Actions Speak Louder

Burden

The doorbell ringed. And ringed again. And again. And was promptly followed by three firm knocks. Emma, pissed because she had just gotten close to falling asleep again, gripped Paul's arm as tightly as possible, willing the noise to go away. "Paul," she whined, "make it stop."

"I will, but you gotta let go of my arm, honey. Hidgens doesn't have a key."

"Then let's get him a key."

Paul raised his eyebrow at Emma, but her head was too far buried, half in her pillow and half in her boyfriend, to notice. "You sure you wanna do that?"

Emma wanted to make a snarky comeback, but was interrupted by the doorbell yet again. Paul gently pulled his arm out of her grip, much to the distaste of the woman next to him, and awkwardly shuffled down the hallway to greet the professor. Before he could do that, however, the professor greeted him.

"Is Emma alright? Where is she? What happened?"

"Calm down, you'll just stress everyone out more. Long story short, she got into a fight, I think she's physically overall okay, but I just wanted you to make sure. But, she's not acting like how I thought tough Emma Perkins would act after a fight. She clearly doesn't want to talk about it, but I'm worried."

"Did she win?"

Paul was irritated at Hidgens' comment, but scoffed nonetheless. "Of course she did."

Then together, somewhat muttered under both of their breaths, "That's my girl."

Their girl then let out of a whine that reminded them both of the situation at hand, calling out, "Pauuuul!" complete with a minuscule voice crack in the middle. The two men ran to her, hoping to be of any comfort possible. 

They entered the sad, cold room to a picture of Emma in the sheets that were only barely hanging on the bed, laying on her stomach, where she ended up while clinging to Paul earlier. Paul immediately went to her side, grabbing her hand, while Hidgens could only stare in the doorframe. 

"What's wrong, sweetie?" Paul asked, rubbing small circles on her palm. 

"Everything hurts."

Hidgens, who had seemingly gotten over the initial shock of seeing his strong-willed, high-tempered daughter so fragile, replied, "Well that's not very good, dear." Emma responded with a half-hearted "Humph," as if she had begun to say hello, but decided she was too exhausted halfway through. He walked next to her, on the unoccupied side of the bed, and crouched down. "Where does it hurt, Emma?"

"Everywhere!" Emma sighed at her outburst, and resigned herself to sinking lower into her pillow. Paul took over for her, telling Hidgens, "She said she fell on her back and her thighs. That's where most of the bruises are. She also has a black eye." Once Paul was barely done talking, she let out a "Hey!" 

"What, baby?"

But Emma had moved on from whatever her disapproval was, and said, "Nothing."

Hidgens carefully placed his hand on Emma's head, being cautious. "Dear, can I see the bruises?"

Emma paused a minute before responding. "I guess." 

Paul then moved the remaining blankets and sheets, and slowly began to lift up her shirt. As he did so, Emma made a small noise of protest. 

"Is this okay, Emmy?" 

But, yet again, Emma had moved on, simply humming her agreement. 

Hidgens went to work carefully examining each bruise, being careful not to push them. The shorts she wore to bed revealed the bruises on her thighs, darkening the majority of her skin from the angle the men saw. In the daylight Paul could see the bruises much easier, and not being fresh anymore, they made her look like a sad, sad painting. They were a variety of colors, the larger ones mostly being purple, but some of them being closer to green, brown, and even black, acting as a watercolor of darkness, a landscape of pain. 

The professor was quiet while he worked, trying not to disturb anyone. Emma tried to keep quiet, but could not help but let out the occasional groan every once in a while. Paul had to stop looking at the bruises, avoiding the pain, and returned to the comfort, running his fingers through Emma's hair and holding her hand. 

After a while, Hidgens cleared his throat. "Well, it doesn't look like you have any long-lasting harm. You'll be sore for a few days, during which you should stay at home and rest. Now, let's look at that black eye."

Paul helped Emma sit up, which really meant Paul helped Emma lean on him. She used none of her own body weight to hold herself up, and she was so close to Paul, Hidgens could barely see her eye. It was as dark as the rest of her bruises, and covered a pretty large part of her face, giving away the size of the perpetrator. 

Hidgens asked Emma some questions, all of which she was very reluctant to answer, not wanting to say anything, hoping her lack of verbal communication would make the whole situation go away. 

"Alright, dear." Hidgens sat down on the bed, gently placing his hand on Emma's shoulder. "It looks like your vision is all clear. But keep ice on that eye."

Paul, ever-ready to help Emma in any way possible, jumped up to get a new ice pack.

"Anything else I can do, dear?"

"No, Hidgens." They sat in silence for a few seconds, which felt like an eternity. "Shouldn't you be going to work?"

"It's Saturday, Emma. I don't have a class on Saturdays."

"I don't want to be a burden."

"You could never be a burden, dear. And I told you, I have nothing else planned today. No classes. Speaking of which, you shouldn't be going to class until you're all healed."

"But, you said-"

"No buts. I'll send you all the notes."

"But what about-?"

"No work, either. You can't sit up, you're not making coffee."

Paul came in with the ice pack, which Hidgens put out his hand to ask for. Paul gave it to him, and he wasted no time in putting it to Emma's eye. She started squirming, and fiercely murmured, "I can hold it myself." 

"I know you can, dear. I'm just helping you."

"Well, I don't want your help."

The room went silent. Slowly, Hidgens gave Emma the ice pack and stood up to leave. Before he went out the door, he called, "I love you, Emma."

One down. One to go.

Emma cuddled into Paul again, holding the ice pack to her eye until it became too cold to stand. Once a reasonable amount of time had passed to not seem suspicious, Emma said, "Hey."

"Hey." Paul kissed her head.

"Why aren't you at work?" 

"I called out. If you can't go to work, I'm not gonna go to work. I don't want you to be sad and alone. And who else is gonna get you ice packs and painkillers?"

Emma briefly opened her mouth to reply, but before she could, Paul, who had not noticed, started gently massaging her scalp. "And do this?" He kissed her cheek. "And this." On the nose. "And this." And finally, gave her a short peck on the lips. "And this."

Emma's feelings were still mixed, but she was content enough, and didn't want to think about it anymore. So, with new painkillers in her system, she rested her head on Paul's chest, wrapped her arms around him, and drifted off to sleep again.

AN: This story is become much more prolonged than previously anticipated but I think I'm okay with that!