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The scene was chaos.
A two-story house in a quiet Virginia neighborhood had become the latest crime scene in an active serial arsonist case. They weren’t dealing with fire this time—just the suspect himself, cornered and desperate, somewhere inside. The BAU had partnered with local PD to track him down after a tip led them here, and now it was go-time.
Emily crouched behind a patrol car, Kevlar snug against her chest, her Glock drawn and steady. She could feel the shift in the air—adrenaline, tension, the weight of knowing there was someone inside who’d already killed two people and wouldn’t hesitate to add to the count.
She glanced over at Morgan, who gave her a nod. “Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
They approached the house fast, methodical. Emily was on point with Morgan covering her six. The creak of the door as she pushed it open echoed louder than it should have in the quiet. The house was dim, blinds drawn tight, furniture overturned. The suspect had been here a while—long enough to barricade himself or booby trap something.
“FBI!” Morgan called out. “Come out slowly. Hands where we can see them!”
A shuffling noise came from the hallway to the left. Emily moved instinctively toward it, leading with her weapon.
The man—James Renner, thirty-four, paranoid and twitchy—burst out of the hall with a wild yell and something in his hand.
Emily didn’t hesitate.
She lunged forward, grabbing his arm and slamming him against the wall. His hand came up—sharp, fast, and something metallic caught the light. A box cutter.
Pain flared through her side before she even realized he’d made contact.
“Em!” Morgan was there in a heartbeat, disarming the suspect and shoving him to the ground. Renner was shouting nonsense, struggling, but it didn’t matter. He was cuffed, restrained, done.
Emily staggered back, hand pressed to her side. Wet. Warm. She looked down and grimaced.
“Son of a—”
Morgan caught her by the arm. “You good?”
“Yeah,” she said through clenched teeth. “Just a scratch.”
Morgan gave her a once-over, unimpressed. “You’re bleeding through your vest, Prentiss. That’s not a scratch.”
They made it outside just as Hotch arrived with the remaining team. Emily kept her shoulders straight, face unreadable, but her hand never left her side.
Hotch took one look and frowned. “Hospital.”
“No way. I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine,” Hotch said, arms crossing. “You're bleeding, and you're clearly in pain.”
Emily tried to argue. “It’s not deep. I can finish the debrief.”
“No,” Hotch said flatly. “You’re going home. JJ’s probably pacing the house already. You want to be the reason she goes into early labor?”
Emily opened her mouth, then closed it. That landed.
“Garcia already has everything logged. Take the night. That’s an order.”
Emily exhaled slowly. She hated backing down, but Hotch wasn’t wrong. She did want to be home. She did want to see JJ. And her side was really starting to ache now that the adrenaline was wearing off.
She nodded once. “Fine. But if anyone screws up the paperwork, I’m blaming you.”
Hotch smirked just barely. “Deal.”
By the time Emily reached her car, the blood had soaked halfway down her shirt and was starting to dry at the edges. She wrapped a towel from her go-bag around her ribs, grimaced at the sting, and got behind the wheel.
All she could think about was getting home—to JJ, to their baby, to the life she could so easily forget when the danger came too close.
The front door creaked open just after 4 p.m., and JJ had already braced herself on the edge of the couch, one hand instinctively cradling the swell of her belly. She was almost thirty-seven weeks pregnant—very pregnant, very uncomfortable, and very aware that Emily was supposed to still be at the local field office two towns over.
But JJ could feel something was off. She always could with Emily.
When she saw her wife silhouetted in the doorway, JJ's relief was immediate—until Emily stepped fully into the light.
Her shirt was soaked on one side, clinging to her ribs, the fabric a deep, rusting red. Her face was pale, jaw set in that telltale way that screamed Don’t make a big deal of this, I’m fine.
JJ was off the couch in a heartbeat, despite her aching feet and aching everything.
“Emily Elizabeth Prentiss,” she signed one-handed, voice tight as she closed the distance. “What the hell happened?”
Emily winced—not from the injury, but at the full use of her name. That was never a good sign.
“Got nicked in the field. It’s not deep,” she said, trying to downplay it, already shrugging out of her jacket, which only revealed more of the blood-soaked shirt. “Hotch sent me home. Said I was being a liability.”
“Because you are,” JJ snapped, all but dragging her wife toward the kitchen. “Sit. Don’t argue. You’re bleeding all over our floor.”
Emily obeyed, though not without a dramatic sigh as she eased herself into one of the dining chairs. “You know, for someone who’s eight months pregnant—”
“Almost nine,” JJ corrected.
“—you’re still terrifying,” Emily finished, giving her a weak smile.
JJ didn’t return it. She was already opening the first aid cabinet, hands moving with professional precision. It wasn’t the first time she’d stitched up her stubborn wife, but it never got easier. Especially now.
“Lift your shirt,” JJ said, washing her hands at the sink. “I need to see how bad it is.”
Emily did as told, and JJ’s heart sank. A long, jagged gash ran along Emily’s side, just under her ribs—too deep for butterfly bandages, but not quite ER level. Barely. JJ grabbed the suture kit.
“This is going to hurt,” she warned, crouching down and gently cleaning the wound.
Emily hissed, then gritted her teeth. “Hurts less than Hotch benching me.”
JJ looked up sharply. “You’re literally leaking, Emily. You should’ve gone to the hospital.”
“I didn’t want to leave you alone tonight,” Emily said, softer now. “And I figured... if anyone was going to patch me up, it should be you.”
JJ's hands stilled. Her heart clenched. “That’s romantic,” she said, a little dryly, “in a recklessly stupid kind of way.”
JJ was still wearing one of Emily’s oversized FBI shirts, stretched over her belly, hair in a messy bun, eyes sharp and fierce. She was all kinds of beautiful, even when she was mad. JJ crouched in front of her wife, kneeling awkwardly despite her belly getting in the way. The kitchen light was harsh overhead, bouncing off the silver of the needle in her hand. Emily had braced both palms flat on the dining chair, teeth gritted, trying very hard to look unaffected. It wasn’t working.
“Okay, I need you to hold still for this,” JJ said, her voice calm but firm. “It’s going to pinch.”
“It already does pinch,” Emily muttered through her teeth, sweat beading along her hairline. “Who knew box cutters were such an efficient weapon?”
JJ didn’t dignify that with a response. She threaded the needle cleanly through the first layer of skin, and Emily flinched hard, hissing between clenched teeth.
“Jesus—JJ—”
“That’s what you get for being reckless,” JJ said dryly, not looking up from her work.
Emily let out a soft, incredulous laugh—somewhere between pained and amused. “You’re not even going to pretend to be sympathetic?”
JJ paused, meeting her eyes. “Oh, I’m sympathetic. But also? You’re an idiot.”
She leaned in to tie off the first stitch, then continued on to the second, her movements quick and precise. Emily bit down on a groan this time.
“You know,” JJ continued, voice gentler now, “I warned you. I begged you to be careful.”
“I was being careful,” Emily said, wincing again. “I just wasn’t being… lucky.”
JJ shook her head, wiping a bit of blood away before moving on to the next stitch. “You were leading a charge into a cramped hallway against a guy we knew was unstable. That’s not luck. That’s you being convinced you’re bulletproof.”
Another wince. Another stitch.
“You’re lucky it was your side and not your neck,” JJ added quietly.
Emily looked down at her, her gaze softer now. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You always say that after the fact,” JJ said, her voice catching a little.
There was a silence—tense but filled with something deeper. JJ finished the last stitch and sat back with a sigh, rubbing her lower back with one hand.
“You good?” she asked, not looking up right away.
Emily reached out and rested a shaky hand on JJ’s knee. “Yeah. Because you’re here.”
JJ finally met her eyes, and this time there was no lecture in her expression. Just relief. And a deep, deep love laced with exhaustion.
“Next time,” she said, “if you even think about running in like that again, I’ll kill you myself.”
Emily gave a breathless laugh. “Fair enough.”
JJ leaned in, pressing a kiss to the uninjured side of Emily’s ribcage.
“I need you,” she whispered. “Not just as my wife. But as our baby’s mom. So stop scaring me.”
Emily’s breath hitched.
“I promise,” she said, voice hoarse. “I’ll be more careful. I swear.”
JJ stayed there for a moment, her cheek resting lightly against Emily’s skin. The moment stretched between them, quiet and steady, and for once—still.
“Seven total. You’re lucky.”
Emily gave a soft laugh. “That’s one word for it.”
JJ stood up with a grunt and rubbed her back. Emily reached instinctively to help, but JJ waved her off.
“Nope. You’re the patient tonight.”
They moved to the couch—JJ slow and swollen, Emily stitched and sore. They sat side by side on the sun warmed couch, the baby kicking occasionally against JJ’s ribs.
“You scared me,” JJ said eventually, resting her hand on her belly. “We’ve only got a few weeks left. We can’t be reckless anymore.”
Emily sighed, leaning her head back against the couch. “I know.”
JJ turned to look at her, expression softening. “You always think you're invincible out there. But you’re not. And this baby? They already have two profilers as parents. The least we can do is be present ones.”
Emily reached over, resting her hand over JJ’s. “You’re right. I just… I forget, sometimes. The job kicks in. The adrenaline. The instinct.”
JJ looked at her for a long moment, then leaned in, pressing a kiss just below Emily’s ear.
“Then I’ll keep reminding you,” she whispered. “Every time you come home bleeding, I’ll remind you.”
Emily gave a quiet laugh, turning to kiss JJ’s temple. “Deal. But next time, maybe you remind me before I leave the house.”
JJ smirked, resting her head on Emily’s shoulder. “I’ll write it on your kevlar.”
They sat there like that until the baby kicked hard enough to make Emily jump and JJ laugh. Despite the pain, Emily looked happier than she had all day.
“I think that’s their way of agreeing with you,” she said.
JJ smiled, intertwining their fingers over her belly.
“Smart kid already.”