Being Human (US) fic: What the Ocean Can Know of a Body (PG, Sally/Emily)
Okay, trying again, because apparently my journal couldn't post for a very long time...
Also, last night's episode? EEEEEE!! I can't even believe we only have one more to go. Then SHOW me the fic, fandom!
~
Title: What the Ocean Can Know of a Body
Author: krisomniac
Rating, warning, pairing: PG, spoilers through 1x09, Sally/Emily
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything. Characters belong to SyFy and Jeremy Carver, and the title is from The Ocean by Dar Williams
Word count: 2500
Summary: A story about a girl and a ghost, but not really a ghost story.
Author’s Note: Sequel to This Town is a Song About You, kind of AU after 1x06 with reference to later episodes. Thanky to ignipes for beta-reading. All mistakes left are mine. To Gingerberrycat, for also loving this pairing. I have so many ideas for this story arc, but for now, I leave it with a kiss.
What the Ocean Can Know of a Body
She kept the key Josh gave her. It’s a promise, a dare, a two-ounce temptation in the back pocket of her favorite jeans. Sometimes, between classes and walking back to the crummy dorm where she’s crashing until the end of the semester, she pulls it out and wonders.
She waits a month and a half before she ventures back to their street. The cut on her forehead has healed, leaving only a pale pink scar. She barely even winces anymore when she laughs. She was due for a re-check exam at the hospital that morning. After a round of deep breaths and “yes, you’re well on your way,” (to where? She wonders) she had one of the nurses check to see whether Aidan and Josh were still on shift.
I can get them for you.
Don’t worry, we’ll catch up later.
When better to break into her estranged-then-temporary-roommate-no-longer-speaking brother’s house, after all.
The street hasn’t changed much except with the passing seasons. There’s a white cross with dried flowers and small mementoes sitting across from their house. She glances at the picture of a smiling boy and wonders what happened to him. Then she looks up at the windows, only half-believes it’s her imagination that creates a whisper of motion past the upstairs curtains. She crosses the street.
The front stairs seem empty without Josh camped out at the top, sipping a beer or just watching the world drift by. Half-dead ivy still creeps up the railings and walls, and she rests her hand on the spot where she last spoke-really spoke-to him, even if, the whole time, there’s so much he wasn’t saying at all. The lock still jams until she jiggles the key just so. Then it clicks into place, and the handle turns.
With a final glance at the street, she slips inside and shuts the door behind her.
~
The house rumbles quietly, like a distant train passing. “Hello?” she calls.
There’s no answer, and she chides herself for thinking that there might be. She trails a hand along the back of the couch, feeling like an intruder where she was welcomed just a few weeks before. The floors are recently cleaned and polished. She wonders whether the deep gouges were there before or after the guys moved in. She doesn’t remember them, but then again she spent most of her time here half-drowning in a bottle of vodka.
The kitchen smells faintly of coffee and lemon-scented detergent. Dishes are stacked neatly in the drying rack, airing out under the late morning sun. There’s an open newspaper on the table, turned to an article about some conflict in the Middle East. The rumbling has stopped, replaced with the tense silence of the breath before someone starts speaking.
Emily waits, but the quiet remains.
“Hello?” she asks again softly.
She shivers, passing through one of the house’s many cold spots, and tries again. “Sally?”
~
She’s been here almost an hour, curled up against the arm of the sofa and staring at the stairs, not speaking, not reading, not even stoned. She’s trying to remember that last night she was here, after the pain and the fear, when she met a girl that no one else could see. Her memories are such a tangle she can barely imagine even the color of Sally’s hair. What she mainly recalls is the feeling of Sally, of something substantial in a world where Emily almost didn’t exist.
She’s trying not to remember the closed look that fell over Josh’s face afterwards, every time she tried to bring up the things she’d seen, his silent apology days later. He didn’t say goodbye to her and their parents-when he said goodbye for good, and she definitely didn’t think about that moment she realized she was losing her brother all over again-that without him she was going to have to find answers to her questions on her own. The house feels like it’s waiting, too, and every now and then she imagines she sees a flicker of a shadow at the top of the steps. She’s pretty sure she’s wearing out her welcome-especially if Josh or Aidan comes home.
All the same, she doesn’t move.
“I know you’re here. How come you’re hiding?” she tries again.
Once, when they were little, Mom took her and Josh to the animal shelter back home. They weren’t allowed to have any pets, Dad was allergic, but she said they could play with the shelter animals to make them feel loved. The dog wards were glass-walled with ventilation holes and little doors to pass treats through. There were beds and toys in each room and a drain in the center of the floor for easy cleaning. There was one dog in the corner, a big, red one. The lady at the shelter said she’d been there a really long time. Too long, she’d added, shaking her head and avoiding Emily’s eyes. The dog looked warily at the children and backed to the far wall of her cage, heckles raised. Emily was afraid to go into the room, but Josh didn’t hesitate. He took the leash and kneeled down in the corner, talking softly to the dog until she came over. She took a treat from his hand and let him scratch the top of her head.
Emily doesn’t remember a word of what he said, but she remembers how he waited patiently, spoke softly, and how all she wanted was to run in there, hug the big dog, and drag her home with them.
“Look,” she says softly, half-convinced the words don’t actually matter. “I know this sounds crazy, but I know you’re here. I remember you. That night at the hospital, when I almost-I know you were there, too.” She unfolds her legs and steps off the couch, walks softly to the base of the stairs. There’s a faint rumbling in the woodwork as she touches the banister, almost as though the house is purring. “Somehow,” she tells it, “I think I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you.”
~
She’s about to turn around, when she sees a form materialize at the top of the stairs. It’s a tall, thin girl in a grey sweater and black leggings. She stands, unassuming, legs slightly apart, arms crossed over her chest. Her defensive posture belies dark, vulnerable eyes.
“Sally!” Emily jumps up the first few stairs, then stops, afraid the ghost-that is what she is, Emily assumes-will bolt at her sudden movement.
Sally cocks her head to the side. “Emily? You. You can see me?”
“Well, yeah.” Emily grins. “Either that or I’m going as mad as the rest of my family.”
“I just-“
Emily can’t tell whether Sally is excited or looking for the nearest exit route. Maybe she’s some combination of the two.
“I’m just surprised,” she explains. “Living--normal living people--can’t. And I thought you--”
“Definitely not normal,” Emily reassures her. “Definitely alive.”
Sally steps down one or two stairs. “So you-“
“I wanted to come back.” Emily waves; a self-conscious gesture, but it’s all she can think of to do.
It’s a few minutes before she can convince Sally to come all the way downstairs. Sally moves like a dancer, perches herself on the window seat with her knees tucked up by her chest, and just stares at Emily like she’s some kind of alien. “I’m sorry,” she says again, though she seems to have overcome the surprise, and now she’s almost grinning. “I just-I guess I’ve gotten so used to being-not here, at least to everyone but Josh and Aidan and well, I didn’t realize-“
“That it was second nature?” Emily ventures. That it was safer that way, she wonders. She sits on the other end of the seat. The sun is higher now, pouring through the sheer curtains and catching the highlights in Sally’s dark hair. “I used to wish I was invisible,” she starts, shaking her head at the memories of a young teenager with long, greasy hair and too-baggy flannel shirts. “I’d slink around the hallways and wear no makeup, speak just enough that no one noticed me-this awkward girl who wasn’t into the boys all her friends were crushing on, who was never going to get the grades or college acceptances her brother-
“It was a phase,” she finishes abruptly.
Sally smiles. “I don’t think this is a phase,” she says. “I think being dead is pretty much for good.”
Emily shrugs. “Well, I can see you.”
“You can. Which I don’t entirely-and.” Sally looks confused all over again. “You’re taking this really well, by the way.”
“I guess, compared to all the crazy shit that’s happened in the last few months, meeting the ghost that haunts my brother’s house is practically normal. Hey, do you want to take a walk? Er, can you?” Emily suddenly feels restless, claustrophobic, and Josh, his erratic behavior and nonsensical declarations, is about the last thing she wants to talk about right now.
Sally nods. “Yeah,” she says, “I would.”
They step outside, and suddenly Emily can breathe again without the specter of her brother hanging over his ghostly roommate and sister. She feels detached; from her body and decisions, but for the most part, she’s trying to wrap her head around the fact that this is really happening. She’s walking down the street having a real conversation with a girl who died almost a year ago. She isn’t going crazy, and she’s actually having fun.
“So what about you?” she asks.
“What about me?” Sally looks surprised at the question.
Emily scuffs her toes along the pavement as Sally’s feet step silently beside her. The first leaves of fall drift into gutters by the side of the road, and the sun slants sharply behind their backs, casting Emily’s shadow long on the street ahead. “I mean, you know all about me,” She says, “But what about you? How long were you in Boston? What did you study? What did you want to do?”
Sally looks surprised. “You really want to know? Really?”
“Well, yeah.”
“And you don’t mind talking to me? Out here, where people can see?”
Emily shrugs. “Do you know how many people talk to themselves on Boston streets?” She finds herself grinning at Sally’s expression. She doesn’t know why, but every time she surprises Sally, she can’t help but smile, like she’s thumbing it to fate, to secrets, to the proper order of things. But mostly, it’s because Sally’s pretty cute caught off-guard, dark eyes staring at her.
“Well… okay.”
~
Once she’s gotten Sally started, Emily realizes she’s opened the gates on a conversational flood. She wonders how often the guys actually sit down and talk to Sally, and for a moment the thought of such a lonely existence threatens to engulf her. Then Sally is off again, smiling and chatting, afternoon light playing in the strands of her hair. “Favorite deli?” she asks.
“Billy’s”
“Best pirogues.”
“I know, right?”
They’ve wandered almost down to Fenway without even pausing for air-Emily supposes Sally doesn’t have to anyway-covering every topic from Sally’s mother’s cooking (which rivals Emily’s in neuroses if not spice) to her interpretation of Buddhist philosophy in the modern world. In a few short miles, they’re chatting like old friends, and the sun sets over the river in a blaze of liquid fire.
“Whew,” Emily sighs, staring at the bright pinks and oranges. It’s rare she’s down here at this hour, and she almost regrets the fact. “Get a load of that.” Without thinking, she leans over and nudges Sally towards the sky.
“Huh? Wow.” Sally is suddenly silent.
It’s a moment before Emily realizes Sally is staring at her rather than the colors. “What?” she asks. “Do I have something caught in my teeth?”
“No.” Sally takes a deep breath. “You just-“
“Oh, shit. I did.” Emily starts when she realizes, then frowns, thinking. The gesture had been so natural--
“-touched me.”
Sally holds her hand up, palm open, and examines it. Emily feels like she’s having an E.T. moment as she mirrors the gesture. She knows Sally is dead. She’s a ghost, and no one else on the street can even see her, yet her hand appears as solid to Emily as the buildings and railings and river that surround them. She’s afraid she’s overthinking this, she’s afraid she’s not concentrating hard enough, as she inches her hand closer to Sally’s. “You think?” she asks. She wonders if it will work again.
“I hope?” Sally nods.
Emily shivers despite the warmth of the afternoon. “Me too,” she whispers. She moves her hand a little closer, feeling threads of static energy spark between their fingers. The electricity dances and arcs with light as she shifts and turns.
Sally stands awestruck, just watching. A slow smile spreads cross her face.
Emily’s never been one to wait patiently for things to unfold. What the hell, she figures and, in a moment of reckless abandon, she breaks the tenuous connection, steps into the space between Sally’s arms, and wraps her hand around the back of Sally’s neck, plants her lips firmly on the surprised ‘O’ of Sally’s.
She lingers a moment, savoring the sensation of her hair rising in a storm of static, the faint smell of summer lightning and lilacs, the delicate press of Sally’s mouth. Then she pulls away. Sally doesn’t move.
“What?” she asks.
“That was…”
For a moment, Emily’s afraid that her new friend is going to bolt; Sally flickers dangerously, blurring around the edges, and Emily can see the buildings of the riverfront through her form. “That was amazing,” she says quietly, meeting Sally’s eyes as though her gaze is an anchor rope, keeping Sally here, daring Sally to deny it’s true.
Sally just nods. It’s a minute before she finds her voice and with it, her smile. “I bet you say that to all the ghosts.”
“Nope.” Emily reaches for her hand, confident now. It feels solid, neither warm nor cool, though the air around it is thick with energy, humming in an unseen wind. “I can guarantee you’re the only one-“
And this time she’s the one taken by surprise as Sally pulls her in, envelopes her in the whirring fog. She can feel the city through Sally, feel the pavement between here and the house, the children playing on swing sets and laughing in the park, the clouds that settle over skyscrapers, radio waves coursing through the air. From their little spot on the river, the city is so painfully, vibrantly alive, it feels like it’s pulling the breath from Emily’s lungs. Then she realizes it’s Sally, breathing in time with her, cheek pressed against her nose. It’s crazy and heady, and she’s holding on to Sally for life, for fear that if she doesn’t, this tide feeling will wash her away.
Sally kisses her again, and suddenly it’s just the two of them, grass underfoot, sky overhead, as the rest of the world falls away.
Also, last night's episode? EEEEEE!! I can't even believe we only have one more to go. Then SHOW me the fic, fandom!
~
Title: What the Ocean Can Know of a Body
Author: krisomniac
Rating, warning, pairing: PG, spoilers through 1x09, Sally/Emily
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything. Characters belong to SyFy and Jeremy Carver, and the title is from The Ocean by Dar Williams
Word count: 2500
Summary: A story about a girl and a ghost, but not really a ghost story.
Author’s Note: Sequel to This Town is a Song About You, kind of AU after 1x06 with reference to later episodes. Thanky to ignipes for beta-reading. All mistakes left are mine. To Gingerberrycat, for also loving this pairing. I have so many ideas for this story arc, but for now, I leave it with a kiss.
What the Ocean Can Know of a Body
She kept the key Josh gave her. It’s a promise, a dare, a two-ounce temptation in the back pocket of her favorite jeans. Sometimes, between classes and walking back to the crummy dorm where she’s crashing until the end of the semester, she pulls it out and wonders.
She waits a month and a half before she ventures back to their street. The cut on her forehead has healed, leaving only a pale pink scar. She barely even winces anymore when she laughs. She was due for a re-check exam at the hospital that morning. After a round of deep breaths and “yes, you’re well on your way,” (to where? She wonders) she had one of the nurses check to see whether Aidan and Josh were still on shift.
I can get them for you.
Don’t worry, we’ll catch up later.
When better to break into her estranged-then-temporary-roommate-no-longer-speaking brother’s house, after all.
The street hasn’t changed much except with the passing seasons. There’s a white cross with dried flowers and small mementoes sitting across from their house. She glances at the picture of a smiling boy and wonders what happened to him. Then she looks up at the windows, only half-believes it’s her imagination that creates a whisper of motion past the upstairs curtains. She crosses the street.
The front stairs seem empty without Josh camped out at the top, sipping a beer or just watching the world drift by. Half-dead ivy still creeps up the railings and walls, and she rests her hand on the spot where she last spoke-really spoke-to him, even if, the whole time, there’s so much he wasn’t saying at all. The lock still jams until she jiggles the key just so. Then it clicks into place, and the handle turns.
With a final glance at the street, she slips inside and shuts the door behind her.
~
The house rumbles quietly, like a distant train passing. “Hello?” she calls.
There’s no answer, and she chides herself for thinking that there might be. She trails a hand along the back of the couch, feeling like an intruder where she was welcomed just a few weeks before. The floors are recently cleaned and polished. She wonders whether the deep gouges were there before or after the guys moved in. She doesn’t remember them, but then again she spent most of her time here half-drowning in a bottle of vodka.
The kitchen smells faintly of coffee and lemon-scented detergent. Dishes are stacked neatly in the drying rack, airing out under the late morning sun. There’s an open newspaper on the table, turned to an article about some conflict in the Middle East. The rumbling has stopped, replaced with the tense silence of the breath before someone starts speaking.
Emily waits, but the quiet remains.
“Hello?” she asks again softly.
She shivers, passing through one of the house’s many cold spots, and tries again. “Sally?”
~
She’s been here almost an hour, curled up against the arm of the sofa and staring at the stairs, not speaking, not reading, not even stoned. She’s trying to remember that last night she was here, after the pain and the fear, when she met a girl that no one else could see. Her memories are such a tangle she can barely imagine even the color of Sally’s hair. What she mainly recalls is the feeling of Sally, of something substantial in a world where Emily almost didn’t exist.
She’s trying not to remember the closed look that fell over Josh’s face afterwards, every time she tried to bring up the things she’d seen, his silent apology days later. He didn’t say goodbye to her and their parents-when he said goodbye for good, and she definitely didn’t think about that moment she realized she was losing her brother all over again-that without him she was going to have to find answers to her questions on her own. The house feels like it’s waiting, too, and every now and then she imagines she sees a flicker of a shadow at the top of the steps. She’s pretty sure she’s wearing out her welcome-especially if Josh or Aidan comes home.
All the same, she doesn’t move.
“I know you’re here. How come you’re hiding?” she tries again.
Once, when they were little, Mom took her and Josh to the animal shelter back home. They weren’t allowed to have any pets, Dad was allergic, but she said they could play with the shelter animals to make them feel loved. The dog wards were glass-walled with ventilation holes and little doors to pass treats through. There were beds and toys in each room and a drain in the center of the floor for easy cleaning. There was one dog in the corner, a big, red one. The lady at the shelter said she’d been there a really long time. Too long, she’d added, shaking her head and avoiding Emily’s eyes. The dog looked warily at the children and backed to the far wall of her cage, heckles raised. Emily was afraid to go into the room, but Josh didn’t hesitate. He took the leash and kneeled down in the corner, talking softly to the dog until she came over. She took a treat from his hand and let him scratch the top of her head.
Emily doesn’t remember a word of what he said, but she remembers how he waited patiently, spoke softly, and how all she wanted was to run in there, hug the big dog, and drag her home with them.
“Look,” she says softly, half-convinced the words don’t actually matter. “I know this sounds crazy, but I know you’re here. I remember you. That night at the hospital, when I almost-I know you were there, too.” She unfolds her legs and steps off the couch, walks softly to the base of the stairs. There’s a faint rumbling in the woodwork as she touches the banister, almost as though the house is purring. “Somehow,” she tells it, “I think I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you.”
~
She’s about to turn around, when she sees a form materialize at the top of the stairs. It’s a tall, thin girl in a grey sweater and black leggings. She stands, unassuming, legs slightly apart, arms crossed over her chest. Her defensive posture belies dark, vulnerable eyes.
“Sally!” Emily jumps up the first few stairs, then stops, afraid the ghost-that is what she is, Emily assumes-will bolt at her sudden movement.
Sally cocks her head to the side. “Emily? You. You can see me?”
“Well, yeah.” Emily grins. “Either that or I’m going as mad as the rest of my family.”
“I just-“
Emily can’t tell whether Sally is excited or looking for the nearest exit route. Maybe she’s some combination of the two.
“I’m just surprised,” she explains. “Living--normal living people--can’t. And I thought you--”
“Definitely not normal,” Emily reassures her. “Definitely alive.”
Sally steps down one or two stairs. “So you-“
“I wanted to come back.” Emily waves; a self-conscious gesture, but it’s all she can think of to do.
It’s a few minutes before she can convince Sally to come all the way downstairs. Sally moves like a dancer, perches herself on the window seat with her knees tucked up by her chest, and just stares at Emily like she’s some kind of alien. “I’m sorry,” she says again, though she seems to have overcome the surprise, and now she’s almost grinning. “I just-I guess I’ve gotten so used to being-not here, at least to everyone but Josh and Aidan and well, I didn’t realize-“
“That it was second nature?” Emily ventures. That it was safer that way, she wonders. She sits on the other end of the seat. The sun is higher now, pouring through the sheer curtains and catching the highlights in Sally’s dark hair. “I used to wish I was invisible,” she starts, shaking her head at the memories of a young teenager with long, greasy hair and too-baggy flannel shirts. “I’d slink around the hallways and wear no makeup, speak just enough that no one noticed me-this awkward girl who wasn’t into the boys all her friends were crushing on, who was never going to get the grades or college acceptances her brother-
“It was a phase,” she finishes abruptly.
Sally smiles. “I don’t think this is a phase,” she says. “I think being dead is pretty much for good.”
Emily shrugs. “Well, I can see you.”
“You can. Which I don’t entirely-and.” Sally looks confused all over again. “You’re taking this really well, by the way.”
“I guess, compared to all the crazy shit that’s happened in the last few months, meeting the ghost that haunts my brother’s house is practically normal. Hey, do you want to take a walk? Er, can you?” Emily suddenly feels restless, claustrophobic, and Josh, his erratic behavior and nonsensical declarations, is about the last thing she wants to talk about right now.
Sally nods. “Yeah,” she says, “I would.”
They step outside, and suddenly Emily can breathe again without the specter of her brother hanging over his ghostly roommate and sister. She feels detached; from her body and decisions, but for the most part, she’s trying to wrap her head around the fact that this is really happening. She’s walking down the street having a real conversation with a girl who died almost a year ago. She isn’t going crazy, and she’s actually having fun.
“So what about you?” she asks.
“What about me?” Sally looks surprised at the question.
Emily scuffs her toes along the pavement as Sally’s feet step silently beside her. The first leaves of fall drift into gutters by the side of the road, and the sun slants sharply behind their backs, casting Emily’s shadow long on the street ahead. “I mean, you know all about me,” She says, “But what about you? How long were you in Boston? What did you study? What did you want to do?”
Sally looks surprised. “You really want to know? Really?”
“Well, yeah.”
“And you don’t mind talking to me? Out here, where people can see?”
Emily shrugs. “Do you know how many people talk to themselves on Boston streets?” She finds herself grinning at Sally’s expression. She doesn’t know why, but every time she surprises Sally, she can’t help but smile, like she’s thumbing it to fate, to secrets, to the proper order of things. But mostly, it’s because Sally’s pretty cute caught off-guard, dark eyes staring at her.
“Well… okay.”
~
Once she’s gotten Sally started, Emily realizes she’s opened the gates on a conversational flood. She wonders how often the guys actually sit down and talk to Sally, and for a moment the thought of such a lonely existence threatens to engulf her. Then Sally is off again, smiling and chatting, afternoon light playing in the strands of her hair. “Favorite deli?” she asks.
“Billy’s”
“Best pirogues.”
“I know, right?”
They’ve wandered almost down to Fenway without even pausing for air-Emily supposes Sally doesn’t have to anyway-covering every topic from Sally’s mother’s cooking (which rivals Emily’s in neuroses if not spice) to her interpretation of Buddhist philosophy in the modern world. In a few short miles, they’re chatting like old friends, and the sun sets over the river in a blaze of liquid fire.
“Whew,” Emily sighs, staring at the bright pinks and oranges. It’s rare she’s down here at this hour, and she almost regrets the fact. “Get a load of that.” Without thinking, she leans over and nudges Sally towards the sky.
“Huh? Wow.” Sally is suddenly silent.
It’s a moment before Emily realizes Sally is staring at her rather than the colors. “What?” she asks. “Do I have something caught in my teeth?”
“No.” Sally takes a deep breath. “You just-“
“Oh, shit. I did.” Emily starts when she realizes, then frowns, thinking. The gesture had been so natural--
“-touched me.”
Sally holds her hand up, palm open, and examines it. Emily feels like she’s having an E.T. moment as she mirrors the gesture. She knows Sally is dead. She’s a ghost, and no one else on the street can even see her, yet her hand appears as solid to Emily as the buildings and railings and river that surround them. She’s afraid she’s overthinking this, she’s afraid she’s not concentrating hard enough, as she inches her hand closer to Sally’s. “You think?” she asks. She wonders if it will work again.
“I hope?” Sally nods.
Emily shivers despite the warmth of the afternoon. “Me too,” she whispers. She moves her hand a little closer, feeling threads of static energy spark between their fingers. The electricity dances and arcs with light as she shifts and turns.
Sally stands awestruck, just watching. A slow smile spreads cross her face.
Emily’s never been one to wait patiently for things to unfold. What the hell, she figures and, in a moment of reckless abandon, she breaks the tenuous connection, steps into the space between Sally’s arms, and wraps her hand around the back of Sally’s neck, plants her lips firmly on the surprised ‘O’ of Sally’s.
She lingers a moment, savoring the sensation of her hair rising in a storm of static, the faint smell of summer lightning and lilacs, the delicate press of Sally’s mouth. Then she pulls away. Sally doesn’t move.
“What?” she asks.
“That was…”
For a moment, Emily’s afraid that her new friend is going to bolt; Sally flickers dangerously, blurring around the edges, and Emily can see the buildings of the riverfront through her form. “That was amazing,” she says quietly, meeting Sally’s eyes as though her gaze is an anchor rope, keeping Sally here, daring Sally to deny it’s true.
Sally just nods. It’s a minute before she finds her voice and with it, her smile. “I bet you say that to all the ghosts.”
“Nope.” Emily reaches for her hand, confident now. It feels solid, neither warm nor cool, though the air around it is thick with energy, humming in an unseen wind. “I can guarantee you’re the only one-“
And this time she’s the one taken by surprise as Sally pulls her in, envelopes her in the whirring fog. She can feel the city through Sally, feel the pavement between here and the house, the children playing on swing sets and laughing in the park, the clouds that settle over skyscrapers, radio waves coursing through the air. From their little spot on the river, the city is so painfully, vibrantly alive, it feels like it’s pulling the breath from Emily’s lungs. Then she realizes it’s Sally, breathing in time with her, cheek pressed against her nose. It’s crazy and heady, and she’s holding on to Sally for life, for fear that if she doesn’t, this tide feeling will wash her away.
Sally kisses her again, and suddenly it’s just the two of them, grass underfoot, sky overhead, as the rest of the world falls away.