[fic] i'll take with me the memories [6/6]
Title: i'll take with me the memories [6/6]
Author: badboy_fangirl
Rating: NC-17
Pairings/Characters: Norman/Emily
Warnings: RPF (just scroll on by if that's offensive to you)
Word count: ~5500
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is stuff I've read on the internet. Anything you don't is MADE UP.
Summary: Norman and Emily deal with the fall-out from Beth's death on The Walking Dead. And maybe fall in love along the way.
Author's Notes: Title lifted from Boys II Men's "It's So Hard To Say Goodbye To Yesterday." Previous chapters: One | Two | Three | Four | Five
And...finally:
"You like Norman, don't you?"
Emily looks up from the script she'd buried her head in after Norman walked away. He's back to flirting rather audaciously with her, which means he heard she's single again. They go through patterns, and this is the part that she enjoys the most, though admittedly it leaves her frustrated in a way that most would call unhealthy. Now, her television father stands just inside the sliding door of Cell Block C, watching her. She glances around and sees that they're alone, since the shot that's coming up is in Block B.
She squints at Scott because he's not one to pry, though she's easily shared everything about her life with him as if Hershel and Beth were not fictional at all. She shrugs one shoulder and gives him her best I don't know what you're talking about wide-eyed face.
She opens her mouth to say some off-putting thing but Scott holds up a single finger, in an uh-huh gesture. "I'm only saying this once, so listen up, Emmy. He's a good man. But he's a boy when it comes to matters of the heart. So be very, very careful."
It was one of those in-between times for her, when she wasn't dating anyone and her crush on Norman had become the normal default position for her when there was no one else to distract her.
What Scott says, however, is exactly the warning deep inside her own heart. Loving Norman is easy; getting him to love her back probably wouldn't be all that hard either. Getting him to stay, to see it through, to build something was an entirely different thing.
(And then having to work with him once it was over? Ugh, just thinking about that is enough to cure her of any meandering thoughts.)
"Norman's just a friend, Scott. No delusions here," she says softly.
Scott's eyes crinkle and her gives her a gentle, silent, mouth-pursing reprimand. Then he asks, "You want to rehearse this scene?"
She quickly agrees, and the awkward topic remains unexplored.
She's toweling the excess moisture from her hair when he walks into the bathroom. His eyes meet hers over her shoulder in the mirror, and she just shakes her head at him. "We've had too much sex," she announces.
He's fully clothed, having gone downstairs to get his overnight bag from the car, and the faint smell of cigarettes accompanies him over the threshold.
She's naked, but to his credit, his eyes never leave hers as he takes the towel from her hands. "There's no such thing as too much sex," he murmurs. Using one hand, he pulls her hair back so it's down her back, and then he gently massages the towel over it.
Emily holds his stare, but her nipples betray her completely. Since he never wavers his gaze, he can't know that. She is certain he knows it, anyway, because she can feel everything inside her softening in anticipation. He can probably smell her getting wet for him.
(He is undoubtedly getting hard; they are a perfect match.)
"You know what you were saying earlier, about it not being like this for you before?" she asks.
(She doesn't really think they've had too much sex, but she thinks they might be so far down the love rabbit hole that separating is going to make her physically sick.)
"Yeah," he replies, satisfied that her hair no longer dripping. He tosses the towel aside and steps closer to her; she can feel the heat of him against her back.
She doesn't mean for it to happen, but suddenly tears flood her eyes. "It's all sort of overwhelming, isn't it?" The last word comes out like a little squeak and she shakes her head in protest at her own weakness. "I don't want to be away from you," she confesses.
Norman wraps his arms around her, sliding his head down so that his chin fits into the little scoop of her clavicle; his beard tickles her skin. "We'll work it out, somehow, baby." He inclines his head slightly to press his lips to her neck. "I don't think I'll ever truly be without you again. Not now. You're gonna be with me wherever I go, from now on. You're the deepest part of me, Em. The best part. The only part that matters."
She reaches up to slip her hand into his hair, holding him against her. "I'm so in love with you," she says tearfully, the smile that stretches across her face showing the joy it brings her, even if she's weepy about it.
She watches as his eyes move in the mirror; from her face they travel downward, and his hands slide up her body, cupping her breasts. His thumbs strum over her hardened nipples, and she takes a little gasping breath as he pulls her back, flush against him. "I'm so in love with you, too. We got this. Nothing to worry about, nothing to be scared of. Before yesterday, all I knew was fear--fear I'd messed it up so bad we'd never recover; fear that you didn't love me as much, if at all, like I love you; fear that everything I've ever been can't be the guy that fits here, with you. And all of that was wrong. Every bit of it." His hands ease down, skimming her belly before curving out to her hips. "Now I'm working with the truth, the whole truth. And that's this: we are. Who knows what we'll become, but we'll become it together. That's a promise."
Emily watches his hands as they continue downward, spreading out across the tops of her thighs; his fingers are a beautiful brown contrast with the white skin of her legs, from days filming outside in the Georgia sun. His words make the sensation of his touch that much more powerful, because she feels it in a way she never has before, in any other relationship she's ever been in.
He slips a hand between her legs, rubbing gently where she's already wet for him. She throws her head back against his shoulder in reaction, surprised that she be there so fast given their activities for the last 24 hours.
"Norman..." she gasps just as he says, "Look at yourself." She forces her chin back down slightly so she can watch what he's doing. The glide of his fingers inside her is tight with her legs close together, but when his other hand slides back up to cup her breast, it takes everything in her to keep her eyes open.
"You are the most beautiful fuckin' thing I've ever seen in my life," he whispers. A thumb and forefinger pinch her nipple and he twists his other hand between her legs just so, and a sound of need erupts from Emily's throat, ferocious and startling.
She grabs his wrist, stopping the movement, dislodging his fingers from inside her. "Fuck me," she pants, and she never dreamed in a million years that saying those words could ever be the most romantic thing she's ever felt.
Everything with Norman is new and different, and upside down and perfect. She wants all of it, every moment with him, always.
She feels the shift of urgency from her to him; his eyes flare, and his body coils more tightly behind her, but he still takes his time. Lifting his wet fingers to her lips, he rubs her there the way he had her clit seconds before and then he shuffles them both forward so that there is no space between them and the mirror. She can no longer see what is happening, but when he yanks his jeans open, she braces her hands against the moist glass.
"Just you and me," she breathes out. There is still a slight hesitation from him, and she knows he wonders if he should put on a condom even though she hasn't let him wear one any of the times he's been inside her since they reunited. "Do it, Norman," she says in those short seconds, and then he's there, shoved to the hilt inside her. It's like the first time they made love, only completely different. His hand covers hers on the mirror and she says it again, "Fuck me."
So he does. Emily gasps his name again when she hits the peak, and he follows her a moment later.
When he comes, it flows through her and out of her, very much like the man himself. She'll try, but she'll never fully contain everything he is to her.
He says the Lord's name like she's both his salvation and his damnation, and Emily realizes: this is what love is. The end of everything and the beginning of anything. From now on, the possibility of devastation will always be right there.
She wouldn't have it any other way.
He hasn't spent this much time naked...since the last time he and Emily had been together. There's this tinge of desperation in their touches now, and he's aware of it as the thing that was always missing for him before.
There is a difference between missing someone and not being whole without a particular person by your side. Not just anyone can fill that space; he's not sure when it fully morphed into the shape of Emily, but the important part is it's not freaking him out, and she feels the same way.
The word together has never had the same meaning with anyone else.
Right now, he's half asleep in the bed because she wore him out again, but his eyes blink open when she says, "Oh, my god."
"What?" he asks, turning his head on the pillow to see that she's curled towards him with her phone in her hand.
"People. They're freaking out. Look." She puts the phone in front of his face. There are five angry tweets about Beth Greene that he can read and then her finger moves over the screen to scroll it down some.
Nobody's happy that Beth Greene is dead.
His lips quirk. He'd had a feeling it wouldn't be well-received considering all the hits he got after their episodes in season four. But it still tickles him in a way he couldn't have guessed. He takes the phone from her hand. "This one says, We didn't even get a Bethyl reunion. WTF is that? Rick got to almost hug her, but not Daryl? What was the fucking point?!? Jesus. Yeah, they're pissed, alright. Almost as pissed as I was when I found out." She giggles a little and snuggles into him as he hands the phone back.
"I'm glad they love her so much," Em says, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder. He feels a little wetness from her tears, so he puts a hand against her cheek. "I'm okay," she whispers. "I just miss Beth." He makes a conciliatory sound in his throat. "It's hard to let her go. I was a mess on the show last night, Norman. I mean, if I get that choked up this many months later? When is it gonna get easier?"
"I don't know, babe. Time wounds all heels?" he offers and she laughs again, making him feel like he's doing his job. This is the role of the boyfriend: he can't take away the pain, but he can find ways around it.
She rolls over and tosses her phone on to the bedside table. When she rolls back, she lays her head on his shoulder again and yawns. "I'm also glad there's a big group of people who wanted to see us together," she says softly. "I mean, Beth and Daryl. And it sucks. I know!" Her voice raises with each word. "I've watched TV! I shipped Stabler & Benson so hard, and then he left the show!"
Norman starts laughing, and then flips them so he's looking down into her indignant face. "You are too cute," he says, grinning helplessly at her. She makes him feel joy like a kid, enormous and infinite, but at the same time he's never wanted to be more of a man when he's with her. He wants to be the place she can come to with her small tears and her big breakdowns. He wants to be the one she needs more than anyone else.
She forces her lips into a pout, which should be ridiculous, but instead it makes his dick twitch just a bit. "Fine, I'll say it. I wanted Bethyl, too. I wanted to get paid to make out with you."
He clicks his tongue, and shakes his head. "Now, you're doin' it for free. Just givin' it away," he teases. He bounces his lips off hers, not really trying to kiss her.
She narrows her eyes slightly. "It's not free," she declares. "It's costing you, every single minute."
"How's that?" he asks.
"Every time you kiss me, every time you fuck me, you're giving me just that much more of you. By the time you leave here tomorrow mornin' there isn't gonna be any Norman and Emily anymore. There's just gonna be Normily."
"What?" he chokes on laughter this time because the impish expression on her face is just too much for him to take. "Are you name squishing us?" he chortles.
"The Internet so deems it," she says, waving an invisible magic wand next to his ear. "If they can't have Bethyl, they shall have Normily."
Suddenly, an idea sparks in his mind. "Oh, Em. That's what we gotta do. That's what will do! We'll give them the reunion they never got!"
The next morning, he's waiting for her to come out of the bathroom when she groans his name.
"What?" he asks through the door.
"Grab my purse, would you?" she shouts. "Perfect timing," she mutters grumpily when he opens the door. She's sitting on the toilet, but manages to give him a very annoyed look, distracting him for a moment from the awkwardness of this exchange. "You'll be happy to know my period just arrived." She grabs her bag as he extends it towards her. "Now, please leave. It's bad enough you're seeing me sitting on a toilet, you're not gonna watch me put in a tampon."
"Oh, my god, no!" he blurts and she tilts her head, her expression growing even more irritated. "Sorry, babe, but no guy in his right mind wants to think about that!"
He shuts the door quickly and paces in the outer room until she emerges a few minutes later, looking a little less irritated, but maybe just a touch embarrassed. He pulls her into a hug, pressing his lips to her cheek. "I am glad there's no baby...yet."
The fact that her smile doesn't make him hyperventilate is the final nail in the coffin. Done, the end.
Normily, indeed.
Emily flies from LA to New York without a single person noticing hey, you're the girl from The Walking Dead! She is very relieved, and credits the giant sunglasses she's been wearing as a good mask, thanks to Norman's suggestion. As she's waiting for her luggage, she checks her messages and sees that her manager left her a voicemail. She listens to it as she eyes several suitcases that look like hers but are missing the I <3 Zombies sticker she adhered to it.
The message confirms that she is not required to do a solo Q&A session at either of the Walker Stalker Cons she's going to this weekend. It's been almost two weeks since her tearful performance on The Talking Dead, and she really doesn't want to relive it. She's not sure if questions like where did you want to see Beth's story go? from people standing right in front of her will make her cry, but she's not really willing to find out.
Instead, she's learning to use these things to her advantage. Of course, she's getting paid to be there, like always, but now that she's off the show, cultivating her fanbase is the point of going. Well, that, and seeing all of her friends.
And her boyfriend, of course.
Because the Q&A for New York is cancelled, she doesn't even have to go to that one; which is fine, better actually. She and Norman have plans for dinner with Lauren and Scott. It was also why she was able to fly in Saturday, and not worry about getting there by a specific time, though there had been no delays at all.
She has time to go home and drop her stuff off, but the last text on her phone from Norman indicated the restaurant downtown and the time as being a bit earlier than she planned. All the same, she's dying to see him; part of her wishes she wasn't seeing him first with their friends, friends who would be the first to see them together as a couple.
She knows neither Scott nor Lauren would have anything negative to say, but the preciousness of all of it has been hers for the last two weeks, and hers alone. She hadn't even told her family that she was head over heels in love with her former co-star simply because once she shares it, it won't be just theirs anymore.
Norman had been similarly hesitant about "going public" even with their friends, but as they discussed it, they knew neither of them could pull off "just friends" if they were going to be together after two weeks of separation.
(Emily thought that dinner at a fancy sushi restaurant was likely to be akin to a Chinese Torture Test because all she was gonna want to do when she saw him was get him naked.)
To punish him for this stupid dinner idea, she dresses up. A belly shirt and dress pants that fit just right, and she curls her hair so that it hangs over her right shoulder perfectly. He had mentioned that when her hair was perfect like that, all he could think about was messing it up, so as she assesses herself in the mirror right before she leaves, she winks at herself and mutters, "Serves him right."
She gets to the restaurant ahead of them, but only by a few minutes. She waits in the foyer, and when they walk in, altogether, it's Lauren who spots her first. "Oh, my god, girl. Look at you! I've missed you so much." She grabs her and lifts Emily clean off the floor, causing her to squeal with delight.
Scott wraps her up in an equally warm embrace, though he doesn't pick her up. "Emmy, so good to see you," he says softly, pressing his lips to her forehead.
Norman hangs back, giving them room, and looking like his normal awkward self, but once Scott steps aside, the space between them seems to evaporate, and Emily's not even sure if she moves at all, but then she's in his arms, and that's what counts.
He doesn't kiss her, though, and she doesn't try to kiss him.
(She can't help it, there is a little bit of Beth, Daryl, Hershel and Maggie filling up this space right here, and she feels tears prick her eyes all over again. She's so glad she's not doing the Q&A in New Jersey tomorrow, either.)
They don't actually say anything, and Emily isn't quite sure if Lauren and Scott know. She thinks they do, but it ends up not being important.
Norman leans into her much later, while they're sitting at the table. Scott and Lauren are momentarily distracted by the waitress asking them if they want more water when he says in a low voice that makes her tummy tremble, "Good enough to eat, baby girl."
She runs her hand up his leg several times after that until he speeds up the check process, and soon they are in a cab headed back to her apartment. A case of the giggles assaults her as they're sitting at a particularly long red light and he looks over at her with a warning eye-squint. "Woman, you are fuckin' killin' me," he murmurs.
"This is just like the first time, remember?"
"I'm paying for the cab this time," he all but growls, and she laughs harder to realize his vanity had been injured by that move on her part.
They don't stumble through the door to her apartment the way they had at his house in Georgia. The number one reason is because there are people in the hallway. Okay, the only reason is because there are people in the hallway, and all three of them are friendly enough with Emily to say hello, call her by name, and as the last guy who sees them does a double take and nearly shouts, "Holy shit, Daryl Dixon!" Norman is willing his body to calm down in case he has to have a conversation with some fan who will take to the internet to call him an asshole if he says what he really wants to.
(Which is, leave us the fuck alone. Please.)
Emily puts her hands up, blocking the guy from approaching Norman, though Norman can't really tell if that was his intention or not. "Hey, Jason, remember. My friends who come to visit me aren't here to sign autographs or take pictures."
The guy gives her an incredulous look. "But, but…it's Daryl Dixon!"
Em's voice is sugar sweet when she says, "And you can tell everyone you met him, for free, in the hallway of your apartment building. But if you want pictures or an autograph, you gotta pay like everyone else. This isn't the time or place for it."
Jason is young from what Norman can tell, younger than Em, but he appears to be a good guy, too. "Can I just shake his hand?" he asks, and Em tosses a look over her shoulder. Norman nods and the guy moves forward, grabbing his hand and shaking it firmly while his other hand grasps Norman's elbow. "Pleasure to meet you," Jason says. "Thanks, Emmy," he says as he continues down the hall.
"Nice to meet you, too," Norman manages to mutter, though he's not even sure the guy hears him, and he's positive he didn't care. Just another reason fame is weird and he has such a love/hate relationship with it.
"You comin'?" she asks, drawing his attention back to her. The door of her apartment is open now and she's got her head cocked just slightly, her Veronica Lake hair perfectly coiled on her right shoulder.
"Yes, please, ma'am," he drawls, winking at her as he slides over the threshold.
He's never been inside her New York apartment, but his first impression is that it feels very like her little Georgia condo. He doesn't have much time to dwell on that, however, because she presses her hands against his shoulders and shoves him back against the closed front door. He looks down at her as she sinks to her knees in front of him, and all the things he'd done to calm himself all evening no longer matter, nor would he have any power to make it otherwise.
She stares up at him as she tugs his belt free. She smirks just a touch as she tosses it behind her, and then she pulls the button and zipper down very carefully because he's at full attention and it is not an easy process at all. "Hi, honey," she coos, and her eyes leave his to look at his cock as she brings it out into the open. He would attempt to watch her blow him, but the sensation is too strong after their time apart. She is thorough and loving, her tongue teasing him to the point of madness, and then she swallows him down so quickly it hardly registers. He knows he must say every dirty word he knows, along with her name, and the whole world goes black.
When he opens his eyes, he's sitting on the floor with her next to him, and her hair is a fucking, glorious mess, but her face is perfect, her little pink tongue skating over her lips like a cat with some cream.
His chest is still heaving, and in part, he wishes he had more memory of what just happened instead of just an explosion of emotion and the impression of pleasure so intense it left him mindless. But looking at her expression, seeing the glee in her eyes at bringing him, literally to his knees, reducing him in some measure to a pure animal, is its own turn on. Em, with power is arousing, is stupendous. Because she just wants to give everything to him.
Because she loves him, so fucking much. He can see it every time he looks at her, and that makes him as breathless as the blow job.
"Sorry about your hair," he says, slipping his hand around her head to grip the back of her neck and pull her mouth to his.
"Liar," she whispers, her smile expanding against his lips as they kiss.
"Wanna see if you can mess mine up just as bad?" he asks, the essence of him sliding from her tongue to his.
Em pulls back, biting her bottom lip provocatively (though he doubts she realizes just how provoking it is), and nods eagerly.
They get to their feet, and he pulls her against him for another kiss. Undoing her pants is his first line of business, but then easing his hand down the front of them so he can feel how wet she is, is his next move. She cries out as his finger presses down on her swollen clitoris, but it quickly glides right past that into her pussy, which automatically clenches around him as she squeezes her thighs together. His big plan was to move her to the nearest flat surface, drag her pants off, and eat her out as quickly and completely as she had just brought him to orgasm, but that all melts away when he feels how ready she is for him.
Maneuvering them around, he presses her to the door, and just finger fucks her. Her cheeks grow red with each stroke, and he watches her face, easing back each time she gets close to coming. He adds a second finger and her hands fist in the front of his shirt, holding on for dear life. He keeps waiting for her to demand her release, but instead she rides each wave patiently, enjoying all of his movements, the sounds in her throat fighting for release also. Her mouth falls open in desperate little gasps and her hips buck up, forcing him deeper. The palm of his hand hits her clitoris in an Emily-made rhythm, and he lets her control it until she's gushing into the center of it.
She pulls him to her, kissing his mouth again as she rocks herself to a second orgasm a few moments later.
By then, he's ready for round two himself, which means shower sex. It's hours later before he gets around to eating her out. But with the heels of her feet against his back, and his hair clenched in her fingers, he can tell it was worth the wait.
Her breathing is really slow, and he knows he should let them both sleep. They don't have to go anywhere tomorrow until later in the day, and as it is, they will be sleeping a good part of the day away because the night has been filled with other activities. But he just has to ask her two things before he can rest.
"You think your dad will like me?" he murmurs.
She shifts against him, but pulls the arm he's already got around her just a bit tighter. He snuggles his face down into her neck. Spooning with Em is about as good as sex with Em; this is a new event for him, yet again. "My dad's gonna love you, don't worry," she replies, her voice not nearly as sleepy-sounding as he expects it to be. "Why are you thinking about my dad, right now, anyway?" she asks with a smile in her tone.
"Maybe 'cause your TV dad gave me an almost-lecture today at the Con."
Emily twists her head back towards him. "Scott? Really? What did he say?"
It started with Scott just noticing something different about him, which Norman had been surprised about. It's not that Em hasn't had that kind of impact on him, but he had no idea it would be visible to people who knew him well. "Just, you know, that if you break her heart, I'll break your face kinda thing."
"Shut up. He did not say that."
"He didn't use those particular words. But he did say that," Norman insists and she turns her body all the way over so she can look at him.
She bites her lip, but Norman is too depleted to have any physical reaction to it, which is good. They need to go to sleep. "What did you say?" she asks.
Norman snorts. "I swore on my kid's grave that I'd treat you like gold. I told him the truth, that I'm mad about you, and that you, for whatever inexplicable reason feel the same way, and that I don't intend to squander it."
She giggles. "Squander?"
"It's a word," he snipes back, beginning to feel a bit picked upon.
"Scott loves you. And my dad will love you. And I love you. Okay?"
He gives a little head incline as a response. She smiles, bright and true. "I wanna ask you something?" he says.
"What?"
"Will you meet Mingus before you have to go back to L.A.?"
They haven't spoken much about his son, though Em had always been sure to ask after him, especially on the weekends she knew Norman had him. He had told his son the week before about this special woman in his life, and asked him if he wanted to meet Em. Mingus had not been opposed to it, which in teenager speak had to mean he was somewhat interested. Besides, he knew who Emily was just from watching The Walking Dead.
"I'd be honored to meet him," she replies softly. "You think he'll like me?"
Norman snorts again. "Only a damn fool wouldn't, and trust me, Mingus is no fool. He's a great kid. He will love you."
Emily kisses him, and then whispers, "I love you, so much."
He falls asleep with his return sentiment dying on his lips.
Emily makes her way inside the building, slipping between people in the crowd without anyone noticing her. It's only a matter of time, she knows, but it's with great hope that she looks around for Norman. If she can find him first before anyone shouts her name, it will allow this plan of theirs to go down somewhat cohesively.
She sees his table, one he's sharing with Scott and she makes her way around a group of women who are standing some ten feet back, waiting their turn. She says, "Excuse me?" and one of the women turns on her, a bit aggressively. Maybe they think she's cutting in line, which is kinda what she's doing, but then the woman sees her and gasps loudly, "Oh, my god!"
Emily puts a finger to her lips, and acts quickly. "I'm trying to surprise him," she says, pointing at Norman. "Help me get to that curtained area behind the table, would you?"
As soon as she pulls a partner into the plan, the sea of people parts like Moses is standing right there. She catches Norman's eye, and then walks around the back side. He jumps off his stool and moves quickly towards her and that's when she starts to run. As she leaps into his arms, she remembers that day, months ago now, at Walker Stalker in Atlanta. She had wanted to do this then, just for herself, just because she'd missed him so much. As the crowd around them notices what's happening, the ripple of sound grows to a cacophony and then evens out to a melodic, harmonized set of cheers.
She realizes then, it was all for her, every bit of it, even the parts that destroyed her, even the parts that still make her cry. And she knows with absolute certainty that if Beth Greene hadn't died, she wouldn't be here now, her legs around Norman Reedus' waist and people catcalling in epic delight.
Who can have regrets when it works out better than you ever dreamed?
No one in their right mind, that's who.
So she hugs him to her, laughing as he carries her out for the crowd to get a better look at them, and she sends a thank you heavenward.
Her memories of The Walking Dead will always be her most precious ones; the door that opened everything for her.
She'll probably still cry over it, too, only now it will be all that she has because of it, not all that she had to leave behind.
It's funny how life works out.
fin
Author: badboy_fangirl
Rating: NC-17
Pairings/Characters: Norman/Emily
Warnings: RPF (just scroll on by if that's offensive to you)
Word count: ~5500
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is stuff I've read on the internet. Anything you don't is MADE UP.
Summary: Norman and Emily deal with the fall-out from Beth's death on The Walking Dead. And maybe fall in love along the way.
Author's Notes: Title lifted from Boys II Men's "It's So Hard To Say Goodbye To Yesterday." Previous chapters: One | Two | Three | Four | Five
And...finally:
"You like Norman, don't you?"
Emily looks up from the script she'd buried her head in after Norman walked away. He's back to flirting rather audaciously with her, which means he heard she's single again. They go through patterns, and this is the part that she enjoys the most, though admittedly it leaves her frustrated in a way that most would call unhealthy. Now, her television father stands just inside the sliding door of Cell Block C, watching her. She glances around and sees that they're alone, since the shot that's coming up is in Block B.
She squints at Scott because he's not one to pry, though she's easily shared everything about her life with him as if Hershel and Beth were not fictional at all. She shrugs one shoulder and gives him her best I don't know what you're talking about wide-eyed face.
She opens her mouth to say some off-putting thing but Scott holds up a single finger, in an uh-huh gesture. "I'm only saying this once, so listen up, Emmy. He's a good man. But he's a boy when it comes to matters of the heart. So be very, very careful."
It was one of those in-between times for her, when she wasn't dating anyone and her crush on Norman had become the normal default position for her when there was no one else to distract her.
What Scott says, however, is exactly the warning deep inside her own heart. Loving Norman is easy; getting him to love her back probably wouldn't be all that hard either. Getting him to stay, to see it through, to build something was an entirely different thing.
(And then having to work with him once it was over? Ugh, just thinking about that is enough to cure her of any meandering thoughts.)
"Norman's just a friend, Scott. No delusions here," she says softly.
Scott's eyes crinkle and her gives her a gentle, silent, mouth-pursing reprimand. Then he asks, "You want to rehearse this scene?"
She quickly agrees, and the awkward topic remains unexplored.
She's toweling the excess moisture from her hair when he walks into the bathroom. His eyes meet hers over her shoulder in the mirror, and she just shakes her head at him. "We've had too much sex," she announces.
He's fully clothed, having gone downstairs to get his overnight bag from the car, and the faint smell of cigarettes accompanies him over the threshold.
She's naked, but to his credit, his eyes never leave hers as he takes the towel from her hands. "There's no such thing as too much sex," he murmurs. Using one hand, he pulls her hair back so it's down her back, and then he gently massages the towel over it.
Emily holds his stare, but her nipples betray her completely. Since he never wavers his gaze, he can't know that. She is certain he knows it, anyway, because she can feel everything inside her softening in anticipation. He can probably smell her getting wet for him.
(He is undoubtedly getting hard; they are a perfect match.)
"You know what you were saying earlier, about it not being like this for you before?" she asks.
(She doesn't really think they've had too much sex, but she thinks they might be so far down the love rabbit hole that separating is going to make her physically sick.)
"Yeah," he replies, satisfied that her hair no longer dripping. He tosses the towel aside and steps closer to her; she can feel the heat of him against her back.
She doesn't mean for it to happen, but suddenly tears flood her eyes. "It's all sort of overwhelming, isn't it?" The last word comes out like a little squeak and she shakes her head in protest at her own weakness. "I don't want to be away from you," she confesses.
Norman wraps his arms around her, sliding his head down so that his chin fits into the little scoop of her clavicle; his beard tickles her skin. "We'll work it out, somehow, baby." He inclines his head slightly to press his lips to her neck. "I don't think I'll ever truly be without you again. Not now. You're gonna be with me wherever I go, from now on. You're the deepest part of me, Em. The best part. The only part that matters."
She reaches up to slip her hand into his hair, holding him against her. "I'm so in love with you," she says tearfully, the smile that stretches across her face showing the joy it brings her, even if she's weepy about it.
She watches as his eyes move in the mirror; from her face they travel downward, and his hands slide up her body, cupping her breasts. His thumbs strum over her hardened nipples, and she takes a little gasping breath as he pulls her back, flush against him. "I'm so in love with you, too. We got this. Nothing to worry about, nothing to be scared of. Before yesterday, all I knew was fear--fear I'd messed it up so bad we'd never recover; fear that you didn't love me as much, if at all, like I love you; fear that everything I've ever been can't be the guy that fits here, with you. And all of that was wrong. Every bit of it." His hands ease down, skimming her belly before curving out to her hips. "Now I'm working with the truth, the whole truth. And that's this: we are. Who knows what we'll become, but we'll become it together. That's a promise."
Emily watches his hands as they continue downward, spreading out across the tops of her thighs; his fingers are a beautiful brown contrast with the white skin of her legs, from days filming outside in the Georgia sun. His words make the sensation of his touch that much more powerful, because she feels it in a way she never has before, in any other relationship she's ever been in.
He slips a hand between her legs, rubbing gently where she's already wet for him. She throws her head back against his shoulder in reaction, surprised that she be there so fast given their activities for the last 24 hours.
"Norman..." she gasps just as he says, "Look at yourself." She forces her chin back down slightly so she can watch what he's doing. The glide of his fingers inside her is tight with her legs close together, but when his other hand slides back up to cup her breast, it takes everything in her to keep her eyes open.
"You are the most beautiful fuckin' thing I've ever seen in my life," he whispers. A thumb and forefinger pinch her nipple and he twists his other hand between her legs just so, and a sound of need erupts from Emily's throat, ferocious and startling.
She grabs his wrist, stopping the movement, dislodging his fingers from inside her. "Fuck me," she pants, and she never dreamed in a million years that saying those words could ever be the most romantic thing she's ever felt.
Everything with Norman is new and different, and upside down and perfect. She wants all of it, every moment with him, always.
She feels the shift of urgency from her to him; his eyes flare, and his body coils more tightly behind her, but he still takes his time. Lifting his wet fingers to her lips, he rubs her there the way he had her clit seconds before and then he shuffles them both forward so that there is no space between them and the mirror. She can no longer see what is happening, but when he yanks his jeans open, she braces her hands against the moist glass.
"Just you and me," she breathes out. There is still a slight hesitation from him, and she knows he wonders if he should put on a condom even though she hasn't let him wear one any of the times he's been inside her since they reunited. "Do it, Norman," she says in those short seconds, and then he's there, shoved to the hilt inside her. It's like the first time they made love, only completely different. His hand covers hers on the mirror and she says it again, "Fuck me."
So he does. Emily gasps his name again when she hits the peak, and he follows her a moment later.
When he comes, it flows through her and out of her, very much like the man himself. She'll try, but she'll never fully contain everything he is to her.
He says the Lord's name like she's both his salvation and his damnation, and Emily realizes: this is what love is. The end of everything and the beginning of anything. From now on, the possibility of devastation will always be right there.
She wouldn't have it any other way.
He hasn't spent this much time naked...since the last time he and Emily had been together. There's this tinge of desperation in their touches now, and he's aware of it as the thing that was always missing for him before.
There is a difference between missing someone and not being whole without a particular person by your side. Not just anyone can fill that space; he's not sure when it fully morphed into the shape of Emily, but the important part is it's not freaking him out, and she feels the same way.
The word together has never had the same meaning with anyone else.
Right now, he's half asleep in the bed because she wore him out again, but his eyes blink open when she says, "Oh, my god."
"What?" he asks, turning his head on the pillow to see that she's curled towards him with her phone in her hand.
"People. They're freaking out. Look." She puts the phone in front of his face. There are five angry tweets about Beth Greene that he can read and then her finger moves over the screen to scroll it down some.
Nobody's happy that Beth Greene is dead.
His lips quirk. He'd had a feeling it wouldn't be well-received considering all the hits he got after their episodes in season four. But it still tickles him in a way he couldn't have guessed. He takes the phone from her hand. "This one says, We didn't even get a Bethyl reunion. WTF is that? Rick got to almost hug her, but not Daryl? What was the fucking point?!? Jesus. Yeah, they're pissed, alright. Almost as pissed as I was when I found out." She giggles a little and snuggles into him as he hands the phone back.
"I'm glad they love her so much," Em says, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder. He feels a little wetness from her tears, so he puts a hand against her cheek. "I'm okay," she whispers. "I just miss Beth." He makes a conciliatory sound in his throat. "It's hard to let her go. I was a mess on the show last night, Norman. I mean, if I get that choked up this many months later? When is it gonna get easier?"
"I don't know, babe. Time wounds all heels?" he offers and she laughs again, making him feel like he's doing his job. This is the role of the boyfriend: he can't take away the pain, but he can find ways around it.
She rolls over and tosses her phone on to the bedside table. When she rolls back, she lays her head on his shoulder again and yawns. "I'm also glad there's a big group of people who wanted to see us together," she says softly. "I mean, Beth and Daryl. And it sucks. I know!" Her voice raises with each word. "I've watched TV! I shipped Stabler & Benson so hard, and then he left the show!"
Norman starts laughing, and then flips them so he's looking down into her indignant face. "You are too cute," he says, grinning helplessly at her. She makes him feel joy like a kid, enormous and infinite, but at the same time he's never wanted to be more of a man when he's with her. He wants to be the place she can come to with her small tears and her big breakdowns. He wants to be the one she needs more than anyone else.
She forces her lips into a pout, which should be ridiculous, but instead it makes his dick twitch just a bit. "Fine, I'll say it. I wanted Bethyl, too. I wanted to get paid to make out with you."
He clicks his tongue, and shakes his head. "Now, you're doin' it for free. Just givin' it away," he teases. He bounces his lips off hers, not really trying to kiss her.
She narrows her eyes slightly. "It's not free," she declares. "It's costing you, every single minute."
"How's that?" he asks.
"Every time you kiss me, every time you fuck me, you're giving me just that much more of you. By the time you leave here tomorrow mornin' there isn't gonna be any Norman and Emily anymore. There's just gonna be Normily."
"What?" he chokes on laughter this time because the impish expression on her face is just too much for him to take. "Are you name squishing us?" he chortles.
"The Internet so deems it," she says, waving an invisible magic wand next to his ear. "If they can't have Bethyl, they shall have Normily."
Suddenly, an idea sparks in his mind. "Oh, Em. That's what we gotta do. That's what will do! We'll give them the reunion they never got!"
The next morning, he's waiting for her to come out of the bathroom when she groans his name.
"What?" he asks through the door.
"Grab my purse, would you?" she shouts. "Perfect timing," she mutters grumpily when he opens the door. She's sitting on the toilet, but manages to give him a very annoyed look, distracting him for a moment from the awkwardness of this exchange. "You'll be happy to know my period just arrived." She grabs her bag as he extends it towards her. "Now, please leave. It's bad enough you're seeing me sitting on a toilet, you're not gonna watch me put in a tampon."
"Oh, my god, no!" he blurts and she tilts her head, her expression growing even more irritated. "Sorry, babe, but no guy in his right mind wants to think about that!"
He shuts the door quickly and paces in the outer room until she emerges a few minutes later, looking a little less irritated, but maybe just a touch embarrassed. He pulls her into a hug, pressing his lips to her cheek. "I am glad there's no baby...yet."
The fact that her smile doesn't make him hyperventilate is the final nail in the coffin. Done, the end.
Normily, indeed.
Emily flies from LA to New York without a single person noticing hey, you're the girl from The Walking Dead! She is very relieved, and credits the giant sunglasses she's been wearing as a good mask, thanks to Norman's suggestion. As she's waiting for her luggage, she checks her messages and sees that her manager left her a voicemail. She listens to it as she eyes several suitcases that look like hers but are missing the I <3 Zombies sticker she adhered to it.
The message confirms that she is not required to do a solo Q&A session at either of the Walker Stalker Cons she's going to this weekend. It's been almost two weeks since her tearful performance on The Talking Dead, and she really doesn't want to relive it. She's not sure if questions like where did you want to see Beth's story go? from people standing right in front of her will make her cry, but she's not really willing to find out.
Instead, she's learning to use these things to her advantage. Of course, she's getting paid to be there, like always, but now that she's off the show, cultivating her fanbase is the point of going. Well, that, and seeing all of her friends.
And her boyfriend, of course.
Because the Q&A for New York is cancelled, she doesn't even have to go to that one; which is fine, better actually. She and Norman have plans for dinner with Lauren and Scott. It was also why she was able to fly in Saturday, and not worry about getting there by a specific time, though there had been no delays at all.
She has time to go home and drop her stuff off, but the last text on her phone from Norman indicated the restaurant downtown and the time as being a bit earlier than she planned. All the same, she's dying to see him; part of her wishes she wasn't seeing him first with their friends, friends who would be the first to see them together as a couple.
She knows neither Scott nor Lauren would have anything negative to say, but the preciousness of all of it has been hers for the last two weeks, and hers alone. She hadn't even told her family that she was head over heels in love with her former co-star simply because once she shares it, it won't be just theirs anymore.
Norman had been similarly hesitant about "going public" even with their friends, but as they discussed it, they knew neither of them could pull off "just friends" if they were going to be together after two weeks of separation.
(Emily thought that dinner at a fancy sushi restaurant was likely to be akin to a Chinese Torture Test because all she was gonna want to do when she saw him was get him naked.)
To punish him for this stupid dinner idea, she dresses up. A belly shirt and dress pants that fit just right, and she curls her hair so that it hangs over her right shoulder perfectly. He had mentioned that when her hair was perfect like that, all he could think about was messing it up, so as she assesses herself in the mirror right before she leaves, she winks at herself and mutters, "Serves him right."
She gets to the restaurant ahead of them, but only by a few minutes. She waits in the foyer, and when they walk in, altogether, it's Lauren who spots her first. "Oh, my god, girl. Look at you! I've missed you so much." She grabs her and lifts Emily clean off the floor, causing her to squeal with delight.
Scott wraps her up in an equally warm embrace, though he doesn't pick her up. "Emmy, so good to see you," he says softly, pressing his lips to her forehead.
Norman hangs back, giving them room, and looking like his normal awkward self, but once Scott steps aside, the space between them seems to evaporate, and Emily's not even sure if she moves at all, but then she's in his arms, and that's what counts.
He doesn't kiss her, though, and she doesn't try to kiss him.
(She can't help it, there is a little bit of Beth, Daryl, Hershel and Maggie filling up this space right here, and she feels tears prick her eyes all over again. She's so glad she's not doing the Q&A in New Jersey tomorrow, either.)
They don't actually say anything, and Emily isn't quite sure if Lauren and Scott know. She thinks they do, but it ends up not being important.
Norman leans into her much later, while they're sitting at the table. Scott and Lauren are momentarily distracted by the waitress asking them if they want more water when he says in a low voice that makes her tummy tremble, "Good enough to eat, baby girl."
She runs her hand up his leg several times after that until he speeds up the check process, and soon they are in a cab headed back to her apartment. A case of the giggles assaults her as they're sitting at a particularly long red light and he looks over at her with a warning eye-squint. "Woman, you are fuckin' killin' me," he murmurs.
"This is just like the first time, remember?"
"I'm paying for the cab this time," he all but growls, and she laughs harder to realize his vanity had been injured by that move on her part.
They don't stumble through the door to her apartment the way they had at his house in Georgia. The number one reason is because there are people in the hallway. Okay, the only reason is because there are people in the hallway, and all three of them are friendly enough with Emily to say hello, call her by name, and as the last guy who sees them does a double take and nearly shouts, "Holy shit, Daryl Dixon!" Norman is willing his body to calm down in case he has to have a conversation with some fan who will take to the internet to call him an asshole if he says what he really wants to.
(Which is, leave us the fuck alone. Please.)
Emily puts her hands up, blocking the guy from approaching Norman, though Norman can't really tell if that was his intention or not. "Hey, Jason, remember. My friends who come to visit me aren't here to sign autographs or take pictures."
The guy gives her an incredulous look. "But, but…it's Daryl Dixon!"
Em's voice is sugar sweet when she says, "And you can tell everyone you met him, for free, in the hallway of your apartment building. But if you want pictures or an autograph, you gotta pay like everyone else. This isn't the time or place for it."
Jason is young from what Norman can tell, younger than Em, but he appears to be a good guy, too. "Can I just shake his hand?" he asks, and Em tosses a look over her shoulder. Norman nods and the guy moves forward, grabbing his hand and shaking it firmly while his other hand grasps Norman's elbow. "Pleasure to meet you," Jason says. "Thanks, Emmy," he says as he continues down the hall.
"Nice to meet you, too," Norman manages to mutter, though he's not even sure the guy hears him, and he's positive he didn't care. Just another reason fame is weird and he has such a love/hate relationship with it.
"You comin'?" she asks, drawing his attention back to her. The door of her apartment is open now and she's got her head cocked just slightly, her Veronica Lake hair perfectly coiled on her right shoulder.
"Yes, please, ma'am," he drawls, winking at her as he slides over the threshold.
He's never been inside her New York apartment, but his first impression is that it feels very like her little Georgia condo. He doesn't have much time to dwell on that, however, because she presses her hands against his shoulders and shoves him back against the closed front door. He looks down at her as she sinks to her knees in front of him, and all the things he'd done to calm himself all evening no longer matter, nor would he have any power to make it otherwise.
She stares up at him as she tugs his belt free. She smirks just a touch as she tosses it behind her, and then she pulls the button and zipper down very carefully because he's at full attention and it is not an easy process at all. "Hi, honey," she coos, and her eyes leave his to look at his cock as she brings it out into the open. He would attempt to watch her blow him, but the sensation is too strong after their time apart. She is thorough and loving, her tongue teasing him to the point of madness, and then she swallows him down so quickly it hardly registers. He knows he must say every dirty word he knows, along with her name, and the whole world goes black.
When he opens his eyes, he's sitting on the floor with her next to him, and her hair is a fucking, glorious mess, but her face is perfect, her little pink tongue skating over her lips like a cat with some cream.
His chest is still heaving, and in part, he wishes he had more memory of what just happened instead of just an explosion of emotion and the impression of pleasure so intense it left him mindless. But looking at her expression, seeing the glee in her eyes at bringing him, literally to his knees, reducing him in some measure to a pure animal, is its own turn on. Em, with power is arousing, is stupendous. Because she just wants to give everything to him.
Because she loves him, so fucking much. He can see it every time he looks at her, and that makes him as breathless as the blow job.
"Sorry about your hair," he says, slipping his hand around her head to grip the back of her neck and pull her mouth to his.
"Liar," she whispers, her smile expanding against his lips as they kiss.
"Wanna see if you can mess mine up just as bad?" he asks, the essence of him sliding from her tongue to his.
Em pulls back, biting her bottom lip provocatively (though he doubts she realizes just how provoking it is), and nods eagerly.
They get to their feet, and he pulls her against him for another kiss. Undoing her pants is his first line of business, but then easing his hand down the front of them so he can feel how wet she is, is his next move. She cries out as his finger presses down on her swollen clitoris, but it quickly glides right past that into her pussy, which automatically clenches around him as she squeezes her thighs together. His big plan was to move her to the nearest flat surface, drag her pants off, and eat her out as quickly and completely as she had just brought him to orgasm, but that all melts away when he feels how ready she is for him.
Maneuvering them around, he presses her to the door, and just finger fucks her. Her cheeks grow red with each stroke, and he watches her face, easing back each time she gets close to coming. He adds a second finger and her hands fist in the front of his shirt, holding on for dear life. He keeps waiting for her to demand her release, but instead she rides each wave patiently, enjoying all of his movements, the sounds in her throat fighting for release also. Her mouth falls open in desperate little gasps and her hips buck up, forcing him deeper. The palm of his hand hits her clitoris in an Emily-made rhythm, and he lets her control it until she's gushing into the center of it.
She pulls him to her, kissing his mouth again as she rocks herself to a second orgasm a few moments later.
By then, he's ready for round two himself, which means shower sex. It's hours later before he gets around to eating her out. But with the heels of her feet against his back, and his hair clenched in her fingers, he can tell it was worth the wait.
Her breathing is really slow, and he knows he should let them both sleep. They don't have to go anywhere tomorrow until later in the day, and as it is, they will be sleeping a good part of the day away because the night has been filled with other activities. But he just has to ask her two things before he can rest.
"You think your dad will like me?" he murmurs.
She shifts against him, but pulls the arm he's already got around her just a bit tighter. He snuggles his face down into her neck. Spooning with Em is about as good as sex with Em; this is a new event for him, yet again. "My dad's gonna love you, don't worry," she replies, her voice not nearly as sleepy-sounding as he expects it to be. "Why are you thinking about my dad, right now, anyway?" she asks with a smile in her tone.
"Maybe 'cause your TV dad gave me an almost-lecture today at the Con."
Emily twists her head back towards him. "Scott? Really? What did he say?"
It started with Scott just noticing something different about him, which Norman had been surprised about. It's not that Em hasn't had that kind of impact on him, but he had no idea it would be visible to people who knew him well. "Just, you know, that if you break her heart, I'll break your face kinda thing."
"Shut up. He did not say that."
"He didn't use those particular words. But he did say that," Norman insists and she turns her body all the way over so she can look at him.
She bites her lip, but Norman is too depleted to have any physical reaction to it, which is good. They need to go to sleep. "What did you say?" she asks.
Norman snorts. "I swore on my kid's grave that I'd treat you like gold. I told him the truth, that I'm mad about you, and that you, for whatever inexplicable reason feel the same way, and that I don't intend to squander it."
She giggles. "Squander?"
"It's a word," he snipes back, beginning to feel a bit picked upon.
"Scott loves you. And my dad will love you. And I love you. Okay?"
He gives a little head incline as a response. She smiles, bright and true. "I wanna ask you something?" he says.
"What?"
"Will you meet Mingus before you have to go back to L.A.?"
They haven't spoken much about his son, though Em had always been sure to ask after him, especially on the weekends she knew Norman had him. He had told his son the week before about this special woman in his life, and asked him if he wanted to meet Em. Mingus had not been opposed to it, which in teenager speak had to mean he was somewhat interested. Besides, he knew who Emily was just from watching The Walking Dead.
"I'd be honored to meet him," she replies softly. "You think he'll like me?"
Norman snorts again. "Only a damn fool wouldn't, and trust me, Mingus is no fool. He's a great kid. He will love you."
Emily kisses him, and then whispers, "I love you, so much."
He falls asleep with his return sentiment dying on his lips.
Emily makes her way inside the building, slipping between people in the crowd without anyone noticing her. It's only a matter of time, she knows, but it's with great hope that she looks around for Norman. If she can find him first before anyone shouts her name, it will allow this plan of theirs to go down somewhat cohesively.
She sees his table, one he's sharing with Scott and she makes her way around a group of women who are standing some ten feet back, waiting their turn. She says, "Excuse me?" and one of the women turns on her, a bit aggressively. Maybe they think she's cutting in line, which is kinda what she's doing, but then the woman sees her and gasps loudly, "Oh, my god!"
Emily puts a finger to her lips, and acts quickly. "I'm trying to surprise him," she says, pointing at Norman. "Help me get to that curtained area behind the table, would you?"
As soon as she pulls a partner into the plan, the sea of people parts like Moses is standing right there. She catches Norman's eye, and then walks around the back side. He jumps off his stool and moves quickly towards her and that's when she starts to run. As she leaps into his arms, she remembers that day, months ago now, at Walker Stalker in Atlanta. She had wanted to do this then, just for herself, just because she'd missed him so much. As the crowd around them notices what's happening, the ripple of sound grows to a cacophony and then evens out to a melodic, harmonized set of cheers.
She realizes then, it was all for her, every bit of it, even the parts that destroyed her, even the parts that still make her cry. And she knows with absolute certainty that if Beth Greene hadn't died, she wouldn't be here now, her legs around Norman Reedus' waist and people catcalling in epic delight.
Who can have regrets when it works out better than you ever dreamed?
No one in their right mind, that's who.
So she hugs him to her, laughing as he carries her out for the crowd to get a better look at them, and she sends a thank you heavenward.
Her memories of The Walking Dead will always be her most precious ones; the door that opened everything for her.
She'll probably still cry over it, too, only now it will be all that she has because of it, not all that she had to leave behind.
It's funny how life works out.
fin