A/N: So I meant to write Dylan+Norma in honor of Mother's Day, but I ended up writing Emma/Bradley pre-femslash? Also Emma and Bradley ended up musing on mortality and I ended up fangirling a bit over Olivia Cooke's eyes? But hey, every fandom needs femslash, and if no one else is going to make these lovely ladies have meaningful interactions, then I'll do it.

Warnings for: lightly implied Emma/Bradley pre-femslash (like really, you need glasses to see it), past mentions of Bradley/Norman, implied Emma/Norman, some language.

This is set at an ambiguous time after episode 1x08. The title is inspired by a line in 'Hear Me' by Imagine Dragons.

Edit: Reposted because FF is a doofus and left out a paragraph.

Bradley walks to the library alone. It's a long walk from school to White Pine Bay's public library, but the school library is out of the question. There's too much chance that someone she knows will be hanging around, and will want to talk. Sometimes Bradley just can't find it in herself to be social; keeping up appearances for eight hours a day takes a lot out of a person. So she walks alone, with nothing but the clicking of her heels on the sidewalk for company.

The library is cool and dim, with most of its light coming from several large windows. Bradley's always wondered why a place designed for reading is kept so poorly lit, but she figures it's probably to give the place a more hushed feel. It's completely silent, save for the click-clack of her heels on the tile and the occasional muted cough. Bradley walks past the front desk, and unintentionally makes eye contact with the pretty, dark-haired girl standing behind the counter – she's a senior, so Bradley's seen her face, but she can't put a name to it. But the girl doesn't really know Bradley either, so she doesn't say anything – just smiles politely and goes back to stacking books. Bradley's glad for that.

Bradley heads to the nonfiction section, and looks up at a large chart featuring the Dewey decimal system. She finds 'Psychology' on the chart, and goes to the shelf that it indicates. She has an AP Psych project due next week, and she hasn't even begun to research. The only reason she's not at home right now, scanning Wikipedia articles on her laptop, is because the teacher's kind of a stickler and insists that they actually check out and use books. It's a serious pain in Bradley's ass, especially now – as if her life wasn't hard enough – but if she doesn't do the project, she'll probably flunk the class, and that's the last thing she needs.

Bradley places her purse and notebook neatly on the floor, then kneels next to the bookshelf, figuring she'll start from the bottom and work her way up. The White Pine Bay Public Library is not known for being well-stocked, but since she doesn't have a particular book in mind, she's going to have to hunt for what she needs. She starts pulling out books that look promising one after the other, and skims through them, before forgoing nearly all of them.

She finds one huge tome that has potential, and focuses on flipping through it. She's pretty immersed in it when she notes the sound of wheels squeaking – not an extraordinarily loud noise, but in the silence of the library, it's impossible not to hear – and footsteps approaching. She assumes it's just one of the librarians with a cart of books or something, but then Emma Decody rounds the bookshelf that Bradley is kneeling in front of. Bradley stiffens automatically, and she makes full eye contact with Emma quite without meaning to.

The first thing Bradley thinks is that Emma's eyes are huge and brown; she's the very definition of 'doe-eyed'. Bradley doesn't know if that's her default expression or if she just wasn't expecting to see Bradley – or, probably, a combination of both. Those big heartbreaker eyes, combined with her twin braids and loose-fitting cardigan, give Emma a very innocent look. She looks pure and fragile – and not just because of the oxygen tube, although that definitely helps.

They hold each other's gazes for a moment, too long to pass off as just accidental eye contact. Bradley knows she ought to say something; she ought to yell at Emma, berate her for spreading someone else's personal business. But strangely enough, Bradley's not angry. Or at least, she's not angry now – now that she's actually faced with the idea of yelling at a girl with an oxygen tank.

"Hi," Bradley says, the word coming out before she has time to think of anything better to say. The greeting sits in the air for a second, heavy, while Emma hesitates.

"Hi, Bradley," Emma responds. Her tone doesn't betray anything, but she shifts her grip on the handle of her tank; is she nervous, perhaps, or angry? Bradley wants to meet Emma's eyes again – maybe Emma's got eyes that poets talk about, windows to her soul – but she can't quite make herself do it.

Bradley doesn't know what to say next – is there anything she can say? Hey, thanks for telling everyone that I slept with Norman. You've made my life just a little bit shittier. But you probably have no idea what it's like to be me right now. That sounds melodramatic, to say the least, so Bradley doesn't say any of it.

She's about to go back to her book when Emma approaches, wheels squeaking more quietly now that she's moving slowly. Emma's holding a few books with the arm that isn't tugging the tank along; Bradley glances quickly at the back cover of one, and notes the title – Understanding Abandonment. She's not expecting Emma to say anything else – really, any other girl when faced with this situation would come spoiling for a fight or would hurry away with their tail tucked between their legs; a quiet girl like Emma Decody fits the bill for the latter. But Emma just looks evenly down at Bradley as she approaches and asks, "Working on your Psychology project?"

Oh my God, Bradley thinks, is she going to make small talk with me?

"Um, yeah," Bradley says, looking down at the book in her lap. "You, too?"

"I just finished last night, actually," Emma replies. Of course she's already finished. Bradley forgets, sometimes, that not everyone is only pretending to have their shit together.

Emma moves closer to the shelf, standing on her tiptoes to place the first of her books on the highest shelf. Bradley wishes she were standing up, not kneeling, because now she's at eye level with the back of Emma's legs. Emma's wearing a skirt, and her legs are dead-of-winter pale. Bradley wonders if she's just not one for tanning, or if it's because of her condition (whatever condition that may be), or if Emma's just naturally pale. Her legs look smooth, though, like alabaster.

"So what are you doing?" Bradley asks, looking away from Emma's legs. "If you're done with the project."

Emma blinks, as if surprised by the question, and shifts back into a regular standing position, her book now safely in place on the shelf. "I usually put up my books myself," she explains. "Save someone else the trouble."

Bradley nods as if she understands, but really, she never would have thought to do something like that. It still doesn't quite make sense to her – the librarians get paid to put books up, after all – but it's a nice sentiment. "Oh," she says.

Emma nods, fumbling with her stack of books for a moment before selecting another one. Bradley's first urge is to say, here, let me help you – but then she remembers that she doesn't owe Emma Decody a thing. Emma surprises her again, though, because she abruptly stops messing with her books and looks at Bradley again. It's as if she can't hold something back any longer, like if she doesn't say it now she'll never get another opportunity.

"I'm sorry," she says abruptly. "About – what I told your friends."

Bradley just stares at her for a second. The apology is unexpected, but not necessarily unwanted. Bradley had been hoping since the morning after her thing with Norman that the whole incident would just go away – but that hadn't happened, thanks first to Norman and now to Emma. Dealing with Norman had been bad enough, but Emma – Emma was the one who let the cat out of the bag. Bradley's friends knew now, and that meant that soon enough the entire student body would know, and Richard would find out. There'd be gossip, and it was bound to be a god-damn train wreck.

But bizarrely enough, Emma Decody doesn't seem like the type of person who talks about people behind their backs. Perhaps it's because she doesn't have a lot of friends; the only person that Bradley's ever seen her talking to is Norman, and she has no idea what their deal is. But it goes beyond that – Emma seems like a nice person. Bradley gets that vibe from her – a kind-hearted, genuine vibe – and that's rare. Over all, Bradley does not know what to make of Emma.

Bradley doesn't respond immediately – she isn't sure how to respond, really – so Emma continues, "I just – thought you should know that the only reason I said anything was because your friends were saying very hurtful things about Norman. And since he had no way to defend himself, I stepped in."

Of course she was defending Norman. Bradley knows her friends, even if they don't know her (not really, at least), and she knows how they feel about Norman. Bradley doesn't know Emma Decody, but she's obviously a good friend. Bradley wishes everyone was more like that.

"That's nice of you," Bradley says. "To stick up for him."

Emma looks down at Bradley. "Would you do the same?"

"What?"

"Would you stick up for him?" Emma asks. "They're your friends, after all, and he's your – …" She hesitates, as if waiting for Bradley to fill in the gap. Bradley doesn't know what Norman's told her about what happened, but she can certainly guess. Norman Bates is a nice boy, a deep and intelligent boy, but he just doesn't know how the world works. Bradley, by contrast, is all too familiar with it.

"He's my friend," Bradley says, quietly. She can no longer bear looking up at Emma like this; kneeling at her feet feels kind of bizarre when they're talking about Norman. Bradley rises to a standing position and adds, "He's my friend, but what we did – well, it was a one-time thing." I have a boyfriend, she ought to say, but really, Richard isn't the problem. Norman is the problem. Norman is too – breakable for Bradley. Bradley is still struggling to figure her own shit out, and dragging a boy like Norman into that sort of mess – that would just be cruel. She barely gives a damn about Richard, and that's okay, because he's not like Norman.

Emma nods, chewing lightly on her lower lip. Bradley is oddly struck by how cute the gesture is. "I tried to tell him that," Emma says. "I tried to tell him that it wasn't serious."

"You're a good friend to him," Bradley says, and means it. She tries to force a realistic smile, but Emma doesn't return the favor. "Are you his – friend?"

Emma glances down at the handful of books she still clutches. "I'm his friend," she says. "Not anything more."

That's a lie, Bradley thinks, but she doesn't question it. Clearly Norman isn't interested in Emma – or if he is, he's not showing it. Bradley highly doubts that Emma wants to explain that particular situation to her. "Oh," she says. "Well – thank you. For apologizing."

"You're welcome," Emma says, meeting Bradley's eyes again. "I never meant to hurt you. I just want what's best for Norman."

So do I, Bradley thinks, but I want what's best for me, too. "Inever meant to hurt Norman," Bradley replies. "I didn't realize that he would take it so seriously. That was my mistake."

Emma nods slowly. "Please," she says, "don't hurt him too much. He – he's not used to this sort of thing."

"I'll try," Bradley says, and now it's her turn to look away. Her gaze flits awkwardly across the bookshelf, but she can still feel Emma's Bambi-eyes on her.

"Thanks," Emma says quietly. She shifts, then, moving to put another book back on the shelf. Bradley looks back at her just in time to watch a thin book slip from her grasp.

Instinctively, Bradley bends over, mumbling, "Let me get that for you." But Emma's already on her way down, and they nearly bump heads. Bradley tilts her head up to avoid slamming her forehead into Emma's, and catches a whiff of sweet-smelling brown hair for her trouble, but Emma just acts as if the near-collision is perfectly normal.

Emma picks the book up, but doesn't straighten up just yet. For a moment, Bradley thinks Emma is looking at her shoes, but then realizes Emma's looking at the book that Bradley had left open on the floor. "Are you doing your Psych project on – …?"

Bradley feels her insides twist, just a little, but to her credit, she doesn't show it. "The grieving process," she says. "At least, that's what I'm thinking of doing." Bradley's not a masochist, but she'd rather go with the devil she knows than a devil she doesn't.

Emma stands up then. She's biting her lip again; Bradley can't figure out why she keeps noticing all these little things about Emma. "Because of your dad?"

It's a blunt question, but Emma's tone is careful, gentle. At least she isn't fake about it. "Yeah," Bradley says. "I figure I can put a personal spin on it and maybe get bumped up a letter grade."

Emma doesn't smile at that piss-poor attempt at a joke, and Bradley's kind of grateful for that. "I'm sorry about your dad," she says instead.

Bradley's never known what to say in response to that, and she's heard it plenty over the past several weeks. Thanks sounds like she's accepting some sort of macabre compliment, but yeah, me too is way too honest. She finally goes with, "Thank you." Emma doesn't have to offer her condolences, after all.

"You should try On Death and Dying by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross," Emma suggests. Her expression, her tone, her entire being is perfectly even, perfectly neutral when she says that. She might as well have said 'it's seventy degrees outside' or something equally mundane.

Bradley doesn't even have to wonder why Emma's read that book. Of course Emma's sick, but Bradley didn't know that Emma is dying. Part of her wants to know when and why, but how do you ask someone that?

"It's about the stages of grief," Emma elaborates. "Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance, that sort of thing."

Bradley wonders what stage of grieving she's in; ever since her father died, she feels like she's moving through a fog. She hurts and she cries, but everything's not quite real anymore. She wonders what stage Emma's in. Is it possible to accept your own death before it happens? To grieve for yourself and then move on when you haven't even died yet? Bradley doesn't know, but Emma probably does. Bradley suddenly finds herself rethinking the idea that Emma is fragile. Who could see their own death coming and not crack under the weight of it?

"Thanks," Bradley finally says. "I'll look for it. Maybe I can actually earn a good grade."

This time, Emma does offer a small smile. "Good luck."

Bradley could easily end the conversation there, but how fucking weird would that be? Sorry, you're dying, but I've got to go now. She's not sure why she cares, since it's not likely that she'll talk to Emma again. They run with different circles – the only thing between them is Norman, and that's just awkward. Bradley can't help but think that Norman's very, very lucky to have a friend like Emma; Bradley would kill to have a friend who didn't talk shit behind her back, who took risks to defend her honor, who was genuinely nice. Norman's a fool if he lets a girl like Emma slip away.

Bradley wants to ease the subject away from death; she can at least try to end this one-and-done conversation on a good note. "So, what are you doing your project on?" she asks.

Emma's smile goes slightly crooked. "Abandoned child syndrome," she answers. "I guess you could say I'm relying on personal experience for my project, too."

Bradley has the sudden impression that Emma Decody is a girl containing multitudes. Just like she does (did) with Norman, Bradley wonders what sort of hidden depths are within Emma. What sort of secrets lay beneath her surface? What does she hold close to her heart and what does she give away freely?

Bradley hesitates, then asks, "Your mom or your dad?"

Emma smiles weakly. Emma seems grateful that Bradley isn't afraid to ask questions that she thinks Emma might not be able to handle. But Emma hadn't shied away from discussing death with Bradley. Bradley knows what a relief it can be, to talk to someone who's so – real. "My mom," she says. "I guess she wasn't cut out for taking care of a kid with CF. But I've got my dad."

"CF?" Bradley says. "Oh – cystic fibrosis?"

Emma blinks, surprised. "Yes."

Bradley doesn't know much about the disease beyond the name and that it affects the lungs (that explains the oxygen tank, then.) "The Beta Club did a fundraiser last year for the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation."

Emma smiles slightly. "I remember. They gave part of the proceeds from the Winter Formal."

Last year's Winter Formal is a blur in Bradley's mind. She remembers leaving the dance early and getting positively shitfaced afterwards, and that's pretty much it. She wonders where Emma was; does Emma go to school functions? Can Emma dance while lugging that tank around? Those are questions Bradley would like to ask, but they feel strangely personal. Bradley can discuss death and disease with Emma – who, prior to Bradley's tryst with Norman, was barely a blip on the radar of Bradley's consciousness – but Bradley can't ask her if she likes to dance or if she'd rather stay at home and watch TV or something. Those little details will, for now, remain part of Emma's mystery.

"I think they should have given all of the proceeds," Emma continues. "I mean, it's not like the Beta Club can't afford to throw a dance in the gymnasium. But I suppose I'm a bit biased, huh?"

Bradley smiles slightly. "I think you're allowed to be a little bit biased."

Emma smiles back, and for a moment – the briefest of instances – they stand there, smiling at each other. This is fucking bizarre – Bradley shouldn't want to give Emma the time of day, especially not after what she did – but it's okay. Bradley can't find it in herself to be truly angry at Emma, or to turn away from her.

But Emma glances away first, lifting her free arm to look at her watch. "Damn," she says. "I've got to get going."

"Oh," Bradley says. "Yeah, me, too." She doesn't, not really; she has no plans and her mother doesn't care when she comes home. But she doesn't want to seem like she's just hanging around the library to get away from it all, or like she'd just started to get used to Emma's company. Especially since both of those things are true.

Emma nods and moves to the bookshelf again, sliding her remaining two books into their proper places. "Are you headed anywhere in particular?" she asks politely. "I can give you a ride, if you need one."

Bradley's surprised by that. First of all, how did Emma know that Bradley doesn't drive? Perhaps Bradley isn't the only one who notices things she probably shouldn't. Secondly, why would Emma offer to give Bradley a ride? Bradley's the one who slept with Norman, and Bradley's the one who'd hardly ever noticed Emma before this whole thing happened. Emma owes her nothing, and really, Emma shouldn't even like her at all.

But Bradley's already decided there's more to Emma than she knows. Than she'll ever know, probably.

"No, that's alright," Bradley says. She'd come to the library to be alone, after all, and Emma's already thwarted that plan for long enough. At least, that's what Bradley tells herself. "It's not worth being late to wherever you're going. Thank you, though."

Emma looks as if she wants to argue, but wherever she needs to be must call her more loudly. Bradley abruptly wants to know if Emma's going to hang out with Norman, and then she wonders why that thought ever crossed her mind in the first place. What Emma and Norman do is hardly any of her business. But Emma smiles then, a bit awkwardly, and says, "Well – alright. Goodbye, Bradley."

"See you later," Bradley says, even though she probably won't.

Emma nods, then turns and starts walking up the aisle. Her wheels are still squeaking, and Bradley finds herself smiling. Abruptly, though, Emma stops and turns, and Bradley tries to hide her expression.

"Oh, and Bradley?" Emma says. "Thanks. For being so – understanding, I mean."

"No problem," Bradley replies. Emma nods again, then turns away once more and disappears around the bookshelf. Bradley listens to the tank's wheels squeaking until she can't hear the sound anymore, and she can only assume that Emma's gone.

The library feels as quiet as a tomb after Emma leaves, and Bradley takes a moment to muse on the irony of that thought after what she and Emma had just discussed. Then she bends over and picks up her things, as well as the book she'd left on the floor, figuring she might as well check it out. She hesitates a minute before turning back to the bookshelf. It only takes her a moment to find On Death and Dying, and she takes the book from the shelf before she has time to change her mind. At the very least it might offer some insight, and a recommendation about grief from a dying girl isn't the kind of thing you pass up.

After finding the book, she goes to the front desk to check out her copies. Bradley doesn't much feel like hanging out at the library anymore. It's too quiet now, too empty, and she's got to get home and start on her Psych project. She begins her walk home alone, and although she came to the library to get away from everyone, Bradley finds herself thinking that maybe – just maybe – she should have taken that ride from Emma.