Fluorescent hospital lights. Josh hated this part. He never actually went with the families, but there were usually more members present to support one another during the excruciatingly long wait to find out what was happening to their loved ones.

He'd offered to drive Emery, who'd been in no fit emotional state to be behind the wheel; the idea of letting him go inside all by himself wasn't worth considering.

If only they'd taken her to Columbia Presbyterian, then maybe he could have gotten some updates from Mark, if nothing else. This hospital, quieter and more luxurious than any hospital Josh had ever been in, with its lush green plants decorating the private waiting room, was nothing like the one Mark worked at.

None of the luxury and greenery served to help Emery at the moment — in times like these, fear and grief came to everyone indiscriminately. He was pale and drawn, brown eyes clouded with worry fixed somewhere past the glass door. Josh wished he could say something soothing, but there was nothing. Anything he could offer now would be an empty platitude at best, an outright lie at worst.

And the timing of it... if she died now she wouldn't have held her finished anthology in her hands, which was bad enough. But Emery had left the room to take his call minutes before she... Would he blame himself for it, if this was the end of her road? Even with all the concessions he'd made, with everything in his schedule shifted to accommodate more time with his sister, would he carry that burden with him?

He didn't deserve any of that. Josh placed his hand on top of Emery's, attempting to comfort him. Emery started at Josh's hand for a moment, blankly, then turned his own hand upwards, lacing his fingers through Josh's and tightening his grip. Neither of them spoke.

Three hours later the glass door slid open to admit an unfamiliar nurse. "Mr. Hall? I've been asked to convey a message." His tone gave nothing away.

Emery rose immediately. Josh's hand had gone numb.

"Yes?"

"'I'm not quite dead.' — that's the message."

The sound Emery made was somewhere between incredulous laughter and heart-wrenching sob.

"Your sister had a heart attack, but she's stable now. Her cardiologist will be with you shortly."

Josh took the first full breath since that afternoon. A heart attack, and she was quoting Monty Python? Damn right she wasn't quite dead.

#

It wasn't until the counter was clear of dishes and crumbs, when Emery would usually open his laptop and start working, that Josh gave in to his curiosity.

"Emery?"

"Yes?"

"You said... You don't have to tell me, of course, but you said our experiences were different..."

"Telling my parents?" Emery asked, adjusting his glasses. "Dramatically so. Diametrically opposite, in fact. I was younger than you — thirteen at the time — and, unlike you, I was convinced telling them would mean the world would end. Not so much my mother; I think I always knew she'd be supportive. It was my father I was worried about. He'd go on about 'real men' to anyone who would listen — 'real men don't shy away from an honest day's work' or 'real men don't lie'. Even 'real men don't drink the last of the milk without adding it to the shopping list'."

Josh smiled. He was beginning to see where Emery had gotten some of his traits from.

"He only stopped using that expression once Emma announced, over lunch with our grandparents from both sides of the family, that dad had taught her women could lie at will and do all sorts of dishonest work if they pleased, since they weren't 'real men'."

They laughed in tandem, Emery taking off his glasses to wipe the tears of mirth from his eyes.

"I feared he was about to rupture something, it was a sight. But that was the end of 'real men' in that house — it was 'decent people' after that. Emma knew, of course. She knew even before I did. Being five years older gave her a considerable amount of extra insight, and she was always shrewd. She was the one who encouraged me to tell. I don't think I'd have had the courage to, at that time, without her."

He placed his glasses back where they belonged, smile fond. "She refused to come in the room with me — said she'd be in her room waiting, that I had to go through that moment on my own. I was terrified. In the end, I told them and the reaction I elicited was 'alright. Don't forget to buy apples on your way home from school tomorrow'. It was anticlimactic in the extreme."

Josh felt a jolt of something at Emery's story, a sense of wistfulness. Sometimes he wondered about his parents — whether they were still alive, whether they'd ever regretted having thrown him out... Whether they'd do things differently, in hindsight. It was heart-warming, to see Emery had had the love of his family when it had mattered. But the tale wasn't finished yet.

"Later that night, as I was getting ready for bed, my father came to my room. He looked so serious that I thought that was it — that he'd waited until my mother wasn't there to tell me a few choice words. What he actually said was 'just because no one can get pregnant it doesn't mean you don't have to use protection — you know that, right?'"

Even now, so many years later, Emery's cheeks had a faint pink tinge at the memory.

"I was embarrassed beyond words, but I was grateful, too, that he'd chosen to support me like that. I'd built it up so much in my mind and, in the end, it was nothing. It would have been more problematic had I forgotten to get the apples the next day, or not turned in a homework assignment on time. And I'd never..."

His eyes met Josh's, soft and filled with empathy. Josh couldn't look away. "I'd never met anyone who had to go through what you did. I was sheltered, so much so that I never thought my sexuality more important than, say, the fact I need glasses. A non-issue. And when you told me, I... I'd like to help. And math is useful."

"Math is definitely useful," Josh agreed, voice choked. "And they're lucky to have you." He gave up on maintaining any sort of detachment and just wrapped his arms around Emery, feeling like he could breathe again. "You're a good man, Emery. "

The very best.

#

"Josh." Emery walked into the kitchen, making a beeline for the coffee. "I wanted to thank you for last night. I'm very grateful for your presence at the hospital."

"No thanks necessary." Josh smiled. "I wanted to go."

"Still, I would like you to know it meant a great deal to me." Emery's voice was filled with warmth, but his exhaustion was plain to see.

"Are you sure you should be drinking that?" He moved closer to Emery to refill his cup and didn't bother returning to his original spot, preferring to stand shoulder to shoulder with him, their backs to the sink. "How much sleep did you get last night?"

"Enough." The dark shadows under his eyes told a different story. "The hospital called earlier."

"What did they say?

"She's to have no visits except mine, for an hour at most, and she's not allowed to have personal objects, including her phone. They think she'll be home in two weeks." A tentative smile. "And she's already made it abundantly clear that she's displeased by that arrangement."

"Two weeks in bed, with no access to her work? Do you know any good defense lawyers who specialize in homicide? I'd start making inquiries — the only way she's not murdering someone is if they all kill themselves first."

Emery's laughter took some of the weight off his eyes, but not enough. Josh laid a hand on his back. "Hey. They wouldn't say they thought she'd be home in two weeks if it were that serious. You know doctors and their love of the words 'reserved prognosis'. This is a good sign."

Emery leaned closer, their shoulders bumping, and took a deep breath. "From a logical perspective, I know you're right. But the clock is running out, Josh." Anguish bled into his voice. "The clock's running out and I don't know how to even begin moving forward from there."

"One day at a time," Josh said, taking care to sound kind. He'd had variations of this conversation with relatives of clients before. None had felt this important. "With the help of the people who love you."

Emery grimaced, taking a sip of his coffee. His eyes were distant, his voice a near whisper; Josh didn't think he realized he was still talking aloud. "I'm afraid the people who love me will all be dead by then."

Surely that wasn't true, couldn't be true. There was so much to love in Emery — surely he had friends? Roger, maybe? No one else came to the house. Would he really not have anyone to talk to, anyone to listen to his fears?

Josh kept his hand where it was but looked ahead as well. The words he wanted to say stuck in his throat, refusing to come out. Anything he said or did now would feel unforgivable — would feel like taking advantage of a vulnerable moment in the worst kind of way.

Josh could no longer tell himself he didn't want Emery — could no longer tell himself he didn't love him, even — but the kind of relationship he wanted from Emery couldn't be built on grief, on loneliness, on vulnerability.

Not like this. He should have done something about it sooner, but he couldn't make a move now. It took all of his willpower to pull his hand away to wash the cup. He wished he could see a way forward as well.

Emery finished his coffee, blanketed in an aura of quiet despair. His voice was stronger now, efficient. "I'm giving you the next two weeks off. I did the same with the medical staff. There's nothing you can do for her here; it'd be unkind of me to ask you to stay."

The cup Josh was rinsing fell from his hand, shattering in the sink. That was not what he wanted to hear. "I'd like to stay," he said, picking up the jagged shards of more than the coffee cup, "if it's all the same to you."

He felt Emery's eyes on him but didn't turn.

"Don't misunderstand me — you're more than welcome to stay, of course, but if you choose to take the leave you will still be paid in full."

The thought hadn't even crossed Josh's mind, and didn't really matter in light of the small fortune Emery was already paying him. He put the shards in the trash, then finally looked at Emery. This tension in the air needed dispelling.

"That's generous of you, but you'd have to pay me a lot more to replace whatever limbs Emma would tear from me if she came home to discover I hadn't made it my life's mission to make you eat three square meals a day." He shuddered for dramatic effect. "Thanks, but no thanks."

This time, when Emery laughed, it felt like a reward.