no more of that.
when morning comes, it comes slowly. the first thing emily registers is the soft light filtering through the curtains, casting long, golden streaks across the room. the second thing is weight—small and familiar, warm and still. aria is still half on top of her, her tiny arms curled up beneath her chin, her face still pressed against emily’s chest. her breaths are slow, steady, but there’s a little twitch in her fingers, a slight furrow in her brow—she’s waking up.
emily watches it happen—the way her little nose scrunches, the way her mouth pouts slightly, the way her lashes flutter once, twice—and then, big brown eyes peek open.
aria blinks, still heavy with sleep, her tiny body shifting slightly as she registers where she is.
then—her little lips curl into the softest sleepy smile.
“emmy…”
her voice is small, warm, still thick with sleep, but there’s a deep, settled contentment in the way she says it—like she was waiting to see emily. like she knew she would be here. emily’s heart pulls, tight and deep.
“morning, baby,” she murmurs, brushing her fingers lightly over aria’s messy curls, still tangled from sleep. “did you sleep good?”
aria nods, her tiny fingers flexing, then curling again in the fabric of emily’s shirt. “mhm… s’ept with emmy…”
emily smiles, slow and fond, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
“yeah, bug,” she whispers, voice soft, certain. “you did.”
aria is still curled into her, still soft from sleep, her tiny fingers loosely gripping the fabric of emily’s shirt. but then— aria stirs. her little body shifts, her fingers twitch, and before emily can fully prepare herself— aria pushes herself up, stretching her arms out wide, blinking the sleep from her big brown eyes.
and then—
“downstairs!”
she announces it with so much certainty, her voice still raspy from sleep, but her little legs are already wiggling, pushing, demanding freedom. emily exhales, sitting up with her, stretching her arms over her head before rubbing a hand over her face.
“okay, bug,” she murmurs, voice still thick with sleep. “let’s go.”
instinctively, she reaches out to lift aria—but aria immediately pushes at her hands.
“walk!” she insists, her little face determined. “i do it!”
oh, jesus.
“bug,” emily sighs, already feeling the anxiety creep in. “are we sure about this?”
aria nods, her tiny chin tilting up, full of absolute confidence. “mhm!”
emily resists the urge to groan. because aria’s newfound independence is going to give her a heart attack. this walking down the stairs by herself thing?
it’s new, and it’s dangerous. to aria, it’s a big girl thing. to emily, it’s a “oh my god, my child is going to break her face” thing.
“okay, baby,” emily sighs, rubbing a hand over her face again. “but we go slow, yeah?”
aria nods, excited, her little hands grabbing for the railing, her tiny feet stepping with so much concentration that emily has to bite her tongue to keep from reaching for her. every single step is a test of patience. aria grips the railing, her chubby little legs carefully navigating each step, her tongue poking out slightly, like she’s really focusing. emily stays right behind her, her hands hovering, her whole body tensed for any sudden wobbles. by the time they reach the bottom, emily feels like she’s aged ten years. but aria?
“did it!” she beams, throwing her arms up. “i big!”
emily lets out a shaky exhale, placing a steadying hand on her own chest. aria just giggles, proud, completely unaware of the mini heart attack she just gave emily.
once emily recovers, she gets aria settled on the couch. she tucks a soft blanket around her, hands her her worn-out stuffed bunny, and presses a sippy cup of fresh milk into her little hands.
“cozy, bug?” emily asks, brushing a hand over aria’s dark bedhead curls.
aria nods, already sinking into the cushions. “mhm…”
emily grabs the remote, clicks on blue’s clues, watching as the screen flickers to life. aria’s eyes brighten, her little body relaxing, completely captivated within seconds. emily smirks, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead.
“you’re all set,” she murmurs. “don’t move, alright?”
aria hums, already zoned in. emily isn’t huge on letting aria just sit in front of a television - but shes one person, with about 400 things to do. so when aria is occupied by a blue dog and a singing mailbox? perfect. enough to keep her occupied while emily figures out breakfast.
as she steps towards the kitchen, something catches her eye. the bookshelf. lined with years of books, but also—photos. photos from different times, different moments, different lives.
and then—one, in particular.
her mother. elizabeth prentiss, standing poised, polished, coldly perfect in a crisp white dress, her expression unreadable. and beside her? emily. holding aria on her hip. because, of course, elizabeth couldn’t be bothered to hold a baby. a baby might wrinkle her dress.
emily stares at the picture. stares at the way she is the one holding aria. stares at the way elizabeth is barely even engaged, like aria was just another political event she had to tolerate.
stares at the way, even then, emily had been the one keeping aria close, the one anchoring her, the one who loved her before she even knew what that meant.
and suddenly— she can’t stand it. she grabs the frame, lifts it from the shelf, and walks straight into the kitchen. her fingers tighten around the edges. and then, with zero hesitation, she chucks it into the bin.
done. no more of that.
no more ghosts of elizabeth prentiss haunting them from behind glass frames. no more lingering shadows in their home.
because aria will not be haunted. not like emily was. not like emily still is.
this? this is their life now. and elizabeth? does not exist in it.