Page 8 of Echos and Empires (After #3)

It was a practical question, one that needed discussing as their community continued to find its footing in this new world.

Emma had spent the worst years of her life growing things in harsh soil and then a basement, but here the farmers weren’t looking for an extra hand.

She’d been given the freedom to pick a new course, something women in the safe haven couldn’t do and women in the dangerous outside world absolutely could not do—they couldn’t do anything.

Emma took a sip of her tea, her brow furrowed in thought. “Actually,” she said slowly, “I was thinking I might like to try teaching.”

Bash blinked, surprised. Teaching? He tried to reconcile this with the image he had of Emma - practical, hands-on, always ready to tackle the next physical challenge. He’d never pictured her in a classroom.

“Teaching,” he repeated, trying to keep the surprise out of his voice. “Like, in the school?” He winced as he realized how stupid he sounded.

Emma nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

“I know it might seem a little out of left field,” she said, as if reading his thoughts.

“But I’ve always loved learning, and the idea of helping others discover that passion.

..” She trailed off, her eyes taking on a distant, dreamy quality.

“I just think it could be really fulfilling. Once upon a time I was in school for library sciences, it’s not too far fetched. ”

Bash considered this, turning the idea over in his mind.

It was true that they needed teachers, needed to ensure that the next generation was equipped with the knowledge and skills to survive in this harsh new reality.

And he had no doubt that Emma would excel at anything she put her mind to.

But still, a part of him wondered if it was the most practical use of her talents.

She didn’t strike him as someone with the most patience, not based on their training sessions.

“It’s a noble pursuit,” he said carefully, not wanting to dampen her enthusiasm. “But are you sure it’s what you want? I mean, you’ve got so many other skills that are in high demand. It doesn’t have to be farming, either.”

Emma’s smile turned a little rueful. “I know,” she said.

“And I’m not saying I wouldn’t still help out with those things when needed.

But Bash, we’re building a future here. A real future.

And that means more than just survival. It means giving people the tools to thrive, to create, to dream. I want to be a part of that.”

A fire flickered in her hazel ones, one that was different than the blaze after she shot Marcus, more intense than after the attack on the ship.

It was lit with an almost hopeful undertone.

It stirred something in him, a sense of possibility that had been dormant for so long.

Maybe they were finally safe. Maybe it was right to pick a future that was different than their past.

“I like it,” he said, reaching across the table to take her hand. “If it’s what you want, then I think it’s a great idea. You’ll be an amazing teacher, Em.”

Emma’s smile widened, her fingers tightening around his. For a moment, everything else faded away—the hardships, the uncertainties, the ever-present threats. In that moment, there were only the two of them, dreaming of a future that might one day be possible.

A sharp intake of breath from Emma shattered the calm. Bash looked up to see her face pale again, her free hand pressed against her stomach.

“Em?” he said, alarm spiking through him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Emma said quickly, but her voice was strained. “I just... I think I need to—” She stood abruptly, swaying slightly on her feet.

Bash was by her side in an instant, his arm around her waist to steady her. “Emma?”

“I’m fine,” Emma insisted, but she was leaning heavily against him, her head nearly on his arm. “Just got a little dizzy. The humidity must make a normal stomach flu worse. I’m just going to go lie down for a bit,” she said, not meeting his eyes. “I’m sure it’ll pass.”

“Em, maybe we should get Alex to take a look at you,” Bash suggested, trying to keep the worry out of his voice. “Just to be safe. You went from eating something funny to the stomach flu awful fast.”

Emma shook her head vehemently. “No, don’t bother him. I’m sure he has more important things to deal with. I just need some rest. People do get sick, you know.”

And with that, she was gone, disappearing down the hallway toward her bedroom again without the mug before Bash could argue further. He stood there for a long moment, staring after her, a cold sense of dread settling in his stomach.

This wasn’t like Emma. She was tough, rarely complained about any physical discomfort. Bash’s mind began to spin with possibilities, each more dire than the last.

What if it was something she’d picked up outside on one of the silly walks she took with William?

Some new strain of a toxin she was exposed to looking through old buildings with Liam?

Or an infection from a cut she’d hidden from him?

What if the years of malnutrition had finally caught up to her, weakening her immune system? What if...

Bash shook his head, trying to dislodge the spiral of catastrophic thoughts.

He was getting ahead of himself. It could still be nothing, just a particularly nasty virus.

They’d all had their share of those over the years.

Not to mention he had no business access his damn brothers of things that could get her sick.

But even as he tried to reassure himself, Bash couldn’t shake the sense of foreboding that had taken root in his chest. In a world where death lurked around every corner, where the slightest misstep could mean the end, any sign of weakness was cause for alarm.

He thought of Emma lying in their bed, alone and suffering. Every instinct in him screamed to go to her, to wrap her in his arms and will whatever this was away through sheer force of love. But he knew she wouldn’t welcome that, not now. She needed her space, needed to feel in control.

So, Bash did the only thing he could do.

He returned to his tasks, chopping the vegetables with perhaps a bit more force than necessary, stirring the stew with a bit less care.

He kept an ear cocked towards the bedroom, listening for any sound of distress.

And he prayed, to whatever gods might still be listening in this godforsaken world, that this would pass.

That Emma would emerge whole and healthy, ready to take on whatever challenges lay ahead.

But even as he prayed, Bash couldn’t ignore the icy fingers of fear that gripped his heart.

In a world where every day was a fight for survival, the thought of losing Emma was too horrific to contemplate.

She was his rock, his reason for pushing on in the face of unimaginable hardship. Without her...

Bash shook his head again, banishing the thought before it could fully form. Emma was strong. She would beat this, whatever it was. She had to.

The alternative was simply unthinkable.

Emma sank down onto the bed, her limbs heavy with exhaustion. The nausea remained, rolling in her gut, but it was overshadowed now by the whirling thoughts in her head.

Teaching. Where had that come from?

She stared up at the ceiling, tracing the familiar cracks in the plaster as she turned the conversation with Bash over in her mind. She’d surprised herself, blurting out that desire. It wasn’t something she’d ever articulated before, not even to herself, but it made sense.

In the years since the bombs, survival had been her only goal.

Find food, keep the animals safe, protect her shelter, stay alive.

Dreams were a luxury she hadn’t been able afford.

And yet, somewhere deep inside, buried under the layers of grime and grief and grit, that old spark had remained.

The spark that had led a younger Emma to stand up in front of her kindergarten class, proudly declaring that when she grew up, she wanted to be “a librarian so she could help people learn.” It made sense that teaching was the next step in that journey, even if she’d never thought about it.

A small, wistful smile tugged at Emma’s lips at the memory.

God, she’d been so na?ve then. So full of innocent enthusiasm.

Every day from the day she was born for twenty-one years she’d lived in her little bubble.

She’d devoured books, excelled in school, thrilled at the idea of one day inspiring that same love of learning in others.

Her unfinished degree was epically useless now, but she could help others learn still and didn’t technically need a degree for that. Not anymore.

But then the world had ended, and with it, all those childish dreams. What good was a teacher in a world where each day was a fight for survival? Where the only lessons that mattered were how to scavenge, how to defend yourself, how to endure?

And yet, here in such a stable community, where the day to day resembled life and not just living, the old spark reignited without her realization.

They weren’t just surviving anymore. They were living.

And that meant more than just food and shelter.

It meant art, culture, and knowledge. It meant giving the next generation a foundation to build upon.

Could she be a part of that?

Emma chewed on her lower lip, uncertainty warring with a tentative sense of excitement in her chest. It would be a challenge, no doubt.

She had no formal training, no experience beyond her own school days.

And there were so many other pressing needs—food production, construction, defense.

Was it selfish to want to pursue this passion, when there was still so much practical work to be done?