Disclaimer: The characters of Twilight are owned by Stephenie Meyer. The content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by Just4ALE.
A/N1: You can blame (or thank, depending on your perspective) Nolebucgrl for this outtake. In an effort to pimp out her 80s song fic contest, she tweeted lines from For Your Eyes Only. I had to bleach my brain with Bond theme songs I liked… and then this small bit started forming.
BTW, Edward is well aware that this is not a 70s "rock" song. However, it is a 70s song and he's recovering from major trauma in this outtake from the last ch of Tunes with Tony Masen... So give him a break.
Outtake 3
Carly Simon: Nobody Does it Better
#
I jump out from behind the car and take Chuck by surprise, dragging him into the house. He admits nothing, so she knees him, knocks him out, and instructs me to hide his body.
I lug him into the laundry room and tie him up, and my blood runs cold when I hear them enter. Silently, I hold still and then peek around the door to see Demetri heading up the stairs and Felix looking around, his gun raised.
Taking a page out of her playbook, I wait for the right moment and jump out at Felix, knocking him in the face with the Beretta, and he fires two stray shots into the ceiling before I manage to kick his gun out of his hand. He dives at me and we have at it, punching each other and wrestling in the hallway. Then he pulls a knife out of nowhere and I narrowly avoid being stabbed. Thankfully I wind up with the knife before it lands in his stomach and heart.
Somewhere along the way I hear shots, and my heart nearly stops; I have no idea if she's been hurt. I stand, realizing I may have broken a rib in the fight when suddenly the Devil himself appears, grabbing me and holding me hostage. I'm simultaneously relieved and worried when she calls out my name and I realize she's okay. I try to warn her, but he hits me in the face with his gun.
We listen to his threats. He gloats. He thinks he's going to get away with this.
Not if I can help it, motherfucker.
I manage to say a few words, desperately hoping her brilliant mind understands my meaning, and then I make my move.
He cries in agony and I can't help but feel a little smug.
Take that, asshole. Thanks to you, my time in prison taught me a useful skill.
I step away as soon as he lets me go, but the knife I shoved in his thigh is barely a deterrent. A loud bang precedes the fire that rips through my side, and I hear her scream my name as I fall to the ground.
The pain is excruciating and at that moment, I'm terrified – not only for my safety but for hers. She told me she could shoot, but she's up against a trained police officer. Still facing the floor, I only hear what happens next:
"Live and let die," she hisses. "Okay, Mr. Aro."
More shots -
I wake with a start, quickly touching my "injury" where the bullet had just entered. I scan the room, momentarily panicked that I'll see Caius there, firing his gun into my girl. Finding neither him nor her, I take a deep breath and mentally shake myself into reality.
Sitting up slowly, I grab the water from the nightstand and take a few gulps, my heart still racing. It's the first dream I've had in a while, or at least the first dream I can remember since the night she broke into my apartment. Between the dearth of truly restful hours during our little "road trip" and then being knocked out with the pain pills, my mind has been clear when I sleep.
Unfortunately, I can't say the same about the day; I'm constantly preoccupied with the shitty situation and general state of limbo in which we find ourselves. The recovery is taking too damn long from my perspective, even though logically I know I'm doing well enough, all things considered. But every time I hear either Carlisle or Esme on the computer speakers, I want to grab the fucking thing and throw it out the window. Luckily, she deals with them directly, so I don't have to, but their involvement in all this makes it feel like time has slowed to a crawl.
I want this wound to heal. I want them to get Alec Nicholas. I want my parents to leave us the fuck alone.
I shift and ready myself to stand. Fuck. I'm in pain, but if it's a choice between the dull grogginess I feel when I take my pills or the discomfort of the wound, I'll take the wound. I almost need the pain to give me incentive to get better as quickly as possible. Now that I'm cutting back on the pills, I wonder if I can expect more dreams like this. I sure as shit hope not; I don't want to relive those awful moments again. But on the other hand, I'd be happy to relive the few hours before that, when I finally got to consummate my eight-month relationship with my favorite listener.
As I run my hands over my face, I marvel over the bizarre turn of events that lead us here. What a long, strange trip it's been. I hadn't wanted to get involved with anyone. I'd thought I'd insulated myself well from outside entanglements by keeping to myself and lying low in my DJ booth.
I wasn't lookin', but somehow you found me
I'd befriended her, unknowingly fell for her, and then pushed her away when she needed me, not once, but twice.
I tried to hide from your love light
What the fuck? Carly Simon? Really, Edward? What are they putting in those pain pills?
And yet, I have to admit the reference is appropriate.
Besides, she'd started it with her Wings lyrics in the dream.
I had been somewhat joking when I'd first asked her about her spy skills, but as I got to really see her in action those four days on the run, I'd realized how my assessment had been spot-on. She'd taken no prisoners in dealing with those thugs, and has been a rock as we weather this latest storm. She's practically unflappable.
Look out, James Bond; Bella Swan will kick your ass.
I finally get my ass up and go to find her. As I enter the living room, I hear her in our makeshift "office" talking with Alice and back away after a moment, trying to give them privacy, but what they say next makes me pause.
She's having bad dreams? What?
I look around and spot the journal on her favorite chair, and within seconds I have it in my hands. For a moment I wonder if I should be doing this, but since she'd told me she wanted to share it with me, I assume it's okay and flip through it to see if she mentions anything.
Jesus, I'm an idiot.
She's been observing me carefully and has missed almost nothing. Meanwhile, I've been practically oblivious…
~#~
Edward is in need of physical and emotional healing. I can't help him with the former – only his body can do that – and he's avoiding the latter. And both of these take time.
The physical wounds will heal relatively quickly if he can just concentrate on the positive. In the most random way we found each other, and we're alive and together. He has so many good things to look forward to, but then something happens and it feels like we fall back two steps. If only…
~#~
The nurse is leaving today, so we discussed his meal plan and the timeframe for moving him off this liquid diet. I'm torn about her departure. On the one hand, I'm nervous, knowing I'll be handling his care; it's been eight years since I've had to play nurse to anyone. On the other, I'll be glad to see a stressor removed from the situation. The fact that Esme…
~#~
He's in such a rush to get better and he tests my patience when he lashes out in frustration. I'm the only one here, so I bear the brunt of it even though I know it isn't really aimed at me. I hold my tongue, knowing how hard this is for him.
I think it would be easier if I wasn't so tired. I probably should take one of the sleeping pills Leah gave me, but I can't. Because of that liquid diet, he's up a lot to use the bathroom, and sometimes he needs a little help getting up. He thanks me every time, but I know he wishes he didn't need my help. He's been so used to being on his own for the past few years, so it's an adjustment.
When I finally do get some sleep, I'm haunted by what I've done; in my dreams I see the faces of my parents' murderers and my assailants blending together. Sometimes I'm able to fight them and take them down, but other times it's a losing battle, and they get us all. I wake up a lot and then lie quietly, willing myself to calm down by listening to his breathing. I desperately want to curl up in his arms when I'm feeling like this, but I know I can't. Between his ribs and his puncture wound, he's one big bruise and I stay away to avoid hurting him.
I moved to the floor earlier this morning and did some basic stretches. I think Mom's yoga lessons will come in handy during our time away. Centered and focused: this is what I need to be for him.
It will get better.
It will.
~#~
The magnitude of my self-centeredness hits me like a ton of bricks as I realize that my unflappable friend has been in need of comfort herself, and I've done nothing. Suddenly, Leah's voice adds to my misery.
Tyler? Fuck, can this get any worse?
I drop the journal on the coffee table and move to the exercise room. As I step on the treadmill, I'm livid. The mere mention of his name pisses me off. I know I'm being irrational, that she has no feelings for the guy, but his presence in her life just reminds me how I almost lost her due to my stupid actions.
As I walk, his face appears in my head. Younger, good looking, MIT-educated – yeah, I Googled the prick – he'd swooped in because I was an asshole. Moreover, he doesn't come with the baggage I have: a dead wife, prison time, shitty parents.
He also would have noticed how she was doing, you shithead. He's not a limp-dicked moron.
And he'd probably have been nicer to her than I am when she finds me here. Her cheerfulness after my dream and this latest revelation just irritates me. I'm trying to hold it together, but I snap and she backs away, avoiding a confrontation. Then I see Tyler's face in my head, and before I can stop myself, I blurt out his name.
Suddenly, the gloves come off, and she calls me on my behavior. While my "bug-up-the-ass attitude" (as she so nicely puts it) is still at the forefront of our interaction, there is a small part of me that revels in her ability to put me in my place when she needs to. She's a wondrous combination of tough yet vulnerable, soft yet hard. She knows when to push back and when to just let me vent, which she quickly demonstrates as I plainly admit how shitty I feel that I haven't been very observant or supportive of her.
And once again she turns the tables on me, asking me to allow myself to lean on her, to let her be there for me.
I understand what she's saying, that our relationship is built on friendship, but I'm stuck on the word she uses to describe herself. It's funny how the word "friend" was too much for me two weeks ago, and now "girlfriend" is insufficient. I want more. I can already tell she's it for me, but unfortunately this fucking wound only allows us to be friends right now, as my libido is shot to hell and my dick isn't exactly functioning normally.
She runs her fingers through my hair and it's pretty astounding what one touch will do for me. I'm instantly calmer, even as I admit my frustration with the situation. Even as she says things I don't necessarily want to hear.
The way that you hold me, whenever you hold me
She kneels before me, putting her hands on mine, and affirms her belief in us. Her words lift my spirits and fill my heart with hope.
There's some kind of magic inside you
She asks for a commitment to work out our differences together, and I'm instantly aware of other promises and vows I hope we'll take someday, so I eagerly agree.
"I do."
And over the weeks that follow, I make good on my promises.
~#~
She's everywhere; the only thing I see, no matter who else is around.
She's bad-ass one moment, soft and sweet the next… and always sexy. I watch her take out her assailants two at a time, looking undeniably hot in a tight black cat suit. She's graceful in her movements, bending and stretching, using any available object – most often her limbs – to knock out her opponents.
When they're down for the count, she turns and walks down a long hallway toward me. I stand up straighter, waiting to see what she'll say or do, but she's silent, a small smile on her face as she glances at me and continues walking. She opens a door at the end of the hallway and disappears into the room. I turn and follow, not wanting her out of my sight for too long.
By the time I enter the room, she's changed. Now dressed more casually in jeans and a tight top, she stands in front of a full-length mirror adjusting her ponytail. I quickly cross the room, and stand behind her, close, but leaving a small space between us. I don't know why, but I want her approval before I move. I need it.
The room is quiet, our breathing the only sound… although it's possible she can hear my heart pounding in my chest. Finally, she meets my gaze in the mirror.
"Touch me, Edward," she whispers.
And so I do…
I blink, and for a moment, I'm embarrassed that I've indeed been groping her in my sleep. Hell, in her sleep. But that moment doesn't last long when I realize my "boat" – as she likes to call it – is getting ready to sail; I hope she'll forgive me for waking her up.
Because I need her. Now.
I remove my boxers and then move back to her side, pulling her closer and kissing her neck; when I glide my hands over her skin, she moans and starts to move against me. To tell the truth, I'm not quite sure she's awake as I make my intentions clear and pull her panties down and off. If she's not, she will be soon.
Her surprised yet receptive reaction spurs me on, and her warm hand feels good as she strokes me. I want to feel her, so I touch her, maneuvering my fingers so they're hitting the right spots, both inside and out.
"Finish first, then climb on top."
No sooner are the words out of my mouth when I realize I want more, and I decide to change the order. I learned a lot about her during that long afternoon before the attack, but there's so much more to discover, and I'm eager to see what else I can do to her… for her.
"Wait," I say as I remove my hand. "Climb up now."
"Oh, okay," she says as she sits up quickly. I tug at her T-shirt – my tee, actually – and she helps me strip it off her before she moves to straddle my hips.
"No, here," I say, gesturing to my shoulders.
Her brow furrows and then her eyes widen in surprise. "Wh… what?"
"Up," I say, pulling her to me. "I want to use my mouth."
"Are you kidding? I… uh…"
Although the room is dimly lit, I know she's probably pink. Her embarrassment is adorable, but I'm absolutely positive I don't want have a detailed discussion about this right now.
"Bella, it might be a while before we can do this another way, and I want this. You trust me, right?"
"Yes."
"Then up. Now."
She's tentative in her movements, and I help position her. She looks confused so I instruct her before she even asks. "Hold on to the headboard."
"But what if I… hoooly shit…"
She grips the headboard and for a second I'm afraid she'll break it, but then she relaxes and moves against my mouth. It doesn't take long once she stops worrying and realizes I have her. She gasps then stills; from this angle, I take it all in and marvel over how beautiful looks when she comes.
She opens her eyes slowly and she notices me watching her. "I think I like this position," she says quietly and glances over her shoulder at my erection, then turns back. "I guess you like it too."
Now she's off my shoulders and straddling my hips within seconds. Holding herself up on one hand, she leans down to kiss me while reaching between us to grab my dick. I groan as she strokes me lightly, moving me into position. This could be over really fast.
"I don't care," she says in response to my spoken thought, and she stares into my eyes as she sinks down and moans.
"Good?" she whispers.
Good doesn't begin to describe it.
Like Heaven above me
"Fucking heaven."
She smiles and her eyes gleam wickedly. "Heaven, huh? That's damn good. And just think, I'm still learning," she says as she slowly begins to ride me. "So watch out. You ain't seen nothin' yet."
I don't doubt it for a second, baby.
I touch her, caressing every exposed part I can reach. I'm close, too close, so I press on her clit, knowing I won't make it, but hoping she might be near enough to follow me.
I close my eyes and groan. Then I feel her squeeze my hand, and all images from my dream blend into one. I see my reluctant spy morph into the incredible woman who loves me… and I find my release inside her.
When she comes on my fingers shortly after, she looks at me in wonder.
"How do you… wow… felt so good." She pants as she snuggles up to my uninjured side. "I…"
"What?"
She closes her eyes, shakes her head, and then kisses my chest. "I feel so lucky to have found you," she says, hugging me tightly.
No, I'm the lucky one. I don't know if I'll ever deserve her, but I know I'm willing to spend my days and nights trying.
I kiss her softly and hold her close.
Baby… darlin'… you're the best.
A/N2: The final outtake will be part of the FGB compilation and will be - by popular Twitter vote - Tony's perspective on when she stopped calling in.
Thank you once again to Irritable Grizzzly.
Please review.
Post A/N: Also not mine: lyrics from Carly Simon's Nobody Does it Better. (BTW, did you catch the Grateful Dead's Truckin lyrics in there? Whew – Tony and I still have it.)
About Carly Simon:
- Singer-songwriter, whose top hit was You're So Vain, which made it to #1 in 1972. She has never admitted who the song was about, but popular speculation has been Warren Beatty, Mick Jagger (who sang background vocals), and David Geffen. Warren Beatty thinks the song is about him, so I guess he's vain, ha.
- Nobody Does It Better made it to #2 in 1977 when it was released as the theme song for The Spy Who Loved Me.
- I believe her third highest hit was Mockingbird, which she sang with her now-ex-husband, James Taylor.
On a completely unrelated note, check out my profile for the new banner TKegl made for my American Vampire Series. It's pretty awesome.