Author's Notes: Some lines and lyrics have been taken directly from the show Smash. No infringement intended. Timelines: Emma's timeline is actually pre-Once. All you need to know is she's living in Boston as a bail bondsperson, but Henry hasn't shown up yet. Smash timeline starts at the end of the episode Tech and goes through the finale, so there are spoilers here, but they get convoluted a bit.

She walks into the first bar she can find after leaving the hotel room. It's barely a block away and while it's certainly not a dive, it's also a place that her mother would never be caught dead in. That thought alone is enough to make her pull open the door and head for the bar.

She scans the room as she goes, slowing just slightly as she catches sight of a man at the bar. He looks about the way she feels - miserable and rejected - so she slips easily onto the stool next to him.

Silence reigns for a few moments but she is determined not to be the one to break it. She's done enough breaking lately.

Finally, he glances over to her and offers her a simple "hi".

She waits a beat (timing is everything, Ivy; don't be afraid to make them wait for it, Ivy; a true star makes her own time, Ivy) before she finally responds with her own perfectly delivered "hey".

"Can I buy you a drink?"

Her lips curl for a second - she's been expecting the question, counting on it even - before surprise flits across her face as she realizes that the question hasn't come from the man next to her, but rather from her other side. And from a woman.

Turning, she misses the look of annoyance and disappointment on the man's face before he downs the rest of his drink. Instead, her eyes take in the woman who has suddenly captured her attention - long blonde hair, green eyes, tight red dress, smoky makeup - she certainly makes for a pretty package.

With a lift of her eyebrow, the other woman reminds her of the offer still on the table. "Sure." She gives a half smile before turning to the bartender. "Vodka soda."

The drink is set down before her and she swirls the straw in the glass, waiting. This is definitely a turn from how she thought her night would go, but not necessarily in an unpleasant way.

"My name's Emma." The blonde offers, sipping at her own drink.

She considers things for a moment, continuing to spin the straw before she finally meets green eyes and offers up a name. Not her own name, but the name that she wants to be called more than anything at the moment. "Marilyn."

Emma's face is unreadable but there's a slight smirk that slips across her lips for a moment as she repeats the name back, her eyebrows raised almost in challenge. "Marilyn."

"Cheers." She gently touches their glasses together, cutting off whatever else Emma may have wanted to say. Then she sips her drink through the straw, her eyes never leaving Emma's.

"It's very nice to meet you, Emma."

It's not the first time she's been with a woman - she works on Broadway for god's sake - but it is the first time that she's actively picked the woman up in a bar. Or the woman picked her up. She's really not sure at this point, except that they'd both been pretty content to flirt and drink and apparently really piss off the guy who thought he was going to be taking her home tonight.

Oh well.

Emma's much more interesting and after Derek, she's more than willing to be done with the opposite sex for a while. So she easily slides off the stool and follows Emma after the blonde tosses some bills on the bar - she's still not sure where exactly Emma pulled them out from - and gives her a questioning look. The question is never voiced, but she hears it loud and clear (read between the lines, Ivy).

This is probably a bad decision. But after everything that's happened since she started working on this god damn show, she's ready to make some bad decisions. Marilyn, she thinks as Emma leads her back towards the apartment building where she lives, would approve.

She wakes with a groan, cursing the sunlight that is streaming on her face. It takes a moment to get her bearings, but once she does, she realizes that she needs to get back to the hotel to get ready. If she's not at the theatre at call time, Derek will kill her. If he even notices that she's gone, that is.

Hopefully Emma is still asleep and she can just slip out unnoticed, a ghost of a woman who doesn't really exist, gone by the morning. (exits are just as important as entrances, Ivy)

But as she sits up, she realizes that that is not to be, because Emma is already awake and moving around the bedroom, a faded AC/DC shirt just covering her ass. She looks really, really good. So good, in fact, that she considers saying screw it and pulling that t-shirt up over Emma's head, shoving her back on the bed, and shutting out everything else.

But of course she doesn't. She's already done that once before and it hadn't ended well (the theatre isn't your job, it's your life, Ivy; you don't walk out on a show, Ivy; what the hell were you thinking, Ivy?) no matter how much fun she'd had at the time. Not that she'll admit to having fun that night with Karen anyway.

"Earth to Marilyn." Emma smirks as she glances over her shoulder. "Where were you just now?"

"Oh, I -"

It's at that moment that her phone starts to ring. She fumbles around on the floor, keeping the sheet clutched against her chest, although she's not exactly sure why. It's not like Emma didn't see it - and leave a few nice marks on it - last night.

When she finally finds the phone, she frowns as 'Karen's Cell' shows on the display. Why on earth is Karen calling her? "Hello?"

"Ivy! How are you?" A voice comes through that she knows isn't Karen's and for a second she wonders just how much she had to drink the night before.

"Who - I'm sorry, who is this?"

Emma raises an eyebrow as she stretches her arms above her head, going up on her tip toes, the t-shirt moving up her thighs. She licks her lips unconsciously, almost missing the next words.

"It's Jessica. Where are you? Derek is about to start notes."

She rolls her eyes at that, even as she kicks her legs over the bed. "Oh, hi, Jessica. I'll be there in about thirty minutes. He won't even notice." And then, before Jessica can reply, she ends the call and drops the phone to the bed.

"Who is it," Emma asks, moving over to stop right in front of her, "who won't even notice?"

"No one."

"Liar." Emma smirks, but there's no malice in her voice and she's been called far worse than that.

"I have to go. Work." She says as she stands, allowing the sheet to fall.

"You sure?" Emma asks, warm hands falling on her hips as she moves in to kiss her. The faded cotton of the shirt feels heavenly against her skin and her fingers move of their own accord, bunching the hem up.

"Mmm." She moans, biting down on Emma's bottom lip before pulling away, her fingers still tangled in the shirt. "I really do have to go. I -"

Emma waves her hand, dismissing whatever half-assed apology or lie she was going to try to spin. "I understand. Get out of here."

"Really?" She tries to ignore the stinging sensation of being so easily dismissed. What more did she expect from a one night stand really? Still, it's just another dismissal and rejection in a list that is getting far too long for her own sanity.

"Really. I need to go to work too." Nimble fingers slip her hair back behind her ears. She can't help but lean into the touch. She likes being touched, likes the tactile, the feeling of someone else beside her. "But don't worry. I've got a feeling we'll see each other again very soon… Marilyn."

There's a look in Emma's eyes that she can't place. It's almost like the other woman knows a secret that she doesn't. But she doesn't have time to dwell on it now, so she just smiles and pecks her lips against Emma's quickly before moving to pull on her clothes.

"I'd like that." She murmurs when she slips out of the apartment door, and it takes her until she's halfway back to the hotel to realize that the words are true.

Derek continues to be an ass to her throughout the day. It's obvious that he's fucking Rebecca, but he's not the least bit apologetic. Two days ago he'd said he loved her. But once again, it wasn't the kind of love she was longing for, has been longing for her whole life. (of course I love you, Ivy)

He thinks that she understands because they're both 'professionals'. Well, she's tired of being a professional. Professionals get screwed over time and time again. And not in the fun way either.

That train of thought leads her to Emma and the night before. Everyone in the chorus had tried to get it out of her where she'd been the night before, but she'd stayed mute on the subject. (you never kiss and tell, Ivy) She isn't going to spill her secrets, but she does find herself thinking about Emma many times throughout the day. It's the only thing that gets her through.

As she moves into her place for the curtain, she finds herself wishing that Emma was there to see her. Or at least that she could go back to her apartment tonight. But she knows that she won't, and she knows that Emma won't be able to find her. She doesn't even know her real name, after all. She only knows Marilyn. And no matter how much she wants it, she isn't Marilyn.

fade in on a girl

No one applauds.

And although she'd never show it because she loves this god damn show, no matter how much it's cost her, somewhere deep inside of her, she laughs gleefully.

Because maybe the workshop had been a 'disaster', but at least they'd applauded for her.

She's heading out of the theatre when Karen stops her and her eyes take in the man who has his arm around her waist. "Ivy, this is my boyfriend, Dev. Dev, Ivy."

She recognizes him instantly as the man at the bar and it's obvious that he remembers her too. She gives him a smile. "Nice to meet you, Dev."

Then she walks away, never more thankful that Emma had stolen her attention the night before.

"You know," the voice floats to her from the side alley of the theatre, "usually the cast comes out the stage door to greet their fans. Or are you too good for that… Marilyn?"

She stops in her tracks and spins to find Emma leaning up against the wall of the theatre. She's wearing a little black dress tonight, with high heels. And she's holding a Playbill with Bombshell splashed across the front.

"You -"

"Or should I say Ivy?"

Her eyes widen. Emma just laughs, moving forward and dropping an arm easily across her shoulders. "Don't look so surprised. I've known who you are from the minute you walked into that bar last night."

"Wh - but - how did you -" She's normally not this incoherent (always articulate, Ivy; use your words, Ivy; never be caught speechless, Ivy) but everything is so screwed up right now, she doesn't know which way is up.

"I'm really good at finding people - it's kind of what I do - which means I'm really good at noticing and remembering people. I saw you in Heaven On Earth a while back." Emma admits, moving forward and pulling her along. "You were the best part of that show." She moves the hand with the Playbill in it up so that it's in their line of sight. "Apparently that didn't change with this show."

That stops her in her tracks, staring up at Emma, trying to figure out if she's being sincere or just mocking her. Her eyes narrow a bit in suspicion. "What do you want?"

Emma laughs and answers rather flippantly. "Well, I wouldn't be opposed to a repeat of last night."

"Last night." She whispers, thinking back to the bar. It makes sense now, the way Emma had raised her eyebrow when she'd said her name was Marilyn. "Why did you pick me up if you knew who I was?"

A smirk slips onto Emma's lips. "Did you ever think I picked you up because I knew who you were?"

A tiny shiver of fear makes its way up her spine at those words.

"Relax. I'm not a stalker or anything." As if to prove her point, Emma lets her arm drop off her shoulders. She misses the weight of it almost instantly. "I was just trying to save you from making a huge mistake."

"So you weren't a huge mistake?"

"A mistake… probably. But a huge mistake? No. I'm pretty sure that sleeping with your castmate's boyfriend the night before previews started would've been a huge mistake though."

She thinks of Dev and of what could have happened if she'd allowed him to pick her up the night before. "How did you know who he was? Who the hell are you?" She hadn't even known that until a few minutes ago.

"I'm Emma. Unlike you, I didn't lie about my name." Emma gives her a wink. "As for how I knew who he was… before you got there he went on a pretty nice rant about his girlfriend thinking tech was more important than his marriage proposal. Bombshell was the only show around here in tech that I knew of, so I just figured better to be safe than sorry."

"And you knew I was in the show." She murmurs, still taken aback by that fact.

"I bought my ticket because of you." Emma says, and it isn't a lie.

"What do you want?" She asks again, because it's the only thing she can come up with to say to these revelations. (everybody wants something from us, Ivy)

"I want you to come home with me." Emma says easily. "But if you've got a better offer…"

She thinks of everyone waiting at the bar - the bar where she'd picked up Emma the night before - already drinking and wondering where she is. And then she thinks of the night before and moves closer to Emma's body. "Well, what are we standing around here for?"

Emma laughs and wraps her arm back around her shoulder, pulling her tighter as they walk back to her apartment.

Somehow she ends up spilling her guts about everything that's happened since the show started and then moving on to talking about things that happened long before that. Apparently, she gets chatty after her third orgasm, which is a revelation that she is quite happy to have had.

Emma, for her part, just listens to everything, stroking her back and smoothing down her hair. She doesn't laugh at her mommy issues (do you know how many girls would kill to have me for a mother, Ivy?) or condemn her for sleeping with the director or even bat an eyelash when she talks about the issues with the pills and alcohol.

The sun is coming up when she finally runs out of words, and Emma just presses a kiss against her temple and slides from the bed.

"A star has to have a proper breakfast." Emma teases as she brings the plate of eggs back to the bed, rousing her from the half sleep she had fallen into. She eats eagerly while Emma programs her number into her phone. "You can call or text me later if you want. Or you can delete it as soon as you leave."

The fact that there are no demands is refreshing and the fact that she can see Emma's desire to see her again is relieving. This is probably the most stable relationship she's ever been in, and considering that it's only been going on for about 36 hours is saying something.

She kisses Emma goodbye twenty minutes later after Jessica has once again called in a panic about where she is and laughs the whole way back to the hotel at Emma's "break Rebecca's legs!" comment.

"So," Emma says as she pulls the apartment door open, "I think you took my advice this morning a little too literally."

Her mouth opens in an angry protest, but Emma kisses it away before she can utter one word. "I was only kidding. I know you didn't poison her."

And suddenly, tears are slipping down her cheeks without warning. Apparently she's decided that it's okay to break in front of Emma. "I didn't. I honestly didn't."

Emma wraps strong arms around her and holds her tightly. "I know. I know." And Emma's belief in her is worth a million times more than all the others' belief that she did it.

"Now, dry those eyes and let's practice your lines, huh?" Emma nudges her.

She blinks up at Emma in confusion. "What?"

"Let's practice your lines, Marilyn." Emma says again, already reaching into her bag and pulling out the script tucked inside. "Unless you'd rather follow your own advice and be bad for a while?"

"Well," she whispers, her throat already opening up to sing, "that's the thing I wanna do. Do it 'til we're black and blue. Let's be bad."

"They're going to pick Karen. If they have to replace Rebecca, they're going to pick Karen." She whispers into the darkness, hours later.

"They're idiots if they do." Emma assures.

"She's the understudy." She says, trying to prepare herself for the blow that she already knows is coming.

"And you're Marilyn."

She sits up, staring down at Emma in the darkness. She doesn't bother to cover herself now. "Why do you believe in me? No one else does."

"I don't think that's true." Emma's voice is soft. "But even if it is, aren't I enough?"

"I've screwed up so many times, Emma. Made so many mistakes, so many bad decisions. And all I want is to be…" She lets her voice trail off, unable to say the word that would complete the sentence. She's said it before and it only hurt her, made her weak. All she wants is to be loved, but if Emma thinks that she wants to be Marilyn, then that's fine.

"And that is why you are Marilyn." Emma sits up too, carefully wiping away tears that she wasn't even aware she was crying. "Remember, I'm not a Broadway singer, okay?"

She frowns, not understanding, until Emma opens her mouth and begins to sing softly. She's right - she's not a Broadway caliber singer - but she's not bad either.

"Something second hand and broken

Still can make a pretty sound

Even if it doesn't have a place to live."

"Emma." She whispers, the tears falling harder now.

Emma offers her a tremulous smile. "I understand that. Being second hand and broken. I know what it's like to be cast aside. I know how that feels. And I hate that you've ever had to feel that way. But it's what makes you so special, Ivy. Anyone worth anything can see that."

She runs her fingers over Emma's cheeks and lips, amazed by the woman before her who just might be as broken as she is. "I'm going to church tomorrow with some people from the cast. You could come with me."

Emma kisses her fingers. "Church isn't really my thing. But if they don't need you after, you could always come back here. Practice some more or something."

She finds herself nodding, before she threads their fingers together and begins to sing.

"Something second hand and broken

Still can make a pretty sound

Don't we all deserve a family room to live

Oh, the words can't stay unspoken

Until everyone has found

Their second hand white baby grand

That still has something beautiful to give

I still have something beautiful to give."

When Emma wakes up the next morning, the bed is already empty. But beside her on the pillow are her Playbills from Heaven On Earth and Bombshell with Ivy Lynn sprawled across the front in red Sharpie.

Emma smiles at the sight of them.

Five minutes later, she prints the confirmation of her order of one ticket for the following evening's performance of Bombshell.

"How was church?" Emma asks as she collapses on the couch.

"Karen sang," is her answer and Emma makes a sympathetic noise that she maybe loves her for. "Sam wanted me to but…"

"But," Emma lifts up her legs to slide under them before she lets them fall back across her lap, "you're saving your voice for tomorrow."

She opens her mouth to protest, but Emma just shakes her head. "Wanna practice? I've been reading over the lines, so I figured you could do Marilyn and I could play everyone else."

She sits up and laughs. "Everyone else?"

"I'm versatile." Emma winks.

"I think," she says as she moves so that she's straddling Emma's lap, "that I would pay good money to see that."

"Well, lucky you, you'll get to see it for free. Now come on," Emma swats her thigh to make her get up, "we've got a lot of rehearsing to do. And I bet I'm a much better director than Derek."

"Oh, I have no doubts about that." She laughs as Emma pushes the couch back to make room for a mock stage.

fade in on a girl

He chooses Karen, just as she'd known he would. But Iowa can't hack it, or at least that's how it seems, and for one glorious, shining moment, the costume and the wig and the part are hers. (never let them see you panic, Ivy; be ready to step in at a moment's notice, Ivy)

She is Marilyn.

But then Karen walks back on to the stage and all her dreams are shattered once more. She's so damn tired of picking up the pieces.

And she doesn't even have the time to, because her mother shows up with a fucking bouquet of roses to celebrate the part that she isn't playing. She can't deal with it, so she sends Leigh away. And she goes, taking the flowers with her, because being in the chorus isn't good enough, has never been good enough, will never be good enough for the daughter of Leigh Conroy.

All she wants is to curl up in a ball and cry, but there certainly isn't time for that, not when curtain is only five hours away and Karen doesn't know any of Act 2. She knows the whole damn thing, forwards and backwards, but it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter that she spent the entirety of the day before practicing the part (except for those few hours where she was otherwise engaged - sleeping with the director is becoming a habit it seems), because when Derek thinks of Marilyn he sees Karen and he's never seen her, not once, not ever.

She sends a text to Emma, her fingers shaking slightly. It's only two words because she can't get anything else out. It's Karen seems like far too much already.

Then she tosses the phone across her dressing table, unwilling to see any messages she might get in return. If she's going to keep it together and be a god damn professional, she has to shut everything else out. Besides, she's not Marilyn any more. Why would Emma want her now? (everybody wants the star, Ivy; nobody wants the chorus, Ivy)

The phone hits the bottle of pills as it skids, knocking them over, and her eyes linger on it - spinning slowly on the white surface, the little white pills tumbling over each other - for longer than they should before the others from the chorus burst in to pull her away. But the sound of the pills rolling in the bottle lingers in the back of her mind, more musical than anything Karen could ever sing.

Emma curses when she gets the text. She doesn't send anything back though, knowing that Ivy won't look at it anyway.

Instead, she tackles the guy she's chasing down extra hard, taking great pleasure in his groans of pain.

Then she goes back to her apartment to get changed into the red dress she'd been wearing on Thursday night. Was it really only four days ago that she'd first met Ivy? It seemed much longer than that.

On the way to the theatre, she stops and buys a small bouquet of flowers and tries not to think of how that's a very 'girlfriend-y' thing to do.

The show is good, there's no denying that. Better now with the new ending, Emma supposes, but she's far too distracted by the fact that Ivy isn't in her spot for the last number. She tries to tell herself that they just got the number written that day and perhaps they hadn't included Ivy, but she knows in her gut that that isn't true.

By the time the first chorus kicks in, she's up and moving. An usher is rather easily persuaded to take her to the dressing rooms and she tries not to wonder if it would be the same if they were in a Broadway theatre. She hopes not, but doesn't really have time to care.

She finds her, as she somehow knew she would, in front of the mirror, staring at the reflection of the little white pills in her hands.

It would be so easy, she thinks as she stares at the pills that she's finally gotten the courage to dump into her hand. If Marilyn could do it…

Her thoughts are cut off by a hand closing around hers, trapping the pills in the confines of her fist. Her eyes cut up and take in Emma's reflection in the mirror. She's wearing the red dress and holding a rather pathetic looking bouquet of flowers in the hand that isn't currently wrapped around hers. The flowers are wilted and clearly not as expensive as the roses her mother had brought and then taken away again, but she loves them infinitely more just because of that.

"Marilyn," Emma whispers close to her ear, and she watches as the tears that she's been holding at bay all day race down her cheeks, "what are you doing?"

"I'm not Marilyn." The words come out on a sob, the admission that she hasn't been able to make until just now.

"No," Emma agrees, "you're not. And neither is Rebecca Duvall or Karen Cartwright or anyone else who they might cast. There's only one Marilyn and she's already gone. But you, you are so much like her. And Derek is an idiot and an asshole for not casting you to play her. He'll regret it, one day."

"No he won't. He's got his precious Karen, his vision of Marilyn. She's the one he sees!"

"And you're the one I see." Emma's words are fierce in her ear. "You're the one I see. But I don't want to see you, not if it's going to end like this." Emma releases her grip. Her hand opens and the little white pills stare up at her again. "Not like this."

"I don't know how." She admits quietly. "I don't know how to not be her, to not be a character." Her eyes meet Emma's in the mirror. "I don't know how to just be Ivy. Because Ivy's never good enough for anyone."

"She's good enough for me."

The sob that rises in her throat can't be contained. It comes out in a heaving breath, causing her whole body to convulse. The pills drop from her hand, scattering across the dressing table top.

Applause bursts out from the theatre, the sound making its way back to the dressing room. "They clapped." She whispers before the sobs take over again, mingling with laughter as everything seems to fall apart. She can't contain her emotions anymore. "They clapped."

Emma drops the flowers and spins her around, pulling her into a tight embrace. She clings to her, clutching the material of the red dress, still crying and laughing all at once.

"It's time for the curtain call." Emma says against her hair, but she just shakes her head.

Emma pulls back enough to look at her, seeing the blotchy makeup and reddened eyes. She offers a smile and claps her hands. "You're still the best part of this show. And you're good enough for me."

"Shut up." She says, shaking her head, but the words are enough to cut through the haze of emotion. She calms herself, wiping away tears and trying to compose herself. "Shut up and take me home."

It's at that moment that Derek bursts into the room.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" He roars as he takes in the sight of them. "You missed the final number! You weren't even there for the bloody curtain call!" He advances on her and has a grip on her arm before she can blink. "I am so tired of your diva attitude, Ivy! I will not allow you to ruin this show just because you're taking a temper tantrum."

His grip increases and she lets out a squeak of protest. "Derek, you're hurting me."

"Get off of her!" Emma hisses, grabbing his arm. He shoves Emma away which makes her see red.

"Derek." She looks up to see Tom, Julia, and Eileen all walking into the room. "What are you doing?" The cast won't be far behind, she knows. Her eyes find Emma's, pleading. She just wants to get out of here.

"I told you to get off of her." Emma moves back over to Derek, the look in her eyes driving her forward.

Derek turns to her, looking more than annoyed. "I don't know who you think you are…"

That sets Emma off. "I'm someone who knows what Ivy is worth! Unlike all of you, who treat her like dirt and expect her to be at your god damn beck and call, smiling through it all. Well, she deserves better than that! Now I suggest that you get the fuck off of her, or you'll regret it."

Derek actually laughs, which is the wrong thing to do. "Oh, please, don't tell me you've become a lesbi -"

He never finishes the statement, because Emma's fist connects beautifully with his jaw. He stumbles backwards, his grip releasing her arm.

"I warned you, you bastard." Emma says before she punches him once again, shaking out her hand and smiling rather proudly as Derek drops to the floor like a sack of potatoes. A huge smile lights her face as she wraps her arm around Emma's waist. No one has ever stood up for her like that before.

"Ivy?" Tom's voice sounds almost strangled and she looks up to see him staring not at Derek on the ground, but at the pills she'd dropped.

She looks up at Emma before she leans down, scooping up the worse for wear bouquet and then grabbing her phone. "I'm sorry, Tom." She says as she begins to move, knowing Emma will follow her.

"Ivy!" They call out to her, but she just keeps going, moving into the hallway and through a sea of the cast, all looking at her with concerned expressions. She doesn't stop or look at them, doesn't offer them reassuring smiles. She's over reassuring others and she doesn't need their concern.

Not with Emma right behind her.

"This is about the time when I run." Emma's voice cuts through the darkness, hours later. Her blood runs cold.

"Oh?" She forces herself to say, keeping still.

"Yeah. Don't know if I told you that or not. But I'm a runner. When I've been in a place too long or things get too serious or I start to get attached… I just pack up my stuff and run. Never look back."

"Oh." She says again, because that's all she can say. She's been reduced to that one word, because she never took the time to think about the fact that Emma might be just as broken and fucked up as she is, but in a different way.

"I've been in Boston for over a year now. Seems like it might be time to move on."

"Oh." Her heart, she thinks, has stopped beating. But it shouldn't be a surprise. No one ever stays. (why even try for a lasting relationship, Ivy?; no one wants to be involved with a performer, Ivy)

"Yeah. And I was thinking… I mean… New York might be nice." It's a statement, but she can hear the question in Emma's voice.

"What?" Her eyes widen as her heart starts beating again, double time.

"Well, I mean, I don't have to go there of course, but I figured, you know, maybe in a month or so…" she can feel Emma's eyes searching the darkness for her face, "or sooner, maybe…"

"Emma." She whispers as she realizes just what the blonde is saying.

"I'd need to find a place to live, of course. Maybe a roommate. But, it just seems like it might be time."

"Emma."

"And then, you know, I do like to run, so I could always go other places too. LA, Chicago, Philadelphia, Minneapolis, San Diego. Moving around isn't really a big deal, is all. I kind of need it, actually."

All the cities she's mentioned are places where shows go for out of town tryouts. She knows it and she knows Emma knows it, too. (what normal person do you know who wants to pack up everything and move at a moment's notice, Ivy?)

"Emma!" Her voice is louder now, tears slipping down her cheeks, but they're happy this time.

"Huh?" Emma asks.

She rolls so that she's on top of Emma, looking down at her through the darkness. Emma who is just as broken as she is, but who believes in her enough to follow her wherever she might decide to go. "Shut up."

Emma laughs, but the sound is quickly drowned out by her kiss.

we found a way to find a home