Disclaimer;
I don't own Victorious, I don't reckon. I also don't usually write fanfictions that aren't about femslash.

Warnings;
This is amateur work, seeing as there are several new things for me writing. Read at the risk of your faith in humanity. (That was only half of a joke, really, LOL.)

Author's Note;

Hey, it's just little ol' me again.

I saw that "Three Girls and a Moose" episode a couple weeks ago, and if you know me, you know inspiration comes at odd times. I know I'm primarily a Jori and Cade shipper, but I have so many different ideas and feelings about certain friendships and relationships (and really just characters in general) for this show. . . Bade has always been one of my ships, although lesser when compared to my girl-on-girl pairings.

I figured, "What the hell?" and decided I'd not only write something not femslash, but something in first person. It was done in under three hours, and half of it was done while I was sitting in psychology class. But hey, you do what you can; it's nice to be writing again at least.

There will be two parts after this, and then I'm pretty sure it'll be done for good. I already know what's going to happen. Also, although it's set in my own perceptive world of Victorious, (where Jade has also been with Tori and Cat,) there are no spoilers for my continuing Jori fanfiction, and it's actually just an offshoot of my own little story-universe. So just think of this as something in itself, rather than another side to my other stories.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy.

Tell me if you've figured out any recurring themes in titles and whatnot, by the way.

Wet Sand

Part one - Destined to Waver.

It's warm out here. He keeps making that remark, and I know it's true, but I've been here for years. Somehow, I've come to grow used to the hot summers and the warm winters; there is no such thing as cold in the southern side of California, much less in LA.

I'll admit it. I don't swing that way, but anyone can tell that he's a good looking guy, even if he calls himself 'Moose.' He's several inches taller than me and about sixty pounds heavier, with big shoulders and arms and a chest that could make most any guy feel incompetent. He's got light hair - which is something these girls in California seem to adore, although I'm not saying I've not had any luck with my darker features.

I look at him. He's talking about something his sister said, and I remember her; she was tall, like him, with the same pale features, but I haven't seen her in years. She could be as big as him as well at this point, but I'll always remember her as the girl, (a year younger than me,) who was my first kiss.

But Moose doesn't know that. He doesn't need to know, either; Alexis (his sister) and I promised we wouldn't tell anybody, Moose included.

As he smiles at me, I smile too - I didn't hear what he said, but it was supposed to be funny, as I can tell by the way his forehead crinkles when he laughs. Even though we're in separate countries, we're still close friends; we still IM with each other and talk about what's been going on. He's got a girlfriend up in Canada, and I tell him that I'm on a break with a girl, because I honestly didn't want him to know what I feel about Jade.

I didn't mean for things to go down the way they did with Jade. I was confused, and she was angry, and things just... happened. Honestly, when I told the people in that animal hospital that I loved her as a friend, it was only half the truth. Even now, when she glares at me in the hallway or doesn't answer my texts, it's all I can do not to tell her how much I miss her. Why don't I again? I'm guessing it's something to do with pride more than it is risking her hurling a pair of scissors into my skull.

But it's like I told Tori all those months ago; Jade's a dangerous game, and it's that thrill that keeps you coming back for more.

"What's up, Beck?"

I look back to Moose, and he's sitting hunched with his elbows on his knees, holding his bottle of blue soda. He's looking at me like I've just said all my thoughts aloud - accusingly, even - but I know I haven't said a thing in about ten minutes. I shake my head and take a swig of my drink before saying half-heartedly, "It's nothing."

Moose knows me. He's got his eyes on me, and I know he could very well be looking right through me.

And it's not nothing anyway; the fact that I see three girls crawling all over him doesn't bother me. It's the fact that one of those girls is Jade. Where's she been, anyway? She wasn't at the show with Tori and Cat, and she never did come see us afterward. I haven't seen her since she came here, (for the first time since the last night we were together.)

I shouldn't be thinking about that. She wasn't here for me. She was here for him.

"You're mad about your girlfriend hitting on me?" he says, more of a suggestion than a question. But it's spot on, and I won't deny it.

"My ex-girlfriend," I say, sighing as I set the glass bottle on the table between us. "And I'm not mad; I shouldn't even be thinking about it." I shake my head and look toward the ground. "She's not my girlfriend anymore. It shouldn't matter what she does."

"It's all good, man," he says. I look to him; he's taking it easily, his eyes still smiling, a familiar, lopsided grin on his face. "Even if she did like hockey, I wouldn't have done anything... her being your ex and all."

Wait - it wasn't Jade who'd said anything about hockey. That was Tori.

"No, that's not -" I stop myself there. He doesn't need to know which one was which; he's heading back home tomorrow morning anyway. Sighing, I just say, "Thanks, man."

"No problem."

We sit there for a few minutes. I'm getting tired; I don't want to think any more on things, but I do want to spend the rest of the time I've got with Moose catching up and just being friends. I know he didn't mean any harm; seriously, he'd told the three of them that he was only into Canadian girls... Though I couldn't help but notice that he blatantly left out the fact that he did have a girl back home.

I try to shrug it off and actually listen when he starts talking this time.

"But you know the freaky girl?" he says, his face contorting into a smug grin.

'Freaky girl' - yeah, I've heard that a few times before.

"You mean Jade?" I say, smiling back, but I realize I sound a little too cutting with my words.

He ignores it and continues, "Yeah, her." He leans back in his chair and sets his empty bottle down before stretching his arms out behind him. "She pretty much attacked me last night."

My heart stops. My skin feels cold.

The look on his face says it wasn't with a pair of scissors, and I know Jade too well to think that anyway.

"Whoa," is all I say.

"Yeah, she really is pretty freaky," he says with a chuckle that makes me want to punch his teeth out. "She pulled the car over and just got all over me."

"What'd you. . . How'd you. . .?" Words are failing me, and I'm not trying to hide the surprise that I'm sure is covering my face. I'm just hoping that the anger that's making my stomach feel sick isn't visible as well.

"What would you do?" He's laughing, his eyes looking somewhere else; not here, not at me. He's remembering her. "I tell you, man, American girls are pretty fuckin' friendly."

I look at him as he looks off into the night. I'm about to raise out of my chair and knock his goddamn head off, but he doesn't know that it was Jade I'd been with. He doesn't know that I was her first, and that I was the first person to tell her I loved her, and that she was my everything for so long - even now, even as I'm trying to just let her go and move on and forget.

But I can't forget her. How could you? I see that Moose sure hasn't, by the way he looks as though he's about to devour something delicious.

"So did you -"

"Yeah, man. Fucked her good. She has the most amazing tits I've ever -"

"That's my - friend, Moose," I say, trying to block out the rest of his words. All I can see now is his hands in places I hoped - used to hope - that only I would get to see, to touch. Her waist, her chest, her hips... I can see that perfect, beautiful blemish on the inside of her thigh that she always scolded me for staring at, and everything about her. . .

"Dude, you can't say you haven't thought about it," he says, and immediately I stand up and rub my forehead.

"I'm tired, man," I say, shaking my head. "We better call it a night."

I hear him stand up and move toward me, and I look up to see him with his arms out beside him in a questioning way. I know what he's thinking, and I know what this looks like, but the fact that he was with her - he's a big guy, a lot bigger than me, with a body that I could never compete with. . .it's stirring up a sore feeling inside of me that I never wanted to feel again, not after Tori got with Jade, (which is a long story that I don't want to talk about.)

"What's your deal?" he asks, sounding a little frustrated. "I thought you'd be happy for me."

"What about Allison?" His girlfriend. "How do you think she'd feel about all this?"

"She doesn't have to know." He gives a scoff, and his next words sting. "And what do you care? Seems like you know how to hurt a girl a lot more openly."

Moose knows about the breakup, and about a few of the things I'd said to Jade, although I never really did tell him her name - not that he'd remember it, anyway. As he says, he remembers girls by their bodies and the back of their heads, which has always rubbed me the wrong way. I always ignored it, but now that he's been with her, his player's attitude is enough to make me want to - want to what? I can't hurt him. I couldn't hit him. He's been like a brother to me for so long, and even though he can be a hell of a douchebag, I can't just do that to him when he doesn't know what he's done.

Except that last statement. He knows damn well what he's done.

"Look, Moose," I say, shaking my head and looking at the top of the buildings around us. "Jade and I are really close friends. I just don't like hearing about. . . any of that stuff."

"Alright, man," he says, looking a little confused. I've never objected to hearing his stories - but that was when I didn't have to listen, and when it wasn't about the girl I love - used to love. "I'm sorry. I won't say anything else."

"Thanks," I say, and he nods. We sit down again and start talking about his family back home.

x-x-x

It's half past one, and Moose finally went inside the house to sleep. He's staying in the guest bedroom, which is the room I used to sleep in before I moved into the trailer. I'm glad; my trailer is the place where I like to be by myself. It's the place where I can just be me.

My lamp's on, and I'm sprawled out on the bed in just a pair of shorts. It's a little cool in here, I'm sure, but I don't feel it. I don't feel the chill of the air or the scratch of my old comforter or the heat of the lamp beside me. I can't focus on any of that while my mind's on her.

I know she's up right now - with who, if anyone, I'm not sure. It's not just me and Moose she's been with; I know she was with Cat when we were together, but I gave her my consent on that. It's just Cat; sweet, air-headed Cat. I knew Jade had held feelings for her for years, before I was even in the picture, but I knew (or I thought) that she loved me. . . and you learn from your mistakes over time.

And then, there was Tori after we broke up. It hurts, but I knew from the beginning that Jade swings both ways, and I was always okay with that. She has every right to go out with whoever she likes. She's not my property - she's not even all too much of a friend at the moment. And I've moved in on Tori myself, but that was something else entirely.

Jade likes Tori, I'm sure, but for me, Tori is more like something that makes me feel good. A friend, yes, but there's something about her that makes me want to smile, even though inside, I know I feel like just giving up.

Jade was different. With her, I faced the things that made me feel like - like dropping dead. It was like she wanted me to face them and get over them, even though I don't think she'll ever get over her own problems. It's because of her that I moved out of the house and into the trailer, and it's because of her that I learned to treat girls right, and it's because of her that I'm left with more good memories running through my mind than the thought of fighting with her all the time toward the end.

Every single way I went wrong was a mistake that I would never make again. . . if I had the chance.

What I'm doing now is stupid. It's not a good idea, but I'm doing it anyway, because I don't know why. I grab my phone from the other side of the mattress, and like it's something completely sensible and natural, I'm texting her. I know she probably won't answer, but I don't care. I'll drive to her place if she doesn't.

Can you come over? I want to talk.

I mash the 'send' button before I can put any thought into my actions.

None of this is even remotely intelligent.

I've just got to wait now. I don't remember where I heard the line, but someone said, "Waiting is always the hardest part." Whoever said that is right; I can deal with the fighting, and her anger, and even her striking me on occasion - or what used to be occasional. But the waiting for her to come around is like riding out a long and relentless storm. It tires me out and wears down my anger, the way water washes away at the earth.

And then, only a few minutes later, my phone vibrates, and there's her name in the palm of my hand. I'm hesitant, but finally I open the message.

On my way.

That was too easy to not be suspicious. I have a feeling she knows that Moose told me, and I have an even stronger feeling that she's wanting to make sure I know that she doesn't regret any of it at all.

But I don't care. I just want to see her. I just want it to be the two of us in here again. It may be my haven, but it's not the same without her here hiding from the outside's fire with me.

x-x-x

I see her headlights through the open slits of my blinds, and I know it's her by the sound of the engine.

I open the door to my trailer and step out. Her lights flicker before turning off completely, and I watch as she opens the door to her car, stepping out in the outfit she knows I love to see on her. She walks toward me with a blank expression, her purse slung over her shoulder, the strap accentuating places on her I'm trying not to think about.

It's that stupid green sweater and normal black skirt. She knows what it does for her, and she knows what it does to me. Even though her expression says nothing at all, I catch her eyes, and I can see it there that she plans to make me suffer tonight, no matter what she said two weeks ago about not being mad.

"Hey," I say.

She's looking down at my chest, and I realize that I only threw on a tanktop with my shorts. I don't know if she likes what she sees, but she's seen it all and more before. I'm not fresh meat like Tori or, apparently, Moose.

"What?" she asks, more of a demand than a question.

I know if I mess up now, she'll be gone. She'll be even less of my friend than she is now; than she was three weeks ago before the 'encounter' at the animal hospital. I used to be able to read her so easily, and while there are still things I can pick up about her naturally even now, there are others that I've lost to impractice and in growing so far apart from her.

"Come in," I say, and when her eyes, (bright and accusing,) meet mine, challenging me, I look away. If I try to meet her anger, as futile a task as it would be to match her downright ferocity, it'll only push her away.

I hold the door to my trailer open, and she steps up. Her scent is strong as she passes by me, and I can't help but savor it as I step in as well and shut the door behind me.

Jade sits on my bed, and it causes my stomach to wrench. Her purse is on the floor beside her, and her hands are running across the top of my ruffled comforter. She recognizes the feel; she always told me it was rough, (although she claimed it was in a good way,) and she's got her eyes half-lidded as she bites her lower lip. I know she's remembering, just like I am.

"So," I say hesitantly, and her eyes snap open in my direction. "What's up?"

She looks as though she could spit at me as I say this.

"You got me up at one in the morning to ask me what's up?" she asks, her voice cutting.

"You know what I mean," I say.

"Well, excuse me, but no, I do not."

She wants me to say it. Her blue eyes are boring into mine. She's so incredibly fierce, and even more stubborn. But the way she looks at me causes me to frown, because it's the look she gave me so often not all that long ago when Tori came to Hollywood Arts. Mistrust; hurt; enveloped and subtle dominance over me.

"You and Moose," I say quietly, running a hand through my hair for a moment.

"Yeah, me and Moose. . .?"

"You slept together."

A wry grin comes over her lips, and with a look of absolute delight in her eyes, she says almost humorously, "Oh, we did a lot more than just sleep."

I close my eyes and turn toward the other side of my trailer. I didn't want to hear that. I didn't want to see the images that came to mind. He's big, he's muscular, he's good looking. Jade could have anyone in the world; anyone she could ever want, I'm confident that she could have them, in one way or another. But she chose him, of all people; my oldest friend, the guy who's been around since before I came here to LA, and I can't say that for anyone other than him and my parents.

Jade takes my reaction as a signal to continue. "He was pretty great - for a Canadian, I mean." I'm not even looking at her, but I can hear her smile in her words. "He was pretty cute; he really made me feel appreciated." I can hear her voice sigh, and the sound causes me to both feel sick and my skin to shiver. "His hands aren't the only things that're big. . ."

"Stop."

The word comes out of my mouth so fast that I don't even realize I've said it until she goes completely quiet. I turn to face her, and she looks genuinely surprised. I walk toward her, telling myself not to get angry, not to push her too far - if I do, she's gone, and this time she won't come back.

"Just. . . please. I don't want to think about him and. . ."

She's quick to pick up on what I'm saying.

"You just can't stand the thought of it."

She's standing up, moving toward me now. Jade. Her name is the first thing I think of for some reason when she's only a foot away from me, her breath mingling with mine. Maybe it's because of her eyes; they're sharp and light, and they look and feel like ice as they inspect me. But more than that, when I see the slight curvature of her lips, slightly parted, breathing me in, and the way her hands aren't shaking against the thin of her waist, and the way her words sound - it all just whispers her name to me, soft and gentle but dangerously quiet, as if I'm the only one to hear it. Jade.

"You can't stand me being with someone else, can you?"

I'm quiet, and I'm trying my best to keep my expression and my heartbeat calm. The space between us is minimal, and I know she's tempting me to touch her, so she'll have a reason to throw a fit. To hit me. But I stay where I am, although I'm quietly enjoying the sensation of the closeness I've not felt with her in too long.

"He's been my friend forever," I say, calmly but sharply. "And you. . ."

"What about me?" Jade's voice is too innocent to be genuine.

"You know what I feel about you."

Damn it. Wrong choice of words.

She steps closer, and her wildly untamed black hair frames her face so perfectly that I'm tempted to reach out and run my hands through it. Her scent permeates my senses like some sort of ethereal drug, and I know she knows what she's doing.

"Say it," she murmurs in little more than a whisper. "Tell me you're jealous of him."

Now she's too close. Her lips are only inches from mine, and her breath smells like her favorite cup of iced coffee. Her right hand reaches up and places itself on my cheek, and slowly, (deliberately,) she says the words, "Tell me, baby."

It's difficult. She's there, her lips are so perfect, her scent is so familiar and sweet. I'm not going to deny it. I still have feelings for her, and she's still the most beautiful woman on the face of the earth. I want her desperately. But the look in her eyes doesn't even remotely resemble that of the loving, needing gaze they carried before we would. . .

When I fail to give her any sort of reaction, she frowns slightly, removing her hand and causing my skin to feel unbearably cold. She backs away from me, her eyes scrutinizing as she looks me over. Then she turns and picks her purse up off the floor, placing it over her shoulders.

"It's been nice, Beck." She says my name with a tinge of venom, and I can't help but flinch.

Jade's coming to move past me, and I do something I shouldn't. I grab her arm and push her to the wall, and she makes a grunt that sounds almost scared. My arms are on both sides of her, entrapping her here before me, and the only thought that runs in my mind is a single, silent word.

Don't.

"Let me go," she says, her face looking more frightened than fierce.

"No," I say. "Why did you do it?"

"Do what?"

I frown. "Sleep with him."

She gives me a look that tells me she's no where near giving in.

"I have needs too, you know. . ."

"Why did you do it?" I didn't mean for my voice to sound that harsh.

Jade truly looks frightened now, and she reaches her arms up in what little space there is between us and gives me a strong shove against my chest. I don't move, and she begins to push again, and again, until she reaches a hand up and strikes my face hard.

"I swear to God I'll call the cops," she says, quietly yelling at me. "Now let me go."

"Tell me why you did it," I breathe, "and I'll tell you anything you want to know."

Her eyes are fearful, but her lips tremble, and I can tell she's coming close to tears. I sigh, stepping back and taking her hand and pulling her to the bench beneath the window. She complies weakly, and I pat the seat beside me. Her eyes tell me she doesn't trust me, and softly, I say to her, "I promise."

Finally, she sits beside me, not looking at me - not even facing me. Her hand is still in mine, and she doesn't make a move to let go. With my free hand, I slide her purse off her opposite shoulder and set it on the ground before I let her think on what she's going to say.

Jade might not seem like it, but she can be incredibly careful. Normally, she's reckless, fearless - but we know each other too well, even if it's been so long, and she knows that what lies she tells me will mean nothing.

"I did it," she begins, pausing to swallow, "because you let me walk away, and you didn't come after me."

The words sink in, and they sting. I've known since the moment she drove away that I should have stopped her, and so often in my mind, I replay the whole scene so that I do stop her, and I tell her we can fix things, and I tell her that it's all going to be okay. I think about doing the things I failed to do in the first place.

"I loved you so, so much," she says, and I feel my chest hurt. She raises her hands to her eyes to hide her face, her voice breaking. "You were supposed to love me, too."

Something inside me feels as though it's torn in half, and I can't help my next movement.

My arm drapes over her and pulls her around so that her head, still hidden in her hands, is pressed against my chest. She freezes against me, and I know my movements are too bold, too dangerous. I shouldn't be doing this.

I shouldn't be doing any of this.

"I was wrong," I say in a voice that sounds too deceivingly calm to be my own. "I should have. I should have gone after you."

Jade is still frozen against me, and I can't hear her breathing aside from the choking sounds as she holds back tears. I know this feeling too well; holding her, when all she wants to do is hit me, swear at me, push me away. But I'm afraid that if I let go of her now, she's not going to come back - no, I'm afraid that she's going to get as far away from me as she possibly can. And honestly, I can't let that happen.

"I loved you," I say, and I know I'm treading on dangerous ground. "More than you'll ever understand."

Her hands are rough against my shirt, and she's grabbing onto me and pushing me off at the same time, but I keep where I am.

"I thought," I begin, thinking on my words for a moment, (being more cautious than I should be - right?) "I thought that if we just got some space. . . Things would just. . ."

"Things would just what?" she demands, though the words are weakened by the smallness in her voice.

"I thought things would get better." I can't help but relish the scent of her as she simply stays here in my arms. "I thought if we got some time to think, the fighting, and the yelling, and - I thought it would have time to just stop."

I feel heat rising in her. When she grows rigid, I know that she's getting angry; the feel of her fists clenching into my shirt, and her breath only barely tickling my chest from the sparratic exhalations and beat of her heart. I know I've awoken that animal part of her that I always found so dangerously beautiful, like fire dancing on a match.

And again, she's trying to push me away; I allow her to move only enough so that she can look me in the eye, and if she must, she can slap me again. If it gets this rage out of her system, I'm willing to take a hit or two. If it takes her beating me black and blue to get her to settle down and come back to me, I'll take whatever she dishes out.

Her jaw is set firm, her lips frowning and brows pressed, and her hair is wildly strewn about her face.

And in some sort of awful, melancholy way, she looks absolutely, beautifully broken.

"You needed me," I say without realizing, but the look on her face now (eyes wider, threatening tears) tells me that I've said my biggest regret aloud. So I go with it. "You needed me. You just wanted to get through something, and I. . ."

She looks to me expectantly, and although her lips don't move, she whispers this to me; "Say it."

"I wasn't there." I shake my head, letting out a hard breath that I hadn't known I was holding. "I let you down."

"You ruined everything," she snaps, her eyes boring into mine accusingly. "You ruined every. . . Every hopeless, stupid thought that I had about us." She jerks her shoulders away from me, and I suppress a swear. "You don't even know the half of what you did to me, and don't you fucking dare think that a hug and a halfassed 'I'm sorry' are going to fix any of this mess."

Jade stands, and I try to follow, but she shoves me back against the wall and makes a sound close to a snarl, and the look in her eyes shows no sign of granting me any forgiveness anytime soon.

"Call me when you figure things out," she says, snatching her purse from beside me and stalking almost too quietly to the door.

Then she turns to me, her eyes bright and burning as cigarettes, and with a scowl, she shakes her head at me.

"It's pathetic that it took me fucking your best friend for you to realize what an idiot you are."

And then she's gone.

And I'm left alone here with a painful hollowness in my chest, silently wallowing in the feel of suffocating in the scent of what's left of her presence.