emery walsh meets her first wife, lacy, in her first year of undergrad at boston university. they date for years and then get married a month before they graduate and emery is deployed.
lacy is the perfect military wife. she has a job, calls emery whenever emery has a chance, and sends mail. but her deepest fear is that emery will not come home at all. she will never get the true domestic life she wants.
the day emery comes home is the happiest day of lacy's life. emery has ptsd and flashbacks and nightmares, but she is there for every moment. lacy rocks emery to sleep after nightmares, drives her to support group, calms her down during panic attacks, helps her study for the mcat, makes her a cake when she gets accepted into med school, and is perfectly happy to move to pennsylvania for upenn. emery is a planet, and lacy is the sun keeping her in orbit. life is good and domestic, and they live paycheck to paycheck but that's ok because at least they are together.
lacy dies in an eight-car pile-up on the highway four years later (during emery's ms4 year).
emery finds out during her cardiology rotation, which is ironic because she thinks her heart stops. she goes home early that day and doesn't come back for another three days. the only reason she eats or showers is because yolanda (a friend from med school forums, ms2) comes over and makes her. after those three days, she goes back to rotations and finishes the year. then she hops right into her residency and just keeps going because stopping would mean thinking and processing. she shuts off her emotions at work and becomes emery walsh, the incredibly competent surgery resident that scares all the others.
five years later, after she's moved to pittsburgh, her residency is over, and she's started her fellowship, she meets samira. her emotions are completely divided between pure guilt over someone coming after lacy and pure joy because no one has made her feel this way since lacy.
(does loving samira mean she doesn't love lacy? does it mean she's forgotten about her?)
years later, she will have mostly moved past it, but the thought will still nag her.
samira knows about lacy and leaves emery alone on lacy's birthday and death day. emery always takes the day off and goes to sit by her grave, alone. she brings flowers and cries and goes home and sleeps alone. samira knows lacy existed, but she did not know lacy.
after they have been dating for a year and a half, samira asks emery if she can come with her on one of her smaller visits to lacy. emery is surprised but she says yes. it's kind of nice to have samira there as she cries. not saying anything or touching her, but there nonetheless as a silent i'm here for you. afterwards, samira drives her home and makes her hot chocolate and gives her a cookie she'd made earlier in the week.
this is the first time that it hits emery that samira does not resent her for having a wife or a life partner before her. she is happy to share emery's love.
as the years go by and they get married, samira occasionally goes with emery to the short visits. during the day-long ones during lacy's birthday and deathday samira packs her meals and water and is always waiting when she gets home. emery's favorite part about it is that samira never expects anything from her on these days.
when they have kids, samira makes sure they know that it's a rough day for your mom, so make sure to give her a hug before school and it's not your fault if she's sad. emery feels bad that she's so closed off on these days, even decades later, and ends up whispering to her kids that mom isn't mad at you and you didn't make her sad. mom loves you so much. it's a rough day for mom but she loves you and her sadness isn't your responsibility.
emery knows that samira cares about her--and by extension her grief about lacy, but she figures that samira only thinks about lacy as an extension of emery, a fragment of grief rather than her own person.
until one day samira tags along to a visit to the grave. she sits with emery while she talks, rubs her back like she always does when she comes. when emery mumbles into between tears that she wants to take a lap alone samira says of course i'll be right here.
when emery gets in distance of the grave ten minutes later, samira is still sitting there, but her mouth is moving. i just wanted to say thank you for making her her, i wish i could have met you, thank you for trusting me with her. the words are spoken in a low voice, and emery can tell that she has only witnessed half of the conversation, but it hits her nevertheless.
she loves samira so much, but another devastating wave of love for her hits emery in that moment. she finds herself running the rest of the distance back to samira and pulling her into the biggest bone crushing, snotty hug she's ever given.
"There are times in our lives when we have to realize our past is precisely what it is, and we cannot change it. But we can change the story we tell ourselves about it, and by doing that, we can change the future."
summary: sometimes years of being married to a trauma surgeon comes in handy, because when your bus crashes and a man is seriously injured, you manage to miraculously perform an emergency procedure. unfortunately, your own injuries also land you in the ptmc, and you become the subject of interest among your wife’s coworkers.
word count: 3.2k
tags: SUPER duper medically inaccurate; tw blood and descriptions of injuries; fem reader; wife emery; some hurt/comfort; bring emery walsh back to me! seriously i need more of her.
Fatigued and completely over the day, you plopped down into an empty bus seat before closing your eyes, hoping to find a moment of reprieve. You made a mental note to call the auto shop about the status of your car, as the many smells and characters of Pittsburgh public transit, particularly after a long day of dealing with angsty teenagers, had worn on you the past week.
Despite your wife’s many protests that she could pick you up, you insisted you were fine taking the bus, that she was supposed to be resting during the day, not cursing out rush hour drivers. Yet, as you felt the bus swerve into oncoming traffic and saw an incoming semi, the crash jolting you out of your seat, your head hitting the floor, you wished you’d listened to your wife.
For a moment, you sat dazed and in shock as a warm liquid dripped down your temple. But as the cacophony of screams, cries and car alarms blared in your ears, you quickly became alert. You took a quick glance outside the now shattered window, the sight of multiple wrecked cars telling you what you needed to know. Focusing your attention back on the inside of the bus, you did a mental scan of the passengers, triaging in your head who needed immediate attention.
“Help!” A distraught sob from the front of the bus caught your attention.
Not trusting your balance, you scrambled over to where a young woman hovered over a severely injured man lying on the ground.
“H-he was sitting right there when the truck came and he flew forward into the pole,” the woman explained through her tears, and you were grateful she held it together enough to be coherent. Though, you’re confident, based on the slight indent in the man’s chest, you could’ve put the pieces together. “Are you a doctor?”
“No, but I can help,” you said as you conjured up all the years of pre-med studies and the late nights helping your wife study during med school. Apparently, being married to a world-class trauma surgeon came in handy sometimes.
Grabbing his wrist, you took his pulse and immediately determined he was tachycardic. You then grabbed your cellphone out of your pocket, turned the flashlight on and opened the man’s eyes with your finger to shine the light on them. When you saw his pupils dilate, you couldn’t help but feel a small bit of relief, a feeling that didn’t last long when the man coughed, a splatter of blood spewing onto your clothes.
“Shit,” you cursed as you leaned down so your ear was closer to his mouth, the shortness of breath confirming your diagnosis. “Where the hell is the ambulance?”
“On their way,” someone called back, “but could be a sec. Traffic looks pretty jammed.”
Another cough of blood landed on your arm.
Double shit.
“What’s wrong? Is he gonna die?” The woman frantically grabbed at your sweater.
You could feel your own heart rate picking up, but you did your best to stay calm, not wanting to frighten her any further.
“Well–” you paused, realizing you didn’t know her name.
“Sarah,” she supplied.
“Sarah, he has blood in the space between his lung and his chest,” you explained. “We can either wait for the paramedics to get here, or–” you took a deep breath to steady yourself– “I can do my best to drain the fluid.”
Sarah paused, her eyes conflicted as they flit down to the bloodied man and then back up to you. “He’s my husband.” Her gaze fierce as it met yours. “Please save him.”
You inhaled sharply. You were hoping she wouldn’t say that, but even you knew, as his breathing became shallower, you had no other choice.
“Okay,” you said as you racked your brain for supplies you could use for a makeshift chest tube. Scanning the bus, you spotted a gym bag. As you crawled over to it, you could only hope it had what you were looking for. You rummaged through it and nearly cried when you pulled out a water bottle, one of those ones with a flexible straw, and a roll of athletic tape.
“Does anybody have a sewing kit on them? Or even some floss?” You called out, grabbing your purse from where it had been flung upon impact before shuffling back over to the your now-patient.
As you pulled out your pocket knife and some disinfectant wipes, Sarah was messily digging through her purse.
“Here.” She held out a small box in one hand as she wiped her nose with the other. Taking it from her, you opened it and found a travel sewing kit—a few needles, two lines of thread, and even a pair of mini scissors along with some tweezers. Right then, you thanked God for women and your need to be prepared.
As you looked at the supplies in front of you, you pictured your next steps. This could actually work. Was it crazy? Absolutely. But could it save this man’s life? Absolutely.
“Are you sure you want me to do this?” You looked at Sarah, giving her one more out before she put her husband’s life in the hands of a stranger.
“Positive.”
You quickly worked to disinfect everything before cutting through the man’s shirt. “What’s his name?”
“Rick,” the woman whispered, cradling her husbands head in her lap.
“Okay, Rick–” you addressed him, your fingers tracing down the side of his chest as you counted his ribs– “this is going to hurt a little.”
Using your pocket knife, you made an incision in between his fourth and fifth rib, a groan of pain erupting from him.
“I know, I know,” you muttered as you insert your fingers into the man’s side before guiding the straw in along his chest wall, rotating it until you felt resistance. You held your breath for half a second, unsure if it worked, but then you saw blood start to fill the straw and you exhaled.
“Did it work?” Sarah asked, her wild eyes watching your every moment as you taped the bottom of the straw against the hole of the bottle.
“I hope so,” you replied, your hands busy suturing the straw into place. You couldn’t bring yourself to meet her gaze, too worried you’d just messed up her whole world. Even when Rick coughed again, this time absent of blood, you couldn’t get rid of the pit growing in your stomach.
Too focused on having a man’s life in your hands, you had missed the sounds of approaching sirens.
“Are you all okay in here?” A paramedic crawled through the broken window.
“Over here!” You held up your hand, causing two paramedics carrying a transfer board to hurry over to you.
“What do we got?” One of them asked as they knelt down next to Rick.
“Male in his mid thirties–”
“He’s thirty-one,” Sarah interrupted with a sniffle.
“Thirty-one year old male,” you started again, sitting back on your heels, “blunt force trauma to the chest causing hemothorax.”
The diagnosis caused one of the medics to finally notice the straw sticking out of the man’s side. “Is that supposed to be a chest tube?”
You nodded.
“You performed an emergency chest tube?”
You nodded again.
“Well, you likely saved his life,” the other paramedic interjected after finishing her brief evaluation. “Miller,” she addressed her partner, “let’s get a neck brace and prepare for transfer.”
As the paramedics did their job, you let yourself collapse against the wall of the bus, the adrenaline starting to wear off. You watched Sarah stand up, readying herself to follow the paramedics to the ambulance before she turned back towards you.
“Wait–” she reached out her hand for you to take, which you did– “what’s your name.”
You told her, and she squeezed your hand. “Thank you.”
You could only nod with a small smile, a sudden wave of tiredness crashing over you. As the woman dropped your hand to catch up to the paramedics who were carrying her husband, you let your limb lazily drop to your side, every part of your body starting to feel heavy.
“Ma’am?” You heard a distant voice, professional and controlled.
“Ma’am,” the voice repeated, this time a lot closer, and you briefly opened your eyes to see another paramedic’s face hovering in front of you.
Weakly, you mumbled your wife’s name before succumbing to the exhaustion.
---------
Meanwhile, when word got the PTMC of a twelve car pile up, including a bus, it was all hands on deck.
As a stretcher rolled in with a badly injured man on it, a straw hanging out of his body, Robby’s eyes widened and he called over McKay and Whitaker.
“What do we got?” He asked, directing them to North 6, where Dana had shouted was open.
“Rick Nelson. Thirty-one year old male with blunt force trauma to the chest,” the paramedic explained as he helped transfer Rick onto the table. “Flew across the bus and into the pole.”
“Get surgery in here,” Robby yelled to anybody who was listening, immediately diagnosing internal damage.
Already downstairs due to the sheer amount of incoming traumas, Emery Walsh entered the bay just seconds later.
“What the fuck is that?” Her eyes immediately went to the water bottle full of blood and the straw dangling from the man’s rib before looking up to the paramedic. “You performed a chest tube in the field?”
The paramedic opened his mouth to defend himself but before he could say anything, Sarah interjected from the corner of the room, “A woman on the bus did that.” She said your name like a prayer.
Your name caught Emery’s attention, and she backed away from the table, her focus now solely on Sarah. “What was her name?”
Sarah repeated your name, this time in a whisper as she cowered under the surgeon’s glare.
“Was she hurt? Where is she?” Emery kept her voice firm, but her insides were twisting with fear. It hadn’t taken her long to put the pieces together that the woman in question was you, because who else on a bus would know where to even begin making anything with the semblance of a chest tube. Only you.
“I-I don’t know.”
For a moment, Emery only stared at the woman, frustration and anger building in her chest.
“Get Garcia in here,” she said, leaving no room for question as she peeled off her gloves, already exiting the trauma bay. “I need to find someone.”
Not bothering to listen to Robby’s protests, Emery made a beeline for the phone at the nurses’ station. She punched in your number, immediately doing it again when she reached your voicemail. When you didn’t pick up the second time, Emery slammed the phone down, earning a few sideways glances from the nurses.
“Dr. Walsh?”
“What?” She snapped, turning around to face Mohan, who wore an expression that teetered the line of compassion and pity.
“There’s a woman in three asking for you,” Samira said before lowering her voice away from prying ears, “your wife.”
Emery’s feet were moving before Samira could say anything further, her heart pounding in her ears. Pulling back the curtain, she nearly broke. You were sitting at on edge of the bed with a piece of blood-stained gauze taped to your head, your eyes closed as Santos worked to pick glass out of your arm.
Sensing your wife’s unmistakable presence along with the distinct smell of your laundry detergent that clung to her scrubs, you opened your eyes and sighed, “Em.”
Your weak smile did little to quell Emery’s worry as she unclipped your chart from the side of the bed before moving to stand by your side.
“You okay?” She murmured, scanning the chart in one hand while the other found a spot on your back.
“Peachy.” You subconsciously leant back into your wife’s touch. “Just chatting here with Dr. Santos about chest tubes.”
“Your wife’s a badass, Walsh–” Trinity’s eyes widened when she saw the surgeon’s glare– “respectfully.”
“You could learn a few things from her, Santos,” Emery retorted, causing you to roll your eyes.
“Be nice, Em.”
Emery glanced back down at you, her eyes softening for the briefest moment before turning to Mohan with urgency. “You put in an order for CT?”
Samira shook her head. “Loss of consciousness due to exhaustion and dehydration. No signs of a serious concussion or reduced brain function. Just a nasty cut.”
“Head wounds are always bleeders. You know that, babe,” you interjected with a faint smirk.
“Okay, seriously, who are you?” Trinity laughed, shaking her head in amusement and awe.
Emery ignored you both, your chart weighing heavy in her hand. She hated this. She hated that you were here, injured; that she wasn’t—couldn’t be—the one to treat you; that she couldn’t comfort you right now, just wrap you up in her arms and shield you from all the bad things in the world. She hated all of it.
Noting the subtle shift in the attending, her expression unrecognizable yet also uncharacteristic, Samira filled in the gaps.
“We’ve already stitched up the laceration on her forehead and got an x-ray back on a broken wrist,” she explained, not bothering with the details already written in the chart. “Santos is just picking out the stubborn pieces of glass and dressing the superficial wounds before we get ready for a cast.”
Emery hummed, and you could tell she was still on edge.
“I’ve been in good hands, Em,” you placated, lightly placing your non-injured hand on her forearm.
“I’ll take it from here,” she stated, her tone leaving no room for discussion.
Having just finished her dressings, Trinity dropped the gauze and gave you a quick smile. You thanked both of them as they wordlessly left you in the bay alone with your wife. For a moment, neither of you said anything, exhaustion coursing through your body and anxiety through hers. But when Emery sat down in the stool in front of you, tenderly hooking her finger under your chin and guiding your head so she could really look at you, you broke. Sobs wracked your body as you collapsed forward against your wife, who instinctually embraced you in her arms.
“I know. It’s okay,” Emery soothed, rubbing small circles on your back. Despite her earlier worries, she knew your tears were not due to pain but rather the emotional crash of having a person’s life in your hands and saving it.
Knowing all too well the swirl of emotions you were feeling, Emery just held you as you continued to cry. You buried your face in the crook of her neck, the faint scent of her vanilla perfume offering you familiar comfort.
“You saved that man’s life,” she said as your cries subsided. Gently, she pushed you back to upright so she could cradle your face between her hands. You never felt safer. “You helped him, now let me help you.”
You could only nod, and Emery stood up, softly but quickly kissing your lips, before she moved around the bay, gathering the necessary supplies for a cast. As she wrapped your wrist with practiced ease, already knowing you would want the purple plaster, you allowed yourself to turn your mind off and just be taken care of, something your wife was quite good at.
“A straw for a chest tube,” Emery scoffed under her breath as she cut the last piece of plaster, an amused glint in her eye. “What am I going to do with you?”
“You love me,” you replied easily with a chuckle.
“A straw for a chest tube,” she repeated, and this time you sensed the tone of pride in her voice. “Of course I love you.”
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the warmth from spreading up your neck. Before you could say anything else, the curtain was pulled open to reveal Jack Abbot. You’d met him a few times in passing and heard several stories, more so rants, about him from Emery.
“Isn’t a cast a little below your pay grade, Walsh?” He raised a brow in the direction of your wife.
“Abbot.” Emery rolled the stool, her body now half shielding you, an action not unnoticed by you or the other doctor.
“Down tiger,” Abbot chuckled before his eyes landed on you. “You the one who performed an emergency chest tube?”
“That would be me.”
Abbot merely hummed as his eyes narrowed into a look Emery would later tell you was one of approval.
“Just spit it out, Abbot,” Emery grumbled, causing him to form an amused smirk. He had never seen this protective side of the surgeon, and he decided he liked it, or rather liked poking it.
“When you’re done here, Robby has some questions for you,” he explained to you before shooting a pointed glance at your wife who was ready to protest, “just for charting purposes.”
“Let’s just get this over with,” you sighed as you pushed yourself off the bed, Emery’s hands still hovering.
“You also have some–” Abbot paused and moved to the side just barely, revealing a group of doctors and nurses huddled around the central station, their eyes watching you with curiosity– “adoring fans.”
On any other day, Emery would have scolded Abbot for letting his ED become a herd of gossip, but she reveled in the bashfulness that flushed your cheeks as you let out an exasperated groan.
“Come on, love.” Her hand rested on the small of your back as she helped you to stand, purposefully ignoring the way Abbot’s brow raised at the term of endearment. “Heavy is the head that wears the crown.”
“My own wife,” you scoffed, “leaving me to the wolves.”
“More like a bunch of golden retrievers,” Emery muttered into your ear, causing Abbot to let out a snort as he held open the curtain for you two.
“Even worse,” you joked, letting your wife guided you to where another doctor, who you assumed was ‘Robby’, stood typing at a computer.
“Dr. Walsh, can I do something for you?” His eyes remained focused on the screen.
“I heard you needed my wife’s help for your charting,” she replied smoothly, causing him to look up, his eyes darting between her and you.
“Your wife,” he said slowly, “performed a chest tube with a straw and a sewing kit in the middle of a bus accident?”
“Okay,” you interjected, sensing your actions had become a topic of discussion amongst the emergency department. You really didn’t want to answer their questions multiple times. “Yes, I am Emery’s wife. Yes, I made an impromptu chest tube out of a water bottle. No, I am not a doctor, and no, I do not want to be.”
You turned to Abbot, who you saw out of the corner of your eye was about to say something. “Don’t even try to poach me, Abbot. I have enough hobbies.”
That earned you a few chuckles from the eavesdropping group, and even Jack couldn’t help but smirk.
“Too bad,” said a nurse with white-blonde hair, an entertained grin on her face as she rounded the station, pointing at you, “I like her.”
Emery gently squeezed your hip and shot you a wink. “I like her too.”
wow! your understanding of this character is so. . . Unique! just wondering by the way but when was the last time you directly interacted with the source media
Rewatching that CM episode from the original series where JJ and Morgan pretend to be a couple to bait a racist and now CAN'T stop thinking about the concept of Evolution Jemily doing that to bait a homophobe. Think about it, they have an unsub who is kidnapping soon to be married lesbian couples and making them play a f-ed up version of the newlyweds game. They lock in on a suspect. Luke or Tara or whoever bring them in for questioning and on their way into the interrogation room the suspect just happens to sees Emily doing that absolutely hetero friend thing she does where she brushes her hand on JJ's back or whatever and they comment on that to Tara or someone. But the BAU don't have enough evidence to detain him, and even with Jemily baiting him during the interview he doesn't bite hard enough so they have to let him go free. Then later on Tara brings up how enraged he was by Jemily so JJ is like yeah true we should just lean into that. And Emily is like 😶 but ultimately agrees because why wouldn't she? Nothing to see here! Then we get a scene where they're checking into their hotel or whatever the trap is and are putting on a total act in public for the unsub while the rest of the team observe from their cars etc. And we get to see Luke worrying the unsub won't fall for it because "they're just doing what they always do!" And Tara is watching through binoculars next to him chomping on snacks like "Yup," at which point Luke suddenly GETS it.
Then it all spirals out of hand when the unsub actually successfully kidnaps them and forces them to play the newlyweds game but they end up being really good at it. And they're SO close to making it out until the unsub asks Emily how many women JJ has been with before her, at which point she super confidently says none, and the unsub is like INCORRECT. And JJ tearfully admits to being the college gay we all know she was. Then the unsub leaves them tied up in a building that's rigged to explode if the team doesn't get there in time. And it's all so emotional and they're trying to get to each other but can't because they're tied up on OPPOSITE SIDES OF THE ROOM AHHHHH so Emily starts to confess something, but then the team bust the doors down before she can finish and save them from the explosion just in time. Cue emotional music as they make it to safety and hug and the team all watch on, looking to each other like 'gee that was a close one do you think they're ok?' Then once the dust settles the end of the episode is just JJ poking her head into Emily's office and they're awkward at first until Emily is like "I guess even after twenty years we're still capable of keeping secrets, huh?" But JJ does the 🥺 face that she does and is like "Maybe we should work on that." And then they decide to go grab dinner and the episode ends on them walking off down the hallway at the BAU with a quote that's in Emily's voice going "All the secrets worth knowing are hiding in plain sight."
Like... They wouldn't even need to follow up with any further Jemily in the episodes after that because we'd all be dead????
Taliesin. taliesin look me in the eyes. there is nothing stopping you from saying this about Kingsley and Caleb if you ever want to,, feel free to just add that in like this anytime you'd like,, absolutely go for it--
I really implore y'all to stop letting the need to prove yourself get in the way of just enjoying life and the people you share it with. I'm using the word "implore" so y'all know I'm serious about it, btw
kaledo-art
discoholicmusic
janainaart
blakekathryn
dailybridgerton
