Baran Al-Hashimi who, right after her son is born, is terrified of being left alone with him. So afraid of having a seizure while he’s in her arms, her limbs going slack, his impossibly tiny body slipping to the floor. She can sit in the oversized rocker in his nursery, his weight supported by a pillow. Can stand at his changing table with a stabilizing hand on his stomach. But soon, much too soon, he learns to roll. Learns to flip out of her grasp even when she’s paying attention. It doesn’t matter that it’s been years since her last seizure. Doesn’t matter that she made it through the entire pregnancy without one. She could have had one and missed it. She’d missed them before. She can’t be alone with him.
So she distances herself from him. Pumps and then switches to formula almost immediately. Never breastfeeds him. Makes sure he is comfortable, more comfortable, with his dad and his nanny and his grandmothers than he is with her. She ends her maternity leave as early as she can, even though her body is still piecing itself back together. Long hours at the hospital make the distancing easier. She leaves before he is truly up for the day, and comes home after he is asleep. Soaks up the small moments of the mid-night feeds and diaper changes, though she makes her husband wake up with them, too. She teaches him, this tiny infant, not to rely on her. She is not reliable, cannot be reliable to him.
His dad doesn’t understand. Can’t understand, especially working with the limited information Baran gives him. The fear she refuses to voice sits looming and unaddressed between them, a rift in their relationship that grows bigger every day until they are too far apart to find each other again. (The rift was there before, the baby had just been a temporary bridge.)
Baran Al-Hashimi who, when divorce proceedings start, does not fight for custody. He’s older now, but still too little for her to trust herself. A momentary lapse on her part could still be catastrophic. Besides, she doesn’t really know him. Tries to make eggs for him one morning right before the end, and is embarrassed when it ends with his plate thrown on the floor and his dad sighing “it’s been yogurt for three weeks now.” All of the distance means she has missed the child her son has become. His dad hadn’t. Had been paying attention, the whole time. Had been caring for him, raising him, loving him, the whole time. It was better this way. If she didn’t fight. If she focused on work, on her patients, on the things she could change, instead of on the things she had broken and could break.
She joins MSF because maybe physical distance will make it all seem more reasonable. Of course she can’t have custody of her son, she has patients across the world. It’s not because the physical distance makes the emotional distance hurt a little less.
Baran Al-Hashimi who, now, will tell stories about her seven-year-old son with a smile that she has carefully practiced to perfectly hide her shame. Somewhere along the way she learned that not talking about him hurts almost as bad as the truth— that she has a child she doesn’t see and doesn’t know— so she shares the little pieces she has. The pictures and anecdotes his dad sends every now and then, hoping that someday she might be interested.
She is interested. Of course she’s interested. She devours every piece of information, updates her lock screen with every new photo, gorges herself on every small tidbit. There is an ever present, cavernously huge ache in her chest. It’s been there since the day he was born.
She doesn’t know how to say that she is gone because she loves him.
Samira's known it for months, but it isn’t until they’re sitting on the couch, her legs tossed across Emery's lap, that the comforting weight of it truly settles around her like a warm blanket.
They’ve got some awful medical show on, the ridiculously unrealistic kind because Emery enjoys shouting at the TV every time they do something wrong, but Samira’s only half paying attention. Her gaze is focused on the side of Emery's face: the slight pout of her lower lip as she frowns, the furrow of her eyebrows when she’s particularly annoyed, her slight lean forward as a particularly long string of curses escapes her.
Even a year into their relationship, she’s still in awe that this beautiful and incredible woman is all hers. She doesn’t think that feeling will ever fade, the constant surprise and shock that Emery Walsh is sitting on her couch and is holding her hand right now.
Emery glances over as the credits roll, frown softening into something more fond and gentle as she meets Samira's eyes.
“Hey, you,” she murmurs, squeezing Samira's hand. “What’s up?”
Samira can only shake her head, mouth curving into a matching smile. “Nothing,” she says. “Just really happy.”
Samira hadn’t thought it possible, but Emery's face somehow softens even further at that. She lifts their joined hands to her mouth and presses a kiss to the back of Samira's hand.
“Me too, honey.”
Samira shifts sideways until she’s pressed close, their elbows bumping as she settles her head on Emery's shoulder. An arm automatically moves to wrap around her waist even as Emery's gaze returns back to the TV, tugging her in.
She lets her eyes drift shut, soothed by the low drone of the tv and Emery’s thumb stroking over her hip. She's almost asleep when a throw blanket is carefully tucked around her and lips press against her temple, featherlight and familiar.
“Em?” It comes out barely audible and mumbled, but somewhere in her half-asleep state she can sense Emery's gaze settle on her.
“Yeah?”
“I love you,” Samira mumbles, turning her face into Emery's neck. “I love you so much.”
She feels more than sees Emery's surprised exhale, doesn’t even process it until another kiss is pressed to her temple and a hand slides up and down her spine.
“I love you too,” Emery whispers against her skin, fierce and tender. “Fuck, Mira. I love you so much more than you know.”
“I know,” is all Samira manages to say before she’s drifting back asleep again, feeling overwhelmingly warm and safe.
mowalsh/santellis - it’s nice to hear your voice again 🏠
emery and parker’s apartment is infested by residents their girlfriends. it’s not the worst thing in the world.
(I’m writing a full version of this dw)
• emery rents the apartment when she starts her fellowship. when she makes attending she buys it outright just to save having to move again. she likes her apartment and she hates change.
• this being said, it’s lonely in a two bedroom apartment with no roommate. she hadn’t cared about a social life when she was a fellow, she didn’t have time, but now she gets to pick and choose her hours and it sucks coming home to a quiet house.
• parker is the first person to reply to emery’s in-hospital ad, and the only person she considers. parker is quiet and competent, and doesn’t driving her fucking crazy or kiss her ass because she outranks her. even better, she doesn’t bring the hospital home with her.
• the beds in their bedrooms are actually relatively small. they’re not singles, but they’re not doubles either, both crammed into the corner and the wall just so they can slip past to get through the window onto the fire escape.
• emery only comes to hate the shared fire escape when trinity starts coming round. she, much against her will, knows what that particular resident sounds like in bed and she really wishes she didn’t. some days she’s convinced trinity’s making all that noise just to wind her up. parker can’t be that good.
• they settle into a weird sort of codependency when samira and emery start properly dating. neither trinity nor samira officially live in the house, yet they have their own keys and rarely spend the night away.
• the beds aren’t big enough to fit them comfortably. emery likes to press herself into the wall as much as possible as she tangles herself up with samira to make the most of the space.
• the kitchen is their social hub spot. trinity does parker’s braids once every six weeks so the kitchen is adorned with a stool (and parker) in the middle, whilst emery and samira chat away on the encasing counters, swinging their legs as they talk.
• parker uses this time to ask them the most awkward questions available. they’re her entertainment after all.
• it’s a quiet house, but a loved one, despite how cramped it is with four people living in there. emery would prefer it if trinity didn’t use her expensive coffee machine every morning but she has to admit the girl’s got the kind of laughter she’d been missing in this house.
• what had once been her lonely apartment with one empty bedroom and soulless walls was now decorated with colourful rugs, the Polaroids of Shame stuck to the fridge, bags and coats hung up in the hallway and the sound of a very chaotic but loving family.
can you pretty pretty please with a cherry on top write a fic where emery comes home to samira and the kids and is tired to the point that samira is deeply concerned like don’t even take a shower or eat please just get in bed thank you so so much love your work
Emery’s eyes were red.
So red that she looked like she’d been crying for hours on end or rubbing at them relentlessly until they were sore. Either way, they didn’t look good.
Samira had seen her wife tired before, had spent many a night being tired right along with her. After a long shift, during their kids’ infancies, after hours and hours on end of working until they dropped, but nothing like this. Emery looked hardly fit to stand, let alone eat or help out with the kids.
Hell, she looked like she was about to cry.
She barely reacted when Samira dropped what she was doing, got up and gently pressed her thumbs into Emery’s cheeks, cupping her face worriedly.
“What’s wrong? What’s happened?”
“M…m’tired.”
Just from the way she spoke, voice scratchy and thoughts dead behind her dark-brown eyes, Samira knew it was more than a tough shift, more than just being tired.
“Gimme a minute…can help.”
Samira smiled sadly. “Don’t be silly. It’s bed time for you.”
Emery’s keys jingled pathetically in her hand as she tried to hold them up. “What about…school run?”
“I’ll do it. You, off to bed.”
On a normal day, Emery would’ve protested against this sort of treatment until Norah was physically pulling them out of the door but today, today she just sighed and nodded. When her eyes drooped closed and didn’t reopen, Samira could feel the weight of her wife pressing into the palms of her hands.
She was falling asleep standing up.
Samira glanced over her shoulder. “Can I trust you two not to stab each other while I help Mom to bed?”
“No promises.”
“Norah.”
“Fine, but you only get five minutes. He keeps taking my OJ.”
Samira rolled her eyes, pressed her weight forward and let Emery nod right forward into her arms. She hugged her close, slipping one arm around her shoulders and the other around her waist, turning them to head for the bedroom.
“If I were stronger, I’d carry you.” She murmured against Emery’s temple.
Emery grumbled. “And if I were stronger, I wouldn’t need to be held like…” She cut herself off with a long yawn. “…a baby.”
Samira smiled, pressed a kiss to her wife’s frazzled curls. “Come on, let’s get this baby to bed, hm?”
Mowalsh Kid sickfic? Wether its just a fluffy at home sickness or more serious one, writers choice!
bosh let’s fucking go anon
white winter hymnal - fleet foxes🎄
It’s five days before Christmas that Samira gets stranded in New Jersey with their daughter and it’s the day after that that the snow that had blanketed New York decides to also dump itself on Pittsburgh and subsequently, their house.
It took four hours for their heating to break and six after that for Teddy to get sick.
It’s nothing serious, only a cold that makes him shiver and rids Parker’s much-warmer house of all of its tissues, but it’s still seemingly the end of the world for a four-year-old who’s barely been sick a day in his life.
He’s handling it remarkably well given the circumstances, but Emery suspects that that has more to do with Aunt Parker’s playthrough of Spiderman 2 rather than his own bravery. Still, he chooses his moments to pivot beneath the mountain of blankets to look at Emery with the most serious look on his face and his sniffly nose to ask;
“Mom, am I gonna die?”
Parker has the good timing to laugh before Emery’s face can drop and he scowls at her.
“What?”
“It’s a cold, little man, not the plague. You’re not going to die.”
“People can die fr-from a cold.” He argues. “Amma said so, it’s hy…hy…hype-…hype-o…“
“Hypothermia.” Emery finishes, a fond smile as she shakes her head. “And you’re not going to die from it because you don’t have it, bud.”
“Oh.”
Parker snorts. “Wuss.”
He pulls a face so severe that Emerly nearly laughs. He is so her child.
They’re winding down for bed by the time Samira rings. Emery winces at the harsh sound, sighs, and runs a hand through Teddy’s hair before she gets up to take the call.
“Be right back, okay, bud?”
He mumbles sleepily, still cocooned in his blankets at Parker’s side. Their video game fun had turned into a mini-marathon of the Spiderman films and then promptly into trying and failing to keep each other awake. Her old roommate grins up at her wearily when Emery kisses her son’s forehead.
“No goodnight kiss for me?”
“Watch your damn movie, P.” She says, but smiles in return.
Parker had been a friend of hers for years, and family ever since. When she’d asked if they could use her house as a temporary refuge while their heating was repaired, it had been a no-brainer. Parker had even helped move their suitcases over.
Emery ran a hand through her ruffled hair as she put her phone to her ear and spoke lowly, “Hi, baby. How’s it going? Any luck?”
Samira’s sigh sounded unbelievably tired. “Nope. Still nothing flying out. No rental cars either.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’ve headed back to my mom’s for the night, figured Norah needed a warm bed rather than another stay at the airport.”
“How’s she doing?”
Samira made a noise that sounded somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “She’s having the time of her life actually. Mom’s been spoiling her rotten and she’s commandeered a small collection of New York souvenirs because I keep buying them for her.”
Emery smiled. “Anything memorable?”
“Who would’ve thought an eight-year-old would enjoy owning a 9/11 remembrance snow-globe?”
“You didn’t.”
“Oh, but she insisted. Even better, it’s going pride of place on the mantel when we get home.”
Emery laughed. If Teddy was her child, Norah was somehow even more so. “Right, okay.”
“How’s..um…how’s Teddy?”
She heard the suddenly tight, worried tone in Samira’s voice. She glanced over her shoulder. “He’s good. Curled up on the couch with Parker. They’re watching one of the Spidermans or Spider-verses whatever they’re called.”
“How’s his cold? Still sniffling? What about his temperature?”
“He’s fine, love, I promise. I’m keeping an eye on him.” Emery turned back to the kitchen, a small smile on her face again. “I’d put him on as proof of life but it’s currently a competition of who’s going to fall asleep first and I don’t want to disrupt the results.”
Samira hummed. “I miss him.”
“He misses you too. As do I.”
“I’m trying to come back.”
“I know, I know.”
Samira exhaled a deep breath. Emery could hear her thinking. “Em?”
“Mm?”
“What if…what if we’re not back by Christmas? What if we’re stuck in New Jersey with my mom until Norah’s in college?”
Emery chuckled. “Which school are you thinking, Cornell or Columbia?”
“Emery.”
“Barnard? Sam, honey, we’re not art people.”
“Emery.”
Emery’s laugh faded into another soft smile. “Sorry. I appreciate you thinking of the worst-case scenario but snow thaws, my love. You’ll be out of there by Christmas Eve.”
“But what if I’m not? What if-“
“Then we spend Christmas apart and make it up over the New Year. It won’t be the end of the world, I promise.”
Samira was quiet for a moment. Then, softly, “I shouldn’t have come to visit my mother.”
“Don’t be silly-“
“No, no, I shouldn’t have. With the snow and the heating and Teddy-“
“All things that happened after you left and all things out of your control.” Emery said firmly. “Do you know what else they are?”
Samira sighed. “What?”
“All things I’ve got your back on, so quit worrying about it, okay? It’s handled. I’ve got time off work, an engineer is coming out to the house tomorrow, Teddy will come out of his cold soon enough and we even have a Christmas tree up so he won’t know anything’s wrong. It’s alright, okay?”
Samira’s silence told her everything. Emery exhaled.
“I miss you too, Mira. I want you home as much as you want to be here. I want to spend Christmas and New Years with you and our kids and…all of it. But I want you back here relaxed and ready to enjoy our time together again, not stressed out over the stuff that isn’t your fault and feeling guilty about it.”
Another long pause. Then Samira spoke again:
“I hate how competent you are.”
“It’s why you married me.”
“Mm. Among other reasons.”
“Want me to put Teddy on the phone? He’s half-asleep but I’m sure he’d be willing to lose this competition for you.”
“Yes please.”
“Okay.”
Emery turned to return to the living room, but Samira’s soft voice stopped her again.
“Em?”
“Hm?”
“I love you.”
She smiled. “I love you too. And Mira?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t you dare lose that snow-globe on your flight home.”
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
gummygunk
kianamaiart
amandla
yousharknotpass
pixelskylines
