{Self Para} Not a Knight
He's never felt like a knight. Not when he'd write those silly stories about his sister's and not when he went off to fight a war, not when he became an SRU officer and not when he became a security guard for hire. None of his feats in life have made him feel like that knight in shining armour that his sisters had so eagerly called him before he left. He doesn't feel that way because four years after he left, Inara died and he'd been a coward. He'd stayed with all the blood and violence instead of facing his family in the wake of this drastic number cut.
His peace comes from simple things; making dinner, sitting at his desk and writing to his heart's content, stolen hugs to Alana, and having to carry her (Hell yes, he still carries her) to bed because she fell asleep on the couch again. He's a little surprise that this peace--or maybe contemplativeness--comes to him when he's modelling as well. A few hours of sitting around with a few breaks in between... He gets to think while he sits still, allows his image to be received by the young adults around him, interpreted as they see fit. He'll learn later that many of them were perceptive enough to pick up on his heavy thoughts and capture it in their work.
He's found himself thinking more and more about leaving this town, and going to Montreal, where there are laws against paparazzi (if that's what they can be called) and where healthcare is just a benefit with work, and where he and Alana would likely have an easier time with the whole 'not straight' factor about them (not that that's been a problem here, Gay Rights are just more supported there.). But Alana's school is here, and it's the best one for her to be at to get that shot at a spot on the Olympic team. He's so proud of her for her strength.
He considers putting the shining armour on Alana since she's been so tough as nails about everything they've been through. She deserves good, calm, easy-going; none of this stupidity. It's this stupidity that makes him feel helpless. Their schedules don't fit together; he's out of the house before six in the morning, she's home at seven. Saturday runs are relishes he's not sure he wants to admit, their races and competitiveness is a silent thrill that his sister sees in the form of a grin when he's hunched over panting. Her teasing voice asking him if his age is catching up with him yet is a taunt that spurs the best out of him.
But there the question is begged. Thirty two is not old. He's in his prime, fit and for the most part content with his life. However Emmett has found himself indulging in the smiles of mothers with their children in parks while making his way home; he smile himself when he hears a baby laugh, and a feeling he can't explain wells up inside him when he gets to hold one. "You're daddy material." One of his colleagues' wive's had said once, Emmett had just laughed and bounced the baby he'd been allowed to hold. "Maybe if I meet the right someone." He'd said.
Maybe not though, maybe he can be a dad by himself--but in all fairness, he craves the bond between two people that have made a baby together, it's like being in love with the idea of being in love. He's not sure if that will come to bite him in the ass.
