The reality of living with Emery turned out to be far more peaceful than the nightmare Josh had envisioned. It helped that Emery was in recovery, weak from his time living on the streets and adjusting to a harsh cocktail of antibiotics. There was little energy left for arguing every detail.

Despite that, he was on the mend: he had a healthier coloring, he was awake for longer periods of time, he regained some weight... It was a thing of beauty. Josh tried not to check in on him too often, past bringing him his meds and some food, but most nights he found himself stealing into the bedroom and adjusting the covers so Emery would always be warm.

Well.

If Emery had something against that he wouldn't sleep with his bedroom door ajar.

Mark went above and beyond, regularly making visits to check up on Emery regardless of his opinion; he was instrumental in putting Josh's worries to rest. Things with Michelle were progressing well; Josh hadn't met her yet, but there were things about her that made her seem an excellent fit for Mark, such as the fact that she was as likely to go with him to an art show as to set up a date in a bowling alley. Mark was enjoying keeping her for himself a little longer, and he found ways to schedule their game nights so they'd be date-free after that first time.

Josh was the one who didn't go. He didn't tell Emery — he wasn't insane enough to court an argument — and Mark, for once, didn't needle, respecting that Josh didn't feel at peace leaving Emery alone yet.

All these changes to Josh's routine had left him floundering. He spent too much time at home and not entirely comfortable in it — worrying about making noise, wondering if he should interact more with Emery, or if they ought to interact even less. There was no manual for this sort of thing and, with their history, he had a hard time compartmentalizing.

In the end, against all his expectations, it was Emery who put him out of his misery, venturing from his bedroom to the living room on a Saturday afternoon. Josh couldn't deny that seeing Emery — with his ever-present mask despite barely coughing these days — out of bed was a bright spot in his week.

"Hey," Josh greeted, always eloquent. He was never as critical of his ability with words as when Emery was the one he compared himself to.

"Josh." Emery sat down on the sofa, less wobbly on his feet than the week before, turning to face him. "There's something I've been wondering."

"Oh?"

"Is the reason you've been avoiding me like the plague because of my sparkling personality, or because you don't think I'd welcome your company? Or," he added before Josh could reply, "is it because there's a case to be made that I do have a modern-day version of the plague?"

Josh was helpless to resist the laughter so casually wrenched out of him. It was liberating after the past three weeks, to not feel suffocated in his own home. "The second option," he replied as the corners of Emery's eyes crinkled, "definitely the second one."

"Allow me to disabuse you of that notion then. I would enjoy it tremendously if you were to make some popcorn, get whatever sugary aberration you drink these days, and we could watch something; I'll endeavor to tune out the unseemly sound of your chewing."

This, from the man who considered Josh's love of energy drinks a lapse in judgment, and who'd always had a fierce dislike for people who ate popcorn while he was trying to absorb whatever was going on onscreen. Josh felt unreasonably moved by the suggestion.

TB was still taking its toll on him; he fell asleep on the sofa halfway through the movie. Sitting beside him with a respectable gap between them, Josh munched on his popcorn, paying more attention to Emery's sleeping features than to the TV.

#

"Enter," Emery called out in response to Josh's knock on his door. Josh had been there for less than a week and he was already on his way to an argument. He certainly knew how to make friends. "Josh. What can I do for you? Can I offer you something to drink?"

"Not unless you have an energy drink."

Emery looked appalled. "You're not serious."

"'fraid so," he confirmed, suppressing a grin at Emery's reaction.

"I see. My apologies, I don't. But please," he gestured to the chair closest to Josh and closed the lid on his laptop, making three different monitors go dim, "take a seat. Did you need something?"

"Yes. I need you to come to dinner tonight."

Emery's eyebrows rose. "I'm sorry?"

"Dinner. In your dining room, with your sister at the table, at the same time."

Emery barely glanced at his wristwatch. "I would, but I can't tonight. I have a conference call—"

"Reschedule."

The hardening of Emery's stance was instantaneous. "You haven't been here that long, so you may be forgiven for—"

"And I won't be here much longer," Josh replied, tone curt, "if you continue to undermine my work.".

Emery's jaw clenched. "How am I supposedly undermining your work?"

"You told me you wanted your sister to smile again."

"I do," he protested, trapped between indignation and fury.

"How," Josh looked him straight in the eye, reclining in his chair and crossing his leg to appear harsh but non-threatening, "if you hardly ever see her at all?"

"I have a demanding job—"

"—and I'm sure you'll regret every hour you don't spend on it now after your sister passes away."

A lesser man would have allowed his indignation to segue into anger, possibly firing him on the spot. Emery, on the other hand, deflated. "I love my sister very much," he said in a subdued voice.

"I know you do," a kinder tone now, because there were more flies to be caught with honey than with vinegar, "and she knows it, but what's the use if she doesn't feel it? I'm not a Get Out of Jail Free card. I'm here to help, not replace. If you want to see your sister smile you'll start by eating dinner with her every day."

Emery studied him for a moment, brown eyes sharp and clear. "You're bluffing. You wouldn't leave the work you're doing with her just because I don't live up to the standards I should. But I appreciate what you came here to do, and it isn't..." He paused. "It isn't a hardship, dining with Emma. I didn't set out to avoid it — I've just been busy."

Less than a week and the man already knew he was bluffing? He was good.

"Be less busy at dinner time. You'll regret it if you don't, and you won't ever be able to make up for it."

Emery nodded. "I'll be there at 8. And, Josh?" He added as Josh rose from his chair. "Thank you. For looking out for her enough to call me out on it. I know I'm not an easy man to go up against."

Josh offered him a lopsided grin. "I'm beginning to think it's less bite than bark." He didn't stay long enough to allow Emery to formulate a reply.

#

The day Josh's TB test came back negative, the weight of the world seemed to be lifted from Emery's shoulders. Mark was making him retake the test in a couple of months, but Josh decided then and there he wouldn't share that particular piece of information with Emery.

Life was comfortable these days, fulfilling. A part of Josh feared what having Emery living with him would do to him in the long run; the larger part was too pleased with the company to care. Emery was the sort of man who would always respect boundaries and need for solitude, even when sharing an apartment. With him there, Josh felt being by himself, when it happened, was a choice rather than an inevitability.

And the moments in between, the laughter, the warmth, the casual touches that always meant the world to him...

It was the perfect balance, if not for the unwanted stream of memories every glimpse brought him.

#

Walking into Emma's office without some sort of protective gear — preferably a suit of full-plated armor, complete with helmet and shield — was, as Josh discovered early on, a very real health hazard. More often than not there were objects flying at high speed across the room — usually red markers that had an uncanny ability to come uncomfortably close to his face — and that was before Emma even made her appearance.

One would think, being in a wheelchair, that whatever she decided to throw would come at a lower angle — not that he was convinced lower would be preferable — but she tended to throw with her left hand in an upwards trajectory. Josh had taken to entering the office with his hands held to his face.

Emery had mentioned, last night over dinner, wanting to hang a plate over the door, reading 'Abandon all hope, ye who enter here'. It was a surprisingly fair warning.

"Morning, minion. No need to look terrified. Not going to poke your eye out today."

"It's not when you're actively trying to hit me that I'm afraid," he replied with a smirk. She threw a pencil sharpener at his head, missing the mark widely. "Thanks for proving my point."

"Smug. Enjoy while you can. I'm firing you this week," she threatened without any real heat.

"That's what you said last week. And the week before that. Face it, you can't live without my charm anymore."

"Or your humility," she quipped back.

"Yes," he nodded gravely. "My biggest flaw"

He was still considering every upward quirk of her lips a major victory.

#

"No." Emery held his phone to his ear with his shoulder, eyes fixed on the tablet he held, completely unaware of Josh's presence as he walked into the kitchen. His glasses had slid to the edge of his nose in what couldn't be a comfortable position to read. It was a miracle he hadn't bumped on any furniture yet.

"We're selling. Yes, I know it tripled. Roger, please understand: it was overvalued yesterday and it's overvalued today. It's time to let go of it. Hmm-hmm. I see. Well, tell Mr. Jackson he's welcome to pull his account and handle his own investments, if he understands the markets better than we do; otherwise, he will conform to what we tell him. What? Well, that is fortunately not my problem to deal with. Okay. Yes. Yes. Certainly. I'll speak to you then."

He got off the phone but continued tapping away on his tablet, brow furrowed, still oblivious to his surroundings. Josh cleared his throat; it was enough to make Emery jump out of his skin, the phone clattering on the kitchen island.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

"Josh," Emery recovered, pushing his glasses back where they belonged. "I didn't see you."

Josh grinned. "Yeah, I could tell. Work?"

"Yes." His frown deepened. "Why anyone would pay a premium for my services if they think they can do my job better than I can is beyond me."

Well. Josh couldn't have asked for a better lead-in. "I'll be sure to remember that the next time you rake me over the coals for 'endangering' Emma."

"That's entirely different," Emery spluttered. "She's not supposed to do strenuous activity and you kept her out the whole day. A museum is one thing; a museum, followed by dinner, followed by a play is another."

Josh ticked the items off his fingers. "She wanted to go. Her doctors saw no inconvenience. I thought it would be good for her. And the earth didn't open up and swallow her. Tell me again how people pay premiums and then try to do other people's jobs?"

"I... Suppose you might have a point," Emery conceded, and the earth didn't open up and swallow him either. "You must understand, this is hard for me."

"I do understand," Josh offered, enjoying the banter, "or I'd have told you you were welcome to take your business elsewhere." The frown Emery wore eased, and Josh decided his forehead looked better this way. "That Mr. Jackson you were mentioning — do you usually send clients packing like that?"

"I would, if I were the one talking to them." A sheepish half-grin. "That's why Roger won't allow it."

"Roger?"

"My business partner." Emery opened and closed a series of cupboards as he spoke. Such a huge kitchen was completely wasted in a house where a catering company delivered every meal. Neither sibling had been wild about the idea of replacing Ms. Davies or her husband, Josh had learned; garden care was also outsourced in the Hall household.

"One of his many talents is translating my words into a language clients won't take offense at. I'd be completely lost without him — no one would work with me."

"I don't know about that," Josh teased. "You called me a vulture and yet here I am anyway."

"Yet here you are anyway," Emery repeated, looking pleased despite himself. It was somewhat entertaining, watching his whole posture change as the conversation went on. Josh wished he wasn't always in such a hurry to go do something else. As if to prove Josh's point, Emery abandoned his errand and collected his gadgets, adding, "Have a good evening," with a nod before turning to go.

"Emery," Josh called at Emery's retreating back, "what were you looking for just now?"

"Something resembling coffee. It's going to be a long night and I underordered."

"I hate to disappoint, but that dishwater you order isn't coffee."

"Agreed. It's deliberate — their weak brew is the only thing Emma refuses to touch. Coffee isn't good for her."

Smart man. Josh himself only brewed when he knew Emma wouldn't catch him in the act. "I can make you some real coffee, if you give me five minutes," Josh said, already reaching for his travel French press.

Emery sat down the next instant. "I suppose I could spare that."

Five minutes later, eyes widening as he tasted Josh's coffee, he looked positively awestruck.