Warning: Lots of F-bombs. (Yay!)
Warning #2: I've had too much coffee today. Just, it is what it is.

Red Light, Green Light
Chapter 21: Brothers and Sisters

There is something undeniably romantic about New York City in the fall. The gold and red foliage, the smell of sharpened pencils, curling up by the fireside, caramel apples being sold by the dozen. It's a wonderful season to fall in love.

Which was exactly what motivated Emma to leave. On a rainy Thursday evening, she raced around the dorm packing belongings into a beaten-up suitcase, a train ticket for Union Station stuck in her mouth. Anne watched her pack over the top of a Nylon magazine.

"Remind me again why you're going?"

"I just need to get away for the weekend," the redhead explained. "Izzy's very far along with the pregnancy; there's no doubt in my mind that she needs some help getting around. Or, excuse me, waddling around."

Anne wasn't distracted by the joke. She closed her magazine. "Girl, what are you running away from?"

Emma crossed her arms defensively. "I'm not running away, Anne."

Anne swung her legs to the side of her bunk and tossed the magazine onto the bureau. "Washington DC?" she asked skeptically.

"I have family there."

"Okay, all right. Don't get huffy."

Emma pursed her lips and continued folding, avoiding her roommate's eyes. Certain matters were private, despite the fact that she and Anne had grown close in the last few months.

Well, that was her cover anyway, a method of justification. In reality, Emma knew that she was better off shutting up about her feelings. After all, speaking about them would mean the inevitable—that they were real.

Friday morning, Emma boarded the train from Penn Station to Union and spent three hours locked in a distraction bubble. It consisted of iPod playlists, highlighting text and reading an old hand-me-down edition of Doctor Zhivago. It was a beautiful old book with gold titling and a crackled spine; Oliver had bought it from a used bookshop as a Christmas present two years back. Emma wasn't able to get into it now. Plus, Lara Antipova was pissing her off.

But she couldn't help herself. No willful distraction could really pry her thoughts away from Jack.

Which was ridiculous. Because this was Jack, for God's sake. Jack was practically her surrogate brother. Jack was the little boy she had eaten mud pies with.

Jack was also the boy she had thought about in the shower.

"Oh my God, I thought about Jack in the shower."

As Emma sat there, distractedly fiddling with her braid, she considered the fact that maybe it was simply jealousy; she didn't want to lose her best friend to Heather, of all people. Or Jane. Or anybody.

Anybody but me…

"No," Emma murmured. There was nothing about Jack Knightley that Emma personally found appealing.

Except for that occasional charming half-smile.
And those exceptionally bright green eyes.
And the way he hugged her, and how she felt this warm flush fan through her face and neck and crawl deliciously to her fingertips and—

"This isn't working out," Emma mumbled darkly.

Izzy adored her little sister. Actually, Izzy adored everything. With an added cocktail of pregnancy hormones, adoration could quickly bypass into moody tears. Which was why she started sniffling the moment the front door swung open and Emma shuffled in with her suitcase and backpack. Izzy immediately engulfed her in a hug, which wasn't the easiest of tasks seeing as she had gone and swallowed an entire planet.

"Izzy, I told you I was coming."

"I know—I'm just so happy!"

As it turned out, the Knightley townhouse was in sub-par condition. Hectic work hours constantly pulled Jonathan to the office and Izzy's method of travel consisted of migrating from the bedroom to the couch and back again. Her neighbor Mrs. Cole was generous enough to make weekly shopping trips at Whole Foods, which meant the fridge was well-stocked. But the entire place had to be scrubbed clean and Izzy could barely see her toes, let alone bend over for the bottle of Windex in the cabinets below the kitchen sink.

Emma was happier than a bird with a french fry.

Izzy fell asleep on the sofa an hour later, curled up with a quilt and Gilmore Girls on mute. Emma changed into yoga capris and an old Hanes t-shirt, tied her red hair into a knot at the top of her head and washed all the dishes that had been spilling out of the sink and onto the counter. Then she scrubbed the cabinets with baking soda, vacuumed the dining room rug, made the beds and aired out the bedrooms, scrubbed the bathroom floors, collected all dirty mugs, recycled all empty bottles, cleared away dusty magazine stacks, and finished with Izzy's laundry. And not once did she think about Jack.

Except when she found his postcard sitting on top of the mail stack.

"Fuck."

"Why does it smell clean?"

Izzy was up. She was sitting on the sofa, groggy, with her blonde hair in a state of elegant bedhead.

"It's Clorox. But don't worry, I used the all natural green one without all those harsh chemicals. Mostly because it's the only one you own," Emma said matter-of-factly, folding a cardigan into the laundry basket. "And I'm glad you're up, because I'm all sorts of starving."

"Oh sweetie, did you clean up?"

"Little bit."

"I have to feed you now."

"Little bit," Emma repeated. She lifted up a pair of panties and grinned. "I like that you have Spiderman boyshorts."

Izzy blushed. "Give me those!"

"Get them!"

"If I weren't pregnant—"

"—I would still be faster than you," Emma finished. Izzy threw a cushion at her and she ducked, laughing, "I forgot you played softball!"

"Don't underestimate me," Izzy smirked. Her eyes lit up a second later, "Oh my God, can we make cookies?"

"For dinner?" Emma paused.

"Yeah!"

"No."

Izzy pouted.

They did end up making tomato basil pasta and a huge summer salad (in the fall, no less). It was four in the afternoon.

"So, what happens when Jonathan comes home?" Emma asked politely, wiping the corner of her mouth with a napkin.

"What do you mean?" asked Izzy.

"Well, we're having dinner now and he doesn't get back until 7:30."

"Silly," laughed Izzy, "then we have second dinner."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously!"

"Can I live here?" Emma whined.

"Maybe this is why I'm so fat," Izzy said, disgusted. She pushed herself away from the table and sat sulking at her round belly.

"Stupid, you're pregnant."

"And fat. Oh God, and the stretch marks. The stretch marks."

Emma rolled her eyes. "I'll buy you some cocoa butter when you pop this kid out."

"Ho ho," Izzy said sarcastically, "there will be no popping. It's a child, not a pimple."

"That was beautiful."

After dinner, Emma loaded up the dishwasher and let it run. She sat on the couch with Izzy, who was flipping through an old tabloid rag. Emma let her sister prop her legs over her lap. She rested her head against the back of the sofa and closed her eyes. "I hate Jennifer Lopez," Izzy said bitterly, throwing down the OK! magazine onto the coffee table. Emma looked up.

"Why?"

"Baby weight, my ass! She's a stick."

"You're such a bitter pregnant woman," Emma laughed. "I kind of like it after witnessing roughly twenty years of Pushover Izzy."

"Mm," sighed Izzy. "Jon's not my biggest fan lately."

"I'm sure he's just stressed with work and the baby coming."

"Oh really, is he the one about to push it out of his vagina?"

"Jon has a vagina?" asked Emma.

"Jon is a vagina."

"Izzy!"

"We've been fighting," Izzy sulked.

"I picked up on that. But you know what, I would hate you both a little if it was all smooth sailing. It's nice to know you're a human couple."

"He's just too controlling," Izzy explained. "Sometimes he talks to me like I'm a two year-old. Like I don't understand what dietary supplements I'm supposed to take. And then I tell him that he's not my father, and he says something rude like Thank God, and then I throw a sponge at him (or a rolling pin, but that was one time). And then he leaves the house for 15 minutes, and then I cry, and then he comes back, and then we kiss. Or have sex, but we haven't had sex in months, but the point is that we make up and then the next day, one of us opens up a whole new can of worms and it's Shit-storm #2, D-Day edition."

Emma chewed on her lower lip thoughtfully. Her eyebrows were up.

"I do love him," Izzy added.

"Of course," Emma said too quickly.

"Jesus," Izzy sighed. "Tell me about your life. What's up with school?"

"Oh, you know. This and that."

"You've been saying that since high school."

"Not much has changed," Emma pointed out.

"Bullcrap."

"You've been saying that since high school," teased Emma.

Izzy grinned and patted her hand. "We are creatures of habit. Have you heard back from any of your friends? Besides Jack, I mean. I know he's away in London, we keep getting postcards. He actually remembered that I collect them, he's so thoughtful."

"Yeah," Emma mumbled. "I mean no, I haven't really kept in touch. Nora came up to visit about a month ago from Rhode Island. I see Taylor as often as I can."

"What happened to that boy you were seeing?"

"Luke?" Emma snorted, remembering the infamous run-in at the Weston apartment. She wondered if Luke had told Oliver and Taylor about Jane yet; she would have to track him down if he didn't. "So over. He's moved on. As for the others, Heather, the girl I became really close to over the summer—we kind of had a falling out."

"Dang. What happened?" asked Izzy.

Emma considered telling the standard white lie. But she didn't want to shut up anymore. It was exhausting. "To be honest," Emma hesitated, "she told me she liked Jack."

"Jack," Izzy blinked, "what, our Jack, Jack Knightley?"

"Yeah."

"Does he…?"

"Have feelings for Heather?" Emma shrugged. "I was convinced he didn't. Maybe because I only saw what I wanted to see. But I've been thinking about it for awhile now, and looking back, he acts so genuinely in front of her. And he's not a bullshit guy—I think he really does care about her. He's so good to her," she looked down and mumbled, "he's good for her."

Izzy listened quietly. Emma looked up when she felt her hand close around hers. "Honey."

Emma shook her head. "I know. I know."

"It's written all over your face," Izzy laughed, astonished.

"What is?"

"You have feelings for Jack! I mean, don't get me wrong, it took you long enough to get there," her older sister grinned.

"I've been jealous of girls all summer. Because of this douchebag."

"He's a very cute douchebag."

"Oh my God, he's adorable."

Izzy giggled in delight. Emma buried her face in her hands and moaned. "What am I going to do?"

"For starters, you don't know if he likes Heather as much as he's letting on," Izzy said.

"He does," Emma sighed. "And you know what? He's going to come back from London and they're going to get together and I should be happy for them."

"But you won't be."

"No, of course not, I'm going to silently hope that she gets hit by a cab." Emma sat up straight with worried gray eyes, "Wow, this is bringing out the worst in me."

"Emma," Izzy cautioned.

"Izzy, I can't say anything. I am through interfering with the happiness of others."

"Even yours?" she challenged.

Emma grew quiet. "My happiness is considerably less important to me than Jack's is."

A slow smile spread out on Izzy's face. "I think you love him," she said knowingly.

"Of course I love him. I mean, I always have loved him." Emma's brow creased, "I just never knew that that love could hit somewhere outside the boundaries of like, platonic brother-sister wedgie affection."

"Which is the most romantic kind of affection!" Izzy giggled.

"Seriously!" Emma grinned. "Hey, promise me you won't say anything to Jonathan? I know he's your husband. But he's got the biggest mouth."

"Emma honey, I promise. You have my word."

To say that Izzy had tried to keep the secret would have at least racked her up some brownie points. But no, it was eleven o'clock at night that Saturday when the beans spilled. She was in the kitchen, stirring cake batter with Jonathan hovering near and stealing bites. She swatted at his knuckles with a wooden spoon and he pulled away, laughing.

"Sorry, honey."

"Shhh," Izzy whispered. "Keep your voice down. Emma is asleep on the living room couch."

"I'm happy your sister is here," Jonathan said, more quietly this time.

"Mm, I agree."

"Second dinner is more enjoyable now."

"It is, isn't it? Emma makes the best steamed salmon."

"I think Emma has calmed you down this weekend."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Izzy demanded shrilly.

"Nothing, darling, nothing," Jonathan said, mollified.

"By the way, she's in love with your brother," Izzy added breezily, lifting the spoon to her lips.

"What?"

Izzy carefully removed the batter spoon from her mouth. She sighed heavily. "Oh, fuck."

"Did you just say fuck?" Jonathan asked, all big brown eyes.

"My water just broke."

He stepped back and looked down at the kitchen tiles. "Fuck."

Author's Note: I know. No Jack. Boo! Trust me, the next two chapters? It's go-time. This is the calm before the storm. Plus, I'm having a huge sibling affection moment today, so I hope you enjoyed that. :) Oh, also I got bored a couple of weeks ago and made a cast list for the characters on my Tumblr. It was right before graduation. Judge me.