baby, please come home | jennifer jareau
summary: jj goes through her first christmas without will.
word count: 2.2k
cw: angst/hurt, yes i wrote a sad fic for christmas sue me
After the loss of her husband, JJ had many moments where the grief was almost gone. Moments where her boys came home with good grades, moments where Henry and Michael played catch in the backyard, moments where they almost felt like a full family with just the three of them.
And then there were the moments where it all hit her at once, just like the first time the doctor said those dreaded words. These occurances had been lessening as the months passed, the sharp pang of his death slowly ebbing into a soreness that settled in her bones like it had always been there. She got wrapped back up into work, focussing her attention on anything but the pain she knew would never fully disappear.
What she had not prepared for was the hurt that would come with the holiday season. It had been nearly two decades since she had spent Christmas without Will, and now, suddenly, he was gone, leaving her to manage everything alone once again. Before she met him, she could make do with some small gifts for her coworkers and takeout, but now she had two children relying on her to make the day magical.
She was also keenly aware that this would be Henry’s last Christmas before going off to college. Another loss to add to the pile that had been gathering since she was eleven.
It was late November when the first wave of pain unexpectedly washed up in her heart. She was on her way home from work, Christmas music on the radio, background noise to ward off the silence. The music came to the forefront, suddenly, when Baby Please Come Home came through the crackling station.
The snow’s coming down, I’m watching it fall. Lot’s of people around. Baby, please come home.
Tiny flakes land on her windshield as she pointedly tries not to listen, tapping into her usual routine of ignoring the emotions that threaten to overwhelm her.
They're singing "Deck the Halls", but it's not like Christmas at all.
The lyrics feel far too true for her. The holiday songs on the radio had been droning on since Thanksgiving, the cheery tunes irking her with every bright lyric. Everything had felt that way since Will died, the happiness of others almost ironic in contrast to her own heart.
‘Cause I remember when you were here and all the fun we had last year.
Her hands clench tighter around the wheel, the drive feeling longer than ever. She feels that bubbling in her chest, the one that tells her the carefully crafted protective shell is slowly cracking.
It had been months since she last let the emotions bleed through, and she nearly believed the worst of the pain had passed. But here she was, driving home on a cold night, salty tears gathering on her waterline.
She gives herself one small allowance, letting the tears fall until the song ends. When the notes fade out, she takes a shuddering breath, willing herself to be put back together again. Her eyes are dry by the time she pulls into the garage. She pulls down the sunvisor, sliding open the mirror to make sure the kids won’t notice any signs of sadness. Satisfied, she grabs her back and walks inside to the two of them doing homework on the couch.
“Hey, boys. Hungry for dinner?”
They both call out affirming her question. She goes to the kitchen, making something simple. On the nights where she worked late, Will would always be the one to make dinner. It was an agreement that applied for both of them, the one who wasn’t working making sure the house was in order.
When she finishes up, she sets the food down on the table, everyone gathering in their usual seats. She still doesn’t have the heart to take the fourth chair away.
Her sons chatter on about their school days, debating who has to do the dishes after the meal. She almost tunes out of the conversation when Michael speaks up.
“When are we putting the Christmas tree up?”
She pauses, considering his question. “We’ll do it soon,” is the best answer she can give. “Some weekend when I don’t have work.”
The youngest boy seems satiated by this response, going back to his ranting about some project he’s working on at school.
In that moment, JJ realizes she’s never even put up her own tree. Frankly, she doesn’t even know how to tie it to the car in the right way. It had always been Will’s job to choose the perfect one at the lot, secure it to the car, and put it up in the living room.
That night, when both of the boys are asleep, she pulls up a video of instructions on how to put a Christmas tree up without getting needles everywhere.
It’s December by the time she has a free weekend to go to the tree farm. She gathers the boys, loading them up and driving them to the lot they always go to. Walking through the rows of firs, she tries to remember the characteristics Will always looked for when shopping.
Henry saves her when he points to one, mentioning something about color and sturdiness. Once it’s cut down and wrapped up, the three of them carry it to the car. She almost puts it up on the roof the wrong way before Michael reminds her that the stem faces forward. She does the best to secure it with the bungee cords that have been sitting in the trunk since last year.
The ties last the drive, and she parks in the driveway. The boys insist on carrying it themselves, Henry doing most of the heavy lifting but not complaining for the sake of his brother. JJ watches as they carry it in, setting it up on the stand like Will always used to do.
As they arrange it over the tree skirt, it dawns on her how much the two had learned from their father without her realizing it. Each of them had inherited some of his traits, and now she realized they’d inherited his knowledge, as well.
She doesn’t realize her eyes are watering until she notices her sons are staring at her.
“Mom, are you alright?”
She blinks away the dampness. “Yeah, yeah," she says, thinking of an excuse. “You’re both just growing up too fast.”
They both laugh softly at the comment. They’ve heard it probably a hundred times before. In their laughter, they pull her into a hug, sandwiching their mother between them. She holds them for longer than she needs to, feeling the warmth of her boys, tangible mementos of her late husband.
They break away and start to decorate the tree. When Michael tries to reach the top, he gives a small jump, before Henry lifts him up to reach the top.
Another job that used to be Will’s. Of course, the tallest in the house would lift him up to reach the top. And the tallest used to be Will.
JJ has to leave the room at that, busying herself with other things that need to be done. She goes to her room, wrapping up the gifts she bought.
She was never great with shopping for boys. She simply could never catch onto what they wanted. It was always Will’s job to tell her what was popular with kids these days. Without him around, she consulted all the gift guides she could find online, scrolling through hours of social media for a hint. Her only saving grace was the text she sent to Hotch, who informed her what teenage boys are interested in.
So many jobs were his. They always insisted on splitting eqaully, and now that he's gone, she's left realizing much another half is.
She waits until Christmas night to set out the gifts. Michael is probably getting too old to believe in Santa, but she can’t help but hope. In the glow of the lights on the tree at midnight, she finds herself sitting down to take in the chill of the night air.
She swears she didn’t used to be this cold. Sure, Will was there to hold her at night when it snowed, but most of the time, she was bundled in the same jackets she still owns. But she’s freezing all the time now. Maybe the hurt of losing the love of her life is chilling her from the inside out.
She toys with one of the ornaments on the tree as she loses herself in her thoughts. Baby’s First Christmas it says, a figure of a stork holding a blue bundle. Will had bought it for her as an apology for being gone near the holidays, delivering it on Christmas Eve when he wad fresh off a flight. It feels so long ago that he handed it to her– seventeen years now. And the baby that was celebrating their first Christmas just a few short years ago is now spending their last one at home before going off to college.
It’s not fair, she decides. It’s not fair to have loss in so many different forms.
Tears fall freely down her cheeks. She's never had to set this up before, never had to make the season magical without someone else’s help. She knew she could do it. She was always her own person, often independent to a fault. Despite that stubborn self-determination, Will had been there, as a confidant, as a coparent, as a counselor. And suddenly, in one moment, it was gone, and she was just as alone as she was on that night she found Roslyn in that tub.
She’s had to do it all alone this year, managing two boys with a job that keeps her from being home as much as she should be. She had to help Henry with college applications, finding a place for him to spread his wings in a world that had changed so much in so little time. For both boys, she had to guide them through grieving a man she didn’t know how to live without.
Before she knows it, an hour has passed of tears under the tree, the bright colors mocking her sorrow. She gives the gifts one last look before heading to bed, falling into a restless sleep.
The morning comes as it has for the past few months, with her waking up to sunlight instead of a kiss on the forehead. She makes her usual breakfast of cinnamon rolls. Every tradition required a debate on whether or not it should continue after Will’s death. They get placed into little piles based on the pain they’d bring if they were skipped, measured against the pain of doing them with an empty space. The breakfast stayed.
The boys wake up in their usual flurry, the noise of their conversations floating down the halls before they reach her. JJ is grateful for a break from the quiet that had blanketed her life like the snow covering her home.
Presents are opened as the rolls rise in the oven. The boys love their gifts, even though the label says From Mom instead of From Mom and Dad this year.
Eating breakfast, JJ can’t help but smile as her boys laugh with each other. In all of her grief, there’s always joy. Of course, the joy she felt with Will is the reason she’s feeling so much pain. There’s no escape from mourning deeply for a person who loves like she does.
She may not ever have her husband back, but she has her boys with his smile and the chance to watch them walk into a world as their own people. Michael and Henry may never have their father back, but they have their mother who’s made up of the love Will gave her and all the things they’ve learned from him about how to manage a life that’s been fragmented.
JJ begins to see Christmas differently, then. Not as a time to be forcefully happy or a pressure to be perfect, but as a time to take stock of the things she’s loved and lost. From now on, all of her holidays will be spent without Will, an empty chair that might never be put up in the attic. All the while, she gets to see a year of growth in her sons and the smiles they have as they flick frosting at each other.
Maybe tonight she'll go into their rooms to hold them through tears, their small bodies having too little room for all the love they have for a man who they'd never see again. It doesn't matter now. She'll ride the waves of the emotions all of them are feeling because she knows better than anyone how grief can switch laughter to pain in seconds.
Leaning back on the counter, she feels the magic that had been hiding from her all season. It’s the magic of her children, of the pride she takes in her job, in all she’s created from her own hands. And, ever so slightly, she begins to get the feeling that the three of them, and the three of them alone, are more than enough of a family.
