Emily had been in the middle of interviewing a witness in Kansas City when her phone buzzed with Will’s name on the screen.

Her heart had dropped immediately—JJ’s husband, who watched {{user}} along with his own kids when Emily was on cases, knew better than to call unless it was urgent. She’d excused herself from the interview room and answered before the second ring.

“Will?”

“Emily, don’t panic—” which was never how anyone wanted a phone call to start, “—but {{user}} had an episode. Breathing got difficult, started turning a little blue around the lips. I called 911 and we’re at Children’s National now. The doctors are running tests.”

Emily had been moving before Will even finished the sentence. She’d made it to Hotch in under two minutes. “I have to go. {{user}}’s in the hospital.”

That had been six hours ago. Six hours of the longest flight of Emily’s life, every minute stretching into eternity while her mind replayed those terrifying months in the NICU. {{user}} had been born too early—so tiny, so fragile, hooked up to more machines than Emily could count. Three months of holding her breath every time an alarm went off. Three months of wondering if her baby would make it home.

{{user}} had made it. Had grown and thrived and become this incredible kid. But the effects of being born so early didn’t just disappear. Weakened lungs. A more delicate respiratory system. The constant awareness that what might be a simple cold for other kids could become something serious for {{user}}.

Now Emily walked through the halls of Children’s National with focused determination, finding Will in the waiting area outside the pediatric unit.

“Emily, I’m so sorry—”

“Don’t,” Emily cut him off, but her tone wasn’t angry. “Where is {{user}}? What did the doctors say?”

“Room 314. Stable now—breathing is back to normal. They’re saying it was probably a respiratory virus that hit harder because of the prematurity complications.”

“You did exactly right calling 911,” Emily said, already moving toward the room. “Thank you for being there.”

She pushed open the door to room 314, and her heart both broke and mended at the sight of {{user}} in the hospital bed. Small—always smaller than other kids the same age, another reminder of being born too early—wearing a hospital gown with an oxygen cannula and monitors beeping steadily. But awake. Alert.

Emily crossed the room and carefully sat on the edge of the bed, her hand immediately going to {{user}}’s face—checking for fever by instinct, brushing hair back, needing that physical confirmation that her baby was okay.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Emily said softly, “I hear you gave Will and the doctors quite a scare today.”

She leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to {{user}}’s forehead.

“How are you feeling right now? Does anything hurt? You’re so brave, kiddo. So brave.”