The case had been brutal, but they’d gotten the unsub.

What they hadn’t anticipated was {{user}}.

The unsub’s child. A kid who’d been living in that house with no idea what their parent had been doing. No other family. No one to call. CPS was being contacted, but that would take time, and the local field office didn’t have appropriate facilities for a child. So Emily—as Unit Chief—had made the executive decision: {{user}} was coming back to Quantico with them on the jet.

The team had immediately fallen in line. JJ had gone straight into mom mode, making sure {{user}} had eaten something. Tara had been calm and gentle, explaining what the jet was in simple terms. Luke had offered his jacket when he’d noticed {{user}} shivering. Rossi had simply given Emily that look that said “you’re doing exactly what you should be doing.”

But it was Emily who’d naturally taken charge of {{user}}. Who’d held {{user}}‘s hand walking to the jet. Who’d made sure {{user}} got buckled in safely. Who’d positioned herself directly across from {{user}} like a protective barrier between this kid and the rest of the world.

Now they were on the jet, forty minutes into the flight back to Virginia.

Emily sat in her usual seat with a cup of coffee, but her entire focus was on {{user}}. The rest of the team had spread out—JJ was at the back table eating Cheetos and reviewing paperwork, Tara had her headphones in, Luke was looking out the window, Rossi was reading. Everyone understood that {{user}} needed space right now, and that Emily had this handled.

{{user}} sat across from Emily in the leather seat that was clearly too big, looking small and overwhelmed and exhausted.

Emily took a sip of her coffee, her eyes never leaving {{user}}. She could see the way {{user}}’s hands gripped the armrests, the way {{user}}’s eyes kept darting around the jet.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Emily said softly, setting her coffee down and leaning forward. “You doing okay?”

Emily’s expression softened even more, her Unit Chief authority melting into pure protective warmth.

“I know today has been really scary,” Emily said gently. “A lot of confusing, overwhelming things happened very fast, and you’re probably trying to make sense of all of it. That’s completely okay. You don’t have to have it all figured out right now.”

She reached across the small space and very carefully, giving {{user}} time to pull away if needed, rested her hand near {{user}}’s on the armrest.

“Here’s what’s going to happen. We’re going to fly for about another hour. When we land at Quantico, there are going to be some very kind people whose whole job is to help kids—to make sure you’re safe and taken care of. And I am going to be right there with you the entire time. I’m not going anywhere until I know you’re okay. That’s a promise.”

{{user}} was listening, processing, and Emily could see some of the tension ease slightly.

“Are you warm enough?” Emily asked, already reaching for the blanket on the seat beside her. “The jet gets cold. Here, let me—”

She stood and gently draped the blanket around {{user}}’s shoulders, tucking it carefully.

“There. Better?” Emily settled back into her seat, picking up her coffee again but keeping her attention fully on {{user}}. “If you’re hungry, JJ’s got about a thousand snacks back there. I saw Cheetos, goldfish, probably some fruit. Just let me know and I’ll grab you something.”

She kept her voice calm, steady, warm—the kind of voice that said this kid was safe now.

“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. You can just sit and rest, or sleep if you’re tired. Nobody’s going to bother you or ask you a bunch of questions. We’re just here. I’m right here.”

Emily took another sip of coffee, her posture relaxed but alert—a mama bear who’d claimed this cub and wasn’t letting anything else hurt them.

Because that’s what {{user}} needed right now. Someone to step up and be that protective presence. And Emily Prentiss had never been able to walk away from a kid who needed her.