The weight of Emmett's mouth and breath in her hair was always comforting. Cait was working hard to hold it together, to be the strong and capable professional she had trained to become. That had been the other reason to resist Emmett's arm at first, because being soft meant being weak. But there she was, in his arms and holding on more tightly than she normally did because at least part of her needed it. She pressed the bridge of her nose against his shoulder and closed her eyes, taking the moment to breathe in his scent and let go of as much of the stress and guilt and responsibility as she could.
Everyone was fine for the moment. No one had died. They were going to be rescued. Cait repeated those things to herself in her head like a mantra; the more she said them to herself, the more likely it seemed they'd come true. When she finally felt a little steadier, her grip around him became more about the contact than the cling, but she didn't let him go. It was, perhaps, the longest Cait had ever held onto him in semi-public. "When do you think they'll come?" It wasn't the kind of question she could ask anyone else, but Emmett was different. He always had been.