Chapter Text
JJ let herself have the dark.
Let herself go like nothing had happened this year—like the world couldn’t find them for one more hour.
Like there wasn’t a price for peace.
When she came from riding Emily's thigh, it was with a ragged string of curses and God's name torn from her tongue, a desperate, guttural prayer that echoed in the quiet room, raw and unholy.
The kiss was languid and heated. JJ leaned into it with her whole body. Still stuttering with shockwaves and shudders.
Because Emily was still there. Still hard. Still hungry. Still breathing like she’d been holding her breath for months. A rigid, searing line of heat against her own thigh, a promise of what was to come, a testament to her unwavering desire.
She grew bolder, her hand finding Emily’s hard length through the obscene tightness of the boy shorts. The fabric was damp with pre-come, a testament to Emily's own desperate need. She wrapped her fingers around the swollen head of Emily's cock like a claim, a promise.
Emily broke the kiss and bucked her hips involuntarily, a choked, "Fuck, JJ," tearing from her throat, her hands fisting in the sheets beneath them.
JJ’s forehead, damp with sweat, dropped to Emily’s shoulder. A laugh escaped her, but it was a wrecked, shattered thing, a sound of pure, unhinged disbelief. "Baby, please." The words were a rasp, a confession, a plea. “I need to feel you.”
Emily's arms tightened around her, not just a hug but a restraint, an anchor holding her to the earth when she felt like she might float away on the sheer force of her own wanting. "I think you just did."
"I need you inside me again,” Her voice cracked on the last word, too honest, too raw, too loud in the sudden, charged quiet of the room. “Jesus, it's been over a fucking year.”
That stopped Emily cold. JJ felt it—the way Emily’s entire body went taut beneath her, the way a visible shiver ran through her frame like an electric current. She heard the hard, audible swallow. The ragged, hitching inhale.
"We can't…" Emily tried, her voice a strained whisper, but her body was betraying her, her hips rising to meet JJ's, a silent, desperate plea for more. "We can't get carried away."
JJ silenced her with a kiss to her mouth—slow, open, unashamed—and whispered directly into her lips, "Just lay back and feel, baby."
She moved her fingers to the waistband of the boy shorts, looking up at Emily for a cue, her eyes dark with desire, her expression soft with understanding. Emily swallowed, her throat working, and then nodded, "Yeah, yeah, I'm ready."
JJ moved with the kind of desperate, fluid absolution that only came from knowing someone so well it bordered on sacrilege, on the holy. She quickly rid Emily of the underwear, her movements deft, sure. She maneuvered them expertly over the prosthetic, her touch gentle, reverent—not because Emily was fragile, but because this was everything. Because Emily's body was a home JJ refused to enter like a thief in the night.
When she caught sight of Emily's hard member standing erect and at attention for her, her breath caught, coming out half-desire, half-sob. It was beautiful, flushed and proud, a thick, pulsing testament to Emily's desire, and JJ felt a fresh wave of arousal wash over her, sharp and sudden.
She moved back up and quickly rid Emily of her shirt and bra, her hands stroking the soft skin of Emily's breasts, her thumbs brushing against the hardened nipples.
Emily gasped, her back arching, her hands tangling in the sheets.
And then there was nothing left but heat and skin and the ragged, synchronized sound of both of them trying not to shatter into a million pieces.
JJ moved her lower body once into Emily's, their centers flush, slick heat against rigid heat, and they both groaned, the sound a shared acknowledgment of their mutual need. Another swish of her hips and Emily's tip met her clit, a direct, searing contact that made JJ physically shudder, a full-body tremor of pure, unadulterated pleasure.
"Oh my god, baby," JJ moaned, probably a little too loudly against Emily's mouth, her voice a breathless, desperate plea. "Inside, please, I'm so ready for you."
Emily nodded, breathing ragged, her eyes dark with desire. She took herself in her hand, her fingers wrapping around her length, and lined up with JJ's entrance like it had a thousand times before but not in so long. The tip of her cock nudged against JJ's slick, swollen folds, teasing, promising.
JJ let herself sink onto Emily, her body opening to accommodate her, and it simultaneously took her breath and made her feel more like she could breathe than she had in years. The stretch was exquisite, a slow, deliberate burn that gave way to a deep, satisfying fullness. She could feel every inch of Emily, every rib, every vein, a perfect, intimate pressure that shot through her.
"Fuck, you're so tight, Jay," Emily moaned, her voice a strained whisper. "So wet for me."
"Fucking starved for you, baby," JJ corrected, her voice a husky, breathless moan. She rutted her hips, a slow, deliberate roll of her pelvis, and Emily slipped in and out with ease, the glide smooth, slick, perfect. JJ's mouth fell open involuntarily, a silent gasp of pleasure. "You feel so fucking good, Em. God, fuck me."
"I'm trying," Emily joked with a smirk, but her voice was strained, her composure cracking. She grabbed JJ around the waist, her hands gripping her hips, and pumped up into her a few times with help from the prosthetic braced against the sheets of their bed. The movement was powerful, deep, and JJ almost went limp from the feeling, her body arching, her head falling back.
Emily breathed and spurred more than commanded, “Ride my cock, JJ,” the words a low, throaty growl that vibrated through JJ's entire body, making her clench around Emily's length.
"I can feel every fucking inch of you, baby," JJ moaned, her voice a breathless, desperate chant as she began to move, rising and falling in a rhythm that was both frantic and perfect. "Oh my god, I'm not gonna last."
"I'm close too," Emily groaned as she pumped and JJ kept meeting her every thrust, their bodies moving in a perfect, desperate rhythm. "Fuck, baby, come."
"Come inside me, Em," JJ demanded, her voice a raw, desperate plea. "I need to feel it, all of you inside me."
"Fuck, I'm almost-" Emily strangled out, her voice a strained, desperate gasp. Her hips moved faster, more erratic, her control slipping.
"Oh my god, Emily," JJ moaned loudly as she came for the second time that night. Her orgasm hit her and crashed ashore faster and harder than earlier, her body arching, her inner walls clamping down on Emily's cock, a rhythmic, pulsing grip that was her undoing.
But this was different. This wasn't just a clench; it was a deliberate, greedy milking. Her inner muscles, now impossibly strong and drenched with her own release, began to work Emily's cock in a relentless, sucking rhythm. Each pulse was a deliberate, possessive pull, a greedy demand for every last drop. It was an internal, rhythmic grip that started at the entrance of her cunt and rippled its way up to her cervix, a wave of pressure that squeezed, then released, only to squeeze again, harder.
“Give it to me, Em,” JJ demanded, her voice a low, possessive growl.
“Jay, I’m gonna come,” Emily said urgently, her voice strangled.
The feeling of JJ's walls clamping down and claiming her, actively milking her, sent Emily spilling over the edge and inside JJ. With a hoarse cry, she came, harder than JJ had felt her come in the decade of their relationship. Her release a hot, flooding tide that filled JJ completely.
And with each hot, thick spurt of Emily's come, JJ's body answered with another convulsive, sinking clench, as if her very core was determined to wring Emily dry, to pull her essence deeper and deeper inside. It was an overwhelming, possessive feedback loop of pleasure.
JJ was completely taken off guard by Emily flipping their positions, a move that was both surprising and incredibly hot. In a matter of seconds, she was on her back, Emily over her, still buried deep inside her. Emily continued to pump and release, her hips moving in a slow, deliberate rhythm, drawing out her orgasm, drawing out JJ's. The change in angle allowed Emily to hit a new, devastating spot inside her, and JJ's milking reflex intensified, becoming almost frantic. She was no longer in control of it; her body was acting on pure, primal instinct, a desperate, clenching need to take everything Emily was giving her.
And then, the change was instantaneous.
As the first hot pulse of Emily's release flooded her anew from this new angle, JJ's body, already taut and trembling, seized with a new, singular purpose. Her inner walls, which had clenched so tightly in orgasm, began a deliberate, rhythmic milking from below. It wasn't a spasm, but a command. Each pulse of Emily's cock, each hot surge of her come, was met with a deep, rolling contraction from JJ's core, a greedy, possessive seizing that seemed to pull the orgasm directly from Emily's body.
Emily cried out, a sharp, broken sound of pure shock and overwhelming pleasure. Her hips, which had been thrusting with intent, now stuttered and jerked uncontrollably, pinned deep inside JJ as her wife's body wrung every last drop from her. The sensation was exquisite agony, a pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. She could feel her own pulse hammering through her cock, each beat answered by a vice-like grip from JJ's muscles, a perfect, devastating syncopation that took her for all she was worth.
For JJ, it was the ultimate culmination. Feeling Emily lose all control from above, feeling the hard, jerking pulses of her cock deep within as her own body worked to draw out every drop, was a power and a connection so profound it stole the very air from her lungs. She wasn't just receiving Emily's release; she was demanding it, pulling it from her, claiming it in the most primal way imaginable.
Emily collapsed against her, a dead weight of shuddering satisfaction, her breath coming in ragged, sobbing gasps against JJ's neck. The milking slowed, becoming soft, languid aftershocks that stole the final, sensitive tremors from Emily's spent member until she was whimpering with overstimulation, utterly and completely drained.
JJ shivered from head to toe from the feeling of being filled by Emily, the sensation overwhelming, a perfect, intimate pressure that made her feel whole, complete.
As Emily slowed the thrust of her hips, JJ came one last time, small and gentle but just as wholly satisfying, a soft, sweet wave of pleasure that left her trembling and breathless. The final clench of her walls was a long, slow, deliberate squeeze, one last, possessive pull that drew a shivering groan from Emily's lips.
Emily breathed hard over JJ's form, her body a warm, heavy weight, a welcome anchor. She kissed her wife's neck, jaw, earlobe and nose and then finally her mouth, the kiss slow, deep, tender.
"Baby, oh my god," JJ said, knowing she sounded like a broken record, but she couldn't help it. "You're so fucking perfect."
Emily went to pull out, but JJ grabbed her by the ass and held her in place, her hands gripping the firm, toned flesh. "No, no, just stay, please," JJ begged, her voice a soft, desperate whisper. "I need you."
"Okay, baby," Emily nodded, her expression soft, understanding. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."
They held each other just like that for a while, breathing each other in, their bodies still joined, their hearts beating in a slow, steady rhythm. JJ felt Emily’s pulse inside her and basked in the profound intimacy of the moment, her body humming with the aftershocks of their moment together.
She could feel the slick, wet warmth of Emily's release deep inside her, a tangible proof of their connection that made her chest ache with a fierce, possessive love.
She clenched her inner muscles experimentally again, a slow, deliberate squeeze around Emily's softening cock, and was rewarded with a low groan from Emily's lips and a fresh gush of warmth that spread through her.
"Jesus, Em," JJ whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I can feel all of you."
Emily buried her face in JJ's neck, her breath warm against her skin. "Jay," she murmured, her voice muffled. "You're incredible."
JJ smiled, her fingers tracing patterns on Emily's back. "No," she insisted. "This... this is everything.”
She shifted slightly, just enough to deepen the sensation of Emily's presence inside her. The feeling was intoxicating, a heady mix of satisfaction and longing that made her want to stay like this forever. She could feel the evidence of their passion leaking out of her, coating her thighs, but she didn't care. In fact, she reveled in it, in the messiness and rawness of their love.
"Thank you for giving me this," she whispered, her voice soft but firm that turned into a beg. "And stay, a little while longer."
Emily lifted her head, her eyes dark with emotion. "I'm not going anywhere," she promised, and then she kissed JJ again, slow and deep, a kiss that tasted of sweat and tears and unspoken words.
JJ lost track of time as they lay there, tangled together, their bodies still joined. She focused on the feeling of Emily's weight on top of her, the steady rhythm of her breathing, the gentle beat of her heart against her chest. She felt safe, cherished, and utterly loved.
“We definitely got carried away,” Emily deadpans.
“That’s what you get for withholding that from me for a year,” JJ offers, a sly smirk quirking.
And as she drifted in that hazy, post-everything bliss, she knew with absolute certainty that this was where she belonged. In Emily's arms, with Emily's body inside hers, their hearts beating as one.
Whole.
For once, not breaking.
Morning came gently, like the house was trying not to startle them.
Gray light leaked through the blinds in thin stripes across the bed. The air had that post-party stillness—faint sugar, faint candle smoke, the ghost of laughter still caught in the corners.
JJ woke on her side with Emily behind her, one arm heavy around her waist, face tucked into the back of JJ’s neck like she’d decided this was where she belonged now.
For one soft, stupid second, JJ forgot every hard month. Forgot hospitals. Forgot fear. Forgot how careful she’d been.
Then she shifted—
—and immediately remembered everything.
Her eyes blinked open. Her breath hitched.
There was a dull, delicious ache between her legs, the kind that made her feel both wrung out and smug, and underneath it… warmth. Not imagined. Not metaphorical.
JJ stared at the wall, deadpan.
“Mm,” Emily murmured behind her, voice sleep-thick. “You okay?”
JJ didn’t move. “No.”
Emily’s hand flexed on her stomach. “No?”
JJ swallowed, then let out a slow exhale through her nose like she was trying not to laugh. “I’m still full of… you.”
Emily went very still.
Then, because Emily was Emily, she made a tiny sound—half laugh, half oh—and pressed her forehead to JJ’s shoulder blade.
“Oh my God,” Emily whispered, horrified and delighted at the exact same time. “Jay.”
JJ closed her eyes, a grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Mmhmm.”
Emily’s hand slid down JJ’s hip, careful, teasing. “I— I thought you were going to—”
“You thought wrong,” JJ said sweetly.
Emily lifted her head just enough to murmur against JJ’s skin, “You’re gonna make me feel like a delinquent.”
“You are a delinquent,” JJ whispered, and then her voice cracked into a laugh, because it was ridiculous—how happy her body felt. How real everything felt.
Emily kissed the back of her shoulder. “You’re not mad?”
JJ shifted again and winced, quietly. “I’m gonna be… walking funny.”
Emily’s laugh finally broke free, soft and helpless. “Jesus.”
JJ glanced over her shoulder, eyes half-lidded. “Don’t laugh at me.”
“I’m not laughing at you,” Emily lied immediately.
JJ squinted. “Emily.”
Emily pressed her lips together, trying to behave, and failed. “Okay, I’m laughing a little.”
JJ rolled onto her back with the caution of a woman who had made choices and was now living with them. She stared up at Emily—hair a mess, eyes warm, face too beautiful to be allowed.
“We took a risk,” Emily flatlined, not regretful—just cautious.
“You’re back on estrogen and it took months before,” JJ pointed at her. “And you did this anyway.”
Emily leaned down and kissed her—slow, unhurried, absolutely unrepentant. “You asked me to.”
JJ’s eyes fluttered shut for half a second. “I did.”
Emily kissed her again, softer. “You’re smiling.”
JJ opened her eyes. “Because I’m thinking about how you’re going to suffer later when I bring this up at random.”
Emily narrowed her eyes. “You wouldn’t.”
JJ’s smile turned wicked. “I absolutely would.”
Emily sighed, dramatic. “I married a menace.”
“You married a woman who loves you,” JJ corrected, and then—because she couldn’t help it—added, “and is currently… too full to move.”
Emily made a choked sound and buried her face in JJ’s neck like she could hide from consequences. “Stop. Stop. Stop.”
JJ laughed, breathy. “I can’t. I’m literally uncomfortable.”
Emily lifted her head, eyes sparkling. “Do you want me to—”
JJ cut her off, immediate. “No. Get out of here.”
Emily’s eyebrows jumped. “Excuse me?”
JJ pressed a hand to Emily’s chest. “If you touch me again right now, I will simply die. I need tissues, coffee, electrolytes, and maybe a priest.”
Emily’s laugh softened into something tender. “Okay.” She kissed JJ’s forehead. “We’ll be civilized.”
JJ nodded gravely. “Civilized.”
Emily reached over, grabbed a few tissues off her nightstand, and handed them to JJ with a conspiratorial smirk. JJ took them with a reluctant side-eye.
Then Emily started to shift off the bed.
JJ reached out and caught her wrist. “Also.”
Emily paused, looking down. “Yeah?”
JJ’s expression turned suddenly serious, the humor fading into something raw and honest. “Thank you.”
Emily’s throat worked. She nodded once, slow. “Yeah.”
JJ squeezed her wrist. “I missed you.”
Emily’s eyes went soft. “I’m here.”
JJ nodded like she was sealing it into her bones. “I know. I know that now.”
Emily leaned down and kissed her again—gentle this time, reverent but not fragile. Then she slid out of bed, moving with that easy confidence JJ still couldn’t get used to: prosthetic landing like it belonged, like it had always been part of her.
JJ watched her stand there for a second—t-shirt falling loose over her hips, hair wild, sunlight striping her thighs through the blinds—and JJ’s brain tried to reboot into horny again out of pure habit.
JJ shut her eyes. “Don’t.”
Emily glanced over, amused. “Don’t what?”
“Be… you,” JJ muttered.
Emily laughed softly and padded toward the bathroom.
JJ very carefully sat up.
Her body immediately sent her a text message that read: You are not twenty-five anymore.
JJ looked at the tissues in her hand and hissed under her breath, then stood.
She took one step.
Then another.
Then she paused in the middle of the bedroom like a woman performing an extremely delicate diplomatic mission.
Emily, from the bathroom doorway, watched her with open delight.
JJ glared. “If you say one word—”
Emily held up her hands. “I’m saying nothing.”
JJ took another step, stiff and cautious.
Emily’s eyes flicked downward and she pressed her lips together like she was trying not to laugh again.
JJ pointed. “Emily.”
Emily’s shoulders shook. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re not,” JJ squinted, then simply shrugged. “Worth it.”
JJ kissed Emily’s cheek and then limped—barely, but enough—into the bathroom and shut the door in Emily’s face.
Emily’s laugh followed her like a victory parade.
The kitchen smelled like coffee and pancake mix and whatever candy had been crushed into the grout the night before.
JJ moved like she was trying to be casual about being sore. Like if she didn’t acknowledge it, her body might forget too. She had Roz’s lunchbox open on the counter and Michael’s backpack unzipped like it had thrown up paper slips overnight.
Emily leaned against the island with her mug, hair still damp from the shower, watching JJ with that maddening mix of innocence and smugness.
Michael was already talking at full volume from the living room. “I want to go to Medieval Times for my birthday.”
JJ didn’t look up. “You are going to Medieval Times for your birthday.”
Michael cheered like he’d just been granted a knighthood.
Roz shuffled into the kitchen in mismatched socks and announced, solemnly, “Mama Barbie needs beach day.”
JJ blinked. “Beach day.”
Roz nodded, serious as a judge. “She needs tan. She too pale.”
JJ’s gaze flicked to Emily—quick up-and-down appraisal, utterly unashamed. “I like Mama pale as a vampire, thank you very much,” JJ said, and Emily’s mouth twitched around her coffee. “But we’ll carve out a small beach day with Mama Barbie this summer, don’t you worry.”
Roz beamed like the matter had been settled by the court.
Henry appeared in the doorway like a ghost with a hoodie, phone in hand, eyes already clocking everything. He didn’t fully enter—just hovered, absorbing.
“I’m not doing anything this summer besides Fortnite and Zelda,” Henry said flatly, like he was making a declaration.
Emily gave him the look over her mug. The one that meant I hear you and I’m not impressed.
Henry added, quieter, “And sleeping.”
Emily didn’t blink. “We’ll see.”
Henry sighed like life was a burden.
JJ finished sealing a sandwich bag and crossed the kitchen with Roz’s lunchbox—then shifted her weight wrong.
The ache caught her fast, low and deep, and she froze for half a second with the world blinking bright.
Her breath hitched.
She recovered immediately—too quickly—because mothers didn’t get to have moments.
“Mom?” Henry’s voice cut in, sharper now. “What’s wrong?”
JJ pivoted so fast it would’ve been impressive if it hadn’t been guilty. “Nothing, buddy.”
Her voice was a touch too high.
Henry’s eyes narrowed.
JJ tried again, forcing casual. “Mommy and birthday parties just don’t go together like they used to.”
Emily’s coffee mug lifted just enough to hide the corner of her mouth.
Henry stared at JJ like he was doing math. “What does that mean?”
“It means I’m old,” JJ said, rolling her eyes with theatrical suffering.
Emily made a sound she absolutely could not contain—a real snort into her coffee.
JJ turned slowly, eyes narrowing. “Don’t act all innocent, Prentiss.”
Emily held up both hands in surrender, still smiling. “I plead the fifth.”
Michael yelled from the living room, “What’s the fifth?”
Henry deadpanned, “An amendment, Michael.”
Michael yelled back, “I WANT AMENDMENTS.”
Roz wandered to the table with her crayons and mumbled, “Mama Barbie wants sunscreen.”
JJ set the lunchbox down and pointed at Emily with her pen like it was a weapon. “You’re the reason for the five-year-old,” JJ said, not unkindly—just smug.
Emily’s eyes warmed. “I’m not denying that.”
JJ’s mouth twitched. “Good.”
Henry watched the exchange a second longer than necessary, then pretended he hadn’t.
“Mom,” Henry asked, shifting gears like he always did, “did Dad mention coming for Easter again?”
JJ’s expression softened. “No, buddy. Last thing I heard a couple weeks ago was he still couldn’t get off work.”
Henry’s shoulders dropped—just a fraction. Disappointed, but practiced.
“Oh,” he said quietly. “Right.”
JJ reached out and touched his shoulder, gentle. “We’ll still do something,” she said. “Even if it’s just us.”
Henry nodded, trying to pretend he didn’t care. “Okay.”
Emily’s voice cut in, casual like she was offering a solution and not a whole new complication. “Hey— you know my mother invited us to that Easter egg event in Arlington that she’s attending. We should all go to that.”
JJ’s face went blank. “Easter with the ambassador,” she deadpanned, then sighed like she was accepting her fate. “My favorite.”
“You mean we get to see Mimi?” Roz perked up instantly at the mention of her grandmother, eyes bright.
“Yeah,” Emily said, smirking toward JJ, “if Mommy agrees to suffer at the hands of her mother-in-law.”
“Well,” JJ said dryly, “anything’s better than suffering at the hands of your mother-in-law.”
Emily’s smile faltered.
Not dramatic—just a small flinch, a quick tightening at the jaw like the words hit an old bruise.
Sandy Jareau. That was still a sore subject for all of them. Years old, older than the bomb and Charlottesville even—but somehow the wound stayed fresh anyway.
JJ clocked it immediately and softened her tone without making a production of it. “We’ll go,” she said, gentler now. “We’ll make it work.”
Emily nodded once, grateful and guarded at the same time. “Okay.”
From the living room, Michael’s voice boomed again, bright and hopeful like nothing heavy could touch him for long:
“Hey! Can I go to camp this year?”
Good Friday showed up like a bad surprise.
JJ was in the kitchen with a grocery list and a half-drunk coffee, trying to keep the day normal. Henry was upstairs with headphones on. Michael was in the living room building something loud out of Legos. Roz was at the table coloring an Easter egg hunt scene with the seriousness of an artist.
Emily moved through the hallway in socks, hair clipped back, a quiet domestic presence that still felt surreal to JJ some days. It wasn’t tense at the moment. It was just… life.
Then the doorbell rang.
It wasn’t the polite little chime. It was firm—like whoever was on the other side expected to be let in.
JJ frowned. “Did you order something?”
Emily lifted an eyebrow. “No.”
Roz looked up from her crayons. “Is it Easter Bunny?”
JJ smiled faintly. “Not yet, baby.”
Michael yelled from the rug, “If it’s the Easter Bunny tell him I want a sword!”
JJ sighed. “Of course you do.”
She walked to the front door and opened it—
—and Will was on the porch with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder like he’d just stepped off a plane. His face was travel-tired and keyed up, the way he looked when he’d decided something was going to happen and reality hadn’t caught up yet.
“Will,” JJ said, surprised. “What—?”
“Hey,” Will said, already stepping forward like the doorway was permission. “I’m in town. I’m here for the boys.”
JJ went still. “In town?”
Will blinked like she was the weird one. “Louisiana to D.C., yeah. Easter weekend.”
JJ’s stomach tightened. “Will… you didn’t confirm Easter weekend.”
Will scoffed. “I told you I wanted them for Easter.”
“You mentioned it,” JJ corrected, and she kept her voice level because Roz’s eyes were already wide. “You also backed out of March weekends and didn’t answer my last two texts about April.”
Will’s jaw flexed. “I’m here now.”
JJ stared at him. “You didn’t tell me you were coming today.”
Will’s voice sharpened. “I shouldn’t have to ‘tell you’ I’m coming to see my kids.”
“Dad?” Michael called.
Will’s face softened instantly at the sound. “Hey, buddy.”
Michael sprinted toward the foyer, excitement lighting him up. “Dad! You’re here!”
Will crouched and opened his arms. Michael launched into him like a missile.
JJ’s throat tightened. This is why it’s hard. Because Michael didn’t track adult inconsistency; he tracked presence. Dad showed up = good.
Will stood with Michael on his hip and looked back at JJ like he’d won something. “See?”
JJ took a slow breath. “Will. No.”
Will’s smile slipped. “What do you mean ‘no.’”
“I mean you can’t just show up and take them,” JJ said, calm but firm. “We have plans. We have Easter commitments. You didn’t confirm. You didn’t—”
Will’s face reddened. “I’m their father.”
“And I’m their mother,” JJ shot back. “And you don’t get to make me the bad guy because you can’t keep a schedule.”
Will’s voice rose. “I came all the way from Louisiana.”
“And you didn’t tell me you were actually coming,” JJ snapped. Then she caught herself, forcing her voice down as Roz’s eyes went even wider. “You can’t do this in front of them.”
Will’s jaw clenched. “So what, you’re telling me I can’t see my sons for Easter?"
“I’m telling you that you don’t get to ambush our schedule,” JJ said, and she kept her tone even because she refused to give him a scene. “If you wanted them for Easter weekend, you needed to confirm the dates and the pickup time.”
Will scoffed. “I shouldn’t have to confirm being a father.”
JJ stared at him. From the hallway, Emily said evenly, “Yes. You should.”
Will’s gaze flicked past JJ—toward the foyer hall.
Emily had appeared silently, contained and watchful. She hadn’t come forward yet. She was just there, eyes on JJ, eyes on the kids, eyes on Will.
Will’s expression tightened at the sight of her. The old bruise flared.
“Of course,” Will muttered and his smile went thin. “Emily.”
Emily’s voice was neutral. “Will.”
Will’s head cocked toward her, irritation spiking. “Stay out of it.”
Emily didn’t flinch. “I can’t. The kids are standing here.”
Will’s voice went bitter. “You always have an answer.”
JJ tried again, low and warning. “Will. Stop.”
Will ignored her and aimed the anger where it always wanted to go.
“This is you,” he snapped at JJ. “You and your ‘we’re civilized’ bullshit while you keep me at arm’s length.”
JJ’s eyes flashed. “You keep yourself at arm’s length.”
Will stepped closer to her, voice low and sharp. “Don’t.”
Emily’s tone stayed even, but there was steel under it. “Don’t corner my wife.”
Will’s mouth twisted. “Your wife now, huh?”
“Yes,” Emily said, unflinching. “My wife.”
JJ kept her tone light, like this was normal—like Will hadn’t been inconsistent for weeks and wasn’t standing on her porch with expectation baked into his posture.
“Will,” she said evenly, “the kids are excited for the Easter egg hunt we have scheduled for Sunday with the ambassador.”
Michael perked up immediately, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Yeah, Dad, Mimi promised us solid chocolate eggs and bunnies!”
Will’s mouth tightened into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Mimi, huh?” His eyes flicked past JJ, sharp and sour with resentment in the same breath. “You and that mother of yours are really cut from the same cloth. Appearances are everything to a Prentiss after all.”
Emily went still—one sharp breath, a flash of old pain—then her expression hardened into something colder.
“This isn’t about my mother,” Emily said quietly. “Or appearances.”
Will scoffed. “This isn’t just your house.”
Emily’s eyes didn’t move. “It is our house. And you are the guest here.”
"You're gonna let her talk to me like that?" Will scoffed, turning back to JJ.
"This is our home, Will," JJ leveled, arms folded in front of her like a defense. "You can't just show up, like a solicitor, demanding time after two months."
Will caught himself—saw the kids’ faces, remembered the optics—and forced his voice down, clipped and tight.
“Fine,” Will said. “Fine. What do you want, JJ?”
JJ exhaled slowly, forcing herself back into control. “I want you to see them,” she said. “I’m not keeping them from you.”
Will’s eyes narrowed. “Then let me take them.”
JJ shook her head. “Not today. Not on an ambush.”
Will’s jaw flexed. “So what, I flew up here for nothing? You said Easter was fine.”
“It would’ve been a month ago,” JJ’s voice was steady. “No. You can have them tomorrow. Full day. Pick up at ten. Drop off at six. And Sunday for a few hours. But you do not get them right now because you decided last minute you were in town.”
A beat.
Will looked at Michael, whose face was crumpled now, and at Roz, who looked too serious for five.
Will swallowed the rest of his anger like it tasted bad.
“Tomorrow,” Will said, clipped.
JJ nodded. “Tomorrow.”
Will grabbed his duffel and stepped backward toward the door, already trying to leave before he said something worse.
Michael’s voice cracked. “Dad, you’re leaving?”
Will’s face softened immediately, shame flashing. “Not leaving, buddy. Just… tomorrow.”
Michael frowned. “But you’re here.”
“I know,” Will said, tight, and he looked at JJ like it was her fault he had to be the disappointment again. “Tomorrow. I promise.”
Henry appeared at the top of the stairs then—silent, watchful—taking the temperature and storing it.
JJ swallowed hard. “Text me when you’re settled,” she said. “We’ll confirm ten.”
Will nodded once. “Yeah.”
Then he was gone—door closing too hard behind him.
The house held still for a beat after.
Roz’s voice came small. “Mommy… is he mad?”
JJ turned and softened instantly, kneeling. “Their Dad’s frustrated,” JJ said gently. “But you’re okay.”
Michael’s eyes were wet. “He came all the way and you made him leave.”
JJ’s throat tightened. Emily’s hand landed on JJ’s shoulder, steady.
JJ looked at Michael, careful. “Dad didn’t tell us he was coming today,” she said. “So we didn’t have a plan. He’s going to see you tomorrow, okay?”
Michael sniffed and nodded, not convinced but trying.
From upstairs, Henry’s voice drifted down, flat and exhausted. “He’s always like this.”
JJ closed her eyes for a second.
Emily’s voice was low, only for JJ. “Go breathe. I’ve got them.”
JJ looked up at her—calm, steel, the way she stepped in without turning it into a war.
JJ swallowed. “Thank you.”
Emily’s eyes softened briefly. “Always.”
And even as the kids drifted back toward toys and crayons, the air stayed changed—proof that “normal” with Will was never truly normal.
Just quieter fights.
Cleaner edges.
The kind of tension you lived with because the alternative was worse.
The Arlington Easter egg event looked like something out of a brochure.
Bright plastic eggs scattered across a manicured lawn. Pastel bunting. A line of cheerful volunteers in matching shirts. Kids in spring jackets moving like a bright, squealing tide.
JJ stood just outside the main crowd with a paper cup of lemonade in her hand, smiling when she needed to and watching the perimeter when she couldn’t help it. Habit. Reflex. The kind of vigilance that lived in her bones even on days that were supposed to be sweet.
Emily was in her element with the kids.
Not because it was her world—she’d never pretended to love these kinds of events—but because she loved them, and they loved the fact that she was right there on the grass with them, unbothered, focused, present.
Michael took the egg hunt like it was a mission. He sprinted, scooped, guarded his stash like a dragon with treasure.
Roz trotted along behind him, highly selective, only picking up eggs that were “pretty” and rejecting several on principle.
Henry stayed at the edge of the hunt, too old to fully participate and too loyal to leave the littles unattended. He kept his hands in his hoodie pocket and quietly intercepted two younger kids from body-checking Michael.
Emily, smiling despite herself, held up an egg and called to Roz, “Hey—this one’s blue.”
Roz gasped like Emily had offered her a diamond. “That one is for me.”
Michael yelled, “I FOUND A GOLD ONE!” like he’d discovered Atlantis.
JJ laughed softly and sipped her lemonade, watching the way Emily’s eyes softened every time the kids looked back for approval. It made something in JJ’s chest loosen.
And then she spotted Elizabeth.
Of course she did.
Elizabeth Prentiss stood in a tight knot of adults near a catered table—networking like she was born doing it, posture immaculate, smile polished, conversation flowing around her like she was the center of gravity. She wasn’t holding a basket. She wasn’t picking up eggs. She was working the room.
JJ’s first instinct was to turn the other direction.
Her second instinct was to remember she was a grown woman who could handle one afternoon without fleeing a conversation like it was a firing squad.
She kept her smile and edged closer, careful.
Elizabeth caught sight of her instantly.
“Jennifer,” she greeted, as if JJ had been expected.
“Ambassador,” JJ replied, polite.
Elizabeth’s eyes flicked briefly toward the lawn where Emily was kneeling with Roz, helping her pry open a stubborn plastic egg. Then her gaze returned to JJ—clean, assessing.
“How are things at the BAU, Jennifer?” Elizabeth asked smoothly.
JJ kept her tone light. “Wish I could say they aren’t busy as ever, but I’d be lying.” She took a sip, then added, because she refused to be made small: “I’m home more often now. More than you think.”
Elizabeth’s smile tightened in that faintly approving way older women sometimes did when they heard “responsibility.”
“You really ought to slow down, Jennifer,” Elizabeth suggested. “Time goes faster than you think—especially once menopause decides you’re done for.”
JJ coughed, like it was the lemonade that had gone down the wrong way.
Emily’s head snapped up from the grass like she’d felt the sentence in her spine.
“Mother,” Emily warned—one word, quiet, dangerous.
JJ held her smile, because she’d learned how to fight politely. “We do just fine, ma’am.”
Elizabeth’s eyes remained on JJ, unbothered. “I’m sure you do.”
Then her gaze slid to Emily like a scalpel.
“And you,” Elizabeth added, voice still pleasant, “seem to be enjoying yourself.”
Emily rose slowly, brushing grass from her knee, Roz still at her side holding a handful of eggs like jewels.
“I am,” Emily said evenly.
Elizabeth’s smile turned sharper around the edges. “Quite the role reversal,” she said lightly. “Given the circumstances, of course.”
Emily’s posture tightened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
JJ felt the temperature shift and glanced toward the kids. Michael was too busy counting eggs. Henry was watching, though—eyes narrowed, already clocking the tone.
Elizabeth lifted her eyebrows as if she hadn’t meant anything by it. “Well, Emily, you never exactly aspired to be Betty Crocker.”
Emily’s jaw clenched.
JJ stepped slightly closer, voice quiet and urgent, “Em—kids.”
Emily’s eyes flicked to Michael and Henry and Roz—then back to her mother. Her voice lowered, but the edge didn’t disappear.
“I always aspired to be a wife and a mother,” Emily said, each word controlled, deliberate, “among many other things, Mother. Jesus.”
Elizabeth’s smile didn’t move. “Language.”
Emily gave her a look that could’ve peeled paint.
JJ cut in, calm but firm, putting herself between the two sharp edges before it became a spectacle. “Emily is doing what works for our family,” JJ said, voice polite enough to pass for small talk. “And frankly, it’s none of anyone else’s business.”
Elizabeth’s gaze flicked to JJ. “You’re quite protective.”
JJ smiled sweetly. “Yes, ma’am.”
The silence that followed was thin, stretched tight.
Then Roz tugged Emily’s hand, whispering loudly, “Mama, can we get the big bunny candy now?”
Michael shouted, “I WANT A GIANT CHOCOLATE SWORD!”
Emily exhaled slowly through her nose, the tension easing just enough for her to grab onto the lifeline her kids had offered without knowing it.
“Right,” Emily said, voice clipped. “I think we were just leaving.”
JJ nodded immediately, grateful for the exit. “We were.”
Elizabeth didn’t argue. She simply watched them go with that same composed expression, as if she’d merely made conversation and not landed a blade.
Emily took Roz’s hand and motioned to Michael and Henry. “Come on,” she said, the command gentle but final.
Henry fell into step without a word, eyes sharp on Elizabeth as they passed.
Michael trotted after them with his basket of eggs, already talking about the candy like nothing happened.
JJ walked beside Emily, their shoulders almost touching.
Emily didn’t speak until they’d put a few yards between them and the networking knot.
Then, quietly, she muttered, “She can’t help herself.”
JJ’s mouth tightened. “I know.”
Emily glanced down at Roz, then at Michael, then at Henry—checking, always checking.
JJ added softly, “You did good.”
Emily’s breath left her in a slow exhale. “Don't act like not inflicting bodily harm is a measure of success.”
JJ snorted once, unable to help it.
Emily’s mouth quirked faintly. “That counts as growth.”
JJ nodded. “It does.”
And they walked back into the bright chaos of the egg hunt—Emily’s hand steady in Roz’s, JJ keeping pace beside her—choosing their family’s joy over anyone else’s commentary, one plastic egg at a time.
The shamrock balloon should’ve been dead weeks ago.
It was mid-April now—long past the point where anyone should still have a green foil St. Patrick’s Day balloon in their kitchen. It had lost its shine, lost its pride, lost its fight. Gravity had won. The ribbon trailed like a limp tail, and the balloon itself bounced weakly along the floor every time someone walked past, a sad little tap-tap against the baseboards like it was trying to remind them it had once been festive.
Roz insisted it still was.
Emily was at the sink doing the dishes, sleeves pushed up, hair clipped back, posture loose in a way JJ still wasn’t used to seeing on weekdays. Water ran. Plates clinked softly. It was the most boring kind of peace—earned, ordinary.
JJ crossed the kitchen to grab Roz’s apple juice from the table before it got knocked over again. She hooked a finger through the handle, turned back—
—and her foot caught something.
She almost tripped over the balloon as it rolled lazily against her foot.
It was so pathetic it should’ve been funny.
Instead, her throat tightened.
Not in a dramatic way—no sobs, no spiraling. Just a sudden, sharp squeeze like grief had found an opening and slipped a finger under the door.
She stared down at it, breathing shallowly.
Emily, looking over her shoulder instead of leaning over the sink of dishes, clocked the stillness before she clocked the tears. “Jay?” she asked, careful. “What’s wrong?”
JJ let out a breath that could’ve been a laugh if it wasn’t breaking. “It’s stupid.”
Emily’s eyebrows lifted. “Nothing is stupid with you.”
JJ nudged the balloon with her toe and it barely bounced—gravity winning, helium gone, the thing too tired to pretend it was festive anymore.
“It’s… dying,” JJ said quietly. “This stupid shamrock balloon.”
Emily’s mouth quirked—trying to keep it light. “It’s committed.”
JJ sniffed once, annoyed at herself. “It’s been here since Roz’s birthday,” she whispered. “And I thought I’d be… fine about it.”
Emily’s smile softened immediately.
JJ swallowed hard, eyes still on the balloon. “But it’s this year,” she said, voice tightening. “This year of… all of it. The threats. The texts. The kidnapping. The wound care. The hospital.” She shook her head once, jaw clenched. “It feels like everything got sharper.”
Emily went still behind her.
JJ blinked hard. “And now this dumb balloon is just… bouncing around on the floor like it’s lost its will to live.”
Emily huffed a quiet, sympathetic laugh. “Relatable.”
JJ’s eyes stung. “I keep thinking about my mom,” JJ admitted, softer now. “How she’s not here. How she’s missed every one of Roz’s birthday like it was nothing. Roz has never even met her.”
Emily’s hand slid to JJ’s waist, warm and steady. “I know.”
JJ’s voice cracked slightly. “And I keep thinking about my sister.” She stared at the balloon like it had personally offended her. “Roslyn missed everything. And then our Roz came along and… it’s like the universe has a sick sense of humor.”
Emily’s grip tightened gently. “Yeah,” she murmured. “It does.”
JJ wiped under her eye quickly, irritated. “I hate that this is what breaks me. A fucking four-leaf fucking balloon.”
Emily kissed the back of JJ’s shoulder, soft. “It’s not the balloon,” she said. “It’s the year.”
JJ nodded once, swallowing hard. “Yeah.”
The balloon tapped the cabinet again, pathetic and persistent.
JJ exhaled slowly, then bent down and picked it up by the ribbon like it was a misbehaving pet.
“Alright,” JJ muttered, voice rough. “You’re done.”
She carried it to the trash can, paused—because she was ridiculous—and then tied the ribbon around the cabinet handle instead, leaving it there like a sad little hostage.
Emily’s mouth twitched. “You can’t even throw it away.”
JJ sniffed and glared over her shoulder. “Shut up.”
Emily lifted her hands, innocent. “I’m saying nothing.”
JJ set Roz’s juice down, leaned into Emily at the sink for one brief second, and let herself be held.
Then she straightened, cleared her throat, and said, a little too bright, “Okay. We’re fine.”
Emily hummed, amused and tender. “Fine.”
JJ nodded, voice steadier. “Fine enough.”
And the dying shamrock balloon stayed tethered to the cabinet—flat, stubborn, refusing to disappear—while JJ moved on, carrying the weight of the year like she always did: quietly, and like the balloon, persistent.
The dish soap hit her nose too sharp all at once, and JJ had to breathe through her mouth to ease the nostalgic nausea.