Chapter Text
Five hours later and all of Andy’s nurses were gathered at her bedside on the tarmac, watching as Doctor Patterson admitted her sedative. The travel nurse, Michelle, signed the final release form and handed the clipboard back to the doctor.
Emily stood by Andy’s head, watching as the journalist’s eyes slipped close for the flight. The nurses and doctors had said their goodbyes before, thanking Andy for being a wonderful patient, which she had joked back about being asleep for three-quarters of it.
Major Beckett was also there, letting Emily know they’d be escorted out of the region until they reached the coastline of Italy, “The F-16s will peal off after that, but we’ve informed air command in the European countries that you’ll be flying through and to make sure they have a runway prepared at all times of an emergency landing.”
“Thank you, Major. I know you didn’t have to do all this, but Andy appreciates it. I appreciate it.” Emily said sincerely. She was still distrustful of the military brass in general, but she did recognize hospitality when it was shown.
After that, Andy was wheeled up into the aircraft with Emily close behind. The nurses and flight attendant worked quickly to secure the transfer gurney for takeoff and Emily settled into her own seat on the right side of the plane.
From the window, she could see the two F-16s that were escorting them going through their final checks before taking off.
She leaned back and closed her eyes, letting the realization that they were finally going home sink in. It had been a long three weeks of constant stress and worry. The late nights, not knowing if Andy was going to make it, the afternoons of dread anytime a blood report came back. Her body was surviving on adrenaline and caffeine alone, the overwhelming need to protect Andy not allowing her a moment of rest.
The piece of paper with the list of recommended therapists sat heavy in her pocket, a physical reminder that maybe the worst was yet to come. The physical scars would heal but the mental ones? Would Andy truly recover from those, would Emily recover from the anxiety the ordeal caused?
Emily knew Andy already suffered from something, they’re time in Germany proving it, but had she been ignorant enough to think once Andrea was back in New York that it would just go away? That the horror’s she saw wouldn’t haunt her on the other side of the Atlantic?
It was a fantasy, she knew realistically. Andy would suffer from what she saw, from what she experienced every day for three years. Nobody could walk away from something like that, not even the strongest woman Emily knew. And it’s not like Andy would let it go once she was stateside again, no, quite the opposite.
Andy would write article after article, essay after essay about her experiences. About the suffering of the people, she saw and talked to. She’d write scathing reviews of the United States need to intervene in affairs, how their xenophobia made them react faster than they thought. How their need to stretch their hands into the world only led to more problems for the people they claimed they were liberating.
It was a mess Andy would never let go, something she’d build her career around even if she got fired for it. Andy didn’t care about any of that if she thought she could help someone. If she truly thought her voice could reach the ears of anybody, to force them to listen, she’d do it. Because Andrea Sachs didn’t let things go, not when millions were being oppressed and the West tried to do their best to hide that fact under a false guise of liberation.
Andy would live with it for the rest of her life.
To be forgotten was the worst tragedy in human existence, and Andy would make sure the thousands of men and women who had laid down their lives for what they thought was right would never be forgotten.
And if it came at the cost of her own sanity, so be it. That’s who Andy is and Emily knew it would never change.
The roaring thunder of the F-16s engines rushed past the private plane, stirring Emily out of her head. She watched as they circled above, making sure the air space was safe before they radioed down to the captain they could take off. The plane lurched forward, picking up speed as they went down the runway. Soon enough, they were officially airborne, making the long-awaited journey home.
Emily glanced over at Andy, watching as the woman slept through the takeoff. Her IV bag swayed with the plane, the liquid moving around, trying to find its center of gravity. The heart monitor beeped steadily, an audible conformation of Andy’s life.
The F-16s flanked either side of the plane, their engines loud enough to be heard over the private planes own. They stayed in formation until they passed into Italy’s airspace, both of pilots saluting as the banked off from Emily’s plane. She didn’t salute back but did give a nod as the F-16s left.
The rest of the ride went smoothly. There were no pockets of turbulence, Andy’s condition didn’t suddenly deteriorate in a flash, Emily dared to name it a peaceful flight home.
She was finally able to get a true wifi connection again and spent the majority of the thirteen-hour flight responding to emails. It was boring and mundane, but it occupied not only her time but also her thoughts. In her opinion, the last three weeks gave too much time to think, to stew in the unresolved and long buried feelings she refused to acknowledge.
Once they were back in New York, Emily knew she had more time to think and the proximity to what was causing those thoughts wouldn’t help. The next few months would be completely occupied with helping Andrea recover and Emily knew the simmering in her heart would boil over at some point. But she was determined to let it go as long as possible.
Andy needed to heal, not worry about Emily and her fragile heart.
And so Emily let the vicious cycle of distracting herself with work begin, the only thing that had gotten her through nearly twelve years of hovering in the will-we or won’t-we. It was only thirteen hours of the cycle, but it felt like a small blessing for the way her mind just felt blank.
The comforting rhythm of her nails clacking on the keyboard, the signs and mutterings about incompetency, and the constant small tweaks she made to designs. Routine and familiar, something Emily hadn’t realized she missed so much amongst the chaos of the past three weeks.
She hadn’t realized so much time had passed until the pilot’s voice came over the intercom, letting the cabin know they had started their descent. Thirty minutes later the jet touched down and they were finally home.
It was a blur of motion from there, Emily barely remembered much of it.
The jet had taxied to a private runway where a helicopter was waiting, its blades cutting the air around it. The back cabin door was opened and three transport nurses piled in, unhooking Andy from the machines and lowering her to the tarmac. Emily followed closely behind, clutching her bag tightly to her chest because of the wind. Her hair was everywhere she was sure of it.
She hung back while the nurses got Andy loaded into the helicopter, watching the clinical efficiency of the team handling Andy’s care. Emily boarded soon after, taking the headset one of the pilots handed and her just as the door slammed shut next to her.
The ride itself was only ten minutes, and Emily slightly gaped at the view of the city it offered. The landscape around her was stunning, the tall skyscrapers towering over the city, the vastness of Central Park surrounded by an urban hellscape, the masses of people moving around each other. It was unmistakably New York and Emily felt a sense of gratefulness this was what she and Andy got to call home.
They landed on the top of Bellevue where a small team of what Emily guessed were nurses and a single doctor. Andy was removed first, the team of three nurses immediately took her to the elevator to be transported to her new room.
Emily had been able to secure Andy a private room for the duration of her stay, as Doctor Sharpe had pushed the paperwork through.
“Miss Charlton, Doctor Sharpe,” said a tall blonde woman, whose voice Emily recognized from their phone calls, “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person. Miss Sachs care team is taking her down to her room.”
Emily shook the woman’s hand, “Nice to meet you as well.”
Doctor Sharpe turned then, leading the two of them down a set of stairs, “Miss Sachs will have a twenty-four-hour care team, with myself being the attending doctor. Nurses Johnson and Martinez will be on the day shift, with nurses Moore and O’Conor as the night shift. Her physical therapist will be Doctor King. She’s one of the best in the city.”
The doctor pushed open a door to the sixteenth floor and led Emily down a few turns before coming to a stop outside room 1684, “Have you had a chance to review the list I sent Lieutenant Lance?” Doctor Sharpe asked.
“I haven’t no.” Emily answered.
“Do that soon,” the doctor smiled and opened the door, “here’s where she’ll be staying for the next little while. Since you’re paying out of pocket for this, I can’t deny you the right to stay, so I had the staff bring in a sleeper couch for you.”
The room itself was larger than Emily expected. Andy’s bed was situated right in the center, and the couch was tucked away in a little alcove to the right. There was also a TV mounted to the wall on one of the walls near the alcove. Near the bed was charting area, along with a small bedside table where Andy could store a book or her phone. On the left there was a small table and two chairs and further behind that was the ensuite bathroom. The bathroom was fairly spacious as it had to fit a wheelchair, but it was basic. A shower, toilet and small sink with an even smaller vanity.
“It’ll do.” Emily said, her tone slightly clipped. She was happy with the room, but the thought of a hot shower and a nap made her want to throw the doctor out.
“I’ll give you a quick run down and let you two settle in. Her stomach wound has healed enough I want her to start PT tomorrow with Doctor King. It’ll be light, but just getting her moving will help a lot. I’ll check in everyday at eight, one, and six. The nurses will be in more frequently, but not on a regular basis. PT will start at eleven. It’s up to Miss Sachs whether she wants you to join or not. The plan as of now is six weeks here before I discharge her.” The doctor said.
Emily nodded her head slowly, digesting the information, “And what about her medications?”
Doctor Sharpe flipped through a few pages before answering, “No sedative, but the painkillers will make her drowsy. She’s on morphine for now, but I plan to slowly wean her off it over the course of the week. From then, it’ll be a less intensive medication. Antibiotics will be kept on for about another week, it’ll really just depend on how her wounds heal.”
“Are the pain medications addictive?” Emily asked. She had read about how patients often fall into an addiction to some of the medications doctors prescribe.
“Does she have a history of addiction or addictive like behavior?” Doctor Sharpe asked quickly.
“No, she doesn’t, but I’ve read a lot about how patients rely on them after a major injury.” Emily said.
“Her painkillers at the hospital will be strictly monitored and we always make sure to wean our patients off before discharge. I’ll send some home with you two, but I suggest you being the only one who knows where they are.” Doctor Sharpe replied.
“Okay, I think that’s all then.”
Doctor Sharpe nodded, “I’ll be back at one.”
Emily made her way over to the couch and sat down. She groaned at feeling of a soft cushion, the padding swallowing her and letting her muscles finally relax. Her head was pounding from the long travel day and lack of sleep.
Andy’s sedative wasn’t due to wear off for a few more hours, so Emily grabbed a change of clothes and made her way into the bathroom. There was already a set of towels, but Emily sent a text to her assistant to bring her a new set to the hospital.
The shower itself was heavenly. The water got to a near boiling temperature, the droplets pounding on her back, forcing the tension to melt away. She spent a good twenty minutes washing her hair, trying to get the stale scent of military hospital out. The showers back in Qatar had been nothing but maintenance, the water barely reaching a lukewarm temperature that did nothing to relax Emily.
She hadn’t minded much at the time, too stressed about leaving Andy for too long. The longest shower she had taken there was ten minutes, including changing.
And so, Emily let herself have forty minutes to relax under the hot spray, the hell of the last three weeks washing off her back. Andy was safe, Andy was out of the woods and surrounded by the best care team money could buy.
It was the first time Emily thanked Miranda Priestly for kicking her out of Runway, her salary at Dior ensured Andy would get everything she needed and more.
By the time she was done with her skincare routine, which had been severely neglected, Andy was starting to stir in her bed. Emily dragged one of the chairs from the table over to Andy’s good side and pulled out her phone, her other hand absent mindedly grabbing hold of Andy’s. She knew there was still close to thirty minutes until the journalist would fully wake up and Selena had texted her that the towels would be there in an hour.
When Andy woke, she let a groan and shifted to see Emily looking at her, her eyebrow quirked, “Why’re you looking at me like that?” She asked, the words heavy in her mouth. God, she hated waking up from a sedative.
Emily held up a spoon with ice chips, “It’s rather impressive how someone who is usually so eloquent can manage sound like a giraffe giving birth.” Emily quipped, helping Andy to move the spoon to her mouth.
“You try waking up from a forced sleep and then we can talk.” Andy said, taking the cup and spoon from Emily when she was sure she wasn’t going to fall back asleep.
“That’s not something I’d like to try. Besides, I’ve seen enough from you to fulfill my lifetime.” Emily said. While her expression may have been that of her usual persona, the words had no heat.
“How’d the ride go?” Andy asked as she swallowed the ice.
“It was fine, nothing dramatic. I just answered work emails the entire time.”
Andy frowned, “You didn’t sleep?”
Emily shook her head, “No, too much to catch up on. I wanted to take advantage of the time when you were asleep.”
“You should have slept.” Andy said but didn’t push further. She knew Emily would cut the conversation there anyways.
They sat in calm silence for a while, Andy eating the ice to soothe her throat and Emily simply allowing herself to relax. It almost felt normal, might have been if it wasn’t for the sterile scent and beeping of Andy’s heart monitor.
“Did I ever explain what’s going to happen these next few weeks?” Emily asked. The last week getting Andy prepared for the multi-continent transfer and her discharge paperwork had occupied so much of her brain space.
“Not really. I know I’m staying here for a while, but I don’t know the specifics.” Andy answered.
“We’re going to be at-,“
“We?” Andy teased.
Emily blushed, but didn’t stop her explanation, “Bellevue for six weeks, before you get sent home. You’re going to be starting PT tomorrow with Doctor King. Once you get discharged, we’ll get you settled in back at my apartment for the rest of your recovery.”
“Oh, Em, thank you, but I don’t want to impose.”
“Hush, you’re not imposing if I’m suggesting it.” Emily said, holding eye contact so Andy knew she was serious.
“Okay.” Andy said, sounding resigned.
Emily wanted to push, wanted to find out why Andy had been so unwilling to open up. But she knew Andy also needed to work through everything on her own first, finding the right words to express her emotions. It was how Andy always worked, but now it felt slower, less like Andy wanted to find the words and more like she was avoiding it all together.
The conversation fizzled out after that. Emily turned on the TV to something mildly entertaining, and both of the women let the show drown out any thoughts. Emily scooted her chair back further, moving it so she was sitting right by Andy’s head.
They didn’t touch, both too occupied with trying to be distracted and if they did, it would pull them right back into a conversation neither were completely ready for.
By the time the show ended, it was nearing noon, and one of the nurses brought in a lunch tray for Andy. It was just some Jell-O and crackers, but Andy’s stomach was still getting used to solid foods again.
“You know,” Andy started, “I’m getting a sense of déjà vu here.”
“What, why?”
“One of us sitting in a hospital bed in New York, eating a sad lunch while the other sits awkwardly in the corner, trying not to upset the other.” Andy said.
It felt pointed.
That was the point.
Emily sighed, running a hand through her hair, “I’m sorry, Andy. I don’t want to push you before you’re ready, but I know we need to talk about everything.”
Everything was loaded. Emily herself wasn’t sure what she meant by it.
The fact Andy had run off into war zones?
The feelings simmering in them, always close to boiling over before some life event came along and ruined it?
The accident itself and how Andy was handling it?
The recovery?
Or the million other little things they needed to discuss but felt like there was always something bigger, more important?
“Yeah,” Andy whispered, “we do.”
“We will, I promise, but can we do it when we’re not going to be interrupted by Doctor Sharpe in twenty minutes.” Emily said.
And to her relief, Andy laughed at her poor attempt of a joke, “Yes, Emily, that’s fine.”
“Thank you.” She said.
A pause.
“Andy?”
“Yeah, Em?”
“I’m really glad you’re okay.” Emily confessed.
Andy gave a soft smile, reaching up to gently cup Emily cheek, “Me too.”