Emery

I remember when my Dad would watch UFC fights and the loud sound of fists hitting faces and crunching bones would make me cringe.

None of those fights compared to the sound Bridgette made when her palm connected with Marshall's cheek. The echo practically radiates through our apartment and I am eternally grateful it didn't cause Grayson -who is still tending to the burning sauce- to come running out.

Bridgette's fiery gaze was enough to make me want to bunker down and cower, and I wasn't even the one on the receiving end of that glare.

"In case that slap across your face didn't knock some sense into your dense, Marshmallow ass, I'll repeat myself. What the fuck do you want?" Bridgette spits.

Marshall releases a tear as he brings the palm of his hand over his now reddened cheek.

Pretty sure the tear isn't from the slap though.

"I deserved that but look, I don't want to fight. I was hoping to have a word with Emery," he says and then looks at me solemnly. "Please."

Bridgette takes a step towards him with a permanent scowl and her shoulders rolled back, ready to attack. Reaching out, I grab her arm, wrap my hand around her thin wrist, and yank her back, putting myself in between her and Marshall as I step completely out of the entrance of the apartment.

"I got this. Go back inside."

Her eyes shift between Marshall and me and I could tell leaving me here with him is the last thing she wants to do.

I watch as her eyes roam past Marshall and I follow them, my gaze landing on a wary looking Miles as he approaches us.

"Bridgette? Marshall, Emery, everything okay out here?" He asks.

"No," my sister says the same time I say, "Yes."

Looking at Miles, I assure him everything is fine and ask if he can please take Bridgette back inside. Hesitantly, he gives Marshall a small nod before placing his hands on Bridgette's hips and guides her back inside. All the while, her eyes glower at Marshall until the door closes.

"You might want to get out what you wanted to say quickly before Bridgette manages to sneak away and come back out." I raise my chin and cross my arms over my chest, ignoring the soreness emitting from my abdomen.

"What the fuck?" I hear Grayson's voice yell in anger from behind the door. He must have just found out who was out here.

"And before Grayson comes out here, too," I add.

"Of course he is here," Marshall mutters so quietly that I barely hear it.

Arching my brow and crossing my arms over my chest, I ask, "Did you come here to gloat or did you actually have something to say?"

With wary eyes, he nods and clears his throat. "I-I don't even know where to begin to tell you how sorry I am, Emery. For everything. The last thing I wanted was for you to get hurt."

"After my indiscretion, I saw how I had hurt you, and it killed me to know I was the cause of that pain. But, even after finding out about you and Grayson being an item, I wouldn't have ever wished for harm to become you." His voice is raw and guttural. "When you got shot, I was angry at you. Angry at both you and Grayson for getting in front of me. It was me that Stormy was trying to shoot, not you. I am so, so sorry, Emery."

Tears stream down his face in an endless waterfall as his eyes swell up. Exhaling, I release the tight grip my fists were forming that I didn't even realize I was doing, and I take notice of the small crescent moon shapes my fingernails made into the palms of my hands.

I had a lot of time to myself in the hospital to think. I had more than enough time to consider all that had happened and come to terms with it, but forgiving Marshall wasn't something I had to question because it wasn't his fault.

Not really. He couldn't have predicted this, and he didn't ask for it, either.

If anything, I maybe could have prevented it from happening. I should have seen the signs. I did, after all, run into her twice while going to work. Not once did I recognize the fiery red hair or question as to why the same woman was just idling by the station.

"I forgive you." I look up and our eyes immediately lock. For a second, he looks almost as if he stops breathing, taking in my words and being completely shocked by my forgiveness.

"It wasn't your fault, Marshall, and I would not be okay with you continuing to think it was. Stormy-" I shiver at the flashing image of fiery red hair and intense russet brown eyes. "Was a bitter, rage-driven woman who was so messed up on drugs that she wasn't in her right state of mind. I know she blames you for the death of her boyfriend, but you were doing your job and protecting someone who was armed. You had no voice."

My voice softens and I drop my arms to my sides. "Sometimes in this field, we do things we never want to do. Her wanting revenge for that isn't your fault. And me getting shot wasn't your fault." I take a big breath and admit, "Grayson was protecting you and I was protecting him. So me jumping in front of a bullet for the man I love was surely not your fault."

Underneath the dimly lit apartment porch light, eerie silence looms over us. He only stares at me, clearly baffled, registering my words. Sighing, he questions, "So, you really love him?"

My heart beats fast and slow at the same time as I think of Grayson. When I was on the verge of dying, all that I kept thinking about was him and Bridgette. I asked him to take care of her and Chunk because I have put that much trust in him to believe he would be the one to take care of the most important person to me. Bridgette was the only person to keep me going. The only person who had my love until he came along and stole my heart, the little thief. Even separated for fourteen hours while at the hospital was torture for me. I want him with me always.

The guy that put me through hell over seven years ago.

The guy who I've first given my heart to, and, the only guy if I'm honest with myself.

I nod and say with zero hesitation, "I do."

His eyes look up and past me as I hear the door creak open. I don't have to turn around to know it's Grayson. I can feel his protective presence guarding me. His hot breath hits my neck and it makes me shiver in a good way. Heat radiates from his body and I know that he is glowering at Marshall.

Something etches across Marshall's face... acceptance maybe? "As long as you are happy... and safe," he says looking at me before adjusting his gaze back above and behind me. "I am sorry to you too, Grayson."

He exhales, rolls his shoulders back, and gestures one hand to me. "Take care of her, alright? Don't fuck up and lose the best thing that has happened to you as I did."

Grayson wraps his strong arms around me, being gentle against my wound as he pulls me back so my ass hits his pelvis. "I won't," he growls.

After Marshall leaves, the apartment falls back into its normal welcoming and warm vibe. We eat dinner, which turns out amazing - even though the sauce had some signs of burning from my temporary act of distracting Grayson - regardless, it was satisfying. Then we turned some TV on - Grey's Anatomy because Bridgette claims we had my favorite dinner so we have to watch her favorite show to be fair - and all huddled up in the living room.

Bridgette sits on the floor, adjusting herself between Miles' legs as he sits on the single recliner, massaging her shoulders. I nestle on the couch with my feet propped on Grayson's legs, where he gently rubs my calves, causing a tingling sensation to hit each vertebrae.

"Emery, did your boy here tell you about the ceremony next Friday?" Grayson shoots a glare at Miles.

Studying Grayson's face, I pinch my brows together and twist my lips in confusion. "No. What ceremony?"

Grayson looks down, trailing his finger lightly along my calf, down to my sock covered feet. "I didn't want to bring it up, yet."

"Bring up what?" I press.

He looks up and sighs. "I am getting the Sergeant's position. The department and Miles are giving me my stripes next Friday."

My eyes light up and I gasp. My heart swells with happiness because I know how badly he wanted this. I love that he is following in my father's footsteps being that he wanted to become a cop after witnessing my Dad save a life, and then went on to being trained by him.

"Really? Grayson that's amazing! I am so proud of you. You deserve this." I pause, wondering why he isn't as excited as I assumed he would be. "I thought this was what you wanted. Why wouldn't you tell me when you found out?"

"Because I found out while you were in the hospital. And also because-" his voice lowers to a whisper. "I didn't know how to be happy about that when I wasn't sure if you would be around for me to tell you. And when you did wake up, it was literally the last thing on my mind and I didn't want to really bring up work to you because of, well, you know. Getting those stripes was all I cared about for a while, you know that. But, once you came in and changed my life around, my priorities changed and you became all that I cared about."

I feel my heart stammer as my love for him just keeps growing. I exhale and extend my hand so that it stops his fingers from rubbing my legs. Our fingertips touching is enough to spark that burning desire that I have to suppress to have him hover over me, or better, be inside of me.

"You don't have to worry about my feelings, Grayson. This makes me so happy to hear because you have worked hard for this, and I am really proud of you. In fact, I would love to go, if that's okay?" I look at Miles.

"Of course you can come. As for work, you know you can take as much time as needed to recover. You do have to start counseling next week though, okay?"

Nodding my head, I say, "Okay, no problem." I knew that was standard protocol to see a therapist after a traumatic event. Even though I was off duty, it's just a precaution to assure that an officer is in the right state of mind before returning to the field.

I haven't seen a therapist since my last visit with Loraine, and that was maybe a year ago now?

I avert my eyes back to Grayson, smiling. "Looks like I'm going to your ceremony."

He returns the smile, carving the dimple in his left cheek. "I wouldn't want it any other way."

He leans over, planting a soft kiss on my lips before resting his forehead to mine. "I love you," he says. His minty breath hits my face and I welcome it. His eyes are closed, but I can't help looking at the small scar below his lip and smile.

He's mine. He's really mine.

I kiss his scar and hear my sister giggle in the background, causing me to blush immediately because I temporarily forgot they were in here. Grayson chuckles and returns back to his seated position and rubs my legs while I try to focus back on whatever is going on with Meredith in Bridgette's favorite show. Imaginary thoughts swarm through my head about how Grayson will look in his crisp, ironed uniform, standing on that podium as he gets sworn in to receive his stripes.

Seconds into the image, his face changes and shifts to my Dad's proud, smiling face. The last ceremony Bridgette and I attended like this was to watch our Dad get his stripes. The only picture I have hanging in my room is of that day and I cherish it.

I look forward to adding another picture that adorns the blank canvas that is my room.