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They need me here anyways, Emery tells herself as she wanders the ED, subtly but unsubtly looking for her girlfriend. It’s a chaotic mess as usual, the sounds of patients crying and doctors barking orders making her ears ring within seconds. They didn’t have any of this upstairs in surgery, tended to frown at people who dared to even drop an instrument and disrupt the quiet.
It was jarring, really, to step out of the elevator and be hit in the face by a blast of commotion that could’ve been avoided if Robby eventually managed to run his department with a little more… firmness, to say the least. She hated coming down here for exactly that reason – and because she often had to suffocate the anger she felt at just the mere sight of him – but Samira was worth the momentary discomfort.
She can hear his voice now, yelling from a room just a few feet down the hall. She wanders closer, curious to see who his poor victim is this time.
“Is this a panic attack because of your mommy issues?”
Emery can hear the crystal-clear mockery in his tone, and she raises an eyebrow. There was no justifying speaking to anyone like that, especially as someone in a position of authority. She'd often thought that Robbie was slightly unfit for the role, considering the things she’d heard on more than one occasion, but she kept her mouth shut and opinions hidden, knowing they wouldn't be welcomed by most of her colleagues.
Emery freezes just outside the door when she hears the person’s response, a defensive “what? No!” that has her ears pricking up at the familiarity of the voice. It sounds… fuck. Samira? She’d normally recognize her voice anywhere, but it sounds so different now, so much smaller and so unlike Samira that Emery has no way of truly knowing. She presses her back to the wall just next to the doorway, keeping herself hidden until she’s sure. Every instinct is screaming at her to go in there just in case she’s right, but Emery Walsh is nothing if not deliberate, even when her heart is about to win over her head.
But her heart hurts at the thought of Samira having a panic attack and being all alone, being so scared because she’s never had one before. And to be met with a reaction like Robby’s when all she should be receiving is compassion and understanding makes it even worse, feels like a suckerpunch to Emery’s gut at the visual of it all.
“Jesus. Do you need to go home? You should go home.” Robby’s voice is even more mocking now, sickly sweet with faux care just barely hiding the derision in it. Emery forces herself to take a deep breath, hands squeezing into fists at the urge to take a swing. She had strong feelings when it came to Robby's unusual leadership style, but that was fine. They worked in two different departments with opposing views, of course they'd disagree. But this, speaking to anyone with such disrespect, was more than just a difference in opinion. This was borderline harassment.
“No, I'm fine,” maybe-Samira protests, words full of desperate panic. Emery's heart twists and shatters. There’s no doubt about it anymore – it was definitely her girlfriend, the woman she was in love with just six months into their relationship but hadn't had the balls to say it out loud to. There’s something beyond anger rising in her now, something that feels like a stronger version of protectiveness than she’s ever felt for anyone. It should catch her off guard, but it doesn’t; she’s sure about this, is so incredibly sure about Samira in a way that just feels right.
She steps into the doorways just as Robby speaks again, not catching sight of her standing there just yet.
“I don't need the fucking liability. Go home. And the rest of you, the last time I checked, the ED is a shit show. So let's all get back to work, huh?”
“Hey,” Emery finally says, crossing her arms. Her tone is even more chilly and hard than usual, gaze sweeping across the room and over Robby's shocked expression as he turns around, over Samira's surprise and relief at seeing Emery. “What’s going on here?”
“Nothing,” Robby says, recovering fairly quickly from his shock at being overheard berating someone. “Just telling Dr Mohan she should go home if she isn’t feeling well.”
“Oh?”
Robby takes that as his sign to continue. “Not that a panic attack is an excuse to leave early, but we don’t need to be dragged down on a day like today.”
Emery narrows her eyes, stepping further into the room until she’s standing next to where Samira sits on the bed. “Excuse me?”
“Ridiculous, I know,” Robby agrees, glancing over at her and misinterpreting her narrowed eyes – something everyone else normally took as a sign to steer clear or watch their words – as her annoyance being directed at Samira. The realization that Robby couldn’t even comprehend the idea of himself ever being wrong is so insane that it just makes Emery more furious, white-knuckling the edge of the bed in an attempt to stifle her fury.
“No,” Emery snaps. “No, you know what’s ridiculous? You harassing a resident for simply being human. We all have issues, Robby, and it is beyond fucking awful of you to say the things I heard. Mommy issues, really? That’s incredibly low of you.” She pauses to catch her breath despite being on a roll, glancing over at Samira and nodding at her in silent reassurance that everything’s okay.
“Dr Mohan is probably the best one down here, better than all of us. And you know why? Because she takes the time to see her patients as people. I will never understand why that pisses you off, nor will I ever try to. But at the very least, you owe her basic human decency even though you apparently aren’t capable of that, not yelling at her in front of her colleagues because she doesn't believe in stuffing her baggage down and repressing her feelings the way you do.”
Robby’s still gaping at her, at a loss for words in a way that would normally send a wave of satisfaction through Emery but now only fuels her anger.
She turns to look at Samira, ducking her head and shifting her body so she’s the only thing in view. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” Samira nods, trying to paste a smile onto her face but just looking so tired and sad and hurt that it drives an arrow through Emery’s heart. She hasn’t seen Samira since they drove in together this morning, has been slammed with back-to-back surgeries all day, but maybe if she’d stopped by a few hours ago to check in, none of this would've happened. Maybe she would’ve been able to help with whatever was stressing Samira out or at the least been able to offer a moment of calm. “Yeah, I’m okay, just… I thought it was a heart attack and now I feel so stupid.”
“I know,” Emery murmurs, clenching her hands at her sides to avoid reaching out to touch Samira the way she so desperately wants to, remembering where they are and who’s around. “I know that was probably really scary, but you’re not stupid, okay? Your brain just thought of the worst thing and ran with it. I’m here now, Mira. I got you.”
She keeps her voice as low as possible, both because Samira needs her right now and because what they have is nobody else’s business. Just a few more months and people other than HR could know, but until then a resident and attending seeing each other would have to be kept under wraps. And Emery understands how much is at stake, she does, but there’s days like today where all she wants is to be able to hold Samira, to touch her in ways that are beyond professional. She wants to scream from the rooftops that the incredibly smart and gorgeous and caring Samira Mohan is hers, but she can’t, because it would fuck things up for both of them and she would hate herself for ever doing that to Samira.
Samira nods shakily, shoulders dropping as she exhales. Emery straightens, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder and leaving her hand there as the grounding point of contact she knows they both need. It’s the least she can offer, just barely pushing professional norms but fuck it, she’d sooner hurt the world than deny Samira anything.
“I think you’ve done enough, Robinavitch.” The use of his entire last name is intentional, a clear sign of how she feels about him right now. “I’d appreciate a moment with Dr Mohan, if you don’t mind?” She glares at him in the way she would usually save for Abbot, beyond frustrated that a grown man with a fucking medical degree can be so obtuse and blind to others.
“Alone,” she clarifies sharply when no one makes any move to leave, sweeping her glare across the room. Langdon has the grace to look chastised, being the first to move towards the door and head out. It seems to be the push everyone else needs, quickly following suit with Robby being the last one still there.
He opens his mouth as if to say something but closes it at the look on Emery's face, instead turning on his heel and walking out, pulling the door shut behind him.
Emery sits on the edge of the bed and moves her hand so it’s now cupping Samira's face, brow furrowing with concern when Samira's nose twitches in the way it does when she’s about to cry.
“Honey,” she says softly, and that’s enough for Samira to choke out a sob and launch herself forward, face pressing into Emery’s shoulder and fingers gripping the fabric of her scrubs. She shakes with silent sobs, and Emery can feel the dampness seeping through as heavy tears fall.
“I’m here,” Emery murmurs into Samira's hair, realizing her reaction is an aftershock of both the panic attack and Robby’s outburst. She knows the world is a cruel place, but it still baffles her as to how anyone can look at her endlessly caring and dedicated girlfriend and choose anything but kindness. She runs her fingers through the ends of Samira's loose curls, using the repetitiveness to silently soothe her in the way she knows words won’t right now.
Samira’s sobs eventually slow into muffled hiccups, and she curls further into Emery like she’s trying to escape the world, retreating towards the only person she knows will protect her.
“Better?” Emery asks, curling her arm around Samira's shoulders. She uses her other hand to brush hair away from Samira's tear-soaked face, dampness transferring onto Emery's fingers as she tips Samira's face up so their eyes meet.
“I’m fine,” Samira whispers, looking so entirely not-fine that Emery has to press her lips together to hold in her argument. Being as perceptive as she is, Samira can sense this, covering Emery's hand with hers where it sits on her shoulder. “Seriously, Em, you being here makes everything better.”
“Okay,” Emery exhales, the fight leaving her as she searches Samira's face and finds determination and sureness hidden behind the overwhelming exhaustion. “Do you want to go home?”
“I can’t,” Samira protests, pulling back to sit criss-cross and taking both of Emery's hands in hers. “You know it’s crazy today and -”
“Mira,” Emery interrupts gently. “Hey. That wasn’t my question. You want to go home, I’ll make it happen.”
“Yes,” Samira mumbles, dropping her head forward, too embarrassed to meet Emery's eyes and see the overwhelming storm of care and kindness in them. “But it’s fine, it’s just two more hours -”
“Okay.”
“Okay?” Samira echoes, head snapping up as her face scrunches in confusion.
Emery smiles gently, cupping Samira's cheek. “Yeah, I’ll take you home. They can live without me for today.”
“You don’t have to,” Samira says quietly, wrapping her arms around herself. Her face has gone blank in the way it does when she’s trying not to expect things from people, to not take up space or be too much, something that frustrates Emery to no end. She often wants to grab Samira's shoulders and shake her until it’s clear that there isn’t anything that’ll make her leave, that this is it for her. But that would be too much too soon, and so she holds back.
“I’ll be fine,” Samira continues, forcing a smile even as there’s obvious exhaustion in her eyes. “I can hold out until 7, you don’t need to worry about me.”
Emery recognizes this for what it is: Samira pushing her away because she feels too vulnerable and exposed, too uncomfortable with someone trying to take care of her when she’s always prided herself on her independence.
She forces herself to soften her expression before she speaks, knowing Samira will only run if she comes on too strong.
“I know you can,” Emery says carefully. “And it’s entirely your choice. But we haven’t seen each other much lately, and I… I miss you. Maybe this is what we both need, just grabbing food on the way home and spending the night on the couch?”
Samira’s face tightens, and for a second Emery thinks she's lost. But then Samira huffs out a defeated laugh, the sound like CPR to Emery’s dying heart.
“Fine, you win,” Samira says, shaking her head as if in disbelief that she's really giving in this quickly. “I’ve missed you too, but that was a dirty move and you know it, Em.”
Emery snorts, grinning like she’s just won the lottery and maybe it’s a bit much but fuck it, because right now it does feel like she’s won something. “The end justifies the means, y’know.”
“Now, give me fifteen minutes to figure things out so we can leave?”
Samira nods and Emery moves to stand, unable to make it too far with Samira still holding onto her. It melts Emery’s heart — she'd previously thought it was icy and frozen solid, but oh, her cold heart had been no match for Samira — and she leans down to press a kiss to Samira’s forehead, inhaling the faint scent of her perfume, something soft and sweet that sticks to her own clothes in a constant and dizzying reminder when they’re apart.
“Mira, I need you to let go.” She doesn’t want to leave either, but the sooner she figures out a way for them both to go home, the sooner they can actually leave. So she tries again: “Sweetheart, please?”
“You promise you'll come back?” Samira’s voice is barely above a whisper, her need for reassurance winning out over the instinct to be strong all the time.
“I promise,” Emery murmurs, dipping to kiss Samira and letting herself melt into it for a moment before pulling back. “Always, baby. I’m not going anywhere.” It’s the closest she’ll get to a declaration of her true feelings today without risking scaring Samira off, so she takes the chance, puts her entire heart into those four words.
Samira looks like she wants to argue with that statement, but instead nods slightly and squeezes Emery's hand once before letting go.
“Okay. I’ll be here, then.”
Emery moves towards the door, pulling it open and pausing. “Call me if you need anything. I mean it.”
“I’ll be fine for a few minutes, Em,” Samira says, rolling her eyes. “But yeah, I’ll call. Now go.”
Exactly 14 minutes later, Emery’s stepping back through the doorway of the room, holding a bundle of fabric. She tosses it at Samira, who catches it and frowns back confusedly.
“What’s this?”
“Clothes,” Emery responds, grinning when Samira's frown only deepens at the vague answer. “You don’t want to leave in scrubs, do you?”
“Well, no, but…”
“Get dressed.” Emery closes the door and steps in front of the glass panel to block them from view. “Also, chinese for dinner? Or we could do pizza.”
“You pick,” Samira says, her voice muffled through the hoodie she’s pulling over her head. “I can’t think right now.”
“You sure?”
Samira tugs the hoodie down fully, fiddling with the hem for a moment before finally looking up. She looks smaller than before – whether from the exhaustion catching up to her or just the oversized hoodie drowning her frame – but still levels an are you fucking kidding me look at Emery.
“I just said so, didn’t I?” There’s a slight edge to her voice, the tone of someone who is tired of having to repeat every decision they make, of having to justify things instead of just being taken for their word when they’re barely running on fumes as it is. She tucks her hands into the hoodie’s sleeves, wrapping her arms around her body loosely like she’s trying to find even just the tiniest bit of comfort in the action.
Emery looks at Samira for a long moment, studying her in the way she’s learned to while being with someone who refuses to admit any kind of weakness. She can see the internal debate in Samira's eyes, trying to decide whether to drop her walls and accept comfort the way she so desperately wants or to keep her defenses up and avoid the possibility of getting hurt, despite how irrational the fear may be. She can see the tight set of Samira's shoulders, holding herself together and trying not to fall apart even as she’s on the verge of drooping.
“Okay,” Emery says finally. “Okay. I’m sorry for pushing. Come on, I’ll order once we’re in the car.” She holds a hand out to Samira, stepping closer and just holding it there, both in open invitation and a silent communication that says you’re safe.
Samira eyes her for a second, restarting that internal debate as she glances between Emery's face and her waiting hand. Finally, she takes it in hers, first hesitantly then more sure, gripping it like it’s the only thing holding her up.
Emery starts moving towards the door, has a hand on the doorknob before she realizes Samira isn’t following. She pivots slightly to glance behind her, turning fully to see Samira just standing there and staring at the wall.
“Hey, what’s wrong?”
Samira startles and blinks at her, slightly dazed. She shakes her head, forcing a smile. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
Emery opens her mouth to press further but remembers the reaction she’d gotten last time. She nods instead, trying to soften her face into something less worried. “Okay.”
Samira allows herself to be tugged along, shutting her brain off in the way she only ever feels safe doing with Emery. It’s the reason she has a strong feeling that this is for real this time, not something that fizzles out after a few months like all her other relationships. Emery is steady and caring and wants her in a way that’s so entirely new, wants her around even if it’s just grocery shopping or sitting on the balcony together after a long shift.
They're at the elevator soon, stepping in when it opens. Samira doesn't relinquish her grip on Emery's hand, scared that if she lets go she won’t let herself take it again. She can feel Emery's always observant gaze on the side of her face, trying to catalogue every shift and every minuscule twitch of her facial muscles like it’s the answer to a puzzle she can’t solve.
It makes Samira feel stripped to the bone, entirely seen in a way no one’s ever seen her before. She tips sideways to lean her head on Emery's shoulder, both out of habit and in a half-assed attempt to stop the careful study that makes her feel too exposed.
The elevator stops at the garage, and Emery tugs her forwards, over to her car – a maroon Jeep that had taken Samira months to get used to – and opening the passenger side door. She doesn't release her hold on Samira yet, instead caging her in with a hand on the door while dark and perceptive eyes sweep over her face once again.
“Still good?”
Samira opens her mouth to snap, scared of being seen and held so intentionally. The words are on the tip of her tongue, the ones she knows push people away because no one ever wants to stay with someone who won’t let them, but she sees the softness in Emery's eyes, the genuine concern and worry flooding them as she waits patiently for a response.
“Yeah,” she says instead. “Just tired.” The words feel strange and heavy on her tongue, a conscious effort to be honest and not default to pretending she’s fine. Tired is usually the response she reaches for when anything else feels too hard to explain, but she finds that it’s true this time. She is tired, tired of holding herself together, tired of fighting being taken care of. And god knows Emery's tried, being as patient as she is, but people are only willing to try for so long before they get annoyed and leave.
The thought of that happening terrifies Samira to the core. She wants something real with Emery, wants gentle fingers running through her hair and muffled giggles in the kitchen at midnight and curling up on the couch together on lazy days off. Losing her would be the end of everything, because the way Emery holds her is the most soft and tender thing she’s ever had.
She’d lost hope in the concept of love – yes, love, because fuck it, she loves Emery Walsh even if she’s not ready to admit it out loud yet – until six months ago, when Emery had shyly asked her out for breakfast after a night shift where she’d found out it was Samira’s birthday. They'd spent the entire morning together, hands just barely brushing until Emery had tangled their fingers together and kissed Samira on the cheek in the lobby of her apartment when they were saying goodbye.
So she’s willing to try her hand at honesty if it means Emery staying, if it means a future for them. She wants this more than she’s ever wanted anything, knows that letting what they have slip through her fingers – all because she's too scared of being sliced open – would be incredibly stupid.
Emery just smiles gently. She cups Samira's jaw with the hand that had been on the door, thumb swiping over her cheek in soothing repetition that Samira allows herself the pleasure of leaning into. “I know, honey. We’re gonna grab food and head home, okay? And then I’m all yours until tomorrow.”
Samira responds by leaning forward and pressing her lips to Emery's, a messy and terribly angled open-mouthed kiss that they both melt into. Emery adjusts with the hand on Samira's jaw, licking and biting until she pulls back so their lips are just brushing each other, exchanging heavy breaths and dopey grins.
“I needed that,” Samira admits quietly, grin fading into something smaller and more hesitant. “And I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier. You were just trying to help.”
Emery shakes her head. “You’re allowed to have feelings, sweetheart. You don’t need to pretend with me, and I don’t want you to. Besides, if a mean surgeon can’t take it, I doubt anyone can.”
Samira huffs out a laugh at that, pressing a final kiss to Emery's lips and then her nose before hoisting herself up onto the passenger seat. Emery stands there for a second, stunned, before shutting the door. She tosses their bags into the backseat and rounds the car to the driver's seat, hopping in and pulling her phone out of her pocket.
She swipes at the screen with her left hand, reaching over to tangle her other with Samira's between them. She hums under her breath as she scrolls, simply having to find their last order and pay for it.
“Okay,” she says, tucking her phone away into the side compartment on the door. “Ready?”
When Emery glances over at the lack of response, she finds Samira curled up against the passenger door, legs tucked up under her. Something fond squeezes at her heart the way it does every single time with the realization that this wonderful person is hers, as long as she doesn’t mess things up.
She pulls out of the garage and onto the road, laughing quietly under her breath at Samira's ability to fall asleep anywhere and anytime, casting quick glances over every so often to make sure she hasn’t woken Samira up by accident.
They’re at her apartment and parked just 20 minutes later, after a quick stop to pick up their order on the way. “Mira, honey. We're home.”
Samira blinks up at her sleepily, making Emery's chest tighten in response. “Go away,” she grumbles, batting Emery's hand away where it’s reaching for her.
“Come on,” Emery coaxes, fighting a grin at Samira's grumpiness. “We're almost there. Just gotta get to the elevator.” Still grumbling under her breath, Samira slides out of the car, shutting the door behind her.
“You owe me later,” Samira says, still glaring at Emery but reaching out to intertwine their fingers together and letting herself be led towards the elevator.
“Anything you want, Mira.”
“Anything?” Samira asks sweetly, raising an eyebrow suggestively and laughing at Emery's responding blush.
“Almost anything,” Emery corrects, shaking her head fondly as she leads them into the elevator, hitting the button for her floor and pressing Samira up against the wall. “My pretty girl,” she murmurs, leaning up to kiss Samira's cheek, trailing down to her neck and just over her pounding pulse.
“What happened to almost?” Samira jokes weakly, tilting her head back against the wall.
“Fuck almost.” Emery relocates her focus to Samira’s lips and stops barely a centimeter away. “You can have anything you want, honey.” She kisses Samira fiercely, moving a hand to the back of her neck to tangle in her roots and gently tilt her head, tracing Samira's lips with the tip of her tongue in a barely-there touch.
She knows what she just said, but the sight of Samira standing there with messy curls and sleep-heavy eyes was too much for her to handle. It activated an urge in her that she just had to follow, turned her into a hungry and wanting mess only made stronger by the way Samira looked at her with a version of the same expression.
And fuck, she was a strong woman, but for Samira Mohan… well, all that went out the window. She figured it was what happened when you'd been pining over someone for the better part of two years, and she’d made her peace with the fact that she had turned into a hopeless loser in love despite all her determination not to.
“Emery,” Samira breathes, pulling back just the tiniest amount. “Don't start something you can’t finish.”
Emery simply smirks up at her, taking her hand again and tugging her out of the open elevator. “Who said I'm starting anything?”
Samira stops behind her, jaw dropping in shock. “You’re evil,” she whispers, wide-eyed and shaking her head incredulously. “Fucking tease.” Her tone is fond despite the words, mouth widening into a slow smile.
Emery simply shrugs in response, smirk stretching into a grin of her own as she yanks on Samira's hand. “Come on, I'm starving.”
“So was I," Samira deadpans, watching Emery fish around for her keys and unlock the door. “But my evil girlfriend just had to cut that short.”
Emery cackles, the sound filling the apartment. “Save the dramatics, Mira. All good things come with patience.”
They kick off their shoes and move to the kitchen, where Samira hops onto a stool and slumps over as Emery unpacks the food and sets it out on the counter. It’s their usual order of fried rice, sweet and sour chicken, and shrimp spring rolls. With both their crazy schedules, they end up doing takeout at least once a week, much to Emery's chagrin. She would rather cook at home, but by the time she clocks out and gets home, the only thing she has the energy for is crawling into bed.
“You want some water?”
Samira startles out of the sleep she’d been drifting into, blinking up dazedly. “Yeah,” she says, sitting up straighter. “Thanks.”
Emery slides a glass across, watching as Samira chugs half down. Once she’s satisfied her girlfriend isn’t at a risk of passing out, she leans back against the counter behind her and fidgets with her own glass.
“Do you wanna eat now or in a bit?”
Samira yawns, stretching her neck as she thinks. “Later, if that’s okay. Can we…” she hesitates, running her finger along the glass’ rim before glancing back up, “it’s stupid, but I feel so… I don't know, out of my body.”
Emery can hear some kind of silent request hidden behind the words, but has no idea what it actually is. She cocks her head at Samira in invitation, rounding the island to stand next to her. “What do you need, honey?”
Samira ducks her head, unable to make eye contact. She's always struggled with asking for what she needs, and it’s no different with Emery even after all this time. Part of her feels guilty for being needy – likely born from her stubborn hyper-independence for most of her life – or for adding extra weight onto others’, as if Emery hasn’t been falling over herself for the better part of their relationship to get Samira to be more receptive to communicating her needs.
“I think… Can you hold me? I just need to feel something and it’s fine if not but -”
She knows she’s rambling, but the urge to overexplain and justify and invalidate her needs always kicks in, regardless of how big or small the ask is. It’s practically instinctive after three decades of brushing herself away and pushing things down, of raising others’ needs above her own until she’s been overlooked to the point of rarely being acknowledged.
“Hey,” Emery interrupts gently. “Hey, no, of course I can do that.” She slowly reaches a hand out, tucking a curl behind Samira's ear then sliding lower to pull her head up. A feeling she can only label anger courses through her at the thought of anyone ever making her girlfriend feel the need to make herself smaller, for ingraining a habit in her that’s damn near impossible to get rid of now. She makes sure Samira's hesitant gaze meets her determined and steady one before she speaks again. “Thank you for telling me that, I know it wasn't easy.”
With Emery holding her head in place, Samira's unable to escape the fierce care shining through the deep brown eyes staring into hers. She’s forced to confront the overwhelm of emotion head-on, to let herself be swept away by the intensity she finds.
“Come on,” Emery says, holding a hand out. She smiles in genuine joy when Samira takes it, tugging her off the stool and over to the couch. They end up with Samira curled along Emery's side, head resting just over her heart as Emery strokes a hand along her spine, the pressure nearly lulling her to sleep.
“Good?” The words come out muffled, spoken into Samira's tangled curls. Emery’s perfectionist tendencies have always extended into relationships, but here and now, she feels something bigger in the surprising urge to give Samira exactly what she needs, not just settle for a close enough version of it.
Samira lets out a satisfied sigh in response, hot breath puffed out onto Emery's neck. She untangles her arm from where it’s awkwardly stuck underneath her and wraps it across Emery's waist, tangling their legs together and pulling her in closer.
She suddenly has the realization that this, with Emery's warm body and steady heartbeat and arm wrapped protectively around her, is where she’s meant to be. She’d prefer if it was for life, but she’d settle for the next couple hours.