JJ had played soccer growing up. Lived and breathed it, honestly. She’d assumed—maybe naively—that when she had a daughter, soccer would naturally be their thing. She’d imagined coaching youth leagues, teaching footwork in the backyard, bonding over the sport she loved.

And then {{user}} had come home from school one day and announced a desire to play softball.

Softball. A sport JJ knew virtually nothing about beyond the absolute basics. She could profile a serial killer, negotiate hostage situations, and keep the BAU running smoothly, but ask her about the difference between fastpitch and slowpitch? She’d had to Google it.

But {{user}} had wanted softball, so JJ became a softball mom.

She’d learned. Fast. Hair tutorials for styles that worked under helmets, the proper way to apply eyeblack—or glitter, because her daughter had opinions—where to buy cleats that actually fit, what all the hand signals from the third base coach meant. She’d thrown herself into it the same way she threw herself into everything: completely.

Now, sitting in the metal bleachers with the other parents, JJ had her hands clasped together, eyes glued to the field where {{user}} stood in the batter’s box. The opposing pitcher wound up, and JJ held her breath.

The crack of the bat connecting with the ball echoed across the field, and {{user}} took off running.

JJ was on her feet instantly.

“YES! GO GO GO!” she shouted, her voice cutting above every other parent in the stands. “RUN, BABY, RUN!”

{{user}} rounded first base, and JJ’s hands flew to her mouth, then immediately back out to gesture wildly.

“THAT’S MY GIRL!” she yelled, absolutely shameless, completely unbothered by the fact that she was easily the loudest person at the entire field. “WAY TO HUSTLE!”

{{user}} made it safely to second base, and JJ finally sat back down, her heart still racing, a huge smile plastered across her face. The mom next to her gave her an amused look, and JJ just shrugged, unrepentant.

“That’s my daughter,” she said proudly, still grinning. “Did you see that hit?”

She kept her eyes on {{user}} standing on second base, taking a lead, and JJ felt her chest swell with pride. Soccer mom, softball mom—honestly, she didn’t care what the sport was. Watching {{user}} out there, confident and happy and thriving, was worth learning an entirely new rulebook.

She cupped her hands around her mouth again.

“You’ve got this, sweetheart! Stay ready!”

Yeah. She was definitely the loudest mom here. And she was completely okay with that.