Son of a Gun - Chapter 1

This story came to me at 1 in the morning having finished watching "The Lucky One" and, despite the 9am class I had the next day, I decided I couldn't chance forgetting the conversation I'd concocted between my versions of Edward and Rosalie. So, I sat down at my computer and wrote what is now known as Son of a Gun. Hope you like it!

Disclaimer 1: I do not own the characters in this story; Stephanie Meyer does, lucky duck
Disclaimer 2: I know very little of the workings of the US armed forces, only what Wikipedia and my imagination tell me
Disclaimer 3: I drank 3 cups of herbal tea while writing this first chapter and I wouldn't advise that sort of silliness just before you want to sleep, because trust me that stuff has you pissing like a race horse.

He stood outside the auto-shop on High Street – seriously, the town was that small that the streets didn't need fancy names. There was one road in and one road out. The ridiculousness made him snort. He grew up in a city of around 180,000 people, this town was lucky to have 4,000. Forks, Washington. Where it did nothing but rain, apparently. He'd been here three days and not once had the downpour let up.

Yes, it had taken him three days of self-convincing to stand at the garage door of this auto-shop. He didn't even know if he wanted to be here, but decided it couldn't hurt to at least try.

At least, not as much as what you've already been through Edward, he thought to himself, somewhat despondently.

Taking a breath to calm himself and focussing on calming the near constant shaking of his right arm, he buzzed the bell outside and heard a clattering.

The sound didn't rattle him like he thought it would. A car back-firing seemed to make him jump, any loud noise really. But he was much better than he had been a year ago. It just took time.

He grimaced, knowing he sounded exactly like his therapist, Dr Gerandy. But he knew it was true. A year ago, he would have been in no position mentally – or physically – to be stood here. So that was a good sign, he supposed.

The wooden door by the garage slider flew open and he was met by a woman, blond, mid-thirties, stunning, and somewhat out of place in this dreary town. But most strangely, covered in grease and wearing pale blue overalls. He would imagine her on the cover of a magazine, not on the floor of a garage workshop.

"Hi, welcome to Rosie's. I'm Rose, funnily enough. Car trouble? Hell, let's talk inside, it's pouring out here! You're not a local, are ya? I don't recognise you. Or the Chevy. Sweet ride. 1985 right? She needs a paint job, for sure. You gotta look after an old girl like her or she won't run for you right."

Edward followed the blond woman through the workshop, which was filled with cars in varying states of repair, and into a cosy little office. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with car magazines, model cars and mechanics' guides. The small desk was piled high with ring-binders and an antiquated black phone. The leather desk chair was worn and had obviously seated a much heavier person than this Rose for a long time, judging by the imprint of a very large behind left on the seat.

"So," Rose caught his attention, her look expectant, "How can I help you…"

"Edward."

"Edward. Right, well, how can I help you Edward?"

"Um, well, Minnie's been playing up a bit. Would you mind taking a look at her? I'll be in town a few days, hopefully. Any chance you could fit me in?"

Edward looked at her, half of him hoping she'd see through his lie, the other half praying she didn't. Despite the little doubt swimming in her eyes, she nodded and grabbed a sheet of paper from the desk, knocking over a few of the folders. Edward rushed to pick them up and noticed a photo frame that had fallen too. Loading it and the folders into his good arm, he carefully placed the pile on the edge of the desk.

It was then that he caught a glimpse of the picture in the frame, and all the air left his chest.

Grinning at him was a face he hadn't seen, except in his nightmares, for two and a half years. That round face with giant dimples and a smile that could coax a grin from the most sullen of army brats. That face had been with him through some of the most horrific experiences Edward had ever dealt with.

The bombings.

The IEDs.

The fires.

Rose apologised, but Edward didn't hear it. He couldn't do anything, but stare.

"Um, Edward? Is everything alright?"

The question shook him from his stupor and he jerked his head up to look at Rose who regarded him with concern.

"Sorry, I'm fine. I just…I haven't…Rose, is that Emmett?"

She looked to the photograph, then back to him and he saw the recognition dawn across her soft features.

"Oh my good Lord! You're Edward? As in, Eddie? I don't believe it, I can't…it's really you!?"

Rosalie looked at him in disbelief, then ran to the office door.

"Emmett McCarty, get your big ass in here right this second! Emmett, NOW!"

A thundering, unintelligible series of grunts sounded back in response, getting louder as the grunter nearer the office. As he reached the office door, which his huge form blocked completely, he looked at his wife who looked like she'd seen a ghost.

"Jesus, Rosie, what's the matter? I gotta have this job done for Seth in an hour or he'll miss his flight out. And you know that can't happen. He'd shoot me-I mean, he'd deck me. Sorry, I didn't realise you had a visitor. What's the problem?"

Edward just watched the man who he didn't remember, but did – so vividly – looked with confusion from Rose's face to his.

"Em, I thought you said he was dead?"

"Who was dead, babe? I don't understand who…Oh my God…Eddie? Is that you?"

Edward didn't know what to do. He'd been working for a year to get to this point. A year of therapy, physical and psychological, a year of unbearable pain, all leading to this moment; this reunion. And now, having prepared for all that time, he still didn't know what to do. So he just nodded.

In a second he was scooped up into the beefy arms of his former partner, who just kept muttering "You're supposed to be dead, you bastard. I cried over you. You're supposed to be dead."

Edward just stood there and let himself be hugged. It wasn't like he could push him off, even if he had his full strength.

A memory hit him then; a good one, one filled with laughter and a group of guys wrestling, pushing each other around, kicking a football. There was no smoke, no fear, no death; just happiness and relief.

Emmett set the man he'd believed to be dead down and looked him in the eye.

"How the hell did you survive, you moron? And why the hell didn't you contact me? It's been two years, dude. I mean, seriously, two years!"

Edward looked away, not knowing how to answer at first. Rose walked to him and ushered him onto the small sofa and pushed Emmett into the office chair, standing behind him with a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Emmett, I am. It's just…God, how do I say this. Um, I couldn't…I couldn't remember."

"What d'ya mean? Couldn't remember me? What happened? Where you were?"

"None of it. I couldn't remember anything. I woke up in the hospital and thought I was still 25 years old. I didn't remember enrolling, being deployed, nothing. It took four days for me to remember who I was. Three weeks for them to convince me I had been in Iraq for 4 years. It took another month for me to remember being there. And I'd been in a medically induced coma for 14 weeks. So it took a long time for things to come back. They still are."

Edward paused, but didn't look up from the spot on the floor he was staring at. This was hard to put into words. He took a deep breath and continued.

"My family had me transported back as soon as it was safe. Once I was able to walk, they had me transferred home. That was just over a year ago. I started PT and had to go to a therapist. I started remembering things. Loud noises set me off. It was like I couldn't control my body. I still struggle to remember things sometimes. And my back seizes up like a bitch when I move around too long or carry something too heavy. My arm had a lot of nerve damage. It twitches. It's like it has a mind of its own.

"I only remembered your name seven months ago. I remembered your face from the beginning. But your name was always on the tip of my tongue, y'know? Like I knew it, but I couldn't say it. Once I remembered, I tried to track you down. But there are a lot of Emmetts in the US who served in the army. So it took a lot of phonecalls. My sister helped. Alice, I'm sure I told you about her. I don't remember really. But yeah, eventually we narrowed it down to the North West, so I've been on the road searching ever since. That was three weeks ago. And now, here I am."

He sighed, relieved to have got it all out without being interrupted – he remembered that Emmett had always enjoyed adding his input to a story – and braved a quick glance at his audience.

Rose was blinking away tears, her hand now clutching at Emmett's shoulder, whether to anchor herself or to restrain him Edward wasn't sure.

Emmett was…he was just staring. Like he couldn't trust what his eyes were seeing. Edward had to crack a smile at that. His friend had always been so sure of himself, it was part of the reason Edward had liked him so much on first meeting him. He was confident, self-assured. This man, though, in front of him was almost scared to believe what he saw.

Finally, after a pregnant pause that seemed to last hours, Emmett spoke.

"I thought you were dead, man. They told us you couldn't be found. They assumed…then we were all sent home. And we tried, I promise we did, but there's only so much searching in enemy territory you can do without risking your ass. And Rose woulda killed me if I'd gotten myself shot, even if it was looking for you. Man, I missed your scrawny ass Eddie!"

With his admission came another vice-like hug and this time Edward returned the gesture. Rose's sniffles in the background broke the pair apart and they turned to her.

"Damn boys making me all soft and shit. Seriously though, Edward, I don't think I've ever seen Emmett so upset. I'm glad you're here. I'm just gonna grab Minnie from the rain and park her in bay four. Gimme your keys and I'll leave you two to catch up, there's two years' worth of chat to be had!"

Edward passed her his keys and she left the two men to reconnect.

Three hours, a few quickly brushed away tears and many stories, both good and bad, later, Edward decided it was time to head back to the motel. His sister was bound to be panicking that something had happened and the fact that he'd left his mobile there didn't help matters.

Standing to leave, he smiled at his friend.

"Thank you Em, for talking to me. You've told me some things I couldn't find out from anyone else. I gotta ask though, before I go, who was the boy that was always with us? I can't remember his name. You knew him, right? He was a kid from these parts. I never could remember his name either. It's like my mind was hiding the most important parts of my story from me. It always bugged the shit outta me."

Emmett's facial expression turned dark then, pain passing across his features.

"Ed, man, you really don't remember? That was Jake. He, uh, he was with you, when they grabbed you. You helped him escape, remember?"

A memory hit Edward then, like a train.

Smoke filled his lungs and the ringing in his ears was constant. He looked around him and saw Jake on the ground, his body lying on the ground, contorted. Despite his hazy vision, Edward scrambled to him, his right arm not moving, just laying limp by his side. He got to the kid and shook him, hard.

"Jake, wake your ass up! You better not leave me, boy, not after all we've been through. Come on, kid, open your eyes for me, please!"

There was a faint gurgle from the boy's mouth, like he was trying to speak, but there was too much blood. The shrapnel sticking out from his neck proved to be too deep. Edward watched the life drain from the boy's body, faster than the blood stained his uniform.

Pulling him close, Edward yelled something unintelligible, letting his anger and sorrow leave him in a painful roar. He was just a boy. 20 years old. Hadn't even had a proper girlfriend. Why him?

Looking around, he saw the car they had managed to commandeer on its side, engulfed in flames. Their driver was nowhere in sight. Edward knew they weren't far from base, twenty miles, maybe slightly more.

Pulling himself up, he tried to carry his friend on his shoulder. It was agony, but he refused to leave him there. Jacob deserved better than that. He didn't deserve to be buried in sand. He deserved a proper service, on home soil. So, with that determination to give the kid a proper funeral, Edward began the painful journey north, towards safety.

They hadn't made it three miles when he was forced to take cover. Hearing rapid gunfire close by, Edward covered the boy's body with his, not even noticing the whistling of the shell headed towards them as it whistled through the air, until it was too late.

There was an almighty crash; the ground shook forcibly, then all he felt was pain.

So, there you have it. You've met soldier boy Edward. He's rather lush. I love the idea of him in a soldier's uniform. Yum.

This story, hopefully, won't be too angsty; it's about the road to recovery, not the pain. But obviously, there will be angst involved – war does that. So, as much as I'll try to keep it light and comforting, there will be a bit of hurt involved. I usually don't read angst either, so this is unchartered territory for me. Hope it reads alright!

My plan is to alternate updates between this and my other new story, "The Best Medicine". They are quite different in plot so it should keep my imagination busy for the foreseeable future! If you haven't already, please give it a read, it's much lighter than this one. Updates will be as regular as my uni schedule allows for, but I promise not to keep you waiting too long. If I do, I'll make it up to you by posting multiple chapters!

So, until next time, see ya!
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