Parenting, when you’re both doctors, isn’t easy.

There’s activities and bedtimes and things missed that sometimes makes the guilt sit heavy on the responsibility of paying your bills, makes doing your job and saving people’s lives feel unbelievably shitty.

Emery worries her children will resent her as they grow up, worries she’ll be another one of those absent parents obsessed with work and don’t know a thing about their kid when they reach a certain age.

She tries not to be.

She tries not to be gone so much. Tries not to sleep through the whole day when she’s been on nights and does her absolute level best to fucking be there when she can. She knows, at the very least, her kids’ interests and personalities inside and out.

Norah, who seems to be Samira’s twin down to the very bone, is fierce and stubborn but intelligent even for a six year-old. Currently obsessed with Pokemon and Star Wars (the latter of which Samira insisted she wasn’t old enough for, which Emery disagreed with). Teddy, though he was barely two, had an old soul or whatever the phrase Samira had used. He was quiet and unsure, polite and shy for someone who didn’t even know what it was to be polite yet. If he wasn’t sat learning to read with Samira, he was usually clinging to Emery’s scrubs, wanting to stay close.

Emery loved them both as fiercely as they loved her.

But she can’t be perfect and she can’t always be there, even when she wants to be.

She’s halfway through cracking open a chest with a rib spreader when the OR phone rings, making everyone flinch briefly.

A tech nurse dutifully answers and Emery waits a little impatiently for the message, preferring to deal with the issue first before she can carry on with her surgery, uninterrupted. She hates getting paged during surgery, it’s distracting and annoying, no matter who might need it. Garcia, standing across from her, assisting, only raises an eyebrow in response.

This should be good.

It’s quiet for a long time before the nurse turns around again.

“Dr Walsh, you have a page for downstairs.”

Emery scoffs. “Really? Is that it? You spent three entire minutes on the phone and all they told you was that they needed a surgery consult in the emergency room?”

“Um, no, but…uh-“

“Is their attending busy?”

“No, no-“

“Who’s on? Robby? Al-Hashimi?”

“It’s Al-Hashimi.” Garcia confirms.

“Then why the fuck are they calling?”

Al-Hashimi was a capable pair of hands, Emery knew. Samira wouldn’t have picked her for Norah’s godmother if she wasn’t.

“Um…uh-“

Emery could already feel herself getting annoyed, “Christ, spit it out. I’m not risking the sterility of this environment to get it out of you myself.”

“It was Santos, uh, you know Dr Santos?”

“I’m well aware of Dr Santos, yes.” She says, flitting a glance at her colleague. Garcia looked back at her, eyes a little wide. “What did she want?”

“Um, she wants you to know that it…it isn’t urgent and you don’t need to worry but that, uh, your daughter has, uh, been brought in downstairs and is, um, being treated…as a p-patient.”

The room, somehow, goes silent.

Like the air had been completely sucked out of it.

Emery blinked as the key points of information rattled through her head.

Norah.

Emergency room.

Patient.

She blinked again. That hardly made sense. She’d just seen Norah not four hours ago, sat at the kitchen table, eating her pancake breakfast, already wearing her-

Fuck.

Her karate gi.

She’d had karate class this morning.

“Shit.”

The realisation must hit her face before she can stop it and Garcia moves first.

“Go.” She says quietly, discreet in a way Emery appreciates in more than just the moment, and steps towards their patient. “I’ll get Shamsi…or someone.”

Emery nods, a silent thanks enough, and steps back, making for the door.

She checks her phone as she heads towards the elevator and sees the countless missed calls from Jean, one of the other moms in Norah’s karate class who usually took her if Samira and Emery were both on the day shift. There’s messages too, all pertinent information that is designed not to panic and only to kindly put Emery at ease for when she checks her phone.

The basic gist of it makes her quicken her step anyway.

Hi, Dr Walsh, sorry to bother you but your daughter has shattered her foot and you’re not fucking here.

Hi, Dr Walsh, your daughter is crying her eyes out because she’s hurt and you’re not here.

Hi, Dr Walsh, your daughter wants her mama and you’re still not fucking here.

There’s nothing from Samira, phone likely on silent or not in signal because she’s in the research lab. It’ll mean she won’t know either, another bomb timed to go off.

Emery sighs and runs a hand through her hair, pulling it out of its bun as she felt a headache start up in her temple.

Yeah, it’s days like this that make being a doctor feel really fucking shitty.

-

She finds Norah with her face half-buried in her auntie’s scrubs in the Peds room, tiny fists clinging to the fabric as Al-Hashimi sits at the foot of the bed, eyes intently scanning over a very bruised looking foot. She’s being careful not to touch, gloved hands in the air for Norah to see, and her gaze is firm but kind.

“You’re being a brave girl, Norah, you know that? So brave.”

Norah only whimpers through a nod, still holding onto Trinity as tightly as she can. Trinity’s at their house more than Baran, Norah knows her better, trusts her more.

Trinity smiles when she sees Emery at the door and smoothes a hand down Norah’s back.

“Hey kiddo. Look who’s here.”

Emery doesn’t deserve the hero entrance, she knows that, but the way Norah’s face lights up when she sees her makes her feel a little better for not fucking being here.

“Mommy!”

“Hey, rugrat.” Emery breathes a sigh of relief and wraps her arms around Norah’s tiny frame, careful not to jostle her foot. “What the hell happened to you, huh? How’d you get like this?”

It’s then she realises Norah’s still in her karate gi with her sash tied tightly around her waist, the whole thing a bit too big on her tiny body. Her face is red from crying and she’s a little shaken but she’s smiling from Emery’s arrival, clearly happy to see her.

Her face, dimples and all, is all Samira.

“Kiddo here took a tumble during practice,” Trinity provides, “landed a bit funny on top of her own foot, didn’t you?”

Norah nods. “Hurts.”

Emery holds her close to her stomach, knuckles gently rubbing against her cheek the same way she did for her when she was a baby. She tilts her head towards Baran. “How funny is a ‘bit funny’?”

“Mm, not broken.” The attending provides, clinically and perfunctorily. “A nasty sprain, though, that’s for sure. I’ll write up a script but it’ll need a good deal of rest and no weight on the foot.” She smiles at Norah directly, a little sparkle in her eye. “No more Karate Kid from you for a while, hm?”

Emery looks back to Trinity. “Does Samira know yet?”

“I tried to leave a message at the university but I don’t know if it’s been passed on. Whenever I call her directly it just goes to voicemail.”

Emery sighed. “It’ll be the signal. That fucking lab.”

“She’ll get here.”

“Mm, yes, she will.”

Trinity grins at the expression on Emery’s face. “Let me guess, you’re going to be in the doghouse about this.”

Emery glances at Norah’s outfit. “Something like that, yeah.”

“Alright, well, it’s probably best I’m not around when that happens, huh? That’s a sight nobody needs to see.” Trinity bends, looking to Norah with a cheeky smile. “You keep kickin’ ass, yeah? I’ll see you soon.”

Norah looks at her shyly. “Bye, Auntie Trinity.”

She grins again. “Bye, kid.”

Emery nods. “Thank you, Santos. Really.”

They might not still be on first-name basis with each other but Emery appreciated the brunette more than she liked to admit, especially on today of all days. Trinity had the good grace to recognise that so she simply nods, squeezes Norah’s shoulder and steps out with Al-Hashimi following close behind.

Emery sighs as she climbs onto the bed with Norah, pulling her daughter gently into her lap and kissing her cheek.

“Are you okay, baby?”

“My foot hurts.” Norah murmured tiredly. “Can we get ice cream?”

Emery felt the corners of her mouth twitch upwards. “Sure. Maybe when Amma gets here, hm? We can show her how brave you were.”

Norah frowns the same way Samira does. “Wasn’t brave. I cried loads.”

“That doesn’t mean you weren’t brave. I’ve cried before.”

“You have?”

“Loads of times. Do you think I’m not brave?”

Norah doesn’t answer but Emery feels how she relaxes further against her, curling up against Emery’s chest and tucking her face into her neck. She smiled gently, carefully swaying side to side, feeling Norah get heavier and heavier with sleep.

She remembers getting her to sleep like this when she was a baby, a tiny little thing that cried and cried until Emery would sit with her like this, quiet and steady, whispering all the love she had for her into her ears. Norah’s tiny fist would curl around her finger and hold tight until she drifted off to sleep, safe in her mother’s arms.

I love you sweet girl. More than anything.

Emery kissed Norah’s cheek and closed her own eyes.

Parenting might not have been easy.