Chapter Text
Memories had their own timing, surfacing when you least expected them and hiding when you actually needed them. Usually they ambushed you on perfectly ordinary days when your guard was down and your mind was occupied with something completely unrelated.
Like now, walking with Jane toward what he'd dubbed "the duck park"—though she still wasn't entirely clear on why feeding waterfowl had suddenly become essential to her personal development. Something about it fitting her personality, he'd said, which made about as much sense as most of his observations did until you thought about them too long.
They were passing the usual mix of people you'd find on any weekend afternoon; joggers, families, couples walking dogs, when she caught a fragment of conversation from a red-haired woman walking beside her partner.
"... Open marriage works for us, but it's not for everyone..."
She and Jane turned to look at each other at the same moment, sharing an equal look of bewilderment. Seriously, what were the odds?
And just like that, the memory hit her.
Back to the stillness before the punch. Before the anger that cloaked her relief. Before she could pretend it hadn't meant anything at all.
When he told her that if he were really dying, she'd be the one he'd call. Just her. No big speech, no dramatics. Just a simple truth tucked into his voice like it didn't mean everything.
She'd laughed it off, swallowed the lump in her throat, focused on what came next. She always did that... Moved past what mattered before it could swallow her whole.
In that room, she'd called Cho. Not Rigsby, who would have tried to comfort her with words she couldn't handle hearing. Not Van Pelt, who would have asked gentle questions that would have broken her wide open. But Cho: safe, practical, unbreakable Cho. No emotion, just transmission—orders and goodbye wrapped in a clean line. He wouldn't ask questions she couldn't answer, wouldn't need explanations she couldn't give. Wouldn't say anything that sounded suspiciously like care.
But if she'd been truly alone, if her walls had cracked just enough to let the truth bleed through... It wouldn't have been Cho.
It would've been Jane.
Not because he made her feel safe, because he didn't. He unraveled her, picked her apart with quiet eyes and half-smiles until she was raw and exposed. But somehow, still okay.
Because he'd know. He'd know what she meant when she couldn't get the words out, would listen between the silences, trace the shape of her fear without needing to name it.
"My brothers. The team."
That's all she would've said. All it would've taken.
For anyone else, it wouldn't have been enough. But for him, it would've been a map. He'd have known who to call, what to say, what small tokens to leave behind with each of them. Things she would've chosen herself, if her hands had stopped shaking long enough to pick them.
She hated that he could do that... Carry pieces of her in his mind so easily. And most of all, she hated that it made her feel safe.
He would've known how to say goodbye for her.
And that was likely why she never revisited that memory. Buried it with everything else that required her to be vulnerable in ways she wasn't ready for. Because it meant that somewhere beneath it all, she wanted him there when the air ran out.
And he already was.
She loved him.
The thought came quiet and brutal—uninvited, unasked for. It didn't care about protocol or timing or the mess of who they were to each other. It just was, sharp and sudden like the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.
She'd probably known it for a while, if she was honest. Maybe months. But knowing something and letting yourself know it were different things entirely. And here she was, walking to feed ducks on a perfectly ordinary afternoon, finally allowing the thought to exist without immediately shoving it back into whatever locked compartment she'd been keeping it in.
The timing was absurd. No dramatic moment, no life-or-death revelation. Just her hand in his and the mundane realization that this was what happiness felt like—quiet, steady, surprisingly simple.
"I love you."
The words slipped out before she could stop them, soft but seismic, falling through every crack in the walls she'd built brick by brick around her heart.
Even so, her mind lit up panic—rational thought slamming every alarm it could find. Stupid. Reckless. Too much. But somewhere deeper, quieter, that old raw place she'd spent years hiding behind sarcasm and distance felt something else entirely.
Relief.
She watched him closely. His smile didn't falter... Quite the opposite. It grew wider, warmer. Not smug or victorious. Just full. His eyes held something gentle, something she rarely let herself believe in.
Three words. Three syllables. So small. It took so little to make him happy.
He didn't say anything at first. He didn't need to. She could see it in his face—he'd known. Maybe not when, maybe not how, but he'd known she'd get there eventually.
And he'd waited.
She needed to lighten this moment or she'd weep right there in public, and that wasn't her.
"Well." Her voice came out dry, a little shaky. "Guess I finally said it."
Jane grinned. "You did."
"Don't make it weird."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
"Yeah, right." She clasped his hand tighter, fingers wrapping around his like a lifeline. "You live to make things weird."
His thumb brushed gently against hers. "Only with you."
She snorted, an unguarded, genuine sound that surprised them both.
"I'm serious," he said, voice softer now.
She rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered. "Yeah, I know. You just like having the last word."
He grinned, not denying it.
And for once, she let him have it.
She did it. She'd said the words and the seas didn't boil and the sky didn't fall.