A/N: This is for the third day, and the theme is "Scars." We were supposed to write about Sean or Emma helping the other through something they weren't shown helping each other with on the show. Somehow, between a surface-deep conversation on the shooting and some reference to Sean's flirtation with alcohol and Emma's just overall depression for the better part of season for, I hope I got the point of the prompt (or at least got my point across). I really picture this as happening during the summer between the fourth and fifth season, so disregard pretty much all episodes from the last two years. I'm still not sure I'm thrilled with this, but I think in its own unpolished, rough way, it works for a Sean narrative. I hope ya'll enjoy.
Shit.
I expect her to go off at me, to tell me what an un-freaking-believably bad idea this was. Instead her hands just close around the bottle in my left hand and scatter the pills in my right across the ground with a gentle nudge. "What are you doing?" she asks me, and those eyes of hers that would look so cold to anyone else hold all the emotion I know she keeps buried inside. I drop the bottle and listen to the satisfactory crash as it hits the metal bars beneath me.
"I was trying to commit suicide until you came along," I reply, my voice relaying boredom that doesn't convince either of us. "What, are you going to take me up as your cause again now? I think it's been at least a year since you've tried that."
"You know that's not true. Slide over," she commands, and before I have a chance to object she's sitting next to me on the train tracks. "So I'm confused. Were you trying to get run over by a train or poison your system with too much medication?" she inquires, and in the back of my mind I'm sure that this is the beginning of a patronizing pep talk or one of her rage-filled rants. It never enters my mind that she could surprise me.
"I took a bottle of the anti-depressants the doctor prescribes to Ellie before I left Wasaga. I've been carrying it around with me for months, and I guess that I figured the only thing more ironic than a hero killing himself was a hero killing himself in the same spot where he'd saved someone else's life."
"So of course you decided to wash your suicide mixture down with booze," Emma comments, shaking her head. "Didn't want to feel pain?" This pisses me off.
"Well at least I don't escape pain by going down on my ex boyfriend's best friend," I shoot back, turning away from her. After coming back to an empty house and an ex who didn't want to by my boyfriend (my anything) anymore, it kind of stung learning that Jay of all people had gotten Emma Nelson to do something like that with him.
"You know what, Sean? Give me all the crap you want, because I'm not sitting here where a locomotive could barrel into and flatten me at any moment to feel good about myself. I'm sitting here because I figure that if you would put yourself in danger to save somebody once, maybe you'll take yourself out of danger to do the same thing," she says in that wise, stubborn way of hers that just makes me want to rip her head off or lean over and kiss her or both.
"I'm not moving, and unless you're strong enough to pull me off, I'd advise you get yourself back home. There are people who actually care about you, you know? Believe me, that doesn't happy to many people," I tell her, feeling incredibly profound and unfortunate as I let this secret leak.
"I care about you," she says in a voice so tiny I almost don't hear it. Tanned, slim legs stretch out over the track and she crosses her ankles, leaning back on the ground underneath her back with her elbows. I don't say anything because there isn't really anything you can say back to that except 'I care about you, too,' and we both know that Sean Cameron doesn't give a damn about anyone. At least, I know; she should too by now. It's awhile before she speaks again. "Sometimes I wonder if it would have been better for everyone if I had died that day instead of Rick. He might be in jail, but he might be in an institution or something, getting the help that he needed. Manny could grieve over losing a friend in some way that made sense, instead of just waking up one day to find your best friend a hollowed-out shell. And you… you wouldn't feel so guilty." I spare a humorless laugh.
"Absolutes like that are fucked up, and you know it. Manny would never have retained those bambi eyes of hers, the bullying Rick would be getting in jail would be ten times worse anything Spinner or Jimmy ever gave him, and I…" I pause for a moment, looking up at the evening sky. Should I say it? Ah, what the hell, I tell myself; as soon as Emma Nelson gets off this damn track I'll be dead anyway. "… I would never have been able to live down not saving you," I confess. Caring about people is a weakness, especially when they're as unpredictable as Emma. But haven't I always been the weak one?"
"Suicide is a pretty absolute thing," Emma argues gently, her hair swaying like a million strands of golden thread as she looks down. "I guess I understand, though. I was saying just a minute ago that I sometimes wish I was dead, after all." This is the type of conversation I would have with Ellie: deep, meaningful. Neither of us judging the other. This is not the type of conversation that one has with innocent, self-righteous Emma Nelson (though that first adjective doesn't really apply anymore, I remind myself with a grimace).
"Do you ever think that some people are just predestined to have a bunch of crap dumped on them?" I question, point blank. It's getting so dark that everything is in a bluish cast, and her eyes, half covered by bangs, look tragically sad. She shrugs a shoulder.
"Your dad is an alcoholic, and your brother wasn't exactly Guardian of the Year material. You had to deal with the shooting. But you also got to be with Ellie for awhile, and you had some good times with JT and Craig and Toby. I think you just kind of get what you get, but there are these little things that shouldn't make much of a difference to balance it out, and if you let them, they do." What is she, a Buddhist now?
"You didn't include yourself on that list of positives," I remark, my ears making out the sound of a train whistle in the distance.
"You never seemed to put me on that list," she says, and if I didn't know any better I'd think she was almost hurt by this fact. It isn't the truth, but I don't tell her that. The train is getting closer, and we can hear the sound of metal grinding against metal. "So what is it going to be?" I want to be mad at her for interrupting my suicide and saving me (just like always), but it's with resignation that I realize that I probably wouldn't have gone through with it anyway. The part of me that would need to be broken beyond repair to do that is in one piece, even if the rest of me isn't. When I stand up and dust off the bottom of my jeans she joins me, and our one step off the track is synchronized.
"Why did you come out this way?" I wonder aloud as we walk away from the quickly approaching iron monster.
"I wanted to visit my dad. It sounds stupid, I know… no trains leave for Stouffville until tomorrow. I just couldn't be in that house a moment longer. Since Manny has a strict curfew and Craig is probably off writing songs somewhere with Ash, it left me without anyone else to go with," she answers, and I know without looking at her face that she's feeling sheepish and awkward and a million other things anyone would be.
"I'll go with you," I say without thinking.
"Okay," she accepts in the same breath. What are we doing? It's the middle of summer, so we aren't required to see each other for another two months. We should both have something better to do, especially since Jay still seems to be interested in both of us for very different reasons.
"I guess it's been a long time coming, huh? Almost two years," I joke, and suddenly tears are blinding my vision.
"Sean?" Her hand is on my arm, and I know that she won't hesitate to hold me if I cry. Because that's exactly what I need right now, I don't hold back the shudder that runs through my shoulders.
"Thank you for giving me my life," I finally manage, pulling away from her despite my instincts.
"Just returning the favor," she says, and I laugh at the small smile on her lips. They're the perfect shape. "So what should we do? Just sit here until morning?"
"Sounds good to me." Her head comes down to rest on my shoulder some time during the night. I don't shift or try to turn away. I just let it be, the two of us; whatever the hell we are. We've never been "just" friends, and somehow I doubt that tomorrow morning I'll have my arm around her waist and she'll be kissing me like she was so afraid to before; not yet, at least. I've learned by now never to completely write off a future between the two of us, because it doesn't seem that we're really over yet. And the way that she can unconsciously settle into me after the evening from hell (or maybe just the twilight zone) gives me hope that we won't ever be.