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Emily groans as she flops onto her back, her arm thrown over her eyes as she tries to block out the light streaming in through the curtains, the thin material doing nothing to block out the streetlamp just outside her motel room.
She never used to struggle sleeping somewhere new. It was something she’d always prided herself on, a hangover from how much she moved around as a child. She could sleep anywhere, and more than once, in the before, the team had made fun of her for how quickly she could fall asleep in the seats on the jet. For everyone else, it would take a while, plenty of shifting until they found the sweet spot that was comfortable enough to drift off in, but sometimes she’d be asleep before the jet even took off to take them home.
Now, in the after, after Ian had torn through her life for a second time, ruining the security she’d found after the first time, things were different. An unfamiliar mattress and a room she didn’t know the corners of would put her on edge, make it impossible for her to sleep anywhere near as long as she needed to. It would take hours to drift off, and even then, she’d sleep fitfully. She’d wake at the slightest sound, her heart beating so harshly against her ribcage she’d sometimes wonder if it would crack from the inside out, if she’d finally fall apart at the seams where she’d haphazardly thrown herself back together.
She sighs as she rolls onto her side again, the covers tucked up around her chin, and she briefly considers getting up and going for a walk around the motel, another hallway she’d wonder like a ghost, when she hears movement in the room next door, Aaron’s shuffling feet on the worn carpet as he tries to be as quiet as possible, as mindful and aware as ever, even at 1.31 am.
She’d heard him talk to Jack hours ago, the thin wall between their rooms doing little to muffle the conversation between father and son. She’d done her best not to listen, tried to give him some privacy, but she’d also leaned into the comfort his voice brought, shook her head at herself when she beamed when she heard herself mentioned, how soft Aaron’s voice was when he spoke about her to his son.
She knew he’d haunted the halls of as many hotels as she had, that he was prone to sleepless nights and seeking out something he couldn’t name in poorly lit hallways and the smell of cheap air freshener, just like she was. They’d walked into each other once, turning a corner at the same time and briefly becoming the phantom that each other was trying to escape, the figure in the dark they had to convince themselves wasn’t there. They’d apologised to each other, both assuring the other it was fine, that they were fine. She convinced him to go out on a walk with her, too on edge to continue just walking around the hotel. She’d bought them a hot chocolate each in the only place open, a diner that was brightly coloured and looked like a place Penelope would run, and they’d sat there for hours. It was the start of something new between them, a moment she knew she’d look back on and know that was when it had started.
Nowadays, when it was clear they were both awake, they’d hide out in his room or hers and talk. The first time she suggested it, she’d paused as she said it, tired and worn out as she realised she’d just invited her boss to her room, but he’d simply smiled at her. A teasing edge in the corners of it, and his dimples that she would have once thought were impossible as he said he’d go and get snacks from the vending machine. They’d stay until one of them got tired enough to sleep, until every other sentence was broken with a yawn, and more than once she’d considered asking him to stay, but she’d always back out.
It was the start of something they hadn’t quite made it to yet. An unspoken promise between them that when they were ready - when she was ready - they’d take that next step. Each conversation in the middle of the night drawing them closer to something more, something she wanted just as much as she was scared of it. She was waiting for the scales to tip, to want it more than it scared her, to feel ready to grab his hand and jump with him into the relationship she liked to think they both deserved.
For now, living in the in-between would be enough. She’d hoard the bits of him that she got to have, would store them away for when she needed them most, and every day she got closer to allowing herself to have it, him, for real.
She reaches out and grabs her phone from her nightstand, smiling to herself as she texts him.
I brought snacks.
She hears the vibration of his phone through the wall and has to bite her lower lip to control her smile as she pictures him reading it, envisioning the sleepy look in his eyes and his soft smile as he types out a response.
Goldfish?
She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, ignoring the flash of the thing she won’t yet name in her chest, and she replies.
Of course.
I also got candy.
Which is an actual snack.
Somewhere in between her back-to-back messages, she hears him move through his room, and she gets out of bed. She unlocks and opens her motel room door the moment he steps out of hers, and she smiles, stepping back so he can walk past her into her room.
“Goldfish are a snack,” he says, and she playfully rolls her eyes as she locks the door behind them, stepping past him so she can pull the snacks out of her bag.
“Snacks are supposed to be sweet,” she replies, handing him the Goldfish as she keeps hold of the cookies she’d bought, and she climbs back into bed, sighs contentedly as she slips the covers back over her lap and sits with her back against the headrest. She looks up and sees he’s still standing there slightly awkwardly, unsure if he should sit on her bed or not. The rooms here were smaller than they usually had; the only motel in the town they were that had enough rooms for the team. Usually, there would be at least a chair in the room. She’d sit on the bed and he’d sit on the chair, but this time it was just the bed and the small dresser she’d dumped her go-bag onto. She smiles and pats the bed next to her twice, “Come on.”
He smiles and clears his throat as he does just that, sitting next to her on top of the covers, “I’ve seen you do that exact same thing with Sergio.”
She laughs, a sound she catches a second too late as she remembers how late it is and how thin the walls are, and she winks at him, “Well, you’re much more obedient than he is.”
She doesn’t keep track of time as they talk. Time melts away, and she almost forgets it’s the middle of the night and they should both be sleeping. It feels peaceful. Safe in a way she had forgotten could exist. They both end up lying down, slowly slipping down the bed as time slips away too, her half under the covers and him still on top, their shoulders and their arms grazing each time they move. She yawns, and he turns to look at her, his own exhaustion clear, written in the lines of his face.
“I should go.” He says, and she shakes her head, unwilling to be left alone.
“It’s okay,” she says, “I won’t sleep anyway.”
He nods, “It’s too quiet here.”
She hums. It was the first thing she’d noticed when they arrived. The town they were in was small, and the motel was just on the outskirts. Surrounded by nothing but a couple of miles on each side, a far cry from the hustle and bustle of the city that she was used to. The silence was loud. Overwhelming as it made her ears ring, her entire body on high alert as she waited for something to break it, to trigger her fight or flight response that she’d never entirely been able to put back into its box after her return from Paris. A grim souvenir she’d never wanted on display in pride of place for anyone who cared to look.
“I think despite everything, the thing I’m most angry about is that he stole silence from me,” she says, her gaze fixed on the ceiling, on the patch of damp that the hotel owners had tried and failed to paint over. She smiles sadly and shakes her head, ignores the tear that trickles from the corner of her eye down to her ear. “I used to love it after a long day. I’d go home and I’d sit down and just…exist. And now…” she trails off and clears her throat, “Now the silence is too loud and every single sound that breaks it is him. Even though he’s dead,” she laughs humourlessly at herself, “I know that probably sounds insane-”
“No,” he says from where he’s lying next to her, his knuckles grazing hers as he moves his arm, an attempt, she thinks, to hold her hand that he backs out of at the last second. “It doesn’t sound insane. I understand.”
She turns her head to look at him, focusing on the look in his eyes more than how close he is to her, and she knows he’s telling the truth.
“I know,” she says, wrapping her hand around his, taking the leap for them both, ”I know you do,” she squeezes his hand, memorises the press of his palm against hers, something she knows will one day be a daily occurrence, something she couldn’t remember living without, “I wish you didn’t understand, but I know you do.”
She walked the line between being grateful that he got it, that they understood each other on a level that no one else could because of what they’d been through, and wishing he didn’t every day. Both of them had been torn to pieces and left shattered on the floor by monsters made of flesh and bone, and she loved Aaron enough, because she did love him even if she couldn’t admit it to herself quite yet, that she’d give up that understanding if it meant he hadn’t gone through it. She’d give up the one person who finally accepted her for who she really was, who wanted and understood all the parts of her she’d wished had been tossed away, if it meant he got to be happy and whole.
He smiles and leans across, hesitating for a second before stamping his lips against her temple, and then rests his cheek against the top of her head, “I wish you didn’t understand either.”
She wraps both of her arms around one of his and gets closer, her head against his shoulder, the final signature that ends their embargo on touching each other. It feels normal, achingly so, and it’s another step forward.
Another step towards something more, something she thinks she might have always been walking towards.