Chapter Text
It's not a silly little moment,
It's not the storm before the calm.
This is the deep and dying breath of
This love that we've been working on.
Jennifer Jareau thrived on routine.
Her career rarely allowed it... plans could shatter with a single phone call. But on the mornings she woke in her own bed, she liked to keep to a rhythm.
Up at 6:00 a.m.
A run, if there was time.
Shower. Hair. Makeup. Dress.
Wake and dress the kids. Breakfast together at the table. Shoes by the door. Keys, phone, ID badge, holster. Drop off and then work.
Predictable. Controlled. Familiar in a life where almost nothing else was. But this morning wasn’t normal. She woke before her alarm, restless in a way she couldn’t name, and decided to shower earlier than usual... leaving Emily asleep in bed. The house was still quiet when she stepped under the spray.
Shampoo. Rinse.
Conditioner. Rinse.
Reach for the body wash.
Her fingers brushed something, and she froze. She checked again, slower this time. Pressed gently, then with more pressure. There it was... round and solid. Unfamiliar and unwelcome. A lump sat low on the outer side of her right breast. She told herself it was nothing. Probably a cyst. Hormonal. Common. She’d just finished her period last week.
Still, it stayed on her mind.
It was there when she showered the next day.
And the day after that.
She didn’t tell Emily. Not because she meant to hide it... But because saying it out loud would make it real. Tangible. And JJ had spent her adult life dodging worst-case scenarios by outrunning them before they landed. This one, though, was lodged beneath her skin. She couldn't outrun that.
By Thursday, she called her OB’s office. She drove herself. Told Emily it was a routine health check. She didn’t even let herself think the word cancer. Not once.
The clinic was cool and overly cheerful, the receptionist humming as she printed JJ’s forms. Dr Meyers, her longtime OB-GYN, was calm, collected, and warm in a no-nonsense way. She examined JJ gently, noting the position and texture of the lump, and JJ stared at the ceiling tiles and focused on her breathing. “We’ll do a mammogram and an ultrasound today,” Dr Meyers said afterwards, already typing into the computer. “We don’t jump to conclusions.”
JJ nodded. She knew better than to jump to conclusions but couldn’t deny the flicker of panic that lodged in her chest.
She changed into the flimsy gown, feeling exposed in the cool air. The mammogram was quick but uncomfortable, the pressure of the plates making her wince. The tech tried to reassure her with a smile, but JJ didn’t smile back.
The ultrasound followed... cold gel, the wand pressing against her skin, quiet clicking as the tech measured the mass. He was kind, but too quiet. And JJ had profiled enough people to know what it meant when someone said, “I’m just going to get someone to take a quick look.”
The man who entered next introduced himself as Dr. Levin.
She stayed still on the exam table as he pressed the ultrasound wand to her skin, his eyes fixed on the monitor. He studied the image far too long without saying a word. Finally, he glanced at her. “Have you noticed any dimpling? Skin changes? Discharge from the nipple?”
“No.” She’d checked herself in the shower every morning, her hands skimming over every inch of skin every day since finding the lump.
He hummed under his breath, still focused on the screen. “Any family history of breast cancer?”
“No,” she said again, her voice almost drowned out by the pounding in her ears.
Silence stretched between them until he spoke again. “We’ll send everything over to your referring physician. Given what I’m seeing, I’d like to recommend a biopsy.”
“You think it’s malignant.”
“I don’t know yet,” he said carefully. “But given the size and shape… yes, there’s reason for concern. A needle biopsy will give us a clearer picture of what we’re dealing with.”
She nodded too quickly. “Okay.”
When Dr. Meyers called that afternoon, JJ slipped into her old office, the one place in the BAU without listening ears.
“I reviewed the scans,” Dr. Meyers said gently. “I agree with Dr. Levin. It could be benign, but I want to be certain. I’ve booked you in for a biopsy tomorrow afternoon at the surgical centre. You’ll be in and out in about an hour. Local anaesthetic. Minimal downtime.”
“Okay,” JJ said again. It was all she could manage.
“Are you doing all right?”
“Yeah.” She swallowed. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s probably nothing, right?”
“Most breast lumps are benign,” Dr. Meyers reassured. “Biopsies are just a precaution to be sure. We’ll know more once the pathology report comes back.”
JJ hesitated. “I haven’t told Emily yet.”
“You don’t have to... not until you’re ready. But I know you both. She’d want to be by your side, no matter what the results say.”
JJ closed her eyes. The thought of Emily’s reaction... the worry, the panic, almost made her stomach twist. But Dr. Meyers was right. Emily would want to be there. And she’d be hurt to know JJ was even considering keeping something like this from her.
The problem was… JJ didn’t want her to worry. Didn’t want her to start thinking the worst when she didn’t even know if it was the worst. It could still be nothing.
That night, she helped Sophia brush her teeth and tucked her into bed with her favorite stuffed dinosaur and Bun Bun. Noah was already asleep. Emily was in the kitchen, tidying up leftover pasta and humming under her breath.
JJ lingered in the doorway, watching. Her chest ached with the weight of things unsaid. When Emily turned with a smile and asked “Everything okay?” JJ just smiled back and replied. “Just tired.”
Emily crossed the room, pulled her in for a hug and kissed her temple. “You’ve been tired a lot lately.”
JJ folded into her arms and closed her eyes. Still, she didn’t say the words. Not yet. The appointment was booked and the fear had a name now.
The biopsy site was still tender when JJ sat in the exam room the following week.
She hadn’t brought Emily. Hadn’t told her the biopsy had already happened... she’d lied and said it was a dental appointment. She told herself it was to protect her. The kids. Everyone. But deep down, JJ knew the truth... if she said it out loud, she’d fall apart.
Dr. Meyers stepped in, a folder in her hand and a sympathetic look that JJ recognised instantly... and hated just as quickly.
She took the seat across from her. Quiet. Too quiet and JJ's heart stumbled.
“It’s cancer, JJ.”
JJ stared at her for several seconds, the words echoing in her ears. The fear and panic she’d been keeping at bay since this began clawed their way up her throat... but she forced them back down. Buried them deep.
“Okay,” she said finally, “What… what does that mean exactly?”
“It’s invasive ductal carcinoma. Stage two, given its size. It’s HER2-positive, which means it’s aggressive... but it also responds well to targeted therapies. We caught it early, and you have options.”
“Okay.”
Dr. Meyers paused, slightly thrown by the evenness in her tone. “We’ll set up an appointment with oncology. There’ll be a full treatment team... surgical consult, medical oncology, possibly a port placement if chemo is recommended. There may be a plastics referral depending on surgery options.”
JJ’s mind felt overloaded, thoughts spinning too fast to hold onto. Cancer. Stage two. Aggressive. Options. Chemo. Surgery. She didn’t realise she’d gone silent until Dr. Meyers shifted in her chair, looking worried. “JJ,” she said softly. “Talk to me. You’re very calm. Considering…”
JJ looked down at her hands, knotted tightly in her lap. Calm? No. Not calm. Numb. That was it.
She didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to give shape to what was lodged in her chest, the fear, the despair pressing heavy inside her. Her eyes burned. She blinked back the tears, biting the inside of her cheek. Finally, she swallowed and met Dr. Meyers’s gaze. “Am I going to die?”
Dr. Meyers reached across the desk, squeezing her hand gently. “There is a high chance for survival, JJ.”
“We’ll fight this aggressively,” she went on. “You’ll have further scans to check for any spread. Because of the size of the mass, it’s likely you’ll start chemo before surgery. And because it’s HER2-positive, we’ll use targeted therapy alongside everything else.” She hesitated, then added carefully, “This isn’t a death sentence.”
The words hung between them like an oath.
JJ didn’t let herself cry. She just nodded before abruptly standing when the full reality slammed into her: she had cancer, and Emily didn’t know.
As if reading her mind, Dr. Meyers spoke again. “JJ… I know this is a lot. You don’t have to go through it alone.”
“I’m fine,” JJ lied and then she walked out of the clinic.
She drove home in silence. Picked up Sophia from school. Heated leftovers. Even remembered to pack Henry’s field trip lunch for the next day.
It was almost impressive how easily she’d slipped back into routine.
The oven clock glowed 2:13 a.m.
JJ sat at the kitchen table, holding her phone like it was the only thing tethering her to the world. Her hoodie sleeves were pulled halfway over her hands. She wasn’t cold, but she couldn’t stop shaking. The house was silent... the kind of silence you only noticed when the noise inside your own chest was deafening.
Not twenty minutes ago, JJ had been lying in bed beside her sleeping wife, eyes wide in the dark, the words beating through her skull on an endless loop:
Stage two invasive ductal carcinoma. HER2-positive.
Stage. Two.
Invasive.
Cancer.
She hadn’t known a body could feel this numb and still function. Now she was sat in the kitchen, alone in the dark, one hand clutching her phone, the other holding a fistful of terror.
Google search: Stage 2A HER2-positive breast cancer survival rate
Google search: Invasive ductal carcinoma long-term prognosis
Google search: what does HER2-positive mean exactly
Google search: how to tell your wife you have cancer
Google search: will my three-year-old remember me if I die
The words swam in front of her. She clicked through one article. Then another. And another.
“HER2-positive used to mean aggressive. Now it also means responsive to treatment.”
“Chemotherapy. Targeted therapy. Possibly radiation.”
“Hair loss. Fatigue. Cardiac issues. Early menopause. Nausea. Brain fog. Immunocompromised. Infertility. Lumpectomy. Mastectomy. Reconstruction.”
Her thumb hovered over the screen.
She kept scrolling... until a line on a grief forum stopped her cold:
“I don’t remember what my mom’s voice sounded like. I was five when she died.”
It gutted her.
Sophia was five. Noah was barely two and a half.
Google search: how long do young children remember their mothers after death
A blog post loaded: “They remember some things. Sensory memories. Scent. The way your hand felt. But the shape of you fades over time.”
JJ pushed the phone away as though it had burned her. She buried her face in her hands and finally she let herself fall apart. Silent sobs tore through her as she curled in on herself, trying to breathe through the tidal wave of what if.
What if the treatment didn’t work?
What if it did, but the cancer came back?
What if she left them all behind?
What if Noah forgot the way she tucked him in, or Sophia only remembered that Mommy had no hair and was always tired?
What if Emily had to raise them alone?
Her vision blurred. Her breath came in sharp, uneven bursts. And for a moment, she wished the floor would just open and swallow her whole.
At 3:30 a.m. she wiped away her tears and crept back upstairs to their bedroom. She paused in the doorway, one hand resting on the frame. Emily had shifted in her sleep, one arm stretched across the empty space where JJ should have been.
Carefully, she slid back into bed, trying not to disturb her. But Emily stirred anyway, “Jen…?”
“Yeah,” JJ whispered. “Just got up for some water. Sorry, baby.”
Emily hummed softly and reached for her. JJ let herself be pulled close, her head tucked under Emily’s chin.
“You’re shaking,” Emily mumbled.
“Just cold.”
Emily’s hand began tracing slow, soothing circles along her back. “Mmhmm. Warmer now?”
JJ nodded, burying her nose against the curve of Emily’s neck. Emily’s arm tightened around her, their legs tangling together. It should have been comforting... the steady thump of her heartbeat beneath JJ’s ear, the familiar scent of her skin.
Instead, guilt twisted deep in JJ’s stomach. How could she keep this from her? How could she let Emily lie here in the dark, completely unaware?
“Em…?”
“Mmm?” Emily murmured, already drifting again, fingertips still trailing lightly along JJ’s spine.
“I love you.”
Emily’s arms tightened briefly. “Love you too,” she mumbled.
JJ stayed awake, listening to the steady rhythm of her wife’s heartbeat. And she told herself: Tomorrow. I’ll tell her tomorrow. But even as she thought it, she knew it wasn’t true.
Not yet.
Getting ready for work that morning, she found herself hating her clothes. Too tight in all the wrong places. Her bra was suddenly unbearable, the straps digging into her shoulders. The button-down she’d chosen felt tight around her chest despite it fitting as it always had. She’d already changed three times before finally settling on something... ignoring how her hands shook as she zipped up her boots.
Emily had been leaning in the bathroom doorway, toothbrush in hand, watching. Not saying a word, but taking in every detail. JJ didn’t meet her eyes. She muttered something about being late and slipped out of the bedroom before Emily could say anything at all.
By the time they reached Quantico, she was already on edge. She stared too long at the elevator doors, flinching slightly when the ding cut through the silence. Emily glanced at her from the corner of her eye but didn’t comment.
The bullpen was quiet. The low hum of keyboard clicks and the rustle of folders filled the space. Spence was out visiting his mom for the week. Tara looked up from her desk and gave them both a nod. Luke, already halfway through his first coffee of the day, lifted his cup in greeting. Garcia stood nearby, a bright pink file tucked under her arm, clearly ready to launch into something.
JJ didn’t acknowledge any of them. She walked straight past them, jaw tight, eyes fixed ahead. At her desk, she dropped her bag harder than she intended, wincing at the sound, and immediately flipped open her laptop.
From her office window, Emily stood watching.
It started with the file. Luke approached with a new folder... just a simple victim timeline update for the case they were working. JJ flipped it open, scanned for all of three seconds, and snapped, “We already covered this yesterday.”
Luke hesitated. “Right, but Garcia just pulled an update and I thought...”
“Great. I’ve got it.” Her voice was sharper than the situation warranted.
An uncomfortable silence followed.
Penelope froze mid-step, her mouth half-open as if she’d been about to say something lighthearted. Instead, she slowly backed out of the bullpen and disappeared toward her lair.
Tara raised one eyebrow but said nothing.
As Emily passed by, she gave JJ a pointed look. “Okay,” she said quietly, “maybe we dial it down by… twenty percent?”
JJ didn’t even look up. “Fine.”
Emily sighed and walked away.
Later, when the team gathered in the roundtable room, JJ was quieter... but colder. Focused. Hyper-efficient. Sharp enough that no one could accuse her of distraction, but all the warmth was gone. Her voice was clipped through the briefing points; she barely glanced up from her notepad.
Emily sat at the edge of the room, watching her like a hawk. Something wasn’t right. JJ didn’t take the muffin Garcia offered. She didn’t react when Tara cracked a half-joke about the suspect’s “raging narcissism.” And when Luke volunteered to check in with a local contact... a task Emily had specifically asked JJ to handle, JJ only gave a noncommittal shrug and a nod without lifting her head.
Across the table, Emily caught Tara’s glance. It said exactly what Emily was already thinking:
Something’s wrong.
Back at her desk, JJ attacked the victim reports with the intensity of someone trying to drown themselves in work. Emily walked over and set a bottle of water beside her. “Drink something, please,” she said gently. “I haven’t seen you eat or drink all day.”
JJ didn’t look up. “I’m tired.”
“You’re snippy.”
JJ’s jaw tightened. “I said I’m tired.”
Emily crossed her arms. “You don’t get to snap at Luke over a paperwork update, act like a ghost in our briefing, and chalk it up to being tired.” Her voice was firm, but quiet enough for only JJ to hear. “Something’s wrong.”
JJ stayed silent.
“Did I do something?”
“No.”
“Are you angry at someone else?”
“No.”
“Are you sick, in pain, or—”
JJ slammed her laptop shut.
“Emily, I swear to God. I said I am fine. I just… I need to focus. And I can’t do that with you standing here asking me a million questions when I’m trying to work.”
Emily blinked, caught off guard. JJ had never spoken to her like that... especially not at work.
“No,” she replied. “You said you’re tired. You’re snapping at everyone, including me. You’re clearly not sleeping. Something’s going on.”
JJ finally looked up.
Her eyes were glassy, her lips pressed tight. She looked like someone trying not to break in public. “I’m just off today,” she whispered. “Can you let me be off?”
“Okay,” Emily said quietly, stepping back. “You can have today.”
JJ didn’t thank her. She just opened her laptop again, and began typing once again.
Later, in the break room, Emily stood alone by the coffee machine. Penelope slipped in behind her, mug in hand. “She’s not okay,” she murmured.
Emily exhaled. “No. She’s not.”
“Any idea what’s going on?”
Emily shook her head. “She’s not telling me, which means it’s bad.”
“You think it’s work? Home?”
“I don’t know,” Emily admitted. “But she’s brittle. I can see it. Like she’s holding her breath.”
“Or holding something,” Penelope said quietly.
“That too. Whatever it is, she’s keeping it locked up and trying not to shatter.”
“You think she’s going to blow before she lets anyone in?”
“I think she’s at crisis point,” Emily said. “And whatever it is, it’s too big to stay contained much longer.”
Penelope didn’t respond. She just reached over and squeezed Emily’s arm. Both of them stood there watching the woman they loved quietly fall apart in plain sight, hoping no one else noticed.
The next morning, her phone rang during the school drop-off run. Unknown number. She silenced it.
It rang again at lunchtime. And again that evening.
By the fourth call, she switched voicemail off entirely.
The oncology clinic sent two follow-up emails and a text. She opened none of them, only reading the preview line in her notifications:
“We’re following up on your biopsy results. Please call to schedule…”
JJ set the phone down on the table, face-first.
She wasn’t ready.
Not to be a cancer patient. Not to see the light drain from Emily’s eyes. Not to explain to Henry what HER2-positive meant, or tell Sophia and Noah why Mommy might not be able to carry them anymore. Not to watch herself disappear, piece by piece.
So she did nothing.
Emily noticed, of course... how JJ was quieter, how she winced when Noah climbed into her lap and bumped her chest, how she’d begun wearing looser tops and changing in the closet instead of their bedroom.
But JJ had perfected deflection.
“Just stressed.”
“Just tired.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Emily didn’t push. Not yet.
On the fifth day, JJ left her phone on the kitchen counter while she ran Sophia’s bath.
It rang again... one of the calls that had been coming all week. JJ had called them spam. Emily, tidying up the kitchen and humming under her breath, glanced at the screen. Unknown Number.
Without thinking, she picked it up.
“Hello?”
“Hi, is this Jennifer Jareau? This is Kelly from Georgetown Cancer Institute. We’ve been trying to reach you about scheduling an appointment. You were referred following biopsy results last week?”
Emily froze.
Cancer Institute. Biopsy. Appointment.
A thousand thoughts collided at once, but all of them landed on one word: cancer.
From the bathroom came the sound of bath toys splashing, Sophia’s giggles mixing with some improvised song.
Emily gripped the counter. “I… yes. She can’t talk right now. I’m her… I’m her wife. I can take a message.”
The woman on the line hesitated, then spoke more gently. “Ah, okay. Could you let her know we’re trying to get in touch? We’ve been calling all week. She needs to schedule an appointment.”
Emily’s throat tightened. “I’ll make sure she gets the message,” she said.
She ended the call and stood there, staring at JJ’s phone.
Cancer institute.
Not a scam call.
Cancer.
We're going down,
And you can see it too.
We're going down,
And you know that we're doomed.
My dear,
We're slow dancing in a burning room.