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Chapter Text

At sixteen, Elle Woods has never experienced apathy. In fact, she’s pretty sure that she learned how to care before she learned how to read.

(Which was apparently very early; one of her nannies was a retired librarian.)

She cares about tons of things. Animals and the environment and people being able to love who they want to. Sustainable fashion. Her friends, even when they’re running hot and cold. Her parents, who always say they just want the best for her.

But she’s also been taught to care about a lot of other stuff. Having her contact lenses in place at all times outside her room. Never leaving the house without her hair blown out, a full face of makeup, and a constant smile. Dressing for pretty at all times, never for comfort.

Wearing the smallest clothing size possible.

She’s been at Lakestone Prep since kindergarten, and almost everyone there is basically the same; they all have fathers who are A-list talent agents or plastic surgeons or stockbrokers, and mothers who spend unlimited funds on aging backwards. By the time they reach the upper school, most of the kids who share her priorities have left. So she spends most of her time with this one group of girls after being on the periphery for years; it’s sort of okay as long as they approve of whatever she’s doing. When she starts an environmental club, her friends give her the silent treatment – again – because the kickoff event is a beach cleanup day and they can’t believe she expects them to come in contact with garbage.

(In the end, just one other kid shows up, and only because he was given a choice of a one-time beach cleanup or a month of detention. But it doesn’t take more than one person to petition the cafeteria to get rid of Styrofoam, so she keeps at it.

Scheduling meetings with just herself is pretty convenient, after all.)

A month into junior year, she hears through the grapevine that Travis Vernon likes her. He’s honestly always been kind of a jerk, who likes to flip lunch trays and snap girls’ bra straps for fun. She also can’t look at him without thinking about her friend Michael, who came out to her and her alone in eighth grade - but other kids, Travis in particular, suspected and made his life a living hell. Michael finally transferred to a different school after Travis broke into Michael’s gym locker and peed on his clothes.

But all her friends think Travis is hot, and he’s loaded because his dad has directed three huge blockbusters in the last five years. Alexis shrieks at her that has a Mercedes and a BMW, of course she needs to date him. Elle asks her mother for advice, and the following afternoon, she’s greeted with a Slimfast shake and a birth control pill pack. “Remember Trudy from the club? Her husband is a doctor, we asked him to just quickly write a little prescription for you. It’s just in case – and it’ll help your skin, too, sweetie.”

(The thing about Caroline Woods is this: she left Pepperdine at 21 with just over half a communications degree, a five-carat engagement ring, and an ironclad prenup that she’s convinced would have been impossible if she’d gotten married any later. Caroline has thus decided that Elle needs to follow in her footsteps exactly or she’ll be an old maid living on Skid Row. On days when fewer than half her mother’s sentences start with “You’ll never find a good husband if”, Elle tends to ask her if she’s feeling okay.

By ‘good’, of course, her mother means ‘rich.’)

Worn out from her friends’ constant exhortations and her mother preparing to mail out save-the-dates, not to mention the fact that the pill makes her feel like crap, Elle says yes when Travis eventually asks her out. He still makes fun of other kids and ignores her when she tells him to stop, but her friends assure her that he’s a good guy. Sometimes he holds doors open for her and takes her to premieres, so in their eyes, he couldn’t possibly be anything else.

In December, they go to a classmate’s party; a parents-are-away rager with really expensive booze. The second they walk in, Travis inexplicably bolts upstairs, and Elle wanders around until she finds her friends. They’re dancing – and better yet, talking to her this week – so she joins in and it’s fun and she’s having a good time until she feels a hand on her arm pulling her away.

Travis says he’s scouted out the bedrooms, and he’s ready to go.

“Go where?” she asks.

Travis rolls his eyes. “Go hook up. Come on.”

“But…” She steps back a little. “I don’t want to. I’m dancing with my friends right now.”

Travis lets loose a tirade in front of half the party about how she’s a tease and he can do better, and eventually storms off. She goes back to her friends, who promptly tell her she’s being stupid and that this is what people in relationships do. Two of them physically push her toward Travis and nag her to apologize.

So she does, because she’s supposed to care about what other people think of her.

And she goes upstairs, where Travis wears her down until she stops saying no.

That’s pretty much how every weekend goes for the rest of the school year. She broadcasts how happy they are; tells him that of course she likes being with him; smiles and smiles and smiles.

(She means it, right? She must – this is everything she’s supposed to want.)

Travis spends the summer on location in Italy with his father, and within a week, Elle is amazed at how much lighter she feels. She really is a pretty happy person in general, glass half full and all that, and has always been sure there’s something positive in everything – but the contrast is undeniable. July fades into August, and she progressively goes from feeling vaguely unsettled to mired in all-out dread.

A couple of days after he gets back, she finds herself at Travis’s house, however reluctantly. The first thing he says when she steps inside is that his parents are out for the afternoon. But she’s been thinking about this a lot, and decided on the way over that she’s done.

This time, she’s immune to persuasion or threats. She calls his bluff when he tells her he’ll break up with her – says that it’s fine. End it already, she doesn’t care anymore.

Rage floods his face, and she’s forced to walk backward away from him through the foyer and into the living room as he moves toward her. He shoves her up against the wall next to the fireplace, his hands tugging at the hem of her shirt. In desperation, she blindly reaches for the mantle beside her, wrapping her fingers around the first thing she can reach – which happens to be his dad’s Golden Globe – and bringing it down on his stupid head with unexpected strength. He groans and his hands are immediately off of her and clutching his scalp. Emboldened, she knees him in the crotch like she’s seen in movies, and reaches into the front pocket of her crossbody purse for her phone, the trophy clattering to the floor in the process.

With unsteady hands, she begins to record a video, focusing the lens on Travis (who by this point is writhing on the floor). “This is Travis Vernon, son of filmmaker Roger Vernon, and he just attacked me. He’s been manipulating me and treating me like garbage for almost a year, not to mention terrorizing everyone at Lakestone Prep since he was six. His father will probably try to buy his way into college because he has a C average, but you should all know what kind of person he is.”

She continues filming long enough to make Travis admit on camera that everything she said is true. Then she leans down and tells him that the official story is that they amicably decided to go their separate ways, and if he breathes a word otherwise to anyone on the planet, she will send this video to his parents, all the people they know, and the admissions offices of every college in which he’s ever expressed a modicum of interest.

(The first thing she does when she gets home is throw away the damn pill pack.)

Elle feels like an entirely new person when she walks into school on her first day as a senior. Her friends are thoroughly baffled about the breakup – it seems Travis has not only stuck to the story meticulously, but has only had the loveliest things to say about her.

Her mother practically goes into mourning, but Elle finds it hard to care. She pins her focus on researching colleges; Lakestone loves to tout its 100 percent post-secondary attendance rate, and there is no way the Woods family is going to be the one who screws that up, so at least her parents are encouraging in that regard.

When she tells them she’s applying to UCLA, her mother’s eyes momentarily widen. (Or at least they would have, had she not just seen her dermatologist this morning for a Botox re-up.) Her parents make it clear during the conversation that follows that their primary concern is that UCLA might not have enough men appropriately qualified to be marriage material.

Elle truly could not care less. “I want to study fashion merchandising, and they have the best program in Southern California,” she pleads.

Her father, who’s been staring at his phone this whole time and occasionally contributing a noncommittal ‘mmm’ to echo whatever her mother has expressed at length, finally looks up at her. “Button, are you planning to make clothes for other people? I didn’t realize a degree was required to be a seamstress.”

“You want to sew?” Caroline’s face is trying so hard to contort itself into confusion and horror that it would be funny if it weren’t Elle’s future in question.

Elle rolls her eyes. “You know fashion is a multi-billion-dollar industry. It’s not just designers, it’s people who know how to market clothes and deal with the business side of things. I would learn how to do all of that.” They still look doubtful, so she pulls out the big guns.

“And… you know, April Walker is a junior there now.”

Her mother draws in a sharp intake of breath, and Elle hears a soft thump as her father drops his phone on the sofa next to him. Good, now they’re listening. “Chet Walker’s daughter?” Caroline says almost reverently. “Well, did you speak to her?”

“Yes, Mom,” Elle responds as patiently as she can. “She came back for an alumni panel at Lakestone last week and we chatted after. She’s majoring in film and television, she’s already interned at three different studios that aren’t her dad’s, and she met her boyfriend Ryan Fields at a frosh Greek mixer and his dad is in Congress. So all kinds of people go there.”

And…. boom. That does it. Her mother’s eyes gleam as she murmurs, “Harrison…?” Her father nods with satisfaction and finality as he reaches for his phone again. Elle takes that as their blessing to get on with her application.

She gets in with a merit-based full ride, and finishes the year without issue. A couple of other Lakestone kids end up at UCLA as well, but nobody with whom she was ever really involved. Plus, it’s a big campus – with seemingly infinite possibilities.

Everyone in her dorm is pretty nice and she likes her classes. Her roommate Katie is from Fresno, and loves to say she’s genetically inclined to feed people; she’s always cooking or baking something in the common-area kitchen, and manages to produce incredible food with only an electric cooktop and toaster oven at her disposal. (There’s a line all the way down their hall on the days she makes her grandmother’s banana pudding.)

Elle can’t really get past small appreciative bites of anything that’s not salad and egg whites, though – not with because her mother’s disapproving voice living rent-free in her head. Then Rush Week happens, and she remembers April Walker telling her to check out Delta Nu.

She clicks almost instantly with every single sister and pledge, flying through the process. After receiving her bid, she’s expecting lots of parties and bonding and the occasional service project – but quickly learns that’s not the whole story.

“What’s BBS?” she asks, looking at the October calendar in the front hall of the house.

“Oh, Biweekly Body and Soul!” April answers. “So. Melissa was a Delta Nu in the ‘90s - like, when Kate Moss became famous. And all the girls here were super obsessed with being thin. They were hardly eating and exercising way too much, and the house was like, known on campus for everyone having eating disorders. They got them a healthy meal planning service and a trainer, and like, tried to get them to go to therapy – but a lot of the girls felt like there was all this pressure to look a certain way and none of those people got it, so it didn’t work that well. You know?”

(Oh, does Elle ever.)

“So Melissa became a registered dietitian and got her masters in counseling, and every other Wednesday she comes and we all talk about nutrition and fitness and stuff. But also, like, what’s stressing us out and how we’re dealing with things. She’s super smart, and she knows what it’s like to be us.”

Elle is grateful to be indoors, because she’s certain a strong wind would knock her off her feet right now. “Oh my god. I had no idea sororities did stuff like this.”

“This one does.” April takes her elbow and guides her over to the side. “Look, I know how the people at Lakestone can be, okay? It’s different here. Sisterhood means no shit-talking and we have each other’s backs. Always.”

Elle goes to BBS and hangs on Melissa’s every word about healthy fats and balancing cardio with strength. When she starts talking about coping mechanisms, though, Elle is hesitant to get on board.

After the group meeting, she makes her way to the front of the room. “Hi! I’m Elle.”

Melissa smiles. “Welcome to Delta Nu!”

“Thanks!” She smiles back. “I just had a question, if you have a second.”

“Sure!”

Elle glances away briefly. “You mentioned that talking things out helps people process them. But… is it ever okay to deal with something by, like, not processing it?”

“Hmm.” Melissa considers this. “I think different coping mechanisms work well for different people. If someone never talks about anything, that can be pretty unhealthy. But if it’s, like, one thing that you don’t want to talk or think about because it triggers a negative response… I think it’s fine, as long as you’re happy and it doesn’t stop you from doing or enjoying anything in your life.”

With that, Elle pushes Travis Vernon and her old not-really-friends into the darkest recesses of her mind and doesn’t look back.

***

Right before finals, Katie tells Elle she’s transferring to the Institute of Culinary Education – so the following semester, Elle moves into the Delta Nu house. Various shades of pink converge across every inch of her new room, and there’s always someone around to talk or laugh or exchange clothes with. Some of the girls are a little more introverted, or less into parties, and everyone’s fine with it. They can all do their own thing if they want, but nobody ever gets excluded or left behind. Elle finds herself being slowly reconditioned to think of size as an arbitrary number, her body as strong and capable, to give it what it needs to stay that way – and that dessert is sometimes necessary fuel for the spirit.

It feels like her whole life up until now, everyone around her has used a language that she understood but struggled to speak – and she’s finally found the people fluent in her dialect. It doesn’t take a ton of effort to balance classwork with mixers and charity events, and she finds out that parties and flirting without any expectation of more are incredibly fun. Guys do ask her out a lot, and they move on without incident if she turns them down – but she goes on a fair number of dates. Mostly they end at the sorority house door, but once or thrice, they don’t.

(Turns out sex can be kind of fun.)

Someone introduces her to Warner one night toward the end of her sophomore year. On their first date the following weekend, she learns that he’s majoring in political science, plans to attend Harvard Law after graduation, and wants to be the youngest senator in history. Based on the fine-dining restaurant he’s chosen, she also surmises (correctly) that he comes from money. He walks her to the door of Delta Nu, kisses her goodnight, and calls her the next day to ask when he can see her again; it’s hard not to be completely charmed.

He doesn’t complain when she wants to take things slow, and is courteous and respectful when she does eventually go home with him one night. While she’s acing classes and rocking internships with merchandise planners and organizing fundraisers, they fall into the sweetest routine of date nights and  social events. Her parents are positively enchanted with him.

But nothing is ever perfect.

Warner can be moody, especially after coming back from time with his family. He’s pretty passive-aggressive when he doesn’t get what he wants. After Elle adopts Bruiser from a pet rescue, Warner gripes that it feels like the dog is always growling at him. He snaps his fingers at waitstaff and valet assistants if he feels like they’re taking too long, and chronically undertips.

(Elle ‘forgets her purse inside’ almost every time they go out to eat, so she has an excuse to run back in and leave more cash on the table.)

The Christmas after they start dating, she goes with him to his family’s place in Vail; while his mom and grandmother seem to adore her, his father is clearly less impressed. One night Elle slips down to the kitchen for a glass of water, and overhears Warner’s parents in the study.

“I just think maybe they’d like to use the house at Martha’s Vineyard, if they get married. We could offer,” his mother is saying defensively.

His father scoffs. “He’s not going to marry that girl. He’ll get to Harvard and find someone with a brain.”

She rushes back upstairs, thirst forgotten.

That spring, she interns with a fashion account executive. One of their clients is being sued for intellectual property based on derivative designs, and it really screws up a lot of things with the release of their new line; Elle sits in on endless meetings with the executive, client, and the lawyer they hired. Eventually the case is dropped, and it dawns on Elle that if she’s an account executive with a law degree, it could only help her.

And if she happens to get that legal education at Harvard, alongside Warner… well, no one will be able to deny that she does in fact have a brain.

She spends the summer forgoing the beach in favor of LSAT prep books. She takes one practice test after another; tracks down as many people as she can to write recommendation letters; comes up with an essay compelling enough to make any admissions committee weep. Her parents are perplexed, wondering how law school – back East, no less – has somehow become her goal.

“Well, haven’t you and Warner talked about the future?” her mother frets. “Really, does a senator’s wife need to do something like this?”

Elle rolls her eyes. “Yes, Mom. The future’s been mentioned, I know about the family ring, and if we get engaged and he’s going to be in Boston, I can’t exactly stay here.”

(It’s not that she feels like she needs to get engaged – but a full summer with Caroline has made it difficult not to at least think about.)

“But you have to go to law school yourself?” her mother persists, looking as if she’s just smelled something unpleasant. “Won’t you be competing with him? I doubt he’ll find that very attractive.”

Elle opens her mouth to retort, then thinks better of it, smiling slyly. “Well, if I’m really going to be supportive of him, I have to know exactly what he’s studying. Don’t I?”

Eventually, her parents agree to cover her expenses if she’s accepted. Her scholarship has meant that she’s barely touched her college fund anyway. Everyone in Delta Nu knows about her plan, but she’s sworn them all to secrecy – so Warner has absolutely no idea.

(Elle thinks it’ll be a really fun surprise when they both get in.)

Senior year starts up, and Warner is a little distant. It probably would have more of an impact ordinarily, but she’s completely swamped. She takes the LSAT on a Saturday in mid-September after telling Warner she’ll be spending the day shopping. Three weeks later, she gets her results and Delta Nu throws a massive party in honor of her 175 – though they tell everyone else it’s for Oktoberfest.

She feels a little deflated when Warner finds out he scored a 163; it doesn’t help that he spends all weekend sulking about it, but she’s still sure it’ll all eventually work out, with both of them in Boston come next year. She quietly submits her application a few days later, and tries to put it out of her head, throwing herself full-force into presiding over Delta Nu and running Shop for a Cause’s annual November tag sale, Fall Into Caring.

Most of the girls are spending several weeks at home for Christmas break, but by Boxing Day, Elle is thoroughly sick of her mother’s speculations about why Warner hasn’t yet proposed and she returns to campus. Kate (who’s taking a winter chem lab) and Serena (who celebrated Hanukkah earlier this month) are the only ones there when her Harvard acceptance letter arrives a couple days later, but the three of them scream, and cry, and then proceed to call every other Delta Nu one at a time so they can scream and cry some more.

(They all spend New Year’s Eve on vocal rest.)

Elle spends much of January jumping out of her skin every day; she knows Warner applied just after she did, so there’s no way he won’t have heard soon. He’s never been one for long phone conversations, but they do text every day, so she doesn’t feel like they haven’t been in contact or anything. And fine - she’ll admit that she sort of expects the news of his acceptance won’t be the only thing he’s sharing.

But he doesn’t say anything about Harvard, and he seems fully distracted upon his return to school. He won’t tell her much, and gets huffy if he thinks she’s prying. Margot is convinced he’s just nervous about proposing, and despite herself, Elle finds she’s getting swept up in all the girls’ ideas of fairytale romance – only protesting that they’re getting ahead of themselves when they start debating bridesmaid dress lengths.

After about a week, Warner calls, sounding happier than he has in ages.

“I’m sorry I haven’t seen you as much as I’d like to, Pooh Bear, but I have something to tell you – can I take you to dinner at seven?”

“Of course!” Elle smiles. “I can’t wait!”

She heads out that evening, buoyed by her sorority sisters’ collective excitement and an absolutely killer new dress, and sits across a candlelit table from Warner expectantly.

He puffs up his chest a little. “So I got into Harvard Law.”

Elle gasps. “Yes! That’s amazing, congratulations!”

“Yeah, yeah, it is.” He’s practically preening. “I was on the waitlist, probably because of that stupid LSAT score – but an old friend of my dad’s works in the admissions office, and I just found out I came off!”

“Oh!” She puts every effort into maintaining her previous level of enthusiasm. “This is so wonderful, Warner, I’m so happy for you.” She’s about to share her own update when he begins to speak again.

“And, you know, this decision has me thinking a lot about our future.”

He keeps going, and she doesn’t mean to tune him out, but she’s thinking about whether she can get her housing deposit back, because maybe they can get an apartment near campus, and hopefully Bruiser will get used to him, and –

“We’ve been so good together, Pooh Bear, haven’t we?” he smiles.

Elle snaps back to attention. “Huh? Oh, yeah! So good.”

He nods. “Right, and it’s been great. It’s just that with the future I have ahead of me, I need someone a little more serious… or maybe a little less… you know… like you are.”

“Wait, what?” She’s been over here planning the rest of their lives – there’s no way he’s saying what she thinks he is.

“Really, it’s not you. Well…” he squints in thought. “Maybe it is you, a little.”

“I thought you were going to… you’re actually breaking up with me because you don’t think I’m serious enough for you? After you told me about the ring that’s been in your family for generations and how your mom wants to host a wedding on Martha’s Vineyard?” Tears are welling up in her eyes, but she’s not even really sad – sometimes she cries when she’s angry, which is honestly incredibly annoying, but right now she’s too livid to care.

“Propose?” Warner laughs. “My mom was probably talking about my brother getting married, he’s going to ask his girlfriend soon. You must have gotten the wrong impression.”

She doesn’t remember what she says as she leaves, nor does she recall her taxi ride home (she refuses to go anywhere else with Warner). The girls bring her ice cream and rom-coms and every other breakup essential they can think of; she springs for the spa mani-pedi three weeks in a row; and by mid-March, she’s still feeling slightly humiliated, but overall better.

Then her curriculum guide arrives from Harvard, and while she certainly hasn’t forgotten about her acceptance, she’s had just a few other things on her mind. She heads up to her room and flips through the pages with increasing purpose, determination setting in. With or without Warner, her future destination hasn’t changed.

She’s still going to let it be a surprise, but now she’s pretty confident it’ll be a little more fun for her than him.

Chapter Text

When he’s four years old, Emmett Forrest answers to his name without protest for the first time in his life. Prior to that, he’s ignored anyone trying to get his attention, or he’s insisted they’re wrong.

In retrospect, this is his mom’s fault; referring to him as Harry Houdini nonstop from infancy on was bound to cause some confusion. She loves to tell the story about how she left her two-month-old swaddled and asleep in the middle of her bed while she ran downstairs to take the laundry out of the dryer – and when she came back not five minutes later, he had not only busted out of the baby straitjacket in which she’d tightly wrapped him, but had managed to roll almost to the edge of the queen-sized mattress.

(She only ever left him in his crib from then on, but it was only a matter of months before he was climbing out of that too.)

The older he gets, the more elaborate his escape attempts become. One of the teaching assistants in his Head Start classroom has to spend most of the day within arm’s reach of him because of how quickly (and frequently) he breaks for the door. The first week of kindergarten, he actually makes it outside, and is half a block away before anyone even realizes he’s gone. That afternoon, Emmett is given crayons and construction paper, as well as a seat in the corner of the principal’s office thirty feet and at least five adults away from the exit. He can’t really understand why his mom shows up (in her nurse’s aide uniform, no less), or why she and the principal seem so upset – and he doesn’t know what a LoJack is or why they keep talking about one.

Finally, everyone manages to figure out that he’s not just fleeing for the fun of it. By and large, it’s because he’s bored. School moves too slowly to keep him occupied, much less challenged. The principal recommends a gifted program at a public elementary across the city – but they don’t have an early-morning drop-off option, and his mom’s shift starts at 8. So his teacher has to get a little creative.

Emmett spends the rest of that year learning that mental escapes are good too, and they don’t bother the grownups around him nearly as much. Once his classwork is complete - typically in less than half the time it takes the other kids – he reads quietly in his seat. As soon as he finishes a book, he has another one waiting. He’s on to chapter books by Christmas and kicks off first grade by ripping through Roald Dahl’s entire bibliography in less than a month.

(He’s particularly fond of Matilda, despite the profound disappointment of not being able to move objects telepathically himself.)

The advantages of escaping into books – becoming thicker and more complex by the day – multiply the older he gets. In addition to fulfilling his brain’s desperate need for intellectual stimulation, focusing on the pages before him seems to help block out kids’ taunts about his perpetually high-water jeans and used Jansport backpack that’s more safety pin than canvas at this point.

(The nicknames they come up for him with are as creative as they are cruel.)

It also serves as a distraction from the rather upsetting sounds he often hears at home. He doesn’t remember his father at all, and his mom always just says there’s nothing worth knowing. But she starts actively dating when he’s around seven or eight, and Emmett can’t imagine the man was worse than his generally vile successors. For all of Dana Forrest’s strengths – and there are a ton – she has exceptionally crappy taste in men, and things usually get worse the longer a relationship straggles on.

Emmett tries to stay out of the house as much as he can, and when he’s ten he starts to water plants, carry groceries, whatever odd jobs he can dig up around the neighborhood – every little bit helps when you’re living hand-to-mouth, so he figures it’s killing two birds with one stone. Whenever he is home, though, and Dana’s not pulling yet another overtime shift… well. It’s pretty easy to tune out the arguments and even the slamming doors, but his mother crying is somewhat harder to unhear. The real standouts are the few who introduce themselves as Emmett’s ‘new daddy.’ That phrase seems to correlate with more of the really bad stuff: panicked shrieks, sickening thuds, whispered pleadings that are somehow louder than anything else.

(The jerks ignore him more often than not, but his bedroom door has two locks. Just in case.)

In middle school, some of his teachers reprimand him for not following along with the lessons, and he respectfully tells them that he’ll be happy to follow along if he still has work left to complete. (Which, of course, he never does.) The ones who are burned out – and he doesn’t blame them, thirty kids in a class with next to no resources has to be pretty terrible – label him a discipline problem and send him to the office. A lot. He doesn’t totally mind detention, though, since he can read uninterrupted and it gives him another couple hours away from Jerry, the asshole du jour who spends all his time going through one case of Bud Light after another in front of their TV.

He’s sitting there calmly one afternoon in seventh grade when Ms. Chandler, his social studies teacher, walks in to monitor. Emmett never really has an issue in that class, since he always submits assignments (mandatory and extra credit) well ahead of time – and he suspects it’s just a relief that he’s not throwing things or yelling across the room like half his peers. So Ms. Chandler looks pretty shocked to see him.

“What could you possibly have done to end up in here?”

Emmett gestures at the public library’s well-worn copy of Beyond Good and Evil. (He’s at the height of his existentialism phase.) “I was reading in language arts class.”

Ms. Chandler snorts. “I thought reading was the point of language arts.”

“Instead of listening to Mr. Stevens,” he elaborates. “He was talking about themes in The Outsiders because we have to write a paper, but I turned it in last week. And I read it like two years ago anyway, but he’s never really happy when I point stuff like that out to him. So…”

Ms. Chandler looks contemplative. “Emmett, do me a favor. Tomorrow after my class, stick around for a minute.”

“Okay.” Emmett shrugs before retreating back into his book.

Turns out Ms. Chandler coaches Quiz Bowl at a magnet high school several miles away. There’s this loophole where middle school students from the same district can join the team as an alternate – and other than plowing through every book in the greater Boston area, it’s not like Emmett has a lot going on. So he starts taking the bus down there for practice three afternoons a week, and marvels at how clean and spacious everything is at a school that isn’t hopelessly overcrowded. The Quiz Bowl kids – eleven in all – are super smart, unapologetically nerdy, and immediately able to see beyond his ill-fitting clothes and gawky physique.

Getting the hang of the signaling device takes a while. He keeps not pressing hard enough, and then he can’t quite get the timing right. Four sessions in, his frustration with himself must be evident, because Ms. Chandler says they’ll work on it together.

“No, it’s okay,” Emmett responds quickly through clenched teeth. “I can do this; I just need to practice more.”

Ms. Chandler takes the device out of his hand. “Emmett, I don’t know what all is happening for you outside school or why you feel like you have to figure everything out yourself, but from where I’m sitting, it seems like you’re up against a whole lot. If you won’t let anyone help you, getting what you want out of life is only going to be harder.”

He sucks it up and accepts her help, and handling the thing quickly becomes second nature. Once it’s no longer an obstacle, he learns he’s pretty quick on his feet with recalling bits of information he previously thought useless. He subs in at almost every Saturday match, and eventually someone thinks to let him handle the lightning round – which becomes the norm for the rest of that year, as well as the next.

The older students never say anything directly about his financial situation, but they clearly put two and two together. In December of his eighth-grade year, they invite him to participate in the team’s Secret Santa, with a strict ten-dollar gift limit imposed. He gets Allison, who’s obsessed with gel pens – so that’s a slam dunk, and running errands for Ms. McQueen down the block means he has the cash. His gift, on the other hand, is a pristine-looking messenger bag, and no one – Ms. Chandler included – bats an eye. Keith, the only freshman starter, simply says that whoever his Secret Santa was made a good choice; Emmett needs a better way to carry the metric ton of books he’s always reading.

Later, after he gets home, he finds a Target gift card tucked inside one of the bag’s pockets. Even if he could have conceivably made himself believe the bag was within budget, the card blows the total incredibly far past the cutoff. He swallows hard, bristling at the idea of their pity, and briefly considers never going back. But then he stops and thinks about what Ms. Chandler said when he first started. He recalls the genuine joy on his teammates’ faces as he carefully tore off the tissue paper, and recognizes that it’s coming from a place of kindness. And fine – maybe it’s not the worst thing in the world to let someone give him a hand once in a while.

(When winter break ends, he returns to school and the hems of his pant legs actually reach his shoes.)

In January, Keith says something about Emmett attending high school there the following year like it’s a foregone conclusion. The possibility hasn’t occurred to Emmett before now – but his guidance counselor has a few applications in her office. He finishes the entrance exam in less than an hour (almost everyone else takes the full three), he’s never gotten less than an A in anything, and Ms. Chandler’s letter of recommendation beautifully explains away all the detentions as mismanagement of a bright kid.

His mom is wary about the long bus rides, versus walking around the corner to the local high school – but she switches shifts to attend the new student tour anyway. Emmett watches her take in the state-of-the-art computer and science labs, the descriptions of small class sizes, the list of colleges attended by graduates. Her face slowly softens into disbelief that this place exists – for free, no less – and pride that Emmett has more than earned his spot there.

***

High school proves to be a significant upgrade. For the first time he can remember, most of Emmett’s classes are challenging enough that he actually needs to pay attention and actively participate. It becomes apparent in many a heated class discussion that he has a bizarre yet impressive gift for arguing – so pretty soon he’s splitting time after school between Quiz Bowl and the debate team. He takes a part-time job as a library page as soon as he’s old enough for working papers, and his income, while modest, means that little extras are no longer out of reach.

(He figures he’ll sleep when he’s dead.)

He grows seven inches in as many months when he’s sixteen, and when he walks into his apartment one evening and sees Ray the unemployed grifter screaming in his mother’s face, something inside him snaps. He’s still pretty lanky despite his newfound height, but by now Emmett can talk his way into or out of just about anything he wants. He gets in between them; stares Ray down in more ways than one; dodges a sloppy drunken punch; reminds Ray pointedly that assaulting a minor would definitely violate his probation.

They leave his stuff on the landing and call a locksmith as soon as he finally stumbles out the door – and his mother takes the dating sabbatical that both of them have long needed.

Shortly thereafter, Dana gets a job at the hospital. Basically the same work, except it pays a lot better than the nursing home did and actually includes decent health insurance. More than anything else, though, she keeps bringing up the tuition assistance program.

“I don’t have to work as much overtime here, so maybe I could. But I’ve been out of school for so long, I just don’t know.” She’s making dinner while he does his homework – a peaceful scene they’ve not often had the luxury to experience.

Emmett looks up from his AP physics book, trying not to think about how this class is likely going to be the death of him. “Mom, it would be like riding a bike.”

“Not right now,” she hedges. “I’ll worry about that later – let’s focus on you getting in to college. Where are you looking again?”

He rattles off a list of schools, all of which offer in-state tuition. “I should be able to get most of it covered from merit scholarships,” he assures her.

Dana looks skeptical. “Your English teacher said something to me at back-to-school night about Harvard.”

“Mom.” Emmett rolls his eyes. “That’s beyond a reach, and it’s almost hilarious how expensive it is.”

“She told me you’d say that too,” his mother replies as she carefully spoons out rice. “And said to remind you that their financial aid is designed to cover everything you need.”

He sighs. He can’t deny the appeal, but he knows if he gets in and they can’t swing it, it’ll be so much worse than if he just hadn’t applied in the first place.

“Plus,” Dana continues, “it’ll give you a leg up on getting in to their law school if you were already there for your bachelor’s.”

“I never said I want to be a lawyer,” Emmett says nervously.

(He absolutely does.)

Dana carries two plates over to the table where Emmett sits. “That debate tournament you won last year - the regional thing,” she begins. “I couldn’t even talk for half an hour, I was so amazed. I have no idea how I got a kid who’s so smart, but Emmett, we’ve had to settle for less, a lot. I don’t want you to do that with college. At least apply and see what happens.”

He closes his physics book (maybe a little harder than he means to) and looks at her meaningfully. “Fine. I will. But if I get in, and if we can make it work, I’m only going if you go back to school too.”

She holds out her hand for him to shake. “Deal.”

He applies early action, and a thick envelope emblazoned with the Harvard logo shows up the second week of December. Sure enough, they’re covering everything – tuition, room and board, there are even funds he can request for a laptop or textbooks or any other living expenses that come up.

“I won’t have to worry about anything,” he mutters nonstop for a week, unable to fully let it sink in.

The rest of his senior year flies past. His friends start planning for the prom, and flat-out refuse to let him skip it. He makes plans with Sara, his debate teammate, to attend along with the rest of the group, and picks up an extra couple weekend shifts at the library to cover everything. It’s nearly impossible to wrap his head around the surreal idea that he – the lonely, scrawny kid who buried his feelings in books – is about to wear a tuxedo to a formal event with a bunch of friends. As a prelude to attending Harvard, no less.

(A few days before the prom, Sara informs him – with the same confidence she always channeled to rip apart opponents – that she strictly sees them as friends, but also doesn’t want to graduate a virgin.

So.)

***

He moves into his dorm, and swears that if he were any happier, cartoon birds would probably be helping him get dressed every morning. His roommate Luke is on the crew team, but equally geeks out over Lord of the Rings, so they get along fine. His classes are everything he thought they’d be, even with the legacy finance bros in macroeconomics. His financial aid covers an unlimited meal plan, which is good because he grew another half-inch over the summer (his mom thinks he’s finally done now) and he’s perpetually ravenous. His favorite library is whichever one he was in last.

Time has never really flown the way it does for him in undergrad. He declares a double major in econ (which he eventually admits is a bit tedious) and history (which he couldn’t love more). The work-study office lets him take jobs off-campus that relate to his concentrations – first as a clerk at the State House, then later a position as a Freedom Trail tour guide. The dress code requires full immersion, so he’s probably the only guy on campus whose wardrobe includes a tri-corner hat.

(His mom books a tour one day without telling him and runs through two disposable cameras.)

He’s friendly with a bunch of people; Keith is a lit major a year ahead of him, and they do trivia nights with a small group every so often. He also dates once in a while, albeit nothing serious. Junior year, Luke sets him up with a friend of his girlfriend’s. Emmett has a lot in common with Tania, who’s there on scholarship and similarly ambitious, and they try to make a go of it. It’s clear to both of them after about a month, though, that they’re much better suited to being friends – with occasional benefits, on and off.

He applies to a couple other law schools as safety options, but is accepted to Harvard and can’t imagine being anywhere else. The financial aid package isn’t quite as comprehensive this time. Most of his friends leave Boston – Luke gets an electrical engineering job back home in Maryland, and Tania’s first-choice med school is in Chicago. His housing isn’t covered, so he moves in with two BU students – it’s a fifth-floor walkup, 45 minutes from campus on public transportation, and his room is basically the size of a shopping cart, but he can afford it. He keeps the Freedom Trail gig because people tip pretty decently, and signs up with an undergrad tutoring service.

Classes start, and it’s like the legacy finance bros from all over the planet have multiplied and congregated right there. He’s keeping up with the reading as best he can, but it’s hard – really hard. His new roommates stay up until 2am gaming and drinking most nights, rendering it almost impossible to function at home. On top of that, more than a handful of the students he tutors expect he’ll be taking their classes for them, and become indignant when he clarifies what his role actually is.

One night he leaves campus late, thinking he can at least sleep for around five hours between when his roommates finally shut up and when he needs to get up for class. He closes his eyes on the T just for a second, wakes up at the end of the line in Braintree – and finds it was the last train until the morning. His options are all frankly terrible; he can sleep in the station, walk fourteen miles in the middle of the night, or cough up money he doesn’t have for a cab ride. He takes the cab in the end, if only because he knows he’ll pass out the second he sits down, and the power nap it affords him will enable another few hours of studying when he finally gets back.

(After that, he more or less lives in the 24-hour library.)

It’s impossible not to think about how his student loans are growing exponentially by the second. Two weeks into the semester, the laptop he’s had for four years dies; he manages to get it working, but it still freezes sporadically and shuts off if it’s unplugged for more than five minutes. The week after, Callahan kicks him out of class, and Emmett protests without thinking that he hasn’t read the supplementary chapters yet because he was at work. Callahan says that’s not his problem, and for the next few days, classmates make fun of him when he walks past.

(Because poor people are hilarious. The bitterness he’s done his best to eliminate is desperate to come raging back.)

Meanwhile, his mom has been true to her word and finished her nursing degree at the end of the summer. Emmett is sitting on a bench outside the campus gates, dreading Callahan’s class the following day, when his phone rings.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Emmett, I passed!” She full-out whoops. “I did it! I’m finally an RN!”

(He’s totally forgotten she was taking her licensure exam this week.)

“Oh! Congratulations!” He stands up, his worries temporarily forgotten. “That’s amazing, I knew you could do it.”

“Thanks, sweetie. Listen,” she continues at lightning speed, “I know you’re busy, but you know how the hospital was going to move me to a nursing job as soon as I passed?”

“Yeah. That’s still happening, right?”

“It is, and it’s in my same department, so that’s great. But right now they’re doing sign-on bonuses, and I just found out I qualify. Seven thousand dollars!”

“Mom.” He smiles. “That’s really, really great.”

“Emmett, I want to give it to you.” He hears the resolve in her voice even through their patchy connection, and sits back down.

“No way,” he protests. “You earned it, it’s yours. Look, don’t worry about me.”

“I mean it.” Nope, she is not giving up. “I know that apartment you’re in is killing you; the commute and the roommates and all the other… Emmett, my thumbnail is bigger than that room. And there’s not even a window, it’s probably illegal.”

“It’s fi-”

“No, it is not fine. Don’t you dare. Listen, I’m good, okay? My pay is about to double, and this is the first time I can actually do something…” Her voice cracks, but she lets out a puff of air and continues. “I want you to find a place near campus – your own place – and use this for a security deposit, and whatever’s left can help pay the rent. You need to be focused on school. All right?”

“All right.” He swallows hard. “Thank you.”

“Least I can do. None of this would be happening if it weren’t for you, you know.”

He gets lucky. He finds a one-bedroom, partially furnished, that’s a short walk from campus; the owner is a straight-shooting guy in his mid-60s who’s willing to accept a lower rent in exchange for someone quiet and nondestructive. Nothing has been updated for at least 30 years, but the appliances all work and the shower has decent water pressure and it is so blissfully quiet. After he puts down the first month and deposit, there’s enough left over that he can scale back on working; still at both jobs, but only three days a week on average, rather than six. His grades skyrocket and he gets a paid summer position at a small firm nearby, and he feels like he’s back on solid ground. Sure, he could live without the idiots in his classes who are destined for mergers and acquisitions – somehow they found out what Emmett does for work and have taken to calling him Paul Revere –  but he’s focused on exams and law review and separating himself from the pack. Callahan eventually takes a liking to him, despite their inauspicious start, and asks Emmett to intern for him his third year.

“If I like what I see, you’ll be an associate after you graduate,” Callahan assures him.

Emmett pours everything he has into making that happen. He’s determined to learn from past experience, and once he figures out that Callahan’s office is somehow either a ten-minute drive or an hourlong bus ride away, he reasons that the ancient-yet-functional car he tracks down is worth the expense. Callahan offers positive feedback on multiple occasions – and after his last exam, tells him that the firm is unfortunately still recovering from the recession and can’t take on anyone else full-time just then.

“But I can keep you on as an assistant,” Callahan offers, “and I also need a TA for my classes in the fall. As soon as something opens up, it’ll be yours.”

Emmett knows quite a few of his classmates have gotten full-time offers already, and wonders if he should look elsewhere. But he knows criminal defense pays – hell, he’s pretty sure he could pay his rent for half a year with one of Callahan’s suits – and this is just accepting a helping hand, which people keep telling him he needs to do. He agrees, and Callahan lets him spend most of the summer studying for the bar. Results won’t be back until October or so, and it gives him a few weeks to focus on assisting Callahan in court and get things ready for the fall semester.

He reviews the final course roster for Criminal Law 101 after ensuring the syllabus is correct. He hopes all these people are able to find whatever it is they need here, just like he has.

Hoopes. Huntington. Kensington. Padamadan. Schultz.

Woods.

Chapter Text

It’s not that she thought Warner would see her and instantly drop to his knees, rife with regret. Or, as her mother spent every waking moment this summer talking about, drop to one knee with something else.

(“Mom, that’s not going to happen,” Elle remembers protesting multiple times a day.

Caroline’s perpetual response: “Well, it certainly won’t with that attitude.”)

But she didn’t anticipate that the reality of law school would diverge quite so sharply from her expectations.

To begin with, there are flight delays. Intense, massive, Eastern-seaboard-paralyzing flight delays. She had booked a direct nonstop seat, but that plane gets a goose stuck in the engine in Atlanta – or something – and it won’t be coming. So she scrambles to get something else and ends up with a layover in St. Louis. They leave LAX just a little bit behind schedule, and the pilot is confident they’ll make up the time in the air. Instead, they circle for 45 minutes and she misses her connecting flight to Boston. On top of that, a huge storm knocked out the power at LaGuardia, so all these people trying to fly into New York get diverted to Logan (which doesn’t even make sense), and she can’t rebook. In the end, she snags the last seat on a plane bound for Philadelphia, which is so turbulent that when she stumbles onto the jetway bridge after landing, she’s certain she matches all the Eagles paraphernalia being sold in the terminal – and finally arrives in Boston via Amtrak.

(What should have taken about six or seven hours ends up taking close to eighteen.

And of course her luggage is nowhere to be found.)

Wiped out, she accidentally sets her alarm for PM and not AM, and wakes up five minutes after she’s supposed to be at a pre-class meet-and-greet on the quad. Other than Bruiser and his essentials, she only has a small purse and her overnight bag, which she hasn’t fully repacked since the spring. Trying not to grumble about the fact that they made her gate-check her carry-on suitcase, she quickly throws on the slim pickings she has: the pink Harvard shirt that Margot and Pilar cropped and bedazzled when she was accepted, some hand-distressed low-risers, and the newsboy cap she only bought for Coachella (atop a head slathered in dry shampoo).

She hurriedly turns to leave, and – oh no, Bruiser is looking at her pleadingly. Thinking she’ll just multitask, she scoops him up under her arm and flies out the door.

There are a bunch of people sitting on the grass in clusters, and a bored-looking woman hands her a bulging manila envelope and directs her to a pair of benches under a tree. As she rushes over, she looks around for Warner, more out of curiosity than anything else. No dice - not that she’s that desperate to see him, but any familiar face right now would go a long way.

She approaches the group as someone with an amazing curl pattern is speaking. “So yeah. After Zuckerberg stole my software codes, I thought I’d get a law degree from the school he dropped out from and sue him for infringement. That’s about it.”

“Uh, great – and good luck with that,” says a guy who’s absolutely drowning in his corduroy jacket. He spots Elle out of the corner of his eye and turns to her. “Ah, now we have everyone. I’m Emmett Forrest, I assist Professor Callahan - and as I was saying a little earlier, I’ll be seeing all of you in Criminal Law this year.” He stands up and reaches out to shake her hand.

At this moment, two things occur to Elle. One, he’s looking her in the eye and not up and down. Usually she resigns herself to the latter being the norm when she meets new people. Case in point: her three new classmates are staring in what appear to be varying degrees of fascination at her exposed midriff, the curve-sculpting benefits afforded by her jeans, and the platform wedges that are unfortunately pressing into the dew-soaked earth with each step.

The other thing is that while most of the guys she encounters have a very different style - Emmett’s hair is a little shaggy, the graphic on his T-shirt is so faded it’s practically gone, and he doesn’t appear to have seen the sun for the better part of the last decade - this is all somehow working for him.

(She finds herself thinking it kind of works for her too.

Must be exhaustion.)

“Hi. I’m Elle Woods,” she responds brightly, faltering a little when she sees the rest of the group looking at her like she’s sprouted another head. 

“Do you want to tell us a little about yourself?” Emmett asks.

“Yeah, like why you brought a dog to law school?” mutters a woman with braided hair who’s wearing an army jacket. The rest of them snicker in response.

(Not Emmett, who tosses the group the quickest side-eye she’s ever seen before turning back to her expectantly. Which is pretty nice of him, but in general, this is not a good start.)

She begins talking – fast – in an attempt to breeze past the awkwardness. “I’m the immediate past president of the Delta Nu chapter at UCLA, where I got my bachelor’s degree in fashion merchandising. And last year I chaired the Spring Salon Sale gala to benefit the Los Angeles ASPCA. We smashed, like, serious fundraising records. And speaking of animals, this is Bruiser, and his favorite snack is carrots, and he’s allergic to wool. Oh! I went to The Urban Pet last week to get him an alpaca sweater for the winter, and I ran into Anne Hathaway, who was wearing this mustard dress, which, yeah, it’s totally on trend, but warm colors just don’t work for her. So I told her to try, like, more of a soft lemon, and she promised me she would, and that she’d donate the mustard one, which was such a relief. You know?”

All four of them are now looking at her slack-jawed. Emmett recovers first. “Thank you for… sharing?”

She’s dismayed to note that the rest of them have gone from stunned to sneering. Curl Pattern whispers something to Army Jacket that Elle mostly can’t make out, but the word ‘Barbie’ cannot possibly be mistaken for anything else, and she tries not to wince. 

“Okay! Well, nice to meet you, everyone,” Emmett says, turning back to the group. “Criminal Law starts in about five minutes, so I’ll see you soon.”

Everyone on the quad starts to make their way toward the Hauser Building for… the class that she somehow totally forgot is about to happen. Bruiser barks once, which reminds her that she needs to get him back inside. So she hustles back to the dorm as quickly as her impractical-for-Boston shoes will allow, sets him up with fresh water and a Real Housewives marathon, and remembers that her laptop was in her carry-on.

(Which, given her travel luck yesterday, is probably in Croatia by now.)

She rummages in her purse, spotting a heart-shaped notepad - hopefully Professor Callahan doesn’t talk too fast - and hurries back, nearly bumping into the person in front of her as she heads into the lecture hall. 

“Warner?” 

(Blurting out his name a little too loudly when she’s already borderline late for class was not how she saw this going.)

He turns around and stares at her for what must be a solid minute before responding. “Elle. What are you doing here?”

“Going to law school,” she says like it’s obvious.

(Which it is.)

Warner scoffs. “You got into Harvard Law?”

She brushes off the mild insult. “What, like it’s hard?”

“I… I can’t do this with you right now, class is starting.” He fairly stomps over to the other side of the hall and takes a seat next to a woman with sharply drawn features and a dark-brown bob.

In almost two years together, Elle learned the art of interpreting Warner’s different sulky faces. The expression he’s currently wearing usually comes about when he feels he’s been bested.

(Could be worse.)

The room starts to settle, and she quickly takes one of the few seats remaining, smiling at the person to her left - who does not reciprocate. Professor Callahan sweeps in, Elle honestly has no idea what happens next, and all too soon she finds herself alone outside the closed lecture hall door.

This was not how things were supposed to go. She was supposed to read on the plane, but then her book went to probably-Croatia, and she’s just looked like an idiot in front of everyone. She’s dead on her feet, and her wedges are muddy, and she has another class in an hour and a half, and… it was supposed to be different, is all.

And it doesn’t get much better.

For all their myriad flaws, Delta Airlines manages to track down not just her carry-on, but the two huge bags she paid extra to check; miraculously, everything is present and intact. It does make her feel a tiny bit more at home once she plasters her walls in pictures and pennants, and she picks up a few things (maybe more than a few) to make the place more inviting. Her classmates, however, are still anything but.

Elle now knows the woman with the bob is named Vivienne, and that she and Warner are together. She also knows that Vivienne positively despises her. Elle won’t lie, it hurt a little to find out Warner moved on so quickly, but she’s not sure what she’s done to deserve the vitriol being fired at her from all directions. Vivienne actively tries to sabotage her in class, and the rest of their peers seem to find it entertaining. 

(Warner in particular seems to egg her on – and it totally makes sense to Elle that he and Vivienne dated in high school, since his maturity level has apparently regressed right back there.)

They all close ranks whenever she approaches anyone about a study group. It’s a problem because she knows how much it would help her process the frankly insane amount of material being assigned. She reads until her eyes swim, but finds herself mixing up ‘ad litem’ with ‘amicus’ and desperately trying to fly under the radar in class.

One day she reasons that if she can’t improve her situation at school, she can at least do something about her split ends. Armed with a plan for a trim and maybe a few lowlights, she sets out to find a salon. She gets way more than she bargained for with Paulette, with whom she commiserates about exes behaving badly; their burgeoning friendship becomes a bright spot in Elle’s otherwise drab and solitary days.

By mid-October, her hangouts at The Hair Affair have become far more frequent. She also indulges in retail therapy; group exercise sessions; all the things that enriched her life in LA. It cuts into study time, but killing herself hasn’t been working anyway, so it’s hard not to feel defeatist. And the dopamine rush from a new skirt or a great Pilates class temporarily soothes the crater in her heart that showed up the second she crossed into the Eastern Standard Time Zone.

But none of it ultimately matters, because none of it can mitigate the humiliation she feels when she shows up in a damn Playboy Bunny costume to a very non-costume party a week before Halloween.

(There weren’t a ton of options left at the store, although if anything could make her wish she’d gone with the zombie instead...) 

Vivienne is not only way too self-satisfied with her cruel trick, she loudly accuses Elle of using gay slurs to describe Enid. Elle, thinking of past and present friends back home, immediately sees red and fires back. Elle turns directly to Enid and informs her that she herself doesn’t use words like that, but apparently Vivienne does - so maybe Enid should consider the source. As Elle prepares to leave, she catches sight of Warner chuckling into his beer, and whips back around – but instead of looking at him, she locks eyes with Vivienne.

“You keep calling me stupid, but I got into the same school all of you did. And unlike the guy you’re so smug about dating, my father didn’t have to make a call to get me off the waitlist.”

She turns on her heel, but not before seeing the smile melt from Vivienne’s face as the brunette’s eyes narrow, shooting Warner an accusatory glare. Elle walks out imbued with the closest thing to triumph she’s felt in months.

It’s only once she’s exited the building that she realizes her jacket is still on a table inside, and it’s like 46 degrees out. 

Frustrated and freezing, she sits on a nearby bench, silently debating whether to turn into an icicle or negate her victory by going back in, when she spots Emmett making his way in her direction – and he looks sort of pissed off. He’s clearly absorbed in thought, so he doesn’t see her until she waves a little, at which point he does a double take.

“Elle? What are you… Uh, new clothes?”

She groans. “Why is everyone here the way that they are?”

“What do you mean?” Ugh, bless him, he’s shrugging off his hoodie - he must be used to this weather because he has a thermal on underneath - and handing it to her as he takes a seat beside her. She pulls the fleecy cotton around herself tightly.

(It occurs to her ever so briefly that it smells really good.)

“They constantly have to tear someone down in order to feel better about themselves,” she complains. “I feel like I’m drowning in the sheer volume of information I’m expected to absorb, and not only will none of them let me into their stupid study groups, they do whatever they can to make it harder for me. Apparently if you like fun, or shopping, or, you know, colors - you’re not serious enough to be here.”

She can see him working to keep his face neutral, but he ultimately succeeds. “Yeah, I kind of can’t fault you there. This place is the best of the best, and unfortunately that tends to attract a certain type of person. But, you know, give it time. It’ll get better.”

“Finding that a little hard to believe right now. But thanks.” She shivers. “Anyway, is everything okay with you? You looked pretty upset just now.”

“Oh, I’m…” He hesitates, then shakes his head. “I just found out I passed the bar. I am officially a licensed attorney in the state of Massachusetts.”

“What? Congratulations!” She smiles at him. “Why would you be upset about that?”

“Thanks. I’m just kind of annoyed because I talked to Callahan, who still can’t hire a new full-time associate, and thinks that maybe we can talk about it again in the spring.” He shrugs. “But it’ll be worth the wait. It has to be.”

Elle considers this. “How do you know?” 

“Because it’s going to change everything. I’ve been working for it my entire life, it has to be a matter of when – not if.”

“I used to feel that sure about things,” Elle murmurs, glowering at the building from which she’s just emerged. 

Emmett looks at her curiously, then sighs, standing up. “Come on,” he says. “You should probably get inside.” 

She rises as well, and they begin walking in the direction of the dorm. “You know… I can go over stuff with you,” he offers. “I know it’s different than a study group, but I do have the advantage of having done this before.”

“Thanks, but I’m sure you’re super busy with, like, licensed attorney-slash-TA stuff.”

“I can handle it,” he assures her. “Until Callahan hires me as more than an assistant, I actually have more time on my hands than I have since I started undergrad.”

“Well… are you sure?”

“Yeah.” He smiles, and it’s different – it reaches his eyes. He typically has some kind of dead-inside expression pasted to his face when he’s dealing with her classmates. “Listen, my first year, no one wanted me in their group either. I was working whenever I wasn’t in class or studying, or I wasn’t wearing the right shoes, it was always something. But then I started getting solid grades and good internships, and all of a sudden none of that other stuff mattered. To me or to them.”

By this point, they’ve reached the dorm; they head up to her room, where Bruiser greets them with happy yips. 

“Hi!” Elle gushes, picking up the chihuahua. “Do you remember Emmett, Bruiser? Can you say hi?”

Emmett quirks an eyebrow, but gamely (if awkwardly) waves. “Hi there, Bruiser.”

“Sorry, can you hold him for a second? I just need to change, and he gets a little upset if he doesn’t get enough salutation cuddles.”

“Uh, sure, I-“ 

“Thank you!” Elle hands Bruiser over, grabs the first clothes she can find, and dashes into the bathroom. When she emerges, Emmett seems a little more comfortable, scratching Bruiser behind the ears as her canine curls up in the crook of Emmett’s left arm – totally blissed out save for the rapidly thumping tail.

“You know, dogs are good judges of character,” she says with a smile.

Emmett looks up, surprised. “Are they?”

“Yeah.”

(After all, Bruiser always hated Warner.

No reason to think he hasn’t gotten this right too.)

***

On Monday morning, Elle adopts Serena’s best ‘just try me’ expression – the extra-scary one that got them hotel upgrades in Catalina without anyone saying a word – just before she walks into Callahan’s class. She settles into a desk two rows from the front and busies herself opening her MacBook when a shadow falls across it.

She gazes up to see Enid, who’s holding out the jacket Elle left behind at the party.

“Thank you,” Elle says, surprise warring with suspicion as she accepts the cropped trench.

Enid looks at her with something akin to regret and it seems as if she’s going to respond, but she just nods sharply and walks up to take a seat farther back.

It’s hardly a bonding ritual. But it’s not nothing.

For the next few weeks, Vivienne still has a snarky response for half of what Elle says, but she’s a little quieter about it. (Warner pretends Elle doesn’t exist, which is probably best-case scenario.) No one stands up for her per se, but they also don’t seem nearly as amused – and before long they start agreeing with some of the points she’s making. Elle finds herself lingering longer over her books, less certain of the futility of it all.

A big part of this, of course, is Emmett; true to his word, he shows up a few evenings a week. They eschew the library - where everybody else basically lives - in favor of her room’s relative comfort. He manages to explain some of the denser concepts in a way that actually makes sense to her, and he’s armed with endless mnemonics and incredibly stupid jokes. Leventhal asks her a question about civil liability one day, and as soon as Elle remembers groaning at Emmett’s terrible tortfeasor puns, she sees in her mind the highlighted text over which they’d been poring.

Probably her favorite thing, though, is when he sings particularly complex lists of jargon to the tune of something familiar, which he swears is a vital first-year survival technique. It’s a struggle to keep herself from dancing in her seat in class as she plays them back inside her head, but damned if it isn’t effective.

(It occurs to her as she’s silently humming a property-law parody of Single Ladies that the song first dropped two years after Emmett would have been in the class.

Her stomach does a little flip thing that she tries not to overthink.)

Her confidence grows, and their study sessions become less remedial and more review. Sometimes they work silently in parallel, him writing memos for Callahan’s cases while she revises notes. When they take breaks, their conversations tend to meander all over the map - but other than Paulette, he’s the only person in the entire state with whom she doesn’t critically overanalyze every word she says. 

A week before Thanksgiving, she’s reminiscing about the Napa wine tour that she went on at this time last year with half of Delta Nu – a far better choice than Tahoe with her parents. “It was so much fun, even though Pilar ignored the spit bucket for like, the first four stops and spent the rest of the day asleep in the back of the party bus. We had to buy her these huge Jackie O sunglasses the next morning at this rest stop, and they broke before we even pulled back out onto the road.” She laughs. “But mostly everyone knew how to handle themselves. Do you like wine? Or more of like, beer, or… cocktails?”

(He seems like maybe a gin kind of guy.

She doesn’t ask herself why she’s curious.)

Emmett smiles a little. “I don’t really drink.”

“Oh,” she responds, a bit surprised. “Is it, like, a recovery thing? I mean, no judgment whatsoever, Kate’s dad got his 30-year chip last spring and she says it really does work if you work it.”

He chuckles. “No, not a recovery thing. And not a morality thing either – I have, and I don’t go into a tailspin if I’m around it. I just don’t love to deliberately ingest something that smells like my mom’s ex-boyfriend. Well. Two of them, actually.” He’s alluded in the past to his mom’s dating history and hesitates a bit now; Elle isn’t sure whether to ask him to elaborate, and before she can figure out how to respond, he shrugs and the corner of his mouth turns up. “Anyway, it doesn’t seem that appealing to go out and pay $15 for a glass of watered-down turpentine.”

“So you don’t drink,” she says contemplatively. “You’re not a smoker, I assume you don’t dabble in anything recreational-”

“I like my law license right where it is.”

“Do you actually have any vices, or are you secretly a monk? Which, again, no judgment. I think you could rock the robe if it was properly tailored. The haircut might not suit you, though.”

He laughs. “Caffeine is probably ten vices in one for me.”

Elle grins and inquisitively gestures toward her Red Bull stash.

Emmett shrugs, reaching for one. “Don’t mind if I do, thanks."

“Plenty more where that came from.”

***

She and Bruiser hang out with Paulette and Rufus - who are both still delighted about their recent reunion – over Thanksgiving weekend, and early the following week, Elle and Emmett run into each other after her last class for the day. She’s surprised to see him there; he was supposed to be at Callahan’s firm for a client meeting, which was expected to go into the early evening.

“It was cancelled last minute,” he explains. “I was just going to kill time in the library before coming over later.”

Feeling her stomach growl, she looks at her watch and asks him if he wants to grab something to eat.

He suggests a small diner not too far from campus. It’s kind of a hole in the wall and she would likely have walked right by had Emmett not pointed it out, but inside it’s warmly lit and everything coming out of the kitchen smells great.

“I live down the block and I’m pretty sure I would have starved without this place between second and third year,“ he says with a grin. “I was a summer associate at a firm that expected 80 hours a week, minimum. I barely had time to breathe, much less cook, and everything got expensed anyway, so. Oh, I’ve been told the veggie burger comes frozen and the texture is gross, so maybe stay away from that. But you can put tofu on the salads if you want.”

(As he casually inventories the diner’s vegetarian items while his menu sits unopened on the table, she remembers he eats meat and none of this is particularly relevant to him.

Her stomach does the flip thing again and she tells herself it’s hunger.)

They head back to her dorm together, Bruiser greeting them. She left the TV on earlier - she’ll be convinced her dog is a soap opera aficionado until it’s proven otherwise - but it’s late enough now that game shows have started. 

“Make yourself at home,” Elle says as she provides Bruiser his requisite affection. “I’m just going to take him out, I’ll be back in a few.”

Once Bruiser’s needs are taken care of, she heads back in. As she opens her door, she hears Emmett say, “What is Carthage?”

“Huh?” She blinks. “An old city, right?”

“What?” He looks up in surprise. “Oh, sorry, I was talking to-“ and gestures back to the TV.

She recognizes the show as Jeopardy, but she hasn’t ever really watched it – and she’s certainly never witnessed anyone call out their answers while sitting at home.

“So you just play along while you’re watching? For fun?” she asks at the commercial break, mildly intrigued.

“Trivia was kind of my thing for a long time,” he responds. “It’s nice to know I’ve still got it.”

Elle doesn’t fully get how reversing question and answer is jeopardizing anything. And what double jeopardy - the legal meaning of which she now knows in her sleep - has to do with it either. But she finds herself following suit, especially when one of the categories turns out to be Musical Hits of the 2000s.

“Oh! What is - who is Lady Gaga!” she exclaims even before the host has finished reading the clue.

Emmett glances at her, seemingly a little amused, as one of the contestants correctly echoes her. “It’s hard not to get into it, huh?”

She waves him off as the next clue appears, yelling, “My Life Would Suck Without You!”

“Thanks?”

“Kelly Clarkson’s most recent number-one song! That’s the answer. I mean, the question. Ugh, this doesn’t seem necessary.”

(She runs the category anyway.)

They keep it on and she’s honestly a little disappointed when the credits roll.

“That was fun,” she remarks. “Serena dated someone for a few months junior year who liked doing trivia. She said he was pretty bad at it, except for questions about sports.”

“Well, if you have a team where everyone has a different strength, it helps a lot,” he points out. 

“What are your strengths? Everything?”

“Well, I read a lot, but I’ve been living under a rock in this place for the past three years, so the pop culture stuff gets dicey. I mix up celebrities if I even know who they are, the last TV show I actually watched all the way through was The West Wing… oh, I remember one time, everyone’s brain collectively exploded because they asked who designed Princess Diana’s wedding dress. Who would know-”

“David and Elizabeth Emanuel,” Elle says effortlessly, shrugging when Emmett’s eyes widen. “It’s an iconic piece of fashion history.”

“Hmm.” He nods slowly. “See, different strengths help.”

“Seems like it could be pretty fun.”

“Could be – after you kick the crap out of your finals. Let’s go over inchoate offenses one more time.”

***

Her mom calls two days later, a few minutes before Emmett is due to show up. “How is everything, dear?”

“Things are good, Mom.” Elle puts the phone on speaker so she can continue reorganizing her notes while she talks. “Everything is going okay with my classes, and I think finals are going to go well.”

“And with Warner?”

(Here it goes.)

“What do you mean, ‘with Warner’? I told you the last time we talked that he has a girlfriend.”

“And I told you that you need to get him away from that girl,” her mom rejoins. “You can’t wait for a man like Warner to come to you.”

“It hurt a little to see them together at first,” Elle admits. “But the way he’s acted… Mom, I don’t even want to be around him right now. He’s been terrible to me.”

“Well, feelings change in time. But it’s essential that you make sure he knows-“

“Mom.” Elle rolls her eyes. “I just told you my ex-boyfriend is treating me badly and you’re telling me to chase after him-”

“Because it’s your dream to marry him.”

“It’s not, though,” she argues – wondering if in fact it ever was. “It kind of feels like it’s your dream, and I think you need to let go of it because it isn’t happening.”

“I’m just thinking of what’s best for you,” Caroline wheedles. “The sooner you have a good husband, someone to support you-“

Enough already. “I’m in law school! To become a lawyer. I don’t know why I wouldn’t be able to support myself.”

“Elle, you’re not really planning to stay there if you aren’t with Warner. Are you? You only applied in the first place to be with him, and Boston is so cold and I can’t imagine what the humidity will do to your hair when it finally warms up…”

“I’m not planning anything different than what I’m doing right now,” she says through gritted teeth. “And I don’t really want to keep talking about Warner. Can we just drop it?”

“I suppose,” Caroline sighs. “Now. If it’s getting colder there, it’s important you’re watching what you eat.”

“What?”

“Well, are you?”

“Why are you asking me about what I’m eating?”

“Because men don’t find it attractive when you put on weight. We’ve talked about this before, Elle.”

“I haven’t-” She stops, takes a deep breath. “Please let it go. I’ve been so much happier here lately, but you have to stop pushing this.”

“All right. I just hope you’re being careful, dear,” Caroline pleads, and for a split second Elle thinks it’s out of actual concern for her well-being.

(Nope.)

“It doesn’t take much to forget yourself, especially with a big winter coat to hide behind. You won’t want to get to spring and find that nothing fits.”

“My body is healthy and strong, and the number on the scale or tag is just that,” she recites in a monotone, verbatim from Melissa’s BSS mantras.

“I do worry about you.”

“I’m sure you worry,” she says a little more brusquely than intended. “And I’m sure I appreciate it. You know what, though? I’m going to need to stay here over the holidays to prepare for next semester, but maybe I’ll get out there in the spring. Don’t worry, whenever I come, I’ll bring my big winter coat to hide behind.”

“Please don’t be dramatic, dear. Oh, Harrison! Elle, your father just walked in. He wants to say hello.”

(Great.)

A second later, she hears his voice, somewhat distracted as always. “Button, how are your classes?”

(At least he mostly departed the marry-her-off bandwagon - even if her mother is keeping the fire burning enough for them both.)

“Good, Dad,” she confirms, keeping her anxieties about finals to herself. “Everything’s going really well.”

“I’m pleased to hear it,” he says. “Are you really staying in Boston for Christmas?”

Feeling slightly rueful about her impromptu declaration, Elle responds apologetically, “I just have a lot to do to make sure I’m staying where I need to be, but I really will try to get out there to see you guys-“

“No, it’s fine,” he interrupts. “Nina and Stuart won’t wonder why you’re back all of a sudden.”

“Back from school?” She’s intensely confused. “Is it strange for people to go home for the holidays?”

Her father sighs. “We told them you’re spending the year studying fashion in Zurich. It wasn’t clear how else to explain your absence.”

What in the actual… “How about the truth?” she snaps. “I’m at Harvard Law School, I’m not sure why that’s embarrassing.”

“We all know this was unexpected, Elle. It’s difficult for us to understand, let alone explain. And if it’s not going to last, then… well.”

Elle scoffs. “If you didn’t think I could make it here, why did you agree to pay the tuition?”

“The money in that trust is specifically earmarked for education and related expenses. Sitting or spending, it would just go to waste either way. It certainly doesn’t hurt anyone for you to do this experiment.”

“Oh.” Elle blinks hard, willing the lump in her throat to disappear. “I guess I’ll see you when I see you.” She hangs up, stalks over to her bed, and is mid-scream with her pillow pressed against her face when there’s a knock at the door. 

“It’s open,” she says resignedly, sitting up cross-legged and clutching the pillow to her chest.

Emmett walks in looking mildly concerned. “You okay? I heard… sounds coming from in here.”

“Just screaming into a pillow. It’s harmless, therapeutic, whatever.” She closes her eyes for a long moment. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay,” he responds slowly. “Want to pick up where we left off yesterday?”

“Not really. But fine.”

Where they left off was with a series of statutes that Elle cannot grasp fully to save her life. She’s employed every technique in her arsenal, tried rote memorization but can’t apply anything, and it just refuses to happen. She tries pacing back and forth around the room to see if that’ll help, but when Emmett asks her to interpret charges in a case, she sees Vivienne’s sneer and hears her father talking about Zurich and collapses back onto her bed with a aggravated groan. “You know what? Screw this.”

The pinprick sting of tears is undeniable, and she clenches both jaw and fists. She suddenly feels a hand on her shoulder, which is surprising but not unwelcome (usually she’s the initiator of physical contact). Slowly, she inclines her head in Emmett’s direction.

“If you want to talk about it, we can,” he tells her.

She thinks of all kinds of appropriate responses: no thanks and I’m fine and I don’t want to waste your time, but he’s looking at her like he has nowhere else to be and what comes out instead is, “How much did you hear? Before?”

“Um…” Now he seems vaguely guilty. “I really wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, there just wasn’t a good moment to knock-”

She feels her face soften. “Emmett, it’s fine. I just want to know how much I have to recap.”

“Everything after ‘You can’t wait for a man like Warner to come to you.’”

So pretty much all of it. Awesome.

She sighs. “I applied here because I realized it could be useful to have a law degree, and I thought it would be fun to surprise Warner with. And… maybe if I got in, it would prove to everyone that I’m more than the blonde and the pink and the happy.”

“You don’t have to prove anything to anyone but yourself, you know,” he says gently.

Elle manages to refrain from rolling her eyes. “Easy for you to say. You graduated with high honors and you’re pretty much the protégé of the best defense attorney in the state.”

“Yeah, and I also spent a long time fighting imposter syndrome, Elle. Trust me. I’m telling you, nobody else’s opinion matters.”

She sighs. “I just have this weird mental block about this one stupid thing, and… I feel like everyone is staring at me all the time. Like, willing me to fail because that’s what they want to see.”

“Who wants to see that?”

“Vivienne. Probably Warner. Hell, probably everyone else in my year too.”

“You think they actively want you to fail?”

“Yes. Fail and go far away and leave them to their own miserable smug devices.” She huffs.

“Huh.” Emmett thinks for a second. “Do you think your parents want you to fail?”

“My dad… well, you heard him. He’s not getting his money back either way, so he probably doesn’t care. And I think my mom wants me to be an ideal size zero and get married to a rich guy in the next five minutes. If failing helps speed up that process, then by all means.”

He pauses, hesitant. “She seems really fixated on that. The… weight and the marriage thing.”

“Yeah, apparently I’m going to die alone on the street because I’m already 22 going on Betty White and I don’t have a diamond ring so big I can hardly lift my hand. Or a ridiculously complicated prenup.” Elle shakes her head. “And yeah, according to her, I’ve been eating too much since I was in utero. But hey, she’s super chill about it, because she said a size two would also be acceptable. A great thing to hear when your body’s natural set point is between a four and a six.”

Emmett squints a bit. “I hate to ask. If zero is ideal, and two is acceptable…”

“Four is borderline and six qualifies me for weight-loss surgery."

She thinks he’ll take the bait and laugh. He doesn’t, just looks at her steadily. “I’m sorry you have to deal with that.”

She looks up, a little surprised. “I’m trying to make my peace with it; they’re still my parents, and I think they really do care about me and have good intentions. They just… go about everything totally wrong.”

He pauses, and it’s clear when he does respond that he’s choosing his words deliberately. “Do you take what they say to heart?”

She knows exactly what he’s asking, and is tempted to remind him that he’s seen her eat on multiple occasions – but it’s a serious question, and should be answered accordingly. “I used to. I never, like, starved myself, or made myself sick or anything like that, but I definitely felt pressure to look a certain way.”

“That really sucks.” He looks away for a second before turning back with curiosity. “What changed?”

She smiles a little. “I rushed Delta Nu.” She tells him how her experience turned sorority stereotypes on their head; how she methodically unlearned every negative she’d ever internalized about herself.

“Not what you’d expect.” He looks more than a little impressed.

“It was amazing,” she says, feeling her smile grow. “Everyone was constantly hyping each another up, and it was just… love. Like, unconditional love for each other. If someone hurt one of us, everyone else was pretty much ready to offer a shovel and an alibi at a moment’s notice.”

He chuckles at that. “I hope that’s not a confession.”

“No. At least as far as I’m aware – but Warner’s car was mysteriously covered in Post-It notes a few days after he broke up with me, and Tracy said it took him hours to get all of them off.” She shakes her head with a laugh. “I miss them.”

“Would they want you to fail?”

She sits up a bit more in surprise, then exhales. “I see where you’re going with this.”

“Would they?”

“Of course not. But if I didn’t want to do this and found something else, they’d be just as happy for me. If this isn’t where I’m supposed to be.”

“Well, we’ve established what you think your classmates want, and your parents, and your friends from home. I think we’re still missing a pretty important opinion.”

She’s thrown. “Paulette?”

“Uh, no,” he says. “Although I’m guessing she’s staunchly pro-law school after we helped get her dog back.”

“You?”

“I… not me. You. What do you want, Elle?”

“I want to… be a lawyer,” Elle responds slowly, realizing as the words emerge that it’s true.

“Hmm. Then it kind of seems you’re in the right place. I guess that can’t be what’s holding you back here.” Emmett strokes his chin as if in deep contemplation, though Elle can see he’s amused. “So what is?”

Elle rolls her eyes. “I don’t know, that I’m too dumb to get some of this stuff through my head?”

“Ehhhh.” Emmett offers his best imitation of a buzzer. “Try again.”

Elle sighs in defeat. “I’m letting other people’s opinions get to me,” she grumbles.

“There you go. Look, you know I had to deal with the same thing.”

“People ridiculing you left and right for being a blonde sorority girl?”

He laughs. “The blonde sorority part, not so much – but the ridicule, yes.”

“I still don’t understand it. You’re super smart, how could they…?”

“Because they saw my clothes and car and outdated technology, and thought it meant there was no way I could succeed.”

“But what does that have to do with anything?”

“What does being a blonde sorority girl have to do with anything?” he fires back.

She doesn’t have an answer to that one.

“Elle, people expect all kinds of things of us. If you were to leave because you genuinely didn’t want to be here anymore, then that’s your prerogative. But if you do it to fulfill their expectations of you – if you make yourself smaller for them – what happens to what you want?”

She lets this roll around her mind for a long moment. “It’s gone.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to get what I want.”

“Huh? I didn’t quite catch that.”

“I’m going to get what I want.”

“Oh, a bus just went by and drowned you out, can you repeat it?” Emmett asks jokingly, cupping his hand around his ear.

“I’m going to get what I want!” she screams with abandon.

(Just as well everyone else is in the library.)

“Good,” Emmett says. “So look at the case again. I know you know this, you just have to find it.”

She feels the tension begin to rise in her chest again, and he squeezes her shoulder briefly before letting go. 

“I’ve tried so many times, and it just won’t click.”

“Because you’re looking too closely and getting bogged down in detail. Take a step back, look at the whole picture. It’ll jump out at you.”

She closes her eyes and breathes deeply a few times. When she looks again, she tries to take more of a birds-eye view, and suddenly startles.

“They can both be charged with murder.”

“Why?”

“The Pinkerton Rule.”

“Applies because…?”

She counts elements in her head. “He didn’t kill the clerk, but he’s a co-conspirator in the robbery, so he’s liable for all substantive offenses?”

“There it is.” Emmett smiles. “Look at that.”

She raises her arms in triumph. “Finally! That wasn’t even that bad.”

“Told you.”

“Well, that was a very high-quality pep talk.”

He raises his hand in what she thinks is going to be a high-five, but a fist bump meets her palm; they laugh and try again, but end up doing the same thing in reverse.

“You know what?” Elle says. “I think there’s a better way to do this.”

***

Walking out of her last exam, she feels a lot better than she ever expected she would back in September. When she exits Hauser, everything outside is blanketed in white, and she stops in her tracks. There’s been the occasional flurry in the last couple weeks, but it was sunny this morning when she was getting ready. This must have happened while she spent several hours in windowless classrooms.  

She’s been skiing before and all of that, but actually living in a place where it snows is strangely exciting. The whole campus is somehow hushed. And yeah, it’s cold and the flakes are wet on her face and she really needs a better scarf – but it’s pretty.

“How’d it go?” Emmett calls out to her as he walks up in a slouchy knit hat she hasn’t seen him wear before.

She smiles, trying to suppress a shiver as the wind momentarily picks up. “Really well, I think. Everything looks so different.”

“From being on the other side of finals, or because of the snow?”

She looks at him for a long moment and can’t help but think there should be other options available. “Both. All.”

(He’s looking at her too, and her stomach does the flip thing, which is becoming a semi-regular occurrence.

This time she blames the hat.)

“So, uh, nice jacket, but how are you not freezing?” he asks with a grin. “Snow being a relatively new thing for you and all.”

She laughs. “I didn’t know this was going to happen today, so I didn’t think I needed anything more than this.”

“Well, from now until about May, assume it could happen anytime.” He shrugs. “And you might want to consider layers.”

“Probably a good idea.” She smiles, then shivers again. “Okay, I think this is about as much winter as I can enjoy at one time, can we please go inside?”

“Sure.”

As they begin to walk, Emmett starts talking about all the decked-out places around the city to go see now that she’s done with finals. Elle looks around at soft snowbanks lining the already well-traversed paths. It’s definitely different. And pretty. And maybe even – she lets the thought form fully despite her reluctance to admit it to herself – a little romantic.

As the word echoes in her mind, her eyes drift back to him.

Hmm.

Staying here for winter break seems like it might work out pretty well after all.

Chapter Text

By the time Thanksgiving rolls around, Emmett feels like he’s known Elle for years.

Which shouldn’t make sense. Other than inexplicably being Harvard Law pariahs, the two of them don’t have a lot in common as far as he can tell. He has next to no experience with a lot of what she talks about, and doubts she’s ever woken up and seen more water stain than ceiling above her head. But he finds himself telling her things he rarely discusses with anyone; things doesn’t even let himself think about for too long. 

The first time, it happens almost of its own accord; they keep getting distracted because Bruiser seems to be chasing something invisible around the room. 

“I have no idea what’s going on with him today,” Elle says, shaking her head.

Emmett smiles. “Maybe there’s a phantom mouse.”

“A what?”

He freezes, realizing his childhood home is probably the only place that phrase is recognizable. “Mice, uh, weren’t totally uncommon in our building. One time we went through a couple months where there was nothing definitive, but we still somehow knew it was there. We started calling it the phantom mouse.”

He sort of expects her to recoil or make a face or, who knows, jump up on the bed at the very mention of it, but she just leans forward with interest. 

“Did it ever come back to life?”

“It sure did.” He nods, expecting that if she wasn’t grossed out before, she will be now. “And it brought cousins.”

She doesn’t even blink. “Ooh, that sucks. We had squirrels once at the Delta Nu house, and they were bad enough – must have been a total pain to deal with something smaller.”

Well. That he wasn’t expecting. “Squirrels?”

“No lie. There was a tree that didn’t touch the roof, but it was really close, and they got in through a vent in the attic. They definitely weren’t phantoms, though, they made their presence known.” She laughs. “This one time when Margot was in the shower, she stuck her head out because she thought her loofah was by the sink, and she saw one sitting on the counter and staring right at her. She screamed so loud people could hear her from outside, and then we all heard this huge bang and she was still screaming. We thought she was dying or something. So four of us ran into the bathroom and she had like, tried to wrap herself up in the shower curtain, but she pulled too hard and the shower rod came out of the wall and cracked the tub.”

Emmett doesn’t realize he’s laughing until he begins to speak. “What happened to the squirrel?”

“Nowhere to be found.” Elle throws her hands up. “So who knows - maybe it was a phantom.”

“Maybe Margot’s like the little kid from The Sixth Sense, except she sees dead rodents instead of people.” He smiles.

“Hmm. Maybe. She can tell when fashion trends are about to die. She told everyone to get rid of their trucker hats like, three months before they disappeared.”

He walks home and his mind drifts to the mockery and insults that have been thrown at him over the years. The feeling that no matter how smart he was or how much he accomplished, he’d always be looked at as less than. And then he thinks about how she grew up with more money than he can possibly imagine - yet makes him feel completely at ease all the time.

It shouldn’t make sense. But here they are.

She’s someone for whom touch seems to serve as punctuation, and the first time she hugs him excitedly in response to nailing a difficult section, it catches him by surprise. When he doesn’t immediately reciprocate, she pulls away just as quickly. “Sorry, do you not like hugs? I know some people, like, have a bubble around them when it comes to being touched.”

He squeezes the back of his neck with his right hand. “No, it’s fine, I don’t… not like hugs.”

“Oh. Wanna try it again?”

(He actually really does.)

It’s immediately clear to him that all she needed was a little support and encouragement, because once they get started, she’s like a sponge. He shares all his old memory aids with her, even the jokes that render him uncertain whether to laugh or cringe. He gets a Beyoncé song stuck in his head one day after hearing it on the radio at the grocery store, and he certainly isn’t trying to sub legal terminology for lyrics – not that he knows the lyrics – it all just kind of shows up in his mind’s eye. 

(She aces her test, so it serves its purpose.)

He catches himself thinking about her unintentionally. Kind of a lot. Like when he stops at his go-to diner – best-kept secret in the neighborhood, in his opinion – and reviews the menu only to find that a bunch of items suddenly stand out to him, all of which happen to be vegetarian. He doesn’t have a lot of experience with tofu and he generally thinks mushrooms taste like dirt, so it’s not like he’s looking for himself.

Still.

He’s sure it’s just because they’re becoming friends way faster than he’s used to doing with anyone. Hell, he’s often hesitant to even broach the use of the word ‘friend’ until someone has been around for a lot longer than she has. So he attributes it all to helping her navigate the same rocky course through which he’s already traveled.

His mom is working Thanksgiving weekend, so Emmett catches up on laundry and paperwork for Callahan; reads two novels and half a biography; goes on long enough walks to make his shins ache the next day.

And he tells himself his head is clear.

December starts, and he’s about to knock on her door one night when he hears her arguing with someone inside. She really only talks about Warner if she’s complaining about something that happened in class, and even that’s dwindled as of late – so it’s odd hearing his name mentioned over and over again. There’s all this stuff about eating and what’s attractive to men and how she might as well throw away her education trust. He thinks he’ll walk away and come back in a few minutes, it’s not his business – but he finds his feet are rooted to the floor and the rest of him is frozen solid. It’s only when he hears a muffled scream that his arm rises of its own accord, knuckles rapping against wood.

He tries to segue back into criminal law, but of course they left off with the stuff that’s given her more trouble than anything in weeks, and her frustration boils over. She’s not crying, but her mouth is working from side to side and she’s staring at her desk like she’s trying to obliterate it.

Everything her parents have said is obviously sitting heavy with her, and he hardly knows where to begin. He could tell her with complete honesty that she’s perfect just as she is – he has eyes – but it doesn’t seem like that would have much of an impact. He can’t make her parents change their attitudes, and he has no power over whatever her classmates are throwing at her.

So he puts a hand on her shoulder and leans into her peripheral vision to draw her out of it.

It works. They talk. And she feels better.

(Which makes him feel better.

Totally what friends do.)

When she finally has a breakthrough with the dreaded material, their attempts to celebrate somehow lead to the invention of a way more complicated handshake than could ever be necessary. 

“So shake, clasp…”

Elle looks at him impatiently. “Fist bump up, down, forward, explosion.” 

“Right, I keep forgetting explosion. Got it. One, two….”

“Why are you-“

“Wait, do I go up first or-“

“No, I go up first!”

“Okay, okay. Take 87.”

“We’re going to get this if it takes the rest of the night, Emmett.”

“I’ve gathered as much.”

***

Her finals go well; for the next week, whenever he’s not at the firm dealing with Callahan’s busywork, they’re generally hanging out. He shows her the places he got to know during undergrad, pointing out in particular the ones his mom would occasionally take him around Christmas as a kid – the Public Garden was always his favorite – and as they approach a tour group heading in the other direction, Elle smiles at the older woman in period costume walking backward as she speaks. 

“I love that,” she remarks. “It really, like, builds the whole experience up, doesn’t it? Have you ever gone on one of those?”

He’s opening his mouth to tell her – really – when the guide glances in their direction; she lights up with recognition just as Emmett registers his own.

“Emmett!” She smiles, apologetically motioning to the group to indicate she has to keep moving. “Good to see you.”

“You too, Marie. Take care,” he says with a wave. As he and Elle continue, he deliberately keeps his eyes straight ahead, despite feeling hers burning into him.

“I told you I had two jobs during law school,” he says evenly. 

When he’s met with silence, he ventures a look to his left and nearly jumps; she’s staring at him with an almost manic delight. “Uh, that’s a little frightening, and you’re also going to trip if you don’t watch where you’re walking.”

He’s very familiar with how long it takes to traverse various distances in this part of this city – which is how he knows that she peppers him with questions for the next 12 minutes.

(He thinks that when he finally tells her he has no idea of any of the fabrics or materials used, not a single one, nor the historical accuracy of whatever they might be, the interrogation will stop.

It does not.)

“Did you have accessories?”

“Yes.”

“Was there a hat?”

“Yes.”

“Was there a bell?”

“Did I not just say there were accessories?”

“Was. There. A. Bell?”

He sighs. “Yes.”

“Did you get to ring it?”

“Sometimes.”

“Do you still have it?”

“No.”

“You threw it out?!”

“Turned it back in.”

“Can I see pictures?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t have any.”

“Hmm.”

He turns back to her. “Anything else?”

“Not at this time.”

(It’s crystal clear this conversation is far from over.)

***

Two days before Christmas, they’re getting coffee and it occurs to him he has no idea what she’s doing on the actual holiday.

“Paulette asked if I want to go to her cousin’s for breakfast on Christmas Day, it’s a thing they do,” she tells him. “So probably that, and then I’ll watch movies, finish the pre-class assignments, that kind of thing. It’ll be fine. Who knows, maybe I’ll even start reading ahead.”

“Ah, yes, what I call a party.” He grins.

She laughs a little. “What about you? What are you up to?”

“Going to my mom’s for dinner. She works every other holiday, so she’s due to be off this time.”

“Oh, good!” He’s been looking forward to it, but she somehow seems more excited than he feels. “Any fun traditions?”

(They generally didn’t have the money for a real tree, nor the space to store an artificial one. Some years were great, even though they couldn’t swing a lot of gifts – and some years, his mom was dating someone.

Those were generally less than great.)

“I wasn’t quite two yet when we moved in, so I don’t remember a lot of this, but this old couple across the hall found out it was just us,” he says instead. “And they would help my mom out sometimes, and have us over on holidays. They were Jewish, so we always got Chinese takeout on Christmas. They moved to a retirement place when I was in… I think second grade? But that one thing stuck and we still do it.”

Someday he might get used to Elle reacting to things he says as if someone has just handed her an immensely fluffy baby animal. “That’s really sweet!”

“It’s nice. And it makes meal planning easy.”

“Yeah, makes sense,” she says with a smile.

“If you can bear to hold off on the reading ahead for a couple hours, you could come with me. If you wanted.” He suggests it before he can really think about it, and is sure she’ll politely decline.

(Although he wouldn’t be upset or anything if she doesn’t.)

“Really?” Elle’s clearly a little surprised, but seems to be considering it. “I mean, you don’t see your mom that much, I’m sure she’s looking forward to hanging out with you.”

He smiles. “It’d be fun. My mom has been begging me to bring home” – he bites back ‘a girl’ just in time and recalibrates – “friends for years. The last one she met was my buddy Keith in high school, and he spilled a bowl of Rice Krispies on the couch the first time he came over. So you’d actually be doing me a favor – maybe I’ll redeem myself a little.”

“Was there milk?”

“In the… Oh, yeah.” Emmett cringes at the memory. “If you ever need to steam-clean upholstery, I’ve got you covered.”

“Yikes. Well, if you’re sure, then I’d love to!” Elle says excitedly. “What can I bring?”

“You don’t have to bring-“

“Emmett, first rule of guest etiquette is that you never show up empty-handed.”

He thinks about it. “I don’t know.”

“Hmm.” Elle goes quiet for a moment, then brightens. “Well, if dinner is takeout, then what about dessert?”

“… we eat the fortune cookies that come with the food?”

“Let me borrow your kitchen.”

“Huh?”

“Katie, my first roommate at UCLA, left after fall semester to go to culinary school, and now she’s a pastry chef at this, like, award-winning place in Santa Monica. And she sends me recipes for my birthday.”

“Do you particularly enjoy that?”

“Her recipes are like her children, it’s a very precious gift,” she says with a bizarrely straight face. “I can make one. Or two. I’m not sure, I’ll figure it out. But I need access to an oven, so can I use yours?”

“Uh… sure, why not?”

“Perfect! Will anyone else be there on Christmas? Any food allergies? Dietary restrictions?”

“Listen, please don’t go to a lot of trouble.”

“Emmett…”

He sighs. “It’ll just be, well, us three for dinner - my mom’s boyfriend goes to his daughter’s and then the two of them usually come over a little later. I’ll check on allergies, but I don’t think there’s anything.”

Gabe is a radiology tech his mom met at work a couple years ago, and the first truly decent guy Emmett can ever remember her dating. His late wife died when Cassie – a few years older than Emmett – was seven, so there’s a lot of common ground there.

(As much as Dana cares for him, she swears she’s done living with a partner after years of having relationships go incredibly wrong – and Gabe is okay with doing whatever she wants.

The latter is all Emmett cares about.)

“So what do the holidays usually look like for you?” he asks as they walk, coffee in hand.

Elle shrugs. “The house always looks super pretty. There’s a big tree in the foyer, and my parents’ friends come over for dinner.”

“Oh.” Emmett says, noting a distinct lack of enthusiasm on her part. “Nice.”

“I mean… eh.” Elle rolls her eyes. “They hire decorators and dinner is catered. They want everything to look nice, but my mother is, well, my mother – and my father’s annoyed whenever he’s giving up golfing time. And it’s sort of weird to do some of the Christmas-y stuff when it’s 75 degrees out. No one’s roasting chestnuts on an open bonfire at the beach, you know?”

“Yeah, fair enough. Did you open presents the night before, or…?”

He swears he sees her face become the tiniest bit more guarded. “My parents asked for a list of what I wanted at the beginning of December, and then stuff would be there on Christmas. They put presents under the tree when I was little, but the older I got, the less they had stuff wrapped. They never really watched me open them or anything, so they probably figured I didn’t care that much… but, I mean, I was always happy with what I got, since I asked for it.” 

“They didn’t want to keep up the Santa illusion?”

Elle snorts. “I found out about the ‘milk and cookies for Santa’ thing from a kid in preschool when I was, like, four. So naturally I wanted to do it too, and my mom told me we weren’t about to get ants for something that wasn’t even real. I told myself she was wrong for a while, but the jig was up.”

He knows her parents are stupidly critical in a lot of ways, but it’s hard to reconcile that knowledge with the idea of the holidays. He would definitely have imagined her younger self rushing down some big ornate staircase every year - in some kind of designer pajamas, no doubt - to be met by a doting pair who would adoringly watch her tear into one beautifully wrapped package after another. 

The reality sounds incredibly different. Lonely.

(It warms him a little to know that this year, she won’t be.)

“But I have my own traditions too. Like, Margot introduced me to Love Actually and now we watch it together every year. It was tricky with me being here, but we were Skyping last week and started it at the exact same second, so that worked out really well.”

“I’ve never seen that,” he replies.

“What?! Okay, so I’ll bring the DVD when I come over to bake and we’ll watch it tomorrow.”

“I… sure?”

“I mean, we don’t have to,” she says quickly - appearing to take his attempt to keep up as disinterest.

“No, uh… sounds fine. That’ll be good.” He smiles.

(This is a little weird.

But he can roll with it.)

That afternoon, he’s cleaning – which he mentally maintains he would absolutely do for any visitor – when his mom calls.  

“Hey, I’m on my break and I just saw your text. What do you mean, does anyone have allergies?”

“Right,” he responds, straightening one of several stacks of files on his desk. “I have a friend I’d like to bring on Friday and just wanted to give you a heads-up, because-“

“Oh, Emmett, it’s not the kid with the cereal again, is it?”

“What?” He chuckles. “No, Keith is in Berkeley right now writing a thesis on Chaucer.”

“Whew,” Dana sighs. “Finally got a new couch and I don’t want to think about getting soy sauce out of it. But sure, honey, of course. Any friend of yours, you know?“

“Great, thanks. She’s from California and stayed here for break, so…”

“She is from California, huh?” his mother says slyly. “And you met her at school?”

“Yes, I did,” he replies carefully, refusing to take the bait. “She’s a first-year law student.”

“She must be smart like you, if she’s there.”

He can’t not smile at that. “Very smart.”

“Good.” His mom hums a little. “She cute?”

“Mom.”

“Okay, okay. I’m looking forward to meeting her.”

“It’s just us for dinner, right? And then Gabe and Cassie a little later?”

“Uh, Cassie’s bringing her boyfriend, they moved in together in August. But yeah, that’s it. And no one’s allergic to anything as far as I know.”

“Okay, great.”

“Why do you ask?”

“Uh…” He does his best to sound detached. “To make sure no one dies if we bring dessert?”

“Oh. Okay. They’re bringing dessert,” she says, more to herself than him.

(He wonders how old he has to be before it’s permissible to tell his mother he doesn’t appreciate her tone.)

“So… thanks. We’ll see you Friday, then.”

“Yes, you will. I will see you and…”

“Elle.”

“Your friend Elle on Friday.” 

She is really enjoying this way too much for Emmett’s liking. “Mom.” 

“All right, goodbye!” He hears her laughing as she hangs up, and he has a feeling that the entire labor and delivery unit at Mass General will know about their dinner guest within the next hour.

***

There’s a knock at his door around 4pm the next day, and Elle is standing there positively engulfed in reusable shopping bags. “Hey, can you take these?” She hands him two in greeting, shrugging the others off her shoulders as he steps aside and motions her in.

“What is all this?” he asks skeptically.

“I didn’t know what you had,” she says breezily, setting her things down on the table and beginning to remove several layers of outerwear. “So I figured it never hurts to have an extra baking sheet or two around.”

“I can’t promise they’re ever getting used again, so feel free to take them with you.” He reaches for the pink peacoat she’s holding over her arm and walks to the door, sliding it onto an empty hook.

“Oh, thanks. Well, I don’t know what I’d use them for in a dorm, so keep them, you never know.”

He shrugs. “They might work for sledding.”

“No way. Remember that video we saw of people wiping out? I am not starting next semester with a broken face.” She starts to unpack, pulling out not just the aforementioned cookie sheets, but a cooling rack, ergonomic peeler and sifter and whisk and-

“This goes a little bit above and beyond a baking sheet,” he can’t help remarking.

She looks at him unfazed, and he gives up.

“Can I help, at least?”

She smiles and pulls out an apron – in a total surprise move, it’s both pink and frilly – tying it around her waist. “The apples need to be washed. Bag in your left hand.”

She’s onto something else entirely by the time he processes the request. “Okay,” he says. “Let’s get to work.”

Two hours later, the whole place smells almost overwhelmingly good, to the point that he half-expects the downstairs neighbors to come knocking. She’s insisted on making two different kinds of cookies, in addition to some kind of strudel tart things that are as fancy to look at as they are straightforward to make. At some point they realize they both accidentally skipped lunch; when he comes back upstairs with the pizza they ordered half an hour later, he finds her fiddling with his DVD player.

“The cookie dough needs to chill for at least an hour,” she says without turning around. “I figured we could start the movie now, while we eat?”

Five minutes in, Emmett has a feeling he is not the target demographic here, and sitting two feet away from Elle is massively amplifying his discomfort. She doesn’t seem to notice, though, so he becomes engrossed in his phone at strategic moments – until he reaches a point where he can no longer hold back.

“Elle.”

“Hmm.”

“Why is everyone in this movie naked?”

“Only two people,” she says casually. “Well, I guess maybe three. Does topless count?”

“… Yes.”

“Underwear?”

“No.”

“Then it’s three.”

“You sure that’s all?”

“I’m sure. Look, see? Hugh Grant’s not naked.”

“Yeah, well, that dance he did down the stairs doesn’t afford him any more dignity.”

“He was celebrating, Mr. Scrooge.”

“Celebrating moral defeat over the sleazy American president – who I concede was perfectly cast.”

“See? I knew you’d find something to like.”

They keep watching for a while, until one scene has Emmett throwing his hands up in exasperation. 

“She’s his best friend’s wife!”

“Yeah, and he just said he knows nothing is going to come of it.”

“Except he has all this footage of her, which he probably watches alone in his apartment like the creepy stalker he is-“

“He had to tell her,” Elle protests. “It’s the only way he can get closure.”

“Okay, well, until we see him destroy that wedding video, I’m going to assume he’s still watching it every day.”

“Did you just admit that you’re thinking past the end of the movie?”

“So?”

“That means you like it,” Elle teases him in sing-song. 

(She’s way too happy about this.)

“You know what? You’re right. I like it so much I’m going to write a sequel, where Stalker Dude murders his friend, covers it up, and slowly takes over every aspect of his life.”

“Emmett! I’m never going to be able to unsee that!”

He grins. “You’re welcome.”

Shortly thereafter, he loudly clears his throat while Elle is in the kitchen rotating trays from the oven.

“Uh, that is the fourth naked person.”

“Oh.” She sticks her head around the wall. “I must have miscounted. My bad.”

As she disappears, he calls after her, “And I don’t care how precious the little kid is, he would be turning 30 in airport jail!”

She comes back few a seconds later, two cooled cookies in hand, and holds one out to him. “Okay, that’s enough. Try this.”

“Feeding me to shut me up?” he jokes before biting into it, and it’s a damn good thing he’s already sitting down, because his knees would otherwise have buckled.

“Holy shit,” he murmurs around a mouthful of snickerdoodle. “Is this witchcraft?”

Elle laughs. “Does this change your mind on the idea of recipes as gifts?”

“Yes. You were right. You’re right about everything. All the time.”

“You’re just saying that so I’ll get you another cookie, aren’t you?”

“Of course not.” He pauses. “Is it working?”

***

She leaves the baked goods at his apartment overnight with strict instructions not to touch them because she will be keeping count. He protests that six people will never be able to get through 16 pastries and four dozen cookies anyway, but she repeats her instructions with a sweet yet mildly threatening smile as she heads out. The following afternoon, she shows up in a sweater and jeans that are somehow simultaneously both casual and holiday-ready. 

(He really doesn’t know how she does this.)

Despite its twelve years and 95,000 miles, the gray Civic hatchback has been surprisingly low-maintenance. It’s completely worth the speedy commute to the firm – not to mention he’ll probably never fall asleep on a long T ride again – and it does make trips to see his mom a lot easier.

Elle declares the car cute and talks about how surprised she is that she doesn’t miss driving more, but she suspects the wind wouldn’t feel as good in her hair when it’s below freezing. It’s the last thing she says for 20 minutes, and as they near his old block, Emmett shoots her a glance. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” she says brightly.

(And maybe a little too quickly.)

“You sure?”

“Mm-hmm.” She gives him a tight-lipped smile as her eyebrows ascend. It’s like looking in a mirror at his own polite leave-me-alone expression, which is more than a little unsettling.

He cannot fathom why the most extroverted person he has ever met would be nervous. If anything, he’s the one bringing her to the rundown apartment where some of his worst memories unfolded.

(At least the new building management did something about the mice awhile back.)

But calling her out on it, however kindly, will only make things that much worse. He parks in front of the building, but doesn’t move to get out – nor does she – after he takes the keys from the ignition. He wasn’t sure of what his timing was going to be on this anyway, but he suddenly realizes this is probably ideal.

Reaching under the driver’s seat, he pulls out a small package wrapped in green-and-white striped paper. “Before we go in, I got you something. Nothing much, but, uh… it’s a real time-saver.”

“What?” She accepts it with surprise, beginning to unwrap it. “You didn’t have to get me anything!”

When she sees what it is, her expression morphs between appalled, panicked, and enthusiastic so many times it’s almost dizzying. Then she laughs, hard, and it’s like all the tension he could feel emanating from her evaporates at once. “Thank you. It… will always make me smile to look at.”

“Long as you get some kind of use out of it.” He grins.

(He knew damn well all along that the Suave bottle is never making it into her hair care routine – but this reaction was more or less his goal.)

“Wait, hang on. Since we’re doing this now…” She reaches into her purse, pulling out what’s definitely a paperback book beneath reindeer wrapping. “This is for you.”

He opens it to find a travelogue by an author whose work he just recently started reading; in his hand is the one he likely would have sought out next. “How did you know?”

She smiles - he’d think a little shyly if he didn’t know any better - and says, “A couple weeks ago, you had that other book he wrote. And you said you just found his stuff and he was hilarious. So hopefully you didn’t get to this one yet?”

Emmett wracks his brain and suddenly remembers that two days before exams started, the book fell out of his bag when he was rummaging for a file folder. He muttered all of that as he picked it up and shoved it back in; he didn’t even think she heard him.

“Thank you.” He’s honestly astonished. “This is really great. And no, I haven’t read it yet.”

“Good, that’s perfect!”

“It will always make me smile to look at,” he teases, and she swats his arm. 

“Oh, shut up.”

He smiles. “Ready to go in?”

“Yeah.”

***

After spending most of his childhood in this apartment, Emmett is always surprised to walk in and see that things don’t quite match his memories. The new building management team actually seems to give a damn, for one. There was a leak from the unit above a couple years ago, and not only did it get fixed within a day (rather than the three weeks and endless water damage it would have taken when he was a kid), the super noticed the dingy eggshell paint everywhere when he was patching the kitchen ceiling and asked Dana if she wanted it redone. The light green walls somehow make it look entirely new - even if, much to his mom’s chagrin, he can never remember the actual name of the color. Adding in a couple of lamps and upgrading some of the furniture also help render the place virtually unrecognizable. 

Dana flings the door open, reaching up to embrace him - his height definitely not having come from her. “Oh, it’s so good to see you, Emmett!” 

“Hey, Mom. You too.”

With an expectant smile, she glances behind him. “And you must be Elle? I’m Dana. Welcome, come in!”

“Merry Christmas!” Elle says happily, hands balancing containers full of baked goods. “Thank you so much for having me - uh, where can I put these?”

“Oh, this was so sweet of you - I’ll take them,” his mom says, relieving Elle of the stack of Tupperware. “Please, make yourself at home.”

As Dana steps back in, she turns to Emmett sharply. “You’re letting her carry everything up the stairs herself?”

Emmett puts his hands up in supplication. “I offered. She wouldn’t let me.”

“It’s true,” Elle acknowledges. “I had reason to believe not quite as many would have made it here if he had.”

Dana laughs. “All right, fine.”

Elle looks around appreciatively as she crosses the threshold. “I love your home. Sage was such a perfect choice for this room.”

“Oh, thank you!” Dana looks up in surprise, her eyes darting to Emmett as she places everything down on the table by the door. “See, Elle knows it’s sage. Not sure why you can’t remember that even though you know who the president of Bulgaria was in 800 B.C. Let me take your coats.”

“Mom, present-day Bulgaria didn’t exist until… Never mind,” he says, shaking his head as he slides his arms out of his jacket.

“I know, too much going on in your head.” Dana pats him on the arm with a smile; Emmett watches her eyes drift toward Elle, observing her peacoat, the pattern on her sweater, the hue of her purse. “Speaking of. Elle, looks like you’re a big fan of pink, huh?”

“It’s her signature color,” Emmett says automatically. He freezes as he feels both of them look at him at once; warmth floods over him, likely matching the tips of his ears to Elle’s wardrobe. 

The moment seems to stretch on for an eternity until Dana responds, “I see. I wonder if I have a signature color - I spend a lot of my time in light blue, but I’m pretty sure that’s not it.”

“Well, part of it depends on your season, and your undertone, and you know, also what you like,” Elle chimes in. “Now, I’d have to check with more natural light around, but I’m picking up soft summer, and I see you have some purple accents around… What are your thoughts on lilac?”

Emmett doesn’t know what he was expecting would happen today - but the two of them immediately delving into a color analysis discussion he can barely follow hadn’t really occurred to him as a possibility.

(He resolves to avoid eye contact with his mother for the rest of the day.)

***

They rarely fall into silence as the afternoon progresses into evening. His mom has a seemingly endless reserve of stories, of which seem to captivate Elle; there are a few he would have preferred not to have shared at this particular juncture, but his mild protestations when Dana launches into them fall on deaf ears.

“So he really wanted the driving lessons because all his friends were doing it-”

“Emmett conceding to peer pressure is truly not something I would ever have imagined,” Elle interjects, tossing him a playful smile.

“I guess he hasn’t told you about the senior prom, then,” Dana laughs. “He’s still trying to convince me it’s normal for a school dance to end at four in the morning. Anyway, he found some library branch that’s open on Sundays and took shifts there, that’s how much he wanted to do it. So he got the lessons, and everything was fine except parallel parking. Couldn’t do it. Hit the curb, hit the cones, might have hit a couple cars-”

“I did not,” Emmett interrupts flatly.

“I didn’t say you did any damage,” Dana clarifies. “But all his friends took the test first and they figured out the parallel parking happened in one of three places. RMV is full of creatures of habit. Emmett tries all of them, eventually does fine with one, can’t get the other two to save his life. Day of his test rolls around and his friends park in those two so the RMV guy has to go to the last one.”

“That was so sweet of them!”

“Had they been even a little bit subtle about it, sure,” Emmett chimes in. “But they both parked, sat in their cars, and waved to me when I was driving past. The examiner probably would have given me the benefit of the doubt for Sean, but Tyler and his hyperactive thumbs-up raised a lot of suspicion.” 

“Em, what was it you said to the guy again, when he asked if you knew them?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t even remember, I just know it ended with ‘kids these days.’”

Elle giggles. “But you passed?”

“Sure did,” he says with a grin. “I parallel parked, the guy had no choice but to pass me.”

“Even though he was furious,” Dana adds. “And you haven’t parallel parked since.”

“Correct.”

Elle follows this up with a story he’s never heard; when her friend Margot fell in love with one particular Mini Cooper and insisted she knew how to drive stick – “It worked great until the car stalled on the freeway. Thankfully it was during rush hour, so nothing was moving anyway!” – and the conversation moves in comfortable waves throughout dinner.

As they’re clearing away takeout containers, there’s a knock at the door, and multiple voices begin talking over each other in greeting. A man with a decent amount of gray hair left ambles into the kitchen.

“Emmett, how are you?”

“Gabriel,” he says with a genuine smile, reaching forward to shake his hand. “Nice to see you. This is Elle.”

“Ah, I heard you’d be joining us. Happy to meet you – I’m Gabe. Emmett’s the only one who can get away with the full name.”

“Nice to meet you too. Merry Christmas,” Elle greets him. “Out of curiosity, why is Emmett the only one who-”

 “I lost a bet.” Gabe laughs. “I can tell you all about it.”

“Not necessary,” Emmett says quickly.

Elle turns to him, eyes gleaming. “Oh, please do.”

Emmett sighs. I give up.

***

Moving beyond fortune cookies is a huge hit, and there’s enough left over that everyone will be well-kept in dessert for days.

“Anyone want some coffee?” Dana asks. “Or another one of the oatmeal chocolate chip? Elle, those are out of this world.”

“Baking is just following directions,” Elle says with a smile.

Cassie groans. “If I put another molecule in my body right now, I might explode.”

The door opens as Peter, Cassie’s boyfriend, comes back inside, rubbing his hands together rapidly. “I moved the car,” he says. “Temperature really dropped out there.”

“It’s after dark,” Emmett points out. “Winter has no mercy.”

“At least the heat’s working,” Gabe remarks absently.

At that, Dana gasps. “Oh, Em, remember when the heat went out in January that one time?”

“Ugh, how could I forget?” Emmett turns to Elle, who’s looking at him with wide eyes. “It was colder than it is now and they didn’t fix it for two days.”

“What did you do?” she asks. “I mean, I know you’re an expert on layering, but…”

“Stayed in one room with a space heater as much as possible,” he recounts.

Dana snorts. “And we prayed. A lot. Not that we’ve ever been especially religious.”

“Found God for a couple days there, though,” he says wryly.

“Yeah, and lost him as soon as the furnace kicked back in.”

Everyone laughs, and Dana moves to collect everyone’s plates and cups; Emmett puts out a hand. “I’ll take care of it, Mom. Go sit.”

He waves off Elle’s offer to help, telling her she’s done more than enough by baking, and begins washing dishes as everyone else moves back into the living room. (He’s always found it somewhat meditative.) Cassie appears on his right after a few minutes.

“I got it, Cass.”

“I’ll dry,” she says, reaching for a dish towel. “Much as I want to watch It’s A Wonderful Life for the nine hundredth time..”

“Yeah, fair. Hey, you ever seen Love Actually?”

“I have,” she confirms, taking a clean mug from him. “Wouldn’t think it’s your kind of movie.”

“It’s not.” But he feels himself smiling regardless.

“Hmm,” Cassie says dramatically, stretching it out as long as she can. “I wonder who might have suggested that one to you. And I wonder why.”

He develops a sudden fascination with the spoon he’s washing. “We’re friends.”

“Oh, cut the crap, Emmett,” she says with the pleasant bluntness he expects is requisite for a ninth-grade biology teacher. “You bring home a girl on Christmas-”

“A friend-”

“-who I met an hour ago, and I already know she’s genuinely kind. Smart. And I’ll say it, objectively hot. Plus, every time you say something, she looks at you like you’re the goddamn poet laureate.”

He snorts. “Please.”

“Fine, suit yourself,” she replies, undeterred. “I’ll try not to say I told you so whenever you come to your senses, but I make no promises.”

(Emmett sometimes wonders how different things might have been if his mom and Gabe had met much earlier. What it would have been like to grow up with more stability – and with siblings.

Particularly an assertive stepsister with an obnoxious tendency to be right.)

The dishes done, Emmett moves past the living room and down the hall, surprised to see Elle standing in the doorway of his old room.

“It looks a little different now,” he says quietly, trying not to startle her.

She jumps anyway. “Oh! Sorry. I turned the wrong way coming back from the bathroom, and the door was open, I just…”

He smiles and reaches past her to flip on the light switch. “It’s not a secret. You can go in.”

The small room has become a weird amalgam over the past several years. The rickety desk is still up against the far wall, covered in paperbacks and awards from high school, but the twin bed (which was terrible to begin with) is long gone. A sewing machine is set up on a table in the opposite corner, beside which sit several plastic bins, loaded with fabric and supplies.

“Your mom sews?”

“Yeah. She’s gotten into it in the last couple years.” He points to a stack of squares in various sizes. “That’s probably for a quilt, they’re her favorite thing to make.”

Elle moves closer to admire the patterned pieces, stopping short of the table. “It takes a special person to have the patience for quilting.”

“You can pick them up to look if you want,” he offers. “I doubt she’d mind.”

“No, I would never interrupt a designer’s work in progress.” She shakes her head. “Nice that she’s been able to use the space in here for something else, though.”

“She’s saving up to buy an apartment a little closer to work,” he mentions absently. “Sewing space and a dishwasher are must-haves, so it’s going to be a little while yet before she can do it.”

“Hopefully she’ll have a weekend place not too long from now, too,” Elle says with a soft smile.

He grins. “That’s the plan.” The vision he long ago concocted – white shingles and blue shutters, three-season room and a bay window – motivates him still.

(He doesn’t really understand the point of Pinterest, but Elle keeps saying the offer stands if he decides he wants a mood board.)

She keeps gazing around, running her finger over the honor cords draped over the edge of the desk. “Emmett?”

“Yeah?”

She turns to him with consternation, and he feels a pang in his stomach wondering where this is going. But her face suddenly brightens. “You really got home at four in the morning on prom night?”

He blinks, startled, then smiles. “No, your timeline is off. I maintain that the prom ended at four. I got home at five.”

“I wouldn’t have predicted that.”

“Well, I’m full of surprises.”

“Like staying out all night with your high school girlfriend?”

“Platonic prom date turned one-time thing. Her idea.”

“But you didn’t complain.”

“I did not. Figured there are worse rites of passage.” This conversation really should be far less comfortable than it is.

“Well.” Now she’s suppressing a giggle. “There’s another thing I wouldn’t have predicted.”

“What’s that?”

“You falling into the cliché of losing your virginity on prom night.”

“Did you just call me a cliché?”

“Well, I wouldn’t have thought so, but if the tuxedo shoe fits…” She shrugs, her knowing smile presenting a challenge.

“All right, fine,” he says jokingly. “If you get to pass judgment over there, then what’s your story?”

Her smile falters just a little. “Huh?”

“Well, if prom night is unoriginal…”

“Uh. The less said about it, the better.” She laughs weakly. “We should probably get back.”

Something shifts, and he feels like he inadvertently overstepped in a big way that he doesn’t quite understand. “Sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“It’s fine. Really.” She turns back to him, her smile once again bright. “And by the way, I got an amazing Christmas present from your mom.”

“You did?”

(His mom doesn’t try to figure out what to get him anymore, preferring gift cards to various bookstores so he can pick out what he wants.)

“That day you told me you didn’t have any pictures of yourself in colonial garb, you didn’t deny that they existed.”

“Oh.”

“And I figured, who’s the most likely person to have them around?”

“She showed you. Okay.”

(He figures it was inevitable.

There’s an album.)

Elle nods. “She did.”

As he steps back out into the hall, he hears her behind him.

“But did you know she got duplicates?”

***

They get back to Cambridge late, after a lot of goodbyes and thank-yous and promises to share recipes. She’s almost as quiet on the ride back as she was on the way there, but he senses a lot less tension.

“Thank you again,” she finally says as the dorm comes into view. “This was really great.”

“Of course. Thanks for coming.” He glances at her briefly. “I’m pretty sure my mom likes you more than me.”

“Doubtful.” She smiles. “I was just thinking that I couldn’t have imagined this a year ago.”

“What, spending Christmas in Boston?”

Her gaze remains on him for a second longer than he’d have expected. “Any of it.”

His stomach pangs again, and he nods, looking away and mumbling the first response he can think of. “Ready for next semester to start?”

“Mmm.” Elle nods. “Is it weird that I’m kind of excited about it?”

“No.” He shrugs. “Not weird.”

(The truth is – so is he, even though he can’t begin guess what it’ll bring.

But he’s starting to realize what he hopes it will.)

Chapter Text

Paulette invites her over for New Year’s Eve, but they meet at the dog park first so they can take advantage of the ephemeral afternoon sunlight. As Bruiser and Rufus make their way around the enclosures, Elle settles next to her friend on a nearby bench. “Here you go. One peppermint hot chocolate.”

“Thanks, hon,” Paulette says with surprise. “When did I tell you that’s my favorite?”

“You stirred your Swiss Miss with a candy cane last week,” Elle reminds her with a smile.

“I’ll never understand how you notice things like that.” Paulette shakes her head.  “Maggie at the front desk stopped drinking coffee as soon as she got pregnant and I didn’t realize it until she was practically in labor. You would have probably thrown her a shower or something the first week.”

“Paulette, you can look at someone walking down the opposite side of the street and know how much longer their toner should have been left on, to the minute.” Elle shakes her head. “That’s a gift.”

“Well, takes all kinds.” Paulette takes a sip, humming appreciatively. “What did you get in yours?”

“Cinnamon and vanilla. I never added vanilla before, but Emmett’s mom said I would never go back if I tried it, and she may be right.” 

“Oh!” Paulette leans in. “You never told me what it was like meeting the parents. Well, parent.”

Elle wrinkles her nose. “It’s not a big deal to meet your friends’ parents. Is it?”

“You tell me.”

“I was… kind of a little nervous about meeting her? Which was strange because I never really feel like that. Even when I met Margot’s dad, and he’s a TV dermatologist.”

“Wait. Her dad isn’t the Los Angeles Laser Legend, is he?”

“That’s him!”

“Oh, I love that show! When he did that guy who had the back hair like a coat-”

“Back Jacket Jack!”

“And the poor thing couldn’t afford it, so he did it for free! I have to tell you, when they did the follow-up and he had a girlfriend, I teared up a little.”

“Aww! I know, it was so sweet.”

“Yeah.” Paulette’s smile fades into something more inquisitive. “What was it like when you met Warner’s parents?”

Elle looks up at the sky as she thinks. “I don’t think I was nervous, but I wanted everything to be perfect,” she finally says. “It was totally important that they liked me, but I wasn’t, like, worried that they wouldn’t? If that makes sense.”

“Well, did they? Like you, I mean.”

“His mom did. And his Grandma Bootsy, she’s really sweet and kept asking about all my clothes.” She stops and frowns. “His dad was… distant, I guess? And I thought that’s just how he is, because I know Warner always talked about how much his dad expected of him, so maybe he was just really focused or something. But I overheard him talking about me one night.”

“Saying what?”

“Pretty much that I’m a dumb blonde and Warner would find someone smarter when he got here.”

Paulette scoffs. “What an idiot. Now you’re in law school with his precious baby boy, so joke’s on him, right?”

“I guess.” Elle shrugs. “I wanted to show him. All of them, really – that liking fashion and being in a sorority doesn’t mean you don’t have a brain.”

“You know what, his father’s probably the one who told Warner to break up with you,” Paulette suggests.

“And if he did?” Elle looks at her. “Like, I was with Warner for almost two years. At least some part of me thought we were gonna get married. Even if he ended it because his father told him to, it was his choice to act like a jerk to me all semester… so is that someone who ever cared about me, or what I thought?”

“You deserve better.” Paulette tips her head back to drink the last of her hot chocolate. “It’s good you’re over him, you know?”

“I mean, I definitely think I am. Seeing him still sometimes makes me mad, though,” Elle says contemplatively. “And Serena always said you’re not over a guy 100 percent until you can look at him and feel nothing. But I don’t feel, like, jealous when I see him with Vivienne. It’s a little weird, but I don’t wish I was her or anything.”

“Hmm.” Paulette squints in thought before her mouth slyly turns up at one corner. “Sounds to me like you’re over him. But if you’re not totally sure, you know the best way to get over someone is to get under-”

Elle groans, pressing her hand against her forehead. “Please don’t finish that sentence.”

“All that time you spend with Emmett and you’ve really never even thought about it?”

“Paulette, we’re friends.”

“He took you to meet his mom, Elle. On Christmas. He got you hair care!”

“He’s a T.A., there’re probably rules about it.”

“He’s cute.”

“He’s focused on his career.”

“And he’s still helping you with school anyway.”

“Only because he-”

“Because he respects you and wants you to reach your potential?”

Elle is quiet for a few moments, pretending to take sips from her empty cup as a distraction. “I don’t think he thinks of me like that,” she finally says – but even as she speaks, she thinks about all the times she’s felt that top-of-the-rollercoaster sensation in her stomach, and wonders just how one-sided it could be.

“I think you’re wrong, but that’s not the point. Do you think of him like that?”

“No!” Elle exhales forcefully. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

“You spend all this time together hanging out in your room-”

“Studying!”

“And going on coffee dates, dinner dates, looking at Christmas lights dates…”

“They were not-” Elle only realizes how loudly she’s speaking when she notices the people on the surrounding benches looking at her peculiarly. “They weren’t dates,” she continues in a lower voice. “I didn’t get dressed up, there weren’t plans or reservations, and… I don’t know, I just feel like I would’ve known if a date was a date. Right?”

(The doubt is palpable even to her.)

“Well… Emmett’s a different kind of guy, if you look at him compared to anyone you’ve dated before. Right?”

“He is… different. Yes.”

“Different kind of guy could mean different kind of dates. That’s all I’m saying.” 

“I get it. It’s just…” They stand up and walk to the enclosure to get their respective dogs – Bruiser appearing quite put out to forfeit the dispute he’s having with a Pomeranian. “The guys I’ve dated before? Even if they were nice, they were pretty focused on one thing. I don’t really even know what being with a different kind of guy would mean. Or feel like.”

“Believe me, hon, I hear that.” Paulette shrugs. “It’s getting colder, let’s go.”

“Okay. Speaking of a different kind of guy – you get any packages this week?”

That night they drink Prosecco as they watch New Year’s Rockin’ Eve, and Paulette mercifully doesn’t say anything about all the closeups on couples after the ball drops.

(Because Elle is certainly not thinking about kissing anyone.

Or about how anyone might kiss.)

***

In January, there’s an all-out blizzard the week before classes are due to start, during which Elle’s interaction with the outside world consists largely of taking out Bruiser. (Even that’s a struggle – getting his boots on is a drawn-out negotiation every time.) The cold settles into her bones within seconds and takes hours to dissipate. In December, the snow seemed to dance its way down from the sky; now it rages. She spends a few days holed up underneath as much fleece and flannel and cable-knit as she can find in her wardrobe, reading until her vision blurs. When she gazes out the window, the snowdrifts that were pristine just a week or so ago are haphazard, piled high in some places and gray and patchy in others.

(If she’s honest, it’s pretty depressing.)

On day three of her weather-mandated exile, she’s weighing the benefit of breaking monotony against the detriment of stepping out into misery when her phone lights up with a text from Emmett. Staying warm?

She smiles. Warm and bored. This really happens every year?

Without fail, but you get used to it. How’s the reading for Contracts?

“Slowly destroying my soul,” Elle says aloud as she types.

Sounds about right. I’m on my way back from the firm now, if you want to take a break?

She suddenly she’s been staring at the same walls for so long, their appearance is beginning to lose meaning. That would be great, actually is it okay if I stop over? Could use a change of scene.

The reply comes a couple minutes later. Have you eaten dinner?

Does trail mix and Altoids count?

I think we can probably figure out something better. Took the bus, car is buried under a mountain of snow – see you in half an hour?

She smiles and taps out a quick response, an idea beginning to form. She gradually gets dressed and wraps her scarf up over half her face, which isn’t awesome for her peripheral vision, but does more or less keep her from freezing solid. There’s a small market in between campus and Emmett’s apartment; there were a bunch of leftover baking ingredients, and she figures it won’t take much else to turn them into a pretty nice breakfast-for-dinner. Necessary items procured, she heads back out.

The only problem is, whoever was supposed to put down salt on the sidewalk of Emmett’s block apparently had themselves a snow day.

She suddenly finds herself slipping wildly as she attempts to walk. Channeling all her core strength keeps her on her feet, even if she’s flapping her arms like a livid crane, but right in front of his building, she missteps and feels herself involuntarily lunge to the side and begin to tip over. Her mind immediately turns to the half-dozen eggs in the grocery bag and how maybe she can keep them intact if she lands the right way-

“Whoa!” She suddenly feels herself being steadied by a pair of hands grasping her forearms. “You all right?”

Startled, she looks up to see Emmett peering at her with a mix of amusement and concern. “Uh, hi. Yep, I’m all good.”

“I was about to go in and I see this… pink yeti figure-skating down the street-”

“Excuse me?! Five months in the Northeast and I’m a yeti?” She moves to put her hands on her hips indignantly until she realizes his grip is probably keeping her on her feet - so she makes the most intimidating face she can despite her scarf being in the way.

“A very distinguished, fashionable yeti,” he amends with a smile. 

“Who would like to get inside before she actually ends up on the ground,” she says. “I will say your timing was pretty great, though. Thanks for that.”

Once indoors and warmed up, Elle whisks together a quick batter from memory and begins scrambling eggs, all over Emmett’s protestations. “I’ve got it,” she says. “Breakfast food is kind of perfect for this weather. But if you want to chop stuff, I wouldn’t say no.” 

He duly slices fruit while she adds spinach and cheese to the scramble and flips pancakes. “You’re good at this.”

“I’m good at breakfast,” she corrects. “Like, everyone in Delta Nu can make this because it’s great for stress or hangovers or whatever. But I always overcook pasta and undercook rice, no matter what, so I stick with what works.” 

“Fair enough,” he says. “Those I can do, actually – but the one time I tried to make pancakes, the outsides were burnt and the insides were raw.”

She smiles. “The heat was probably turned up too high. Common mistake. I think we’re all ready to go here.”

He stands up and reaches into the cabinet above the sink, handing her a plate. “Hey, thanks. This is… really nice.”

“Of course.” Her smile widens, but as she looks at him, she feels the flip in her stomach – again – and directs her eyes to the ceramic dish she’s holding. “Uh, thanks for suggesting a break, my eyes were starting to cross.”

It is indeed really nice, is the thing. She tries to imagine doing something like this with Warner and fails – but not just because it would never happen (which it wouldn’t). There’s some kind of blockade in her brain, preventing her from making any direct comparisons between her previous dating experiences and her friendship with Emmett. 

(Because that’s how they both see it. A friendship.

Right?)

“Elle?”

She snaps out of her thoughts. “Huh?”

“Did that pancake do something to personally offend you?” He points to her plate with a bemused smile, and she looks down to see that she has in fact sawed the remaining portion of her dinner into crumbs.

“Oh. Uh, I think my head is still caught up in Contracts. I’m full anyway. Are you done? I can clean up.” She begins to rise, but he shakes his head and waves her off.

“I got it – you cooked. Do you want to go see if there’s something on?”

“Sure.” She smiles and heads into the living room, settling on the couch. Nothing particularly draws her in as she absently flips through channels.

“Wait, go back,” he says as he walks in. “Have you ever seen this?”

She clicks down twice and looks up at him quizzically. “Bits and pieces, I think. Never the whole thing.”

He smiles. “It’s my mom’s favorite. I’m pretty sure I had it memorized by the time I was six.” 

She puts the remote down, focusing on the three raincoat-clad people singing and dancing onscreen. “Well, it’s just starting. I guess that’s a sign.” 

She’s drawn in, bursting into laughter at various points. “How do they…” She looks up at Emmett, who appears to be watching her reaction more than the movie itself. He quickly looks forward. “It must take a lot of practice to fall down with that much confidence,” she continues.

“Yeah, supposedly he needed days to recover after shooting this part.” Emmett shrugs. “Still cracks me up every time I see it, so I appreciate his dedication to the cause.”

As the credits roll, she looks over and smiles. “I really liked that. It’s sweet.”

He nods. “Yeah. As my mom loves to say, they don’t make ‘em like that anymore.”

“But I don’t think anyone would be that happy and dancing if they were soaked from head to toe, in love or not.” She shakes her head. “Especially back then. Didn’t they all think they’d, like, die of consumption if they got even a little bit wet?”

He laughs. “Well, it was made in 1952 even though it’s set earlier. I think they had figured out by then that that isn’t how it works.”

“Maybe. It did look good, though.” She sighs. “I should probably start getting back. Contracts waits for no one.”

“I’ll walk you,” he volunteers.

She shakes her head as she stands up. “No, you don’t have to do that, I’m fine. Stay where it’s warm.”

“I don’t mind.” He’s also standing. “I mean, we can’t have you faceplanting on the sidewalk, right?”

She rolls her eyes. “I’ll have you know that I am very coordinated. I totally rock arm balances.”

“I don’t know what that means, but I assume it doesn’t generally involve icy concrete.”

She huffs. “No. And they’re yoga poses.”

“Oh. Well, in that case, do you want me to walk you back or would you prefer to nama-stay here a little longer?”

It takes her a second, but then she groans, screwing up her face. “That was beyond awful, Emmett. I can’t believe you.”

He grins, reaching for his coat. “Happy to be of service.”

***

During their first class back in late January, Professor Callahan reminds everyone that he’s spent time over the break considering candidates for his internship, and he expects to have made his final decisions by the end of the month. Emmett’s expression doesn’t give anything away when Elle meets his eyes – and she wouldn’t ask anyway, she would never want him to think she’s taking advantage of their friendship for some kind of gain in class – but she’s still hoping her about-face last semester will keep her in the running.

As it happens, she doesn’t have to wait long to find out. A week and change later, she and Emmett are walking toward Hauser – he showed up at her door this morning with the sweater she’d accidentally left at his place over the weekend, and they decided to grab coffee before class – and there’s a massive commotion in front of their usual lecture hall.

“What’s going on?” she asks, turning to Emmett.

He shrugs. “Let’s find out.”

Emmett apparently already knew that Brooke Windham just hired Callahan to defend her for murder, but Callahan hadn’t told him he wants interns on board sooner than expected as a result. Elle heard about Brooke’s arrest, but is certain of her innocence; it would completely go against the spirit of a Delta Nu to do something like that. Brooke was in a different chapter, but sisterhood being what it is, her DVDs were the go-to for everyone at UCLA. Besides, she already had money going into her marriage, so it’s not like there would be much of a point that Elle can see.

(At the end of the day, this woman is the reason Elle loves her triceps – and it’s impossible to conflate muscle definition with killing somebody.)

As they approach the sheet of paper tacked up on the door, a lot of her classmates step back with looks of disappointment. On the other hand, Enid raises her arms in triumph and bellows, “Yes!” as she passes them.

“Congratulations, Enid,” Elle says to her cheerfully.

Enid stops, turning to look at her quizzically, and eventually returns Elle’s smile. “Thanks. Same.”

“'Same?’” Elle says to Emmett quietly. “What does that-”

They almost crash into Warner and Vivienne, who are more or less sucking face in front of the door. Gross. Elle rolls her eyes at Emmett before turning back. She notices that something on Vivienne’s hand is glinting.

The Huntington family ring.

It’s the first time Elle has actually seen it up close. The colossal center stone is surrounded by a halo of yet more diamonds and a studded band; it’s taking up nearly the entire space between Vivienne’s first and second knuckles.

At this time last year, she had built up in her head that the ring would be gorgeous. Breathtaking. But it’s actually…

“Super tacky,” Elle finds herself whispering.

Next to her, Emmett snorts. “The public makeout session or the quarry on her finger?”

“Emmett!” She looks at him with wide eyes, biting back a laugh. “Did you order your coffee with extra snark today?”

He grins. “Where’s the lie?”

“I didn't say you were wrong,” she retorts. They sidestep the… apparently very happy couple, and Elle’s eyes go right to the intern list. It’s in alphabetical order, and she coasts over Enid, Warner, and Vivienne before seeing the last line.

She’s not sure how long she’s standing motionless, unable to comprehend the nine letters in a combination she’s known all her life, but at some point Emmett taps her on the shoulder – gently at first, then with gradually more urgency until she becomes vaguely aware of a woodpecker having landed on her.

“I got it,” she breathes.

“You did,” he confirms with a smile.

“I got it.”

“I knew you could.”

“I got it!” she yells. Her classmates, including Warner and Vivienne, turn toward her with surprise. She briefly looks at Warner and realizes that she feels absolutely nothing – no anger, no resentment, certainly no longing. Serena’s approval granted in her head, Elle smiles at the pair.

“I see that congratulations are in order for two things, you guys! That ring is… um. Wow, what a ring that is!”

Vivienne appears taken aback, but eventually mutters her thanks. Warner’s just looking at her slack-jawed.

“Oh, and I can’t wait to work with you both!” As she walks away, she catches Emmett’s eye, and smiles as she begins to shake his outstretched hand. Her fist bump explosion is a little more enthusiastic than usual, and she barely sees Callahan come up behind them. He briefly gives her a strange look before turning to Emmett.

“Forrest, I’d like you to be co-counsel on this.”

Emmett brightens. “Of course, sir.”

“Good. I expect you’ll show me what I’m looking for, and I think there will be some important conversations happening in the near future as a result.” Callahan’s expression turns critical as he takes in Emmett’s clothing, and he adds, “Just a word of advice: dress for the job you want. Please.” He continues down the hall.

She turns to him with a bright smile. “This is amazing! It’s going to be huge for you to be co-counsel on a case like this!”

He returns her smile with his own, though maybe not quite as enthusiastic. “Yeah, for sure. It’s a big deal.” He unconsciously tugs at the cuff of his jacket; a bit of the seam has come undone and a frayed edge pokes out. When he follows her gaze to his wrist, he pulls the sleeve up into his palm, wrapping his hand around it. “I’ve been meaning to fix that,” he mumbles.

She reaches forward, squeezing his arm. “Hey, we get to work together on this! It’s going to be great.”

***

It turns out ‘great’ is not exactly the right descriptor for day one.

Brooke is already over Callahan despite needing him, and she shuts down the other interns and Emmett one by one. It’s only when Elle hangs back and identifies herself as a Delta Nu that she sees relief flood Brooke’s face. The alibi is airtight, but she completely understands Brooke’s aversion to sharing it.

(Elle wouldn’t want to lose everything for which she’s worked so hard either.)

Elle is convinced there has to be another way to prove Brooke’s innocence, but Callahan is thoroughly unimpressed with her refusal to disclose the alibi, and takes out his frustrations on Emmett. She can’t hear their conversation, but when they walk back over, Emmett’s clearly fighting to maintain his normal demeanor. Callahan turns around and stops the two of them as they’re following everyone to head back to the office and motions toward Emmett’s jacket. “And I told you to do something about that, did I not? Both of you just… get out of my sight.”

As soon as Callahan leaves, Emmett’s face falls. He typically plays his cards pretty close to his chest, even though she’s getting better at deciphering his subtle expressions; if his dejection is this evident to her, whatever he’s actually feeling must be tenfold.

She sighs. “I’m sorry about the alibi, I just… I promised and-”

“No.” He waves her off. “You were right, before. What you said to Warner. Compromising our integrity is not the way to do this.” He looks away, exhaling in a frustrated puff. “I’m just… he’s been promising this associate position for so long and he keeps pulling it back. I’m starting to question if it’s ever going to happen.”

“Of course it is,” she affirms. “Has to be a matter of when, right? Not if.”

He shrugs, and she watches him retreat back into himself.

She knows plenty of people have been unkind to him based on things outside his control. Which, if she’s honest, sort of makes her want to track them all down and deride everything about them until they cry. Since that’s impossible – unfortunately – at least the next best thing happens to be completely in her wheelhouse.

“Hey,” she says as cheerfully as she can. “What are you doing right now?”

He shrugs again. “Nothing, apparently.”

“Well, consider yourself busy. You have plans. You’re totally booked. Your dance card is full.”

“Uh… sure. Fine.” They start making their way toward the exit.

“I’ve been thinking you need a capsule wardrobe.”

“A what?”

“It’s a small collection of well-made items that can be combined for a ton of different looks.” She smiles. “And the best part is, we start with what you already have. So let’s go.”

“Elle.” He looks at her awkwardly. “I don’t have anything that’s… Look, I’m not exactly rolling in disposable income here.”

“Spending a lot of money on something doesn’t automatically make it better. And you’d be surprised at how easy it is to make something look completely new.”

Eventually they make it back to his place, and she convinces him to let her survey the contents of his closet. “So you have suits! Why don’t you ever wear them?” she asks, unzipping a garment bag to find a not-terrible wool blend in both charcoal and dark brown.

Emmett shrugs. “Because I got them on buy-one-get-one-free clearance for law school interviews, and they’re somehow both too big and too small?”

Elle’s not deterred in the slightest. “Go ahead, try one on. They’re both great options.” She pulls a slightly wrinkled button-down shirt off its hanger too, handing it to him resolutely and stepping out.

A few minutes later, he opens the door, shooting her a look that says ‘I told you so.’ The pant legs are too wide and the jacket is a little baggy along the sides – but the shoulder fit is actually pretty spot-on and there should be enough seam allowance to let the hems out. They can work with this.

“It really isn’t so bad,” she proclaims. “You just need a tailor.”

He laughs uncomfortably. “So the trick is to buy cheap stuff and then defeat the purpose by paying someone a fortune to fix it.”

“Tailoring is actually a lot more affordable than most people think, especially if you go local,” she refutes. “There’s a shop not too far away that has really good reviews on Yelp. And very reasonable prices.”

She continues to rummage through his closet, selecting a couple more items that have potential, and eventually they make their way out. The place is family-owned, and they’re greeted by a man with half-rimmed glasses and a tape measure around his neck who appears to have been doing this since before either of them was born. He silently glances at the contents of the garment bag, back at Emmett, and motions toward a curtained area at the far side of the room. It takes around an hour for everything to be measured and pinned for alterations, but eventually they’re given a claim ticket and instructions to come back on Wednesday.

“They can really do all that in two days?” Emmett asks under his breath after they thank the guy and turn to leave.

Elle shrugs. “He would know.”

They push open the door and step outside, walking toward his car. “Look, I never would have thought of doing this, so I appreciate it.”

“Of course. And you’ll be able to get a lot of mileage out of those.” She looks at him steadily. “We’re not done, though.”

“But we just-”

“A couple more shirts,” she says, holding out fingers to tick items off. “At least one good pair of shoes. Belts.”

“I don’t need more than one-”

“Yes, you do. Some ties that work with every possible combination, we can have a little fun with that. Dress socks-”

“Who’s going to be looking at my socks?”

“-and maybe a pocket square or two. I don’t know yet, we’ll have to see.” She opens the passenger door, motioning impatiently for him to get in. “Come on, I’ll navigate.”

The automated glass doors leading into the department store slide open in front of them, and she notices how uneasy he looks. She squeezes his forearm. “This’ll be painless, I promise.”

“Uh…” He’s obviously a little overwhelmed, and it doesn’t help when a nearby saleswoman mistimes her perfume samples and accidentally spritzes him at point-blank range with Dior. (One of her least favorite scents, to boot – she’s always felt Hypnotic Poison only lives up to the latter half of its name.) As the fragrance rapidly engulfs him, he coughs and his face contorts into the most disgusted expression she’s ever seen him take on. “Is this really necessary, Elle?”

She gently leads him away from the cosmetics area, toward menswear. “First impressions happen, and they stick, whether or not we want them to. And no one should have any room to doubt” – how totally amazing you are –  “an incredible lawyer based on something so easy to tweak. So yes, I am going to respectfully insist that it is.”

He sighs, seemingly coming to terms with his fate. “Okay. Lead the way.”

Using the tailor’s measurements, she selects dress shirts that will fit him properly, pointing out the collar shape and how versatile lighter neutrals will be. (He looks skeptical, but acknowledges that he didn’t know necks had numeric sizes and that you learn something new every day.) She explains why coordinating belts with shoes helps pull a look together. She holds up different ties in front of a mirror to demonstrate how a quarter- or half-inch difference in width might not seem like much in theory, but can completely change one’s entire presentation.

“So this is more modern, and herringbone is subtle enough but stands out just a little.”

Little by little, Emmett appears more relaxed. Maybe even into it. “That one’s okay,” he comments, pointing to a tie with a burgundy monochrome pattern.

“Great color for you, and it’ll go with everything! Good eye.” She beams, and he shrugs in response.

“I admit this is less of a disaster than I was expecting.”

She quirks an eyebrow, motioning for him to follow her across the aisle. “You really think I’d lead you into disaster?”

He chuckles. “I don’t know what I thought.” When he sees where she’s headed, though, he seems to tense up a bit. “I did think we covered suits already, though.”

She nods. “The ones you had are going to look good once they’re altered, but every wardrobe needs a statement piece.”

Within seconds, two salespeople are at her elbow, solicitous as can be, and Elle finds herself in a rapid-fire conversation about twill versus cashmere, notched versus peaked lapels. Emmett looks a little dazed trying to keep up, and it seems it’s all he can do to select a color – even after she narrows it down to two based on what he’s already got. He enters the fitting room; a second later, Elle hears from behind the door a surprised yelp, likely due to one of the shop assistants having followed him in.

“Please get out.”

“But sir, it’s important the fit is-”

“I’ve been dressing myself for a long time now, thank you very much!”

She laughs to herself as the assistant emerges, looking a bit sheepish.

“Doing okay in there?” Elle calls out after several minutes. When she doesn’t receive a response, she moves a little closer to the fitting room door. “Emmett?”

He’s speaking so softly she has to strain to hear him. “This is… not really in my price range.”

(Oh. She hadn’t thought much about that – but she’s never needed to.

Not an option he’s ever really had.)

She shakes her head. “Don’t worry about that. This one’s on me.”

“But Elle, I-”

“Statement piece, Emmett. I won’t let it not happen. Are you ready?”

A sigh. “Yeah.”

“Well, come on, let’s see it!”

The door opens and… oh.

The silhouette is cut perfectly for his build. This shade of navy blue is just a little lighter and more vivid than most, and it makes his skin glow and his eyes sparkle and…

“You look hot.” She doesn’t realize she’s said it aloud until he turns to her with mild alarm, but she makes up her mind in that moment to double down. “Seriously, you’re going to blow them away in this.”

He looks in the mirror somewhat incredulously. “It’s only me.”

“Exactly.” She smiles, reaching forward to adjust his tie. “New clothes don’t change who you are, they just… let you shine through. Let everyone see” – what I do – “who you’ve always been.”

He’s still looking, unbuttoning the jacket and turning a little from side to side. “It’s… thank you.”

“Thank you.” She steps a little closer, and he shifts his gaze to her. “I wouldn’t be here without you, this is the least I can do.”

He shakes his head. “You’re perfectly capable, you would have gotten there-”

“Yeah, I’m capable,” she says quietly, “but you saw that way before I did.”

The way he’s looking at her right now, and the somersaults in her stomach, and fluorescent lighting isn’t supposed to have a romantic ambience, but he’s so close and she just…

“How else may we help you today?” They both jump a little when they see the salesman who was stalking Emmett earlier, standing behind them eagerly.

“Um…” Elle pastes on a smile. “We’ll take this, and everything over there.”

“Very well!” Elle can see the calculator in his brain adding up his commission. “I’ll meet you by the register.”

Emmett blanches a little when he hears the total, but Elle hands over her AmEx without a second thought, figuring she can definitely spin this into an education-related expense.

“So.” She turns to him as they exit the store, purchases in hand. “You have great hair.”

“Uh. Thanks?”

“But if we really want to complete the look… What are your thoughts on pomade?”

“I do not know what that is.”

She smiles. “You will.”

***

It works like a charm. Callahan is floored, almost contrite, when Emmett walks in the next morning, and Elle herself can’t help but sneak glances at him every few minutes.

(Elle thinks she sees Vivienne looking at her curiously at one point.

Surely she’s imagining things.)

He’s actually really good at the capsule wardrobe concept, assembling different combinations on his own and completely looking the part day after day. Trial prep is long and intense, especially on top of the demands from her other classes. One night in early March when she’s studying at Emmett’s and she hits a wall on information processing, she dramatically throws her head over the arm of his couch and requests a pillow to scream into. He obliges, but as she’s unleashing her frustration, he takes away her can of Red Bull and refuses to give it back, instead boiling water for peppermint tea.

“You need to take it down several notches or you’re going to give yourself an aneurysm,” he warns, handing her the mug.

She snorts. “At least I’d get some peace and quiet.”

“Not worth the literal headache. This’ll all still be here in 20 minutes, put it down and take a break.”

It takes her a while – longer than it should, really – to recognize little things like this as him taking care of her.

Outside of her Delta Nu sisters, she can't remember the last time someone did that.

Her co-interns start thawing along with the weather. Well, mostly. Warner is… Warner, but Enid seems to trust her opinions more, even asking for her insight on certain documents related to the case and topics they review in class. More surprising still is Vivienne; while Elle would describe her as neither warm nor fuzzy, she begins to recognize that verbal sparring simply happens to be Vivienne’s favorite pastime. The meanness in her tone falls away into something just shy of playful, and Elle finds herself dishing out as much as she takes. (It actually is a little bit fun.)

Discovery and witness interviews bring them through to the trial start date in mid-April, and by the middle of day three, Elle is contemplating begging Brooke to disclose the alibi. They’ve really tried everything, but they’re running out of ideas until something about Nikos tips her off. Everyone is a little skeptical about the merit of bend-and-snap here – although there’s at least one reaction she appreciates – and her stomach is sinking as Callahan airs his doubts.

But then Emmett stands up after saying something to Callahan and shreds Nikos’s credibility in less than two minutes. All Elle can think in the chaotic aftermath is that it was brilliant, and he trusted her – trusts her – even though this could have been make-or-break for him with Callahan.

She’s not going to be able to stave this off much longer, and she’s not certain that she even wants to.

Back at the office, they toast and Callahan asks her to stay back. She smiles at Emmett; tells him she’ll catch up.

He grins at her as he turns to walk out, and she thinks maybe it’s going to be tonight.

Chapter Text

After a childhood of aiming for clothes that weren’t falling apart, Emmett doesn’t know how fashion could ever be a priority for him – or why it should be. He’s proven himself plenty of times over, and would hope that would be sufficient over something as trivial as what he’s wearing.

Which is probably why Callahan’s words cut to the quick as much as they do. It certainly doesn’t help that he feels like Callahan is practically toying with him (and his entire future) at this point, and it gets to him. He feels a momentary flash of frustration toward Elle for concealing the alibi, which is immediately followed by guilt. He knows she’s right, and breaking their client’s trust for his own ulterior motives isn’t the kind of lawyer, or person, he wants to be.

But she has all this faith in him. Figures out how to transform his wardrobe, which he now actually likes; drops a ton of money on an amazing suit for him like it’s nothing; instills confidence he didn’t realize he was lacking. He feels a difference in how he carries himself, how he interacts with everyone around him… and yeah, okay, he catches her eyes on him at random intervals and he’s not mad about it.

Suddenly he’s no longer actively telling himself they’re just friends.

He finds himself conscious of her well-being when she overextends herself, recognizing when she’s denying herself something she needs. (Not like he hasn’t done it himself time and time again.) Her confidence is growing too, more every day, and he heads into the trial thinking about what might happen once it’s over.

Things go poorly right off the bat. The pool boy is really a colossal wrench in their fledgling strategy, and Emmett sees his prospective career and Brooke’s hope for freedom start to dwindle. (Not that he’s self-absorbed enough to think the two are remotely equivalent.) He looks at Brooke, thinking maybe if he just asks the right way for her alibi-

And then Elle comes barreling back inside the courtroom as the recess is ending, and Emmett does not know what the hell a bend-and-snap is until she suddenly does this thing and he feels as if something heavy has fallen on his head – but in a very pleasant way. She’s so certain Nikos is gay, but Callahan isn’t, and Emmett rapidly weighs the arguments in his head. Callahan made some valid points, but something tells Emmett that Elle is right about this. He purposefully rises to his feet and whispers to Callahan that he wants to try something.

He kind of can’t believe it works; it’s an almost giddy feeling, and when he looks over and sees that she’s absolutely overjoyed, he actually starts laughing out loud.

He thinks he might tell her tonight.

***

By the time they get back to the office, everyone else who works at the firm (and every other business in the building) is long gone. Everything is locked, but Emmett knows that Cheryl, the office manager, keeps extra keys taped under the top of her desk. They break into the conference room and kitchen, raiding the fridge. He’s not particularly one for champagne, but it’s been a wild day and it’s not on his dime, so he joins in the toast and tries to keep his expression as neutral as possible. When Callahan asks Elle to hang back, she smiles brightly at him and says she’ll catch up.

(That’s cool. He can wait.)

He walks out with Enid as far as the main hallway and tells her to have a good night. He’s leaning against the wall, idly checking his phone when Callahan brushes past. “Always something, isn’t it,” his boss mutters. “See you tomorrow, Forrest.” Emmett returns the pleasantry, expecting Elle to follow shortly thereafter. Warner and Vivienne beat her to it, though, the latter practically hissing something at the former; clearly livid about something, Vivienne tosses a hand in his general direction that he suspects means ‘goodbye.’ Not a minute later, he hears the click-clack of high heels on marble drawing closer - very quickly - and feels the corners of his mouth tug upwards almost involuntarily. But the smile dies on his face as soon as he sees the look on hers.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

She blows past him down the hallway with a shake of her head. “I have to go. I never should have done this in the first place.”

“What are you…?” Something seizes in his chest, and he finds himself nearly breaking into a jog to keep her pace. “Hang on, stop!”

She finally slows down, ducking into an alcove just off the darkened and empty lobby. When he catches up, she’s standing motionless, fingers digging into her temples and eyes glued to the floor. He could not possibly be more confused. “Elle, any clue you want to give me. Please.”

She turns slightly in his direction, but now her gaze seems to be fixed on his shoes. “Callahan kissed me,” she whispers in a crestfallen voice he wouldn’t have known was hers without seeing her lips move. 

He feels his stomach plummet to his feet. “What?”

“Then I pushed him away and he fired me,” she continues. “Clearly the only reason I got the internship in the first place is because he thought… And Warner and Vivienne saw, so now everyone else is going to think…”

“Screw what everyone else thinks,” he implores urgently. “We can figure this out.”

She doesn’t respond and he cautiously steps closer to her. “Elle, look at me.”

She takes a breath as if to steel herself before raising her head, and her eyes are glassy when they finally meet his. He reaches for her without thinking, his hand stopping millimeters from her elbow, fingers curling toward his palm, when it occurs to him that – despite her being the textbook definition of a hugger - any additional physical contact might be unwanted right now. Within a second, though, her face has crumpled entirely and she closes the distance between them, head brushing his shoulder. He tentatively wraps an arm around her back. “Is this okay?”

He feels her nod against him as she silently trembles.

He tightens his grasp, pulling her closer and talking aimlessly because he doesn’t know what the hell else to do. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. Nothing like this should ever happen and I’m so sorry-”

At that, she more or less collapses into him and… oh, now he can hear her. (It’s better for her to get it out, he knows that, and it’s certainly not her fault that her every gasp is a crack in his composure.) She’s holding onto him like she’ll sink into the ground otherwise and he hears sporadic words interspersed between choked sobs, but could not in a million years discern what any of them are.

This feels like some kind of fucked-up monkey’s paw situation, he can’t help but think; he’s thought about having her in his arms beyond a brief casual embrace more than he’d ever want to let on, but would never have wanted it to look like this. Instinct takes over, and he rests his chin on the top of her head and rubs her back and keeps telling her over and over this isn’t fair, it should never have happened, she deserves so much better.

She doesn’t have much of a poker face to begin with, especially around him - but she also usually works through whatever sadness or anger or frustration she’s experiencing fairly quickly (and often aloud). This, though… she just seems deflated. Fragile. And the light having suddenly gone out of her is scaring him more than a little.

Eventually her crying slows to the occasional hiccup, and he can finally make out what she’s been saying: “This was obviously a mistake, I can’t get away from this, I don’t know why I even came here…”

“Wait a second,” he interrupts, pulling back just a little so he’s meeting her eyes. She looks away immediately, but he gently directs her chin back to face him. “Whatever your original reason for coming here, you’re here now because you want to be a lawyer. Because you want to help people. Nothing else matters. And you’ve already shown everyone so many times that you do belong here.”

She squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head almost imperceptibly.  

“Elle, you know it’s true. And I will say it as many times as it takes for you to recognize it. If I have to walk around campus with a megaphone and a goddamned town crier bell until the entire Harvard population knows that Elle Woods is the best law student we’ve got…”

She opens her eyes and gives him a skeptical look, but he’s pretty sure there’s at least a little amusement involved. “That’s not necessary,” she says, slight rasp in her voice. “And I thought you had to give the bell back.”

“Well, I’d have to get another one, but you’re worth it.”

There’s a curiosity in her gaze and he thinks she’s about to say something when she suddenly looks past him down the hall. Emmett follows her gaze and sees a custodian pushing a cart in their direction.

“Sorry, folks. I have to lock up,” he calls from down the hall.

Emmett nods. “Of course - we’ll be out of here in a second.” He steps back, a careful hand still on her arm.

“Ugh, I must be a mess,” she says, swiping the backs of her fingers underneath her eyes. “Do I look like a raccoon?”

“Not even a little.”

“Good – oh, your jacket.” She cringes, gingerly touching the lapel into which her face was just firmly pressed.

“So what?” He shrugs. “No big deal.”

“It’s dry clean only.”

“Is there some kind of big dry-cleaners strike of which I wasn’t previously aware?”

She smiles wanly and shakes her head.

“Come on. Let me give you a ride home.” She moves wordlessly toward him as they start to walk toward the exit, which forces his arm back up over her shoulder.

(As with a whole lot of their interactions, it’s a little unexpected – but somehow works.)

There’s no traffic this late, so the drive back to campus is fairly quick. When Emmett pulls in to a parking spot in front of the dorm, though, Elle visibly tenses.

“I don’t want to stay here tonight,” she confesses. “Too many people to run into in the hallway, and I’d spend the whole night wondering who’s already said what or knows what, or who thinks they know something even if they don’t…”

The immediate idea to volunteer his apartment almost makes the transition from brain to vocal cords. She’s certainly spent plenty of time there, and she always seems comfortable.

(Hell, last month she helped him repaint his living room – it needed to be done, and his landlord knocked a couple hundred off the rent in exchange. He politely declined her suggestion of an accent wall, rationalizing that he’d just have to cover it up whenever he moves out, but fully admits that yes, some kind of ocean blue would have been very soothing.)

She’s never spent the night, though, and he’s wary that suggesting an unprecedented sleepover might come across as creepy, particularly if it’s less than thirty minutes after Callahan assaulted her. So he stalls for time. “Don’t you need to let Bruiser out?” 

Elle shakes her head. “Paulette is keeping him this week. She figured the trial would have me out late.” She laughs mirthlessly. “Bet she wasn’t expecting this would be why.”

He winces inwardly. “Do you… want me to drop you off at her place, then?” Part of him hopes she says yes. (Part of him doesn’t, and he’s trying to own that.) 

She looks up at him. “Is it okay if… I don’t want to put you out, but I can’t stay here and I really don’t want to explain all of this to anyone else right now. Would it be a huge imposition if I slept on your couch?”

(Oh.

Okay.)

“It’s not an imposition,” he assures her. “Really. But we’re here already, you might as well pop inside to get some stuff. I can go up with you, if you want.”

She presses her lips together. “You’re already going out of your way, I’m sorry to ask-”

“Don’t apologize,” he interjects automatically.

“If I give you my key, can you…? There’s a pink weekender bag with a black handle at the bottom of the closet, on the left side. It’s already packed.”

He opens his mouth, then closes it. “I’m not trying to change the subject, I promise. But do you actually keep an overnight bag packed at all times?”

She shrugs. “If you prepare ahead of time, you don’t forget anything. It only takes one impromptu Palm Springs weekend without contact solution or tinted sunscreen for that lesson to sink in.”

“I will take your word for it.” He can’t help but smile. “Anything else?”

She thinks for a moment. “If you can grab my pink dress for me-”

At that, he raises an eyebrow. “Elle, you’ve got like eighty pink dresses.”

“My favorite. Long sleeves, tab collar, seventh hanger from the right.” She mirrors his raised brow with her own.

Emmett shakes his head as he gets out of the car, leaning back down into the open door. “You… have a photographic memory of your closet.” 

(It’s not a question.)

Her eyes brighten just a little, and she’s the closest to herself she’s seemed since this whole debacle started earlier. “It’s a simple organizational system. Item, color, sleeve and hem lengths. Saves a lot of time.”

“Hmm. Interesting. You know what else I hear is a real time saver…” he starts.

“Don’t.” 

Her smile is a little stronger now, and he can’t help but mirror it with his own. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

The security guards are all so used to seeing him at this point that they halfheartedly wave him through, and Elle’s hall is quiet when he reaches the second floor. The bag and dress are precisely where she told him they’d be, and he’s in and out in less than a minute. As he locks her door behind him, he hears another open down the hall.

“I’m guessing that’s not yours, Forrest.”

He doesn’t have to glance up; he’d know Vivienne’s sarcastic undertones anywhere. “Nope. I’m a winter and this is clearly meant for a spring,” he says evenly before turning to her, unable to conceal his impatience. “Did you need something?”

“She’s staying with you?” Vivienne jerks her head toward Elle’s door.

Emmett hesitates, wondering if maybe Elle was right and people are looking for ammunition. The last thing she needs after this – to say nothing of all the shit people have been saying all year – is a rumor about something inappropriate happening between her and a T.A. But before he can formulate a response, Vivienne’s face softens noticeably. “I just want to know if she’s okay. Warner and I saw-”

He puts up a hand. “You don’t know the whole story.” 

“I know everything, Emmett,” Vivienne persists, dropping her voice as she comes closer. “We saw what Callahan did, and Warner got angry and went to leave. He didn’t see Elle push Callahan away, or slap him.”

At this, Emmett is taken aback – though not entirely without a bizarre sense of pride. “She didn’t tell me she slapped him.”

Vivienne shrugs. “It was a wallop, so I’d advise you to stay on her good side. Although I can’t imagine you being anywhere but.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

(It’s been an incredibly long day, Elle’s waiting in the car after having been through a nightmare, and his dress shoes are starting to pinch like hell. Vivienne needs to get to the point.)

The brunette sighs. “You aren’t honestly going to stand here and tell me you don’t know she has feelings for you.”

Emmett feels something twinge internally that’s either advanced dehydration or abject panic. “We’re friends, she’s not-”

“Trust me,” she says curtly. “When you spend seven months wrapped up in paranoia about someone trying to steal your… well, ex-fiancé, but that’s not the point – you get to know that person’s habits as well as you can. Their mannerisms, expressions, everything. And the way she looks at you? No one has ever looked at me like that, and I’m sure I haven’t returned the favor.”

“Looks at me how?”

“If you tell anyone I said this, I’ll deny it until the day I die,” Vivienne warns before inhaling slowly. “You know the feeling of going home? Walking into a place where there’s this instant relief, because you don’t have to be on your guard. You can take a breath and let go and be yourself without feeling like someone is asking you to perform.”

Sounds familiar. He nods.

“When she looks at you, that feeling is written all over her face.”

“But she’s three thousand miles from-”

“Yeah, whatever, she’s across the country from where she grew up. It doesn’t matter, because you’re home to her. Not Malibu. Not Boston. You.”

Emmett stands motionless, realizing this is the first time in his life he’s ever truly understood the meaning of ‘gobsmacked’, only snapping out of it when Vivienne adds, “And you’ve spent months looking at her like she hung the moon, so let’s not pretend it’s unrequited.”

He attempts (and fails) to force down the sudden warmth in his cheeks via sheer will. “Look, I have to go. We all need sleep, and I need to figure out some way to try to fix this.”

Vivienne holds up her index finger. “That’s the other thing. I called Enid on my way home, and she called the prison and convinced the CO to let Brooke speak with us on three-way. Brooke wants to… let’s say change direction a little with her representation, and it might actually work. I sent you an email. Let me know what you think, I’ll be up late.” She waves before he can react and turns to walk back to her room. 

“She wasn’t, you know.” It’s the best he can do given the series of bombs that’s fallen on him in the past hour, but it’s enough to get Vivienne to turn around quizzically, so he clarifies. “Trying to steal him.”

“Well, I know that now,” she replies. “And it turns out there wasn’t much worth stealing anyway.”

Emmett debates asking yet again and finally gives in to temptation. “You ended your engagement over this?”

“There were plenty of cracks, but this is what finally shattered the thing.”

“That’s pretty self-actualized.”

“Look, I should have said something,” she sighs. “I should have said something to Callahan, or at least to Elle after he walked out, and…”

“You talking to Enid and Brooke was a big help. It’ll be okay, all right? She’ll be okay.”

(He hopes.)

***

They both go to change once they get inside. Emmett hangs her dress in his closet so it doesn’t wrinkle, and steps back out into the living room. A few minutes later, she emerges from the bathroom in an oversized UCLA T-shirt and leggings. Wisps of hair are already escaping from the loose braid that falls over her shoulder, and she’s wearing tortoiseshell plastic-rimmed glasses that he’s never seen before.

(God, she’s beautiful – but the timing is not.

He starts mentally running through session laws on money laundering as a distraction.)

“I haven’t had a chance to go grocery shopping, so there’s not a lot here,” he tells her. “But if you’re hungry, I have microwave popcorn, frozen vegetables, and I think maybe an apple. Oh, and the finest tap water the city of Boston can provide.”

She settles on the couch, legs curled up underneath her, and smiles faintly. “Water would be good. Thank you.”

He gets himself a glass as well, and places them on the coffee table. She hasn’t moved from her spot on the couch, projecting a thousand-yard stare into the wall. He’s about to say something when he remembers Vivienne’s email, and goes to grab his laptop from the desk in the corner before settling on the couch beside Elle.

“So,” he begins. “I ran into Vivienne when I was getting your stuff. No, it’s okay,” he hastens to continue when she pales. “I think she was waiting for you to get back, because she regretted not saying anything earlier and wanted to know if you were all right.”

Elle doesn’t look convinced. “Vivienne Kensington?”

“One and the same.”

“Did she appear to have recently had a lobotomy?”

“She did not.” He smirks. “She did, however, see everything that happened in the conference room. Which reminds me – you failed to mention you belted Callahan across the face.”

“I didn’t belt-” Elle blushes and bites back a grin. “It wasn’t that hard.”

“Did his head turn?”

“… a little.”

“Good." He leans forward. “But next time, think full Exorcist. He certainly deserves it.”

“Next time?” Her smile fades. “I mean, he fired me. I’m done – he’s probably going to fail me just because he can. I don’t know what I’m going to do, Emmett.”

“Not so fast.” He opens the laptop and logs into his email account. “Vivienne, Enid, and Brooke apparently all came up with some kind of plan, so let’s see what we’re looking at.”

Elle does a double take. “Vivienne told Enid?”

He nods. “And they both called Brooke together. I don’t think anyone is particularly happy with Callahan right now. Okay, here it is.”

She scoots closer so she can read over his shoulder, recoiling not a minute later. “That’s not even possible, is it?”

“Down here,” he says, pointing to the screen. “I actually forgot this was a thing – they must have looked it up. A law student can represent a client in court as long as there’s a licensed attorney to supervise.”

“But Callahan will never…”

Really? Emmett looks at her steadily. “Hi.”

“Hi… wait, I can’t ask you to do that!” She nervously tugs at the end of her braid, a few more tendrils breaking free in the process.

“I’m happy to do it, but you need to be okay with this or it’s a non-starter.”

“What if I’m not?”

“Then… you’re not. And it’s what it is. But at least talk it out before you make a decision.”

They come up with a surprisingly intricate verbal pro/con list and eventually reach the conclusion that it’s the best bet for Brooke; Emmett replies to Vivienne letting her know they’re both in.

He turns back to Elle after putting the computer away and catches her mid-yawn. “Okay, you need to go to sleep.”

She nods. “I’m not going to argue with that.”

“But I’m taking the couch.”

“What? No!”

“Elle, you’ve had an awful night and this couch truly sucks. Please take the bed so you can get some rest.”

“No! I’m not putting you out of your bed. And you’re the one who hasn’t slept in, like, thirty years.”

“A truly impressive feat, seeing as I’m twenty-six.”

“Well, I’m not moving from the couch, so I guess you’re stuck.” She tosses her braid back over her shoulder dramatically.

He sits back down. “Neither am I, and so are you.”

She rolls her eyes. “We have to figure this out one way or another.”

“Hmm.” He thinks for a second before a light bulb goes off. “Rock, paper, scissors?”

“Best two out of three.”

Two out of three turns into five out of seven, then eight out of ten, and they’re both laughing way harder than the situation probably calls for by the time they’re on their fourteenth round.

“Okay,” Elle giggles. “I think we’re at an impasse.”

Emmett grins. “You could just take the bed and we’d be done with it.”

“Or we could both just…” She bites her lip, and his stomach clenches as he realizes where this is going.

“Both,” he echoes uncertainly.

She must be interpreting his caution as reluctance, because she seems to shrink into herself just a little. “If that’s weird for you, it’s-”

“Don’t worry about me,” he assures her. He pauses for a moment, because he knows what he’s about to say needs to come out right. “The last thing I would ever want, especially right now, is for anything to be uncomfortable for you.”

She in turn considers this before responding. “In the office before, I totally lost it and you… I would have been mortified if anyone else in the world saw me like that. But… I always feel better about everything when you’re around. If that makes sense.”

It makes sense as he mulls it over – especially with Vivienne’s words ricocheting around his brain – but he wants to make sure she knows she has an out. 

“Okay. You know, if at any point you change your mind, want some space-”

“Emmett.” From her expression, he might as well have asked her opinion on socks with sandals. He looks at her another moment, but by now he’s more than aware of when she’s made up her mind on something.

“Okay,” he repeats. A beat later, a smile ghosts across his face as he asks, “Anything I should prepare for?”

She looks at him quizzically. “As far as what?”

“Snoring. Sleepwalking. Blanket theft.”

She rolls her eyes. “Hopefully you’re not projecting.”

“I guess you’ll find out.”

“I guess so.” She stands up and then turns back to him. “And for the record, I’m not a blanket thief. I just… acquire as much as I need.”

He laughs. “And what happens if there’s not a lot left over once you’ve made your acquisition?”

“Get another blanket,” she says matter-of-factly.

(She can have the blankets if she wants them.

If she wants the sun and the stars, he’ll figure out how to get those too.)

Chapter Text

Elle is grateful that she repacked her weekender bag in January. Usually, she keeps it stocked with a short-and-cami set – the silky ones Pilar affectionately refers to as ‘slutty chic’ – but those don’t exactly keep her warm. Choosing athleisure instead turned out to be a prescient call; not that she would ever have envisioned this would be why. 

(She suddenly finds herself wondering about Emmett’s opinion if she had kept her supplies exactly as they were before.

Her brain really needs to shut up.)

She gets into bed first, opposite to the most neatly cluttered nightstand she’s ever seen. Her phone is plugged in across the room, so she sits up against the headboard, not entirely sure what to do with herself. Looking at the vivid cotton quilt she’s just slipped under, she finds herself tracing over a bright teal starburst shape with her finger. 

“My mom made that.”

She looks up and sees Emmett in the doorway, one corner of his mouth turned up.

Elle smiles. “It’s beautiful. She’s very talented.”

“Thanks, she is.” He taps the door frame. “Give me five minutes.”

She nods and eases herself down, expecting him to return shortly – but she’s asleep before he comes back in.

***

It’s still dark out when she opens her eyes. It takes a moment to place the flannel sheets, the sliver of streetlight peeking in from around the edge of the blinds on the opposite wall, the unfamiliar pillow.

(Except pillows don’t usually breathe. Or have arms.)

They were on opposite sides of the bed, she’s certain of it. But then… right. She thought maybe she dreamed the conversation where she briefly woke up curled into his side, asking him not to move, but maybe not – because there is a full-on snuggle situation happening. 

Her first thought is that even though everything is strange and a little disorienting through the haze of waking up someplace different, there is no question in her mind that she’s totally safe here. Her second thought is that she always requires half the bed and… okay, fine, approximately 80 percent of the blankets to fall asleep. So she’s kind of stunned she slept this close to another person like this for the first time in her life.

(It likely pertains to whom said person is, but that'll need to be dealt with later.)

Her third and fourth thoughts, which come with a sudden rush of dread, are the following, respectively: the inside of her mouth tastes like something she wore to hot yoga, and she can’t know for sure that she didn’t drool on him.

His T-shirt fortunately feels dry underneath her cheek, so maybe that last one isn’t worth worrying about. Still, she’s suddenly desperate to brush her teeth, so she begins attempting to extricate herself. Easier said than done - their limbs have somehow ended up completely intertwined. It’s actually wonderful, and she’s tempted to close her eyes and try to doze off again. But the longer she lies there awake, the more she realizes that she also sort of has to pee. In her determination to let Emmett sleep as long as possible, she resorts to a rather time-consuming method: move one extremity a few inches, freeze, repeat. (She imagines the birds-eye view would be fairly entertaining.)

After what seems like an eon, it’s just her right foot that’s still partially stuck between his calves; she retracts it a little bit while slowly sliding her body away from his. Good. A little bit more, freeze, slide; almost there, freeze, slide-

And she rolls off the bed as unceremoniously as possible, landing on the floor with a thud and an involuntary “oof” that’s probably audible in the Southern Hemisphere. Fortunately, she had shimmied out from beneath the quilt prior to beginning her great escape, so she thinks she just might have pulled it off. She tentatively glances up to confirm.

Nope. He is definitely awake – sitting up, in fact, and leaning over the edge of the bed.

“Is this part of your normal morning routine?” he asks, squinting down at her with sleepy eyes and rumpled hair.

(It’s almost infuriatingly cute.)

She scrambles to her feet. “I didn’t want to wake you up,” she whispers, even though there’s no longer any reason to do so.

“No worries. You’re okay?”

“I’m good.” She nods. “Go back to sleep, I’ll just be a second.” 

She emerges from the bathroom a few minutes later with minty breath and an empty bladder; the sky outside is just beginning to soften into gray and the digital clock on the cable box tells her it’s just after 6am. They’re due in court in a few hours and she remembers last night’s rather paltry kitchen inventory rundown. So she rummages in her bag for a long cardigan and ballet flats, takes some cash from her wallet and his keys from the hook by the front door, and quietly slips out. 

Emmett loves the coffee shop two doors down, largely because he shares their affinity for packing as much caffeine as possible into any given beverage. Unlike Elle, who likes to change it up regularly, his order is always the same, here and everywhere else: light roast, extra shot, splash of 2%. The line is pretty short, the place just having opened for the day, and it doesn’t take long before she’s balancing a cardboard tray against her hip while wrangling his keys from her opposite pocket.

(Certainly less time than it took her to try to get out of bed.)

The door flies open as she’s about to insert the key into the lock, and Emmett looks at her with something resembling concern. “Where’d you…” He trails off, expression changing to one of pleasant surprise when he sees what she’s holding. “Oh. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to. And they had those strawberry oat bars this morning.” She places the tray down on his dining table, gesturing toward the small paper bag she had thrown on top, and then hands him the cup marked as his. “Your usual, but I had them steam the milk.”

He smiles. “Fancy. Thank you.” As they both sit down, he sips his drink and immediately wrinkles his nose. 

“Anything wrong?”

He grimaces. “Steamed milk doesn’t generally taste like flowers, correct?”

She quickly switches their cups. “They must have mislabeled them.” Sure enough, he had her soy lavender latte. “Is that better?”

“Much better, thanks,” he says with a grin, reaching into the bag. They don’t really talk; it still amazes her, the absence of the near-compulsion she’s always had with guys to fill every millisecond of silence. She wraps her hands around the cup, and finds herself thinking about the position in which she woke up this morning. And how she wouldn’t mind starting her day like that again – preferably minus falling on her ass – maybe with different pajamas even, and… Oh my god, stop it.

She must be pulling a face, because Emmett suddenly asks, “Everything all right in there?”

“Huh?” She jumps.

“It’s going to be a long day,” he says gently. “Do you want to run through anything?”

Right. The trial. “No, no, I'm fine. It's totally okay.”

(Of course, now that he’s brought it up…)

“I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?” she continues. “I screw up and Brooke spends the rest of her life in prison? No big deal, right?”

“Brooke is not going to spend the rest of her life in prison,” he assures her with way more sincerity than she thinks the moment calls for. “I will be there if you need backup, but I have no doubt you can do this – and Brooke trusts you. This is what she wants.”

She sighs, looking down at her now half-empty cup. “Isn’t it part of our job to keep our clients from shooting themselves in the foot?”

“Elle.” He leans forward. “Busting Nikos was all you, and it got this case farther than Callahan ever managed to.” 

“It was just lucky,” she argues. “It doesn’t matter how much he was dithering on about it yesterday, it’s not ‘thinking like a lawyer.’”

“Bullshit,” he rejoins. “Using what you learn and observe to formulate your argument in real time? That’s quintessential litigation. If there’s any luck involved here, it’s that Brooke has you to represent her.”

She digests this silently. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Listen, in some circles, I’m famous for my high-quality pep talks,” Emmett says with a grin.

“Not that I don’t totally agree,” Elle replies, a smile playing on her lips. “But more than anything, I’m impressed that you used ‘bullshit’ and ‘quintessential litigation’ in the same sentence.”

He chuckles. “Okay. In that case, I have some follow-up questions: did it take your mind off of what you’re worried about, and are you any less impressed knowing it’s technically two sentences?”

She pretends to think intently for a moment before responding, “Mostly, and only a little.”

“I’ll take it,” he decides, rising from his chair. “We should probably start getting ready – I’ll get you a towel.”

“Oh, that’s okay.” She waves him off. “I have one.”

Incredulous, he looks from her to her overnight bag and back. “It’s like if Mary Poppins had better fashion sense. Is there anything you don’t have in there?”

She shrugs nonchalantly, getting up to collect her things. “It’s hard to know what might be supplied in any given place, and sensitive skin doesn’t respond well to low thread counts.” 

(She actually has four: one bath sheet, two hand towels, and a microfiber wrap for her hair. 

Probably there’s no need to mention the travel blow dryer just yet.)

She showers quickly and closes the bedroom door behind her to get ready. She’s not quite gotten her dress off the hanger when there’s a knock at the door, and she jumps.

“Like, 30 more seconds,” she calls out.

“It’s fine, take your time,” Emmett says from the other side. “Just, you left your face wash in the shower. What the hell is mangosteen extract?”

She laughs. “Try it if you want. It’s super refreshing.” She zips up the back of her dress and has just finished drying and styling her hair when she hears Emmett again. 

“Okay if we swap?”

“Yep, I’m all set,” she responds, heading for the door.

(She keeps her eyes down as she passes him, because there’s no way she’ll get through what might be the most important day of her life if she’s thinking about him in a towel in more than a theoretical sense.

Good lord. This has more than crossed the threshold of absurdity.)

“By the way,” he calls through the door, “you were right. My face feels refreshed.”

She smiles. “Better living through exfoliation!”

He emerges about ten minutes later in his statement-piece suit. He liked the basket-weave patterned tie when they went shopping, so they got it two colors. She doesn’t want to assume that he chose the blush over black for any particular reason, but she kind of likes knowing they match.

(The term ‘power couple’ randomly pops into her head and it takes her a good few seconds to shoo the thought away.)

He meets her eyes and smiles. “Ready?” 

“Yes,” she says, and means it.

“Good.” He nods decisively. “Let’s go win this case.”

Chapter Text

As soon as they buckle their seatbelts, Elle asks, “Can you put something on, please?”

“Sure.” They’ve shared a lot of music back and forth at this point, and while there isn’t a ton of material within the Venn diagram’s overlap, they appreciate each other’s tastes more than he’d have expected. He scrolls through and selects the playlist she doesn’t know he compiled with that in mind.

(He’s certainly not about to tell her right now.)

A familiar guitar melody emerges from the stereo, and her tension visibly dissipates. She doesn’t say much else on the drive over, mostly looking out the window, and he focuses on the road while letting his own mind wander.

She’s sleeping soundly when he comes back in, so he quietly turns out the light and climbs into the other side of the bed as carefully as possible. He settles, lying on his back and trying to resist the impulse to look anywhere other than the ceiling.

(Watching her sleep would be the epitome of disturbing, he’s convinced.)

It’s hard to quell his racing thoughts long enough to drift off. The sadness for her having to go through this. The anger that there are so many men, his supposed mentor included, who think shit like this is acceptable. The irrational yet possibly legitimate concern that tomorrow morning, he’ll be tempted to bludgeon Callahan with his own expensive briefcase on sight. 

Elle suddenly stirs. Before he can process what’s going on, she’s pressed into his side, her arm thrown across his torso. He freezes, ignoring the part of his brain that immediately decides how right this is.

“Um.” He doesn’t want to wake her up, but would rather that than have her feel any awkwardness or discomfort later on. “Elle?”  

She whimpers a little. “Mmm.”

“Do you, uh… are you okay?”  

Her eyes briefly flutter open, and she moves closer. “Mm-hmm.”

“I can move, if… are you good? Or…?”

(He could probably argue his way across the border of North Korea – in both directions – yet she’s over here rendering him incapable of stringing together a coherent sentence.)

“Emmett.” She sighs. “Just stay? Please.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs as she falls back into a deep sleep, finally feeling his own eyelids grow heavy shortly thereafter. “I got you.”

She hasn’t said a word about it since crashing to his floor at the crack of dawn, and he’s following her lead. If there’s ever actually an opportune time to talk about… well, everything, then maybe –

“That was fast,” Elle mutters, and Emmett quickly changes lanes as realizes he’s about to miss the turn.

He can see she’s beginning to stiffen once more, absently smoothing her skirt. “The judge can’t hold me in contempt of court for wearing pink, right?”

“Right.” He grins as he pulls into a parking spot.

“Should I have gone back to the dorm to get a suit?”

“You look-” Amazing. Stunning. Probably the closest thing to perfection this planet will ever see. “-like a lawyer. You’re going to kick ass in there.”

She takes a deep slow breath. “Okay. Kick ass. Got it.”

When they get out, Vivienne is waiting for them on the sidewalk a few yards ahead. “Here’s what’s going to happen,” she says by way of greeting as they begin to climb the steps. “Callahan is already inside with Enid and Warner. He thinks everything is totally normal. Elle, you’re going to sit down in the back when you go in – it’s so crazy in there right now, no one will notice. They’re going to bring in Brooke in…” She glances at her watch. “Seven minutes, and she’s going to tell Callahan about her new representation and call you over. He won’t have a chance to get a word in edgewise, the bastard.”

They pass through building security and make their way to the courtroom. Emmett feels her fingers brushing up against the side of his palm just before they reach the double doors; he briefly wraps Elle’s hand in his and squeezes before letting go, and she looks up at him with a soft smile.

Of course, Vivienne chooses this exact moment to turn around. “So let’s… do this,” she says, taking in the exchange. 

Sure enough, the courtroom is chaotic as observers and reporters find their seats. Elle has no problem sitting inconspicuously in the back. Emmett and Vivienne continue toward the defendant’s table; halfway there, she turns to him, rapidly batting her eyelashes.

He snaps his head forward. “Knock it off.”

“If only,” she retorts under her breath. “The two of you are practically giving me diabetes.”

The side door opens, and Brooke is escorted in; her eyes immediately go to Vivienne, who barely nods her head. 

Brooke turns to Callahan and abruptly announces, “You’re fired.”

“Excuse me?” Callahan straightens up, looking at her incredulously over his glasses. 

“You heard me,” she says nonchalantly, raising her arm in a beckoning motion. “I’ve retained new counsel.”

A second later, Elle is standing beside them, glaring daggers at Callahan. Momentarily shocked, Callahan stares back at her – but Elle is more than holding her own in their silent standoff. 

(Damn straight.)

The judge enters the courtroom – no one at the defense table hears the bailiff ask everyone to rise, but they’re all already standing. Eventually, Callahan recovers, and scoffs at Brooke, “You can’t have a law student represent you.”

Emmett clears his throat. “As a matter of fact, she can.” He approaches the bench, citing the appropriate statute.

The judge looks past him to Elle. “Ms. Woods, do you have a supervising attorney?”

Callahan says “No” at the same time Emmett says “Yes.”

Emmett turns and locks eyes with Callahan. “Yes,” he repeats. “Your Honor, she does.”

Callahan takes a step closer to him threateningly. “If you want to have a job tomorrow, Forrest, you’ll reconsider,” he hisses.

Emmett is entirely unfazed at Callahan’s bluster. “I’m not reconsidering anything. You and I are done.” 

With one last glance back at Elle, Callahan exhales in disbelief, shaking his head as he hurriedly packs his briefcase. “Enjoy prison,” he scoffs at Brooke as he storms out of the courtroom.

“Is the defense ready to begin?” the judge inquires.

Emmett’s eyes meet Elle’s, and he nods encouragingly.

“Yes, Your Honor,” she replies, voice unwavering. 

“Very well. Please call your next witness.”

The rest happens so fast, he can hardly keep up. As Chutney is led away in handcuffs, the courtroom erupts. For the next twenty minutes, he finds himself shaking various hands and deflecting reporters’ questions shouted from the back of the room. Brooke is making the rounds as well, stopping to chat animatedly with Elle’s friends from California – whose surprise arrival couldn’t possibly have been timed better – and with a wiry woman in her 40s. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Elle and Vivienne briefly embrace; Vivienne says something, gesturing in Warner’s general direction with her bare left hand, and Elle laughs. 

“Congratulations, Mr. Forrest.” The woman to whom Brooke had been speaking suddenly appears in front of him. “I’m Angela Stone, of McCord, Stone, & Baker.”

“Emmett, please,” he says, returning her almost uncomfortably firm handshake.

“I’ve known Brooke for ages, so naturally I was following this case closely. I caught wind of some of the background on this last-minute change of counsel. I know a lot of people are waiting to speak with you, but I wanted to tell you we’re looking to hire a new associate.”

(McCord, Stone, & Baker. They’re the most high-profile firm in the city for anything related to family law, divorce in particular.

What is happening right now?)

“I’ll be upfront,” she continues. “We want someone who’s well-educated cares about their clients, and lulls opponents into a false sense of security before tearing them apart on the stand. After this trial, I have no doubt that you’re our man.”

He opens his mouth and closes his mouth a couple times, but words aren’t coming.  

(He accepts that he that probably looks like a fish.)

“If you’re able stop in tomorrow, I’d like you to meet the other partners and we can talk further. Maybe around ten?”

“Uh, I certainly will. Thank you – very much.” He places the business card she hands him into his jacket pocket. “Ms. Stone, out of curiosity, how do you and Brooke-”

“Angela. Please.” She smiles. “We met ages ago at an alumni event.”

“Alumni of…?”

“The UVA chapter of Delta Nu,” she says as if it’s obvious, then turns to go.

(And his jaw is officially in the basement.)

The crowd starts to dissipate enough that he can move somewhat more freely, and he catches sight of Elle across the room. She says goodbye to someone, then looks around as if searching until she spots him and immediately rushes forward. “I can’t believe this!”

He catches her in an embrace, lifting her off the floor as he swings her around. “You were incredible!” He gently sets her down, gazing at her. “I am so proud of you.”

She beams. “Thank you,” she says softly. “It helped knowing you were right there.”

“Where else would I have-” Suddenly the shadow of someone moves into his peripheral vision, and he looks over Elle’s head to see Warner, hands in pockets and shuffling his feet. Emmett sighs. “I think someone else wants to talk to you.”

Elle follows his gaze, turning back to him with doubt in her eyes. He squeezes her arm before stepping back. “It’s okay – I’ll see you in a minute, I’ll just be outside.”

She opens her mouth as if to protest and shakes her head a little.

“Or… I can sit in the back?”

“Yeah. That.”

“Sure.” 

He settles in the last row of the courtroom, presumably out of earshot, as he watches Elle somewhat reluctantly approach her ex.

(She can absolutely take care of herself, but yesterday is probably still more raw for her than she’s letting on.

And it turns out the acoustics in here are actually pretty stellar, regardless of location.)

“Hey, you. Strong work.” Warner greets her with what must be years of pricey orthodontia on full display.

“Hi, Warner.” Elle looks at him cautiously. “What’s up?”

“So… watching you today made me realize something.” His face is frozen in a grin.

Elle raises an eyebrow; her tone is direct but not unkind when she responds. “If it’s in any way related to the fact that Vivienne dumped you and there’s once again a ring in your possession, I’m not interested.”

(Burn. Emmett chokes down a laugh.)

Warner shakes his head, his face falling, and it’s like he’s discovered the existence of humility for the first time in his life. “Oh. Um, well… no. It’s been made pretty clear that that ship has sailed.” Emmett’s not sure if he’s imagining things, or if Warner’s eyes momentarily flit toward him.

“Yeah.” If they did, Elle doesn’t seem to have noticed.

“But it’s also pretty clear that you love this, and you’re good at it. The truth is I’m really just here to try and make my dad happy. I’ve been thinking about it for a while now, but today kind of solidified everything. So… I’m leaving at the end of term.”

Elle steps back from him. “Wow. That’s pretty big.”

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “I mean, let my dad be pissed off, whatever. Life’s too short to be miserable. But I… also wanted to say I’m sorry. For everything. You didn’t deserve… I was being pressured, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

Elle appears caught off-guard, and Emmett has put his phone down, abandoning all pretense of not eavesdropping.

“This was never the right place for me,” Warner continues. “And… I doubt I was ever the right guy for you.”

“Thank you.” Elle smiles for real this time. “Warner, you were the catalyst for getting me here in the first place, and I’ll always appreciate that. And I understand the pressure thing – I cared for you a lot. I really did. But I think the voice in my head telling me I should want to marry you was never mine.”

Warner nods. “You’re going to do great here.”

Elle reaches forward and pats him on the shoulder. “I appreciate it. Good luck with… what’s next?”

He grins again. “Don’t laugh, but I was thinking about modeling.”

(Elle’s miraculously holding it together, though Emmett has no earthly idea how.)

“Oh. Well, you’ve always loved clothes. That seems… wow.”

“I know,” he says, his self-importance beginning to return. “I talked to an agent, and she thinks I could do well in Japan.”

Elle’s smile grows wider. “I hope everything works out the way you want it to.”

Warner steps out the side door, and Elle is looking at the floor as she quickly walks down the aisle.

“Is he gone?” she whispers as she reaches Emmett, taking a seat beside him. 

“Yes,” he dramatically whispers back. 

Elle bursts into giggles. “Japan?”

“It would appear so.”

“I don’t even know where to begin.”

“I think that one just needs to stand on its own,” Emmett laughs, shaking his head. “But you’re glad you talked to him?”

“Yeah,” she smiles. “I do wish him well. And the apology was a nice bonus I definitely didn’t see coming.”

“It’s the very least he could have done for you, but he was actually a lot less wrong than I’m used to him being.”

“Was he?”

“Well, you know, when he said that he… a lot of things just weren’t right. Before.”

(This conversation is inevitable, but it is sure as hell not happening here.) 

She’s looking at him a little funny, so he rapidly searches his brain for something else – anything else – to talk about and quickly remembers Angela Stone. “Oh! You’re not going to believe what-” 

“Uh, hello?” They both startle at the sight of Vivienne in the doorway. “What are you still doing in here? The press has been waiting outside forever. Come on.” She turns on her heel, but they can still hear her as she walks away. “And when we’re done, I need to go get some insulin.”

Elle turns back to him curiously. “Do you have any idea what she’s talking about?”

“She… I’ll tell you later.” Emmett rolls his eyes. “Let’s go.”

Reporters are peering into the glass courthouse doors, and erupt into an anarchic mass of overlapping questions as soon as the two of them come into view. Elle glances at him.

“Right behind you,” he says with a smile. She squares her shoulders and pushes through the door.

(He will tell her later. No doubt about it.

But for now, he follows her out into the sun.)

Chapter Text

Elle can pinpoint exactly when her brain stopped fighting her heart. To the second. As they were walking through the courthouse, a lightning bolt of anxiety coursed through her, and she reached without thinking for Emmett’s hand. He looked at her and smiled, and somehow it was different than all the other times he’s looked at her and smiled, because she just… knew. 

And it scares the daylights out of her, but there’s no going back.

She wants to scream it from the rooftops. Hire a skywriter. Something big enough to come close to the overwhelming sensations of want and need and-

Love.

She knows it’s love even though it doesn’t feel remotely like anything she’s ever categorized as such before.

There isn’t a need for mental gymnastics to convince herself she’s happy. There’s no spending an eternity making sure she appears perfect in order to satisfy someone else, or tiptoeing around bad moods. What there is is laughter, and silly arguments about music and movies, and using respective differences to strengthen one another. It’s being enough, just as she is, and completely comfortable with herself in the presence of another person.

(Plus consideration of clothing-optional activities with said other person.

Whatever, she’s owning her feelings.)

As much as she wants to act on this revelation, the timing is less than optimal for a number of reasons. Once they’re finally done dealing with the press, the Delta Nus – Brooke included – drag everyone to the nearby bar to celebrate. It turns into absolute mayhem, which the poor skeleton crew is clearly unprepared to deal with on a Tuesday afternoon, and Elle probably couldn’t get across the room to talk to Emmett right now if she sprouted wings.

(Margot and Serena appear to have him backed into a corner; if he survives this, he’ll never find anything difficult again as long as he lives.)

But she speaks with practically every person in New England, except the one she really wants to, and eventually makes it to a booth in which Enid and Vivienne sit.

“Hey,” she says with a smile as she takes a seat. “Having fun?”

Vivienne snorts. “Your friend is trying to buy a round of tequila shots for everyone in here.” She motions to the middle of the room, where Pilar is engaged in an intense negotiation with the bartender. 

Elle shakes her head, grinning. “That’s not going to end well.”

“For whom?” Enid asks. 

“Well, depends on who wins.” Elle shrugs. “But if it’s Pilar, someone might wake up to a really bad headache.”

“Yeah, probably me, just not from tequila,” Vivienne mutters. “I signed a lease because Warner and I were supposed to live together – just as well we never added his name, because there’s no way that’s happening now. Got an extra bedroom to use as an office and everything.”

“You can’t live there by yourself?” Elle absently twirls the straw around the glass on the table.

(She’s sticking with tonic and lime – breakfast was hours ago and she wants a clear head for… well, whatever’s coming next.)

“My parents were under the impression there would be two of us splitting rent, which is why they co-signed.” Vivienne rolls her eyes. “The only way out is paying three months’ rent as a penalty, and I don’t have that kind of cash on hand. So unless either of you is looking for a roommate next year, I’m in for an unfortunate conversation.”

“I’m locked in to a place already,” Enid confirms.

“I’m… you know, I’m actually not sure,” Elle says. “I don’t especially want to be in the dorm for another year, but we’ve been so busy, I just assumed I would have no choice.”

Vivienne shrugs. “Well, it’s a nice place. Close by. Pretty big, and the bedrooms are on opposite sides. Actually a little cheaper than the dorm if it’s split down the middle.”

“If you’re serious, we can talk about it.” Elle smiles. “But the building has to be dog-friendly – and you do too.”

“I actually wouldn’t mind having a dog around. Yours is pretty cute. And I saw people walking in and out with them, so it should be fine.”

Over the next few minutes, they discover that they have similar personal philosophies on cleanliness (important but not to the point of compulsion); noise levels (respectful, but everyone’s human); and food (raw meat sort of grosses Elle out, but Vivienne doesn’t really cook anyway).

“Maybe you can stop by tomorrow and see it.”

(It’s a bit surreal that they’re even having this conversation, but Elle considers the tenet about how living with friends doesn’t usually work out – even though that was never true in the Delta Nu house – and figures that right now, she and Vivienne have the potential for friendship.

Which means this is only potentially a bad idea.)

“Okay, why not?” As Elle speaks, she looks up and catches Emmett’s eye briefly, feeling her smile widen.

Enid raises her eyebrows. “You also might want to do something about that at some point.”

“About what?” Elle says, her face unchanging as her eyes linger across the room.

“Really?” Vivienne looks at her skeptically. “This is your definition of subtlety?”

Elle’s eyes snap forward and she slowly ducks her head, feeling a blush creep into her cheeks; it’s one thing to admit it to herself, but another thing entirely to hear it from someone else. “There’s nothing to say.”

Vivienne’s gaze hasn’t moved. “Looking awfully red there for someone whose signature color is pink, Woods.”

Elle sighs. “I… It’s that obvious?”

“Oh, yeah,” the other two say in unison, nodding sharply.

“To everyone?”

“To us,” Enid qualifies, “but we are the Harvard Law cream of the crop. So you might still be getting away with it with everyone else.”

“Class isn’t over for almost three weeks, and he’s still our T.A.,” Elle says, trying to keep her voice down for privacy while still being heard over the cacophony surrounding them. “It’s not great reputation-wise, is it?”

(Certainly it’s reasonable to omit the fact that she slept in his bed last night.)

“I really don’t think anyone would care,” Vivienne responds. “But I get it if you don’t love the optics. Perceived power imbalance and all that, especially after what Callahan tried to pull.”

“Speaking of Callahan,” Enid chimes in. “I wanted to wait to tell you until a little later, Elle, but…”

Elle feels herself stiffen involuntarily, and she wonders where this morning’s courage has hopped off to. “What about him?”

“When Vivienne told me everything last night, I almost put my fist through the wall,” Enid says stonily before turning to Vivienne. “Which reminds me – pay up.”

Vivienne rummages in her bag, counting out cash and slapping it into Enid’s hand. She turns back to Elle and explains, “I had to promise to compensate her so she’d act normal around Callahan before the trial.”

“Started at a dollar per minute and the price doubled every five,” Enid adds. “Anyway, there’s a forum online for Harvard Law women alums, and I posted a message last night asking if anyone else had an experience like this with him. Four women have already gotten back to me.”

Elle blinks. “Really?”

“Yeah. And not all of them reacted like you did – some of them froze and he took it as an invitation. That fucker.” Enid’s face is grim. “I made an appointment with the Title IX office on campus, and it’s up to you – but the other women are all willing to talk if you are.”

“Oh.” It’s not that Elle has qualms about sticking it to Callahan, but she’s far more taken aback than she’d have expected. “Uh, when is it? The appointment?”

“Tomorrow morning, after Stromwell’s class.” Enid looks at her steadily. “You just have to tell them what happened. And you have an eyewitness.”

“Who is also willing to talk,” Vivienne chimes in.

Elle bites her lip. “I think… there’s a lot going on in my head right now. If I can get just an hour of quiet to try and figure it all out?”

“That’s fine,” Enid says in the softest voice Elle’s ever heard her use as her gaze briefly flickers upward. “Maybe talk it over with… someone.”

“Huh?”

“I think Margot and Serena now know more about me than I know about myself.”

Elle looks up sharply to see that Emmett has finally gotten through the throngs of people to the far side of the bar, and is leaning against the top of their booth.

(Her stomach does the flip thing for the billionth time, and this time she doesn’t rationalize what it means. 

There’s no denying it. Nor does she want to.)

Elle smiles, suddenly a little breathless. “Hey. Um, do you want to maybe-”

Emmett jerks his head in the direction of the door inquisitively. 

Elle stands up, briefly turning back to Vivienne and Enid. “Yep. I’ll talk to you both later?”

They both wave, and Elle judiciously avoids eye contact.

It takes almost ten more minutes to make their way out of the bar; everyone is protesting that she should stay longer, but they finally reach the door. 

(Margot is wildly gesturing at her as she passes, all thumbs-up and hands pressed to her heart.

Serena is also gesturing – but it’s considerably less wholesome.)

As they begin to walk, Elle closes her eyes, turning her face to the sun and sighing. “It’s still too cold by California standards, but it’s better. Hopefully the snow is finally done.”

“Careful, you don’t want to jinx it,” Emmett warns with a grin. “And I’m still convinced this whole ‘perfect weather in California’ thing is a massive conspiracy.”

“Well, maybe you need to put down your tinfoil hat and go see for yourself,” she suggests. “Margot made me promise to visit at some point soon, so if you wanted to come along, you’d have your own private tour guide.”

He looks at her like he’s about to crack a joke, but then just smiles. “Might be nice.”

“I already have, like, a million places in mind you should see.”

“That could not possibly surprise me less.” He chuckles. “What a year this week has been, huh?”

She laughs. “You’re telling me. I feel like I can’t even get a grasp on anything in my head right now.”

“I can imagine.” They’re approaching the campus gates, and he motions to a nearby bench. “Want to sit for a minute?”

“Sure.” They settle next to one another, and Elle suddenly has no idea where to begin. She figures she should build up to any major declarations, but she also isn’t sure whether there’s any small talk amongst the myriad things she’s dying to say to him.

As it happens, he speaks before she can. “Angela Stone offered me a job.”

Elle startles. “Angela Stone, as in…“

“McCord, Stone, & Baker? She apparently followed the trial and thinks I’m what they’re looking for in an associate.”

“Emmett! That’s amazing! Enid was talking about trying to intern with them this summer. She said… I don’t remember, something about them taking down a lot of rich scummy assholes.”

“I’ll know a lot more soon,” Emmett says, looking a bit like he’s still in disbelief himself. “She wants me to come in tomorrow morning to meet the other partners.”

Her cheeks almost hurt, she’s smiling so big. “You so deserve it. I’m really happy for you.”

“Thank you.” He grins, shrugging. “Looks like sticking with Callahan worked out after all, even if it looks a little different than I thought.”

“Yeah…” Something twinges inside her and she feels her face fall. “Enid found all these other women who… um. This wasn’t the first time.”

Emmett leans toward her, immediately recognizing what she means. “He’s done this before.”

She nods. “They’ll all back me up if I file a Title IX complaint. Vivienne, too, since she saw it.”

He keeps his eyes trained on her. “That’s not a small thing.”

“Yeah.”

“What do you want to do?”

“I’m not sure,” she confesses. “Like, intellectually I know it’s the right thing to do, and I totally want to take him down. But there’s… it’s just every time I think about it, I feel like…” She blows out a breath in frustration. “I don’t know. I can’t explain it.”

“Can you try?”

She looks away, lips pursed in thought, before starting to speak. “One of the girls in Delta Nu a couple years ahead of me dated this guy who played guitar all the time, but he wasn’t very good. He was always tuning, but I guess he didn’t really know how, so he broke strings a lot. And this one time a string actually got him in the face and it was this huge mess, they called an ambulance and thought he was going to go blind in one eye-”

Emmett holds out a hand to get her attention. “Sorry, I just… Is it possible we’re getting a little off-track here?”

“Maybe. Yes.” She sighs, resting her fingertips on her upper sternum. “When I think about rehashing this, for some reason it feels like that… looked, I guess. Like a guitar string or something is snapping. Here.”

He frowns. “You said it yourself – you haven’t had any time at all to process. I don’t know for sure, but maybe talking about it would help?”

She doesn’t answer, because she suddenly remembers her long-ago conversation with Melissa and how not processing could be okay too, if it wasn’t keeping her from moving on, and-

There’s another twinge, and she closes her eyes. When she opens them, Emmett is looking at her with confusion; possibly a bit of worry.

She exhales slowly. “It’s worth doing.”

“If you want moral support-”

“I appreciate it, but it’s okay. I’ll have Vivienne and Enid there, and you have your meeting, and… wait, what are you going to wear?”

He smiles. “I was actually hoping for some help with that, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“As if I would ever mind that.” More than happy to let her thoughts shift, she stands up and motions to him expectantly. “Let’s go. I’m thinking the charcoal with… maybe the light blue shirt and the navy checkered tie? Blue is calming and you want to put them at ease, but you don’t want to overdo it and put them to sleep.”

“Where are we going?”

“Your place. Do you think we can make this decision properly without seeing the full picture? Come on.”

He shakes his head, but can’t hide his grin as he stands as well and they head in the direction of his apartment. 

She tells herself that making sure he’s dressed to kill takes precedence over the big intense conversation she knows is imminent but is a little afraid to have. While they’re walking, though, she figures maybe there’s one other thing they can cover now.

“By the way, we might be neighbors soon.”

“How’s that?”

“Vivienne signed a lease on a place two blocks from you and there’s a not-terrible chance I might take the second bedroom.”

“You.”

“Yes.”

“Living with Vivienne.”

“Is what I just said.”

He presses his lips between his teeth. “What did they give you to drink in there?”

***

The Delta Nus have an early-morning flight back tomorrow, so Elle has dinner with them that night; fortunately for everyone involved, no tequila shots ever ended up exchanging hands. Most of the meal is spent dissecting the case, but by dessert the topic of conversation has shifted to the three of them telling her – in detail – about how they collectively and wholeheartedly approve of Emmett. Elle demurs as much as possible, but when Serena solemnly informs her that “those bones are crying out to be jumped,” she buries her face in her hands laughing. This leads to some incredibly loud declarations that she’s in love – drawing the attention of everyone else in the restaurant. (Not that they care.) 

When she gets home, trepidation about what’ll happen in the morning creeps in. She finds she can’t sleep no matter what she does, and eventually dozes fitfully for a couple hours before her alarm goes off. She chugs a triple latte prior to class, which makes her even more jittery but doesn’t actually wake her up any; by the time she reaches the Title IX office, she’s certain that she’s never wanted to do something less than this. But Vivienne goes in with her and jumps in when words fail her; Enid has made contact with six women in all, two of whom show up in person while the other four are scheduled for video calls. 

(Elle’s pretty impressed that all of this was pulled off as quickly as it was.)

The coordinator listens with empathy and tells her it could be a month or more before any conclusion is reached. Elle isn’t particularly concerned about next steps; she’s mostly just relieved it’s done. But as they leave the office, Vivienne tells her they have another stop to make.

“Where?“

“Griswold.”

“For what?”

Vivienne smirks. “When I ask my father to make a call, it’s not to get me off the waitlist.”

“What are you talking about?” 

(Elle feels like she’s been trapped on an amusement park ride for days – one of the super scary ones where you’re spinning and flying through the air and flipping upside down all at once – and every time she thinks it’s about to end so she can stumble off into relative grounded peace, someone kicks up the speed. 

She could live without riddles, is all.)

Vivienne’s expression turns serious, but she looks at Elle with kindness. “We have a meeting with the dean.”

“What? When?”

Vivienne glances at her watch. “Five minutes.”

“But…”

“I get it. The last couple of days have been a lot. But you need to be pragmatic right now and protect yourself against retaliation.”

“Retaliation.” The word feels like molasses in her mouth.

“Messing with your grades,” Vivienne says flatly. 

“They grade blind-”

“And you’d really put it past Callahan to find a way?”

Elle searches for a refutation and fails to come up with anything. “You’re probably right.”

“I’m rarely wrong.” Vivienne raises her eyebrows. “Although when I am, I tend to go all out.”

At this, Elle cracks a smile, recalling their conversation right after the trial. “You certainly don’t do anything halfway.”

“True. You ready?”

(Not really.

But that’s neither here nor there.)

In the end, it’s a much shorter conversation than she anticipated. Vivienne doesn’t know the dean personally, but their families are a few degrees apart – which gives their credibility an instant leg up. The rumors have been circulating for years, they’re told in confidence, but no one ever came forward before now. The dean congratulates Elle on her work as Brooke’s counsel, says he looks forward to seeing what her future holds, and thanks the two of them for coming in.

As they exit the building, Elle sighs with something akin to relief. “I’m actually glad we talked to him. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Vivienne says. “How much time do we have before Contracts?”

Elle pulls out her phone and lightly groans. “Almost two hours. If I go back to my room, I’m probably going to fall asleep and miss class, but I don’t know what else to do with myself.”

“Didn’t sleep a lot last night?”

“Not really, no.”

“Yeah, same, actually.” Vivienne wrinkles her nose. “You know what? I could eat. Could you eat?”

Elle suddenly realizes she skipped breakfast this morning because of her nerves and she’s ravenous. “I could totally eat.”

“If you want, we can go take a look at the apartment now and then get something. It’s maybe a ten-minute walk from here.”

“That works.” 

It is indeed a nice place; being on the eighth floor affords a pretty decent view, the common areas are spacious, and each of the bedrooms has its own bathroom attached. One bedroom is smaller, but has a walk-in closet – so they can almost instantly agree on who’d be going where.

“My past self would have me committed for saying this, but I think it’s going to work out well,” Vivienne tells her as they wait for the elevator to descend back to the lobby. 

Elle smiles at her. “So would mine – but I think so too.”

They review notes and argue about pineapple on pizza while they eat, before heading to class. Other than ongoing congratulations from pretty much everyone she encounters, Elle is more or less left alone – which is fortunate given that halfway through the class session, exhaustion slams into her like a tsunami. When she finally gets back to her room, she kicks off her shoes off and immediately collapses onto the bed. She doesn’t remember falling asleep, but by the time becomes aware of her phone vibrating underneath her arm, the mid-afternoon sun has faded into twilight.

She opens one bleary eye and finds herself attempting to press the green answer button, but never actually sees who’s calling. She’s sure she says hello as the call connects, but it must have come out sort of garbled, because the next thing she registers is Emmett’s voice asking, “You’re not having a stroke, are you?”

“Whahuh?” She tries to sit up and temporarily succeeds, but overdoes it and ends up flopping on to her side perpendicular to where she just was. “What time is it?”

“Almost 7:30. Were you sleeping?”

“Oh.” She blinks a few times. “I just closed my eyes for a few seconds.”

“When?”

“This afternoon?” She suddenly gasps, remembering they had plans for dinner. “Oh no, I’m sorry, I was supposed to be there half an hour ago!”

He chuckles. “Go back to sleep, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“No,” she protests, now feeling somewhat more awake. “I want to…” See you. Hear about your day. Kiss you goodnight. “I want to know how everything went, and anyway I’ll just wake up starving in the middle of the night. Give me five minutes?”

She stands up, nearly tripping over one of the pumps she unceremoniously discarded before her impromptu nap, and catches a glimpse of her hair – which appears to have gone back in time to 1982. “Actually, maybe more like ten,” she amends.

He laughs again, suggesting, “Why don’t I come to you?” 

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“Not at all. I just need a couple minutes to pack up dinner.”

“You cooked?” After a busy day, she certainly wasn’t expecting it. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s nothing extraordinary, don’t get too excited.” She can hear the smile in his voice. “I’ll see you soon.”

She looks around her room, which is in uncharacteristic disarray, and attempts to straighten things up. It seems a little counterintuitive to change out of her clothes, but her linen skirt is completely wrinkled anyway, so she exchanges it for cute yoga pants that can pass for business casual. Her phone buzzes again as she’s pulling a tank top over her head – high neck and strappy back – and she sighs as the caller ID illuminates. Against her better judgment, she picks up, putting it on speaker so she can continue getting ready.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Elle.” Caroline sounds… different, and Elle is immediately suspicious. “I’m here with your father.”

“Hello, button.”

“What’s wrong?” Elle immediately asks. “Did someone die?”

“No. No one died.” Her mother exhales dramatically. “We… well, we saw the news. About Brooke Windham?”

“Okay…?” 

There’s a light knock at the door; Elle hurries over and opens it, motioning Emmett inside and pointing to her phone with a roll of her eyes. 

“We were very… impressed with what you did and how you conducted yourself,” Harrison tells her. “It seems as if you’ll make an excellent lawyer.”

“Thank you,” Elle responds, suppressing a giggle as Emmett sarcastically whispers, “A little late to the party, don’t you think?”

“What was that, dear? Were you saying something?” her mother asks.

“What? Oh, no, just thank you,” she says a little too brightly, making a face at Emmett.

“I’ll be sending some paperwork to sign over your education trust to you in full. There should be more than enough to manage until you’re admitted to the bar and working, but if you need any more help, we’re happy to do whatever we can. It’s clearly being put to good use.” Her father sounds a little robotic, but it’s probably the most heartfelt thing he’s ever said to her.

“Thanks, Dad. Really.”

“And you looked wonderful at the press conference,” Caroline adds. “That shade of pink complements you well.”

“That’s really sweet, Mom, thank you.” Elle pauses, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I’m sure this isn’t the last time you’ll be doing such… great things,” her mother continues, “and it wouldn’t be terrible to keep in mind that the camera does add ten pounds, so-”

Emmett suddenly grabs a blank sheet of paper from her desk, holding it in front of her phone where it rests and crumpling it loudly. 

“What are you doing?” Elle mouths at him before she understands and starts to speak loudly into the phone. “Sorry, Mom, I didn’t hear you. There’s all this static!”

“Elle?” Caroline sounds puzzled. “Can you hear me?” 

“Hello? Hello?” she calls out before abruptly hanging up. She raises an eyebrow and looks at Emmett. “Really?”

He shrugs innocently. “I know. Wouldn’t it be strange if there was terrible static on the line every time your mom mentions something like that?”

“You think I can train my mother out of one of her lifelong obsessions?”

“Worked for Pavlov.” He reaches into the bag he set down when he walked in, handing her a glass container and a fork. “This is what we always called kitchen sink pasta – I don’t remember everything I threw in, but there’s nothing you don’t eat.”

“This was really sweet of you.” She smiles up at him as she takes a seat in her fuzzy butterfly chair. “And I do appreciate you… you know, trying to deprogram my mother. It rolls off my back most of the time, but it would be nice if it stopped.”

He inclines his head, sitting down in her desk chair with his own meal. “How anyone can look at you and not see you is beyond me.” 

He seems to freeze momentarily, eyes trained on the container in his hands, before looking back at her with raised eyebrows. “Your day must have been wild,” he says in a way that makes it clear he’d like to change the subject.

She sighs, unsure of how to backtrack, and shrugs it off for the time being. “I’m moving into that place with Vivienne as soon as finals are over and… never mind the rest of it. I want to hear absolutely everything about your day. How long were you there? Were they nice? What will you be doing? Did you talk about the schedule? Because I know you’ll work 16 hours a day if they expect you to, but…”

He laughs. “I was there around half the day, and they are indeed nice. It would be a little bit of everything in family law, probably more divorces than anything else. They cap billable hours because they- well, they really kind of demand work-life balance. Everyone I talked to seems really happy. And the money is…” He trails off. “Other than what they do pro bono, they have a specific clientele who expects to get what they pay for. And their expectations are very, very high.”

She knows his student loans are constantly looming over his head, and he’s barely been able to make a dent since graduating. “Amazing. When do you start?”

“I told them I could start the Monday after the semester ends, but they insisted I take a week off in between. Paid.” He shrugs. “They don’t want their staff exhausted or burned out, especially before they even start.”

She smiles. “I think this is going to be so great for you.”

“Thank you.” He grins. “I also have no idea what to expect for the next couple of weeks – I have to go to some emergency faculty meeting first thing in the morning, and they were clear that it’s mandatory. So having some time to regroup after whatever that brings might be good.”

“Does that happen a lot?”

“Almost never, from what I’m told – but we’ll see.” He shrugs. “Come on, eat.”

The pasta thing is really good, and the only sound in the room for a while is canned laughter from the sitcom on TV that neither of them is really watching. Elle spends most of the meal in her head, eventually resolving to at least say something, even though so much is still up in the air. It feels like it’s now or… well, anything other than now isn’t really feeling like an option.

“Emmett.”

“Yeah?” He glances up.

She breathes in. Breathes out. “You’ve always seen me.”

An ephemeral smile flickers across his face. “Yes.”

“I wanted to – there’s some stuff and…” she trails off, and she swears she sees the same apprehension and hope in his gaze that she herself hasn’t been able to shake. “I’m not delusional, right?”

Surprised, he shakes his head. “Not to my knowledge.”

“Okay,” she murmurs. “If this conversation or anything it might lead to happens in full right now, I think that I will literally explode. And that would be less than ideal. So. At this particular moment, I… I just need to know that this isn’t some, like, weird fever dream I came up with. Because I’d like it to not be one, but if it is, then I can probably deal with that eventually, just-”

“Wait, wait. Slow down.” He takes what Elle believes must be the longest meditative breath in the history of the world before turning back to her. “This.” He gestures back and forth between them. “Right?”

She steels herself and nods. “I’m not imagining it. Am I?”

He grins, and she’s not sure which one of their hearts is currently pounding in her ears. “It is… every bit as real for me.”

She feels her shoulders sag as they release more tension than she knew she was carrying. “Okay. Good. And, um… I think we should put a pin in it until after the semester is done, when my brain hopefully catches up to the rest of the world. But…” She can’t not smile when he’s looking at her like that, it’s impossible. “This won’t stop being real anytime soon.”

“This has been real for me for a lot longer than I’ve been willing to admit.”

“So. A little more waiting…”

“Isn’t the end of the world.” He grins wider. “I’m pretty patient.”

“Well, I’m not,” she can’t help but respond. “But there’s a lot of furniture in between us and that should help.”

(His eyebrows just about hit his hairline.)

***

She wakes up before her alarm and immediately realizes she has Callahan’s class today. She considers skipping and just reviewing for the final on her own, and has just about made up her mind to do so when she gets a text from Emmett.

You’re going to want to be in class this morning. 

Why?? She fires the message back as quickly as she can.

Can’t say anything else now. See you in a bit.

“Well, that’s cryptic,” she says aloud. “Guess I’m getting dressed this morning after all, Bruiser.”

He barks his response and she rolls her eyes. 

“Oh, so you agree with Emmett on everything now? Is he your new favorite?” She feels her face soften and there’s no way she doesn’t look totally lovesick right now. “Mine too.”

(Bruiser does seem to take an affront to that.)

Vivienne and Enid are both waiting downstairs when she gets to the lobby, and wordlessly join her to walk to class. Callahan isn’t there as everyone arrives and settles in – which is par for the course. But at five after, Emmett walks in, a stack of papers tucked under one arm, and calls for quiet.

“Morning, everyone. Sorry for the delay. There’s been a bit of a change in plan.” He continues, notably avoiding looking at Elle. “Professor Callahan will not be back for the remainder of the semester.”

The whispers around the room quickly escalate into a solid din of side conversations and overlapping questions, and Emmett holds up a hand.

“He decided he wants to spend more time with his family.”

“He couldn’t wait a couple weeks?” Aaron Schultz yells from the back.

“No.” Emmett’s expression gives nothing away. “We’ve essentially covered everything to date as is, so we’re going to use the remaining class time for review and the exam will take place as scheduled. Review sessions are informal and optional, you’re welcome to study on your own or in groups if you prefer – I won’t be tracking attendance. So think about it, I’m going to go grab some coffee, and for those who want to stick around, we’ll reconvene in a few minutes.”

Elle feels her eyes widen, and Enid and Vivienne both turn to her in shock.

“Title IX doesn’t usually work that fast,” Enid mutters.

“No.” Vivienne shakes her head. “But the dean’s office probably does.”

Elle is speechless, staring at the front of the room. Emmett has his back to them as he’s sorting through whatever documents he brought with him, and she tries mentally willing him to turn around. It doesn’t work; he heads toward the door while typing something on his phone, never glancing in her direction.

A second later, she feels a short vibration from inside her bag. He won’t be back next year either. Not his decision.

(It basically confirms what she already kind of knew.

But still.)

She shakes off a flinch and stares straight ahead, assuring Enid and Vivienne that she’s fine, she just needs a second. Eventually, she takes a deep breath and tries to put it out of her mind, tapping out a response. I can’t say I’m too broken up about it. Do you mind grabbing me a coffee? I could really use one.

Emmett walks back in before she can hit send, so she accepts that her request will be going unfulfilled. Except he has a cup in each hand, one of which he silently places on her desk as he walks past without breaking his stride. As he begins to pass out the review packets to the students who remain, she finally catches his eye and mouths “Thank you.”

He smiles at her briefly and it somehow conveys paragraphs. Then he looks up. “All right, everyone, let’s get started.”

Finals come and go in an absolute blur. In case everything going on hasn’t been quite enough, Elle has also been contacted by a few firms about a summer internship. Most of them leave her uncertain, but then someone mentions during an exam review that Legal Aid is still looking for interns. She more or less falls in love with the place the second she walks through the doors; after meeting with a few different divisions, she’s set to spend the next few months helping people who are struggling to stay in their homes. 

(This is the point, she thinks happily.)

She and Vivienne move the day after their last exams; between getting furniture and packing, Elle feels like she hasn’t had a second to breathe in eons. Fortunately, she’s got a spare week until her internship starts, so she plans to dedicate all of her time to settling in. 

(And figuring out exactly what she’s going to say to Emmett once he’s no longer inundated with grading.)

Vivienne shares her desire to stop tripping over boxes as soon as possible, so the two of them attack the common areas first and then begin with their respective rooms. By day three, mostly all that’s left is organizing and decorating. They’re just finishing dinner – still takeout, since methodical unpacking took precedence over groceries – when Elle’s phone lights up. Need a hand? 

She smiles, her heartbeat picking up speed. “Any issue with Emmett coming over to help?”

Vivienne smirks. “Yeah, I’m sure he wants to ‘help.’”

“You know, if this is what I have to look forward to…”

“If you didn’t know what you were getting into, that’s on you.” Vivienne laughs. “But that’s fine – I was going to go meet Enid for a drink in a few anyway. Just one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“I’d like both of you to remember that I bought that couch.”

Elle sighs, texting him back with the downstairs door code. “Noted.” 

***

She’s not sure how it’s possible to be cheerfully nauseous, but somehow she’s managed to pull it off. She considers changing into something fancy or sexy or… not pink running shorts and the long-sleeved shirt she wore as a volunteer at the ASPCA Puppy Parade, but with a quick glance in the mirror, she realizes she likes it and it’s not going to make a difference to him.

(She does freshen up, though.

Not because she’s expecting to be in close proximity, but it’s good to be prepared.)

When she hears a knock, she stands in front of the door for a few seconds, exhaling through pursed lips, before throwing it open. Emmett’s standing there with… a plant?

“Hey, come on in,” she says, smiling. “What’s-”

“Uh, housewarming… thing,” he replies. “It’s called a spider plant, they’re apparently air purifiers. And safe for dogs to be around.”

Classic Emmett; he’s chosen the most practical gift possible, and she’s over here trying not to swoon over it. “Thank you! There’s space on that shelf, it should get some sunlight over there.”

“It looks great in here,” he comments as he gazes around. “You two got a lot done.”

“Well, wanting everything settled as soon as possible is something we seem to have in common,” she explains. “It’s still a little bizarre that I’m living here, though.”

“Given that Vivienne expected to be living with Warner, probably a little more so for her,” he points out with a smile. “This is a good amount of space.”

“It is. Kitchen is right through there and Vivienne’s room is on the other side – mine is this way.” She turns back to the entry hallway, which has two side-by-side doors on the left. She quickly opens one to find a closet. “Oh,” she laughs awkwardly, closing it and opening the other as she walks into her room. “I keep forgetting which door. I’ll get used to it.”

The walls are mostly bare and the books need shelving, but otherwise everything is pretty much in its place. She holds her arms out. “This is it.”

“Very nice.” He nods approvingly.

“Do you want to sit?” She motions to the bed, desk chair, and floor in rapid succession. “Or, like, some water or something? I’m forgetting all of my hostess skills here.”

“Elle.” He holds out a hand. “I think let’s both sit down for a second.”

They settle next to each other on the edge of the bed.

He breaks the silence first. “I had my exit interview with Harvard this afternoon.”

“Oh.” She nods. “How’d it go?”

“Fine. I told them not to hire any more manipulative creeps and they said they’d do their best.” He chuckles. “But I am officially released from their employment. So.”

“Good,” she smiles, determining in that moment that she just needs to dive in and get it over with. “This is a little bit scary.”

He’s reining it in a lot better than she is – as is par for the course – but she can tell his nerves are a little heightened as well. Still, he shoots her a reassuring look. “It’s just me.”

“Exactly.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning you’re… you, and I’ve never done like, a transition from friends to whatever, friends were friends and whatever was whatever and there wasn’t really overlap.” She looks at her hands. “I just don’t want to mess this up.”

He inclines his head toward her, and she glances up. “Well, that makes two of us. I’ve never really done this before.”

She startles. “What? But… prom night?”

He’s confused for a minute, then cringes. “No, not- Elle, I meant a… a relationship that’s not self-limited or short-term. Because I don’t want or, really, expect this to be. It doesn’t mean I’m a… a blushing Victorian bride.”

She snorts despite herself. “Good to know.”

“I mean, I did go to college. And law school. Both of which are stressful and sometimes lead people to-”

“Okay, okay,” she laughs. “I get it.”

“I’m just saying, if there’s some particular threshold of experience…”

“Oh my god, Emmett, I love you, but I don’t need details on-” She halts abruptly, her mouth falling open.

He’s looking at her like he half-expects her to laugh it off or walk it back. She lets out an unsteady breath and smiles instead, placing her hand on his. “I do. I love you. And I don’t know if it’s too soon or whatever, and I’m hoping it doesn’t freak you out that I just led with that, but, I mean, it’s true, so…”

He closes his eyes momentarily, and when he opens them again he’s looking at her the same way he did in the courthouse, except it is somehow so much more intense, and she always thought ‘weak in the knees’ was hyperbole, but she’s really glad she’s sitting down-

“Elle.” He turns his whole body toward her, encircling both her hands in his. “I am… so much in love with you.”

Her heart is rapid-fire beating and she can’t seem to get a full breath in, and she pulls her hands from his, placing them on either side of his face. She feels his fingers brush feather-light along her waist and expects him to move forward, but he just keeps his eyes locked on hers. Kind of like he can’t quite believe what’s happening here, but also like he’s waiting for her to make the first move.

Grinning, she pulls him toward her until their lips meet.

It’s slow. Gentle. Completely right. She wouldn’t be too put out if time stopped altogether, because she thinks she’d be perfectly content to never leave this moment.

When they do finally pull back, eyes meeting as they gingerly open, she realizes all of her earlier tension has dissipated and she is almost deliriously happy, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Well. That part works fine.”

“It certainly does,” he chuckles.

“I wouldn’t mind a repeat, though,” she continues. “You know. It’s important to be sure.”

“Absolutely. Wouldn’t want to make a snap judgment and miss something.” He grins, pulling away from their embrace just enough to kiss her again.

It’s a lot to take in, for both of them. Conversation, touches, kisses are leisurely. Elle is admittedly a tiny bit surprised when he doesn’t make anything that remotely resembles a move, but she remembers what Paulette said to her months ago and acknowledges that a different kind of guy probably means a different kind of… well, everything.

At some point they’ve reclined onto the bed and she’s curled up against him as they talk quietly; the front door opens and Vivienne calls out from the hall. “I’m back. Hopefully you’ve respected the sanctity of the living room furniture.”

Emmett snorts. “What kind of debauchery does she think we were getting up to in the, what, hour she was gone?”

“At least you never have to guess what she’s thinking.” Elle shrugs.

“Oh, I know.” He grins. “The last day of the trial, she told me you and I are giving her diabetes.”

“What? I don’t-” She rolls her eyes. “Oh. That’s what she was talking about. Well, yes, I happen to think we are very sweet.”

“Undeniably.” He smiles, leaning back in toward her.

***

It quickly becomes evident that Emmett’s in no rush. While it’s a departure for Elle, it’s totally fine with her – and actually might be a blessing in disguise.

Because all these weird things keep happening.

It starts on the second day of her internship the following week, when she’s walking from the T station to the office. A construction worker wolf-whistles as she’s passing by, and it’s not like she hasn’t dealt with this and brushed it off approximately nine billion times in her life, but this time that stupid weird twinge in her chest fires again, and she freezes. It takes around ten seconds for her to shake it off and continue on her way, but it stays with her for longer than she’d like.

Then it’s someone brushing up against her on the train – accidental, to be sure, it’s pretty crowded that day – and her whole body stiffens, eyes involuntarily squeezing shut. The whole time, she’s thinking it doesn’t make sense; that her reaction is entirely disproportional to the event.

She doesn’t feel calm again until she gets home, though.

One of the attorneys touches her arm one morning to get her attention, and she jumps a little; he looks a little taken aback, and she brushes it off as having been lost in thought. Ironically, she spends the rest of the day unable to stop thinking about what the hell all of this is.

Everything’s been great with Emmett, though; she figures their major hurdle was talking about the feelings around which they’d danced for so long, and that’s over and done with. The rest, she’s sure they’ll have plenty of time for. He’s enjoying his first few weeks at work, and is generally out early enough for them to have dinner and take advantage of the warm weather.

Paulette insists that they’ve already effectively been together for a long time, it’s just that now they’ve said the quiet part out loud. Nothing has ever felt like this before, and Elle is so happy she hardly knows what to do with herself.

And then about a month in, Vivienne goes to see her parents for the weekend.

Sunday, Emmett’s over hanging out for the afternoon and Elle kisses him while they’re watching TV. It picks up until they’re way more absorbed in one another than whatever’s happening on the show, and Emmett murmurs something about not defiling the couch; they’re laughing and still kissing as they move toward her room, he starts to turn too soon and she collides with the-

her back is up against the wall and sirens are wailing in her head and she needs to get out of here

-a dozen guitar strings snap against her sternum at once, and she shudders, recoiling.

(No.

It’s been so long – it can’t be possible.

Can it?

No, no, no. Not now. Why now?

When she’s so happy-)

“What’s wrong?” Emmett has pulled all the way back and is looking at her alarmed, eyes wide.

She opens her mouth uncertainly, eventually landing in a weak smile. “Nothing. It was… it’s nothing. Come here.” She starts to reach up, but he places his hands on hers, gently pushing them down.

“Elle, that wasn’t nothing.”

“It- I’m fine, really. Just come back over here, okay?” She smiles, a little bigger this time. The winning pageant-esque one that she was taught practically from birth. “Like, let’s just-”

“What are you expecting here?” He sees right through the Miss California act. “Or, more accurately, what do you think I’m expecting?”

She senses this conversation is rapidly heading in a direction she would prefer to keep under lock and key and caution tape where it rightly belongs, and decides to walk it back to a place that’s a little more familiar. “I mean, come on, you’re a guy, right, and I’m sure you… I mean, I can…” She laughs awkwardly. “Do you… not want to?”

He doesn’t answer her right away; he’s taken another step back, and leans against the opposite wall a few feet away. He appears to be trying to work something out in his head.

“I think… that I need to make a couple things clear here,” he finally says. “I’ve had the wool pulled over my eyes before about the reality of a situation, and it’s never turned out well.”

She nods. “When you were a kid?”

(Elle knows his mom tried to protect him by concealing what she could from her relationships.

She also knows that the older he got, the more it pissed him off.)

“Yeah.” He looks at her now. “So I’m pretty big on transparency.”

“Transparency…?”

He sighs. “Sometimes your principles choose you. And… to me, secrets feel like lies by omission. Especially when something is obviously going on here-”

“Hold on. What does that mean?” She can hear the defensiveness in her own voice, but can’t seem to dial it down. “Look, I just… I just want you to have fun, and I’m totally okay-”

“I’m not,” he says firmly. “I can’t ignore something like that and just…”

“So you don’t want to.”

“It’s not that I don’t…” He exhales. “Not like this. Not if something is happening here that you’re trying to push off.”

“But it doesn’t matter what I-”

“You’re not a means to an end, Elle,” he counters. “If I went along with what you’re trying to do right now, it would feel like… like using you for my own satisfaction.”

She falters. “Emmett, that’s not what-”

“That’s exactly what it is,” he argues. “I don’t know if that’s been the default for you before, but if we’re doing this, that means I’m just as invested in you as in myself, if not more. You can’t… hide whatever that was behind some one-sided version of sex and think I won’t notice.”

“I’m not hiding behind-”

“You’re-” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Elle, there have been these little things and it’s hard not to see them adding up.”

“There… what?”

(Well, shit.)

“On Christmas when we were talking about, you know, rites of passage…”

“Oh, that? Come on, that’s just, like… who even cares about that?”

“And some idiot catcalled you last weekend,” he continues. “You usually ignore it or yell something back. But you did something a little like… that just now, and you said it was because you stepped out your ankle.”

“I mean, then, I must have-”

“You never told me what happened when you went to the Title IX office.”

“Because what’s the point in talking about it? It’s done, I don’t have to keep-”

“The night that Callahan assaulted you,” he interrupts calmly, and she flinches reflexively. “Because that’s what it was, Elle. That night, right after, you were saying all kinds of stuff, and I didn’t really understand before why one of the things you kept repeating was ‘I can’t get away from this.’”

(Christ. Would it kill him to miss a beat every once in a while?)

“I don’t know,” she says faintly. She knows it’s not even remotely convincing; his face tells her as much as he crosses his arms.

“Look.” He sighs. “If there’s any chance that I might unintentionally make something worse for you…”

“You wouldn’t be,” she murmurs. “I mean, you’re not.”

“I don’t know that and I have to assume I could.” He looks up at the ceiling for a long moment before glancing back at her. “This is new for both of us, all right? We’re both conscious of not screwing it up, and I’m certainly not claiming to be some kind of relationship expert here. But I do know that if we’re not communicating, we’re going nowhere fast. Especially when it’s something important.”

“It’s not that easy,” she can’t stop herself from whispering, more to her feet than him.

He fairly launches himself off the wall, coming to stand beside her. “Well… it’s not always going to be. Right? Everyone loves when things are easy and fun and great. But I’m not here because I want easy, I’m here because… because I want everything. And if you don’t know by now that there’s nothing you can’t tell me…”

His tone turns almost pleading by the end, and she opens her mouth only to find that the walls of her throat seem to be rushing toward one another and her heart starts racing as she drives back the fight-or-flight that’s trying to catch fire inside her chest.

“You know what?” she says in a falsely bright voice. “We both have an early start tomorrow. You have mediation, I have to be at the office by 8 – maybe let’s just call it a day.”

Emmett looks as if he wants to protest. “Elle, don’t-”

“No, really, it’s totally fine, I’m good, I think we should just… get ready for another busy week.” She manufactures the pageant smile again. “But I’ll see you tomorrow, or something. Okay?”

“Elle.”

“It’s fine, Emmett.” She keeps smiling in a way she hasn’t in years – ever since her smiles turned real – and eventually he gives in and leaves, after telling her again he’ll be ready to listen as soon as she’s ready to talk.

(Which is kind of the problem.)

She throws herself on her bed, not even bothering to close the door to her room. She’s not sure how long she’s there before a key rattles in the outside lock, a few minutes after which Vivienne stands in her doorway looking surprised.

“Where’s the other Marshmallow Peep?”

Elle sits up, makes a face, and collapses back down dramatically. “He went home.”

“That’s unusual,” Vivienne remarks. “I kind of figured you two would be on hour 48 of lovingly gazing into each other’s eyes. Or… gazing at something else?”

“Just stop,” Elle says flatly. “Okay? Please.”

“Okay. Stopping.” Vivienne surveys her for a moment. “You want some tea?”

Elle considers the offer. “Yeah. I guess.”

“My mom gets this cherry hibiscus concoction by the crate – supposedly it’s good for skin. I just like the taste.” Vivienne motions Elle forward, and they move into the kitchen, where Vivienne fills the kettle. “So what happened?”

Elle has already retreated back into her thoughts, and at the sound of the question snaps her head up. “Huh?”

“I kind of thought you were headed for a lifelong honeymoon phase. Guess not.”

Elle groans. “It just… it’s probably stupid.”

“Try me.” Vivienne’s unfazed.

Over tea – which is in fact delicious – Elle haltingly tells Vivienne about earlier. The strange reactions she can’t seem to stop, and her inability to get anything past Emmett. Even though it’s really all just… inconvenient.

Vivienne is uncharacteristically silent for a while, finally looking up with an cautious expression.

“I want to be wrong about this, and you have no obligation to tell me,” she says at last. “But what happened with Callahan, it’s… not your first rodeo. Is it?”

Elle freezes, and the twinge roars back with a vengeance. It’s all she can do to shake her head no.

Vivienne sighs. “Shit. I’ve been cracking all these jokes-“

“You couldn’t have known.” Elle waves her off.

“Still.” Vivienne looks up at the ceiling. “I’m sorry. For what it’s worth… I’ve been to that particular rodeo myself.”

“You have?” Elle looks up.

“Yeah.” Vivienne nods sharply. “And I don’t like talking about it either, but I’ll admit it helped when I did.”

“I’ve never…” She feels her throat beginning to slam shut again and swallows forcefully. “I thought it was done.”

“Well… wherever you go, there you are. Sometimes things happen and other things get dredged up. It’s not like you can control it.” 

“The thing is, I… I can’t talk to him about this,” Elle whispers. “I can’t talk to anyone about this. That’s kind of… I asked a therapist a long time ago if that was an okay way to deal with it and she said as long as it wasn’t preventing me from living my life, then…”

“But it kind of seems like it is,” Vivienne points out. “It wasn’t before, and now it is. So now you have to deal with it differently.”

“I don’t understand.” Elle throws her head back. “I was totally fine, it was even fun. Usually, anyway. Like, in college, with other guys, with-” She stops herself before mentioning Warner.

“You can say it.” Vivienne rolls her eyes. “Acknowledging we both slept with Warner isn’t going to make me pull your hair. But at least with me, his goals were always self-centered. I could have been totally in the moment or thinking of England, and he wouldn’t notice either way.”

“I know he's not exactly a saint,” Elle interjects, “but to be fair, he at least knew how to take no for an answer.”

“True. It’s just that once things got going, it was all about him. I realized pretty quickly that if I happened to have fun along the way, great. But my enjoyment was not his objective, so he wasn’t really paying that much attention to any kind of reaction I was having.”

It’s strange how not-uncomfortable this conversation is. “Yeah, that’s… pretty accurate.”

“Other guys you’ve been with were like that too, I’m guessing?”

“More or less. I thought it was normal.”

Vivienne sighs. “You and way too many other women. So it makes sense – you being able to compartmentalize, before. But self-centered doesn’t seem like Emmett’s style.”

“It’s not. He’s made that pretty clear.” Elle pauses, absently picking at her cuticle. “He… he sees me like no one else ever really has, and I love that. But… I think I’m scared to be this seen. Like, the good and bad and ugly – because I don’t even know what that looks like. If that makes any sense.”

“Believe it or not, I’m familiar with the concept of not wanting to be vulnerable.” Vivienne leans forward. “But I’m pretty sure that man would rather chew his own arm off than hurt you, so there’s no way you making it all about him is going to fly. Especially if you’re doing it to try and hide something.”

“Vivienne, the way he was looking at me was-”

“Look, he’s not stupid,” she interrupts. “Far from it. And it’s borderline disgusting how attuned he is to you. Knowing might… change his approach to certain things, but it doesn’t mean he’s going to think of you differently. If anything, not knowing is probably worse for him than anything you could say.”

Elle stares at the table for a long moment. “It’s too- I just, I can’t do it.”

Candid as always, Vivienne shrugs. “Well, sounds like you’re going to have to figure something out.”

***

Around 11 that night, Elle still hasn’t fallen asleep. She goes into her bathroom, tries practicing in the mirror, and it feels like glue is blocking the words from emerging. She groans in frustration. “Ugh, I can’t even say it to myself, how am I supposed to tell him if I…?”

She suddenly remembers Paulette talking about a recent argument with Kyle – something about wedding themes – and how the next day he gave her a really sweet note explaining his position and they were able to make a decision.

Elle never thought about writing it down. She's unsure if it’ll work, but at this point it can’t hurt to try.

Her pen hovers over the page for several long moments before making contact. But once she finally starts, the words come rushing out so fast, trampling one another in their urgency, that her hand can hardly keep up.

She writes about she never wanted for anything material, but as a child constantly felt an emptiness she could never quite explain. The dawning realization as she aged that her parents treated love as a commodity, doling it out in exchange for her making them happy. How even though she – and they – have come an incredibly long way, the pressure back then was too compelling to fight.

And it made her concede when she wanted to push back. On way too many things.

Writing about Travis is harder – because there are truths she’s never let herself consider. That she knows now exactly how fucked up it was, being pressured until she gave in; that she pushed it as far away as she could because she doesn’t see herself as some kind of victim and doesn’t want anyone else to either. That’s probably the worst part of all, beyond even the day the relationship ended. At least there, she can describe the video she took (which she still has saved on a flash drive somewhere in her closet in Malibu, just in case) and the fact that a Best Director statuette, of all things, became her unlikely savior. How she was finally able to reclaim some power there, even if she was terrified.

She brings up how what happened with Callahan seems to have pulled all of this to the surface despite her best efforts to will it away, and that she does worry that Emmett knowing all of this is going to make him treat her like glass or feel uneasy around her. Which is the last thing she wants. What she wants is a totally honest and healthy relationship with him, in every sense, and she doesn’t exactly know what that looks like yet or how to get there – but she hopes they can figure it out together.

It’s well into the early hours of the morning when she finally wraps it up, but she awakens before her alarm regardless. Mechanically preparing for her day, Elle considers that Emmett has to travel farther for mediation than he does when he’s in the main office; he’ll be out the door no later than 7. So on her way to the T, she passes his building and drops the letter in his mailbox.

She really does love her internship, and a busy day with clients is more than sufficient distraction. When she leaves that afternoon, the dread starts creeping back in – so she drops off her stuff at home and changes, making it to the nearby yoga studio in time for class.

It’s always been such a good stress reliever; class is so strenuous, she literally can’t think of anything except rhythmic breathing and motion. Everything swirling around her mind seems so much better organized by the end of the hour, her anxiety left to the heat and humidity in the studio. She walks home, perspiration growing matte on her skin as the early-evening breeze brushes over her, and takes a quick shower. She’s always really cold for a while after class, probably something to do with the abrupt temperature shifts – so she dons flannel pajama pants and, after a second of hesitation, pulls on Emmett’s hoodie over her tank top. She doesn’t bother to blow-dry her damp hair, letting it splay over her shoulders after brushing it, and is reaching for a pair of fuzzy socks when she hears a knock at the outside door.

She freezes long enough to hear Vivienne come down the hall and answer; there’s a brief muffled conversation and then another knock, this one closer.

Elle exhales slowly. “Come in.”

The door opens to reveal Emmett; tie loosened, top shirt button undone, and completely out of breath.

Elle’s puzzled. “What’s… why are you all-”

“Stairs,” he pants, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

“That's like seven flights, the elevator was just working fine, did it-”

“Took too long.” He shakes his head. “Couldn’t wait.”

Her jaw drops and suddenly they’re both standing in the middle of her room, his hands lightly resting on her upper arms.

“My hair’s wet,” she manages to murmur.

“Don’t care.”

She continues unsteadily. “I know it’s a lot-”

“Shh.” He pulls her closer without another word.

Elle has no concept of time, just knows that it somehow feels like they’re holding each other up, and when he finally moves it’s to lean down and press a long kiss against the top of her head, which is something he does all the time and doesn’t really remember anyone ever having done it before and it’s just so-

(Not that she needed a reminder that he’s more of a keeper than she ever could have imagined.

But she appreciates it anyway.)

She shivers a little and feels his grasp tighten a bit more in response. Eventually she lifts her head and looks up at him.

“Can we sit?” she asks in a near-whisper.

He nods, keeping hold of her hand as they settle on the bed.

“I don’t… As far as I know, you’re the only person in the world to know about this who wasn’t directly involved,” she says, glancing down at the bedspread. “And I mean, I don’t think I’m super screwed up or anything. But I can’t really lock it back up again and I don’t want this – us – to get weird or hit some kind of dead end.”

He tips her chin up toward him. “That’s not gonna happen.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s like you said,” he tells her with a brief flash of a smile. “We figure it out together.”

“That’s the thing, I guess. I don’t know that it’ll be an issue, but if it does take-”

He shakes his head. “We set the rules here. No one else does. And one of my rules is it takes however long it takes and that’s fine.”

“All right.” She contemplates this. “Well, then one of mine is that I don’t want you to be afraid you’ll, like, set me off if you touch me. I want this. You. Okay? And I trust you more than anyone I’ve ever met in my life, so just… please don’t worry so much.”

“I can work on that. Please… don’t hide how you’re feeling. I need you to tell me if something is wrong. And don’t say you’re okay if you’re not.”

“Agreed. But if I do say I’m okay, you need to take me at my word.”

“Got it. The absence of no is insufficient.”

She pauses, not totally following that one. “Huh?”

“Not explicitly saying no to something doesn’t count as consenting to it,” he clarifies, looking at her with an intensity that leaves no room for argument. “Clear yes or we stop. No exceptions.”

She nods. “That works for me.”

“Shall we draw up a contract, or is the honor system okay with you?”

“Hmm.” She smiles despite herself. “As much as I adore contracts, I think this agreement is formal enough.”

He holds her gaze. “I love you.”

“Love you too.” She leans forward to kiss him, drawing a breath that’s less shaky than she’d have anticipated. “You’re really not… like, this really isn’t too much?”

He looks at her with a mix of incredulity and affection that is so uniquely him, he might as well patent it. “You’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

***

At first, there’s a whole lot of talking and very little action; their deal notwithstanding, she realizes she still anticipated the reverse. For instance, she hasn’t really had conversations about protection ahead of time, per se – mostly it’s just been scrambling for a condom in the moment. But he points out that she keeps an overnight bag packed at all times on the off chance she gets invited somewhere, and this is a pretty fundamental form of planning in comparison.

“Okay,” she shrugs. “Well… Serena was always yelling at everybody that if you break up with someone, you should get tested. Right away and six months later.”

“I mean, she’s right.”

“I know. And, uh… all good there.”

“Same.” He nods.

“Can I ask when-”

“Beginning of 2L.”

“Got it.” She pauses. “I got this thing in my arm, like three months ago? I was super stressed with the trial and I was getting- Anyway, it helps with, um, certain stuff. But as… birth control, it’s like over 99 percent effective and it’s good for a few years.”

“Okay,” he says thoughtfully. “Also, I’m not going to spontaneously combust if you mention periods. Just so you know.”

(Different kind of guy. She’s still getting used to it.)

He asks questions. A seemingly endless stream of questions, in fact – but immediately changes course if she wavers at all. He also won’t let her apologize for hesitating; says she can’t make herself be somewhere she’s not ready to go, and he wouldn’t want her to anyway. When things do heat up, having this much trust makes it an entirely novel experience. And true to his word, he is infinitely patient in waiting for yes.

(Which – there is a lot of yes.

He was certainly not kidding about where his priorities fall.)

At some point that summer, she realizes she feels a new lightness; realizes the secret she thought she had neatly packed away was actually an anchor, keeping part of her pinned to a place she’s always been desperate to leave. She needed help to pull it up and confront it – and she might never be keen on discussing it in depth, but it’s smaller than she remembered. Small enough to acknowledge while living her life unfettered.

Paulette and Kyle get married in mid-July; Elle spends the wedding reception running interference so nobody notices that Paulette isn’t drinking. Just before classes start back up, her parents fly out to visit over a long weekend. Elle takes them to some of her favorite places; introduces them to Vivienne and Paulette; tells them they should come back in a month or two to see the fall foliage. They’re surprisingly receptive to the idea.

Emmett joins them on Saturday as they walk around Boston, pointing out and providing context for various historical sites. “You certainly know a lot about the city,” Harrison says to him approvingly. “You could almost be a tour guide.”

Elle snorts. “He sure could, Dad. In fact-”

“Thank you, Mr. Woods,” Emmett responds politely, shooting Elle a look that’s part amusement and part telling her to zip it. “I’ve lived here all my life and I was a history major, so I suppose it was inevitable.”

Elle’s father scoffs. “Call me Harrison. History, you said?”

“And econ,” Elle chimes in.

“Well.” Her father looks impressed.

(Elle makes a point of not directly comparing Emmett to anyone from the past, but just this one time, she indulges the thought.

Because as much as her parents salivated over the idea of the pairing, her father never told Warner to call him by his first name.)

They have dinner at her parents’ hotel, and even her mother is on her best behavior; at one point Caroline does say something to Elle that might be prelude to a backhanded compliment. Emmett loudly clears his throat, blaming the dry air outside even though they’re indoors. They move on to a different topic of conversation, and Elle isn’t sure if her parents recognize this as classical conditioning, but Emmett raises his eyebrows and smiles at her when they aren’t looking.

As they’re finishing up, Emmett’s phone rings; it’s his mom, with whom he’s been playing phone tag for a few days, and he excuses himself to take it outside. Elle looks at her parents somewhat anxiously – not that she’d give a damn even if they hated him, but she would certainly prefer that they not.

“Good man,” Harrison says decisively before glancing down at his phone.

(For him, it’s incredibly high praise.)

“He seems to be, yes.” At the sound of her mother’s voice, Elle turns and sees Caroline looking at her with an intense expression. Elle braces herself – the cynic in her expects a reference to some urgent need for marriage at best, something snide about Emmett’s single-parent upbringing or net worth at worst.

But Caroline just smiles – more sincerely than Elle’s ever seen. “And it’s clear he loves you.”

“The feeling is mutual.” Elle still wants to shout it from the rooftops – but as Emmett walks back inside and smiles at her, she figures maybe she’ll just tell him again instead.

(And again, and again, and again.

She’s pretty sure it’s never going to get old.)

Chapter Text

Some days, Emmett thinks about what his life was like a year ago and wonders when he’ll wake up from this dream.

He’s heard before that when you love someone, you’ll know it because everything is different. And part of him has wondered before how true that could be, since it’s not like he didn’t have feelings for girls he’s dated before. But Elle is sugar and fire and the best book he’s ever read all wrapped up in one, so yeah.

He knows now.

Going from Callahan’s lackey to bona fide associate at a respected firm is a massive change too. It’s clear within his first month there that McCord, Stone, & Baker is an enviable gig. Depending on the client, most cases are managed in pairs or teams – which means there’s coverage in case someone wants to have a life, and it also works well for someone learning the ropes. Emmett sits in on a lot of the partner-handled cases at first; they start asking what he thinks more and more as time goes on. Often they respond with insights he never would have thought of, but at the same time seem to value what he says. He gradually begins to see the bigger picture in cases, while noticing essential details he previously would have overlooked. He’s given more leeway to interact with clients, and by the end of the summer, he’s faced some notoriously difficult judges without even a hint of nausea.

(The beginning of the summer, on the other hand…

He felt kind of stupid when Elle made him try the yoga breathing she swears by, until he found himself inhaling and exhaling like the ocean several minutes in his car before every court date.

He’d still fall down if he tried standing on one foot for that long, though, so he’s made it clear that that’s her thing.)

By fall, he’s paired up with Natalie, a senior associate, on most cases; Sheila McCord noticed that their thought processes are complementary, and it’s proven to be a fortunate observation for all involved – clients especially. Outside of work, Natalie’s into every design show she can find and her wife Samantha is a librarian; when Elle’s not bogged down in classwork and law review, the four of them grabbing dinner becomes a semi-regular occurrence. He occasionally wonders how servers keep a neutral expression upon overhearing their animated conversations, which tend to run from the Patriot Act to Project Runway and back in rapid succession.

If he can’t leave on time because mediation runs long or something, it’s expected he’ll dip out early the next day. (They let him know that if they notice midnight oil being burned too often, they’ll start to track it.) He starts leaving things at Elle’s for nights he spends there, and notices she does the same at his place. Nothing major, but it’s nice to have a stationary toothbrush and a couple changes of clothes. One night in early October, she’s prepping for an upcoming Evidence exam – he still quizzes her from time to time, but her new study group has been immensely helpful – and he texts her one night to make sure she’s doing okay.

You want the good news or the bad news first?

He laughs. Bad, then good.

The word ‘hearsay’ no longer has meaning. But we ordered way more Thai food than we’ll ever be able to eat, so come over!

He arrives to find the door unlocked and Elle, Vivienne, Enid, and Whitney sitting in the living room, passing containers back and forth and staring intently at the TV. There’s also an aroma in the air that’s more gingerbread than takeout.

“Hey, what’s-”

Vivienne waves him off from her position on the floor, eyes unmoving. “Shh. We saved you curry puffs.”

“Thanks.” Food retrieved, he settles next to Elle, who quickly kisses him in greeting before returning her gaze forward. He’s not quite certain why the four of them are this intently focused on a cooking competition, but there’s a commercial break a few minutes later and they’re willing to divert their attention from the screen long enough for him to ask.

“I just found out Katie’s a cheftestant this season,” Elle explains.

“Snickerdoodle Katie?” he asks, suddenly a lot more interested.

Elle nods. “I made her pumpkin spice muffin recipe this afternoon. Pumpkin makes fall so much better.”

“How did you find time to bake when you’re this busy?” he asks incredulously.

“Irrelevant!” All four of them respond in unison, and he chuckles.

“Okay, so Evidence is going fine.”

“It’s back on,” Whitney says suddenly, quickly turning to him to add, “I don’t know why I love watching food I can’t eat.”

They’re all pretty into it – Enid yelling at one point, “You can’t sous vide a steak in 25 minutes, jackass!” – and despite not really caring initially, Emmett finds himself being drawn in, rolling his eyes at the one person who insists they’re not there to make friends and arguing with Vivienne that overcooked pasta is definitely worse than forgetting sauce on half the plates. In the end, Katie advances to the next round, and the pasta transgressor gets the boot. Whitney leaves a few minutes later, and Vivienne and Enid head into the kitchen with the packed-up leftovers, debating a glass of wine.

Elle grins at him. “Hi.”

“Hey.” He kisses her again – properly this time. “How was your day?”

She nods. “Not too bad. You?”

“Pretty good. We finally got that writer to agree to a settlement.”

“The one who said it wasn’t his problem if his wife got nothing after 23 years?”

“Yep.”

“Nice job! How?”

“Natalie dug up the contract proving she ghost-wrote his second and third books, and then during the deposition today I got him to deny that she ever helped him with anything career-wise.”

Elle gasps. “He must have lost it when you called him out.”

“Yeah, he turned roughly that color,” Emmett says, motioning to the pale gray wall. “I have to admit, catching people in a lie when they’re trying to screw someone over is kind of the most fun experience of my life.”

She tilts her head. “I thought I was the most fun experience of your life.”

“You are a person, not an experience.”

“Well, if you want, you can stay over tonight and we’ll see if you’re still saying that in the morning,” she counters suggestively.

He laughs. “I won’t lie, you had me at ‘experience.’” They stand up and make their way toward her room. “You know, I haven’t seen Vivienne that much lately, except for when your study group meets here.”

“Me either.” Elle shakes her head and smiles. “I think she’s seeing someone.”

“Really.”

“Yeah. She’s been humming a lot.”

“Humming means she’s seeing someone?”

“Just my guess.” She shrugs. “She seems really happy, is all. Like, she hasn’t said anything and it’s not like she’s brought anyone back, but we are at opposite ends of the apartment, so even if she’s on the phone with someone a lot or something, it’s not like I’d know.”

“True.”

(Being direct to a fault, Vivienne told him point-blank a couple months ago that the walls are thick and she sleeps with earplugs anyway.

Which was awkward as hell – for him, at least – but oddly reassuring.)

Around half an hour before the alarm is set to go off, Emmett wakes up parched; disentangles himself and quietly slips out toward the kitchen. There’s the shadow of someone moving around, and when he spots the silhouette, he realizes whoever it is can’t be Vivienne; they’re a bit shorter, with a different build.

Waiting until he hears Vivienne’s door open and close, taking the mystery figure with it, he grabs a glass from the cabinet above the sink as quickly and quietly as he can and gets back to Elle’s room, somewhat perplexed. Thirst quenched, he’s dozing off again when his eyes fly back open.

Oh.

There’s no way he’s getting back to sleep after that revelation.

Elle’s alarm eventually chirps, and she flings her arm out, smacking blindly at the nightstand until she finds the snooze button. She rolls over toward him, head landing on his chest and shoulder ever so slightly digging into his ribs.

“Morning, sunshine.”

“Nope.”

“Elle, come on.”

“Ten more minutes.”

He pauses. “Vivienne’s dating Enid.”

Elle sits up so fast she nearly sends him flying. “What?!”

***

He and Elle convincingly feign surprise when Vivienne and Enid actually tell them a couple weeks later. Ironically, it’s one year to the day after the non-Halloween party, which isn’t lost on any of them. Elle has long forgiven Vivienne for what she now knows was insecurity, and Enid’s clearly more than over it too.

“I’ve known for a long time, I think,” Vivienne says with a shrug. “But when other people have expectations of you…”

“You don’t have to tell me about expectations,” Elle says with a smile. “We’re happy for you two.”

Sometimes Emmett thinks about that night last year, and occasionally wonders what might have happened had either of them not been where they were.

(He always stops wondering pretty quickly, though.

This is the only outcome worth thinking about.)

The first week of November, the four of them are in Elle and Vivienne’s living room waiting for Top Chef to start – it’s a whole thing they do now – when a local ad with soaring music and a billowing American flag comes on.

Vivienne scoffs. “The primaries aren’t until April. I don’t think I can take five more months of-”

“Wait,” Enid interrupts, hand on Vivienne’s arm. “Is that…”

A bullish voiceover begins to drown out the music. “A trusted attorney fighting for the community, Marshall Callahan-”

All of them groan loudly enough to drown out any further commendations.

“Well, now I’m definitely not getting through the next five months.” Vivienne throws her hands up.

Elle’s shaking her head. “They totally shot that with him on a platform to make him look taller. Pathetic.”

“Stupid arrogant prick,” Enid mutters.

Emmett doesn’t say anything, just glares in the general direction of the screen. He’ll never not want to take Callahan down after the shit he pulled; assault is the worst of it (at least as far as Emmett knows), but he’s also acutely aware that he was manipulated into working far below his license and pay grade with promises of a job that likely would never have materialized. The thought of someone that… amoral ending up in charge of the state is honestly pretty horrifying.

He tries not to give Callahan more space in his mind than is deserved, but it still takes him a long time to fall asleep that night.

(Elle too.

He certainly hasn’t forgotten the last time he had insomnia like this; months ago when he knew something was bothering her, but she shut down and more or less tossed him out. Cheerfully, at that, which made the whole thing a hundred times worse. He barely got through endless hours of mediation the following day, and came home to find an unstamped envelope tucked in with his utility bill and junk mail. Reading multiple handwritten pages in the vestibule of his building felt like a series of gut punches, ending with the revelation that he would knock over a Boy Scout helping an old lady cross the street if it meant getting to her faster – and he sprinted down the block, followed by several flights of stairs when the elevator refused to show up in what he felt was a timely manner.

It’s possible he would benefit from a smidge of endurance training.

Once he could bring himself to let go of her, the ensuing conversation was necessary and set the tone, as well as ground rules, for them moving forward. The time they needed to get where they are was absolutely worth taking; love really does make everything feel different. At some point over the summer, she told him she didn’t think she’d benefit from talking with anyone, but she’d let him know if that were to change.

So tonight, when she assures him she’s okay, he trusts her.

Still, when she finally does fall asleep, she does so tucked against his side rather than retreating to her usual nest of blankets.)

When Emmett gets to work the next morning, he’s greeted by an email asking him and Natalie to meet all three senior partners in the conference room in half an hour. Natalie confirms she also has no clue what this could be about, but at least they’re reasonably certain someone would already have revoked their key card access if they were about to be fired.

All three partners are on one side of the conference room table when they walk in; to Janet Baker’s left is a woman in her mid-50s, wearing an expensive-looking skirt suit and a silk scarf around her neck that could probably pay all his bills for a month. Emmett immediately recognizes her, having met her several times at various events.

“Mrs. Callahan.” He can’t keep the note of surprise out of his voice. “Hello. Pleasure to see you.”

She stands, accepting his handshake. “Emmett, I’ve told you before to call me Patricia. Especially now – I’d like as little association with my current legal surname as possible.”

“Everyone sit, please,” Angela entreats. “We’ve asked to speak to you both because-”

“I filed for divorce from Marshall in June,” Patricia interjects. “And as I told the partners here, I’d like you to represent me.” She’s looking directly at Emmett, her gaze now turning expectant as she awaits a response.

“We explained that the two of you frequently work together, especially for more complex cases, and that all of us are happy to serve as additional resources as needed,” Sheila adds. “But Emmett, there’s no question that this will be your case.”

No one needs to spell out what a big fucking deal this is. His mouth suddenly goes dry, gaze flitting nervously to Natalie – who looks equally floored – and he clears his throat.

(He and Elle have told Natalie what happened, and Angela already knows via Brooke; there are few if any secrets between the partners.)

“Mrs. Call- uh, Patricia, I think it’s important to avoid any potential conflict of interest. I’m not sure if you’re aware of the circumstances under which I left my previous employer.”

She waves a hand at him dismissively. “Oh, I know exactly what my future ex-husband did. He was always so pleased with himself at the idea of keeping you right where he wanted you. I told him it was terrible, not that he listened.”

Emmett flashes back to Enid’s comments during the commercial last night and desperately fights to keep himself from repeating them.

“And I’m certainly aware of what he did to those young women. I suspected infidelity for years, but this is multitudes worse. I was very impressed to hear what you did in response during the Windham trial.”

“I appreciate that, but Elle did-” Natalie kicks him under the table and he clears his throat again, which leads to a cough. “Thank you.”

She nods as she nonchalantly inspects her meticulous manicure. “I’m aware of what you’re capable of when you’re not tremendously invested in the outcome of a case, and that’s exactly why I want you in charge of this one. I intend to fight fire with fire, and as I see it, whatever vendetta you might have against him can only help.”

He ultimately agrees – as if he was ever going to do anything else – and Patricia stands up to depart. “I’ll walk you to the door,” Emmett offers, rising as well.

“Believe it or not, I’m looking forward to this,” she tells him. “I’m hoping to ramp up at just the right time, so we can throw his ridiculous campaign as far off track as possible. To think he’d be an even slightly competent governor – the ego on him.” She rolls her eyes.

“Patricia, I can assure you that this will be my top priority. But in the continued interest of full disclosure, I think it only fair to tell you-”

“About your personal involvement with Elle Woods?” She shrugs. “There’s not much of which I’m unaware here. As I said earlier, Emmett – fire with fire. And I expect nothing less than your best.” She inclines her head as they reach the door. “Nice to see you. And if you wouldn’t mind, please give Elle my regards. She’s quite an inspiration.”

“That she is.” He smiles. “And thank you – I certainly will.”

After a brief stop in Natalie’s office for a conversation that’s mostly exchanges of “I can’t believe this is happening”, he returns to his own and pulls his phone from his pocket, beginning a text. On today’s episode of Stranger Than Fiction…

Less than 30 seconds after finishing the message and hitting send, his phone vibrates on the desk beside him; Elle’s response consists of a wall of exclamation points.

For the next several months, it really is his top priority; he pleads with the partners to allow him to bank extra hours for vacation once this is all over. Elle understands it’s the nature of the beast, as do their friends – Natalie covers a few of what would normally be his responsibilities on some of their other cases to ensure he can dedicate enough time and energy to this – but burning the candle at both ends eventually starts to catch up with him. A couple nights before Christmas, he chugs two cans of Red Bull after dinner to get some more work done, and passes out at his kitchen table not 15 minutes later. (Elle tells him later that even though she practically had to drag his mostly-asleep self across the floor to get him to bed, he was still arguing that he just needed another hour.)

Callahan’s not about to go down without a fight, and Emmett knows there’s no end to how chaotic this might get. But damned if it doesn’t feel amazing when he strolls into court that first day and sees that Callahan chose to represent himself, even though the old man likely remembers fuck all about divorce law after focusing on criminal defense for as long as he has.

Emmett straightens his pink tie and smiles.

(Not unlike a shark.)

***

In February, since things aren’t quite hectic enough, Emmett’s landlord tells him he’s planning to sell the building by the end of spring. It’s not a huge surprise; he’s getting older and has mentioned in the past wanting to retire to Florida. (Not that Emmett understands why anyone would want to move to what is, as far as he can tell, an enormous swamp riddled with tourist traps – but to each their own.) The lease has been month-to-month for a couple years at this point, and now that he’s finally making decent money, he can definitely afford to upgrade.

However.

He and Elle stay over at one place or another more often than not by now; what started as a toothbrush and extra boxers has turned into a third of his wardrobe, a chest-high stack of books, and generally whatever client file he can’t find when he’s in the office. It’s gotten to the point that when he’s by himself in his apartment, it feels as if something is missing.

(Well. Someone.)

He’s not exactly the poster boy for schmaltzy romance, but he knows Elle unabashedly can’t get enough of it – and decides to lean all the way in. Which is why he mentions the building sale for the first time on Valentine’s Day.

“Oh!” Elle looks up in surprise; she’s sprawled out at the other end of his couch. “I thought he would never want to be that far away from the Red Sox, but good for him.”

“Yeah, I thought the same. I’m thinking middle of April is a good time to move – should leave plenty of time to find a nice place.”

When she smiles, he swears it’s a shade dimmer than usual. “Totally makes sense. Vivienne was talking about Enid moving in next year, so I guess we’ll have to figure that one out, but it should work out okay.”

“I’m sure.” He nods. “Thing is, I might need some help with apartment hunting, if you have time to spare for it.”

“Of course!” she says. “If you can find time to look for a place while you’re dealing with this crazy case, I can totally make it work. Helps to have a second set of eyes, right?”

He shrugs. “I want you to like it.”

“Oh, I’m sure I will-”

“Because…” He drums his fingers on his leg and tilts his head as he looks at her. “I’d love for you to live there with me. If you wanted to.”

Her mouth drops open and she pulls herself up to sit. “Are you…” The initial surprise is replaced with an enormous smile, and she launches herself at him like she’s trying out for the NFL.

“Oof!”

“What took you so long?”

“I think you ruptured my spleen,” he groans.

“Do you know how sad I get every time you spend the night here without me?”

“As sad as a man with a ruptured spleen?”

“Oh, please, you’re fine.” She kisses his cheek.

“If we’re gonna live together, you know you can’t just let me die on the floor, right?”

“Don’t be silly. You’re on the couch.”

At this, he grins purposefully. “Not for long.” He begins to roll toward the edge of the couch, taking her with him.

“Okay, okay!” Elle manages to get out through giggles. “No dying on the floor!”

He smiles, leaning in for a kiss. “I didn’t think it was that high a bar to set.”

Two significant things happen in April. First, he and Elle sign a lease on a place halfway between campus and his office –Vivienne and Enid were indeed planning cohabitation, so the timing works out well.

(Seeing his name and Elle’s followed by the words ‘jointly and severally’ is surprisingly delightful.)

He concludes moving is bound to be chaotic, no matter how organized the approach; it takes a while to consolidate their stuff and get it where it needs to go. (And yes – to paint an accent wall in their new living room.) Elle is hellbent on unpacking as soon as possible while keeping up with studying, and after she pulls her second all-nighter in a week, he threatens to lock up all the caffeine they have if she doesn’t slow down. She tells him he’s overreacting and implies he’s being hypocritical, but the Friday night after they actually move in, he finds her sound asleep on the living room floor next to a half-assembled end table. She wakes up long enough to nonsensically deny that she’s tired at all, but ultimately she lets him carry her to bed and stays put for the next 14 hours.

(They’re both going to need to work on the self-care thing, he thinks as he settles in next to her that night, but the rest – well, he could get used to it, is all.)

The second thing is that Callahan gets positively stomped in the gubernatorial primary. Elle immediately plans a celebrating-the-democratic-process-slash-housewarming party, and by the end of the evening there have been multiple toasts along the lines of ‘To your new home, and Callahan can go to hell.’

(Emmett is incredibly proud of the fact that he manages to get a couple relevant digs in about it the next day in court.

He didn’t think a face could turn that shade of purple.)

Living together is not without its initial hiccups. Elle’s rising stress about exams leads her into baking frenzies; she sends him into work with so many treats that one day a trio of legal assistants yell at him for sabotaging their healthy eating efforts. He also starts to notice that while she usually handles anxiety pretty well, there are moments where it suddenly escalates and distress surrounds her like a force field. The first time he tries to intervene during one of those, it doesn’t go that well.

“Don’t tell me it’s going to be fine,” she says, arms crossed and staring at the floor. “Like you’d even know, you super genius prodigy lawyer… guy.”

“Elle, come on, you’re being-” He reaches for her.

She pulls away abruptly. “What, irrational? Illogical? A dumb blonde?”

“I was going to say too hard on yourself. Do you honestly think-”

“Why do you even care?!”

He squints at her. “I mean, have we met?”

She throws her arms up and groans – which kind of turns into a scream by the end – and stomps off to their room, slamming the door behind her.

He gives her some space, but he hears sniffles from the other side of the door a few minutes later, and finds that at least she hasn’t locked it.

She’s sitting upright in the middle of the bed, a plush blanket wrapped around her body like a cape. Her face is forlorn and tear-stained, but given recent events, he approaches with caution.

“May I join you?”

She turns away. “If you must.”

“All right.” He sits down next to her. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

She glares at him for a second, and the next thing he knows she’s tipped over and lying down with her head in his lap. “Get rid of Federal Jurisdiction. Forever. From the planet.”

“Would that I could.” He smooths her hair back from her face. “Anything else?”

“Keep doing that.”

“You got it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it, exams mess with everyone’s head.”

“You lost it during exams too?”

“It was stressful. Sure.”

“But you never exploded, right? Do you ever lose it?”

“I expect I’m probably overdue.” It’s not the first time his preternatural calm has been pointed out to him.

She turns so she’s looking up at his face. “You’re nice, you know.”

“I try.”

(She aces the final – not that he’s in any way surprised.)

Once summer comes, things get marginally less frenzied; he’s still inundated with the Callahan case, but things are finally wrapping up and it’s looking favorable for Patricia. Elle starts an associateship at a small firm focused on civil rights litigation. They’re mostly free on weekends, so when his mom tells him in mid-July she found a new place and asks for help packing, they both head over on Saturday.

She’s already made a lot of headway when they get there. “Thanks for this, you two,” Dana says, greeting both of them with hugs at the door. “I’m so ready to get out of here, but you collect so much stuff over the years, don’t you? And you don’t realize until you have to figure out what to do with it.”

They work on the living room first, sorting into pack, donate, and trash piles. It’s fairly quick work with three of them, and Dana moves into the kitchen next.

“I’ll get started in my old room while you two work on that,” Emmett says as he starts down the hall. Elle and his mom don’t answer, absorbed in conversation as they wrap dishes in towels - Elle’s idea to protect breakables while doing twice the packing at once. He takes an empty carton with him, leaving it nearby as he quickly sorts through the books on the desk. He already has copies of a lot of these, but he tucks a few into his bag and adds the rest to a pile meant for the donation box. He’s never been especially sentimental, but he takes the award plaques and graduation honor cords as well. Then he turns his attention to his mom’s sewing corner; behind the plastic bins of fabric and notions, there’s an open banker’s box in the corner brimming with textbooks, medical supplies, and file folders. He starts to sort through it.

“Hey, Mom, do you want to keep all this stuff from nursing school, or-“

He pauses as his hand brushes against a manila envelope shoved in between a pharmacology tome and a blood pressure cuff. He slides it free and sees ‘Ben’ scribbled on the front.

Emmett’s momentarily confused, trying to recall whether he knows anyone named Ben - and suddenly his birth certificate flashes into his mind’s eye. Dana Forrest; Benjamin Richmond.

There’s no way this can be anyone but his father.

He battles with himself, trying to give his mother the benefit of the doubt. His father could be in prison, he reasons, for something unspeakably awful - and she thinks she’s sparing him what would be painful knowledge. He could have been even worse than any of the cretins she dated when he was younger (even if he’s unsure how that’s possible). If all she ever said was that there’s nothing worth knowing…

But still.

It’s this huge part of him – half, to be exact – that’s always been an enigma. He doesn’t expect to get answers to even a fraction of his questions, but that would still be so much more than he knows now.

In the end, he decides that whatever is in there has been kept from him long enough.

He quietly closes the door, sitting cross-legged on the worn rug as he opens the clasp at the envelope’s back, pulling out a sizable sheaf of paper. Two small photos fall out, landing face down. Flipping over the first one, he sees a younger version of Dana – hair much longer than it is now, teased and crimped – smiling into the camera along with a guy (presumably Ben) who has his arm around her shoulder. Emmett studies the picture intently.

He immediately spots his own nose; maybe his chin, too. Ben’s also nearly a head taller than his mom, which certainly makes sense. Cautiously, he turns over the second photo. The two of them again, same smiles on their faces, except his mom is holding an infant. 

His breath is suddenly shaky as he turns to the rest of the documents. A life insurance payout denial letter, vaguely written. Tons of handwritten medical records that are difficult to decipher. (Was his father sick? Why wouldn’t she have just told him, if that’s what it was?) A marriage certificate.

He drops everything else, staring at it. Whatever happened, his father wasn’t some one-night-stand deadbeat. He must have been at least a somewhat okay guy at some point, because his mom obviously loved him enough to marry him.

He goes back to the medical records with a new determination, squinting to decode the doctors’ scrawl. He eventually gleans that most of these records are psychiatric. They detail hospital admissions for depressive episodes; one failed medication regimen after another; attempts at electroconvulsive therapy that ultimately prove fruitless. 

There’s a note at least every few weeks until about a year and a half before he was born. They start to take on a more optimistic tone around the time they mention a medication called Elavil.

Then there’s a significant gap in the dates between notes; Emmett calculates he would have been four months old around the time they pick back up.

He haltingly reads about Elavil causing some medical problems, so they had to stop it even though it was incredibly effective. The next several months’ worth of records are similar to the first batch; nothing else was working. There are more and more admission notes, each seeming to grow bleaker until-

Oh.

There’s no misinterpreting the starkly printed text on the death note.

He’s still reeling from this when he unfolds the next page, and feels his stomach hit the floor as he comes face-to-face with what must be his original birth certificate. One where he has a different last name.

His vision goes a little blurry, and he frantically begins to shove everything back inside the envelope. A yellowing piece of notebook paper folded in thirds –  ‘Emmett’ written on the outside in unfamiliar penmanship – falls out into his lap.

A wave of nausea ripples through him as he tries to tell himself there’s no possible way to know what’s written in there, or who wrote it. But he knows beyond the shadow of a doubt what it is, and that it’s been here this whole time and his mother knew it, and he honestly cannot endure another second of this. He blindly crams the manila envelope into his bag, breathing hard and pulling his hands down over his face. 

How is he supposed to go back out there and act like everything is fine?

It quickly occurs to him that his options aren’t great here. He can’t remember ever having been this keyed up before; he’s held everything together, held everything in for so long that he’s honestly a little afraid of what might come out if he storms into the kitchen and confronts his mother on this. The only other choice – the only acceptable choice, as far as he sees it – is forcing everything down and putting on a show until this day finally comes to an end.

He sits there for another few moments, breath after shaky breath beginning to slowly bring him closer to earth, if not entirely down. 

He stands up with one final exhale and a shake of his head. He can do this. He has no choice but to do this.

His mom and Elle are laughing when he enters the living room, dropping the books for donation into the appropriate box. “What’s so funny?” he asks, pasting a smile onto his face. 

“Oh, nothing,” his mom chuckles. “This was just in one of the kitchen drawers.”

She hands him a photo of his infant self - sitting in a high chair with a face almost entirely covered in food.

“You were so cute.” She smiles. “You’ll always be that cute little boy to me, no matter how old and mature and responsible you get.”

“Okay, Mom. Whatever you say.” He nods, deliberately not looking straight at Elle.

“Speaking of food, let me buy you two dinner,” Dana continues. “We’ve made pretty good headway, I really appreciate the help, but I think Gabe and I can finish up the rest tomorrow before the movers come. What do you say, Italian?”

Elle smiles. “Thanks, Dana, that sounds great! Emmett?”

“Hmm?” He affixes the same smile again, looking at the spot where her hairline meets her forehead instead of making eye contact.

“Dinner?” Elle’s looking at him happily - maybe just a little too curiously as well.

“Oh.” He shrugs as nonchalantly as he possibly can. “Uh, Mom, I’m sure you’re tired with all the packing you’ve been doing. I don’t want to put you out.”

Dana rolls her eyes. “Please, I’m fine. And between my job and you always being so busy, I never get to do this.”

“Uh, sure, then. Thanks.” 

They take separate cars since the restaurant is in between their respective places and it wouldn’t make sense for anyone to double back. As soon as Elle closes the passenger door, she turns to him. “What is it?”

He dials his face to neutral and channels the pleasantly bland tone he uses with some of his higher-maintenance clients. “Hmm? Nothing. Just a lot of heavy lifting today.”

“Emmett.”

“Elle.” He looks at her for a long beat, and she finally shrugs.

“Okay, fine.” She looks out the window as he starts the car, only turning back briefly to pick up his phone and connect it to what’s probably the only stereo cassette adapter left on the planet.

(He knows Elle doesn’t particularly care for Radiohead, but she knows it’s his go-to band when he’s feeling stressed out or bothered by something.

Even though everything in his head is a mess, he knows for sure that she’s not buying what he’s selling.)

***

Dinner is easier than expected. Elle could probably keep a steady conversation running with a brick wall, and he knows his cues to smile, laugh, agree or refute. His nerves are totally shot, but physiology takes the lead and he’s able to eat steadily enough to avoid drawing additional attention. He only hits a snag when his mom excuses herself to the restroom, and Elle immediately turns to him, eyes wide with worry.

“What’s wrong?” 

He shakes his head. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t sit like this when you’re fine.” She tentatively touches his arm, and it’s only then he notices that his shoulders are indeed hunched forward and he’s slightly curled into himself.

(It’s subtle; hardly anything most people would notice.

As if she’s ever been most people.)

“It’s noth-”

“If you say it’s nothing again, Emmett, so help me. What is going on?”

The cacophony of raw emotion continues to ferment where he’s suppressed it, and he feels it threaten to bubble up. Explode. Suddenly desperate to maintain control, he hisses, “Drop it, Elle. Okay? Just let it go.”

He’s never spoken to her before in anything close to that tone, and her expression morphs from surprise to confusion to hurt in a matter of seconds.

Damn it.

“I’m sorry,” he immediately adds, voice softening. “Later, okay? I promise.”

She’s still looking at him like she doesn’t quite know who he is, but slowly nods. Dana makes her way back to the table shortly thereafter and suggests dessert; Emmett is about to beg off when Elle speaks first.

“Oh, it’s so tempting, but I couldn’t eat another bite, and I’m honestly worn out.” She smiles apologetically. “Rain check for sure, though.”

The bill settled, they say their goodbyes in the parking lot and Emmett reaches into his pocket for his key ring. He’s trembling a little, he suddenly notices, and he clenches his fist to try and steady himself when he sees Elle’s hand outstretched in front of him.

“I’m driving,” she announces, and the set of her jaw makes it clear she’s not about to tolerate an argument. “I don’t know what’s happening, but if you drive when you’re this worked up, you’re going to crash.”

He wants to retort that of course he won’t, but the words stick in his throat and he wordlessly hands her the keys. It’s truthfully a relief to retreat into his mind. 

Once they park, he numbly follows her inside and closes the door behind him. He stares straight ahead despite feeling her gaze on him.

“I really am sorry,” he says, eyes unmoving. “I didn’t mean to snap at you before.”

She’s silent for so long he finally glances up, and the look on her face knocks the wind out of him. “Please talk to me, Emmett.”

“I’m-” The words stick again, and he opens and closes his mouth a few times before he realizes there’s no way it’s happening. He closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, before he silently reaches into his bag and hands her the envelope. “That’s what… I’m going to take Bruiser out,” he manages. The autopilot of connecting leash to collar, of one foot in front of the other on a chilly spring night, is so much more bearable than watching her learn what he currently wishes he hadn’t.

When they get back, Bruiser trots off and Emmett steps out of his shoes; hangs up his jacket. Light is spilling from the open bedroom door as he glances down the hall. He steps inside to find Elle, who changed into pajamas while he was out, sitting on their bed and rapidly reading one page after another. (It seems she’s a good deal faster than he at processing medical chickenscratch.) 

He takes his cue from her and changes as well - this whole thing is already uncomfortable enough without the restrictions of denim - and hears a sharp inhale as he’s pulling a worn T-shirt over his head. 

It’s clear she’s nearing the end.

Slowly, reluctantly, he turns around to see her biting her lip as she gingerly picks up the notebook-paper trifold. “That one… I couldn’t bring myself to,” he says, voice unexpectedly gravelly. 

She looks up at him, and he refocuses his gaze on her knee. “Do you want to know what it says?” she asks softly.

“I think I should.” He draws an unsteady breath, taking a few steps toward the bed and perching on the edge. “But… I don’t think I can.”

“I can read it to you,” she offers, voice still barely above a whisper. “If that would help.”

It takes him a second, but he nods. He isn’t aware that he’s white-knuckling fistfuls of the bedspread until she slides the pages out of the way and settles beside him, her hand loosening his grip and fingers intertwining with his. She takes a deep breath.

“‘Emmett, some days it still surprises me that you’re real. I stopped expecting much a long time ago, and you and your mother are beyond anything I could have dreamed. I wanted to stay and I’m sorry I can’t.’” 

She stops for a second, grasping his hand tighter, before continuing. “‘I hope when you read this, if you ever do, that you’re happy, and that the world is kind to you. I hope you have everything you want. If you get one thing from me, I hope it’s that you love to read – but if not, that’s okay too. Just be who you are, and know you are so loved. Dad.’” Her voice is steady, but he jumps as a teardrop lands on the back of his hand. 

He hears the letter rustle as she places it to the side, and the shaking in his hands from earlier morphs into an unending full-body tremor. There’s no reining it back in now, the doors have been completely blown off, and thoughts bombard him relentlessly-

“From where I’m sitting, it seems like you’re up against a whole lot.”

“Just a word of advice: dress for the job you want.”

“Do you ever lose it?”

Emmett slowly withdraws his fingers from Elle’s, elbows resting on knees and fists pressing into the top of his head as he stares downward. He hasn’t cried in forever, definitely not since before he hit double digits – he can’t remember if it was third or fourth grade when Donny the anger management dropout shoved his mom in front of him and then screamed at him to man up – and he feels it chasing his words, growing closer.

“She never said anything.” His fingers flex and loosen rhythmically in his hair. “He was my age when he… and things like this can be genetic and she never said…” A tiny strangled sound emerges involuntarily from his throat and he stands up, pushing down the lump that’s rapidly forming.

“She never said a fucking word. Not one…” His head is still in his hands and he hears his pulse roaring, and suddenly it’s just too much to hold back and he’s vaguely aware someone is shouting, but-

“Who raises a kid like that?!” Rage and resentment boil over, more than he knew it was possible to feel. “How the hell could anyone think that’s okay? Kids are supposed to have… have imaginary monsters under the bed and mine were flesh-and-goddamn-bone in the room next door. One after the other.” Breaths are coming shorter now, but the torrent of words refuses to slow. 

“And for what? So you didn’t have to be alone? Was it worth it to get treated like that and… and fuck up your kid? You tried to hide it, but I knew everything. Except the one thing I actually needed to know.” He’s not sure why he’s screaming at his mother in absentia, but he truly could not stop now if he wanted to. “You made me skip over the part where I actually got to be a kid and now I’m… I have… I have no frame of reference for what childhood is supposed to look like and I ca- I can’t be…”

He suddenly realizes he’s on his knees and he doesn’t know when or how he got there. This can’t be happening, can’t be his body that’s shuddering on the floor as sobs threaten to rip him to shreds on their way out – except it is, and something crumbles inside him with each ragged breath. It keeps coming in waves, relentlessly powerful, and this must be what it means to be broken, so that’s what he is now, and it’s threatening to swallow him whole-

And then a sensation surrounds him. Something sturdy, protective; somehow stronger than the deluge trying to drown him. He feels Elle’s chin resting on his shoulder, feels her press a kiss against the side of his jaw – oh god, she’s been here this whole time, hasn’t she – feels her heartbeat against his back and finds his respirations slowing to match the steady cadence of hers. Gradually, he reaches up and grasps her forearms where they’re pulling him in toward her.

They remain there, motionless and silent, for what could be hours or milliseconds, until he shifts and sits up against the side of the bed. She’s right beside him in an instant, her hand in his. 

She leans her head against his shoulder but doesn’t say anything, and he understands she’s patiently waiting for him to speak when he’s ready.

Eventually he feels composed enough to do so, albeit hoarsely. “I think… that was a long time coming.”

She nods, and he continues.

“It never felt safe, I guess. Even to think about any of it, much less feel it, but…” He turns a bit to look at her. “It’s different with you. Everything is.”

“Well, I love you,” she murmurs. 

“I love you.” He leans his head against hers. 

They’ve been talking about the future lately. Mostly in broad terms and hypotheticals, but he’s thought a lot about what it would be like. Being married to her. Having a family of their own. 

(It’s hard to dismiss the idea of a tiny version of her – maybe with his mannerisms and sense of humor – running around and giving the world hell.) 

He’s known undoubtedly for a long time that she’s it for him. But he also wants her to have absolutely everything she’s ever wanted, and an infinitesimal part of him wonders if he’ll be able to give it to her.

“We’re making this up as we go along, aren’t we?” he asks. “I mean… what is the operational definition of a healthy relationship?”

She reaches across him, resting her hand on his arm and rubbing her thumb over his bicep. “I don’t think there’s a single definition. But you told me once that if this is going to work, we need to communicate even when it’s hard. And we do that. I don’t think I could hide anything from you if I tried.”

“Same… clearly.” He exhales in a short huff that sounds a laugh’s distant relative.

“My role models weren’t the best either, you know?” She reaches up and brushes his hair back where it’s fallen across his forehead. “But sometimes we don’t get a guidebook for things. We get… I don’t know, a cautionary tale?”

“Seems like what we’re getting is swindled, if you ask me,” he mutters.

She chuckles softly. “I think everyone makes it up as they go along, and… we’re figuring out what to do by knowing what not to do. And we make each other happy. I don’t know what else matters.”

He considers this for a moment before taking another deep breath. “We’ve talked about this in the abstract, but if we… if at some point we decide to have kids, and it turns out I got more from my father than his apparent literary inclinations-”

“Then we deal with it,” she says firmly. “Emmett, it’s been such a long time. There’s not such a huge stigma around therapy like there used to be, and there are new medications. I mean, they have commercials for them.” She sighs. “If you don’t want kids because you really don’t want them, we can have that conversation when the time comes. But if you’re afraid because you think you’ll mess them up, or because… I mean, it can happen to anyone. Paulette had a really hard time after the twins were born, and now she talks to someone and it helps her a lot.”

He nods.

(It’s not lost on him that she said ‘when the time comes.’ Not ‘if.’

So maybe he’s it for her too.)

“But… it doesn’t mean she’s not herself anymore. And it wouldn’t mean you’re not you.” Elle nudges him with her shoulder as she continues. “And, you know, your mom-”

“I know,” he sighs. “She did the best she could, she loves me, I’m being too hard on her-“

“I wasn’t going to say that,” she interrupts gently. “I mean, it’s true that she loves you. But you’re allowed to be angry with her about this. You’re allowed to be upset about things that are upsetting, and to let people know that.”

“I don’t know that I want anyone to see a repeat of whatever this was just now, myself included,” he says dryly. “But… I hear you. Maybe it wouldn’t kill me to vent in a more timely manner.”

“It might be easier to process if you don’t wait another 27 years,” she responds. 

He snorts. “Yeah, you got me there.”

“I just need you to know something,” she tells him, a little more solemnly.

“Hmm?”

“Promise me you’re not gonna, like… show me the social media version of yourself because you’re worried about me being able to handle messy or difficult or whatever. I want you, all right? All of you. Nothing’s ever going to be too much or scare me off.”

He closes his eyes; the sudden release of a pressure he’s never lived without makes him unsure how to react, but her hand in his brings him back to earth. Back to himself. “Okay.”

“Good.” She nods decisively. “Because you’re stuck with me.” 

(It’s the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to him.)

***

When the Callahans’ divorce is finally granted a couple weeks later, Patricia ends up with the lion’s share of the payout from selling the Boston and Nantucket houses, as well as an absolute boatload of alimony. Emmett files a name change petition on her behalf as soon as the ink on the decree is dry, and Patricia thanks him sincerely for everything he’s done. He figures that’s the end of it at last – watching Callahan’s face sink as he did the math on his new take-home income was truly priceless – but then Angela stops by his office a week or so later.

“Got a minute, Emmett?”

He looks up from the deposition notes in front of him and nods, motioning to the chair in front of his desk. “Please.”

“Thank you, but this won’t take long.” She’s smiling. “When Patricia Callahan – or Murphy, I suppose – settled her fees with the firm, she said they weren’t appropriate for the services provided.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Our fees are made clear upfront-“

“She felt she was charged far too little for what she got in return.” Angela’s smile grows wider as she holds out an envelope. “So she wrote another check. Consider it a bonus.”

When he looks inside, Emmett briefly wonders if his eyes are crossing and that’s why he sees so many zeroes. He blinks a few times, and no – they’re all still there. “Angela, this is too much.”

“Well, she told me that if you don’t deposit it within the next week, she’ll spend the equivalent on a car and put it in your name so you won’t have a choice but to accept it.”

“Equivalent of this is a Maserati,” he mutters in disbelief, and Angela laughs. 

“You earned it. Keep up the good work.”

The Civic ironically chooses that very afternoon to break down; fortunately the grinding, overheating, and eventual shutdown happens before he leaves the parking lot. The guy at the repair shop tells him it’s fixable, but would likely cost more than the vehicle is worth at this point. Emmett figures it’s time to give up the ghost. 

“I’m just saying, people love sports cars for a reason,” Elle points out when he finally gets home that night. 

“And I’m just saying it’s impractical,” he says with a wry grin. “We can look this weekend for something a little more reliable.”

“Fair enough. You are the picture of practicality.”

“Am I?”

“Yep. And I wouldn’t change it. Or anything else.” She kisses his cheek.

(He’s not sure the item that keeps materializing in his mind is all that practical per se.

But it’s inevitable.)

They pick out a Prius the following week; the first place Emmett drives it after they get it home is to an office just outside the city. He’s still not sure how it’ll go, talking to someone, but he still doesn’t know what to say to his mom and figures he can use all the help he can get.

Noah isn’t a whole lot older than him, and takes a pretty rational approach to everything. By the beginning of the fall, they’re able to establish that Emmett is not, in fact, particularly depressed at this time, and he comes to understand that his experiences have shaped him, but he gets to choose what happens next.

Elle goes with him once, after Noah mentions it can be helpful for partners to be aware of signs to look out for. Emmett’s initially reluctant – continually talking to her about all of this feels kind of strange to begin with – but at the appointment she asks a lot of questions and takes notes, and he can’t deny the palpable relief of knowing he doesn’t have to carry this by himself. He brings it up more at home after that; he finds it’s nice to have her insight on some of the points Noah raises.

“I think what he’s saying makes sense,” he says to her one night as they’re getting into bed. “If I want to reconcile this in my head, I need her to know how keeping this from me and… well, everything else made me feel. I don’t need to know her rationale. If she wants to share it, I’ll listen, but I’m not going to go in there demanding to know why.”

“I agree,” she says softly. “And I think this has been really good for you.”

“It helps that he’s not always harping on about mystic crystal ‘healing your inner child’ kind of crap.”

Elle’s quiet for a minute, and there’s a note of amusement in her voice. “Semantics aside, you realize this whole thing is about healing your inner child, right?”

“Well, now you’ve done it. I’m never going back.”

“Emmett!”

“Kidding. Probably.”

“Just for that, I’m stealing all the blankets.”

“How is that different from any other night?”

(It’s not.

But god, does she have a great laugh.)

Given their respective work schedules, it’s been easy enough to come up with excuses to not see his mom; he’s kept phone conversations brief, which isn’t terribly uncharacteristic either. When he tells Elle he’s ready, she packs up a few of the lemon bars she baked for a study group member’s birthday; asks if he wants her to go with him. 

Grateful as he is for the offer – and the snacks – he knows he needs to do this alone.

He hasn’t actually seen his mom’s new apartment, so she gives him a tour. It’s cozy, but it’s closer to her job and she’s happy with it. 

“It took long enough, but I’m finally feeling settled in.” She hands Emmett a cup of coffee and joins him at the table, smiling. “Anyway. What’s new?”

“Well.” He takes a slow breath and reaches into his bag, resting next to his chair on the floor. He’s been over this with Noah (and Elle) a hundred times, so it feels pretty practiced when he pulls out the manila envelope, places it in front of her, and waits.

Dana looks at it with confusion at first, as if she doesn’t recognize it; her gaze darts back up to Emmett, who’s expectantly looking at her, and then her expression turns to one of horror as it hits her. “Em, I don’t even… I never meant for you to-“

“May I say something?”

She motions to him and nods.

“I feel like you kept something from me that wasn’t yours to keep,” he begins calmly. “I didn’t know I’m at a higher risk of developing depression, which could have potentially gone very badly. I was denied answers about my own history when I asked for them. You’re my mother, I love you, and I want us to move forward from this. But intentions aside, a lot of your choices, this one included, were just not good – and we both suffered for it. I think what I need is for you to… just sit with that a little.”

(It’s both easier and more difficult than he’d expected.)

She nods; stares into her coffee mug. Eventually she begins to speak. “His parents died when he was 16. Gas leak caused an explosion at their house. He was out with a friend. Got out of foster care and went to school for bookkeeping. He said things got… hard for a while, and when they found the right medication, he went back to work, pulled everything together. That’s when I met him.”

“Where did you meet him?”

“A bookstore. He was always reading, just like you. He was funny, too. Kind. We had things in common, I lost my mother when I was a teenager and… it was just a whirlwind. We were together for three months when I got pregnant with you, and he wanted to get married. Said it would happen eventually anyway, but it was all so fast, we didn’t even have time to get rings. I wore my grandmother’s for a while, until my fingers got too swollen from the pregnancy, and then…”

“You didn’t change your name.”

“No. I was already overwhelmed and it was a lot of paperwork.”

“But you changed mine. Later.” 

Dana sighs. “I thought it would be easier if you and I had the same last name. For school and all that. It wasn’t about him.”

“All right.” She’s not making excuses or requesting forgiveness, both of which he was prepared to politely shut down. But information – that’s good. Wanted; needed. “Go on.”

“When you were a baby, he started to get sick. He was so tired all the time for weeks, taking days off work because he was too exhausted to move, and when he got jaundiced, I finally got him to go to the doctor. They told him the Elavil was sending him into liver failure and he had to come off. He begged them not to, said to… to put him on a transplant list before they did that - but they swore they’d find something else that worked. And we believed them.” She swallows hard. “I found him when I came home from work… and you were asleep upstairs. I was so angry at him for that, for a long time.”

Emmett swallows audibly. “That must have been awful.”

“It was. He had life insurance, but with the cause of death… And I couldn’t afford where we were living then, my father was my only family and he moved to Arizona with his new wife when he retired. So he couldn’t help much. And the place in Roxbury was manageable, if I did overtime.”

Emmett vaguely remembers something - chicken soup and a sofa bed. “Your father died when I was seven.”

“That’s right.”

“I stayed with the Kesslers across the hall while you went to the funeral.”

“You did.”

“And then they moved and you started dating… I think it was Joe a couple months later. The one who almost set the building on fire when he passed out with a lit cigarette.”

She looks away. “I was lonely and I had no help. It was all I could do to try and take care of you, and all I wanted was someone to take care of us both. Of me.”

“They didn’t.”

“No. They didn’t. And I’m sorry – you deserved better.” Her eyes are bright with tears, and he grimaces, briefly places his hand over hers.

“So did you.”

She blinks forcefully a few times. “I love you, Emmett. And I can’t go back and make different choices, but I can… I can sit with it, like you said. And move forward.”

“I love you too. Let's try and do that.” He nods. “Gabe makes you happy, doesn’t he?”

She smiles. “He does. He really does.”

“I’m not saying today, or next week… but maybe reconsider your cohabitation stance.”

“Emmett, my track record of living with someone is not-”

“I think… it’s more about the person you’re with, and who you are with them,” Emmett says. “Yeah, there were less than optimal choices, but the point of sitting with them is to learn from them. It doesn’t mean punishing yourself forever.”

“How do you…?” Dana shakes her head. “I don’t know where you get all this insight from.”

I’ve been talking to someone. It’s helped.”

Dana’s expression softens into something less anxious. “I’m happy to hear that. And… everything else? This isn’t taking away from- Well, everything else is all right?”

“Work is good.” He smiles a little. “Really good, actually.”

“And Elle?”

His smile grows. “I’m gonna marry her.”

(It’s the first time he’s ever said it aloud, but as soon as he does, he can’t imagine anything else being the truth.)

Dana gasps. “You asked her to-”

“I’m not about to toss an enormous distraction into her last year of law school.” He takes a deep breath. “But as soon as she graduates, all bets are off.”

“Wow.” His mom blinks hard. “I can’t believe… well, I can believe it. You deserve every good thing, both of you.”

“Thank you.” He’s grinning like an idiot now and he couldn’t care less. 

His mom suddenly stands up. “Come with me a second.”

“What for?” he asks, though he’s already rising to his feet.

“I want to show you something.”

***

He leaves around an hour later, texting Elle on his way to the car. When he walks in, she darts into the living room from the kitchen. “Hey, good timing. I ordered dinner, it just got here.”

“Thanks.” He smiles, arms reaching around her waist; he feels her return the embrace as he pulls her closer. “Can dinner wait a minute?”

She looks up, kisses him, settles her head back on his shoulder. “As long as you want.”

(He’s doubtful the rest of his life will be long enough.

But he supposes it’ll have to do.)

Chapter Text

Everyone told Elle to wait for third year, and it doesn’t take long for her to see why. 

The intense rote memorization of early semesters has continued to give way to classes she’s chosen, more within the realm of what she hopes to be doing. She continues at Sawyer & Feldman a couple days a week once the summer ends; they’ve made it abundantly clear there’s a future there for her if she wants it. She’s able to balance everything more easily, including a series of engagement parties and bridal showers that seem to pop up out of nowhere. Everyone in both their circles is apparently coming to the same conclusion simultaneously, and their fridge is plastered in save-the-dates.

(Their friends are scattered all over the place, so there’s no way they’re getting to every single wedding. 

She’s holding out for Tracy’s, though – because after two consecutive Boston winters, a trip to Cabo in January sounds like a dream come true.)

Her parents call one Wednesday in October; it’s her free study day during the week, so she’s at home amidst a veritable explosion of books. The wheels start to come off the conversation around five minutes in, when they ask about her future concentration. Her father doesn’t even try to hide his dismay when she tells the two of them about her plan to specialize in civil rights litigation; presumably because it’s not as lucrative as corporate or something. Before she can retort that she’s looking for fulfillment beyond being absurdly wealthy, her mother chimes in. “It’s not a problem, Harrison. After all, Emmett does very well, doesn’t he?”

Elle blows out a breath. “Mom, I’m not going to need to live off my boyfriend.”

“Well, perhaps if you hadn’t already moved in with him, it wouldn’t seem-“

Here we go again. “What is it that actually concerns you, that I won’t be able to support myself or that I won’t have a husband to do it for me?”

There’s a beat or two of silence before Caroline answers, “Both, I suppose.”

“We’re very happy,” Elle says through gritted teeth. “And everything is going to be fine.”

“But it’s important that he-”

Elle tunes out the rest of the conversation and when she finally hangs up, flings the phone to the other side of the couch. Burying herself in reading and research is sufficiently distracting until Emmett gets home that evening, groceries slung over one shoulder.

“Hey.” She smiles, standing up to take the bag from him so he can divest himself of jacket and shoes. “How was your day? What’s this?”

“Not bad, just stopped for a couple things we needed.” He kisses her as they head for the kitchen. “You?”

“Got a lot done, so that’s good. Was Tim any better today?”

Emmett laughs, shaking his head. “Compared to last week? Marginally, maybe. Compared to Natalie? Never.”

“She’s not back from parental leave until after Thanksgiving, right?” Elle asks, beginning to unpack the bag. 

“Yeah. I mean, Tim’s really not awful to work with in general, he’s just green. So he gets flustered way too easily in court, and at mediation, and during depositions... But at least he’s good with paperwork?”

Elle cringes. “Good thing Natalie isn’t the one who carried. Samantha said she’s taking six months off work to be with the baby.”

“Not that I’d ever begrudge someone their bonding time, but if that had been the case with Nat, I’d probably be hibernating under my desk right now. They were out of the bread we usually get, is that one okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.” Elle spots something else, pulling out a package of chocolate-covered pretzels. “Ooh, not mad at these either.”

He shrugs with a grin. “I had a feeling you wouldn’t be.”

“Thank you.” She kisses his cheek. “Today I got to listen to my mother imply yet again that I’m ruining my life, so this is definitely a welcome surprise.”

“What egregious offense did you commit this time?” He laughs. “You didn’t buy another pair of glitter socks, right?”

“Okay, that was almost two months ago, and it didn’t look like the kind of glitter that falls off.” She sits down at the table, opening the foil pouch in her hands and popping a pretzel in her mouth.

Emmett sits down next to her, and she wordlessly tips the pretzels in his direction. He smirks. “Tell that to the living room rug.”

She rolls her eyes even though she can’t help but smile. “No, glitter didn’t ruin my life, according to my mother. At least not today. Moving in with you did.”

“Really.” His eyes widen briefly in amusement. “Kind of hoping you don’t share that opinion, it might make things a little awkward around here.”

“Not specifically anything to do with you as a person,” she clarifies. “It’s that we’re… well, she didn’t actually use the term ‘living in sin’, but there were references to a cow and free milk that I’m not really interested in repeating.”

“Oh.” He looks thoughtful. “So she’s working herself up into a frenzy thinking… well, actually, I don’t know that I can follow exactly what.”

“If I moved in with you without what she feels is a commitment, how will we ever get married so I can be totally dependent on you?” Elle shakes her head. “Seriously, the horror.”

“I would argue that signing a lease together means that, at least for the next seventeen months, we are in fact already legally bound to one another,” he says, a wry grin beginning to bloom. “Which is a contract akin to marriage, is it not?”

“Yeah, good luck getting Caroline Woods to buy into that one.” She tosses a pretzel at him, which he easily catches.

“Okay. Then I guess we should get married.”

She’s convinced she heard wrong, but her heart momentarily grinding to a halt before resuming at twice its regular speed tells her otherwise. “Wait, what?”

“You know,” he says nonchalantly. “We’ve talked about it before, might as well if it’ll get her off your back. I think you can make City Hall appointments online now.”

She stares at him as he looks at her expectantly, and the moment seems to go on for eons until he cracks up. “Sorry, but as appealing as it is to think of your mother being stunned into silence, that’s not really how I want to do it.”

She joins him in laughter. “Unlike her, I’m in no rush. But so you know… when we are, you know, actually there… you’re going to have to do a lot better than that.”

“What are you talking about?” he protests innocently. “Was that not the picture of romance?”

She raises an eyebrow. “When we do this, it is not going to be a business transaction.”

“You’ve decided as much, huh?”

“Yes,” she says, a sly smile crossing her face. “I have.”

(And she’s just realized exactly how she’ll be able to enforce that decision.

But that’s a project for her future self.)

***

Cassie gets married the first weekend of November; it’s pretty low-key, and a welcome distraction from the research paper that Elle swears gets worse with each revision. Emmett tells her she’ll come back to it with fresh eyes after a night away, and she concedes he’s probably right. The outdoor ceremony capitalizes on the foliage, and Cassie spots them at the reception as she and Peter are making the rounds.

“Thanks for coming, guys.” She turns from Elle to Emmett with a satisfied grin. “Also: I told you so.”

He laughs. “You sure did. Just like you’ve pointed out every time you’ve seen me for the past… what, year and a half?”

“I get it. It’s hard to accept you were slow on the uptake for once in your life.” Cassie glances at Elle. “Hope you don’t mind that I’m never going to let this go.”

Elle smiles. “You know it’s not like I was-“

“Any less in denial? Yeah, but mocking him is so much more fun.”

Emmett chuckles. “I can’t say I wasn’t warned. Congratulations.”

As they walk away, Emmett turns back to Elle, wrapping an arm around her waist. “She might never let that go, but, ah… I’m never letting you go. So I think I come out on top here.”

She beams. “That was mushy.”

“You loved it.”

“I really did.”

When they get home, fresh eyes really do help make sense of her paper. A few weeks later, she heads into finals feeling confident. Vivienne comes over one evening to study; their schedules will diverge completely next semester.

“I can’t believe this is the last time we’re studying for an exam together,” Elle remarks, kitchen table replete with snacks and caffeine.

“Were we not planning to work together on bar prep?”

“That’s different. I can’t believe this is coming to an end.”

“Don’t get sentimental yet. Or… ever, if you can help it.”

I make no promises. But you never told me – when did you decide on international law for sure?”

Vivienne shrugs. “I’ve always been interested in it. My associateship last summer was mostly in the corporate vein, and I thought that was my plan – until I saw some of their pro bono work.”

“And now?”

“Now…” Vivienne reaches for an Oreo. “I want to use my powers for good.”

“That’s not exactly a new thing for you,” Elle points out.

Vivienne smirks. “Right, it’s been years now since you thought I was evil. But… I don’t know. There’s something really appealing about helping people know their rights when they otherwise wouldn’t, and there are a lot of opportunities to do it. The Peace Corps, for one.”

Elle’s mildly taken aback, but tries not to show it. “That’s an interesting idea.”

“Yeah. There are NGOs, too, if I decide to go a slightly different route. If I’m willing to go overseas, and I think I am, there are a lot of places where I can put my French to good use.”

“How well do you speak French, exactly?”

“I wouldn’t say fluent, but not that far off. East Coast boarding schools will do that to you. There’s just one problem with all this.”

“Should I tell Enid you’re describing her as a problem?” Elle teases.

“If I never hear the end of it, neither will you,” Vivienne warns. “But I’ve somehow managed to fall in love with someone I never could have seen coming. Which is still mildly distressing, for the record. And she wants to stay here and work at McCord, Stone, & Baker after graduation.”

Elle nods; Enid had a summer associateship there, overlapping with Emmett once in a while. “Getting justice for all the first wives of the world is her passion?”

Vivienne shakes her head. “No. I mean, she’s happy enough doing that too, but in her heart of hearts, she’s really kind of a crusader for protecting people from mistreatment, and way too much of that falls into the realm of family law. She has the stomach for some pretty grisly situations.”

“Someone has to,” Elle acknowledges. “Is there any chance she’d go with you instead? Maybe find a way to do it somewhere else?”

“She’s already said she doesn’t want to do the Peace Corps again. And if I go for this in any capacity, it won’t be here. At least not entirely.”

“I’m sure you two will figure it out,” Elle assures her. “Love finds a way.”

“Sometimes,” Vivienne allows. “And sometimes your goals are too different and love isn’t enough.”

“It’s not like you don’t have time. And maybe there’s a compromise here.”

“Maybe.” Vivienne looks doubtful. “I have to get through the bar before doing anything anyway, and that’s not going to happen if we don’t graduate first. Let’s get to it.”

Elle sails through finals, and Tracy’s wedding happens to fall during winter break. Even more fortuitous, there’s a blizzard in Boston while they’re gone. Emmett mentioned offhand when they were booking a flight a few months ago that he’s never seen the Pacific Ocean, so Elle convinced him to head out early and make a weeklong trip of it. It’s pretty idyllic, even if she can’t wrap her head around how a 700-page biography could possibly be construed as beach reading. 

(It makes him happy, though. 

She really doesn’t need to get it beyond that.)

Delta Nus show up in droves a couple days before the wedding, and within a few hours of their arrival, Elle has been told Emmett’s a catch more times than there are pages in his book. At the reception a couple days later, they drag Elle onto the dance floor for the bouquet toss; having Single Ladies playing is cute for about 15 seconds, but things start to feel increasingly awkward as the song continues with all of them just standing there. Eventually someone has words with the DJ, and Tracy flings the flowers backward, but she has extraordinarily bad aim – and a really good arm. Meticulously arranged roses and lilies sail far over the heads of the dance floor crowd, toward the tables. Elle follows its trajectory, and bursts into laughter when she sees the bouquet crash-land in Emmett’s lap. He stands up a little, holding it up to chuckles and applause with a grin and a shake of his head, and everyone in the group begins to disperse. Elle walks back to their table, still laughing. 

“I believe this might have been intended for you,” he says, holding them out. 

“Oh, no,” she counters with a smile. “I’ve seen enough bouquet tosses end in tug-of-war to know the rules. Where it lands is where it stays.”

He laughs. “Either way, the significance is the same. Although we have another wedding coming up in two months, so unless we revisit that City Hall idea, we might be out of luck.”

Elle raises an eyebrow. “That was even worse than the last time you brought it up, you know.”

“See, I thought it was utterly poetic,” he says, amused.

She giggles. “It needs some work.”

“Well.” He pretends to contemplate this. “I guess I’ll just have to keep trying.”

(She’s confident he will.

But not if she gets there first.)

***

She’s not entirely certain what her plan is until mid-April, when she finds out she’s going to be valedictorian. That’s enough of a shock in and of itself, especially when she considers her rocky start, but Emmett says he doesn’t know why she’s surprised. When she has coffee with Vivienne the next day, Vivienne swears she’s only a little miffed, but if it’s going to be anyone else, she’s happy it’s Elle. 

“It does mean you’re giving a speech.”

“That is not lost on me.” Elle nods, her mind beginning to stitch together an approximation of what she might want to say – and then it hits her. “Oh my god.”

“What?” Vivienne wrinkles her brow. “Don’t tell me the queen of the courtroom is suddenly afraid of public speaking.”

“Nope. I’m just… looking forward to it. Quite a lot, in fact.”

His facetious City Hall propositions aside, Elle knows that whatever Emmett would actually come up with would be sweet and understated and quintessentially him. And she loves him, so she knows she would be thrilled with it.

But she also loves big romantic gestures. And she certainly doesn’t need to be the recipient of one to appreciate that it’s happening.

So whenever she’s home alone during the next few weeks, she practices getting down on one knee in heels.

Her delivery of the actual speech is kind of a blur, and she tunes back in as she motions to everyone to hold on for a moment as she descends the stairs of the stage. Emmett in particular looks really confused, and she has to pull rather firmly on his hands to get him to move from where he is. He’s momentarily shocked into silence, and looking up at him, she suddenly remembers he’s not quite the extrovert she is and it somehow hasn’t even occurred to her in the midst of her scheming that a big romantic gesture on this scale might completely freak him out.

But then he smiles, and he’s suddenly pulling her to her feet and looking into her eyes, nodding with elation and tenderness and more love than either of them could ever adequately verbalize – she slides the ring onto his finger as he… damn, is that a kiss, the Times Square sailor can kick rocks – and everyone is practically exploding all around them, but she can’t see or hear or bring herself to care. The ceremony must be concluding and he’s somehow more aware of their surroundings than she, because he reaches for the tassel on her mortarboard cap, moving it from left to right, his eyes never leaving hers.

(She thanks her past self for selecting the waterproof eyeliner this morning.)

Part of planning this whole thing down to the tiniest detail has included arranging a big graduation dinner. It’s an opportunity to celebrate two exciting events simultaneously, and it’ll also keep her parents from immediately delving into their ideas for their only daughter’s wedding. Elle knows she and Emmett will eventually figure out what they want, but already knows that it’ll look nothing like the vision in Harrison and Caroline’s heads.

Fortunately, Vivienne’s mom keeps them occupied – something about the DAR and how they can trace their lineage back to the Pilgrims or whatever. At one point, Elle looks around the noisy table. Enid is whispering something to Vivienne, who smiles back just a little wistfully – Elle’s not sure if Vivienne even knows what her future path looks like at this point, but it’s pretty clear Enid isn’t going anywhere regardless. Dana is engaged in an intense discussion with Paulette that bounces from epidurals to eyelash extensions and back. Brooke seems to be advising Kyle on core work to avoid lower back pain from carrying heavy objects, and Enid’s parents are going back and forth with Vivienne’s dad on the political implications of marriage equality, Gabe occasionally chiming in. She looks at Emmett, raising her eyebrows and tilting her head – asking silently whether he can believe this.

He takes her hand, and when she feels the edge of the titanium band brush against her fingers – well. Once again, waterproof eyeliner for the win.

After far too many toasts and a million neverending goodbyes, they’re finally home, and she’s just slipped off her shoes by the door when Emmett asks her to have a seat in the living room for a second. He returns with a large package in tow, settling beside her.

“What is all this?” Her eyes widen. “You didn’t have to-”

“As if I wasn’t going to get you a graduation gift,” he interrupts. “Open it.”

She removes the wrapping paper and takes the lid from the box. The satchel inside is modern-looking, a warm caramel color with lighter tote straps; she couldn’t have chosen a better court accessory herself.

“I love it!”

“Vegan leather,” he pronounces. “Look inside.”

There’s a fancy rectangular wooden box in the main compartment, the exact size of a fountain pen, and she grins. “You really went for all the attorney essentials, didn’t you? Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome,” he says, “Ah, check it out. It’s pretty special.”

It’s a pen. What, is the ink made of precious metals? she thinks wryly, but nonetheless lifts the lid of the box.

Resting inside is the expected writing implement, surrounding which is…

(Oh.

Oh.

It’s not the ink that’s made of precious metals, it’s- )

The entire thing would have hit the floor if not for Emmett’s reflexes; he gently takes the box from her and deftly removes the ring while keeping hold of her hand. “The stone was my great-grandmother’s,” he tells her softly. “My mom wore her ring for a little while, and when she needed money for bills, it was the one thing she couldn’t bear to part with. She said that when she met you, it became clear why she’d really held onto it.”

“It’s beautiful,” Elle whispers in a daze, eyes fixing on his as he slides it onto her finger. She takes his face in her hands and kisses him, her gaze eventually drifting down to the oval diamond. Turning her hand this way and that to see the delicate filigree band, she looks up at him with a start. “It’s pink.”

“Yeah, I didn’t really think the old setting was your style. And then Paulette and Vivienne both told me independent of one another that if I gave it to you as it was, there would be hell to pay.” He laughs. “So I found out rose gold was a thing and figured… a mix of old and new.”

She didn’t think either of their smiles could grow more, but they do, and she throws her arms around his neck as he leans back in toward her.

(He almost drops her on the way to their room.

Twice.)

Later, she’s beginning to drift off, her back against his chest, when his voice drowsily mumbles in her ear. “Hey.”

“Hey.” She shifts a little.

“Will you marry me?”

“What?”

“You got to actually pop the question. I didn’t.”

“Pretty sure that’s asked and answered, Emmett.”

“Overruled.”

She smiles a little. “What would you do right now if I said no?”

“Given the last twelve hours, trying to make it make sense would probably cause my brain to implode.”

“Well. We can’t have that.”

“It certainly wouldn’t help me make partner.”

“When you put it that way…”

“Elle.”

“Yes. Obviously.”

He chuckles, apparently satisfied. “Was that so difficult?”

“Emmett?”

“Hmm?”

“Sleep.”

“Okay.”

“I love you.”

She feels him pull her closer, and she hears him as her eyes flutter shut. “Love you.”

***

The calm of engaged bliss doesn’t last very long.

Elle only has a couple days to spare before diving full-force into bar prep, and she spends that first postgrad morning having breakfast with her parents before their flight back. Emmett offers to take off or go in late – he has a bunch of extra days banked and Angela is getting on his case about it – but she tells him to hold onto them for an actual vacation.

She regrets it before the server has even taken their order.

It starts out fine, as it usually does; her mother manages not to comment on Elle proposing first, and compliments her ring without any slights. And then Caroline brings up the wedding.

“Mom, we’ve been engaged for less than 24 hours, and I’m about to spend two months drowning in bar prep.” Elle smiles pointedly with as much patience as she can muster. “We have time.”

“Well, if we’re going to get space at the club for an event of that caliber, it’s important to request a date early. We’ll need it for the entire day.”

“You want us to… get married at your country club?” Elle’s not sure what she wants to do, nor does she have any idea what Emmett’s thinking at this point – but she’s certain tying the knot on a golf course in Malibu won’t speak to him any more than it does to her.

(Namely: not in the slightest.)

“Well, if that doesn’t interest you,” Caroline says incredulously, “your father has a few interesting clients who owe him favors.”

“You manage their wealth for them, Dad.” Elle smirks. “What favors other than payment can they possibly owe you?”

Harrison glances up from his phone long enough to say, “If you want Tom Selleck’s ranch, it’s yours.”

Once again, Elle tries and fails to imagine it. Three hundred of her parents’ nearest and dearest, an ultra-catered affair, every detail meticulously arranged and impossible to alter – she’s been to those kinds of weddings before, and they were never what she’d call a good time. And it’s impossible to even envision Emmett in a scenario like that.

She closes her eyes for a long moment, wondering if maybe City Hall is still an option – but then she sees it. Kind of, anyway; details elude her, but some elements are crystal clear. People the two of them actually know and care about, few enough that she gets a chance to actually talk to everyone who attends. Someplace pretty, yet not over-the-top. Walking down the aisle, maybe by herself – she’ll admit that one takes her by surprise, but not in a bad way – to meet Emmett at the other end.

That’s really all she wants, or needs.

(Although she wouldn’t mind a fabulous dress.)

“You know, you guys, I think we’re going to take things in a different direction. I don’t know exactly what that is yet, but Emmett and I will figure it out.”

Caroline purses her lips. “If we are paying for this wedding-“

“If you don’t want to, you don’t have to,” Elle finds herself saying. “Like I said, we’ll figure it out.”

It’s not where she expected the conversation to go, but as the words emerge, she realizes she fully stands behind them. Between her expected salary and what Emmett’s currently making, they can probably pull off something good – and not having any strings attached sounds pretty damn appealing.

Harrison’s head snaps up. “That won’t be necessary,” he says in a firm tone Elle’s only ever heard him use for business deals. Turning to Caroline, he continues, “Let her do what she wants. I won’t have us become a repeat of Nina and Stuart.”

Elle narrows her eyes. “What happened to Nina and Stuart?”

Caroline falters. “Well… two years ago, Joshua was seeing a girl they didn’t like. They told him to end it or they’d cut him off and he… ran off to Las Vegas with the girl. None of them have spoken since.”

“They have a child now,” Harrison chimes in, “who has yet to meet its paternal grandparents. Unacceptable. Excuse me.” He stands up and steps away, answering his ringing phone as he moves toward the exit.

Elle raises her eyebrows; she hasn’t spent enough time in California recently to see any of her parents’ friends, let alone their offspring. “You never told me about that, Mom.”

“Well, it’s very sad for Nina,” she allows. “And everyone thinks it’s rather embarrassing that her behavior led to this. It’s not something I would typically volunteer to share.”

“Oh.” Elle shrugs. “I mean, I’m sorry to hear it, but… thank you. For being willing to cover what we want to do. Unless Emmett is secretly a huge Tom Selleck fan, I know our wedding probably won’t look like what you imagined-”

“I’m sure it won’t. But… you should be happy.”

Elle begins to relax – apparently just a little too soon.

“I do want our friends to be able to celebrate this,” Caroline adds as Harrison returns to his seat, phone call over. “So I wonder if perhaps there’s a deal we can make.”

“I’m not really sure how,” Elle admits. 

Caroline thinks for a moment and brightens. “An engagement party. At the club. You and Emmett will fly out. You can certainly invite your friends as well.”

“It’s reasonable.” Harrison nods decisively.

Elle shrugs. “I’ll talk to Emmett.”

***

He’s about as enthusiastic about it as she expected.

“What does this kind of thing usuallly entail?”

Elle shrugs. “Cocktail party with a lot of people who care more about being seen there than the actual reason they’re gathering? But the food is usually okay.”

“They don’t expect you to ditch bar prep for this, do they?”

“I told them it has to be after. So like, end of July or beginning of August. Before my start date at Sawyer & Feldman.”

Emmett nods. “I mean, I don’t care. As long as you actually want to do it and you’re not going along with something you dread just to appease your parents.”

“It’s not that I want to appease them,” Elle explains. “I care about them, and… I know it probably doesn’t make a lot of sense to you, but all this high-society stuff comes with its own pressures. And who knows? It might be kind of fun for us. Margot and Serena and Pilar will all come, and you can totally invite whoever.”

Emmett shrugs. “I doubt anyone’s flying across the country for it, but… the Bay Area isn’t that far.”

“Like an hour-ish flight. Hop, skip, and jump.” She smiles, knowing his friend Keith is teaching at San Francisco State. 

“Okay, then. Engagement party in L.A. in August. Moratorium back on?”

(Their pact is that nothing wedding-related gets discussed in depth until she’s finished with the bar exam.

It was her idea, but she knows it’s probably up to him to actually enforce.)

She nods. “It is. Now can we please take advantage of my last 36 hours before I descend into hell?”

“We certainly can.” He smiles. “And… at least you’re bringing some friends along with you?”

“I’m kind of hoping it’s not actually that intense.”

Several days later, it becomes clear that, in fact, it very much is. The prep course certainly helps narrow her focus, but it’s still kind of like treading water in ankle weights for nine solid weeks until the first exam day rolls around. 

“I’m too nervous to eat anything,” she protests that morning as Emmett walks toward the table, plate and mug in hand to place next to his own. “Coffee’s probably a bad idea, too.”

“It’s half-caf,” he tells her, setting them down. “Enough to keep you going without your heart exploding by 10am. And if I recall, I never used to eat breakfast until someone insisted it would improve my energy and concentration, and they turned out to be right.”

“Nothing like my own words coming back to bite me,” she grumbles, examining the contents of the plate in front of her. Whole-wheat toast with almond butter and bananas – one of her go-to morning meals. She notices that he even remembered the cinnamon, and can’t help but smile. “Thank you, though.”

“Of course. Listen, this is going to go fine. Okay? You’ve got this.” His hand trails over the back of her shoulders as he moves toward his chair. “But you need to eat first.”

By the end of the following day, she feels like she’s just run the intellectual equivalent of a marathon, followed by a monster truck running over her. A bunch of people from her class took the exam at the same time, and they all agreed they’d wait until tomorrow to go out and celebrate being done; as she falls into bed before dark, she reflects on that decision and how smart they all really are.

She takes it easy the next day; they’re leaving for California the following night, so she triple-checks her packed bags to ensure she’s got everything, and in late afternoon gets dressed for the happy-hour gathering. It’s Emmett’s last day of work for almost two weeks, so he’s staying in the office late to tie up a few loose ends. He texts her to have fun and that he’ll meet up with them eventually, depending on when he leaves and where they are.

By Delta Nu standards, law school social events were closer to quiet chamomile-tea-and-knitting evenings than crazy nights out. So she’s somewhat out of practice with this kind of thing, but grins when Aaron declares his plan to drink away everything he ever learned about real property, and everyone else chimes in with similar intentions.

“I’m kind of ready to say goodbye to security interests,” Elle pipes up. “Are we getting pitchers?”

“Yeah, one for each of us,” Vivienne snorts as she signals toward the bartender.

By 7:30, Elle is three margaritas in and at least two sheets to the wind; the rest of the group is overall progressing at a similar pace. Everything anyone says or does is collectively hilarious, and it gets to the point that every few minutes, one person laughing sets off a chain of giggles until none of them can remember what was so funny in the first place.

Which in turn makes them laugh harder.

When Emmett texts her that he’s leaving work, she types an all-caps response that’s probably less than coherent, but also manages to send him a pin so he knows where the bar is. Almost an hour later, everyone has broken into smaller conversations; she’s working on margarita number four and her giggly exuberance has taken something of a turn, leaving her both maudlin and chatty.

“I just love him so much, you know?” she drawls to Vivienne, who’s got her elbow on the table propping up her head with one hand. “Like, he took Bruiser out twice a day when I was doing bar prep so it was one less thing I had to think about. And he always gets the organic milk because that’s what I like, even though he doesn’t really care. Oh, and you should know that when we’re, you know, he does this amazing thing-”

“I should absolutely not know that,” Vivienne interrupts, slurring her speech just a little.

“And I can tell him anything,” Elle continues as if Vivienne hasn’t spoken. “I could listen to him talk for hours and I never ever get sick of him. Oh, no.” She suddenly feels her face tense with worry. “Do you think he gets sick of me?”

With effort, Vivienne lifts her head momentarily. “Why don’t you ask him?” She halfheartedly flings her free hand up in the general direction of the door. “I wish they had pie here. Can we go somewhere with pie?”

Elle looks up and sees Emmett approaching their table; he must have stopped home to change, because he’s dressed a lot more casually than what he left wearing this morning.

“Oh my god, Vivienne. He’s really hot,” she whispers loudly. “I have a really hot fiancé. Huh. Fiancé is a weird word.”

“It’s not weird,” she mumbles. “It’s French.”

“Say something in French.”

“Fiancé.”

“Something else.”

Vivienne pauses. “I don’t remember anything else.”

“You drank enough to forget an entire language? That’s actually impressive.” They look up and Emmett’s standing there, looking highly amused.

It’s not like Elle didn’t see him walk in, but she feels an incredibly goofy smile come over her face regardless. “Hi!” She rises to her feet a little too quickly and immediately sits back down. “Oh, sitting is better. Come sit next to me!”

He does, taking in the scene in front of him with a chuckle. “Having fun?”

“So much fun. I erased tax law from my brain. All of it. And now you’re here and that’s the best.” Elle nods resolutely. “Do you ever get sick of me?”

He smiles. “I do not.”

“Oh. Good.” She sighs and attempts to lean over and put her head on his shoulder – except their chairs are a little too far apart, and she’s about to fall out of hers. He gently pushes her back upright.

“Maybe just… stay there for a little bit.”

“Hey, Emmett. Guess what?” Vivienne leans over, her head now at a precarious angle. “We’ve reached the oversharing portion of the evening.”

“Have you now?” He raises an eyebrow at Elle, who tries to look innocent.

“Yeah. And more power to you, apparently.” Vivienne lifts her highball glass in his direction, nearly sloshing what remains of… Elle’s pretty sure it’s her fifth vodka cranberry over the edge. “Personally, I’ve never had a guy do anything in bed that I’d publicly describe as amazing.”

“For the love of…” Emmett ducks his head, and when he looks at Elle again, she can’t help but notice his face is flushed – which sends her into another round of giggles. “Yeah, I think I’m gonna have to cut you off.” He reaches for her half-full margarita glass, setting it outside her reach.

“I didn’t give her details.” Elle feels a devious grin slowly spreading across her face. “But you know.”

“Wow.” He rubs his eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this…”

“Happy?”

“I was gonna go with plastered, but sure.” He’s biting back a smile. “And I genuinely hope you’re as happy tomorrow morning as you are right now.”

Meanwhile, Vivienne flings her head toward Enid on her other side. “I want to go to the diner.”

Enid, who’s nursing her third beer and doesn’t even look tipsy, turns from her conversation with Sundeep and Whitney. “We can do that, honey.” She rubs Vivienne’s shoulder, looking past her to Elle and Emmett. “Any interest? Probably would be wise to soak up some excess booze.”

“Yeah, you wouldn’t like me when I’m hungover,” Vivienne adds in a monotone.

Emmett nods. “Good call. I actually haven’t eaten, so-”

“You skipped dinner?” Elle gasps. “And you came out to party with us? That is not very responsible.”

He laughs. “We can address my reckless behavior later, let’s just focus on standing up for now.” 

It takes a couple attempts, but once she’s upright, she actually walks pretty steadily. (She’s got a vise grip on his arm, which is admittedly helping.)

They make it around the corner to a 24-hour greasy spoon, and Elle can’t decide between cheese fries and carrot cake. Both eventually appear in front of her, as well as coffee and what seems to be a bottomless glass of water.

She’s progressively more able to follow the conversation. Vivienne’s intoxication dissipates as she finally gets pie, and she’s talking about the NGO job she’s about to start; she’ll split her time between the local field office and shorter-term assignments abroad. Enid is staying on at McCord, Stone, & Baker as a new associate, and the partners have already told her that if she wants to accompany Vivienne overseas a few times a year, they’d more than consider it a fulfillment of her pro bono requirement.

Before Elle knows it, she feels considerably more clearheaded – although the basket on the table was not almost empty the last time she looked at it. She glances at Emmett suspiciously. “Are you eating my fries?”

“We’re engaged. I think that means what’s mine is yours and vice versa.” He shrugs nonchalantly, taking another bite of his sandwich.

“Oh. Cool. So I guess that means I can start sleeping in your Pearl Jam shirt? You know, the one you don’t even wear because you’re afraid it’ll fade in the wash?”

He pauses, then pushes the fries closer to her. “Why don’t you go ahead and finish these.”

“That’s what I thought.” She grins smugly.

***

Elle wakes up the next morning with a slight headache, but she’s had a few truly wicked hangovers before and this is nothing in comparison. Emmett’s already up, but there’s a full water glass and a bottle of ibuprofen on her nightstand.

She takes two pills, drains the glass, and pads out into the living room. “Morning.”

“Hey.” Emmett glances up from his book. “How are you feeling?”

“Not too bad. Thanks for the medicine, though. And for making me drink, like, the Amazon last night – I think that probably helped a lot.”

“Good.” He smiles. “There’s coffee if you want it.”

“If I want it,” she laughs. “I’ll be right back.”

Mug in hand, she heads back in a few minutes later, sitting at the other end of the couch. “Are you packed?”

Emmett nods. “Mostly. I’ll finish up in a little bit, but we don’t have to leave for the airport for six more hours. I assume you’ve been packed for weeks?”

“I would have been, but I didn’t really finish until yesterday. Pesky bar prep getting in my way.”

“It’s a relief to be done, though, right?”

“Yeah, and now I get to wait for another three months to find out if I passed.” She frowns. “I’d better have passed, just because I don’t think I can ever do that again.”

He reaches over, placing a hand on her knee. “I think it’ll be fine. Best thing to do is distract yourself.”

“I know.” She smiles. “Paulette’s picking up Bruiser around noon. Oh, and I forgot to tell you – the girls want to take me wedding dress shopping on Monday. Is that okay?”

“You don’t have to ask my permission,” he points out. “Of course, go. Keith is sticking around L.A. for a couple days after the party anyway, we can do something. But, uh… you’re looking at dresses before we set a date?”

She shrugs. “They can take months to come in. And anyway, why haven’t we set a date?”

“Good point, moratorium's over. Any ideas?”

“Not sure,” she says. “I guess it’ll depend on what season we want.“

“Which I suppose might depend on where we do this.”

“Yeah.” As Elle considers it, though, she realizes there’s really no question. “You know, I think I want to keep things kind of small. Like, I want my parents there, obviously. And some Delta Nus. And I know some of your friends would have to travel too… but pretty much all the other people we would want there are already around here.”

He nods. “Kind of makes the most sense.”

“And, you know. We fell in love here.” She smiles. “How could it be anywhere else?”

He grins. “Okay. So if it’s going to be here… spring is pretty nice.”

“It is. So, like, this coming spring? Or the year after?” She purses her lips in thought. “We’d have more time to plan if we waited.”

He’s quiet for a minute as he mulls it over. “Do you want to wait?”

“Not really,” she confesses. “You?”

“Elle, I’d marry you this afternoon if we didn’t have a flight to catch.” He smiles softly. “I’d rather not push it off for that long.”

She knows her expression is ridiculously saccharine and she doesn’t care. “Okay. How about… I guess May? It’s not usually as rainy.”

He nods. “Fine with me. When in May are you thinking?”

She takes a breath. “Well, we have to find a place to do this, and it’ll depend on when they have availability.”

“Do we have to do that right now?”

“I mean… soon.”

He smiles. “Okay. We have some time to kill at Logan and then a six-hour flight, I’m sure we can at least narrow it down.”

But when they step off the plane in L.A. that night, it has not been narrowed down in the slightest. They’re not remotely on the same page about where to get married; Elle thinks they might not even be in the same book.

“Can we table it for now?” he asks as they wait at baggage claim. “I know we have to figure something out soon, but it can wait until after this trip. Right?”

“Right,” she says, not entirely convinced.

The party is surprisingly uneventful; as Elle predicted, none of her parents’ friends or business associates or cronies particularly care about the couple they’re supposedly there to celebrate, so she and Emmett stick to their friends and the better hors d'oeuvres.

(What she couldn’t have predicted is that Margot and Keith would take a liking to each other, but it’s highly entertaining to watch.)

She shows Emmett around Santa Monica the next day, culminating in dinner at Katie’s restaurant; Elle’s old roommate personally brings out dessert for them.

“Your recipes have probably taken years off my life and it’s fully worth it,” Emmett says before taking a bite of strawberry-peach cobbler and involuntarily closing his eyes. “And… good lord. Not like I didn’t already know it, but you were absolutely robbed on Top Chef.”

“Oh, thanks!” Katie laughs, looking over to Elle. “I like him.”

On Monday morning the girls come to collect her, and Emmett kisses her as she heads to the door. “Have fun.”

“Don’t worry, Emmett!” Serena calls from the doorway. “We’ll make sure she gets a really sexy dress.”

Elle turns back to him, shaking her head. “I think I’m in the market for something a little more classic. Sorry to disappoint.”

He laughs. “I trust your taste.”

“Thank you.” She looks at her friends with a raised brow. “I know the stripper-Tinkerbell look is in right now, but I’m not looking back at my wedding photos in however many years and cringing at what I picked.”

“I get it,” Pilar chimes in. “But that look totally works for the honeymoon.”

Elle catches her friends glance in Emmett’s direction, as if to gauge his reaction. He just shrugs at Elle with a smirk. “Happy shopping.”

The girls have made reservations at three different boutiques. On the way to the first one, Pilar asks about the wedding venue, and Elle groans. “He was thinking, like, something in a park. But I asked what we do if it rains, and now he’s off that. And I’m kind of okay with some of the event spaces around the city, but he thinks they’re too, like, impersonal and not worth what they charge, so now we’re stuck.”

“Why not get married at Harvard?” Serena asks. “Like, at Harvard? People do that, right?”

“Yeah.” Elle scrunches up her face. “We actually talked about it. It wasn’t totally speaking to me, but I maybe could’ve gotten there. And then he said he felt like it was stuffy.”

“I can’t believe he’s pickier than you are about this.” Margot snorts from behind the wheel.

Elle shakes her head. “It’s not like I’m coming up with anything I love that much. But I’m starting to run out of ideas. Is this why people end up eloping?”

“If you try, we will all find you.” Margot gives her a quick sidelong glance. “Elle, if neither of you love anything… I don’t know, what’s something he likes a lot?”

“He reads all the time.” Elle shrugs.

“So get married in a bookstore,” Margot jokes. “Or, like, the library or something.”

Pilar and Serena laugh, but Elle grows quiet and pulls out her phone, rapidly typing.

“Oh my god, I love it.”

Pilar reaches forward from the back seat and taps her shoulder. “Huh?”

“Just… wait.” She continues typing. “There’s a courtyard.”

“Elle?” Serena’s now leaning toward her.

“Shh, just a second.” She selects a link and gasps. “Oh, that’s so pretty.”

“What’s so pretty?” Margot persists.

Elle grins. “Margot, you are a genius.”

“I am?” Margot smiles. “Cool.”

Elle passes her phone to the back seat, and shortly thereafter Serena and Pilar both voice their approval. Once they get to a red light and Margot can turn away from the road to look, she does the same.

She texts Emmett a link, followed by several question marks. Shortly thereafter, she receives a reply.

Yes. Absolutely yes – I had no idea the public library even had spaces like this.

She smiles. Neither did I. If you want, I can call them later to ask what’s open.

He doesn’t respond immediately, but after a few minutes, her phone vibrates and she sees a new message alert. I just did. They had the first Saturday in May available, I hope that works?

Elle types a quick affirmative reply and sighs happily.

At their first stop, Elle grudgingly tries on one Pilar’s picks, which does indeed look a lot more like lingerie than a bridal gown, and one of Serena’s, which is so tight from neckline to knee that Elle’s practically forced to hobble.

“How am I supposed to dance if I can’t walk?” she complains.

Serena smiles. “If you come out in that, no one will be thinking about dancing.”

“She’s right,” Margot acknowledges. “But.. do you want to try something a little more A-line and a little less Baby Got Back?”

“Yes, please.” Elle groans. “Can I just take this off out here? I’m going to fall flat on my face if I try to make it into the dressing room.”

The rest of the dresses at that place are equally a bust – but the next store’s stock is much more in line with what Elle was thinking. The attendant takes the time to really listen to what she wants, and after Elle tries on three that are very nice but not quite right, the attendant brings in this romantic, ethereal wonder of a gown that makes Elle’s jaw drop.

“This seems to check most of the boxes.”

Elle nods eagerly. “I don’t think I could have dreamed this up. I just really hope it fits.”

It does – like a glove – and it’s a good thing they’re the only ones in the boutique, because the girls start screaming the second she emerges from the dressing room.

“If you don’t say yes to that damn dress, Elle…” Pilar is bouncing on her toes. “It’s so you.”

The attendant quietly clears her throat. “Did you notice it has pockets?”

Her friends look up in silence, look at each other, and start screaming again. Meanwhile, Elle’s just staring in the mirror, a smile playing on her face. If perfection does exist, she’s pretty sure this is what it looks like.

People have told her all her life that she’s beautiful, but it’s one thing to hear it and something else entirely to believe it. This dress? It’s making her a believer.

And she’s going to wear it when she marries the person she loves more than anything. Who’s always believed she’s so much more than beautiful.

She’s never been one to wish time away – but next spring can’t possibly get here soon enough.

Chapter Text

It’s not that Emmett intended to balk about anything wedding-related; there’s really not much he wouldn’t do to make her happy. He’s just never thought about any of this stuff before, and all of a sudden they have a ton of decisions to make.

He feels a little out of his depth, is all.

But he isn’t really able to put it into words until after they’ve already gone back and forth for several hours while traveling – so he figures he’ll tell her whenever they pick it back up. Turns out he doesn’t have to, at least not about this; she stumbles upon the perfect location, and he spends the rest of that afternoon walking around with a dazed grin.

(Because now he can see it.)

“Dude, you in there?” Keith is waving a hand in front of Emmett’s face. “Look, it should make you happy that you’re marrying someone who’s probably out of your league, but were you not into dinosaurs as a kid?”

“Huh?” Emmett’s head snaps up. “Yeah, no, of course I was. Find me a kid who wasn’t.”

“Okay. Then how are you distracted when we’re standing in front of a bunch of T. rexes right now? ”

Emmett grins, knowing he’s already missed half the California Science Museum. “Because they’re overrated. Triceratops is where it’s at.”

Keith raises an eyebrow. “Those are fighting words, man. And I still can’t believe you’re over here planning to get hitched when I don’t even have a girlfriend.”

“It’s that hard to believe?”

“I mean, you’re the most cerebral person I know. I kind of figured if you got married at all, it would be to a jacket with elbow patches.”

“Oh, nice.” Emmett smirks. “I’m not sure how I’m more cerebral than the guy who just spent an entire lunch complaining about why people bother to read Beowulf at all if it’s not in the original Old English. And anyway, you and Margot seemed pretty into each other.”

“You might be onto something here with the whole… smart gorgeous blonde thing,” Keith admits. “Apparently when she was in college, everyone said Margot was minoring in Greek because she was so into the sorority, so then she-”

“Literally did just that. Yeah, I know. We all went to some family-run restaurant when she came to visit last summer and she ordered in Greek for us. They were so happy they kept bringing us food for the next two hours – Elle and I were eating leftovers for days.”

“Seems unlikely anything substantial will come of it, but we’ll see.” Keith smiles. “May’s not really that far away, huh?”

(Honestly, it’s much further away than Emmett would like.

But she’s never not been worth the wait.)

***

“Everything’s going to come together now,” Elle says when they’re back home. “Once you have a venue, the rest of it falls into place.”

She’s right; the recommended list of vendors helps them make quick work of filling in the blanks. They really only get stuck once.

“Band or DJ?” Elle asks him one evening.

Emmett hesitates. “I don’t know. We’ve seen both go pretty badly.”

“That band at Tania’s? Ugh. The singer was super off-key and the rest of them were playing way too fast for him to keep up.”

“Yeah. But let’s not forget Tracy’s DJ was pretty terrible.”

“Single Ladies going on forever.”

“Not to mention Papa Don’t Preach during the father-daughter dance.” Emmett shudders. “Are we doing that? Obviously not the Madonna part.”

“The father-daughter thing?”

“That, and structured dancing in general, I guess.”

Elle looks surprised. “Do you not want there to be, like, any dancing?”

“It just kind of feels like there are all these boxes to check at every wedding we go to.”

“We don’t have to do the exact same things everyone else does. But I like to dance. And no pressure, but I’m pretty sure your mom will be heartbroken if dancing doesn’t happen at all.”

“Heartbroken? I doubt it.” He snorts.

Elle raises an eyebrow. “Are you kidding? I saw Windham Workout Volume 4 sitting out the last time we were at her place. There is no way she’s not thinking about being in shape for this wedding.”

“She does those workouts all the time-“

“She does Volumes 1 and 2 all the time.” Elle’s shaking her head. “She’ll break out 3 when she wants something a little more challenging. She doesn’t usually touch 4.”

“Because…”

“Remember last month when you came home and I was laying on the floor and couldn’t move for like 20 minutes?”

He does, in fact, recall the day in question; she was surrounded by a jump rope and hand weights, insisting she was fine and just needed a second. Every time he tried to ask, she simply tossed her arm in the direction of the TV as if the gesture offered a full explanation.

“Well, that was Volume 4. It is not a maintenance workout.” Elle nods with authority. “So she definitely wants to look great.”

He arches a brow. “Looking great and dancing are not the same thing.” 

“I already know you’re a brilliant litigator, so argument for arguments’ sake will get you nowhere,” she says, though he’s all too familiar with what’s behind that particular smile. “If you want, though, we can call her right now and ask. I’m sure she’d be fine with the idea that she won’t get to dance with her only son at his wedding…”

“All right,” he groans. “Point taken.”

She looks at him oddly. “Does it make you nervous? Like, you feel like you can’t, or…?”

“We’ve been to somewhere around eight thousand weddings in the last couple years,” he points out. “I’ve danced at those, have I not?”

“You have.”

“So it’s not like I don’t know how. Just… never as the center of attention.”

“Oh. Then maybe we need to practice. Get you more comfortable.”

“Practice?” A rather terrible thought hits him all of a sudden. “Elle, please tell me you don’t want to do some viral-video choreographed… thing down the aisle or at the reception. I don’t know if I have the stomach for that, much less the feet.”

She smiles, flipping through her phone and placing it down on the coffee table once music begins playing - it’s soft with a slow tempo, oddly familiar. “No, I meant practice here. Just you and me.” She holds out her hand with a flourish.

He laughs, taking it in his and pulling her to her feet as he stands up. “Okay. That, I think I can handle.”

It’s strange for about 30 seconds, and then he feels like he’s been doing this kind of thing forever.

(Then again: she’s always had that effect on him.)

He’s surprised at how into it he gets, spinning her around and dramatically dipping her as she laughs breathlessly. “We should do this more often,” she says when the song ends.

He tilts his head, then nods. “I wouldn’t say no.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, why not?” He shrugs. “It’s kind of nice.”

“Excellent.” She’s grinning. “We might make a romantic out of you yet.”

“Don’t push your luck.”

(He wouldn’t really mind it, though. 

Not if it makes her happy.)

***

They spend the beginning of fall making and revising lists. He’s somewhat surprised to learn she doesn’t actually want to invite everyone she’s ever met in her life - not just because she’s a people magnet, but because she never wants anyone to feel left out. “You’re sure? It seemed like Tracy had every past and present Delta Nu on the planet at hers.”

Elle shrugs. “I think… I really want this to be the people we love. And for me, at least, not people I haven’t seen since I was a toddler, or crossed paths with a few times, or just… don’t know well. You and I don’t come from huge families or anything, so it’s not like there’s all those obligation invites.”

“What, like at Luke’s?” He and Elle had spent that reception part of a tiny college-friend island, amidst a veritable ocean of the bride and groom’s first cousins. 

“He barely had time to nod in the direction of our table. I don’t think anyone in the wedding party even sat down the whole night.” Elle laughs. “Let’s not do that, okay?”

“Believe me, you don’t have to twist my arm.” Emmett shakes his head. “So this is everyone?”

Elle critically glances at her computer screen, then nods. “Yeah, looks good. We can address save-the-dates this weekend.”

“That works. Except for this one,” Emmett says, pointing at the screen. “I think I want to drop it off in person.”

She looks at him inquisitively for a second, then breaks into a smile of understanding. “I think you should.”

Emmett’s circle isn’t quite as expansive as Elle’s, but he’s reasonably good about keeping in touch with the people in it. He tends to see them somewhat sporadically, given busy schedules and, in a lot of cases, physical distance. So there’s a fair amount of emailing back and forth, and the rare coffee or meal when in the same vicinity. 

In this case, though, he’s fallen behind even with electronic communication. Plus, it’s been two – maybe closer to three years since he’s actually seen this particular person face-to-face. 

He leaves work early a couple days later, parking two blocks away. The daily schedule hasn’t changed, and he walks in a few minutes after the final bell, once the initial crush of screaming adolescents has cleared. Looking around, he’s not sure how his old middle school ever felt like an inescapable abyss to him.

The social studies classroom is practically frozen in time, except the figure inside at the desk has more salt than pepper in her hair now. He smiles and raps on the open doorframe.

Ms. Chandler turns around, looking incredulous as she spots him. “Emmett Forrest, as I live and breathe! What brings one of my favorite students back to this humble institution?”

“I thought you like all of us the same,” a small voice pops up from the back of the room, indignant. 

“Caleb, get going, all right? It was a joke. Teachers don’t have favorites.”

As the straggler rushes out the door, Ms. Chandler looks at Emmett, mouthing ‘Yes we do’ and motioning him forward. 

Emmett chuckles as he enters the classroom. “Love what you’ve done with the place, Ms. Chandler.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’ve been telling you to call me Hannah since you graduated high school.”

“I expect that would probably take a miracle at this point.” He shrugs.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You and Keith Saunders are my only two former Quiz Bowlers who have a weird mental block about it. You still in touch with him?”

Emmett nods. “I saw him a couple months ago out in California. He actually said to say hello if I ran into you.”

“Very nice. Your girlfriend – she’s from California too, isn’t she?” Ms. Chandler asks. 

“Good memory, but she’s not my girlfriend anymore,” he says, biting back a grin. 

“You didn’t-“

“Well, we were out there for our engagement party. So.”

“Oh, I get it. You with those funny jokes of yours.”

He shrugs. “Must be nice to know some things never change, right?”

Ms. Chandler pauses and looks at him warmly. “You’re getting married, Emmett.”

“I meant to tell you, but the summer got away from me a little.”

“Congratulations.” She smiles, shaking her head a bit. “I think this means I’m getting old, but that’s my problem, not yours. How’d you propose?”

“Well…” He holds up his left hand. “She actually beat me to it. Interrupted her own valedictorian speech at law school graduation.”

“Amazing,” Ms. Chandler laughs. “Hold onto that one.”

“I fully intend to.” He reaches into his jacket pocket, pulling out an envelope. “That’s actually why I’m here – this is for you.”

She opens it and her smile widens. “You know, over thirty years of teaching and this is… I want to say the third former student’s wedding I’ve been invited to. And one of the other two was my nephew, so I’m not sure that counts.”

“Well, without you, it’s hard to imagine any of this would have played out the way it did,” he says. “So I’d – we’d love for you to be there. Elle can’t wait to meet you.”

“I’d be thrilled.” She holds up the vellum card. “And I appreciate you saying that. You a little more okay now with people helping you out once in a while?”

“Believe it or not, I’ve come to terms with that.” He hesitates for a second before continuing. “And… it’s considerably more than once in a while, if I’m being honest.”

A curious expression crosses over Ms. Chandler’s face – he suspects she always knew a lot more than she let on – but then she nods decisively. “Glad to hear it. You deserve to be happy, you know?”

“You getting me out of here went a long way toward that.”

She scoffs, but he can tell she’s amused. “You got yourself out of here. I just did the paperwork.” 

He smiles again, inclining his head. “I’ll see you in May, Ms. Chandler.”

“Hannah.”

“Not a chance.” He laughs.

“By the way, that’s one hell of a suit.”

Emmett turns around, takes in the classroom fully. The same green chalkboard; same perilously overstuffed bookshelves; same Australia-shaped water stain on the ceiling near the back. He looks at the desk in the second row all the way to the right; it’s just so small.

All of it, really, is so much smaller than what his world has become.

“Thank you.”

 ***

It occurs to him on his way home that it’s been exactly three years since a bunny on a bench changed his entire trajectory.

Or, more accurately, since they changed each other’s.

He’s in the building hallway, still several feet away from their apartment when he hears a shriek from inside. Concerned, he hastens his pace, unlocking the door quickly. “What’s wrong? I heard-”

Elle turns to him, practically hyperventilating – but she’s got the biggest smile on her face. “Look.” She points to her laptop with a shaking hand.

He scans the open email message and smiles. “You did it.”

“I passed.”

“Of course you passed.”

“I never have to take that stupid thing again.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Which is good, because estate planning left my brain that night we all went out and I don’t think it’s ever coming back.”

He laughs, reaching for her. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

She kisses him. “I love you. So should we put ‘Forrest and Woods, attorneys at law’ on our mailbox?”

He laughs. “If you really want to. That reminds me – you tell your parents yet about that?”

“That I’m keeping my name? Yeah.” She rolls her eyes. “I’ll give you three guesses as to how they reacted.”

He pretends to think. “Your dad had no reaction at all and it went over like a lead balloon with your mom.”

“Spot on. Add it to the ever-growing list of reasons she’s convinced you’re going to leave me.”

“Any way we can convince her the Venn diagram of her list and reasons I love you is awfully close to a circle?”

“Probably not. But I’m actually having a little fun watching her stew about it.”

***

As far as moms go, things are good with his. Maybe better than they ever were, because he feels like he doesn’t have to select his words quite as carefully and she’s consistently strived to be more open with him about past things she’d have previously brushed under the rug. He’s accepted that his upbringing can charitably be described as unorthodox. So it makes sense that navigating how they relate to each other in this capacity has required a bit more time and effort.

He and Elle host Christmas dinner that year, and looking at the jovial chaos of a dozen-plus people packed into their apartment, it’s hard to believe this is the same holiday where he and Dana used to silently trade off takeout cartons in front of the TV. The meal itself remains the same, though, Elle being more than happy to maintain that tradition – plus the new one where myriad homemade desserts follow. 

After they eat, Paulette and Kyle collect their overtired brood and head out; everyone else gathers in the living room, but Dana insists on loading the dishwasher. “You two have done enough.”

Emmett lingers in the kitchen. “Not a bad Christmas, huh?”

“Not bad at all.” Dana glances up briefly and smiles. “Thanks for the book.”

“You’re welcome, I think you’ll like it.” He nods. “So many people in here tonight, I haven’t had a chance to actually ask how you’re doing.”

She turns off the sink, closing the dishwasher and turning around. “Everything’s been pretty good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ve actually been doing a lot of thinking lately.”

“About anything in particular?”

“What you said awhile back.” She sighs. “And maybe that ship hasn’t sailed like I thought it has.”

“You’re finally going to pull the trigger and move in with Gabe?”

“I’m warming to the idea. Let’s leave it at that.”

“I think that’s fair.” He grins. “Come on, I think we’re in time to catch It’s a Wonderful Life.”

“Again?” She rolls her eyes. “All right, why not?”

The thing is, Emmett’s been doing a lot of thinking as well. About white shingles and blue shutters. Summer weekends and eventually retirement. After considering why he wanted to do this in the first place, he finds himself even more motivated now – and finally in a place financially where he can make it happen. (He paid off his student loans in full last year and he still has to convince himself there hasn’t been an enormous bank error in his favor whenever he looks at his savings account.)

Elle’s on board, but then she always has been. Not long after the new year, he brings it up again and she looks contemplative.

“You might want to talk to Gabe,” she finally says. “Like, he didn’t say anything outright, but at Christmas he kind of alluded to them maybe taking some steps.”

He nods. “My mom did too.”

“What do you think?”

“About them potentially moving in together? He’s a good guy and she’s happy. Not much for me to think about.”

“Except… it kind of makes the whole you-buying-her-a-house thing a little more complicated if she’s not living there by herself,” Elle says. “Well, maybe not complicated, necessarily. But a conversation wouldn’t be a bad idea. You know, make sure everyone’s in the loop?”

Emmett mulls it over. “Probably sensible.”

Gabe somehow doesn’t seem all that surprised to hear from him. When they meet the following week, he confirms to Emmett that Dana asked him to move in.

“Years ago, I asked her, but she kept saying no. And I didn’t want to pressure her, so I told her the ball was in her court if she ever changed her mind.” He smiles. “And she did. But I know you’ve been apprehensive before. With good reason, mind you.”

“She’s told you a lot?”

“Everything, as far as I know. She said she… didn’t want any more secrets.”

Emmett nods. “Good. That’s important.”

“So is this the man-to-man talk I’ve long been anticipating?” Gabe looks at him expectantly.

“If I planned to ask you what your intentions are with my mother, I wouldn’t have waited five years,” he says with a smile. “There is this one thing, though.” He talks about the vision that’s driven him through countless all-nighters and neverending false starts, and how it’s actually plausible. “So she – well, both of you now, I guess – would have that.”

Gabe looks floored. “That’s a pretty incredible thing to do. But you and Elle, aren’t you thinking about a house yourselves, and-” 

“It’s definitely manageable,” he assures him. “We’re doing okay.”

(A lot more than okay, especially by the standards of his childhood – but that’s neither here nor there.)

Gabe nods thoughtfully. “Emmett, I know you said you weren’t asking about intentions, but if it’s all right, I’m going to volunteer one: I want to take care of her. As much as she’ll let me, anyway.”

Emmett smiles. “I had no doubt.”

“So I’m wondering,” Gabe continues, “what your thoughts would be on letting me help out there.”

“Help out with…?”

“I’m selling my place and my pension will be covered by the hospital, so I’m doing okay, too,” Gabe says. “And if I’m living somewhere and not contributing, it’s not a great feeling. Do you understand?”

Emmett does understand, at least in theory – but in practice, he can’t help but be set on following through as he’d always planned. “Can I think about it?” he finally asks.

He eventually heads out, and brings it up to Elle over dinner that night. “I’m not opposed to being helped out. Really. It’s just strange when I’ve had this idea for so long and it’s not quite looking like I expected.”

She thinks for a moment. “I guess… what’s more important to you? That she have this place you’ve wanted her to have for so long, or that you pay for it?”

“It can’t be both?” He shrugs.

She extends her arm, resting her hand palm up on the table next to him and smiling a little when he laces his fingers through hers. “Follow-up question.”

“Go for it.”

“If my parents bought me a house, and the plan was for both of us to live there… how would you feel?”

“Honestly, kind of like a freeloader,” he responds automatically.

“And you’d be okay with them ignoring how you feel and doing it anyway?”

(Oh.)

She looks at him, expression unchanging, until he sighs and nods. “Remind me why you always have to be right?”

“You already know the answer to that.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m thinking maybe you’ve reached your wisdom quota for the day.”

“Never,” she says, laughing. “The limit does not exist.”

“I understand that reference.” He grins. “Thank you.”

She squeezes his hand. “Anytime.”

In the end, the place looks absolutely nothing like what he originally envisioned, but it’s spacious and gets great light. (Elle is pretty key in ensuring the style is to Dana’s taste.) He and Gabe work out the numbers to what they both feel is fair. “She’d never have done this for herself,” Gabe tells him.

“You’re not wrong.” Emmett smiles.

His mom is a little confused as to why they’re all driving almost two hours for what’s supposed to be a routine Sunday lunch in the middle of March, but when she sees the house and her own name on the deed, her reaction is worth every penny and every second that it took to get there.

***

Spring sneaks up on them, and it’s May before he knows it, with friends flooding in from all over the place. He and Elle agree to keep things relatively chill in terms of pre-wedding festivities, so the day prior, his friends take him to a trivia thing and she and her entourage head out to a spa. Paulette insists that they spend the night separately, which seems a little futile to him, but Elle concedes that they’ve flouted enough traditions and can handle listening to her matron of honor about this one thing.

The issue with the whole ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’ thing is that when he’s supposed to be getting ready the next day, all he’s thinking about is seeing her.

“I thought lawyers have to wear ties every day,” Keith says, snapping him out of his reverie.

Emmett snorts. “We do.”

“Does yours usually look like you’re strangling yourself?”

Looking down, Emmett sighs at the rather accurate description, but then hears a knock. “It’s open.”

His mom walks in, a soft smile on her face that widens as she sees him. “Need some help with that?”

“Be my guest. I’m clearly on a different planet right now.”

“See you in a few,” Keith says with a grin, heading toward the door.

She undoes his convoluted attempt and starts over. “Nervous?”

“No, not really.” He shakes his head as lightly as he can to avoid impeding her progress. “Just… ready.”

“You’ve been ready for a long time.”

He smiles. “Yeah.”

“You know, years ago when you called me about bringing her over for Christmas, there was… I don’t know, something in your voice,” Dana says, looping the silk through the knot at the top. “Something different. You might not have known then that this would happen, but it was clear she was special.”

“You got all this from a phone call about allergies?” He laughs.

Dana nods. “I did. And now you’re actually ready.” She steps back. “I’m proud of you, you know that?”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Now go see her before you have a coronary.”

He laughs again and heads toward the door and down the hall. Elle’s the one who brought up the idea of this first look thing, and he’s perfectly fine with her (and, fine, possibly a well-positioned photographer) being the only one privy to his initial reaction right now. They’re supposed to meet in one of the smaller rooms; the door is open when he gets there and steps over the threshold.

Not that he ever expected she wouldn’t look amazing, but he finds himself stunned regardless. Her dress has all these intricate details he doubts he can describe properly but knows she probably loves, and transitions from white at the neckline to – what else? – a pale pink near the hem.

It’s that smile, though, that he immediately zeroes in on.

And somehow it doesn’t matter that Paulette and Kyle’s daughter vigorously dumps her entire basket of flower petals halfway down the aisle and then runs off; doesn’t matter their officiant drops a bunch of index cards and has to improvise through half the ceremony; doesn’t even matter when multiple toasts are given, the coherence progressively declining as the night goes on.

(There’s some kind of Delta Nu song, apparently, and Elle’s friends only get through the first line before they abruptly stop, look at one another awkwardly, and skip to something at the end about sisterhood.)

Because parties come to an end – but the real adventure is about to start.

Chapter Text

Two weeks after they get back from their honeymoon, Elle gets a text as she’s preparing to leave home in the morning. Emmett headed out before her due to an early meeting, and forgot a file he needs – so he’s asking if she can swing by with it before work.

No problem, she responds. Her first meeting isn't until 10 anyway, so she's got a little time for once.

She arrives at his office; the receptionist knows her well by now and greets her warmly, waving her through. Shortly before she reaches Emmett's office, Elle nearly crashes into a young-ish guy she's never seen before. He looks her up and down and then scoffs at her. “You want to watch where you’re going?”

Elle raises an eyebrow. “I believe the phrase you’re looking for is ‘excuse me.’”

“Yeah, excuse you.” The guy rolls his eyes. “There are some actual important things going on in this office, in case you weren’t aware.”

“Are there really?” Elle asks sarcastically, spotting both Emmett and Natalie in her peripheral vision and subtly holding out her hand to keep them at bay. Natalie looks as if she’s about to intervene anyway, but Emmett shakes his head.

(Elle knows he’d step in in a second if she wanted him to – but she’s more than capable of dealing with this one on her own.

And there’s no way he won’t enjoy watching it unfold.)

“You must be very important around here if you’re in such a hurry,” she continues.

He appears to puff himself up a little. “I’m the only rising 2L interning here this summer. If you even know what that means.”

Elle pretends to think. “2L… that means you’re like, in law school, right?”

“Uh, yeah.” He snickers. “Harvard Law.”

“Oh, wow!” She smiles brightly. “That’s so impressive. Who’s your faculty supervisor for this internship?”

“What?” He falters a little. “Uh… Stromwell, but-”

“Oh my god, Anne! How is she? I was so sad she couldn’t make it to my wedding, I definitely owe her an email.”

“How do you know…?”

“I had her too,” Elle explains in a cheerful tone. “You know, when I was there? I’m sure I wasn’t nearly as amazing as you are, though. I mean, like, being law school valedictorian is totally pointless, right?”

He pales, and Elle thoroughly enjoys the regret washing over his face. “I, uh… I think-”

“What’s your name? I want to make sure I let Anne know I ran into one of her future shining stars!”

“Well, that’s not-”

“Hey, Rick.” Elle turns around to see Natalie approaching them, her face grim. Emmett stays a bit farther back, amusement in his eyes. “Congratulations. You have the distinction of being the shortest-lasting intern we’ve ever had. What was that, Emmett, an hour?”

“Hmm.” Emmett counts on his fingers. “That sounds about right. Although he spent the first 20 minutes filling out paperwork.”

“Wow, bravo.” Natalie rolls her eyes. “People don’t talk to each other like that around here. Get your stuff and go. We’ll reach out to your supervisor.”

“I hope you find something fun to do this summer,” Emmett adds. “You’ll have plenty of free time.”

As Rick stands there shaking his head in disbelief, Elle smiles at Emmett and steps forward, handing Natalie the file. “As requested. Later!”

As she turns to leave, she hears Rick stammer, “No way is all that true.”

“It is,” Natalie responds tersely. “I’m going back to my office and you’re done. Now.”

“But…” Rick must have turned to Emmett. “Come on, man, don’t let this happen over some chick. Who even is she?”

“She told you. Valedictorian of her Harvard Law class. Graduated right before you started there, and she does civil rights litigation now.” Elle rounds the corner and is out of their line of vision when she looks back, but she’s able to see Emmett begin to grin. “She’s also my wife.”

It’s not entirely surprising that that is what it takes for Rick to finally understand the reality of the situation, and his shoulders slump in defeat.

(Elle decides right then and there that today is going to be an excellent day.)

***

Around their first anniversary, Elle starts to think moving at the speed of light for, well, forever has at last begun to catch up with her. She’s inundated with the Norris case – her client was fired from a conglomerate shortly after filing a sexual harassment complaint with HR, and it’s picking up speed in the press – and almost everything else is getting pushed to the side.

She sees reminders on her calendar, makes a mental note to deal with them later, and then promptly forgets about them until something jogs her memory; often too late. It gets her pretty stressed out; like when she realizes she missed Margot’s birthday and tries to order 27 floral arrangements for same-day delivery.

(She spends the rest of that night fixated on how appalling it is that there’s a dearth of peonies in Southern California.)

Emmett is definitely on a partner track and work has been progressively more hectic for him as well; most weekday mornings consist of rushing around for both of them, and they briefly decompress and then crash at night.

“Not everyone gets to live such a glamorous life, you know,” he says wryly one morning as he comes out of the bedroom. She turns around, shuffling unevenly across the floor as she attempts to don her other shoe, and nearly crashes into him; he puts a hand under her elbow to steady her.

“Thanks.” She smiles at him, both shoes finally on. “And yeah, totally glamorous. We should consider writing a self-help book so other people can achieve what we have.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Yeah, I can commit to that in my copious spare time.”

“Just multitask. It’s not like depositions are important, right?” She reaches forward and smooths the lapels of his jacket. “I have court all day and then a staff meeting, so I’ll probably be home at like 7.”

“Me too. Maybe a little earlier, depending on how long mediation goes.” He smiles, leaning in to quickly kiss her. “I can pick something up for dinner.”

“Please and thank you.” She smiles. “Vacation soon?”

“Can’t promise when ‘soon’ will be. But absolutely.”

There’s not really a great opportunity, though, as they head into summer. Around July, Emmett’s fully mired in a custody case that gets to him more than most.

One night he walks in the door looking completely worn out, and collapses on the couch beside her without even taking off his shoes. “What’s going on?” Elle asks, concerned.

“The father coached the kid to say the mother was hitting him,” Emmett replies robotically, eyes trained on the ceiling. “Which she swears up and down she never has, and for the record I believe her. But she talks shit about the father in front of the kid too. It makes no sense to me – they have a child, whom they both supposedly love, and they use him as a weapon because of how much they hate each other. Instead of, you know, looking out for his best interests.”

“It doesn’t make sense, you’re right.” Elle scoots over, reaching out to stroke his arm. “That has to be hard.”

“Why do people like this even have kids in the first place?” Emmett continues. “It’s bad enough when parents do everything right. Sometimes I don't get it."

"Get what?"

"People bringing kids into this world. There's war everywhere, no one knows what climate change will do – it's hard not to wonder if anyone should be reproducing at this point.”

Elle knows what’s happening in the case hit a nerve with him, and it’s understandable. They’ve talked about kids plenty of times, though, and both of them have always been in favor of starting a family at some point. So the second part of what he says isn’t sitting all that well with her. She cautiously chalks it up to venting and decides she'll bring it back up once things have simmered down a little.

He seems fine in the morning, though, and as with a whole lot of other things lately, it drops directly out of her head. His case finally concludes shortly thereafter; Elle lands her client a fairly substantial settlement that same week. Given their mutual exhaustion and the fact that their anniversary celebration was pretty half-assed out of necessity, the two of them agree that it’s finally time for that much-needed vacation. They rule out visiting people or heavy sightseeing on the basis of being plain worn out, instead opting for a beach hotel around an hour away. Elle insists on the ocean view room with beach access, because if they’re doing this, they’re going all out.

(Not that they see all that much of the ocean.

But there are no complaints from either party.)

They head back to work the following week well-rested and refreshed, and for a good while after, everything seems a little lighter; less tension, more space to breathe. It feels like they’re finding their balance again.

The last week of August, Elle wakes up exhausted. Which makes zero sense given that they went to bed at a totally reasonable hour the night before. She figures maybe she had some kind of weird REM disturbance, and stops for a venti macchiato. She hits a wall after lunch and her assistant picks up another for her – but she’s sure it has to be a one-off.

Except the same thing happens the following day. And the day after that, straight into the next week. She almost passes out during a meeting, and subsequently stays on her feet in the conference room, telling anyone who offers her a chair that “sitting is the new smoking.” It at least forces her to keep her eyes open.

On Thursday morning, she gets to her office – she’s ordering coffee like Emmett now, extra shots and all – and is settling in when a strange scent wafts past her. It’s all she can do not to openly gag.

She has no idea where the smell is coming from, but she identifies fake butter and overcooked eggs, and it is absolutely revolting. Her office door is slightly ajar, and the smell seems to get stronger the closer she is; she opens it a crack more, and sees an unopened fast food bag on the reception desk by the front entrance.

Thirty feet away.

Elle closes her office door fully and pops a mint, sitting down and closing her eyes for a long moment. Jake has McMuffins several times a week and it’s never once bothered Elle before. Maybe she’s coming down with something, because this is so strange. For some reason it makes her think of when Paulette said she could smell cardboard on Kyle, but that was when she was-

Wait a second.

Elle’s eyes widen as she’s suddenly more awake than she’s been in weeks. This can’t be possible, can it? She doesn’t remember the last time she had her period, but that’s normal with the Nexplanon and- 

“Oh, no,” she whispers.

Her appointment to swap it out was months ago, and she cancelled a few hours before because a deposition ran long. Told them she would call to reschedule because she was in a rush to get back and didn’t have her calendar on her, and then she never-

It’s just that the Norris case was wrapping up and she was so slammed…

How did she let this happen?

She tries to calm herself, think logically, plan for next steps. She’ll call the doctor’s office; that’s a good place to start.

The receptionist initially says there are no appointments for two weeks, and it’s not that Elle means to burst into tears, she just needs a little more guidance than peeing on a stick in her own bathroom can offer. The receptionist, sounding a little frightened, puts Elle on hold briefly and then tells her Dr. Miller will squeeze her in at the end of the day tomorrow.

As Thursday drags on, every hour seems to stretch into eternity. Jake’s cologne turns out to have an even more offensive odor than his breakfast, and she realizes she wants to throw up at the mere thought of consuming anything other than dry cornflakes. Worse still, Emmett’s at a conference in Baltimore, not due back until the weekend. She would strongly prefer to talk to him face-to-face about anything related to this, and resolves that regardless, she can't until – unless? – it’s actually real.

Sleep eludes her despite her exhaustion, and she’s pretty sure she dissociates her way through Friday, because she barely remembers her drive to the medical office, much less anything to do with work.

They direct her to the bathroom as soon as she walks in and call her back to an exam room pretty quickly thereafter. She’s not sure why she feels like she’s bracing for bad news either way, but-

There’s a swift knock and the door opens. “Well, congratulations. You are most definitely pregnant,” Dr. Miller says by way of greeting as she walks in. “We might as well take out the old Nexplanon today, too. It’s clearly run its course.”

“Oh.” Elle looks down at her knees.

Dr. Miller pauses. “If this isn’t good news, then we can talk about options.”

“It’s not that it’s…” Elle trails off. “I just wasn’t expecting this, you know, now.”

“Have you talked to your husband? Maybe you want to call him?”

Elle’s initial instinct is to say yes and reach for her phone – and then she suddenly hears two-months-ago Emmett asking why anyone is having kids at all, the world being what it is. They never discussed it any further; there seemed to be no urgency, and Elle honestly forgot all about it until… well, right now. She’s the one who was supposed to deal with this, and he’s away to boot, so if she puts this out there and it turns out he-

She looks up at Dr. Miller and shakes her head no. “Not right this second. What do I do now?”

She leaves 45 minutes later with a bandaged arm, a prescription for prenatal vitamins, and an appointment reminder card. Dr. Miller said she’s probably at about seven or eight weeks, which she can’t really wrap her head around. She had no clue this whole time, and she’s been chugging coffee and ordering lunch from salad bars and taking hot baths to relax. Not that she even knew the last two were potential issues until Dr. Miller told her today, but it’s scary to think she’s already made a ton of mistakes. When she gets home, she pulls up Emmett’s number in her contacts about a hundred times, but never actually dials. Obviously she’s going to tell him, and soon; she just needs a little more time.

(Plus, it doesn’t seem like a great idea to drop “I forgot to handle something basic I said I would and now I’m pregnant with what will eventually be a baby you might not even want” on him right before he heads to a networking dinner.)

Instead, Elle stares at the ceiling for a while, then eventually decides that she needs protein and tries to force down something other than cereal. Within half an hour, she receives very uncomfortable proof that her body is now officially running the show.

As she’s brushing her teeth, she hears something outside that’s a bit like a door closing. She turns off the sink and freezes, toothbrush still mid-stroke across her molars, and tentatively steps toward the door, which she shut out of habit despite being home alone. There’s nothing for a second, and then – a soft clunk, fabric rustling, footsteps.

(Footsteps?

They get closer, then seem to depart down the hall toward the bedroom.)

She flips the lock and desperately wishes she had a baseball bat or something. There’s no reason she would store one in the bathroom, of all places, even if she did – she shakes her head vigorously, telling herself to focus. She checks the under-sink cabinet as quietly as she can manage, and she’s of course out of aerosol hairspray, the one thing that might have made a decent weapon. The footsteps get closer again, and her stomach seizes for an entirely different reason than it did ten minutes ago.

“I have a gun!” The words come out in a near-shriek before she can stop herself, slightly muffled over Crest, and she claps a hand over her mouth.

“You what?” Emmett sounds incredulous.

Oh, god, it’s just... Elle feels herself deflate with relief, quickly rinsing her mouth and unlocking the door, flinging it open. “I wasn't expecting you back until tomorrow!”

“Yeah, but they cancelled the keynote speaker and there wasn’t much else to stick around for after this morning. I figured I’d head home early.” Emmett smiles tentatively. “So about that gun…”

“I thought it was someone breaking in!” As she speaks, another wave of nausea washes over her, seeming to radiate up through her chest all the way to her ears, and she grimaces.

Emmett glances at her with concern, placing a hand on her forearm. “Are you feeling all right? You look kind of pale.”

“No,” she groans.

“You’re sick?”

“I’m… queasy.”

“Come on, get into bed and I’ll bring you some water.”

She lets him lead her down the hall to the bedroom, but as she’s pulling back the comforter, her shirt sleeve rides up on her arm.

“What happened there?” He motions to the bandage.

She sighs, sitting down on the bed with her back to the headboard. “Stay with me for a second?”

He nods, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.

She looks away. “I’m not sick, Emmett.”

“But you’re-”

“I kind of screwed up a little. A lot. I don’t know.” She compels herself to keep his gaze.

Which is hard, because he looks more than a little alarmed right now. "What are you talking about?"

“The birth control, my arm thing… it expired and I’m-”

She doesn’t touch her stomach consciously, but her hand is suddenly on her lower abdomen regardless, and he inhales sharply.

“You’re pregnant.”

She nods.

“How… how long have you known?”

“Like, three hours. I’ve been really tired for the past week or two, but I just figured it was because we were busy, and then yesterday I realized I could smell McDonald’s breakfast from across the office, but the doctor couldn’t see me until this afternoon, and I didn’t know what to say. I still don’t really know what to say. I feel like I’m not making a lot of sense.”

“I'm not understanding how this is a screwup on your part.” His voice is gentle, and she ventures a glance up at him.

“Because it’s something that’s obviously pretty important and I was supposed to deal with it and then it just… poof. Immediately gone when things got crazy.” She bites her lip. “Sorry, I-”

“Nope,” he immediately says. “You have nothing to apologize for. All right?”

She shrugs wordlessly.

“Elle.” He sighs. “Remember that conversation we had when we started dating?”

“You’re going to have to narrow it down.”

“The one about how contraception is a shared responsibility? This is not, nor has it ever been totally on you. I could have remembered to ask and I didn’t.”

“Fair,” she allows. “It’s just I… Well, when you said-”

“When I said…?”

She looks down at the bedspread. “That case you had, the bad one with the parents fighting over their son, you said you wonder why anyone would have kids nowadays, and I… when I found out this afternoon, that was all I could think of. That… I don't know, that maybe you had a change of heart?”

“Wait, what?” He places a hand on her cheek, guiding her gaze back to him.

She hesitates for a few seconds before responding. “I mean, the timing is kind of a mess, not that there’s ever a good time, and there’s a lot that worries me about this. But it’s a completely different conversation if you don’t want to have-”

“Hold on a second.” He exhales in a puff, reaching for her hands. “Elle, I promise you that if I felt like I was vacillating about having kids, that’s not how I would have told you.”

She feels her breath catch. “So you don’t think-”

“No.” He looks at her steadily. “When I’m not pissed off beyond belief about something from work, I don’t actually think the world is doomed. And yeah, I do want kids. I…” His face softens as he nods toward her midsection. “Like I could ever not want something that’s half you.”

“Half you, too,” she says. “ I’m pretty sure that means they’re gonna be unstoppable.”

Emmett smiles, but his expression fades into something more contemplative. “Has this been bothering you this whole time? That was months ago.”

“Honestly? Things were so busy, it was just an ‘out of sight, out of mind’ kind of thing until now.” She shrugs. “Like, it wasn’t something conscious where I was trying to not talk about it.”

For a moment, he still looks a little pensive, and she can practically see him rolling her words over in his mind. She squeezes his hands, bringing his attention back to her.

“Emmett, this really was just a perfect storm. It fell out of my head. Right along with replacing my Nexplanon.” She laughs weakly. “But you know I would never deliberately not tell you if-”

“Yeah, I know. It just takes a second sometimes for my lizard brain to come up to speed.” He leans over and kisses her temple. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

(It doesn’t happen often; Elle knows he’s comfortable with who he is, and who they are, and logic almost always wins out in his mind. But he still has his lines in the sand; if anything, they’re even deeper since everything he found out a few years ago.

On the occasions like this where their wires get crossed, though, she knows how to help him dismantle his rising uncertainty before it can take control. Just like he knows what she needs when her thoughts run away with themselves and begin to lay siege – he’s able to crack open any anxiety cocoon from which she can’t easily escape on her own.

They’re not perfect people, and they never will be; but they’re just right for each other. And that’s far more important.)

He returns in a minute or two with a glass of water. “Forgot about this.” He places it on her nightstand and settles back in beside her. “So. You’re worried about stuff.”

“I... yeah.”

He tilts his head. “Come here.”

She scoots over until her head is resting on his shoulder, legs stretched out over his; she smiles a little as his arms envelop her. “We don’t have space in this apartment for a baby,” she begins. “You know how much stuff babies have. And I don’t want to be tripping over things constantly or feeling like we’ve become hoarders.”

“Well.” He exhales. “We’ve been talking about a house, right?”

“But we were thinking in another year or two,” she argues.

“This isn’t a bad reason to speed up the timeline.”

“Can we even find a house before…?”

“Did the doctor say when she thinks you’re due?”

“The last week of April.”

He rests his cheek on the top of her head. “It’s only September, and we already have a general idea of what we want and where we want to look. I’m sure we can make it happen.”

“Okay,” she sighs. “So that’s one.”

“What else you got?”

She balks. “It’s kind of stupid.”

“It’s not stupid if it’s bothering you.”

“I…” She shakes her head against him. “Who’s going to take me seriously in court if I’m dragging myself in with a giant belly?”

“Everyone,” he says without hesitation. “You’re formidable at your baseline, and that doesn’t just go away. If anything, it actually might make you more intimidating during cross.”

“How?”

“Because it’ll be obvious you’re not interested in dealing with any more bullshit than necessary.”

“I don’t know about that,” she says.

“I do,” he retorts. “My opposing counsel from two weeks ago is someone I’ve gone up against a few times in the last couple years. She’s tough, but I can hold my own. This time? She was incredibly pregnant and downright menacing.”

Elle laughs. “Okay. You might be right about that, then. But… like, what if you’re there during labor and it freaks you out and you never want to touch me again, and then my body never looks the same, and then we don’t get sleep until we die?”

He shifts them both a little and leans his head down so he’s looking at her. “You will never not be beautiful to me. That’s not even a question. Okay? And we’ll be sleep-deprived for a while, but I’ve been assured that gets better.”

She rests her head back down, ear over his heart. “None of this scares you?”

“None of that scares me,” he says. “Not particularly.”

“What does, then?”

“Specific to this?”

"Yes." She thinks. “And in general."

“In general..." He shrugs. "I don't know. Well, it's more of a strong dislike than a fear, but I’m not a big fan of needles.”

“Is anybody?”

“Probably not. I can grin and bear it when I need a vaccine or something, but if I actually see the thing, there’s a non-zero chance it’ll be lights out.”

“Thank you.” She nods.

"Not sure why that's helpful for you to know right now, but you're welcome."

“It's helpful to remember that you're not totally fearless and I'm not a neurotic train wreck by comparison. Anything specifically around having children?”

“My concerns there are more… based around not having any concrete idea on how to raise a kid.”

“Baby stuff? Or the older-kid stuff?”

“Both.”

She nods slowly. “Well. The older-kid stuff, I think we take as it comes. Paulette says you work your way up to it. And we know a lot about what not to do, right?”

“Valid point.”

“The baby stuff… I think there are classes we can take. And books.”

“I just remember Kyle complaining that trying to swaddle an actual baby is a lot harder than with the dolls you practice on.”

“He got really fast at it, though. Paulette said she timed him once and he could get both twins changed and wrapped up in under two minutes.” She thinks for a second. “Do you think Bruiser would let us practice on him?”

Emmett laughs. “I’m not sure how well that would go over. But classes are probably a good idea.”

“Yeah.” She burrows into him a little more. “I have to go back for an ultrasound on Wednesday.”

“Let me know what time,” he says without hesitation.

“I thought you have mediation again all next week-”

“This takes priority,” he tells her. “Okay?”

She smiles. “Thanks.”

“I realize that biology has created an unbalanced division of responsibility, but that doesn’t mean you’re gonna be stuck doing this by yourself.” He pulls her a bit closer.

“Thanks. And let’s be honest. If literally any of your colleagues ever find out you blew off your pregnant wife in favor of work,” she adds, “they’ll throw the biggest law book they can find at your head.”

He chuckles. “It’s not my primary motivation, but that too.”

They sit there in comfortable silence, and his hand drifts down toward her belly, warmth radiating where it settles over her navel.

She clears her throat. “I’m probably going to want to eat a bunch of weird stuff.”

“I think I can handle getting you weird stuff to eat. Anything sound particularly appealing right now?”

She thinks for a second. “Strawberry Pop-Tarts? Maybe? And I’m already a little sick of cornflakes, but at least I seem to be able to keep them down.”

“How about you keep me posted on what sounds good and what doesn’t, and I’ll try to accommodate?”

“Okay,” she says with a smile. “You should probably know I’m banning yogurt from the premises until further notice. Ugh. I might also ban the word ‘yogurt’. I’ll get back to you on that one.”

“That's fine.”

“Because I had some tonight and then threw up right before you got home.”

Emmett grimaces. “Sorry.”

“Out of my nose.”

“That is-“

“Everything still kind of smells like sour milk.”

He’s trying so hard to keep the disgust off his face that Elle can’t not laugh. “Sounds… incredibly unpleasant.” He gently tucks her hair behind her ear. “In case I don’t say it as often as I should, just know how much I appreciate everything you have to do here.”

(If he doesn’t stop looking at her like that, she’s somehow going to end up even more pregnant.)

***

Wednesday afternoon rolls around, and they meet at the doctor’s office after work. The tech is cheerfully pointing out all this different stuff to them, but Emmett murmurs to Elle that all he sees is some kind of weird reverse Rorschach test, and she starts giggling.

And then a rhythmic whooshing sound fills the room – which requires no explanation.

She inhales sharply and reaches for his hand; he looks as awed as she feels.

(Something shifts in that moment.

Nothing she could ever describe - but somehow, nothing about this is all that scary anymore.)

Chapter Text

As always, Emmett tries to be reasonable about what is and is not within his power. Lacking a magic wand to wave away morning sickness entirely, he does the next best thing and tracks down everything that keeps Elle’s at bay. 

(The winners are candied ginger and mini pretzel rods; she firmly maintains the twists don’t work as well and he figures he has no grounds to tell her she’s wrong.)

He does find it a little more challenging than expected to maintain his pledge regarding cravings. After the Pop-Tarts and cornflakes phase ends, plenty of others follow and often without warning. Cream cheese on one specific brand of raisin bread; miso soup with Caesar croutons; and his personal favorite, salad from one restaurant with dressing from another.

(He eventually asks the latter place if they’ll just sell him a bottle of the stuff, and thankfully they’re all too happy to oblige.)

Her doctor is pretty sure getting pregnant with the old Nexplanon in place isn’t going to cause any issues, but wants to see her once a month for the time being just in case. At the 12-week ultrasound, the amorphous blob they saw last time actually has attributes he can recognize, which is pretty wild. 

“About the size of a plum,” the ultrasound tech remarks casually.

Elle scoffs. “The fact that something the size of a plum can make me throw up twice a day makes me think evolution is seriously flawed.”

(Still. Hearing the heartbeat doesn’t ever get old.)

He knows she doesn’t particularly want to be coddled or hovered over, but he’d be lying if he said he knows what to do with himself right now. 

“Ugh, of course none of them fit,” she grumbles one morning later that week from inside the closet. It’s the only warning he gets before a bra flies past him and lands across the room, missing his shoulder by millimeters.

He looks behind him and then calls out toward the closet, “Normally I’d be all for you tossing lingerie in my direction, but we’re in a bit of a time crunch this morning.”

She groans, emerging in a fuzzy pink bathrobe she deliberately bought two sizes too big. “I can get away with sweaters for now, but everything else I own makes me look like, I don’t know, Dolly Parton after someone put all her clothes through a hot dryer. And I haven’t even started to get gigantic yet.”

He can generally tell without issue whether she wants help versus just wanting him to listen - but the last few months have redrawn the lines somewhat. He takes a stab in the dark and hopes it lands on the correct side.

“Paulette probably went through some version of this. You know? Three kids in two years.” He shrugs. “She might have an idea for the sort of… in-between stage.”

“But we weren’t going to tell anyone for another few weeks.” She bites her lip. “Just to be safe.”

“If you’re comfortable talking to her, I don’t think it would be unreasonable at this point. But it’s up to you.”

“Well,” she says, looking away. “It’s not fair if I get to tell someone and you don’t.”

He laughs. “I really don’t mind. But if it would make you feel better, I’ll tell someone too.”

“It would.” She nods. “Can I borrow your shirt? That should fit. For now, at least.”

His first instinct is to call his mom, but then he reconsiders, thinking it’s only fair for their parents to find out at the same time. That afternoon, he knocks on Natalie’s open office door.

“You have a second?”

“Sure.” She motions him in without looking away from what she’s reading. “What’s up?”

He closes the door behind him, taking a seat. “When you and Sam found out she was pregnant with Theo-”

Natalie’s head snaps up. “Is Elle…?”

“Yeah.”

“Congratulations!” She grins. “When is she due?”

“Thanks – around the end of April. We’re probably going to start telling more people soon, but I have questions none of the books seem to be able to answer. And the Internet just tells me I’m doing everything wrong, so…”

“Dude, stop right there. First things first, stay off the Internet,” Natalie says briskly. “It’s my greatest hope that at least half the people on any given pregnancy forum are actually bots, because a lot of their suggestions are stupid, dangerous, or both.”

“Gotcha.” He sighs. “I had more or less reached that conclusion, but it’s helpful to confirm.”

“And I know telling you this is like telling a dolphin to go live in a tree – but don’t read ahead in the pregnancy books. Stick to whatever point she’s at, because you’re gonna lose your mind if you go cover-to-cover. I’ll text you the names of the ones we didn’t totally hate.”

He nods. “Thanks. I guess I’m mostly wondering what I’m supposed to be doing right now.”

“How’s her appetite?”

“Uh…. morning sickness is kind of a misnomer, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, Sam was the same way from, like, six weeks until crowning.” Natalie grimaces. “Best thing I can tell you there is to leave hair ties everywhere. Nightstand, end tables, bathroom counter. That way if she’s suddenly nauseous and her hair is down-“

“That I can do.” He exhales. “What else?”

“Well… you need to be her husband first and the future father of her child second.”

“Meaning?”

“A lot of times when someone’s pregnant, what they want or need takes a backseat. Obviously stop her if she tries to drink lighter fluid or something, but also... don’t police her. Just because she’s growing a baby doesn’t mean she suddenly needs to be treated like one.”

“Makes sense.”

“The most important thing that I found, though, and I found out the hard way…” Natalie pauses. “From now on, you’re the bad guy.”

“Excuse me?”

“If people feel entitled to information you two don’t want to give, you need to be the one who tells them to mind their own business. Some asshole tries to touch her belly without permission, you’re getting in between them. Anyone wants to offer unsolicited advice, tell her horror stories about labor, show up unannounced right after she delivers? You shut them down.”

Emmett sighs. “Is that not policing her? I don’t want her to feel like I think she’s incapable-”

“I know. It’s a fine line to walk. But we’re both married to women who love their autonomy and I’ve been here before, so trust me on this. She will not realize she doesn’t have room on her plate for that kind of crap until she’s already too overwhelmed to deal with it. You’re a team, and this is the position you need to play right now. It’s not like you’re not tying her shoes for her – at least not yet. And everything else... well, you take it day by day.”

That… actually helps a lot. Thank you.”

“Not a problem. You’re gonna be great at this.”

“About that,” he admits. “I’m mildly terrified that I will in fact be awful at this.”

“Emmett, if you’re worried you’re gonna fuck something up, it generally means you try even harder not to. So you’re actually already ahead of the game.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Thanks. I think.” He stands to go.

“Just remember, all the sage wisdom you could ever want is right across the hall.” Natalie grins. “Congrats again, Dad.”  

He gets back to his office and stares at the carpet for a solid five minutes.

(He’s going to be someone’s dad.)

***

Paulette’s thrilled for them as well, if the joyful shriek he hears through the phone from clear across the room is any indication. “Oh my god, this is so great. I’m so happy for you two! We saved all the baby stuff, it’s yours if you want it. And we don’t ever want it back, we are done.”

As if on cue, the morning sickness stops as soon as Elle rounds the corner into the second trimester, and her energy perks up as well. She’s been devoting all she’s got to maintaining her usual standard at work, so Emmett’s really happy to see she’s no longer totally drained at the end of each day. They find a house they like, just outside the city limits; Elle falls in love with the sun porch at first sight. The rest of the place has been updated recently, so they won’t have to do very much, and there’s plenty of space for a family without being ostentatious. With the closing scheduled for early January, they can relax a little over the holidays.

They go to a movie just before Christmas, and just after the previews, she elbows him lightly. “Emmett.”

“Hmm?”

“My pants hurt.”

He looks over to find her slouched and pulling at the waistband of her jeans. “Weren’t you planning to get maternity clothes this week?” he whispers.

“I’ve been wearing a lot of dresses, I didn’t think I needed to yet,” she hisses back. “How long is this movie?”

“Two hours.”

She whimpers.

“Just undo the button. It’s dark in here, no one will see you.”

“I am not doing that,” she retorts under her breath. “This is not that kind of movie theater.”

“And you know a lot about those kinds of movie theaters, do you?” he can’t resist asking.

“Emmett Forrest, I will throw these Sour Patch Kids at you.”

“No, you won’t. You wouldn’t waste perfectly good candy like that.”

“It’s worth the sacrifice,” she practically growls.

Someone in the row behind them pointedly clears their throat, and both of them look at each other, sinking down further into their seats and stifling laughter. 

(The next day she goes shopping.

She’s never waxed ecstatic about spandex before, but then again, this experience is bringing a whole lot of firsts.)

When they start sharing the news with people on a wider scale, their friends are unsurprisingly delighted for them. They have dinner with his mom, who hugs them both and refuses to admit she’s crying despite clear evidence to the contrary. 

“I think my doctor sends patients to your hospital to deliver,” Elle realizes throughout the conversation. “Is that weird?”

“Nah. Other nurses have had their family members deliver with us,” Dana assures her. “Hell, two of my coworkers gave birth there. A delivery is a delivery.”

“Yeah, but you’re not gonna be her nurse, right?” Emmett asks. “I feel like that might be weird.”

Dana shakes her head. “It has to be a real emergency to assign us to a family member –  they’ll probably put me on one of the other units we cover if I’m working that day. But if you want, I can handpick your nurses.”

“Do we want certain nurses over others?” Elle wonders aloud.

“Would you want every lawyer you’ve ever met representing you?”

Emmett and Elle look at each other. “Yeah, fair point,” he concedes.

Being across the country, they tell Elle’s parents over FaceTime. Her dad congratulates them briefly before excusing himself; as always, he seems somewhat in disbelief when his accomplished adult daughter has any kind of milestone or achievement, but that’s clearly who he is. Her mom seems happy for them, at least until she issues some warning about how eating for two isn’t meant to be taken literally.

“Well, up until about two weeks ago, there was, like, a 50/50 chance that whatever I ate came right back up, so if anything, I’ve got some catching up to do,” Elle retorts, not even bothering to hide her eye roll.

Caroline wrinkles her nose. “Too much information.”

“I’m sure it happened to you too. You must have had some magical unicorn pregnancy with me if you never had morning sickness,” Elle counters.

Caroline shrugs. “I don’t remember much about that, but I did leave the hospital in my Calvin Kleins. It’s a shame some women use pregnancy as an excuse to let themselves go.”

Elle hesitates for just a second, and the ephemeral expression reminds Emmett of one he last saw years ago; the same night he first overheard this particular brand of bullshit from his now-mother-in-law. 

“You know, we actually need to get going,” he says. “That meeting about the house. Remember, Elle?”

It takes her a second, but once she picks up on what he's doing, she seamlessly plays along. “Oh, wow, I didn’t even realize the time! Gotta go, Mom. Talk later!”

As soon as they disconnect, Elle buries her face in her hands. “It somehow did not occur to me that she was gonna, you know, be herself about this.”

He puts an arm around her shoulders. “You all right?”

“Fine,” she grumbles. “That was just annoying. I’m actually going to go take a nap, being pregnant makes it even more exhausting to deal with her when she gets like this.”

Once he hears the bedroom door close, Emmett ruminates for a second – and then remembers Elle telling him about her parents’ friends being cut off by their kid and the social repercussions they faced. After mulling it over for another few minutes, he picks up his own phone, scrolling to a contact he rarely if ever dials. He’s well aware he might be overstepping, but Natalie’s advice is fresh in his mind – and this has been pissing him off for years already.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Caroline,” he says pleasantly.

“Emmett? Uh… did you two want to speak more?”

“Elle’s actually not here,” he corrects. “Just me. I was hoping to clarify a point from earlier, if you have a moment.”

“Yes…”

He knows she’ll hear the smile in his voice; hopefully she also hears the irritation behind it. “Maybe our connection was bad before, because I suspect I misheard you. What you must have trying to say there is that Elle looks beautiful. Radiant. Glowing, even. That’s what you were going for, right?”

Caroline falters. “Well, I-“

“No one would ever want her to get the wrong impression,” he continues, employing the easygoing tone he frequently uses in court right before he goes in for the kill. “Especially since she’ll always be beautiful and radiant and glowing – pregnancy notwithstanding. I’m sure you agree.”

“Ah, certainly-“

“Great!” He rarely if ever sounds this enthusiastic about anything. “I can’t imagine anyone would ever express a different sentiment, but if they did… well, I don’t see how they’d be welcome in our home.”

“Goodness, I-“

“I know! What a terrible thing that would be.” He chuckles with as much feigned self-deprecation as he can muster. “Fortunately, I can’t even think of a hypothetical world in which someone would be that disrespectful to my wife. Right? I’m so glad we’re all on the same page about this, Caroline, thanks very much.”

(Does he think Elle would back him if he actually tried to carry this out? It’s unlikely.

But he’s fairly certain his bluff will never be called.)

Caroline is clearly horrified at the prospect of having to explain to her country club entourage why she’s never met her prospective grandchild, and she stammers something vaguely complimentary. Emmett cheerfully says goodbye a minute later. 

“So there,” he says to his phone just after hanging up. 

“Want to tell me what the other end of that conversation sounded like?”

Emmett startles, seeing Elle in the open doorway from the hall. “Weren’t you taking a nap?”

“I asked mine first.” She gazes at him with a raised eyebrow.

He sighs. “It wasn’t my intention to encroach, for whatever it’s worth.”

“I didn’t think it was.” She takes a seat beside him. “You’ve just… never done that before.”

“Done what?”

“You know. ‘Disrespectful to my wife.’” She tries to drop her voice an octave or two with little success.

“You sound like Yoda with strep throat.” He chuckles briefly before sobering. “But you looked a little… Well, what she said before just seemed to bother you a lot more than it usually does. And selfishly, I couldn’t really take hearing it anymore.”

“I mean…” She suddenly leans against him, head on his shoulder. “That was kinda hot.”

“Oh, really?” He grins, tilting his head to look at her. 

“Yeah.” She tucks her head a little further into the crook of his neck. “You being all, like, tough and protective and stuff. And you’re right, it did bother me. A lot. Maybe because so much is changing and it’s hard not to see myself differently.” She absently rests a hand on the newly visible convex curve to her abdomen.

“That makes sense.” He places his hand atop hers.

“How did she sound?”

“A little afraid, actually.” He shrugs. 

“Yeah, that tracks,” Elle muses. “I think she’s always been a little afraid of you.”

“Me? Seriously?”

“Well, yeah. She’s never wanted to cross the good husband she always dreamed of me having. So who knows, maybe you’ve finally broken her.”

“Huh. That’s… excellent to know.” He leans down and kisses her forehead. “Caroline, behold my powers of intimidation at last,” he says dryly.

“So much for not bringing your work self home with you.” She giggles briefly, but then grows pensive. “I just… I don’t like feeling like I can’t handle things on my own.”

“I know. And you can handle this, or anything else just fine. But there’s a reason there are two of us. Right? It’s okay to delegate what you can. Save your energy for, you know, doing everything you normally do while also growing a human.”

“I get it,” she murmurs. “It’s just uncharted territory.”

“Maybe we leave it at this.” He closes his eyes for a beat. “If someone says or does something, and it makes you uncomfortable or upset enough to take away from what you’d rather be doing, I’ll be happy to tell them exactly where they can go. What do you think?”

She considers it. “I think that’s one of the sweetest things I’ve ever heard.”

***

They spend the week leading up to her anatomy scan going back and forth about finding out the sex.

“It can be helpful to plan ahead,” Emmett muses. 

“I absolutely agree,” Elle responds, “but I also hear Enid telling us gender is a social construct and it doesn’t matter.”

“Valid. That said, I do think knowledge makes things more concrete.”

“Yeah...” She seems a little uncertain all of a sudden. “More real.”

He looks at her, brow furrowed. “This doesn’t seem real yet?”

“No, it’s all definitely happening. Stretchy pants, doctors’ appointments, embargo on stilettos. It’s just…” She frowns. “That particular information is a different level of real.”

“Is that bad?”

“I don’t know yet. Is that bad?”

He shakes his head. “I kind of doubt there’s any wrong way to feel.”

Elle’s mulling this over when she startles, placing a hand on her belly. “Oh.”

“Is that…?”

“Not sure,” she says. “It’s like butterflies, a little? But different. And now it stopped.” She shrugs. “At this point I’m more used to feeling weird things than not.”

He defers to her on whether to find out; she’s firmly in the camp of letting it remain a mystery until mid-sonogram, when the tech asks and Elle looks at Emmett. “You know what? I think I do want to know.”

“You sure?” he asks.

She nods. “It’s real no matter what, might as well dive in with both feet, right?”

(The appointment is around lunchtime; they both head back to their respective offices afterward.

He catches sight of the word ‘daughter’ in a case brief and finds it impossible to think of anything else for the rest of the day.)

“You know this means we should probably start thinking about a name,” Elle mentions as they’re getting ready for bed. “Her name. Wow, I have to get used to that.”

He thinks for a long moment. “Yeah, I have no idea.” 

(At least one thing has been settled for a while now; Elle likes the idea of Woods as a middle name, but she’s adamant the kid will be a Forrest.

He’s not sure why, but he feels something akin to gratitude every time he thinks about it.)

“You don’t have any names you like?” she asks now.

“I know what I generally don’t like, does that help?”

“Sure.” She pushes her glasses up, settling cross-legged on the bed. “Narrows it down, right?”

“I guess.”

“So?” She gestures at him to continue.

He sits down next to her. “Nothing that starts with E. That much alliteration is kind of too cutesy for me to handle.”

She wrinkles her nose, but ultimately nods. “Then no place names, either.”

“My dreams of little Fenway Forrest are over.” He sighs dramatically as she giggles. “But… agreed, that could get ridiculous. I also think that if one of us suggests a name, and the other thinks of someone they associate negatively with it, there is instant veto power.”

“No questions asked on that one.” She grows thoughtful. “Do we just want a name we happen to like? Or do we want it to have, like, some significance beyond that?"

“What do you mean?”

“Like, how Paulette and Kyle have Ellie. So thinking about someone who was instrumental in us becoming, well, us.”

They both consider this for a moment before it hits them. “Warner,” they mutter in unison, with mirror-image expressions of distaste.

“Veto,” Emmett immediately says. “I don’t care how much the Tokyo fashion scene loves him.”

“I second that motion.” Elle nods vigorously. “Um… I wouldn’t have left that party if Vivienne hadn’t set up the prank.”

“Doesn’t feel right, if that makes sense,” he eventually responds. “Plus, she’d let it go to her head.”

“You’re probably right.” She scoots back, pulling the bedspread over her. “We’ll think of something. We’ve got time.”

Twenty minutes later, he’s beginning to drift off when she gasps. “Emmett!”

“What? What’s wrong?” He’s sitting up in a flash.

Her eyes are bright. “You’re too smart not to have been successful no matter what… but getting to Harvard was probably a lot easier because you went to high school where you did. And that wouldn’t have happened without-“

“Quiz Bowl,” he murmurs. “Yeah, let’s not kid ourselves, it’s doubtful you and I would have met otherwise.”

“So, because of...”

“Ms. Chandler.”

“Who keeps telling you to call her-”

“Hannah,” they say at the same time, then turn to one another in the dark. 

“It’s beautiful. Classic."

“Easy to spell,” Emmett adds.

“And... well, she’ll always remind us of how we got here,” Elle murmurs. 

Emmett smiles, leaning over and kissing her lightly. “Love you.”

“Love you too.” She suddenly gasps again. “Give me your hand.”

“What?” 

She grabs his wrist, sliding his hand beneath the hem of her tank top and holding it flat against her skin. “Just… wait.”

He thinks he’s imagining it when something seems to ripple beneath his palm a moment later. But when it happens again shortly thereafter, it’s undeniable. He feels his eyes widen. “Oh my god.”

She smirks. “I guess she approves.”

(They decide this can be a surprise for everyone else after she’s born.)

February fades into March, they get settled in their house, and Elle’s threshold for bursting into tears reaches an all-time low - much to his concern and her frustration.

“I don’t even know why I’m doing this,” she sobs one Saturday afternoon, angrily gesturing toward the TV with one hand while reaching for a plate on the coffee table with the other. “This movie isn’t even sad.” 

“It happens,” he says, taking a seat next to her and placing a hand on her back. “Come here.”

“No, I’m good. Thanks.” She sniffles and picks up the sandwich on the plate she’s just moved to her lap. Her shoulders continue to heave as she takes a bite.

Emmett quirks an eyebrow. “Did you want to maybe take a minute before you-“

“I’m hungry.” She impatiently swipes at her cheek. “And this is really good.”

(For the next ten minutes, he silently watches Elle cry her way through a grilled cheese per her request.

Somehow he’s sure far weirder things are yet to come.)

***

Her late-April due date comes and goes, which Dr. Miller says is common. Everything looks fine on ultrasound, so they’re told to go home and wait. 

Elle looks slightly appalled. “But I’ve been having contractions.“

“I know, but they’re just Braxton-Hicks, not the real thing yet.”

“They feel pretty real,” she grumbles.

“If you don’t go into labor by next week, we can talk about admitting you to the hospital for an induction.” Dr. Miller gives her a sympathetic glance. “So not too much longer either way. There are some things you can try at home, though. Have you been staying active?”

“Yeah. Prenatal yoga and a lot of walking,” Elle confirms.

“Okay, good.”

“That helps?” Emmett asks.

“It can. There are also some anecdotal reports about things like spicy food. And some studies have shown that sex can help jump-start labor.”

Elle laughs weakly. “Great, that’s how we got into this mess in the first place.”

“It’s all just… coming full circle,” Emmett says before he can stop himself. “So to speak. Wow, sorry, that actually made it worse.”

(Dr. Miller, who’s probably seen and heard it all, doesn’t even try to conceal that she’s cracking up.

Elle, on the other hand, is shooting him the most intense death glare he’s ever received.)

Although her colleagues are handling court, Elle insists she wants to keep working right up until she delivers – whenever that ends up being. “I’ll be bored out of my skull if I just sit here, and I can set everyone up for success the more I get done before I’m out for months.”

“You know, maybe there’s a silver lining in this,” Emmett points out when she gets home on the fourth day post-term. “We thought we’d be spending our anniversary busy with a baby, but assuming nothing changes, we can actually go out to dinner tomorrow if you want.”

She brightens. “That would be really nice. Especially since we were both buried in work last year.” 

The next day, she texts him around mid-afternoon. Headed home, I’m wiped out and these stupid Braxton-Hicks are kind of killing me. Gonna take a nap before we go out later.

You sure you’re feeling okay to go?

Definitely! Just need to recharge a little.

When he gets home at 6, their bedroom door is open. She’s as dressed to kill as her maternity wardrobe allows – which, because she’s her, is plenty – facing away from him as she applies eyeshadow. “Well, hello there.”

“Hi!” She meets his eyes in the mirror, but just as a smile crosses her face, she suddenly winces, dropping the makeup brush and gripping the dresser.

“Whoa, hey,” he says, rushing in. “You all right?”

She nods. “They’ve been extra annoying today. It’s like my body is taunting me.”

“Elle, we don’t have to go anywhere. We can order something in, just take it easy-”

“No,” she insists. “I’m not missing the opportunity to celebrate yet another anniversary because of contractions that aren’t even real.”

He opens his mouth to respond, but then thinks better of it, checking the time on his phone. “Okay. Well, our reservation isn’t for an hour and we’re not going far – we don’t have to leave just yet.”

“Right. I need to finish getting ready anyway.” She picks up the tiny brush to continue her cosmetics regimen, and Emmett wanders across the hall to the room they’ve set up as an office. He’s scrolling through the news when he hears a pained yelp from down the hall; his phone tells him it’s been nine minutes. Abandoning his moment of decompression, he bounds back into the bedroom, where Elle is again clutching the dresser and breathing heavily with her head bowed. “Okay, you’ve been having these for weeks and they haven’t made you do this,” he says as he approaches her. 

“No, it’s no different,” she rejoins. “I’m totally fine, Emmett. I promise.”

“Okay.” He settles in the armchair in the corner as she picks up her eyeliner - a little slower to resume this time.

(He does not believe her for a second.)

Sure enough, nine minutes later exactly, she gasps and stiffens. “Okay, this is really becoming an inconvenience,” she gets out through gritted teeth. He doesn’t say anything, just keeps glancing in between her and the stopwatch she can’t see he has pulled up until she relaxes. “Forty seconds,” he says under his breath.

“Hmm?” She’s smiling at him expectantly as if nothing just happened.

He knows she’s not going to believe him unless he gives her irrefutable evidence, so he just shrugs. “Nothing.” 

She’s in the closet deciding on shoes when the next one hits – eight and a half minutes later this time – and he bolts up, holding his phone out of her view as he puts a hand on her back. 

Forty-two seconds later, she stands motionless against him, arms around his waist and eyes closed. “Come on, let’s go sit down for a second,” he urges her, gently guiding her back out to the bedroom and easing her toward the armchair.

“These aren’t Braxton-Hicks, are they,” she finally whispers.

He shakes his head, relieved she’s come to that conclusion on her own. “I don’t think so.”

“We’re not going out for our anniversary. Are we?”

“I think we’re going to be going out pretty soon,” he allows, “but I don’t think it’ll be for dinner.”

She grimaces, looking down. “The one day I wanted this not to happen.”

“I know.” He crouches in front of her, resting his hands on her knees. “This was part of the original plan, though, right?”

She looks up enough to meet his eyes. “Please tell me exactly how an unplanned pregnancy was part of the original plan, Emmett. I’ll wait.”

He chuckles. “Touché. Why don’t we get changed? It might be a long night and comfort is key.”

“Good idea,” she agrees, then suddenly reaches for his forearms with a sharp inhale, holding onto him tightly. “My… comfort better involve the… good drugs,” she pants.

He slides his arms back and takes her hands. “It will. Slow deep breaths, okay? Like we practiced in the class.”

Eventually she relaxes. “I need to change before the next one. And I’m also starving, but I don’t know if I’m supposed to eat.”

“I think you’re good until we actually go to the hospital, and that’s not until they’re closer.”

“Can you ask your mom?” She’s already up and halfway out of her dress. “Just to confirm I’m not, like, gonna drop dead if I have some pizza right now.”

“Sure.” He puts the call on speaker and Dana picks up after two rings.

“Emmett! What’s going on? You finally having this baby or what?”

“Excuse me, who is having this baby, Dana?!” Elle has moved on to hunting for sweatpants, but she stops in her tracks, indignant.

“Sorry, Elle, you know what I meant. Is it go time?”

Emmett laughs. “Getting there. We just want to make sure she’s not breaking any rules if she has dinner.”

“How far apart are the contractions?” his mom asks, all business. 

“Uh, around eight and a half, nine minutes?”

“Elle, honey, go ahead and eat,” Dana says. “You probably have a ways to go, and you’re not getting anything besides ice chips the second you hit the hospital. Five minutes apart, one minute long for at least an hour – that’s when you head in, okay?”

“Thanks, Mom,” Emmett says. “I’m going to go do my job here and make sure pizza materializes as soon as possible.” 

“Good. Keep me posted, you two, all right? I’m on shift in the morning, so I’ll be around if you need me.”

Emmett hangs up and orders: half cheese, half weird pregnancy special. It shows up in just over three contractions. 

“Here’s to a lovely anniversary meal?” He grins at her, trying to avoid looking too hard at the pineapple, mushroom, and banana pepper monstrosity that she’s dipping in balsamic vinaigrette - thereby making it even worse.

(The first time she asked for this three months ago, he thought she was joking.

To which her response was “Sweet, salty, tangy, and umami! It is perfectly balanced and if you’re gonna mock me for it, maybe you’re not who I thought you were!”

He assured her at the time her pizza choices were valid, and still figures it’s one of the few situations where it’s acceptable to lie through his teeth.) 

She looks like her energy might be flagging the tiniest bit, but smiles back. “Here’s to two years and getting this thing out of me. Oh-” She closes her eyes, pizza falling to her plate. 

He reaches across the table and takes her hand. “Squeeze as hard as you want.”

“Be careful… what you say,” she manages. “Might… not have a… hand by the end of this.”

Around midnight, the contractions stall out at six and a half minutes apart; Elle tells him to try and get some sleep, and it’s all he can do not to laugh at her. “You actually think I’m going to just go to sleep right now, and leave you to your own devices in a situation you have claimed multiple times is all my fault?”

“Only when you eat the last of something I wanted, and you need to rest,” she argues. “We’re clearly not going anywhere anytime soon. And we need to switch off with staying awake for baby stuff, that’s what Paulette said.”

“Yeah, post-delivery. For now, though – if you’re up, I’m up.”

It’s an unbelievably long night. The contractions are too strong for her to sleep (or even talk) through, but they don’t speed up at all. By 3am, she’s at the point that she’s managing to doze in between. He’s no stranger to all-nighters – though it’s a little more challenging at 31 than he remembers it being in law school – but he’s doing laps around their room to keep awake until at last six and a half makes its way down to five and stays there through dawn. He texts his mom; her shift starts soon, so she’ll be up. He figures everyone else can find out later. At least the timing works out so that they miss traffic; the drive there is somehow painfully slow, yet all too fast for him to grasp. 

(He also decides that valet parking at hospitals is the most genius idea anyone has ever come up with.)

On the way up in the elevator, another contraction hits and her breaths get shallower. “Easy,” he implores, channeling the overly zen Lamaze teacher from their class and deliberately inhaling and exhaling as slowly as he can so she can echo him. “We’re here, they’ll get you something for pain as soon as they can.”

She shakes her head, unable to speak until the contraction dissipates. “I can’t do this.”

“Hey.” He grips her shoulders. “Yes, you can. You absolutely can and you will.”

“No, no, you don’t understand. It’s so much, I’m so tired, there’s gonna be all these people and machines dinging and I just don’t-“ She shakes her head again.

“Elle.” He maintains the same pace of breath in the hope that she’ll adjust to it as well. “All those people, all that stuff, it’s just noise. All right? Just look at me. It’s you and me right now. That’s all.”

“But-”

“I promise this is the only thing you have to do today. And I know it hurts, but… that’s what epidurals are for, right?”

“But you don’t like needles.”

“Well… good thing I’m not getting one, then.”

She smiles faintly. “Just you and me?”

“Absolutely.”

By this point they’re off the elevator and have steadily made their way to the front desk. They’ve been keeping in touch with Dr. Miller, whose answering service said they’d call ahead; a nurse waves to them, youthful grin belying short gray hair. “Elle and Emmett, right? I’m Grace, I’ll be your nurse today. We heard you were coming in.”

“Oh, good,” she whispers. “From Dr. Miller?”

“Yep. But also from Dana.” Grace nods. “She specifically tasked me with getting her grandchild here as smoothly as possible.”

“That must mean we’re in good hands.” Emmett smiles. “Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, nice to-“ Elle’s face contorts with pain, and Grace rushes around the edge of the nurses’ station, talking to her in a low voice and managing to move her forward into a room. Before the next contraction, Elle’s confirmed to be in active labor – since it wasn’t obvious enough – in a hospital gown, and someone from anesthesia is on the way.

“Is your mom here yet?” Elle asks him. “I don’t think I want her to, like, actually watch me push this kid out, but maybe she can come by for a little bit?”

“I’ll find out.” He tucks an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re okay for a minute?”

Elle looks to Grace, who nods with the confidence of someone who’s done this more times than Emmett can possibly imagine. “We got this. Go.”

As Emmett exits the room, taking his phone from his pocket, he nearly collides with someone. 

“Well, fancy meeting you here, stranger.” Dana smiles at him. 

“Good timing. Elle was asking for you.”

“How you holding up?”

Emmett huffs out a laugh, pulling his hands down over his face. “I have no idea. Neither of us have really slept, and she’s in a lot of pain. It’s… kind of hard to watch.”

“Yeah.” His mom squeezes his arm. “I know, but you’re both gonna be okay.”

“You’re way too confident in that for my liking.” 

“Emmett.” He looks at her and it’s immediately clear she isn’t messing around. “I know you’ll be okay because you’re here. And showing up is almost everything. Within your control, is there any reason you wouldn’t show up for her – for both of them?”

He shakes his head. “Of course not.”

“Then the rest won’t be as hard as you think.” A pair of doctors with what appear to be small duffel bags walk past them into Elle’s room, and Dana nods. “Oh, good, they called for the epidural. I still have some time before my shift starts and they all understand if I’m a little late today. Why don’t I stay with her for this part and you can go downstairs and get some coffee?”

“No, I don’t want to leave her alone and make her think-”

“They would probably kick you out anyway, honey,” Dana advises. “They already have two patients in that room, the last thing anyone needs is a third.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you’re probably gonna hit the floor if you watch them put a giant needle in your wife’s spine.”

“Oh, god,” he mutters automatically. “Yeah, I’ll just let her know.”

“A little advice, too. Drink your coffee outside the room. And get some gum or something before you come back in. She’ll be able to smell you from the doorway otherwise, and it’ll either make her sick or angry that she can’t have any.” 

“Thanks.” He nods. “Will do.”

He gets back 20 minutes later, breath ice-cold with spearmint, and Elle looks worlds more comfortable.

“Hey.” She smiles at him with half-lidded eyes. “Your mom said she’s on some surgery floor today. It’s a good thing we’re already married, you know?”

“Oh?” He sits down on the edge of the bed, taking her hand. “Why’s that?”

“Because right now I like the epidural people more than you.”

“That’s… probably fair.”

She giggles. “It feels a little like I don’t have legs. I’m gonna take a nap.”

“Okay.” He leans over and kisses her forehead. “I’ll be right here.”

“I know,” she murmurs as she closes her eyes. Her breathing goes deep and even not too long after, and he decides to stretch out on the couch along the far wall. Just for a second.

He wakes up a few hours later – the cafeteria coffee apparently unable to hold a candle to his exhaustion – with a crick in his neck from the uncomfortable hospital furniture, but otherwise refreshed. She’s still asleep, but begins to stir about ten minutes later. “That’s… ow.” 

He hops up and leans over the side rail of the bed, taking her hand. “Pain?”

“Pressure,” she says. “It’s weird. And- oh.” Her eyes suddenly widen. “Wet.”

“Huh?”

“Can you get Grace? I think my water maybe broke?”

He presses the call button and Grace is there within a minute. “Oh, yeah. Things are going to start moving faster now.”

She’s not kidding. The next several hours are a blur; Grace is in the room almost constantly, with doctors popping in and out to check on Elle’s progress. The contractions intensify, and Elle tries to kick him out of the room twice. First because he tells her she can’t have a smoothie; then on general principle “because you did this to me.” He never even makes it close to the door before she weepily calls him back.

(Grace assures him it would be more surprising if she weren’t doing this.)

Midafternoon, she suddenly groans, squeezing his hand tighter, and it – well, it sounds different.

Emmett looks up. “What is it?”

“It changed,” she says. “It feels like… I don’t know. More.”

“Let’s see what’s happening,” Grace says, already sending a message to the doctor on call. 

Elle shakes her head. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this. Is knocking me out an option?”

A few minutes later, the doctor comes in. “You’re in luck. Time to meet your baby.”

“Time to push?” Elle asks, and already Emmett sees a new verve in her as she eases up onto her elbows.

The doctor nods. “Let’s go.”

The last time Emmett saw this fierce a look on Elle’s face, it was in a courtroom. “Hell yes, ‘let’s go.’ Finally.”

Fourteen minutes of otherworldly determination later, there she is – crying with an assertiveness that somehow makes it clear she already knows exactly who she is and what she wants. Emmett barely notices someone handing him a rather intense pair of scissors and motioning to where he should cut the cord; has no concept of the controlled pandemonium that fills the room. His attention is split between Elle and whatever is happening on the warming table until Elle tells him to go count fingers and toes and report back.

Eventually they wrap up the baby, carrying her back over and handing her to Elle. His eyes are completely drawn to the love of his life with their child – they have a child – resting on her chest.

“Hi there, you,” he murmurs, glancing at Elle. “You still think-“

“Absolutely,” Elle whispers, gently caressing the newborn’s back. “She’s definitely a Hannah. And look, they already gave her a little hat. With a cute little bow.”

He grins, leaning down to meet her eyes. “Elle.”

“Hmm?” Elle looks up at him.

“That was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen you do. And it was a pretty extraordinary list to begin with.”

She smiles, scooting to the side. “Thanks. Just don’t make me do it again tomorrow.”

“A reasonable request.” He sits on the edge of the bed facing her and lightly reaches out to stroke Hannah’s cheek. “She’s so small. No one tells you how small they’re going to be.”

“I think they do. It’s just hard to visualize until they’re actually here."

As the room settles down, Grace smiles at them. “I can’t remember the last time I saw a baby this alert. She knows exactly what’s going on.”

Emmett laughs. “Not unlike her mother.”

“And her father,” Elle says. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

“Want to try feeding her?” Grace asks.

“Sure,” Elle responds a little uncertainly. “I just have to-”

“Hold her like this, and then-”

“What?” She draws in a sharp inhale, then laughs a little. “That is maybe the most bizarre thing I’ve ever felt.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Grace says with an assured nod. “It’s a learning curve for both of you.”

“I think this whole thing is a learning curve for all of us.” Elle looks at Emmett and shakes her head a little.

“It is.” He smiles. “But I have a feeling we can handle it.”

***

His mom texts when she’s on her break to ask if she can stop in, and is so enchanted with Hannah that she almost doesn’t make it back to work. “You two ever want free babysitting, all you have to do is ask,” she says almost reverently.

Elle chuckles. “Thanks, Dana. We might hold you to that.”

“I mean it, though,” she tells them. “Laundry, cooking – you don’t think about all that stuff until you’re busy with a baby and you can’t get it done. I’ll never show up unannounced, but promise you’ll call me if you need help.”

“I promise.” He grins.

(Because he means it.)

They head home two days later, and Elle heads off for a much-desired non-hospital shower just after they settle in. Emmett walks out onto the sun porch, Hannah in his arms.

“We’re supposed to talk to you a lot so you develop language skills,” he begins. “I have no idea if you recognize my voice, but, uh… I’m your dad. Which is incredibly weird to say, so maybe give me a little time to adjust to that. I guess that’s nothing compared to you having to adjust to a completely new environment, though.”

He slowly walks back and forth. “Your mom is pretty incredible, but you probably already know that. And, you know… we might not get everything right 100 percent of the time. In fact, I can pretty much guarantee we won’t. But we can both admit it when we mess up. It’s not about being perfect, I don’t think, so much as always trying to do better. I think that’s the goal here. But I have a feeling you’ll let us know if we’re headed in the right direction.”

Hannah yawns, and Emmett smiles. “See the trees in the yard?” He continues to softly describe what he sees until Elle comes back downstairs, joining him on the porch and holding out her arms.

“Pretty sure she’s never going to stop talking once she starts.”

Emmett shrugs, gently handing the baby to her. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“My parents want to come out next week. They’ll stay in a hotel, but they want to meet her.”

He nods. “That works. Tell them I’ll pick them up from the airport.”

“You don’t have to do that, they usually just get a car service-”

“No, it’s fine.” He smiles. “I insist.”

She laughs. “You want to chat with my mother again, don’t you?”

“Just want to be sure the lesson stuck,” he says mildly.

But based on the ride back from the airport, Caroline seems to have gotten the message loud and clear, frequently volunteering how impressed she is with Elle’s ability to work throughout her pregnancy and how wonderful she’s looked on all their FaceTime calls. They're both visibly enamored with Hannah, and the visit goes smoothly as a whole - even if every time Caroline waxes poetic about her daughter, Emmett avoids Elle’s eyes so he can maintain a neutral expression.

Elle’s a lot more adamant about sending out birth announcements than he is, but when they arrive almost a month after the birth, he has to admit they’re really cute. On the back of the one going out to Ms. Chandler, he writes “Decided to start using your first name after all. Thanks for doing the paperwork.”

Elle wonders aloud why he wouldn’t just tell her outright, and he posits that it’s more fun this way. Sure enough, he gets a phone call four days later; Elle’s taking a nap, and he’s reclined on the couch, baby asleep on his chest.

“Emmett, I know I joked all the time about how you all should name your firstborn children after me, but I really was perfectly happy with a ‘thank you.’” She’s very clearly moved. “You didn’t have to… to go and actually do it.”

“It was Elle’s idea. But then she’s always right, so there was no question. You seeing something no one else did was the catalyst for… well, a lot of things that ultimately resulted in this kid here.” He absently strokes Hannah’s downy head. “And I’m pretty sure a side benefit is that I get a level-up on favorite student status now.”

“You know, I think you’ve cemented your position at the top.” She laughs. “It’s a nice retirement present, too, I won’t lie to you.”

“I still can’t believe you’re retiring.”

“Yeah, end of an era and all that. But this is a good way to go out. You know the school probably isn’t getting me much more than a fruit basket, if that.”

He chuckles, and Hannah stirs a little. “I know you’re planning to travel, but if you can, you should come meet her before you hit the road.”

“I will. And when I’m gone, you’d better keep in touch, all right? Let me know how my namesake is doing.”

***

Here's the thing: until he met Elle, he figured his past had no significant place in his present. That he could leave the former behind almost entirely while fully embodying the latter.

It took Elle and Hannah – his Hannah – to show him that he can be his whole self, all the time. That he can show up for himself as much as he shows up for them.

(Because they’re his future.)

Chapter Text

It’s the third Saturday in October, and Hannah Woods Forrest has a busy day ahead of her. She has a new book to read, an outfit to choose for kindergarten picture day, and a game to play with her stuffed animals.

When they go to California in the summertime, Grandma Caroline always asks why she doesn’t play house. Which Hannah doesn’t understand, because they live in the house. So her toys go to court.

Just like her parents do.

Tanner from her class says kissing is gross, but Hannah’s mom and dad kiss all the time and they seem really happy, so she thinks Tanner doesn’t know what he’s talking about and tells him so almost every day. Plus, everyone in stories always kisses right before the ‘happily ever after’ part, so that has to be good. She reads a lot of books on her own now, but her dad does all the voices when he reads to her and she likes that the most. Her mom can’t ever do the voices without laughing, but she gets Hannah books about all these girls who did important stuff.

(Because girls have to stick together.)

Hannah’s mom says her first full sentence was “This is not a negotiation.” Which makes sense because both her parents say it to her all the time, like when she wants just one more story or a little more time before bed. But then her dad says arguing is in her blood and there’s no getting around it. Hannah’s teacher says people shouldn’t argue, but her parents say they do it for a living. So it can’t be that bad. And it’s kind of fun.

She’s just about to begin the trial – elephant versus puppy  – when her mom pokes her head in.

“Lunchtime, sweetie.”

“But we just started,” Hannah protests. “The judge hasn’t even come in yet.”

(The judge is Buzz Lightyear.)

“I know.” Her mom smiles, coming in and taking a seat on the floor next to her. “We’re going to get a pumpkin this afternoon, though, remember?”

“And we’re gonna carve it into a funny face. Right?”

“Yep. Think about what face you want it to have, okay?” Her mom picks up Buzz and moves him to the front of the courtroom. “I guess maybe a couple minutes wouldn’t hurt. What are the charges here?”

***

They play for a while, until a throat clears by the door. Hannah looks up and her dad is standing there, doing that thing where he’s raising one eyebrow but looks happy anyway.

“What happened to lunch at 12?”

Her mom looks up in surprise. “What time is it?”

“Almost half past. Paulette and Kyle’s kids are going to take all the good pumpkins if we don’t get moving.”

Hannah perks up. “Are Grandma Dana and Gabe going?”

(Hannah doesn’t really remember being a flower girl when they got married, but there are pictures in the living room of her at their house near the beach, wearing a poofy dress.)

Her dad nods at her. “Meeting us there.”

“Auntie Vivienne and Auntie Enid?”

“Still in Senegal,” her mom chimes in.

(Tanner says all her aunts and uncles can’t really be her aunts and uncles because they’re not brother and sister with her mom or dad. But her mom always says families can be made of love and not just blood.

Blood is a little yucky. But Hannah kind of likes having something else to tell Tanner he’s wrong about.)

“Senegal again? Oh. Okay. Five more minutes?” she asks pleadingly.

Her dad shakes his head, smiling. “Lunch is ready now.”

Hannah thinks for a second. “Three more minutes?”

“Nope. Come on.”

Hannah looks back and forth between her parents and thinks about crawling into her mom’s lap to keep her from getting up – but every day there’s less space there.

She knows she’s getting a little brother for Christmas, and she told her parents she thinks they should name him Max, because Where the Wild Things Are is her very favorite book. They told her it’s a nice name and they’ll think about it, but she’s heard them say ‘Ben’ a lot when they don’t know she’s listening.

That’s a nice name too.

Hannah finally gives in, standing up, and her mom looks at her dad, laughing a little. “I think I’m stuck.”

He comes over and helps her up. Once she’s standing, he rests a hand on her belly and jumps a little after a second. “Oh! That was intense.”

“This one doesn't joke around,” her mom smiles. “Here, Hannah, give me your hand, he’s kicking.”

(She does. It feels weird.)

“Did I do that too?” Hannah asks.

“Indeed you did.” Her dad laughs. “Almost knocked your mom over a couple times.”

Hannah shrugs. “Oops.”

“You’re worth it.” Her mom reaches down and brushes Hannah’s wispy blonde bangs off her forehead. “Now go downstairs, all right? Eating well is important, because-”

“It helps make our bodies healthy and strong,” Hannah recites. “Okay.”

As she reaches the door of her room, Hannah turns back to see her parents standing there smiling at each other.

(And kissing.

Again.)

“What happened to lunch at 12?” she parrots, making the same face her dad always does.

They look over at her, surprised, and both start laughing. “You have parents who love each other, Hannah,” her dad says. “I think you’re going to need to learn to deal with that.”

"Okay." Hannah shrugs again and continues toward the stairs.

***

Her parents always say nothing is ever perfect, but there can be something even better than perfect. Hannah thinks that’s probably true. After all, she already has her mom and dad – who love her and each other. And soon she’ll have a little brother and they'll all be part of the family they made.

And by tonight she'll have a pumpkin with a funny face.

What could ever be better than that?