Work Text:
Emily spends the entire way back to the hospital considering whether she should tell Jamie about her own relapse or keep it to herself.
By the time she's barely a hallway away from Jamie's room, she hasn't come to a decision yet. She doesn't want to cause him to relapse again, not when he's so close to being released, to coming home. However, it also doesn't feel fair to keep it from him.
Jamie looks up the moment he hears her walk in.
"Good news, Em." He says excitedly. "Tomorrow, I'm out of here."
"Really?" Emily answers. Her heart swells with his excitement, but the guilt doesn't really allow her to bask in her own relief. She rushes to hug him anyways, always ready to reassure him that all she wants is for him to be happy and healthy and here. "'m so proud of you, Jamie."
"Thanks." Despite still being in the embrace and not able to see his face, she can hear the smile in his response. She steps back.
"They still helping you, love? D'you feel ready?"
"I am," Jamie answers. His confidence has really grown these past few days, and Emily can only hope it will carry on once they're home. "I really feel I can do this, Em."
God, he sounds so sincere. Emily itches for something to soothe the guilt with.
"And I.." he continues, bashful. "I just wanna thank you. For everything. You really are my mum, Em."
Emily smiles, her eyes glossy with unshed tears. "Yeah, well," she clears her throat, tries to compose herself. "You deserve it."
As she sees him open his mouth as if to protest, she covers his hand with hers and looks him in the eyes. "You really do."
He lowers his eyes, but his cheeks are rosier than they were before. He smiles, and she knows that's him thanking her again. She squeezes his hand, wanting for her warmth to stay there as long as possible –so it can transfer somehow, and Jamie will know she's there for him no matter what happens. So she can reassure him that even if things get bad again, she'll be there. That he can come to her now. Whatever happens.
Her throat tightens with emotion. Everything's still too fresh for her to feel steady enough not to fear this won't work, that the help won't be enough and next time he won't make it. She inhales shakily.
God, she really needs to go to a meeting.
"If you're coming tomorrow, I better get everything ready and clean." Emily says, pushing herself up with her hands on either side of her.
"Yeah? You let the house become a pigsty now that I'm not there?" He jokes. "No one to impress now?"
It hits home, kind of. The idea of her letting go while he's not there. He survived and she still drunk. If he hadn't made it– If he–
She chuckles humorlessly. Taps the bed. As she stands up, her bag tips, the contents of it falling out onto the bed. She doesn't know whether to laugh or cry.
"What's this?"
Emily looks up, ready to dismiss whatever he's found. She freezes when she sees what's between his fingers.
It's her chip. Her one-week chip.
"Jamie..." She tries.
"No," he insists. "Did you relapse?"
"I made a mistake," she confesses quietly.
Jamie swallows audibly, his right hand travelling to his left forearm to cover his own scars. (Caressing over the different texture over and over, as if to reassure himself they're still there.)
"Was it... my fault?" He asks, swallowing again, and again. Emily's heart aches. "Did I make you do this?"
"No, love, of course not." She jumps in. She wants to reassure him, but she doesn't know what to say.
"But it was after– right?" Jamie continues. Every word like a dagger in Emily's heart. "I–"
"Jamie," she cuts him off. "Look at me."
He looks up. As his fingers keep tapping over the rough texture of his scars, Emily takes his hand in hers to stop him. She does it loosely, so he can leave her grip if he really wants to, but giving him the option of a different warmth to lose himself into instead of succumbing to the harm he's used to.
"It was after– It was. But what I did, that was on me."
She gives it a second for her words to sink in before she continues.
"I was scared," she squeezes his hand and shakes her head, trying to organize her thoughts. "I'm still scared. I can't lose you, Jamie."
Emily squeezes her eyes closed. It's her turn to swallow audibly, trying to sort through the mess in her head instead of the feelings that once again threaten to overwhelm her. "But I'm here, now. I'm clean again. And I won't –I won't do it again."
"I won't do it again," Jamie replies, voice wet. "I'm so sorry, I should have thought– should have said something–"
The hand hold turns into a hug as they both cry together – and isn't that something, for them to let themselves cry instead of turning into something else –something harmful?
"I'm sorry," Jamie repeats, once they've calmed down.
"'t's okay." Emily answers, voice hoarse. "I am, too."
She takes a deep breath, and in it's long exhale she can feel the tension of the uproar of all their emotions dissipating from the room. "But no more okay?"
He nods into her arms, subdued.
"Now," she says. "Help me pick all this shit up. Early shift tomorrow, and all that."
He lets out a small laugh for her, and then they find themselves picking everything up side by side, mindless chatter filling up the room again every now and again.
A nurse comes by when they're almost done, reminding them visiting hours are over.
"You going to a meeting tonight?" Jamie asks.
"Yeah," Emily says. She smiles softly, the first guiltless genuine smile she's had all day. "Don't really need to, but it'll do me good."
Jamie nods, gratefully.
"Rest up, yeah?"
"Sure." Jamie answers, rolling his eyes playfully.
"Love you." He adds, afterwards. A reminder for her too, that he's there for her just as much as she's there for him.
"Yeah, yeah. Love you too."