Before, she thinks bitterly.
Before, everything would've been different.
Before wouldn't have hurt this much.
XXXX
"Ah, Emma Pillsbury. My patient who comes four times a year instead of just twice."
He smiles at her, two rows of perfect pearly whites.
"Let me see that smile," he tells her, snapping on a pair of latex gloves.
Her upper lips twitches. She pushes back the heaviness in her throat.
"You're going to have to open wider than that for me," he chuckles slightly, bringing a metal instrument to her lips.
As he skims her teeth, she gags helplessly, the strangled choking soon turning to sobs.
XXXX
"Amy, can you reschedule my last appointment? Something's come up," she hears him tell the receptionist.
"No, no, no," she protests as he reappears. "You don't have to do that. I'm fine. I promise, I'm fine," her voice fades as she suppresses another sob.
"Breathe," he tells her, "and come walk with me."
He offers her a gloved hand, helping her up from the reclining chair.
He leads her down the hall, stopping in front of a room she's never been in before.
As if reading her mind, he tells her, "This is where we look at x-rays and sanitize our equipment."
She smiles faintly, peering curiously into the small room.
"I though you might like that." He returns her smile.
He motions for her to enter the room. He smells like mints and latex gloves. She feels the tightness in her chest lessen slightly.
They stand in silence. She fidgets with the baubles on her bracelet, waiting for him to pry.
But he doesn't ask.
So she doesn't offer.
XXXX
They're sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall. Her hand rests softly on the freshly shampooed carpet.
The dusky sunset bleeds through the slits of the blinds, painting shadows across the floor.
She reaches to gently touch her jaw, slightly sore from an hour of constant use.
She told him about all the things in between—all the things that didn't seem to matter. That her favorite shampoo had recently been discontinued. That her office door wouldn't close properly from too many frustrated slammings. That her brother's wife just gave birth to their second child. That no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't style her hair perfectly most mornings.
They are silent now, breathing in the calmness settling around them.
"Thank you for listening. It means a lot to me, Dr. Howell."
He smiles, gleaming and white. "It was my pleasure. And please, call me Carl."
XXXX
They walk down the winding staircase together after he closes up.
They stand on the edge of the curb, glancing toward their respective cars.
He coughs, his eyes darting to hers. "Listen, Emma, would you like to go out with me sometime?"
She can't breath for a moment, and when she tries to find her voice, she can't utter a sound.
She manages to nod, not feeling so alone while he's smiling next to her.
XXXX
She still wakes up at five, even though it's a Saturday.
He said he'd pick her up at nine.
She counts the hours until he arrives, unsure if longing or dread is the source of her anxiety.
XXXX
The doorbell rings.
She answers it, greeted by a flashing smile.
He opens the passenger door for her, the familiar scent of mints and latex gloves settling around her.
It isn't until they're halfway down her street that she realizes she has no idea where they are going.
XXXX
"The history museum?"
He looks at her tentatively, running his tongue across his stark white teeth. "I thought you might enjoy it."
She smiles.
XXXX
She reads the information, half fascinated, half horrified.
"Did you know that the ancient Romans used a communal sponge as toilet paper?"
He chuckles, coming up beside her. "It's a good thing you're alive now and not back then."
XXXX
"Ready for some lunch?"
They've reached the edge of the museum café. She stiffens as the smell of grease reaches her nostrils.
"Don't worry, I packed us a lunch," he tells her, slinging the pack that she hadn't given a second thought to off his shoulder.
He pulls out a container of disinfectant wipes, sterilizing a table a safe distance away from the swarming families.
She sits down, watching him set out two peanut butter sandwiches and a bag of gleaming green grapes.
XXXX
It's late afternoon when they arrive back to her condo. He walks her back to the door.
She stands there, her hand hesitantly reaching for the door knob.
"I had a nice time," she tells him, twisting the knob.
He smiles, watching as she steps over the threshold.
"I had a nice time, too, Emma," he tells her before she shuts the door. "A really nice time. Would you like to do dinner tomorrow?"
Her eyes grow wide as she processes his sudden proposal.
"Something low key," he assures her. "How about my place? I'll cook."
Her throat tightens, but she manages to catch his gaze.
She nods.
XXXX
The door rests slightly ajar on its damaged hinge.
She looks up from her papers through the glass panes of her office. But he's already gone.
I miss you, too.
XXXX
The cool evening air settles around them as they walk through the emptying park.
Her hands are folded loosely in front of her.
His swing softly at his side.
They're close enough to touch, but he makes no move to intertwine his hand with hers.
She smiles appreciatively in the growing darkness, his charming bright grin returning hers.
Her heart breaks.
Just a little.
XXXX
She whimpers, the feel of his branding lips still burning against hers.
"Mr. Schuester? Can you please come to the auditorium?" Rachel Berry inquires, stepping through the heavy tension without a thought.
He glances from the eager to child to her own trembling form, his gaze locking with hers for a prolonged moment.
It isn't until he has disappeared around the corner that she begins to cry.
XXXX
She swallows uncomfortably, pushing her untouched food around on her plate.
"Emma."
She stares at her food, a simple garden salad, clenching her teeth as the lump rises in her throat.
"Emma, look at me."
She wishes he wouldn't.
She wishes so many things.
But she raises her head, settling her gaze on those two perfect rows of pearly whites.
"You're a fantastic woman, Emma, and as much as I've enjoyed these dates with you in the past week, I think it's best if we just go back to being doctor and patient for now."
She doesn't cry, but she wants to.
"Thank you. Thank you so much, Dr. Howell."
XXXX
It's raining.
It's raining hard, and she left her umbrella in her car this morning.
She stands in the doorway, waiting for it to pass.
"I have an umbrella."
She glances at him, quickly averting her gaze.
"You take it. I don't mind getting wet."
Her hands curl around the handle, feeling his body looming over hers.
"I'm—I'm, um, not seeing Carl anymore," the words spill from her lips before she can rein them in.
"You broke up?"
She doesn't look him in the eye.
Can't look him in the eye.
She nods, though she's wondering, can you end something that never really began?
"I'm sorry."
Don't be.
XXXX
"The rain stopped," he notices.
She glances up, watching the hazy sun begin to peak through the clouds.
He sighs heavily, stepping to push the door open. He's halfway across the parking lot before she realizes she still has his umbrella.
"Wait!" she calls, throwing open the door as she breaks into a jog.
She reaches him, slightly out of breath.
"Here," she mutters, her hand grazing his as he takes the umbrella.
It clatters to the ground, escaping both their grasps.
He bends over to retrieve it, but she stops him, grabbing his arm with her gloved hand.
"Wait."
Before he has time to question her, her lips are firmly pressed against his. She tastes his shock, but he doesn't pull away. His arms settle gently around her waist.
"Em…" he whispers, trailing off once they pull apart.
"It was my turn," she tells him, watching his confused eyes, "to surprise you."
Another moment of heavy silence. He breaths heavily as he processes her words.
And then he laughs. A genuine laugh that causes both their entwined bodies to tremble.
And as he leans in to kiss her, she hardly cares that it has begun to rain once again.