For as long as Dawn could remember, the doctor's lounge TV had been tuned to a twenty-four hour news station. (No one seemed to know where the remote was and, apparently, no one had ever thought to buy a new one.) At this point it was like white noise in the background, since she rarely, if ever, bothered to actually pay attention to what the anchor was saying.

She was the only one in the lounge that evening, trying to distract herself with a crossword puzzle in an attempt to ignore the nagging feeling in her gut that always came just before a bad surgery. The feeling had been plaguing her all day and nothing she'd done could quite manage to quell it.

She was absentmindedly clicking her pen, only half listening as the TV screen jumped to breaking news from Colorado: an explosion at a Waco-style cult compound where an FBI agent was undercover.

It wouldn't occur to her until later that the two might be connected...

"You must be so relieved," Shahir remarked one morning as they stood in line at the coffee shop. He wore that expression that he often had – the one that seemed to say he didn't quite know which emotion he was supposed to express in that moment and so had settled on a befuddled smile.

For whatever reason, Shahir had always felt like a safe confidant. Dawn didn't exactly have an abundance of friends at the hospital before she married Charlie (and even less after) and, for whatever reason, Shahir seemed to gravitate into that empty space. He was one of the only people she'd confided in about her relationship with Emily – maybe it was because he was closed off in a way she related to, maybe it was because he understood in a way others didn't – either way, he was one of the only lifelines she had in that moment.

Dawn raised a brow at the seemingly out of place remark. "About what?"

"That Emily is okay," he said as if it should be obvious. He seemed surprised and, perhaps, a little baffled by her reaction.

Trying not to let her sudden fear cross her face lest she give too much away, Dawn asked in what she hoped was a level voice, "What happened to her?"

Shahir looked confused by her lack of knowledge. "It was all over the news: there was an explosion, she barely got out in time."

"What?" she rasped, visibly blanching, all thoughts of controlling her emotions having fled, replaced by barely-contained panic.

He nodded once. "I'm surprised she didn't tell you."

"We're not exactly on speaking terms," she confessed. He seemed curious, but she was in no mood to air all their dirty laundry, so she said, "It's a long story."

Accepting the excuse, he informed her (almost) off-handedly, "She's coming in for an MRI today, if you want to see her..."

Dawn spent the morning convincing herself that no good could come from seeing Emily. (And, in this case, convincing herself meant struggling to ignore the swell of fear in her chest every time she thought of what Emily had been through.) Afterall, if Emily had wanted to see her, she would have reached out and told her what had happened. Clearly, she was still upset with her over the less than amicable quarantine blow-out.

She had just finished collecting her resolve to avoid the temptation that was seeing Emily, deciding instead to go down to the ER in search of distraction, when she stepped out of her office and nearly collided with Emily. She opened her mouth to apologize, but the words got caught in her throat as she caught sight of Emily's face and the smattering of bruises painting her pale skin.

Emily must've read her thoughts as they crossed her face because she whispered almost shyly, "It looks worse than it is..."

That failed to settle her racing heart. "Emily..." she said shakily. She reached out as if to touch her cheek where the worst of the bruises resided, but stopped herself before she could. Clearly, there was more to the story than just an explosion... She found herself speaking before she'd fully thought things through, "I was just headed to meet with Dr. Hamza to discuss your case."

"What? Why?" Obviously, she was just as surprised by Dawn's words as she herself was...

"There's a link between concussions and heart rate variability," she explained using the first plausible excuse she could think of. "Given the fact that you already have an arrhythmia, I thought it best to follow up and ensure there's no lasting effects on your heart rate."

She nodded slowly, unable to argue with that, even if she'd wanted to.

A beat.

"I wish you would've called me," Dawn admitted. She hadn't planned on saying that either, but apparently seeing Emily in pain made her take leave of her senses.

If Emily had a snappy retort, she held it back, for which Dawn was thankful. She didn't want to fight, not when Emily obviously needed her, even if she was too damn stubborn to ever admit that.

"I would have been there to take care of you," Dawn added because it felt like she should say something – anything – to fill the tremulous silence that ensued.

"Dawn, if this is some guilt-ridden need to..." Emily started.

Dawn reached over to grab Emily's wrist, tugging her around to face her. "Emily, I care about you. No matter what happened between us, I will never stop caring," she said firmly.

Emily exhaled shakily. "Dawn..." she started, faltered.

She shook her head. "Don't," she breathed, "Just...not now."

Nodding, Emily ran a tongue across her lip. Another beat. "Do you really have to be in the appointment with Dr. Hamza?"

"No..." she admitted.

"Oh." A shaky exhale. "Well, do you think maybe you could be there anyway? For...a second opinion?"

Dawn smiled softly. "I guess I have the time."

Emily squeezed her hand, but said nothing. There was no need. Even after all this time.