Emily woke up with the headache to end all headaches and, for the briefest moment, she regretted not going to the hospital for an MRI. But only briefly before her stubbornness kicked back in.
And speaking of kicking, a small foot was repeatedly knocking against her back, making any attempt at returning to sleep impossible.
In spite of the fact that it was the middle of the day – judging by the sun streaming in the windows and making her skull throb – Declan was fast asleep in bed next to her, splayed out like a starfish across three quarters of the bed (including stealing her pillow), leaving her only a sliver of room. He'd also kicked all the covers off the bed and onto the floor where Tafann had promptly curled up on them and this was exactly why she and Ian never allowed Declan to sleep in their bed...
She gently attempted to roll him out of her space, but he was sleeping as soundly as a log and refused to budge. With a huff, she prodded the boy in the chest – once, twice, three times. Without waking up, he swatted her hand away with a grunt, so like his father she couldn't help rolling her eyes.
Tafann lifted his head at the commotion above him and he blinked sleepily at Emily for a moment, before seeming to decide her uninteresting. He gave a wide yawn and returned to slumber, no doubt shedding hair all over her comforter.
Ian padded quietly into the room then – carrying a glass of water and some painkillers for her – trying not to wake her...too little, too late. With a childish whine, she gestured at the unconscious lump that was their son. He stifled his laughter and shrugged, indicating he wasn't about to be of any help.
"How are you feeling, Love?" he asked quietly, settling beside her so he could ghost his fingers over her bandaged stitches. "That's quite a bruise you've got forming."
"It feels like there are a dozen tiny jackhammers beating my skull to rubble," she griped, rubbing her temples.
"Getting bested by a two-by-four will do that," he said sagely. She glared at him, unimpressed by his attempt at humour. He kissed the top of her head to soften her glare. "I don't suppose you saw a doctor?"
"Would you have?" she countered, knowing full well he wouldn't have – she'd seen him get into enough fights to know he never saw a doctor ever. In fact, on more than one occasion, he'd stitched up his own bullet wounds, much to her displeasure.
"One of us has to start being less stubborn," he mused, "Before Declan ends up being raised by your mother..."
Emily snorted in what might have been amusement, rather than admit he was right. She might not have wanted Declan to grow up to live his father's life, but she also didn't want him growing up to lead hers... "I've been ordered to stay home for three days to recover," she said by way of answering.
"I take it that means you have a job again," he said. It wasn't a question, he already knew the answer. He'd always known it would only be a matter of time before she found her way back.
She shrugged, suddenly feeling guilty, but not sure why.
"This is what you want?" he asked gently, with more understanding than any profile said he could have. He'd always been so much more than the profile, from the moment she'd met him and part of her knew right then she was going to lose her heart to him.
She nodded. For the first time in longer than she could remember, her life was complete...her life made sense – concussions and all.
"Then I'm happy for you, Love." And she knew he meant it. She smiled up at him in a silent thank you to the universe and leaned in to accept a kiss.
At that precise moment, Declan woke up, announcing himself with a cry of, "Gross!"
"Kissing your Ma is gross?" Ian asked the boy who readily nodded. "Then you'd best close your eyes..." He went back in for another kiss.
Declan squealed and wormed his way between them, forcing them apart. "Stop it!" he said, holding his hands up like a tiny traffic cop.
"Is it gross when I kiss you?" Emily asked, pulling him in for a kiss, ruffling his hair.
"Yes," he said with a pout, but he was obviously thrilled by the affection. His attention was quickly diverted, though. "Mama, did a bad guy get you?" he asked, touching her bandage childish reverence (meaning, he attempted to be gentle, but ended up poking her quite sharply).
Emily winced, nodded. "I'm okay," she promised. "I just have a little scratch and a concussion."
"What's that?" he asked, suspicious that she wasn't actually okay.
"You know how when you bump your knee and get a bruise that turns all purple?" she asked. "A concussion is a bruise on your brain."
"Your brain is purple?" he exclaimed, eyes wide.
She laughed. "Maybe... Should we open up my head and look?"
"Eww!" he shrieked.
"Eww?" she repeated, raising a brow, "Last week, you were playing with worms in the garden, but kissing is gross and my brain is 'eww'?"
Declan looked at her like she'd just said the most nonsensical thing he'd ever heard, the way only a child can manage. "Worms are worms," he said simply.
"You are ridiculous," she said, shaking her head.
"You are a-dic-a-lous," he attempted to repeat her words.
Emily looked at Ian, the 'Really?' written clear as day across her face.
"He's got you there, Love," he said simply.
She was not amused. "What did I ever do to deserve the two of you..." she muttered. She said it sarcastically, but she meant it – somewhere along the line she'd obviously done something very right to be here, in that moment, with two people who loved her more than she'd ever thought possible. She'd made a lot of mistakes in her life, she knew, but choosing to be with Ian was absolutely not one of them (no matter what Clyde said).