Chapter Text
Quantico, Virginia | BAU Office
The clatter of heels echoed down the marble hallway of the FBI Building. BAU Unit Chief, Emily Prentiss didn’t flinch.
Her steps were precise, her file was tucked under her arm, and her mind was already three conversations ahead. But behind the steel in her eyes, there was something else—something quieter.
She checked her phone as she passed through the glass doors of her office.
Daycare: Lucas had a rough day. Bit another kid again.
Emily closed her eyes for a moment. Just a moment.
Lucas. Her four-year-old son. Her entire world.
He was smart, observant, and heartbreakingly quiet. He rarely spoke more than a few words at a time, and even those came out muffled, tangled with sounds he couldn’t quite master.
And Emily—strong, commanding, bulletproof Emily—had no idea how to fix it.
She placed her phone face down and took a slow breath. She was about to walk into a meeting about a cartel takedown. Lives were on the line. She didn’t have the luxury of falling apart now.
Later That Night | Emily’s Apartment
The room was quiet, except for the hum of a cartoon on low volume. Emily sat on the floor in her slacks and blouse, tie undone, a warm plastic spoon in hand.
“Come on, buddy,” she whispered gently, offering the spoon to her son. “One more bite. Just one.”
Lucas sat on the couch, legs dangling, brow furrowed in that stubborn little frown he’d inherited from her.
He was wearing a t-shirt with a dinosaur on it. One of the few words he could say: “RAWR.”
Emily smiled. “One bite and then we can go RAWR together, okay?”
He took the spoon slowly. She watched him chew, swallow, and nod.
“Good job,” she whispered, brushing his hair back. “You’re so brave.”
He looked at her, eyes wide, and pressed a hand to his chest. “Mama,” he said, soft and shaky.
Her throat tightened. He didn’t say that word every day. Some weeks, not even once.
“I’m right here,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Next Morning | Lucas’ Daycare
Emily sat across from the speech therapist and the daycare director, fingers wrapped tightly around a paper cup of lukewarm coffee.
“He bit again?” she asked, her voice flat.
“Yes,” the teacher nodded, carefully. “He gets overwhelmed. Especially when the other kids talk too fast, or don’t understand him. We believe he’s trying, but it’s frustrating for him. And... he’s scared.”
Emily nodded slowly. “He doesn’t have many words. He gets so frustrated, and I—I’m not always home. I leave at 6 a.m. I get back at 7 p.m. Some days he’s asleep before I even—”
She stopped. Swallowed.
“I’m sorry, I’ll told him not to do it again.”
In truth, she just doesn’t know what to say and what to do to help Lucas.
Saturday Morning | The Park
Emily took Lucas to the park on a rare free Saturday. She didn’t check her phone once.
He sat on the swing and looked over at another boy who was babbling loudly about trucks. Lucas opened his mouth, hesitated, then looked back at Emily.
She knelt beside him.
“You don’t have to say what they say,” she said. “Just say what you want. However you can. I’ll always listen, okay?”
Lucas reached out and pressed a hand to her cheek. Then, slowly, softly, he whispered, “Yuv… you.”
She blinked, her breath caught in her chest.
“You love me?”
He nodded.
And Emily—Unit Chief, profiler, agent—felt herself crack wide open.
“I love you too, buddy,” she said, holding him tight, her voice trembling. “So, so much.”
Monday Night | BAU Office
Emily walked through the bullpen with her phone pressed between her shoulder and ear, and a four-year-old clinging to her hand.
Lucas's backpack bounced slightly with every step he took beside her—his tiny feet padded quietly, familiar with the building despite the hour.
“Yes, I understand,” Emily said into the phone. “But we don’t have hours to wait. If the suspect keeps to the timeline, we have less than twelve hours until the next abduction.”
There was a pause as she listened, eyes scanning for her team.
“Yeah, I’ll call you back. Thanks,” she said curtly, ending the call.
It was 10:47 PM, and she hadn't planned to bring Lucas to the office.
But when the call came in—missing siblings in rural Virginia, evidence of a serial pattern, and no nanny available—Emily had no choice. The team had told her it was fine to bring him in if needed. And tonight, it was needed.
She reached the round table outside the briefing room and saw them all gathered: Tara scanning the file, Luke sipping coffee, Reid pacing, Rossi leaning on the edge of the table with his usual thoughtful look—and Garcia, radiant in her colorful glasses, holding a cupcake she had clearly saved just in case Lucas ever showed up again.
The moment they saw Emily, and the small sleepy boy attached to her hip, everything paused for a beat.
“Lucas!” Garcia beamed, holding out her arms.
The little boy’s face lit up like a sunrise. He ran forward, stumbling over his own shoes, and launched into Garcia’s embrace.
“Hey, my favorite tiny human,” she whispered, rocking him slightly.
Lucas buried his face in her shoulder before pulling back and whispering one of the few words he’d mastered. “Hi.”
The rest of the team softened visibly.
“Hey, buddy,” Luke said, kneeling down and holding up a small fist for a bump. “You keeping your mom in check?”
Lucas grinned, nodded seriously, and tapped his fist against Luke’s.
“I brought him in,” Emily explained, exhausted. “No nanny, and I didn’t want to leave him with a neighbor at this hour.”
Rossi waved it off. “Please. The kid’s practically one of us. We’ve all been briefed on Paw Patrol , remember?”
Lucas, now safely on Garcia’s lap, was already pulling stickers from her desk drawer. He didn’t speak much, but he was expressive—bright eyes, animated hands, and a laugh that came in breathy giggles.
“He can hang with me,” Garcia offered, smiling. “We’ll stay in my office. I’ve got cartoons, animal crackers, and zero crime scene photos.”
“Thank you,” Emily said, her voice lower, more grateful than she'd admit aloud.
“You know,” Reid added softly, joining them, “there’s growing research that shows speech apraxia kids often understand far more than they can say. Lucas might not talk a lot, but he listens. He gets it.”
Lucas looked up at him and reached out—tapping Reid’s badge.
Reid blinked, then smiled. “That’s right. FBI.”
Emily ruffled her son’s hair as he wriggled into Garcia’s side. “He idolizes all of you, you know. You’re his extended... weirdly brilliant family.”
“Weirdly brilliant is on my business card,” Tara replied dryly.
A Few Hours Later | Garcia’s Office
The team had long since spread out with maps and photos, coffee cups refilled. Emily returned from the war room to check on Lucas. The lights were dimmed in Garcia’s space, screensavers casting soft light across the room.
Lucas was curled up on the couch under a fuzzy blanket, his head on Garcia’s thigh. She was typing with one hand and gently rubbing his back with the other.
“Is he asleep?” Emily asked, her voice just above a whisper.
Garcia nodded. “Out cold. He fought it for a while. Kept drawing little smiley faces on my whiteboard.”
Emily stepped closer, crouched beside him. “Did he say anything new?”
Garcia smiled. “He said thank you . Or close enough. ‘Tay-oo.’ Clear as day.”
Emily blinked. Her heart pinched.
“I’ll take it,” she whispered.
She leaned down and kissed his forehead.
He stirred slightly, eyes barely opening, and whispered, “Mama.”
“I’m here,” she murmured back.
And in that quiet moment, amidst the chaos of case files, ticking clocks, and tactical decisions, Emily realized again: no matter how loud the world got, no matter how urgent the job became—this, he , was her center.
Her little boy with a quiet voice and a brave heart.
The Next Morning | Emily’s Office
The morning sun cast soft gold through the blinds of Emily’s office.
Lucas sat on the edge of a cushioned chair, his tiny feet swinging above the floor. His usual nanny, Mae, was gently zipping up his little blue jacket.
“There we go, bud,” Mae said with a smile. “Backpack? Shoes? You ready to roll?”
Lucas nodded, then padded over to Emily, who was crouched beside him, buttoning his sleeve and brushing his hair behind his ear.
“Have a good day, okay?” she said softly. “Be kind. Try your best. I love you.”
Lucas pressed a hand to her shoulder and whispered, “Mama.”
She kissed his cheek, smiled, and stood back as Mae took his hand and led him toward the door.
He turned once before stepping outside, waving with the kind of hesitant joy only small children have. Emily waved back, her smile soft, proud—and faintly worn.
And then, just like that, they were gone.
The door clicked shut. The hallway was quiet.
Emily stood frozen for a second, her hand still lifted mid-wave, and then let it fall slowly.
She exhaled a long, deep sigh and leaned against the edge of the doorway, her arms folded across her chest.
She knew her son. She knew he was brilliant. Kind. Sensitive. A sponge for everything happening around him. And yet… she didn’t know how to reach him. Not the way she wanted to. Not when the world seemed to confuse him so much.
She rubbed her temple.
"Where am I going wrong?"
“You’re not.”
The voice startled her gently. She turned her head to find Rossi standing in the doorway, holding two paper coffee cups and wearing a knowing expression.
“I knocked,” he added with a shrug. “You were busy being mom of the year. I let myself in.”
Emily huffed a tired laugh and took the coffee.
“Thanks,” she muttered.
Rossi settled onto the armrest of a nearby chair, nodding toward the door where Lucas had just disappeared. “He’s an amazing boy. Smart, sweet. He’ll grow up to be a fine young gentleman.”
Emily sat slowly across from him, curling one leg under her and staring down at her coffee lid.
“I hope so,” she whispered. “But lately… it’s been hard. His daycare called again. He bit another kid a few days ago. Wouldn’t speak. They think he’s lashing out because he can’t express himself. They’re not wrong.”
Rossi didn’t interrupt. Just waited, listening.
“I’ve read everything,” Emily went on. “Apraxia, social delays, coping techniques. I’ve tried the flashcards, the hand signs, the night stories where I leave gaps for him to fill in. And I know it’s not his fault—but I can’t help thinking, maybe it is mine. Maybe it started because I wasn’t there enough. Maybe it’s the stress. Maybe he just needed someone more patient than me.”
She looked up, her voice cracking at the edges.
“I don’t know where things went wrong.”
Rossi sighed gently and placed his coffee down. “You want to know what I see?”
She nodded.
“I see a single mother with one of the most high-pressure jobs in the country. A woman raising a son in a world that barely slows down long enough for either of you to breathe. I see someone who takes on the weight of her child’s struggles like it’s a personal failure—because that’s what mothers do. Even when it’s not fair.”
Emily blinked back a sting in her eyes.
“And more than that,” Rossi continued, “I see a little boy who knows he’s loved. Deeply. Fiercely. Every day. That’s not failure, Emily. That’s the foundation . The rest… comes with time.”
Silence lingered for a moment, heavy but warm.
Then Rossi reached into the inner pocket of his blazer and pulled out a business card. He handed it to her.
“I’ve been meaning to give you this. She’s a friend of the family. Used to watch Joy when she was little. Her name’s Jennifer Jareau. She's a speech pathologist now—works with kids who have motor and developmental delays. She’s got this gift for making them feel safe enough to try.”
Emily took the card slowly, staring at the name.
“Jennifer Jareau,” she said softly. “You sure about her?”
“She’s good,” Rossi said firmly. “More than that—she cares .”
Emily nodded, running her thumb over the corner of the card.
Then she looked at him, her voice quiet but firm.
“Thank you, Dave.”
Rossi smiled. “Anytime.”
He stood and headed for the door, tossing over his shoulder, “And next time you bring Lucas into the office, tell him I’m saving him the last jelly doughnut. Kid’s got good taste.”
Emily smiled as the door closed behind him, the card still in her hand.
One Week Later | Tuesday Morning
Speech & Language Therapy Clinic | Alexandria, Virginia
The case was closed. The suspect in custody. Another family reunited.
And yet, Emily felt more nervous walking into this quiet, kid-colored clinic than she did walking into a hostage negotiation.
She glanced down at Lucas beside her—his hand clutching hers, his backpack with the little stitched dinosaur keychain swinging at his side.
His eyes were scanning the waiting room—bright walls, a play kitchen, a low bookshelf filled with picture books and puppets.
He wasn’t afraid. In fact, he looked curious.
She wished she felt the same.
“Prentiss?”
She turned, standing quickly. A tall blonde woman in jeans and a soft blue cardigan stepped forward, holding a clipboard in one hand and offering the other.
“Hi. Jennifer Jareau. But please, just call me JJ.”
Emily shook her hand firmly, surprised by the calm in her voice. “Emily. This is Lucas.”
JJ crouched to eye level. “Hi, Lucas. I’ve heard great things about you.”
Lucas blinked, then gave a shy smile, tucking his chin behind Emily’s leg. JJ didn’t pressure him.
“Do you want to come see my playroom? I’ve got dinosaur puzzles. And a talking frog that burps when you push its belly.”
Lucas’s eyes lit up.
He turned to Emily, lifting both hands in the air—his way of asking permission.
Emily nodded gently. “Go ahead, sweetheart.”
Lucas followed JJ down the short hallway, disappearing into a bright room filled with soft lighting, sensory toys, and a big floor mat. The door stayed slightly ajar.
Emily sat in the waiting chair, back straight, trying not to fidget. She didn’t expect it to feel this strange—handing her son off, not to a doctor or specialist in a white coat, but to someone who smiled like she cares.
About ten minutes later, JJ came back out.
“You can come in and sit with us for the last half if you’d like,” she said. “We’re mostly just getting to know each other. I let him explore. No pressure.”
Inside, Lucas was sitting at a kid-sized table, stacking foam blocks by color. JJ had a speech board nearby—pictures of animals, food, toys—and Lucas was slowly pointing at each one as she named them.
He wasn’t talking, not yet. But he was engaging.
JJ gestured for Emily to sit nearby as she leaned back, giving Lucas space to focus.
“We’re starting slow,” JJ said softly. “He’s got good motor planning with his hands. Eye contact’s strong. He watches before he acts. That tells me he’s processing everything—he just needs a clearer bridge between what he knows and what his mouth can say.”
Emily nodded, lips tight. “I try so hard with him at home. But sometimes he just… shuts down. Especially around other kids.”
“That’s not uncommon,” JJ replied gently. “Apraxia can be isolating. Especially at his age, when the world is so language-driven. But isolation isn’t the same as detachment. He wants to connect. I can see it already.”
Emily’s throat tightened. “I don’t want him to grow up thinking he’s broken. Or feel like he has to fight to be understood.”
JJ glanced toward Lucas—who had just built a color tower and was smiling softly to himself.
“He won’t,” JJ said with quiet certainty. “Not with a mom who fights this hard for him.”
Emily looked at her then, surprised. “How do you know?”
JJ smiled. “Because you’re here. And you didn’t drop him off. You stayed. That tells me everything.”
Emily let out a slow breath, finally unclenching her jaw.
JJ offered her a small notebook. “This is a speech journal. Just simple prompts, sound exercises, ideas for low-pressure communication games. You don’t have to do them all. Just try when you can. The goal isn’t fluency. It’s confidence.”
Emily flipped through the first page. It wasn’t technical. It was gentle. Accessible.
Then she looked back at Lucas—who’d just pressed a button that made the frog puppet burp and immediately looked at Emily to see if she’d laugh.
She did. He grinned.
And in that moment, things didn’t feel so heavy.
JJ stood, giving her space. “I’ll see him again next week. Same time.”
Emily looked up. “Thank you, JJ. Really.”
JJ just gave a quiet smile and said, “You’re not alone in this, Emily. We’ll help him find his voice.”
Emily watched as Lucas carefully packed up a block and slipped it into his backpack—like it was treasure.
A Few Days Later | Emily’s Apartment
After dinner, Lucas sat on the floor, surrounded by blocks and crayons. Emily was folding laundry nearby, but watching him.
“Ba…” he said slowly, holding up a yellow block. “Ba-na.”
She froze.
“Banana?” she asked, crouching near him.
Lucas beamed and nodded vigorously. “Ba-na!”
Emily scooped him into a hug before he could wobble away, squeezing him tight. “You are amazing , you know that?”
Lucas giggled and repeated, “Mazing!”
She laughed with him, for once not worried about milestones or therapy charts or daycare calls.
In that moment, they weren’t struggling. They were winning .
A Week Later | JJ’s Clinic
Lucas had now been to three sessions with JJ. And though his vocabulary remained limited, his confidence was growing.
Today, he ran ahead of Emily through the clinic doors—something he hadn’t done the first week—and clutched his picture schedule, pointing at the square labeled “JJ Time” with a tiny, proud smile.
Emily trailed behind, coffee in one hand, a weary but hopeful look in her eyes. She was running on less than five hours of sleep and a triple shot espresso. But she wouldn’t have missed this for the world.
JJ welcomed Lucas with a high five. “Look at you! You remembered our picture schedule—can you find the next activity?”
Lucas studied the visual board on the wall. His fingers hovered, then tapped the one with a crayon and a smiley face.
JJ grinned. “Art time it is.”
Emily took a seat nearby while Lucas scribbled on the whiteboard and made gentle humming sounds to himself—something JJ encouraged, a bridge between silent focus and vocal expression.
“I’ve noticed he’s making more spontaneous sounds,” JJ said softly to Emily. “Still a ways to go, but he’s taking more risks , especially with vowels.”
Emily nodded. “He tried to say ‘banana’ a few days ago. Came out more like ‘ba-na,’ but he looked so proud . I almost cried over a damn banana.”
JJ chuckled warmly. “That’s not ‘almost crying’ material. That’s full-on happy tears territory. Let yourself have that.”
Emily exhaled, letting herself smile. “I hope he’ll become more brave and comfortable.”
“He will,” JJ said gently. “It starts here, where the pressure’s low. But once he builds trust with the words—he’ll carry them to other places.”
After the Session
Lucas had finished early. He was content drawing in the corner with a green marker, scribbling circles that looked suspiciously like dinosaurs. JJ and Emily sat nearby, watching.
Emily finally broke the silence.
“Do you ever just… feel like you're holding your breath all the time?”
JJ turned. “Every day.”
Emily exhaled through her nose. “It’s like I’m stuck between two extremes. At work, I’m Unit Chief. In control. Respected. But at home—” She glanced at Lucas. “I can’t even help him put his feelings into words. I try everything. But it’s like I’m chasing after something invisible.”
JJ nodded slowly. “Parenting doesn’t come with a rulebook. And I felt that too. My oldest had a sensory processing issue when he was little. He couldn’t handle noise—meltdowns in grocery stores, flinching at balloons, terrified of his own birthday party. I thought I was doing everything wrong.”
“How did you… handle it?”
“Trial and error. Patience. A lot of grace I didn’t think I deserved at the time. And a good therapist who reminded me that my love was the constant. Everything else could be figured out.”
Emily exhaled softly. “I just don’t want him to feel like he’s hard to love. Like he has to ‘work harder’ just to connect with people.”
JJ’s eyes softened. “You know what I see every week? A little boy who looks at you like you hung the moon.”
Emily looked away, swallowing.
JJ continued. “He’s not worried about the words. He’s watching your face. He knows he’s safe. That’s more than half the battle.”
Emily’s voice cracked. “I just want to do right by him.”
“You already are.”
Then JJ handed Emily a copy of Lucas’s weekly progress notes.
“Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask,” Emily said, glancing up. “How do you know Rossi?”
JJ smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Our families were close growing up. My mom used to bring cookies over during the holidays. I’d tag along. He’s known me since I was a kid.”
Emily raised a brow. “And now he’s sending BAU agents to you.”
JJ laughed. “He’s protective of the people he cares about. And apparently, that includes your son.”
Emily’s shoulders relaxed a bit. “Well… I’m glad he did. I was hesitant at first. I didn’t think I’d be able to trust anyone with this.”
“I get it,” JJ said softly. “But for what it’s worth… I think Lucas is a lot like you.”
Emily tilted her head. “How so?”
JJ looked through the glass at the little boy pressing his hands to the window, watching the rain with fascination.
“He’s quiet. Observant. Doesn’t say much unless he means it. But when he does ?” JJ looked at her. “You listen.”
Emily smiled, quietly stunned. “That’s terrifyingly accurate.”
JJ nudged her gently with a grin. “Takes one to know one.”
Saturday Morning | Emily’s Apartment
The morning sun slipped gently through the curtains, casting warm stripes across the hardwood floor. The air smelled like coffee and toast, and the apartment was unusually quiet—the kind of calm that only comes when no emails are waiting and no serial killers are on the loose.
Emily stood at the counter, sipping from her favorite mug. It had a chip on the rim, a smudge of fading black print that once read: World’s Okayest FBI Agent.
Behind her, Lucas sat at the kitchen table with his usual drawing pad, quietly sketching loops and blocky shapes. His tongue peeked out between his lips—his “concentration face.”
Then, his small voice broke the silence.
“Muh… muh–guh…”
Emily turned, blinking.
Lucas held up a scribbled blue cup in his drawing and pointed to the mug in her hand.
“Mama mug,” he said again. Clearer this time. He looked at her, proud but unsure.
Emily froze, the warmth of the coffee forgotten in her hands. “Lucas… was that...?”
He pointed again. “Mama’s mug.”
It hit her like a wave—a small sentence, yes, but built on weeks of work. A simple label, but said with confidence .
She crouched beside him, eyes brimming. “That’s right. That’s Mama’s mug.”
He giggled, and she gently swept him into a hug, still holding the chipped cup in one hand.
“You’re doing so, so well,” Emily whispered. “I’m so proud of you.”
Lucas leaned his cheek against her shoulder, content.