I can’t remember did Samira give birth to both kids? Could you maybe do where it’s Samira telling emery she’s pregnant? Or fertility problems if they had any?
sorry anon this was also buried in my notifications. ask and you shall receive (thank you)
The first time, when it’s Norah, they find out together.
Huddled together in their tiny bathroom, practically stacked on top of each other as they crane their necks to look at the stick balanced precariously on the sink. It had been their third attempt and with each negative they’d had, Samira had felt more and more like a failure.
Not that she based her value off whether or not she could get pregnant, but just that her body wasn’t working the way she wanted it to. And that it was costing them money.
Emery, of course, to nobody’s surprise, was a saint through the whole thing.
She held Samira when she cried, when she got angry at herself, when she didn’t want to try anymore. Never gave her those big sad eyes that felt resentful or disappointed. She was always simply there, whatever Samira needed of her, and Samira tried to do the same in return.
Samira breathes a sigh of relief when two little lines stare back up at them, and Emery of all people immediately dissolves into tears, making a weak joke about the third time’s the charm and that they’re going to need a much bigger bathroom.
The second time, with Teddy, Samira just knows.
She doesn’t know if it’s because it’s a reciprocal pregnancy or if it’s a sixth sense or some telling feeling within her body, but she just knows.
And on that basis, she decides Emery deserves to get a surprise.
She knows it’s a little unfair that she took the test without Emery present, that it could’ve all blown up in her face had it been negative, but it’s okay because it isn’t and they’re having another baby and this time, it’s actually Emery’s.
Her egg in Samira’s body.
The miracles of modern medicine.
Samira doesn’t know which act is harder; trying not to tell her wife or trying to keep the ecstatic grin off of her face.
Trinity figures it out before Samira can even let her in on her plan, a smirk plastered on her features in Central as she crosses her arms over her chest.
“Oh, you fucker. You’re pregnant again, aren’t you? I know it.”
Samira’s too happy to shush her friend or question how she’s got her clocked from just one look so she simply smiles and nods. “I haven’t told anyone yet. Not even Emery.”
Trinity raises her eyebrows. “Why? Is it not hers or something?”
Samira swats her. “Shut up. Thought she could do with a surprise.”
She doesn’t go for anything extravagant, doesn’t even go for something remotely original, but she knows it’ll make Emery smile and that’s enough for her.
She walks into work to pick Emery up after her day shift, Norah planted on her hip with a tiny t-shirt that says Big Sister on it. A few of their friends clock it before Emery can get down to the ED, but they keep their smiles and congratulations at a distance, waiting for the right moment.
Emery’s so tired that she almost doesn’t see the shirt at first, leaning up to kiss Samira in greeting before turning her sleepy attention to their three-year-old and taking her into her arms.
“Hey, you. D’you miss me?” She mumbles. “You ready to go home?”
Norah, still not used to being up so late, simply whines and buries her face into Emery’s neck, which earns a light laugh from anyone watching.
Emery frowns, realising they seem to be a spectacle in the middle of the emergency department, and looks at Samira quizzically. “Am I missing something? Special occasion?”
Samira only smiles at her and nods towards the shirt Norah’s wearing. “Mhm.”
Another little laugh goes up as Emery’s frown deepens and she follows Samira’s gaze. Gently pries Norah away from herself and reads her shirt, earning another set of smiles and little murmurs of surprised happiness.
Samira feels her heart bloom just a little when the realisation hits.
The day that Dr Emery Walsh cries in the middle of the ED goes down in history.
hi i heart you. can you pretty please write more about emery’s service dog its so good and i think about it all the time
of course anon (I don’t think anybody has ever said they heart me before, that’s nice ❤️)
tw: ptsd, panic attacks
The first time Samira sees Edie do her job, they’re in the parking lot of a Target.
Emery’s standing on the loading bed of her pickup truck, pulling up the flat pack of Norah’s crib to load it in when some teenager’s souped up engine backfires and a loud thunk comes from inside the truck.
At first it’s like Emery’s disappeared into thin air.
From where Samira’s standing at the foot of the truck, she can’t see where she’s gone, but then Edie’s leaping up onto the tail and bustling forward across the deck, making her way towards the front to find her.
Samira has to stand on her tiptoes to see.
Emery’s lying down on her front, her hands clasped tightly over the back of her head, her legs nimrod straight.
She’s trembling.
Samira can hear her crying, tight little panting breaths that come out way faster than it should be and she can see her fingers shaking where they’re laced into her hair, gripping far too tightly, hard enough to pull.
It takes the black lab a second or two to get to her but once she finds her, Edie clambers onto Emery’s back and lays down, pressing her weight into Emery’s. Where she can get to her face, she’s licking and nuzzling against her cheek, her ear, the back of her neck, her fingers.
Samira watches for a second, sees how Emery’s shoulders stop shaking and her breathing, eventually, begins to even out.
She can’t get into the back of the truck in her condition so she walks around to the side and leans against it as far as she can.
“It’s alright, Em, it’s just a car backfiring.” She says softly. “You’re safe, you’re here at home. I’m here.”
It takes about five minutes or so but finally, Emery’s hands loosen and she slowly lifts her head to meet Samira’s eyes. Edie’s tail begins wagging.
“Sam?”
Samira reaches forward, her hand holding Emery’s. The skin is clammy where their palms meet, either from sweat or dog drool, Samira doesn’t really care.
“You’re okay, love. It’s alright.”
Edie gets off of Emery as Emery sits up, tucking herself into Emery’s side and waiting patiently. Emery scratches the little spot behind her ear.
“Good girl.” She murmurs.
When she finishes adjusting and tying down the crib, Emery hops down with Edie following closely. Despite herself, Samira leans down and presses a quick kiss to the Labrador’s nose.
Less of an ask and more of an I love your blog and get excited each morning when I see your posts on my dash. That being said… mowalsh morning sickness ficlet…?
thank you anon this is very sweet 😁🥰 guys I’m basically an influencer now
tw: sickness, vomiting etc
Whoever said having a second baby was easier was fucking lying, Samira realises. Her body had clearly either forgotten, blocked out or outright rejected the memory of having Norah and had now decided to wreak havoc on her internal system as revenge for the reminder.
She felt like she’d been puking for weeks. Every morning, without fail, a sinking twisting feeling wrenched her stomach and herself out of bed, bolting for the bathroom before Emery could even really register what was going on.
She always joined her, even when she’d worked a twenty-four shift, even when Samira didn’t want her to.
“I can manage.” She spluttered as Emery’s hand soothed across her back and held her hair out of her face. “Go back to bed.”
Emery shook her head. At just over four months along, her wife’s morning sickness was starting to abate in its frequency but nonetheless in its power. She pulled a set of baby wipes from the cabinet and cleaned around Samira’s mouth, pressing the back of her hand to her wife’s forehead.
“I did try and warn you. Walsh babies are menaces.”
It’s close enough to an I told you so that Samira lifts her head and glares, but it quickly falls into a tired, miserable slump as she leans back against the wall.
“Your mother went through this four times?”
“Mhm. Four boys, one girl. Finished out on twins.”
“That’s insane. You’re not getting that many babies out of me.”
Emery laughed gently. “I don’t want that many babies out of you, darling.” She placed a gentle hand over Samira’s tender belly, smiling at her earnestly. “Just this one will be fine.”
Samira rolled her eyes at the affection in her wife’s words but let her hand join Emery’s over her stomach. She’d started showing a couple of weeks ago, not a great deal, but enough to be able to tell beneath her scrubs.
She sighed.
“Have you thought of any names yet?”
Emery blinked and smiled at her through the dim light of the bathroom. This was one of her favourite subjects.
When they’d been expecting Norah it had become almost a nightly ritual, laying in Emery’s bed and looking up through the skylight in the ceiling of her tiny apartment, bouncing different names off of each other until they found one they liked. Agnes, Charlotte, Priya, Nila, Aadhini. When they’d finally settled on Norah at seven-and-a-half months, Emery hadn’t been able to stop saying it or stop thinking about it.
She loved this game.
“I’ve got a few.” She said softly, rubbing her thumb against Samira’s skin. “What about you?”
Samira nodded tiredly. “Some. Want to compare?”
“Can I get you some water first? Just to get something in you.”
She smiled and nodded again. Emery pressed a kiss to her forehead, got up and headed for the kitchen, careful to tiptoe past Norah’s bedroom. Their daughter was good at sleeping through the night but if she heard voices and knew people were up, she wanted to know about it.
When she returned, Samira had managed to evacuate the bathroom and settle herself back down into their bed, exhaling through another tired sigh as she manoeuvred the sheets around her bump.
“They’re going to be bigger than Norah was, I can feel it.” She murmured, accepting the glass of water from Emery’s hand and setting it down on the nightstand. “The stretch marks are going to be a killer.”
Emery slid in next to her and leaned down to kiss the marks Samira had already acquired, running a hand lovingly over the patterns.
“I think they’re beautiful.”
Samira rolled her eyes. “You would. You know better than to get on my bad side.”
Emery chuckled and sat up again, letting Samira rest her head on her shoulder. They were both quiet for a while.
“I thought Wrenne…for a girl.” Emery finally said softly, tugging Samira’s legs over her lap. “Or Robin, maybe.”
Samira looked at her. “You think they’ll be a girl?”
“You think they won’t?”
Samira snorted, as if it were obvious. When she saw the confused look on Emery’s face, she let out a quiet laugh.
“Emery.” She started. “This is your egg inside me. You have four brothers, no sisters, six uncles and one aunt. I can’t say it’s very likely that we’re having a girl.”
Emery blinked, taking that in. She supposed Samira was right, she’d seen research into that sort of thing, gene likelihood and everything, but had never really thought about it for herself. She flicked her gaze down at the bump between them.
“We could always take a roulette.”
Samira chuckled. “And leave it to the betting pool at work? I still haven’t forgiven you for last time.”
Emery grinned. “Hey, we won a lot of money off of that.”
“Because you had insider knowledge that you gave to Parker who was kind enough to spend her winnings on us.”
“Worth it. We got that portable crib out of it.”
Samira rolled her eyes. “No betting. Names, please.”
“For a boy?”
“For a boy.”
Emery thought for a few moments. “My mom was going to call me Robert, if I was a boy.”
“Really?”
“Uh-huh. Irish Catholic and all that.”
“Why didn’t she call your brother that? It was twins, after all.”
Emery shrugged. “Guess she was just relieved that she finally got the girl she wanted. Honestly I think my dad wanted the name and by that point she told him to go fuck himself.”
Samira laughed and smiled again at the thought of a baby Emery, all dark eyed and serious with tiny fists and a quiet disposition. She thought of the own version growing inside her and she regarded her wife affectionately.
“Robert’s a good name.”
Emery shook her head. “No. I want it to be a name we agreed on.” She nuzzled against Samira’s temple. “Have you got anything?”
Samira’s hands fumbled in her lap. “I…um…I thought about a name that was similar to my dad’s.”
Emery was quiet. At first, Samira worried she’d made a rash decision, that it was too sensitive and too soon for Emery to have a clear-cut response, but instead her wife simply pressed a kiss beneath Samira’s ear and spoke softly to her. “Tell me.”
“He, um, my dad was called Zaheer. I don’t want our son to have his name, I don’t want him to feel like he’s replacing someone because he isn’t…but I want something that feels…you know, like him. Like I’m remembering him or something, I don’t know.”
Emery, as always, was kind and patient. “What name were you thinking?”
“Zahid. As a middle name or something?”
She almost expects Emery to say no, that she doesn’t like the name or the idea, but deep down she knows Emery better than that. Even if she didn’t like it, if it meant something to Samira, it meant something to her.
“I like it.” She murmured, kissing her again. “Guess that’s our middle name. Something something Zahid Mohan-Walsh.”
Samira laughs despite herself and kisses Emery fully, slow and steady, as if she’d be able to feel the adoration through the gesture. Guessing by the smile she felt against her, Emery understood.
“Rory’s good…for your Catholicism.”
Emery snorted. “My mother called her children Emery and Sonny. I don’t think it mattered all that much to her and it doesn’t to me.”
“It’s still nice.”
“How about Louis? Or Stephen?”
“He’d grow up to be a Steve. I’m not raising a Steve.”
Emery laughed again. “John?”
“Already have one of those.”
“Jackson? Shit, no, Abbot.”
“Carter?”
“Scott?”
“David?” Samira’s nose wrinkled. “Actually, no. I’m not raising a Dave either.”
“Frank?”
“No.”
“Michael?”
“No.”
Emery lowered them slightly in bed. “I worry this one’s going to take a lot longer than Norah did.”
“Luke?”
“Skywalker.”
“Damn it. I worry you’re right.” She snuggled closer to Emery’s side. “We know too many men.”
“Too many men with generic ass names.”
“Mm, yes. What about…River? That’s a good name.”
“Thomas? Tommy, for short?”
“Callum?”
“Bill?”
“I’m sorry, are you giving birth to a middle-aged man? That’s worse than Dave or Steve.”
Samira chuckled. “Could call him Emery. It’s a neutral name. Emery Junior.”
Emery scoffed. “Emery Junior Zahid Mohan-Walsh? He’s going to spend half of his lifetime just having to write that out-“
“Mom?”
Both of them stiffened. The tiny voice that came from the bedroom doorway was tired and uncertain, drowsy from sleep, and they inwardly cringed. Emery sat up first.
“Hi, bug. What are you doing up?”
Norah was rubbing her face with the corner of her Pokemon blanket, her favourite Charmander in her hand. “Too loud.” She murmured. “S’dark.”
“That’s because it’s time for sleeping.” Emery sighed. “Go back to bed, darling.”
Samira’s hand touched her arm and she shook her head no through the dark. Emery sighed again.
“Do you want to climb in here with me and Amma? Sleep with us?”
Norah nodded.
“You’ve got to be careful, remember? We have to be gentle with Amma.”
“Yes.”
Samira tugged on her arm again. “She’s fine.” She propped herself up on an elbow. “C’mere, baby.”
Norah, bless her, padded across the room and did her best to climb in between her parents without jabbing either of them with a knee or an elbow. She tucked instinctively into Samira, her back pressed against Emery, her face buried into Samira’s chest.
“What…what were you talking about? I heard you in the bathroom.”
Emery hummed. “Amma wasn’t feeling very well, I was just making sure she’s okay.”
Norah blinked, concern making her eyes widen so much like Samira’s. “Are you okay?”
“Absolutely fine, my love.” Samira regarded the Charmander plush between her and Norah. “I’m feeling much better now that I have you two here.”
“You were talking loud.”
“Did we wake you?”
“Yes.”
Emery ran her fingers through Norah’s dark curls, hoping the soothing motion would start to make her a bit more sleepy. She already knew that Samira making small-talk would keep her awake.
“What were you talking about?” Norah asked again.
Samira smiled. “We were talking about your baby brother or sister, kanna.”
“Oh. Are they here yet?”
The two shared a look over their daughter’s head. For a baby that could be very opinionated and cranky when she wanted to be, she could also be unbearably sweet.
“Not yet.” Emery supplied, wrapping her arms around Norah and tugging her back a little. “We were just talking about what their name might be.”
“You can’t call it Norah.” She said immediately. “That’s my name.”
Samira chuckled. “No, we can’t call them Norah, you’re right. Have you got any ideas?”
It took a moment but finally, Norah wriggled and pushed her plushie up between the three of them. “‘harmander.” She said firmly.
Emery resisted the urge to laugh, instead rolling her eyes. “Great suggestion, bug. We’ll add it to the list.”
As if detecting the sarcasm, Norah giggled and turned in Emery’s arms to face her. She burrowed in a little tighter to settle in. Over the top of her head again, Emery could see Samira mouthing something at her, a grin on her face.
Charmander Zahid Mohan-Walsh.
She chuckled and with her free hand, ghosted her fingers again over her wife’s stomach.
It’s just after lunchtime that Emery takes Norah home, medication in hand and foot safely bandaged, waiting for the real shit to hit the fan.
They get comfy on the couch, swapping scrubs and karate clothes for something comfier, sleep shirts and shorts with lightning bolts on them. Norah’s still a little sniffly from the pain in her foot, but she laughs happily as Emery carries her around dramatically, making sure she doesn’t put her weight down on anything.
That’s going to be a pain to manage, trying to keep an energetic six-year-old off her feet, but Emery’s already doing damage control where she can.
She composes a text to Samira - Norah’s fine, I’ve got her, we’re at home, don’t worry - and hopes it’s calming enough that Samira doesn’t blow into the house like a tornado, ready to rip them all apart.
It isn’t.
Not really, anyway.
Samira gets home an hour and a half after they do, keys clattering in the bowl by the door before she appears in the living room, eyes wide and Teddy on her hip, his hand clutching her jacket tightly.
Emery, who had tucked herself and Norah into the couch with one of the Pokemon movies on, glances back over the arm of the sofa and tries to make her smile look reassuring and less like an emergency had gone off without either of them knowing about it.
“She’s asleep.” She says before Samira can say anything, adjusting her shoulder to show Norah fast asleep in the crook of her neck, body loose and limp on top of her mom’s. Emery sees how Samira’s eyes track down to Norah’s bandaged foot, propped up on one of the cushions, and she sighs. “She’s okay, Mira. It’s just a sprain.”
Samira says nothing, merely adjusts Teddy on her hip and drops her work bag to the floor. Then she turns and takes him into his room, reappearing a few moments later to bend down and take Norah, dead-asleep and doll-like into her arms.
Emery hears her mumbling into their daughter’s ear as she goes to put her in her bed.
I’ve got you, baby. I’m here. It’s okay. I love you.
Norah stirs a little, mumbling a soft Mama before she falls asleep again.
Emery doesn’t move until Samira comes back into the living room, then she sits up and sighs. If this was going to be an argument, she’s at least glad the kids don’t have to hear it.
Samira sighs too as she drops down beside her, head in her hands. Emery doesn’t touch her just yet, still trying to gauge where her wife is at, and instead resorts to explaining the situation.
“I got paged during surgery,” She says softly. “Santos and Al-Hashimi were already checking her out when I got there, and said it’s just a sprain. Landed funny on her ankle when she was trying a new kick, nothing bad, just a fall and the combination of her weight gave her a nasty bruise. She’s okay, Samira.”
Samira still doesn’t say anything but her shoulders are shaking a little and Emery can tell she’s trying to hold back a sob, whether it’s out of relief or rage though, she’s not sure.
“I was there with her,” She continues. “I came down from the OR, looked her over myself, got the prescription sorted and then we went for ice cream, okay? I tried to call you but I figured-…I know you don’t have signal when you’re in the lab, so I took her home instead.”
Samira sits like that for a moment longer but then finally, she takes in a deep breath and straightens up, letting her hands drop into her lap. Her face is a little wet but she doesn’t look angry, more tired than anything else, and she sighs again as she leans back. Emery leans back with her, gazing up at her with her head on the back cushion.
“It’s been a day.” She murmurs, brushing a strand of hair off of Samira’s forehead.
“And it’s only two in the afternoon.” Samira mutters back. Her voice is a little hoarse, exhausted with defeat. “I’m so tired.”
“I bet.”
“Our…” Samira clears her throat, looks at a spot on the ceiling. “Our daughter got hurt…and I wasn’t there.”
Emery’s face flickers, and for a moment, she doesn’t know what to say. It’s true, annoyingly so, and there’s nothing she can do or say to say it’s not. Instead, she finds Samira’s hand.
“She’s okay.”
She knows that’s not the point, that she gets to sit on a high horse and say she was somewhat there, but the reminder is needed. This is about their daughter, not them. Samira sniffs.
“She’s never gotten hurt before.”
“She fell off her bike three weeks ago.” She reminds her. “That scrape on her knee was pretty gnarly.”
Samira rolls her head sideways, looks at Emery with the same sad expression Norah had worn, eyes wet and lip wobbling. “I was there to pick her up that time.”
Emery’s mouth twitches. “And you’re here now.”
“I should’ve-…”
She squeezes her hand. “Baby, don’t do this to yourself, okay? It won’t do anyone any good to beat yourself up about it. You’re here and you just picked her up and put her to bed, where she’s safe and happy and loved. That’s what matters here, okay? She was safe the entire time, surrounded by the people that we love and trust. You couldn’t have done more for her than what was already being done.”
Samira still looks upset but the words land, Emery can see it in her eyes, the reluctant acceptance that Emery, as per fucking usual, was right. She pulls Samira into the crook of her neck and lets her cry it out anyway, running a hand down her back and soothing her gently, the same way she does for Norah and Teddy.
“You’re okay, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”
Samira sniffles and holds on until she’s sobbed it out properly, letting Emery run her fingers through her hair and lay them down properly.
“I got the messages when I went to see how Teddy was getting on.” She mumbles as she rests her chin on her hand, palm on Emery’s chest. “I swear my phone nearly exploded. I was so worried.”
Emery smiled. “They rang me halfway through spreading a ribcage. I wasn’t happy.”
“You love spreading a ribcage.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You said Trinity treated her?”
“Mm, her and Al-Hashimi. Family discount.”
Samira smiled before she could stop herself. “We should get them a thank you present.”
“I think making one an auntie and the other a godmother is thanks enough, don’t you? It’s kinda their job.”
Samira rolls her eyes. “Still. It was good of them.”
Emery snorts but inwardly she agrees. It’s nice to know if either of her children were frightened or hurt or in trouble, then they had half a hospital looking out for them.
That was another stupid saying of Samira’s.
It takes a village.
Maybe not that, she thought with a soft smile, but a hospital would do.
mowalsh! would you be willing to write something where emery is like having a panic attack or a flashback or similar and samira has to deal with getting her wife through it AND making sure her kids don’t get freaked out or make it worse?
i just think it mayhaps might be tasty
absolutely anon (thank you for the distraction)
let’s go!
tw: allusions to violence, panic attacks, ptsd
mowalsh - you know I love you so
They don’t keep guns in the house.
Emery hates them, Samira doesn’t believe in having one, it’s an easy decision to make.
Still, there are noises just as loud as guns in the most unexpected of places, even in their own home.
Samira knows what’s happened the second she hears the bang of a kitchen cupboard door and Teddy begin to wail in his chair.
The situation she walks into isn’t catastrophic but it’s not good either.
Teddy’s sat with half of his dinner over his front, the bowl still rolling on the plastic table in front of him. Norah is stood at once side of the kitchen with her dragon stuffy in her arms looking thoroughly confused and frightened, the offending cupboard door swinging on its hinges beside her.
Emery is on the floor, trembling.
Samira can see she’s trying not to, that she’s trying to catch her breath and seem normal for the sake of their children, but it’s not working.
She, herself, has to remember to stay calm as well, to not make it worse and frighten the kids more.
She counts to ten before she moves, calmly and quietly, into the kitchen.
She goes to Norah first, asks her to go and sit in the living room and put some cartoons on before she comes to join her. She’s aware their daughter is trying to be brave, is trying not to cry at the uncertainty of the situation around them, and she appreciates her for it, even if it’s something she shouldn’t have to do. She kisses her cheek before she goes.
Next is Teddy.
Where Emery is on the floor, crouched in the corner between the sink and the fridge, she’s safe, save for a little bruise on her elbow from where she’s gone down. She’s clutching it in tight pain, her chest rising and falling, but her gaze is where she wants Samira to be; on their son.
Teddy whimpers and reaches out for Emery once Samira cleans him up and lifts him out of his chair.
“Want…Mama.”
“C’mon baby, Mama’s having a bit of a hard time at the minute.”
She’s about to whisk him off to be with his sister in the living room when he squirms and wriggles so furiously that she nearly drops him.
“No!”
“Teddy-…”
“It’s…fine…”
Samira looks down.
Where Emery’s sat, with her knees tucked up to her chest and her arms limp by her sides, she looks a bit pathetic. Some of Teddy’s pasta had splashed up against her shirt, staining it orange, and more from where it had splattered onto the floor. If Teddy had looked a mess, Emery looked much the same.
Slowly, her arms reached out. She sees how Samira hesitates.
“It’s okay,” she says again. “It’s alright, I can take him.”
“Are you sure?”
Emery’s breathing has evened out, even if she is a bit sweaty and a little worse for wear. She nods.
“I’m good.” Teddy squirms again, trying to push away and reach Emery’s outstretched hands. “C’mere, Ted.”
Samira eventually lets him down and stands there for a moment, watches as their son toddles into Emery’s arms, crawls into her lap and tucks his head under her chin, pressing his weight against her chest.
Emery wraps her arms around him and closes her eyes, taking one deep breath after another. Whatever is murmured between them, Samira doesn’t hear.
She goes into the living room and pulls Norah into her lap, soothes her through hiccuped apologies, assures her that everything’s okay.
Norah’s been around Emery’s PTSD for longer, knows it better, but at heart she’s still a baby and Samira knows she’s doing her best. It’s not her fault, and it never will be.
ok so i know that the cryptic pregnancy fic you wrote isn’t exactly canon in the mowalsh fam-verse, but i was wondering if you’d be willing to expand on it more with emery being sleepy and the baby coming home and samirs being worried but happy and the kids being like yay baby
you don’t have to i’ve just been thinking about it cause i love the fic
okay first of all this made me giggle cos why am I the spiderverse of mowalsh rn (I’m being silly this was phrased very well).
second of all I wrote that one in an absolute haze cos it was a staggeringly good prompt that freaked me out but was fun to write.
third, I changed the kids name cos I actually thought about it this time.
let’s do this.
varðeldur - mowalsh
It’s strange, finally being home after everything that’s happened.
Emery had left home on a regular Tuesday in March and had come back on a sunny Thursday in mid-April, her wife’s hand on her shoulder and their baby boy tucked into the safety of her arms.
Their baby boy. That’s still an odd thing to comprehend when they don’t mean the baby boy they already have, their Teddy.
This is their Benji, with big blue-denim eyes that are rounded in the same shape as Emery’s and his fist wrapped tightly around her finger.
The apartment feels smaller now that they’re standing in it. Not cramped or tight, just smaller, like they’d been in it as children and had returned to it as adults. They’d certainly come back different, the both of them.
Emery’s softer, more weary. She hadn’t cut her hair while they’d been in the hospital and now it nearly reached her elbows in long, curly waves. Her body had struggled to catch up to the shock, as had her mind, and sometimes it was as though she just wasn’t there but she was getting better, Samira had seen it now and again, the spark coming back. Her Emery.
Samira herself had changed too. In trying to find her feet in the aftermath, she’d been forced to reassess their lives and scramble to adjust, making decisions she usually left up to Emery, trying to do what was best for them and their family. They’d need a bigger house at some point, a car that could fit all five of them, childcare while Emery was still in the hospital, a fucking therapist-
A village had closed in around her.
Baran had organised her medical leave before she’d even asked, giving her more time to be with her wife and child where she was needed, even finding a good therapist’s number for her. Donnie had dropped by with one of his kid’s old cribs, setting it up in the bedroom and painting it to make it look like new. Dana, Cassie, Princess and Perlah, Parker and even Shen all took the kids in on their days off, looking after them and making sure they were well-fed and loved in their mothers’ absence.
Where Samira knew a doctor, she often found a friend, and when she crawled into bed with her children at night and hugged them close and soothed their tears, it was only with the relief that she had them close again, that she hadn’t lost them to the chaos.
The community of it, the closeness of their friends around them, Samira felt stronger, more connected than ever. With them, she got to be there for her wife, got to be the shoulder she could rely on.
It’s Trinity and Dennis that have Norah and Teddy for a few hours as they cross the threshold for the first time, staggering their reunion to ease Emery home and allow her to adjust.
“C’mon, let’s sit.” Samira murmurs quietly as soon as she reappears from the bedroom, having hurriedly thrown their emergency baby supplies under their bed and Emery’s duffel bag into the closet.
Emery’s already padding slowly around the living room with Benji in her arms, letting him suck on her finger while she coos at him tiredly. She speaks to him so gently and so quietly that Samira almost can’t hear her.
“Hi, sweet boy. Do you know where we are, hm? We’re at home, finally, can you believe that? We made it.”
She watches them for a few moments, how Emery turns and takes him with her, holding him close, keeping him safe. How she lets herself feel safer with him.
She smiles when Emery’s eyes catch the summer light, how her dark eyes become golden in the warming sun.
Benji’s birth had been a traumatic experience to say the least, full of blood and noise and pain that had taken away the joy and the excitement of expecting their son, replacing it with only delayed weariness and unwavering uncertainty.
But as the sun warmed their skin and a soft, loving smile graced his mother’s features and her eyes bore into his, Samira supposed Benji’s life might bring them a little bit of peace she didn’t know they needed.
Might bring it to Emery and keep her smile soft, sane and loving.
Ok I know you’re not American but since tomorrow is the fourth and I am being made to listen to fireworks on THE THIRD, I think it would be super cool if you wrote Samira Mohans guide on getting yourself, your PTSD-ridden wife, and your two small children (who are not big fans of loud noises and go to bed at like eight) through firework season.
A quick one before I sleep anon (and bc it’s already July 4th here)
🎆🎇🇺🇸 Samira Mohan-Walsh’s Guide To The Fourth of July 🇺🇸 🎇🎆
• Emery gets stuck on the night shift for the entire week. It sounds like torture on paper but in reality, it’s kind of a blessing in disguise. She can’t hear the fireworks from within the hospital walls and she’s got plenty of idiots she can cut up and rearrange to distract herself.
• However! This means Samira’s going to have to single-parent her way through bedtimes and the inevitable tears that will come to follow.
• At first it’s fine. They live in a quiet neighbourhood and their windows are triple glazed. Fireworks sound more like bumps in the night for them and if Samira can suitably tire the kids out enough, they’ll sleep straight through.
• However! Theory is a bitch and kids don’t tend to play by the rules. Teddy saw fireworks once and hated them - they’re too big, they’re too bright, they’re too loud. He still sobs when Samira tells him they’re not seeing them this year.
• Samira’s not heartless about it, both kids have a set of earphones that’ll protect them from the noise, but again, it’s difficult to explain what’s good for you to kids who have to hear it all the time. Norah’s petrified of the booms and yet refuses to wear the headphones because they’re heavy.
• If the kids aren’t wearing the headphones, Emery is. She likes the fireworks and she doesn’t mind the noise so much. If she can see where they’re coming from and when they’re going to go off, it’s okay.
Thanks anon!
Fun fact; I was once sent home from work and put on sick leave because a bunch of kids decided to let off a bunch of fireworks inside my job. It petrified me then, but I still like the fireworks. 😌
Emery takes them out every other Friday of the month.
It’s always somewhere different, somewhere new that isn’t overwhelmingly crowded or unstable, different enough that Samira never gets bored.
It’s usually a bar, or an outdoor restaurant, or sometimes a museum or a tour of some historic site if they’ve got the day for themselves. Whatever it is, Samira always enjoys it.
Emery’s good at knowing the city like that.
Samira is less so.
She’s lucky that Emery likes a myriad of things, is happy to do whatever and confident enough to make the decisions when Samira doesn’t want to. She knows the limits without having to ask, knows where the line is when it comes to their comfort zones.
Samira isn’t so sure.
The night she picks their date night instead of Emery, she worries she doesn’t know her girlfriend as well as she should.
The karaoke bar is small but comfortable and most of its inhabitants seem to be the artsy type, quiet how both of them like. It’s a bit of a wild card, neither of them are the particularly creative type but Samira couldn’t think of anything but this to try and be out of the box.
She didn’t want Emery to think she was slacking.
It’s when somebody steps up to sing Mariah Carey that she’s sure she’s made the wrong decision.
Emery’s face is venomous through the whole performance, eyes settled in a scary sort of glare that she only reserves for interns that monumentally fuck up in front of her.
Whoever’s up there singing, if looks could kill they would’ve been dead before they could even get to the chorus.
Samira’s sure she’s fucked up.
Sure that Emery hates her.
Except the second the performance ends, Emery is sitting back with her usual, handsome sort of smile that screams gorgeous and squeezing Samira’s hand, tilting her head.
“What’s the matter?”
“We can go, if you want.”
Emery raises her eyebrows. “Why would I want to do that?”
“You look like you’re not enjoying yourself.”
To her credit, Emery looks thoroughly confused before she figures it out. “Oh, you mean the song?”
Samira blinks. “The song?”
Emery laughs. “Baby, have I never told you? I hate Mariah Carey.”
“You-…what?”
“Hate her. She comes around and haunts me every Christmas. She’s worse than my Nana.”
Samira blinks again. “Oh.”
Emery grins, her eyes crinkling. “I’m enjoying myself, love. I’m here with you, aren’t I?”
She groans. “Don’t be an ass.”
The grin only broadens. “Oh, I’m about to be worse than that. You’re up next, darling.”
Samira’s head whips up and sure enough, her name is plastered across a screen with the title of some Nirvana song underneath. Emery’s teasing laugh is the only music that makes her get to her feet.
“I hate you.”
“Don’t say that. Go on, serenade me.”
edit: it’s taken me an hour and a half to realise this says barantos oh my god
