Location: Firehouse/ Interactions: Co-workers
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No smoking. No drinking. No drugs. Those had always been Mark’s rules spoken softly but enforced like law. Even now, years later, Emery could hear his voice as clearly as if he were standing beside her, arms crossed, brow furrowed in that familiar way that meant he wasn’t angry, just disappointed. The thought alone made her chest tighten.
The cigarette burned low between her fingers, the ember glowing brighter as she inhaled one last time. Smoke scorched her throat, bitter and grounding all at once. She held it there for a heartbeat longer than she should have, then exhaled slowly, watching it dissolve into the air like something she wasn’t meant to keep. Her fingers lifted the cigarette to her lips in a quiet, private farewell before she pressed it into the already-crowded ashtray. Her body leaned against the decaying wooden railing of the porch, its age evident in every creak and groan beneath her weight. The wood bowed just slightly, as if considering surrender.
“Not today,” Emery murmured, smoke still clinging to her lips.
Her emerald gaze lingered on the splintering boards, cataloguing the damage out of habit. Another thing to fix. Another problem waiting its turn. In a world that never stopped breaking, even the house seemed determined to remind her it wasn’t immune. She straightened and reached beneath her shirt, fingers closing around cold metal. The dog tags slid free easily, familiar in their weight. A weak smile tugged at her lips as her thumb traced the raised letters of her own name etched cleanly, untouched. Then she switched them. Her tag dropped back against her chest with a dull clink, while the other remained between her fingers.
Her smile faded. Dried blood stained the steel where his name should have gleamed. She swallowed hard, breath catching just enough to hurt. A sigh slipped free as she tilted her head, letting the tag sway gently back and forth. Sunlight caught its surface, glimmering in a way that felt cruelly beautiful.
“I wish you were here with me,” she whispered. For a moment, a distant smirk curved her lips habit more than humor.
“But no,” she added softly.
“You decided married life wasn’t for you.”The laugh that followed never quite made it out. It clogged in her throat, sharp and bitter, as her jaw clenched tight enough to ache. Her fist curled around the chain, knuckles whitening as anger and grief surged together, inseparable and overwhelming. Tears burned at the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill. She fought them. And then, she didn’t.
The tension drained from her body all at once, leaving only exhaustion behind. Emery closed her eyes. The tags collided with a quiet metallic chime as she let them fall back into place and pushed herself away from the railing. That was when the wood finally gave up. A brittle crack split the air as one of the railing bars snapped clean off, tumbling to the porch with a hollow thud.
“Gods damn it,” she growled.
“Nope.” She turned sharply on her heel. Out of sight, out of mind.
The screen door slammed behind her as she marched back inside, wincing only slightly at the noise.
“I’ll fix it later,” she muttered, to no one in particular. Inside, the house greeted her with its usual stale stillness dim light, cluttered surfaces, and the faint smell of old alcohol that never truly went away. Emery brushed her fingers through her hair, gathering loose strands into a messy bun out of sheer habit. She moved through the space like a patrol, collecting empty bottles and lining them neatly by the sink. Another reminder to fill them with water. Another promise she’d probably have to make again tomorrow.
The soft clink of glass disturbed her mother just enough for her to stir. A slurred complaint began to form, lips parting but it never finished. She slumped back into sleep, the rant dissolving before it could begin. Emery didn’t linger. Instead, a quiet groan drew her attention down the hall. Jamie leaned against his bedroom doorframe, hair mussed, eyes half-lidded with sleep. She smirked.
“Studying or gigs?”Jamie shuffled toward the counter, rolling his eyes as he sat.
“Does it even matter?” She slid the jelly and peanut butter onto the counter. He sighed, defeated.
“Gigs. Just like you did when you were my age.” He grinned at his freshly made sandwich right before Emery snatched it out of his hands.
“Hey!” He reached for it, but she lifted it just out of reach, height firmly on her side.
“Except at my age,” she said calmly,
“ I still got B’s and C’s.” He groaned. She relented, placing the sandwich back down before crossing her arms in her lecture stance. One he knew all too well.
“You got a D,” she continued,
“on one of the easiest books known to man. Animal Farm.” She leaned against the counter beside him, expression softening just slightly.
“Your education comes first when it comes to the hustle. Can’t let people trick you, dumbass.” She flicked his forehead gently. He laughed, batting her hand away.
“Like you’ve never been tricked before.” She paused, then smirked.
“Yeah, well. Maybe if I was smarter I would’ve become a doctor instead of a paramedic.” She winked and headed toward her room, pulling out her uniform with a tired sigh.
“Speaking of which, I work afternoon and night. You okay staying at Jack’s?” Jamie shrugged, then pouted. Emery caught it immediately.
“Fine,” she sighed.
“I’ll buy you a skateboard. Just don’t break it again.”“That’s more like it,” he grinned.
She stepped closer, leaning down to his level.
“And read that study guide your teacher gave you.” She offered her hand. He shook it solemnly. Deal made.
Emery pulled him into a tight hug. For a moment, her arms tightened more than necessary—muscle memory flashing back to nights spent shielding him from shouting, from flying objects, from fear. Her fingers ran through his hair once, protective and gentle. Then she pushed him back with a smirk.
“Alright. Go get ready.” Jamie rolled his eyes and disappeared into his room. Emery dressed quickly, shrugging into her paramedic uniform like armor. She brushed imaginary dust from her shoulders before pausing at the door, eyes settling on her sleeping mother.
Fourteen years. And nothing had changed. She exhaled slowly, then stepped aside to let Jamie out, watching him walk down the street toward Jack’s. Only when she saw him safely inside did she turn away.
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The walk to the station was familiar automatic. Cars roared past, engines echoing in her ears, her heart picking up its pace as she crossed the street with practiced precision. Sirens wailed somewhere nearby. Too close to ignore. Too far to claim. No matter how heavy grief sat in her chest, the world kept moving. Storefront lights blurred past her vision. Laughter spilled out of a bar she refused to look at. Smoke still clung faintly to her jacket, and she resisted the urge to scrub it away. Nathan would’ve noticed.
“Sorry,” she murmured.
The firestation rose ahead of her, brick worn smooth by time. The bay doors glowed softly, the emblem above chipped but proud. Relief settled deep into her bones as she stepped onto the concrete apron. Here, she didn’t have to pretend. She pushed inside, greeted by fluorescent hum and the familiar scent of oil, coffee, and antiseptic. Voices echoed deeper within—laughter, boots against tile, life continuing. Emery paused just inside the door, resting her forehead briefly against the cool metal. Eyes closed. One breath. Then another. She straightened.
Her fingers brushed her dog tags instinctively before tucking them away. She moved to her locker, spinning the dented lock without looking. Inside sat her gloves, trauma shears, and a folded photo worn soft with age. She didn’t take it out. She didn’t need to. Here, she was a paramedic. A protector. A constant. And as she stepped fully into the station, ready for whatever came next, the doors behind her remained open waiting for the moment someone else would walk in and change the rhythm of her night.
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