Forget how to Fly
A/N: If you haven't read Beneath this Sky, THIS STORY WILL MAKE NO SENSE. None at all. It contains spoilers up through Chapter 16: Fly Away Home.
Huge thanks to thimbles for pre-reading this for me, and to you, for reading. :)
Jessica always sang in the shower. Garrett's presence made no difference. Sitting on the bath chair in her swimsuit, she belted out show tunes and oldies while he rinsed the shampoo from her curls.
"I like hearing my voice echo off of the tiles," she said when he asked her about it.
He couldn't imagine why. Perhaps her voice sounded better to humans. That, or something was seriously wrong with her ears.
It was while she killed Elvis all over again that he first thought about changing her. That harpy voice of hers that couldn't help falling in love made him smile—made him want to freeze the clocks and banish her future.
"If we don't find a cure," he said, watching the suds circle the drain, "I can fix you."
Jessica hesitated, the last note of her aborted song hanging between them. "I'm not sure I'd consider what you can do to be fixing," she said.
It was his turn to pause. Shutting the water off, Garrett wrapped a towel around her. With a hand on the small of her back, he ushered her to bed. Too many thoughts, even for a vampire, begged for attention as he faced the fake wood paneling and let her change into a baggy nightshirt. She answered his questions without prompting, crawling between the threadbare sheets.
"I don't wanna live forever." She snorted out a laugh. "Great, now I have a bastardized version of 'Fame' stuck in my head."
Garrett couldn't join in with her amusement. Not bothering to force a smile, he tugged the covers tighter around her and lay at her side. "Would your answer be different if we were living in a world without time travel and Raiders? If you were dying of cancer?"
She smiled as if he was the young one, green and new to the world. "No. I've given it quite a lot of thought, actually. I'm pretty sure it's Bella's backup plan. Even if this world was made of chocolate and orgasms, it wouldn't change my mind. I don't want to kill anyone."
"You might not have to. Rose has never had a drop of human blood, and Carlisle has only bitten humans to change them."
"Really?" Her eyebrows drew together, bringing out one of the only wrinkles she might ever have. "The way Jake and Seth tell it, they make it sound like you're all uncontrollable, heartless murderers during the first few years."
Staring at his hands, Garrett shrugged. It wasn't so long ago that he fit that description. His conscience took its time in finding him.
"Well, yes, I suppose we are," he said. "Rosalie and Carlisle are special cases."
"Because they're stubborn and in control of themselves?" Poking his chest, Jessica smirked. "Yeah, the stubborn thing won't be an issue, but self control? Have you seen what I can do to half a dozen of Edward's cupcakes? Imagine what I'd be like with a bunch of tasty humans tempting me all the time." With a sigh, she wriggled closer to him and positioned herself in a way that he suspected was designed to show off her cleavage. Underneath the antiseptic sting of ointment and the sickly artificial floral scent of her soap, she still smelled as sweet as she had when she first came to Pendleton—like cinnamon and roses. Like Jessica. "I don't want to become someone else—to forget everyone I loved. That happens, right? Seth said you all become different people when you change. My parents, most of my friends… my memories of them are all I have left."
But our memories of you are all we'll have left, he thought, but didn't say.
Something rose up in Garrett's chest and slapped a frown onto his face— something thick and unpalatable, like one of Jasper's false emotions. "Why do I suspect the wolves have poisoned your mind with their ideas about vampires?" he asked.
"Oh, relax. Seth just answered my questions as well as he could, that's all." The roll of Jessica's eyes brought her back to her own age for a breath. Then that knowing smile returned, making him feel younger than he had in centuries. "And this world is a cruel one. You weren't wrong about that. I've seen way too much evidence to doubt it. I'd rather make due with one lifetime."
"But you haven't had one yet." Aged springs creaked under his weight as he took her hand and held it as tightly as he dared. "You've only just started."
With her free arm, Jessica gave his shoulder a shove. "Stop talking about me like I'm already dead. I might have decades left; you don't know. Carlisle seems pretty smart. Maybe he'll cure me."
Garrett said nothing.
"Let me tell Bella, okay?" she whispered. "It should come from me."
He shook his head, but the words that slipped out were, "All right."
They drifted into silence, quiet settling in long enough to see the cloud cover overhead break apart. Jessica's fingers traced his nose, his forehead, the eternal stubble on his jaw, as if his candor had inspired her to give in to the temptation to learn him by touch.
"You don't have to kill me now that it's out in the open, do you?" she asked, her voice drowsy and slurred. "I mean, because of your vampy kings or whatever?"
The word "kings" scraped at the biggest part of his human life he'd carried over into eternity. Garrett pressed his lips together. "I don't bow to any king. Never have, never will."
"Aww, look at you, all angry." Sunlight slipped through the curtains, conspiring with her laugh to warm the air. Her eyes shot open as she sat up, damp curls bouncing. "Oh, my God. Wait. WAIT. Were you alive during the Revolutionary War? Are you that old?"
The hint of a grin stole across Garrett's face. "I'm afraid so."
"Talk about robbing the grave. Okay. Hmm. How old were you when you were changed?"
"I'm not certain. Nineteen, maybe twenty?"
"Well, that's an improvement."
"I'm so glad you think so."
If Jessica had a reply, it was lost. Snuggling back into her pillow, she fell asleep with her fingers wrapped around his wrist, feeling the absence of his heartbeat.
.
.
"I don't want him to see me."
The words that played on repeat in Garrett's mind came with a visual of Jessica writhing in pain. Had she been trying to spare him from watching her fade away, or had she really not wanted him there? In the aftermath of the worst storm he'd seen in years, he picked up the scattered pieces of the trailer park and tried to think about anything else.
Throw some siding into the dumpster; remember the time you spent in France last century. Pick up a few fallen branches; think about that foggy image of your human sister's face. Keep going. Keep going.
"They're all awake," Rosalie whispered from across the parched lawn.
Following the others into the musty trailer, Garrett stayed near the door and waited for Jessica to approach him. When she did, her gaze and her fingers went to the zipper of his jacket.
"Sorry I kicked you out," she said.
The dandelion coffee on the stove top bubbled. Garrett's fingers traced the curve of Jessica's cheeks and tilted her face up. He could change her mind, make her want what he'd offered. He had to. Bending at the waist, he touched his mouth to hers.
Her lips were softer than he'd expected. Tiny cracks in the delicate skin gave him a sneak preview of the honey-sweet taste of her blood. Overwhelmed by her scent, he had to hold his breath and limit his kisses to tiny pecks, tasting only a little at a time.
"That's new," Bella said somewhere beyond the thud of Jessica's pulse in his ears. "Isn't it?"
A spoon clanged against a pan again and again, adding a drumbeat to Rosalie's reply of, "I'm not sure."
As Garrett released Jessica, she beamed up at him in a way that made something tug in his chest—something that flirted back and forth across the border between delight and discomfort.
"Okay," she said, her eyes bright. "You convinced me. I won't kick you out next time."
.
.
"Are you going to change her?"
Without glancing up at the source of the question, Garrett heaved a car door into the overflowing dumpster. A cold mug of Bella's dandelion coffee sat at his feet, for show. For a second, he contemplated choking down a sip, just to postpone answering Rosalie.
"No," he said. "Not unless she asks me, and she says she doesn't want that."
He didn't have to look at Rosalie to know her shoulders sagged and her lips turned down at this news. The scratch of hard skin rubbing together let him know she'd resorted to her old habit of touching the knuckle of her missing pinkie.
"If she does agree, it might be completely different," she said. "She might be different, after. Her feelings about you could change, too."
Garrett let the crash of broken glass falling into the dumpster speak for him. If he opened his mouth, he knew he would say, "She's not you." He would regret that, even if Rosalie was talking like he wasn't centuries older than her. With Rosalie, there were some topics even her friends couldn't touch. Seldom-spoken things, surrounded by barbed wire—everything that made her Rose.
Bella's beast of a truck rattled up the gravel street. When the door opened, Garrett caught a whiff of tears and the trash heap stench of werewolf.
"And while we're on the subject," Rosalie said, "what was that, earlier? Are you trying to break your own heart?"
"No," Garrett said. "Are you?"
Wrong question. Garrett wanted to shove it back down his throat the second he let it out.
"That was me trying to change her mind," he said, mostly for Bella's benefit.
Bella didn't take the bait. Marching past him, over the storm-brown grass and debris, she retreated to her kitchen to start feeding people, like always. She would ask what he meant, though. He knew her well enough to know that. And when she did, he would give her the only hint he could, while keeping his promise to Jessica.
"If you're going to ask one of us, I'm not your guy."
.
.
"Maybe it's for the best that Jessica wants to stay human," Mary said, twirling a wrench between her fingers. "After all, look at the last girl you changed. What a head-case."
Garrett forced out a laugh, for her sake. "I'll say. She abandoned me to chase a psychotic redhead halfway across the country."
"Mm. In her defense, she thought it was true love."
"Doesn't she always?"
"No. Most of the time she just likes to collect pretty things."
Together, they sat on the scaffolding while the lab hummed around them. Garrett liked being up this high; even underground, it made him feel like he could see anything coming. And he liked sitting with Mary. They'd known each other long enough to be comfortable with silence. She let him reach his next words in his own time.
"I don't want to pressure her."
"By which, you mean you definitely want to pressure her, but you don't want to sound like an overbearing ass by admitting it."
Laughing, he dangled his legs over the edge of the platform. "Perhaps. I hardly know." That lovely-hateful tug started up again, growing stronger the more he focused his thoughts on Jessica. Leaning through the railing, he watched Rosalie tapping at her keyboard. "It's a decision she should be allowed to make for herself. I won't do it against her will."
Like a game of telephone, drops of Rosalie's emotions trickled down the back of Garrett's neck, courtesy of Jasper. If she'd been angry at him before, he was forgiven.
Mary greeted his statement with a half-embrace and a kiss pressed to his cheek. "If she is changed, she might like this life. I do. I was always grateful."
"I know."
The pungent, muddy stench of a wolf's blood floated up from Carlisle's work station. It curled around the two vampires, threatening to follow them always. Mary gagged. Closing his eyes, Garrett reminded himself that the foul stuff could very well save his dear, stubborn friend. It helped. A little.
"You never told me, you know," Mary said.
"What did I never tell you?"
"Why you changed me."
"Ah. I was curious. I wanted to see if I could."
A laugh chased the remnants of her disgust away. "Why doesn't that surprise me?"
A vision of her as a human tap danced through his mind: short skirt, bobbed hair, moonshine-fueled laughter. He had wondered if she would hold onto all of that energy when she transformed—if he could capture her sunshine in a bottle and create an eternal friend.
"Do you want my advice?" she asked.
"You'll give it whether I say yes or no."
"Well, true." Crossing her legs, she turned to him as if she was the teacher and he the student. "It's going to be difficult for her as well. Just be there for her. If they're her last days, make them some of her best ones."
Garrett smiled at his eternal friend. "And here I thought you were going to offer to have an 'accident' and change her for me."
"Oh, that goes without saying. You just say the word."
.
.
It was too cold—not to mention too cloudy—for sunbathing, but Jessica didn't care. To please her, Garrett spread a blanket on the brown grass beneath the shriveled trees and lay back with her, looking up at the overcast sky like it was summer. These days, as Mary had suggested, were for her.
"So, you aren't going to tell me?" she asked.
"Tell you what?"
"You know what. How many people?"
Garrett pursed his lips. He knew the number—could call it up without thinking. But would it change her opinion of him?
"Five thousand, six hundred, seventy-six," he said. His eyes stayed focused on the white-gray canopy overhead.
Blinking, Jessica propped herself up on her elbows. "That's more than the population of Forks. Jesus. My hometown is, like, the size of an appetizer to you or something."
"It is not. That was up until the year 2000. It would've taken me decades to get through Forks. That's hardly an appetizer."
"Hmm."
Behind him, her fingers raked through the dry grass. After a bit of rustling, she placed a homemade flower with five braided grass petals in the chest pocket of his jacket.
"What's this?" he asked.
"My sorry excuse for a flower." Swinging a leg over his hips, she tested his control by sitting on his lap. "You know I was just curious, right? I wasn't judging you. Okay, maybe there was a little judgment, because damn."
She leaned down, hands braced on his shoulders. The closer she got, the more intense the tug between them became. It rose and fell with each breath she exhaled and he inhaled: a delicious kind of torture.
"But I don't think less of you," she whispered. "Does that make me a bad person? My boyfriend says, 'Hey, I totally murdered almost six thousand people,' and my response is, 'That's cool. I still think you're hot.' Maybe I am cut out to be a vampire."
Garrett raised his eyebrows. "Boyfriend?"
Her cheeks turned pink, bright against the pale sky. He imagined he could feel an echo of their warmth on his own face.
"Oh, shut up," she said, staring at the grass flower and refusing to meet his eyes. "You know you are."
The tug kept growing stronger. The world outside their blanket was sliding into autumn, stripped of life by the storm, but wherever she was, that pull in his chest made it feel like the slow awakening of spring.
"Yeah," he said. "I suppose I am."
.
.
He brought her a new flower every day, never making them himself, but going as far as necessary while she slept to find something green and blooming. She kept them in a vase by her bed and pressed their wilting petals between the pages of her favorite books. And each flower was received with a dozen more kisses than the day before.
Kissing Jessica left him feeling out of breath for the first time since his change. That wonderful, dreadful feeling in his chest stole the air from his lungs with each press of her lips against his.
On her birthday, she wore the flower in her hair all day. The skirt of her new green dress swished as she shuffled toward him, switching their natural roles of predator and prey.
Standing on her tiptoes, she kissed his cheek and said, "So, I'm eighteen now."
"I noticed."
"Um," she said, burying her face in his shirt and whispering to his chest. "Sleep with me?" The flower in her hair brushed against his chin. "Damn. That sounded so much smoother in my head."
Garrett chuckled. "You know I can't sleep."
"Oh, my God." The slap she delivered to his shoulder had to sting her hand. "Stop it. You know exactly what I mean."
"Do I? I'm pretty old." One of his fingers curled beneath her chin to tilt her face up so he could kiss her scowling mouth. "Slang changes over the years."
"You are such a jerk sometimes. Put your penis in my vagina. Thrust. Repeat. Is that clear enough for you? Maybe kiss me a bit more first, though, because reminding me of how ancient you are has probably dried things out in a major way."
He did. Settling his hands on her waist, he let go and kissed her as he never had before. No more hesitant pecks; he abandoned caution and breathed her in. The tug melted into an ache: sharper than thirst, deeper than need.
This would change her mind. He knew it would.
"Better?" he asked, barely willing to keep his lips off of hers long enough for her to answer. He'd hoped to sound smug, but he didn't think he quite managed it.
"Shh," she said. "Quit talking before you ruin it again."
In between laughs and kisses, they stumbled into the first available room and fell onto a bed that he realized, too late, smelled like Bella. Tasting the skin of Jessica's neck, he told himself he would change the sheets later. Jessica didn't seem to care about their location. A pretty blush spread outward from her cheeks, snaking down to her chest. Garrett wanted to follow it as it vanished below her neckline.
Tugging her dress over her head, he dusted kisses across her shoulders and tried not to see the marks that dotted her breasts.
"I don't want to hurt you," he said.
With a sigh that sounded halfway to a sob, she placed a hand over his heart. "Likewise."
Then don't, he thought. Stay with me.
She giggled when his clothes joined hers on the shabby carpet. Not because there was anything funny, she was quick to assure him, but because she'd never seen a naked man outside of textbooks in health class. Warm fingers explored his body, each touch testing his control.
Settling onto his back, he urged her to get on top. She felt so fragile. He didn't dare move, for fear he would shatter her. Staring up at a tea colored watermark on the ceiling, he tried to think gentle thoughts. Another giggle bubbled up as heat surrounded him.
"It doesn't hurt," she said, tilting her head down and trying to look between them. "Not really. I always heard that it did. Do you think they say that to scare girls off of sex?" An experimental shift of her hips made her eyes flutter shut. "It's just… different."
She moved again, and the watermark vanished as his eyes slammed shut. Garrett fought to keep his brain occupied by reciting the Presidents backward and forward. He translated the national anthem into Latin, listed every city he'd ever visited—anything to draw him away from the urge to mindlessly take and bite and claim. And then Jessica moaned his name, and he lost himself. Teeth dug into his lower lip, filling his mouth with the burn of venom. Hands fisted in his hair. As he floated back to coherence, softer fingers stroked his chest.
Garrett opened his eyes. Jessica was fine—still in one piece. Sunlight turned her messy hair into a glowing halo. Nothing was ruined, and she smiled at him like everything might just be perfect. The tug had become something constant: a rope, anchoring him to her.
"When," she said in between panting breaths, "can we… do that… again?"
He grinned.
.
.
With wide eyes, Jessica sat up in bed. Bony fingers caught a laugh as it escaped her lips. Cocking her head to one side, she listened for what Garrett had been enduring for quite some time.
"Is Edward in there with her?" she asked.
"Yes," Garrett said.
"Are they…?"
"Err, yes. Have been for a while now."
"Huh. Go Bella." Hauling herself into his lap as the noises from the next room faded, she laced her fingers together with his. "I'm sorry you have to listen to my friend getting laid."
One corner of his mouth turned up. "I'll survive."
Whatever retort Jessica had prepared was lost in a torrent of coughing, blood, and waking nightmares. Diving across the room and clinging to the thin wall, Garrett held his breath and tried to forget what he was.
There was too much blood. It was everywhere, creating a new tug that Garrett refused to obey. Jessica's cries brought Bella and Edward running. With shallow breaths, Garrett asked for Carlisle.
"I'm sorry," Jessica said, fresh, red temptation pouring from her mouth with each word. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry."
"Hey," Garrett whispered, not daring to move closer. "Shh. None of that. What do you need?"
"Stay." A sob caught in her throat. "With me."
His own venom felt like fire as he swallowed hard. "Always."
"I'm so sorry."
"Shh. Stop it."
It wasn't until Carlisle arrived and the mess was mopped up that Garrett trusted himself to really breathe again. Bleach couldn't kill the scent of the blood Jessica had coughed up, nor could the rhythm of her heart against his chest heal the cut of the words, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry." Still, he'd promised her he would stay, so he lay on her bed, kissed her forehead, and waited for sleep to find her.
"Tell me the truth," she said. "How close were you to having me for dinner, just then?"
"Too close."
"See? And you… care about me. If I'd been a stranger, could you have held back?"
"Yes," he said, though he wasn't at all certain. For so many years, he'd gone without denying himself. His memory didn't grant him any favors; it provided perfect flashes of human blood sliding down his throat, quenching his thirst like nothing else could.
Jessica wiggled her toes, making the sheets rustle. "If you hear them about to start Round Two in there, could you cover my ears?" she asked. "I've had about all the excitement I can take for one night."
Garrett frowned. "You don't have to do that."
"Do what?"
"Try to make me laugh so I forget you're in pain. You don't have to pretend with me."
"What about when I pretend to have an orgasm? Is that okay?"
"Jessica—"
"Sorry. Sorry." Her tongue peeked out to wet her lips. "I never pretended to do that, anyway."
In spite of himself, Garrett felt a smile fight to break free. "I know."
Closing her eyes, Jessica shuddered. "It does hurt."
He shivered with her, tugged along by the invisible rope that bound them. "I know."
.
.
A box full of memories from the bar smiled up at Garrett: their first dollar, the photo of him and Emmett on opening day, the bowling pin they'd saved from the building's former life. This place had been good to them. He would be sorry to leave its mismatched floors, peeling paint, and even the alcove near the entrance that still smelled like it was haunted by old bowling shoes. Judging by the conversation he could hear between Bella and Tom out in the alley, their upcoming move was completely necessary.
Two smacks echoed through the snow-hushed space outside. Garrett was out of his office and marching through the main room of the bar almost before he could remind himself to keep it slow around humans. It was the second smack—the one he was sure had been delivered by Tom—that made a growl tear through him. An answering growl came from Emmett, too quiet for the humans to hear, but Jasper beat both of them to the back door.
Even with Jasper's restraining cocktail of reluctance and boredom pouring through him, Garrett wanted to break Tom. He expected Jasper to do as much, once Bella had gone on her way, but Jasper simply sent Tom home and reentered the bar.
It took more control than Garrett realized Jasper possessed, given the blood that was present in the alley. Thirst radiated from Jasper, soaking into Garrett's skin and sparking the fire of his appetite. Garrett waited. Let Tom think he'd gotten away with turning Bella's mother in. Garrett knew where he lived.
Like always, Edward showed up for the end of Bella's shift. When Garrett went to tell him she'd gone home, Jasper stopped him.
"Seems like Tom told the Feds about Renee," Jasper said in a voice just loud enough for Edward to overhear.
Garrett hit his friend with a deliberate burst of confusion and irritation. "Oh?"
"Yeah. He said some other things, too, about certain friends. Things he shouldn't know. I sent him away, but not before Bella slapped him. And not before Tom hit her back. Hard."
That was all Edward needed to hear. Putting a few dollars on the bar to cover the cost of the mead he hadn't even sipped, he shrugged into his jacket and marched back out into the snow.
"I thought about handling it myself," Jasper said with a smirk, "but I knew what I'd prefer if I was in his shoes."
A rumbling laugh came from behind the bar. "Okay," Emmett said, "you're officially forgiven for that time you almost had Bella for dinner."
"But if Edward gets arrested," Garrett said, anger and thirst still clawing at the back of his throat, "you are paying to bail him out."
"I'll follow them," Emmett said. "You two watch the bar."
"Are you certain you'll be okay?" Jasper asked. "Edward felt… very strongly. Blood might be spilled."
"Yeah, sure. I need to practice my control."
.
.
Through the haze of secondhand blood lust he'd caught from Jasper, Garrett paced up and down the trailer. Jessica sat on the couch, peppering his rant about Tom with cries of, "That asshole!" and, "Can you get me a gun? I'm gonna kill the bastard. Or, hey, you close your eyes and start biting the air. If I happen to lead any jerks into your path, then it's not your fault if you drain them."
"I should hunt," Garrett said once he'd satisfied Jessica's blood lust by telling her about Jasper sending Edward after Tom. Opening his eyes wide to let their darkness back up his claim, he added, "It's not quite safe for me to get too close to you right now."
"Oh," she said, "Okay. But before you go, I've been thinking. All day. About my options. I was kind of waiting for you to get here, so we could discuss it."
The tide of thirst receded. "And?"
"I might be reconsidering. I still don't want to hurt anyone, but I thought I'd have more time. I thought… I really fucking thought that Carlisle would come up with a cure." Voice quivering, she wrapped her arms around herself. "I'm starting to get really scared."
He didn't tell her it would be okay. She didn't pretend with him, so he wouldn't pretend with her. Instead, he held her close, breathed in her scent, and suppressed his burning thirst.
"I think about Bella, and… God. I know I shouldn't do it for her, but sometimes she looks at me like I'm the only hope she has left, you know?"
"I know."
Blood pulsed too close to his lips. Three minutes and forty-two throat-scorching seconds crawled by before Jessica released him.
"All right," she said. "You should probably go hunt, huh?"
"That would be wise, yes. I'm sorry. I'd much rather stay with you."
"I know."
He turned to leave, but her voice called him back just as he opened the door to the safety of fresh, crisp air.
"Garrett?"
"Yeah?"
His favorite smile found its way onto her lips. "I love you. So damn much. Enough to give up my marem, even. And when I conquer the world and become High Queen of Everything, I'll give you half."
His mouth dropped open. As his lips stretched into a grin, he said, "Yeah, you're all right, too."
She groan-laughed. "Jerk."
Holding her close, he kissed her like she was the only thing he craved—like he would never need another drop of blood. Maybe he wouldn't.
"I love you," he said.
With a giggle, she wrapped her weak arms around him and squeezed. "I guess I can keep you around, then."
"You'd better." One last kiss, and he placed a foot on the rickety wooden steps. "See you soon?"
Jessica waved. "I'll be waiting."