setting: takes place during season 3, around the time of Emily's blackouts, only Daniel is a lot more perceptive and Emily's suspicious behavior causes him to recognize that she's hiding something from him.
a/n: getting back into this writing thing...had major case of writer's block and things going on medically that really zapped my creativity for a while there, but I'm working on it
They say let he who is without sin cast the first stone. And to be without sin requires absolute forgiveness. ...But when your memories are freshly opened wounds, forgiveness is the most unnatural of human emotions.
— "Forgiveness" (S2.E5)
...
"…She'll never forgive me," Daniel insists, vehemently.
He shakes his head, already preparing himself to mourn the loss of the love of his life. Emily being found alive was a miracle in and of itself; Daniel couldn't help but feel that it'd be too much to ask of the fates of the universe for her to be understanding of what he'd done, especially considering that he'd allowed himself to believe the absolute worst of her, consequently leading to her downfall — and it had very nearly killed her.
Daniel anxiously paces the length of the hospital's private waiting room. His mother sits, unmoving, in one of the hard plastic chairs near the door, tracking his movements with her eyes. They have the room to themselves at the moment; Conrad is off, dealing with the vultures of the press and media that constantly surrounds the Grayson name (and any resulting Grayson tragedy); while Charlotte is at Emily's bedside, where she's been practically sitting vigil since the moment Emily was permitted to have visitors. Daniel's guilt is only compounded by the way Charlotte so easily steps into the role of caregiver and the fact that he has continually failed to meet Emily's needs, not even twenty-four hours into their marriage.
"You don't really have a choice about this, Daniel," Victoria implores. She's been plotting ever since the doctor left them alone to check on Emily's progress, always needing to be one scheme ahead of everything and everyone. "She will never believe that you weren't involved—"
"And how do I know that you weren't?" he demands, finally bringing his pacing to a halt as he stands in front of his mother. "How do I know that you didn't do this?"
"Of course not!" she denies, having the good sense to at least appear somewhat chagrined. Victoria momentarily pushes aside the sting of his accusation and instead reaches out a hand to press against his forehead, similarly to the way she used to do when he was a child and needed to be soothed back to sleep after waking up from a nightmare.
Only the difference now is that the situation they're in is very much real.
In truth, there is a part of her — the hardened sixteen year old who took the fall for a murder her mother committed — that wonders about the role her son may have played in his wife's shooting. Daniel has always been easily ruled by his emotions, a characteristic that Conrad has lamented and resented, even, in the past. (And their son has certainly changed since he fell in love with Emily Thorne— a woman who Victoria is convinced is not all that she claims to be.)
Agitated, Daniel stands up, swatting his mother's hand away from him the moment he feels her fingers pressed against his forehead. "How can I possibly believe that? This is exactly what you wanted," he concludes with a bitter laugh.
"That isn't true! I have only ever wanted the best for you, dear—"
"No! No, you have pushed and you have prodded and you have interfered…and if you hadn't made me doubt Emily, I never would have even thought of going back to Sara and this, this wouldn't be happening—!"
"You can blame me all you want," Victoria snaps, "but I am not the one who pulled that trigger."
"You may as well have! You would've rather had me leave my pregnant fiancée at the altar than actually go through with it. You've never wanted this— for me to be with Emily, for her to be a part of this family. None of it!"
"Because I do not trust her, Daniel— and regardless of whatever may have happened on that boat, you shouldn't, either."
Daniel shakes his head, refusing to hear another negative word about Emily while she's fighting for her life (and that of their unborn child) in the next room. "Well, that doesn't matter now. Emily is my wife. And that's not changing, for you or for anyone else."
"That remains to be seen." Victoria looks at him with narrowed eyes, her mouth set in a firm and unforgiving line. "We'll just have to see if Emily shares that little romantic sentiment— when and if she wakes up."
Daniel tries, though without much success it seems, to suppress the surge of guilt that courses through him the moment he catches sight of her.
It's the same guilt that seems to be a constant presence in their marriage lately, filling in the physical and emotional chasm of space between them. And it's the very same guilt that's intertwined with a longing for what they used to have, before, during those blissful few months when they first started dating, and a love for the potential of what they could be — another version of Daniel and Emily that he only got a glimpse of in the weeks following their wedding before it was snatched away. A version of them that always seems to be just out of reach.
He can tell, even from where he's standing and even across the distance between them, that Emily is pissed.
Once again Daniel finds himself in a familiar state of ambivalence and emotional limbo with regards toward Emily. Her dress is new, he notes, admiring the way the champagne colored strapless floor-length gown hugs and accentuates her curves. Of course she's beautiful, a fact which remains unchanging even in her anger towards him. It's moments like this that make it easy to forget the way things truly are between them.
She's waiting for him outside of the doors leading into the banquet hall, standing just inside the lobby of the hotel where tonight's charity function is being held. The majority of the guests have already gone inside, though there are a few other attendees gathering for some last minute photo ops. But he's twenty minutes late, which Daniel knows will only bring attention to the fact that he and Emily arrived separately to this event.
Daniel swallows hard when Emily greets him with a kiss, but not a smile; and yet, somehow, he manages to kiss her back.
Actually, he recalls, as her lips press briefly against his, it's not all that difficult.
"…You're late," she whispers into his ear, practically hissing the words between clenched teeth, after wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him close. Inwardly he grimaces at the way Emily initiates physical contact only to then use that against him.
"There's a reason for that," he insists, pulling back to issue a quiet but firm rebuttal to what feels like an accusation.
"Of course there is," she murmurs with a quick frown. She reaches out a hand to smooth down his collar and adjust his tie. For a brief moment, he's taken back to a different time between them, a moment all too similar to this one. Except back then, there was genuine adoration in her eyes as opposed to now, when all Daniel sees is disillusionment whenever Emily looks at him. "You always have a reason or an excuse for the things that you do—"
"I had to call a cab at the last minute. I thought we were driving in together. My car is in the shop, remember?" he asks, without thinking. Of course she remembers; she was with him when it was wrecked. "Did you tell the driver to leave without me?" he demands, almost snappily.
Emily barely manages to restrain an eye-roll. She drops her hands from his collar, seeming to be satisfied with his appearance. "Despite what you and your mother seem to think, I'm not conspiring against you, Daniel," she says in between fake smiles.
It seems as though she is always aware of who's watching them, or who could be watching them, and though Daniel understands that they don't need any hints of bad press surrounding their marriage, he's already grown weary of never seeming to be able to have a real conversation with her lately. He's not stupid; he's long since recognized her pattern of avoiding him (and them) by pretending to be more worried about their public image. "…I had an appointment rescheduled for late in the afternoon, so I came straight here from Dr. Cooper's office," Emily admits quietly, in a rush of words that Daniel takes a moment to let sink in. At the mention of her private physician, he feels his heart leap into his throat, his regret and self-condemnation getting tangled up in each other.
She raises her eyes to meet his in a stony, but unwavering, gaze. "There wasn't much time for me to concoct some elaborate scheme to leave you stranded."
"…Why didn't you tell me?" he demands in a low voice, though there's a part of him that already knows the answer. "I could've gone with you or—"
"Nothing's changed," she cuts him off, her tone clipped and perfunctory, leaving no room for emotion to take over. "You being there or not being there wouldn't have made a difference."
And she probably wouldn't have wanted you there, anyway, Daniel scolds himself. Emily doesn't say this out loud, but she doesn't need to. In spite of her previous (and, Daniel will admit, curious) insistence that Daniel doesn't really know her, he can tell from the look in her eyes and the way she's leaning away from him now that this is probably along the lines of what she's thinking.
A camera flashes just behind them and Emily checks surreptitiously that the person behind it is gone before she steps away from him. Her walls are back up now. Daniel can see it in the way she's holding herself: with her chin slightly raised, jaw set in determination, her arms crossed over her stomach and her back ramrod straight. The facade of the blissfully happy newlyweds still basking in the honeymoon stage that they've managed to cultivate is over now that the photographers have stepped away and the cameras are lowered.
(Show's over.)
But she's still looking at him, her wide brown eyes seemingly gleaming with the shine of unshed tears and despite the distance she has put between them (tonight, as well as these past few weeks) Daniel can't help but feel pulled in by her imploring gaze.
She seems to be searching for something — though for what, he can't be sure.
It's the side of her he hasn't seen since those first few weeks after she was released from the hospital, the open and vulnerable part of Emily Thorne she must've forgotten she was supposed to hide from him and the rest of the world. He takes a step toward her, reaching for her without thinking it through. "Em—"
His hand only gets as far as wrapping around her wrist, his thumb brushing against the double infinity tattoo he's caught her absentmindedly stroking with the pad of a finger more than a few times — the same tattoo that latent instincts tell him means so much more to her than what she's told him, beyond it being just a philosophical symbol denoting the cyclical nature of life — before it seems as though a switch is flipped and all of her previous vulnerability is gone. She pulls her hands away from his, breaking their stare to look past him. "We should get inside to our table, before your mother realizes how long I've been gone and thinks we're fighting."
"...aren't we?" he asks flatly, though the question is (mostly) rhetorical.
Either way, Emily doesn't respond. Instead, she takes a step back away from him, leaving Daniel holding onto nothing but air.
Later, after all of the self-aggrandizing speeches — which mostly consist of the one-percent patting themselves on the back for giving out their "charitable donations" (also known as tax write-offs, Daniel thinks somewhat bitterly)— have been given, it's time for the entertainment portion of the evening.
The live band begins to play a slightly more upbeat rendition of Moon River and, as if on cue, all of the women of the older couples sitting at their table turn to look at Daniel and Emily— still technically newlyweds, after all— with expectant looks on their faces. He asks her to dance (because he's a glutton for punishment, it seems) and when she looks up at him with a scowl, he quietly reminds her that his mother is watching. Her reluctance obvious only to him, Emily allows him to take her hand and escort her to the dance floor.
For a little while they sway slowly to the music, heads resting against each other's. "...I'm sorry," he says into her hair, one hand holding hers and the other, resting just above the small of her back. She doesn't ask what he's apologizing for, but they both know it's not about him being late.
Finally, he hears her sigh and feels her shift against him as she shakes her head. She rests her chin— carefully, just barely touching— on top of his shoulder, and presses her cheek against his; something about the lack of calculation, the hesitancy of her movements makes Daniel think it's genuine.
Or maybe that's just wishful thinking. "I know you are," she admits in response to his apology. But they both know it's not enough.
(And he knows that's probably the best he's going to get from her for now.)
At the end of the night, they go their separate ways.
Well, sort of.
She retires to the main bedroom and, after waiting a few minutes and hearing the sound of water running in the bathroom sink, Daniel makes his way to what used to be the guest room, but at the moment is now "his". There, he gets undressed, removing the cuff links he doesn't even think she noticed he was wearing; Emily had given them to him as a gift, part of the only gift exchange they've had so far in the short time they've been married.
("Just a little something," she'd said, before adding, sheepishly, "I had to ask Charlotte for help but—"
"It's perfect," he replied before Emily could further doubt herself, pulling her into him and smiling into their kiss.)
They had four short months of wedded bliss, that only lasted as long as it took for her amnesia to start to resolve itself and for her memories to return— before it all fell apart, anyway.
For the longest time, he actually considered himself lucky in a way, that she couldn't remember. He hadn't exactly been the best fiancé in the days leading up to their wedding and, as twisted as it was, he chose to view it as a second chance, of sorts.
(But, of course, eventually that luck ran out.)
Looking back, Daniel wishes he'd spent less time being terrified of facing her the moment she found out the truth and more time enjoying the time they had together, living in that bubble of blissful ignorance.
Not too long after he's changed out of his tux, Daniel hears a knock at the door.
He hesitates for a moment before getting up. He's almost certain that his ears were playing tricks on him, but then he hears it again, only louder, and seemingly more assured this time. His stomach flips with anticipation, his palms already itchy from nervousness; the knowledge that there's really only one possibility for who's on the other side of that door filling him with a sense of dread.
And, yet, somewhere underneath that, there is a small seedling of hope that Daniel refuses to allow to grow. Hope springs eternal...misery, he thinks sardonically.
Daniel lets out a despondent sigh as he wraps his hand around the doorknob, but doesn't make a move to turn it, still not quite ready to face Emily and whatever new slight (real or imagined) that she's holding against him now. It's been a long night of holding up facades and fake smiles. It isn't easy, maintaining the delicate dance of forcing conversation with others in order to not bring attention to the fact that he and Emily aren't speaking to each other. Especially since lately, she barely even looks at him.
(It takes up a lot of energy, keeping up appearances for the sake of the Hampton's elite.)
He can tell that something's different about her the moment that he opens the door.
Emily stands before him still dressed in her gown from earlier in the evening, except now her feet are bare and her hair has been released from its complicated up-do, tumbling in loose curls down around her shoulders. Unbidden, he's struck with the memory of running his fingers through it — an act that only amnesia-addled Emily allowed him to do on the nights when she couldn't sleep, those first few weeks when they were still living at Grayson Manor. She was already having trouble adjusting to this new life filled with people she couldn't remember and that difficulty seemed to manifest itself into bouts of insomnia, and so naturally, she'd turn to him.
(It's been weeks since the last time she allowed him to do that. Now she suffers in silence; he'll hear through the walls sudden movement at two or three in the morning, holding himself back from walking down the hall towards her bedroom.)
He takes a step back to let her inside and turns around to walk back towards his bed. When he looks over his shoulder, he realizes that she hasn't moved from where she's standing. "...Emily?"
She finally breaks her stare with the carpet beneath her feet to look up at him. "...this dress is too new; my zipper's stuck. Could you...?" she asks, with an uncharacteristic shyness behind her words as she gestures awkwardly behind her.
"I—sure. Yeah." Daniel frowns, not entirely sure what he was expecting but certainly not that: Emily asking him for help, even for something as simple as getting a zipper unstuck. To say that Emily has been distant with him would be an understatement so the last thing he was expecting from her was a show of vulnerability, no matter how small.
She steps further into the room, turning so that her back is facing him. There's something about the simple action of seeing her hand sweep aside her hair off her neck and over her bare shoulder that stirs something within him. Daniel swallows thickly; he swears his hands are shaking as he reaches for the zipper, carefully gripping her waist for balance as he tugs, pulling it down.
The air between them is thick with tension and an almost suffocating silence. Somehow being close to her like this feels so much more intimate than just a few hours ago, when they danced and she was wrapped in his arms. He feels more than he hears her breathing, her shoulders rising and falling beneath his hands.
There's a brief moment, as she holds the dress in place around her waist, that she looks up at him, almost as if she doesn't know or trust what she's seeing. Theres something about the look in her eyes that fills Daniel with a sense of uncertainty because it's not a look that he's seen before — and he has no idea what she's going to do next.
He's barely taken a breath himself before she's standing up on her tiptoes, with her lips against his, her fingers tangled in his hair, and her other hand already reaching to grip the hem of his T-shirt.
Well, he certainly hadn't been expecting that.
"Emily," he starts, but he's cut off by her persistent roaming hands, her mouth opening eagerly underneath his. He pulls away for a moment to breathe, to think, except now her lips are on his neck and he's caught up in the faint scent of her perfume, still clinging valiantly to her skin, and the combination is making him dizzy. "Emily, what are you doing?" he tries again. "What is this? We don't—" We don't do this, he thinks. Not lately. Not anymore.
But she's shaking her head, shutting him down before he can get the words out fully. "I don't want to talk. I'm tired of talking." Which confuses him, because they don't talk. Not really. Haven't really talked in over a month, not since that fateful Saturday afternoon when it all came crashing down around them and her memories of what happened the night of their wedding started to return.
No; instead, they talk around their issues and completely avoid facing the truth.
He wonders if her coming to him like this is her reaction to whatever happened at her doctor's appointment, but she's on him again before he can ask, her lips attacking his, while simultaneously walking backwards toward the bed and taking him with her.
Daniel is caught off guard, at first, by her level of aggression towards him, the rough way she's kissing him. She's tugging on him, pulling him close and nipping at the underside of his jaw. But it's not long before he's pushing past his momentary confusion to kiss her back.
She wraps her arms around him, her fingers twisting in the hair at the nape of his neck - which hurts, but only for a moment, as Daniel finds himself more consumed by the sensation of her tongue against his, as she pulls him towards her and deepens the kiss. He feels her nipping at his bottom lip, drawing out a groan from deep within him, before moving on to the underside of his jaw.
This is certainly a new side to her, a marked difference from the cold shoulder she's been giving him (unless they're out in public) and he can't figure out what's caused the sudden change.
He's conflicted. On the one hand, she's been actively and obviously pushing him away; on the other hand, the topic of divorce has never been broached and there's a part of him that wonders if this is her way of opening up to him in a way that she couldn't before. A perverse form of an olive branch.
"Emily, wait—"
She shakes her head. She pulls him closer, swatting his hands out of the way to tug at the drawstring of his pajama bottoms, struggling to untie the knot. As much as there's a part of him that wants this, there's something frantic about her movements that makes Daniel uneasy.
He catches a glimpse of the two small circular pink scars on her abdomen. It's been almost four months since the shooting but he hasn't seen them since they were still tender, freshly healing and angry red in color. But, as if she read his mind, Emily quickly diverts his attention by sliding her hands under his shirt and lifts it over his head but he doesn't hear it fall to the floor. He is only aware of the feeling of her. And that's the problem; that has always been his problem.
He's not sure when it happened, exactly, when they went from awkwardly standing in the doorway to sitting on the edge of the bed; him, sliding the straps of her dress off her shoulders and her, allowing it to fall into a heap of satin fabric on the floor.
But it happens, almost in a blur of motion— of searching hands and eager mouths and teeth nipping at flushed skin — and he does nothing to stop Emily from wrapping her legs around his waist, her hands tugging insistently on the drawstring of his pajama bottoms. He feels no resistance from her, either, as his hands coast up the lengths of her thighs to slide her underwear down her legs.
She is not in the mood for gentle, it seems; Daniel groans at the mixed sensation of pleasure and pain as her nails trail down his back and the feeling of her teeth nipping at his neck, knowing he'll probably have a bruise there. He grips her tighter, caught by the urge to mark her just as she has marked him.
He can't tell if she's trying to punish him or if she's just trying to get a reaction out of him, to see how far she can push him before he pushes back; to see just how far that guilt extends.
Her right hand reaches up to curl around his neck, her left gripping his thigh, and an unexpected thrill runs through him as she rolls her hips against his and urges through a gasp, "Harder."
He complies and she gasps again, whispers something that sounds a lot like his name though he can't be sure, but her kiss consumes him as they ride out their high together.
Afterwards, Emily doesn't immediately disconnect from him like he feared she would and Daniel indulges in the moment of stillness and peace to reach out, while it lasts. It's selfish, he won't deny that, and he also can't deny that maybe there is a part of him that's wanted this to happen, or at least hoped for it. The recent weeks following Emily's recovery have been lonely, but Daniel isn't so naive as to believe that this means she's forgiven him.
He gently grips her chin and tilts her head up to meet his gaze, his eyes questioning, seeking something from her that he doesn't quite know if she can give, but Daniel isn't sure what it is that he sees this time when she looks back at him.
It's not the anger or hate that he's expecting; there's a vulnerability there, he thinks, similar to the way she looked at him earlier in the evening, when she was telling him about her doctor's visit. Suddenly Daniel realizes that must be the source behind her change in demeanor. He should've made the connection earlier.
"...I couldn't just— I needed to get a second opinion," Emily explains, seeming to read his mind and answering the question he hadn't yet asked. Their bodies still entangled, her skin was warm and flushed against his, while her breath tickled softly against the base of his throat as she spoke. From her mournfully regretful tone, and the fact that Emily hasn't expanded on her statement, he surmises that it wasn't good news.
"I'm sorry," he blurts out without thinking as his lips press against her hairline, fingertips brush against the scar on her abdomen. That seems to break whatever spell she's under because Emily suddenly wrenches away from him, pushing at his shoulders with a lot more force than he expected.
"You can't keep saying that," she dismisses in frustration, sliding over to the other side of the bed. When she stands up, the bedsheet that was covering the both of them falls to the floor and leaves them both exposed.
"Why not?"
She scoffs, shaking her head. "Because you don't mean it—"
Daniel feels a rush of anger at her words. "Stop doing that."
"Stop what?" she snaps angrily just as Daniel rolls his eyes.
"Pushing me away," he replies, standing to pull his pajamas pants back on. Now it's his turn to be pissed and the energy between them is now tense for a completely different reason. "Assuming that I'm the enemy—"
Suddenly she laughs, an embittered sound that makes his blood run cold. She pulls an old robe from one of the hooks on the back of the door, sliding her arms into the sleeves in quick jerky movements before cinching the sash around her waist. "Right. You're not."
Daniel frowns. "...What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he demands, trying to determine whether or not he heard a question mark or a period at the end of that sentence.
"Tell me something," she starts, turning to face him more fully. And his stomach fills with a familiar sense of dread; one that reminds him of the moment she told him she remembered what happened to her out on that boat the night of their wedding.
"Did you know all this time? The truth about what happened to me?" At her pointed questions, Daniel feels a rush of shame as he looks down. "Because I remember you telling me that you didn't know who shot me on our wedding day, that if you had known—"
"Em—"
"Or was that just a lie?" she asks, pushing past his pleading. From the tone of her voice and the way she's looking at him now, Daniel has a sinking feeling she already knows what the answer will be. "I'm sorry—another lie."
When he finally answers, a hesitant and halting, "...yes," Emily pulls back and Daniel didn't think it was possible for her to put any more distance between them, but she's even more closed off by his confirmation of what he knows she perceives as betrayal.
"That's what I thought," she surmises with a curt nod. He takes one step forward, reaching for her in vain as she steps back until she's bumped into the door. And before Daniel can so much as blink, she's swiftly turning the doorknob and walking out in seconds, slamming the door behind her.