clearly still feeling the weight of the day. but when jj dipped the spoon into the soup and raised it slowly, aria didn’t turn away.
“wanna try just one bite, sweetheart?” jj whispered. aria blinked at her. then looked to emily. a flicker of uncertainty, a silent question.
emily gave the smallest nod, forcing a smile, her voice barely a breath. “try it, bug. just a little.”
aria parted her lips. jj smiled. “that’s my girl.”
the first bite was tentative. aria swallowed, and made a soft sound, a little hum of surprise. jj gave her another, slower this time. aria leaned forward slightly, her head resting against jj’s chest again, but her mouth opened when the spoon returned. across the table, emily’s shoulders eased just a little. she picked up her own spoon, stirring her soup with care. the warmth spread through her fingers, into her palms. it felt grounding.
still, the silence pressed in. she hated small talk. she hated trying to tiptoe around things. around everything that had happened. everything that still burned inside her. but they were here now. eating soup, in the quiet of her kitchen, while jj spoon-fed her daughter in her lap.
her heart was so full it ached. her pride was still bruised. her exhaustion still thick. she cleared her throat, gently.
“thanks for bringing food,” she said, looking down into her bowl. then, more quietly, “you didn’t have to do all this.”
jj didn’t respond right away. she offered aria another bite, her third now, and then a fourth.
“everyone needs soup when they’re sick,” jj said softly, eyes on the toddler in her arms. “and you needed a break.”
emily nodded. the lump in her throat didn’t allow for much else. she watched aria finally take a fifth bite, then lean back with a little sigh. jj kissed the top of her head again. emily stirred her soup once more and tried to ignore the sting in her eyes.
they were quiet again, and they stayed that way for a while, letting the sounds of the spoons scraping against the bowls and aria’s soft sighs fill the space. aria had eaten nearly half her little bowl, her small frame draped comfortably in jj’s arms, her head resting against her chest like it was the most natural place in the world. emily had just finished the last bite of her soup when jj broke the quiet, nodding towards the stack of papers and medication on the table.
“what did the pediatrician say?”
emily glanced up. it wasn’t an abrupt question, not sharp or demanding, but it still pulled something in her chest because jj so clearly cared, when she never had to in the first place. she pushed her bowl slightly to the side, leaned back in her chair, and let her hands rest on the table.
“rsv,” she said softly. “mild case, but still rsv. we caught it early, but it’s made her miserable. she’s barely sleeping. doesn’t want anything near her mouth..bottles, food, medicine.. unless it’s on her terms.”
jj nodded, her hand absently rubbing aria’s back. “poor thing.”
“she’s never been this sick before,” emily said. “not like this. not where everything hurts and she’s crying out of exhaustion more than anything.”
jj looked down at aria, who had curled up more into her. her fingers tangled in the collar of jj’s shirt, the way she often did with emily’s.
“penelope sent her some things,” she said softly. “pajamas, mostly. pink, covered in little hearts. she said she picked the ones that looked like they’d ‘snuggle her back to health.’”
emily smiled, real and full, for the first time in what felt like days. “that sounds exactly like garcia.”
jj nodded. “they’re soft. i felt one and considered stealing a pair in adult size.”
emily let out a soft huff of a laugh, but her gaze drifted toward the clock behind jj. 6:43 p.m.
she sighed, slow and heavy, like the weight of the day was finally settling down around her shoulders once again.
“it’s time,” she muttered, pushing herself up from the table.
jj looked up. “time?”
“tylenol,” emily said, not hiding the grimace in her voice. “she can have more now.”
jj could see the hesitation in her step before she walked toward them. there was dread in every movement. emily held her arms out gently, and jj shifted aria, who didn’t fight the change, just whimpered a bit, already starting to fuss now that her fever was creeping back in.
as emily gathered her up, she muttered under her breath, “god, i hate this part.”
jj stood, pausing before following her.
“you don’t have to stay,” emily said, adjusting aria on her hip. her tone was quieter than it had been earlier, but there was still that tired edge to it. “i’m just going to try to get this in her and then get her down for the night.”
jj didn’t respond right away. she just looked at emily and then at aria, whose cheeks were pink again, her eyes dull with fever. then, softly, she asked, “do you want help with the medicine?”
emily blinked. her throat tightened instantly, so tight she had to swallow before answering. she’d thought about this all day. how much easier it would’ve been with someone else. with someone to hold aria still, someone to soothe while she worked the syringe in. how everything about today felt like it had the phrase “this would be easier with two” stitched into it. being a single parent was hard every day, but when your kid was sick and nothing you did was soothing enough? it felt impossible. she let out a breath.
“if you don’t mind feeling like the worst person ever, because that’s what it feels like the second she starts to cry.”
jj offered a half smile. she could’ve said, i already do. but instead, she just stepped toward the stairs and said, “i’ll help you.”
they went upstairs, quietly, moving as a unit. aria was already squirming weakly, mumbling little half-hearted sounds into emily’s shoulder. she was too tired to cry full force, but her body still knew what was coming. her legs pressed against emily’s stomach, small kicks that held no real power. her skin clammy again. in the nursery, emily didn’t bother with the rocking chair. she sat in the floor and propped aria up on her lap. jj sat beside her, close enough to press her thigh against emily’s. emily dug into the drawer of the changing table and pulled out the bottle of tylenol and the small syringe. she hesitated.
jj reached out, hand on emily’s arm. “let me hold her hands?”
emily nodded, grateful. jj turned slightly, cradling aria’s hands gently in her own, her hands brushing against the toddler’s fingers, whispering to her.
“it’s okay, ari. just a little bit, okay? we’ll do it fast.”
emily crouched in front of her, held the syringe up to her mouth, and muttered an apology before slipping the tip into the corner. aria’s eyes widened. the second the cherry liquid hit her tongue, she gagged, and then, the sob broke loose. she pulled her face back, mouth open wide, a furious cry cracking out of her. emily quickly followed the dose with a pacifier, slipping it between her lips and whispering, “i know, i know, baby girl. that was awful. you’re okay. i’m sorry.”
emily rocked aria gently while jj took the sticky syringe from her. aria whimpered around the pacifier, cheeks wet again with tears she was too exhausted to fight.
“you did it,” she whispered to aria. “all done. you did so good.”
aria didn’t answer, just let out a long sigh against her shoulder, pacifier bobbing gently as she began to calm. emily stood with her, arms wrapped tightly around her daughter, and looked at jj with something softer than before. maybe not forgiveness, not yet. but something close.
“thank you,” she said quietly.
jj nodded. “always.”
the blonde looked down at aria, her chest aching, still. seeing her hurt like this, pulled at something deep. something she didn’t quite know how to truly identify. she reached out gently, her hand cupping aria’s warm cheek. emily didn’t miss the gentleness in the action. the care. the love. jj’s hand lingered just a moment longer than necessary, thumb brushing gently under one eye as if she could smooth away the lingering redness. the fever was still there, softened by medicine and food, yes, but still clinging to her. her tiny body was curled into emily like she belonged there, and she did. god, jj knew she did.
emily shifted slightly, barely meeting jj’s eyes as she murmured, “i’m gonna try to get her to bed.”
jj nodded, instinctively adjusting her position like she was getting up to help, but emily stopped her with a quiet addition.
“you can go,” she said. “it might take a while to get her down.”
it was an excuse. jj heard it clear as day.
aria was half-asleep already, melted against emily’s chest like warm wax, her head nestled just under her chin. she wasn’t going to fight bedtime, not this time, not in the state she was in. emily wasn’t warning jj of a long, exhausting process. she was trying to avoid the moment where they’d have to be alone without a sick toddler between them. without something to hold or do. without a buffer. jj swallowed. nodded slowly.
“yeah. i’ll text you later.”
she turned away, her stomach tight, her heart heavier than it had been when she arrived. she walked down the hallway slowly, hand trailing across the painted wall like she needed something to anchor her. her eyes caught on the framed photos along the way. some were new. aria bundled up in a navy coat, cheeks rosy from the cold. one of her and penelope with matching sunglasses, both grinning wide. another one, a polaroid, slightly crooked and pinned, of jj and aria with frosting on their noses from ‘cookie night’, another activity jj came up with in the process of helping aria with her speech. she hadn’t even realized emily had captured it.
as she made her way down the stairs, she could hear the soft, rhythmic creak of the rocking chair above, and emily’s voice, gentle and low, humming something familiar. blackbird . jj closed her eyes for a beat, pressed her lips together. the sound of it cracked something in her chest wide open. she reached the living room. the soft lighting still glowed. sergio sat perched on the back of the couch, tail flicking, watching her like he somehow knew she was about to do something stupid.
jj reached for her coat. she got one sleeve on. then stopped. her eyes landed on the coffee table, on the half-finished cup of tea emily never touched. on the pacifier aria had dropped earlier. on the diaper bag, flopped on its side, still open. a bottle setting sideways on the couch. evidence of a long day. of exhaustion and effort. of one woman trying to be everything, even when she was barely standing.
she pulled her arm out, sat down her coat. she couldn’t leave.
she couldn’t walk away with emily thinking she doubted her. with emily sitting upstairs in a dark nursery, holding their little girl, because that’s exactly what aria had begun to feel like. with emily thinking she was alone in all of this. thinking jj didn’t believe in her, in the choices she’d made, in the kind of mother she had become. god, jj wished she could explain it. that her comment on the field wasn’t about competence or capability. that it was fear, raw and consuming or something she didn’t have the guts to say. that the second she saw emily strapping on her vest, jj hadn’t seen her partner, her best friend, the person who made her chest tight with something that made her scared and full of love all at once.
she had seen aria’s mother, and she panicked. she had seen something else, but wouldn’t dare to admit what.
she pressed her hands against her face, breathing in through her nose, slow and steady. because walking out now, after what they’d both endured this week, would be unforgivable. it jj’s eyes, and probably emily’s. so jj stayed. she stepped out of her shoes and curled up on the edge of the couch. she tucked her legs under herself and waited. sergio blinked at her, then leapt down beside her and settled with a low, comfortable purr.
upstairs, emily kept humming, and jj kept listening. she’d wait her whole life if she had to.