Rose Hauptman’s plea is small and scarce. Breathless, terrified - but of what? That she’ll fall, or that he’ll let her drop? That she needs to beg for her life with him, where she wouldn’t have ever needed beg with someone else? Someone who’d given her a good first impression?
She was right, of course. She was right to doubt him.
Emre recalls the night he’d almost gotten away with it, too. He hated his failure. Emre liked excelling at a job he resented and despised, more than he liked failing at it. He loathed his work, but at least he was good at it. But what if? What if he’d actually succeeded, approached the mangled Hauptman car on the quiet rural road with his petrol can, only to discover that Rose Hauptman was still alive? The sound of her plea - small and scarce - would be no different then, as it was now.
Except it was. Because Emre was different. At least, this is what he desperately keeps telling himself.
So he grabs onto her bloody hand and pulls, probably doing a number to her shoulders. If her tendons tear from the strain, he won’t be surprised. He finds purchase in a crouch and hauls her up. Emre’s grunt tears out of his throat through his clenched teeth, but he feels reprieve as Rose also gains a foothold, and Emre releases her once it’s safe. Panting, Emre’s about to ask if she’s alright, with her thin bloody fingers splayed on her shirt like utter disbelief.
Then without warning, Rose fucking Hauptman flings against him, and clings to his shirt.
Emre huffs a ragged breath and stares wildly up at the trees above in appeal, his arms hovering outward. He’s unable (unwilling?) to turn this into a warm embrace. He wants to cling back, feel her shoulder-blades under his palms, as he can feel her heartbeat pressed against his own wildly thumping chest. He wants to, but he can’t.
And then she’s thanking him, and Emre shuts his eyes tightly, face squinching as if he’s in physical pain.
‘Baruch Hashem,’ she says. Emre actually knows what that means, and he feels a little thrill down his spine. Alhamdulillah, Emre echoes in his mind, but he’s too afraid to say it out loud.
“Alright? You’re alright, luv. You’re alright,” Emre voice is unsteady, and he braves one brief pat on Rose Hauptman’s back before he steps away.
Scrubbing his bloody hand through his hair, Emre makes no move just yet. Rose still looks understandably unstable, what with all the adrenaline. “Bloody wicked that drop is. Looks newly formed too, innit. I’ll - I’ll come back here later, plant a flag yeah? So people’ll take warning.”
Emre can’t look her in the eyes, her face is too much to handle. He’s still tremouing from adrenaline too; and if he looks at her, Emre’s sure his legs will just give away. “Oi, hangabout -” Emre edges closer to the ravine and swipes up Rose’s spear. He holds it towards her.
“Looks like you got your priorities sorted, even in near-death situations, innit. Keep spear safe.” It’s meant to be a joke, but the words stick bitter and sour in Emre’s throat. He pulls out his water bottle, and offers it to her first.
“Should we continue?” And the strangest part of his question is that Emre wants to continue. He wants to keep going, with Rose.
Is she alright? The trembling in each of her limbs seems to indicate otherwise, despite Emre’s reassurance. But he’s right, isn’t he? The rising and falling of her chest indicates as much. Rose isn’t sure what her thanks should be directed toward, between the grace of God or just the speed of Emre Akbar’s hands. She’ll stick to both.
Her palm is still splayed over her chest as if to assure herself of her own existence as Emre goes on about cliffs and flags and... she feels herself nodding, vaguely, over the thunderous sound of her own pulse. “Right. Um, right. For the best. Don’t need anyone else falling...”
She’s glad he offers to plant the flag himself; Rose isn’t sure she could manage another venture to this place. Not with her blood stained on the rocks the way it is. With that thought in mind, she turns her back to the unexpected cliffside, heading in the direction they’d come from.
But Emre’s voice stops her and she turns, an inquisitive expression breaking through the dullness of shock. Until he does her another favor. “Thank you,” she says, not for the first time today, but this time, the words wobble thanks to impending tears. Rose clears her throat, swatting under her eyes with a degree of shame before taking the spear.
The offered water is gratefully taken and Rose clears her throat after the fact, still blinking back the water blurring her vision. “Sorry. Just... not every day you almost orphan your child.”
But Jo wouldn’t be an orphan, would she? She has a father now.
It’s easy to forget sometimes.
Trying not to get caught up on the technicality, Rose hands the bottle back over with a grateful nod and straightens herself up. “Right. Um...” Her bloodied arms tell her that this may not be the best option. Still, she had a goal in mind – and Emre looks somewhat eager. Given the debt she owes him, Rose doesn’t have it in her to turn him down now. “Maybe just toward the cove. I’ve only been once but from what I’ve gathered, it’s a decent location.” Too far into the jungle, perhaps, but worthwhile. And so with a nod, she carries on, spear gripped tight in a thoroughly scraped hand.
The time of walking gives her the opportunity to reassemble her manners – anything that shock shook away, really. “Are you planning on living with your brother?” Rose hasn’t met the younger Akbar sibling herself but her husband evidently has. Siblings seem a safe enough topic of conversation. Hell, she’ll take insults about euphemistic wallets over their latest cliff-diving scheme. Anything else will do.
