[ It's easier than it really should be, wrapping her arms around Emily's middle and tugging her just a little closer. Andy's always been a sentimental creature — she was made for holding someone else, for fitting another person's body against her own. She folds Emily in to her chest, her heart steady and strong underneath her ribs, beating in the same rhythm that it has for thousands of years. Maybe there's something reassuring about that. She's solid and warm. The tide of her breath is just barely tangible against the nape of Emily's neck, her nose nudging gently at the fine baby hairs there.
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Finally, low and quiet: ]
It'll be alright. I've got you.