Chapter 4. Know your Color.
/Edward/
We caught up with them half a mile from the reunion point I'd signaled to Emmet. They saw us before we saw them, for which I was thankful because it meant they had been on their toes while I was gone. It was early morning, just past dawn, and it was an unusually cold, clear day.
Between my broken rib, my injured neck and my bitten forearm, I was battered. I could keep moving, though, even if it meant pushing myself to cruel levels. I wasn't going to be the one slowing the group, not by any means.
Carlisle seemed increasingly worried about my health. It annoyed me, so I started avoiding him. His concerned glances were beginning to irk me. I knew my limits very well. I knew how long I could pull before the thread snapped, and I was not even near that point. Pain, I could deal with.
My problem was I was disgusted with myself. The incident with the dogs in the valley was darkening my mood to unprecedented gradients of black. I was glad for the dull ache in my arm where the dog had bitten me, because at least it meant some sort of retribution to all the pain I had caused it before I killed it.
I knew I needed to get myself out of the whole before I sank beyond help and started marring my performance, but I just didn't find a way to do it. All I could think about, and it made no fucking sense, and I mean at all, was the puppy I had had when I was a kid back in Chicago. It had been a small, beautiful German shepherd that had grown into a healthy and merry adult before passing away of old age at fifteen.
The dogs in the valley had had no breed, had not been pureblood like him, so why did I keep thinking of that?
It's not like somebody had smashed my dog's skull.
I felt a wave of nausea. Shit. Splendid. I survive a helicopter crash, I kill men without a cringe, and I get fucking PTSD from killing a pup. I was so fucked up it wasn't even funny anymore. I got all my priorities wrong.
"Edward…" Jasper caught my arm, concern and urgency in his tone. He was so empathic; I'd been trying to avoid standing near him all morning. If he caught my frame of mind he'd go down faster than me. Jasper was sensitive; moods were a contagious decease for him, and my moods were too fucking much for him.
"Half an hour." I said through clenched teeth, and sank down against a tree, bending my knees. I rested my forehead against my right knee, breathing evenly. I needed to get through this yesterday. There was no place for this kind of pathetic behavior in our current situation. They needed me whole, and I owed it to them to offer them an efficient, intelligent leader.
Get a grip.
"Commander?" a quiet voice interrupted my mental beating, and I lifted my head to stare into Bella Swan's chocolate gaze, right at eye level with me. I swallowed and blinked quickly, hoping she didn't see the self-loathing in my eyes. I cleared my throat.
"Yes?" I glanced around and found everyone minding their own business, which was a feat, obviously deliberate. "What can I do for you, Miss Swan?" I asked coldly.
She didn't flinch at my tone, and her eyes were wide and calm, serene.
"What happened to you?" she asked gently, and touched my knee.
"What happened to me?" I asked dully. "I fell right out of the sky, smack center in a war zone and without backup, that's what happened to me. You might recall, it's all because of you?" Suddenly a screaming match with the girl sounded like a good idea. It would certainly unwind my tension, even as unfair and petty as it sounded. I needed to release some of my stress and she was right there.
She remained unmoved. "I don't recall because it's not my fault, but if blaming me helps you then I won't deprive you of your solace."
I stared. She held my gaze, patient. She'd knocked the wind right out of my sails. I very nearly deflated, frankly.
"I killed the dogs." I said stupidly because really, who the fuck cared about the dog damned dogs!?
Me, apparently.
She continued to look at me evenly, her hand a light touch on my knee. She reached with her other hand and very slowly, very gently, moved a lock of hair away from my forehead. My eyes widened. Her touch left marks of fire on my iced skin. She leaned in, looking at me straight in the eyes.
"I forgive you." she said simply, her fingers caressing down from my temple to my cheekbone, across my cheek and down to my jaw. She gave me—only me—a beautiful small smile, and just like that, she drew her hands away, and left me. I watched her as she walked away and sat next to Alice, silent.
I always thought there's something odd, peculiar, in being forgiven. When you feel you've done something horrible—a feeling I'm fairly familiar with—it's a sensation not unlike being out at sea with a ruined sailboat on a furious storm. It had ups and downs and sometimes the water crashes with viciousness into you and sometimes you glide through, blissfully numb. I suppose you can call it guilt, though I personally associate it more with regret and disgust.
I was young when my parents died and I recognize, because I am mostly rational, that a very large part of my emotional education was stuck and never advanced. I never did anything for myself in that aspect since the position of simply being a repressed asshole and not caring was the easiest. I'd told myself being a jerk worked so whatever.
But I've never lied to myself. You never can, when you're as rational as I am. I did care about a lot of things I didn't care to admit. It mattered to me that I had killed a creature that I loved, because I loved dogs. It mattered that I had been forced to kill it because of its love for its owner, it mattered that it had been willing to give his life for his master and I had ended both their lives.
Mostly, it mattered because no one, no one, that inspires such pure, such deep rooted love in a dog can be a horrible person. There are layers to everyone, and that layer touched too close to heart for me. There's something soothing in killing and anonymous face, a blur of a man whose figure you might never recognize. So long as he remains a shadow that's fine. But the moment you see that his eyes were blue, that he had a freckle under his right eye… when you notice the little details that make him a person, the number becomes a name you never knew, and that's when a little part of your soul dies along with him.
There was that, and there was my own entrenched love for dogs and what they bring, and the fact that I had done wrong by him and he deserved chance at his revenge, and because of that killing him had been wrong and painful. He was in the right and I was in the wrong, by him. It had been easy then, as I crouched on the ground and set up a trap, to say to Rosalie that I knew who I liked better and it was me. It's always easy to say something when you're not in the situation.
The core of the question was, it did matter that I had killed the pup. So long as it meant something to me it would matter, and I didn't want anyone telling me they ahd been just dogs, and didn't matter as compared to a human life.
Life is equal, and no creature has more right to live than other, nor is a creature's life worth more than others. What of the murderers, the rapists, the drug dealers? Were their lives worth more than the dog I had killed because he loved his master dearly and judged his life equal to his own? Fair trade, life for a life? No. I didn't believe that.
And she didn't either. I'd seen that understanding, that knowledge, in her eyes as she looked into mine. She knew, she appreciated it. And while she wasn't as disgusted and as sick as I was with myself, she was still upset. But the difference was, she saw through the smoke to the other side of the road, and understood that being forced to do something doesn't mean wanting to do it. I'd set up my priorities and I would live with their consequences.
She'd said the right thing because we shared that belief, if nothing else. The knowledge that she shared that with me, that what I'd did upset her, that it wasn't indifferent to her that I'd killed the dog… and that she forgave me, and freed me of that burden, was soothing.
It was not unlike the abrupt change of wind at sea, when the blowing changes drastically and the weather cools, and the sea calms down to a gentle rocking. The rocking in there, the lapping of the waves, but it is calm, patient, and soothing like a lullaby. It's a rocking you can live with. The calm after the storm. When the wind chants enough, now. Enough.
I rested my head back against the tree and sighed wearily, and before I finished the sigh I was already asleep.
I was awoken to a hand on my good shoulder and a bottle of water.
"Edward?" Carlisle seemed pale. "You have a fever. Drink this. Slowly."
"I'm fine."Automatic response. Like a flinch when someone pinches you.
"Drink."
"Save it."
"Commander Masen, drink this right now." A very nearly accomplished head medic tone of 'obey or die'. I didn't buy it.
"Nice try." I complimented like an asshole. I was back in role apparently.
"Edward." He begged, squeezing my shoulder. "Please. You'll be sick."
Too late. I wanted to throw up.
"I have authority over you, Edward."
"Not technically."
"Edward, you grab this bottle right now or I will call Emmett and I will empty it down your throat forcefully."
Now that was better. I snatched the bottle and gulped half down, glaring at him all the while.
Well, enough of the pity party. I got to my feet, swallowed the rest of the water in two swigs and threw the empty bottle back at the medic. "Let's move." I ordered, touching Alice's shoulder gently to get her attention. She jumped to her feet, smiling broadly, and touched her fingers to her forehead in a mock salute.
I arched an eyebrow. "Now, if you're going to do something, do it well." I scolded playfully. "Square your shoulders, straighten your back, feet together" she was obeying me remarkably well, and Jasper grinned. "Hand." She raised her hand. "Stiffen your fingers, make them completely straight, bend your thumb like this. Good. Now. The salute starts at the level of your navel. You'll move your hand up without relaxing, grazing your front—never more than an inch between your palm and your body. When you reach your chin you start turning your hand and wrist together and then you'll rest your index finger above the edge of your right eyebrow.
Perfect.
She burst out laughing and ruined it, but she got the point. That felt good. Felt like me.
I turned, chuckling and shaking my head, and found Bella's eyes. She was smiling too, and I liked the sight.
I widened my grin, just to see what happened.
She laughed happily.
Score.
So, in the middle of a field mission, down on enemy lands, with a whole crew of men and two civilians under mi wing, I was going to start some silly little 'I like you' dance with some girl?
Bella tripped and Emmet caught her arm.
I snickered.
I guess I was.
We moved with renewed urgency now, walking fast. The vast open field I had seen on the map was coming up close. I wanted to get there before nightfall and cross it in the cover of darkness, when we wouldn't be as easy as the bottles in the wall in the games on the city fairs. I could just picture it.
'Shoot the brown haired girl and win a stuffed monkey!'
I snickered again. How I found that funny was beyond me. I was so sick.
I'd have to work on that. Bella probably didn't like her men sick. And yes, I was willing to work on it. Figure that.
I remembered one particularly harsh fight with Tanya. She'd said I could never change, that I'd always be an asshole. Well, I was fine with being an asshole then, so it didn't really bother me. It did now; surprise, surprise. I guess things really do come back to bite you in the ass.
I refused to believe it, though. I was a strong willed man, I could do what I wanted. I could change. I just had to have the proper incentive. I wasn't going to sulk around and wallow in my incapability. Who did that, anyway? How pathetic can one possibly be?
Oh, wait—I had done just that this morning.
Huh.
I was going to have to adjust my compass, it was obviously biased. I was beginning to think maybe I didn't see things clearly. Well, the mere fact that I thought that was probably an improvement.
I shook my head and chuckled at myself, amused.
"You do that a lot." A gentle voice sang next to me. I turned to look and Bella smiled.
"I do what a lot?" I asked, slightly confused.
"Chuckle and shake your head."
"Oh." I smirked. "Well, laughing to oneself if sign of a rich internal world." I said wisely.
"Or insanity." She pointed out.
"Ah, yes, there is that." I nodded judiciously.
"There's something catchy about insanity." She reflected.
"You mean as in a cold, that kind of catchy? You stand next to a crazy person, you catch his craziness, catchy?" I arched a brow.
She laughed. "No. Catchy as in interesting."
"Crazy men are interesting? You are a strange, strange little gal."
She shrugged. "Strange works for me."
"Well, strange things certainly do happen around you." I mused. I'd never heard of hounds utilized to hunt down female reporters and their improvised protectors in enemy territory. Movies said most villains generally misjudged the heroes as being irritatingly stupid. Like if you waited long enough they'd fall right into your hands.
And then I had to laugh because I was the hero, which meant the Universe had a very shrewd sense of humor. And there I was, laughing to myself for no apparent reason again. I glanced at her and she was looking at me, clearly thinking the same thing, and I chuckled. It was easy to smile and laugh around her, like her very nearness made the air thinner, easier to breathe.
"Good luck tends to avoid me." she said.
"Join my club."I mumbled.
She laughed. She was going to add something, without a doubt a witty remark, when the ground shook slightly and a thunder raged across the sky. I recognized the sound as an explosion caused by a grenade.
A sure way to snap you back into reality.
We reached the flat land just as the sun was setting. I wanted to wait for the light to be completely gone, so we had a few minutes on our hands.
I crouched down at the edge of the tall grass, under the shade of a tree. I could see the mountains rising, a wall of emerald green with trees, across the open field. The field itself was covered with grass that was as tall as my hipbone. Finally some good luck. The grass would provide a half decent screen, and coupled with the darkness of night we might be quite invisible. I would go first, of course, to make sure we weren't being stalked.
As I crouched there and drank some water from my bottle—Doc had filled it in the river earlier—Bella came to crouch at my side. Her balance was poor, so she leaned against my side. I liked it.
"You might not want to do that." I muttered. "Adrenaline and close contact don't do well for the male anatomy. Especially certain parts."
She blushed madly but didn't move. "I feel safe when I'm with you." I wondered if she deliberately avoided making a comment on my observation because she was a virgin or because it was completely inappropriate given the situation.
You know what else was completely inappropriate given the situation? My thinking of her hypothetical virginity, so I shot that thought right down.
I wondered if all the thoughts that raced through my head at her words made me look like it took me ages to come up with answers and she thought I was stupid.
"It's an illusion." I said darkly. "You're not safe anywhere around here, regardless of my presence."
"A normal guy would have soothed my concerns, you know." She said skeptically.
"I'm not a normal guy."
"Evidently." She agreed with a sigh. "But at least you do have pretty normal moral linings, so I can work with that."
The fact that she thought she could work with that was simply ridiculous and I arched an eyebrow. "I don't have moral linings." I warned. I felt like I ought to forewarn her of my character. Like she needed to be on alert for when she got a chance to actually see me in normal conditions.
What the hell? How was I going to see her under 'normal conditions'? What, I was going to happen to run into her? On an aircraft carrier? Hey, I was in the neighborhood, which is to say, only three thousand nautical miles from here, so I decided to drop by for coffee.
She moved away from me to stare at me, completely stunned. "What?" she blinked.
"I don't. I never developed them. I just took what the Navy gave me." Morality, and rules, had been what had brought me to the Navy to begin with. I needed someone to tell me what was right and what was wrong and the military seemed to have a pretty good idea. Over the years there had been disagreements, but never anything I couldn't get over or conveniently ignore. I always got my way anyway—I was too valuable, too good, to be discharged for disobedience or insolence, even the three times I had been subjected to court martial.
She stared at me in complete awe for a heartbeat, and then suddenly burst out laughing. Now, I wasn't aiming for any particular reaction, I was just talking, but in any case… that was not what I expected. I frowned at her, thinking maybe she was mad. The military had some interesting health care programs for traumatized people, if I paid a good amount of money and pulled some string I could probably—why was I thinking of her medical care!? She wasn't my wife!
She continued to laugh until her fits died into small, delicate chuckles. And then she looked at me with tenderness in her eyes and a soft smile that spoke too loudly the words 'you're an idiot, but you're a cute idiot'.
"Edward." I ignored the electric current of delight that went through my nerves when she said my name. Dangerous. "What color are your eyes?"
Okay, she was mad. Of course I would like some crazy girl. I couldn't just like the sane ones. Wouldn't be as amusing, wouldn't it?
"Green." I said slowly, so she could follow me. I'd have to keep a good eye on her, make sure she didn't get herself in trouble under my watch. I hoped she wouldn't hurt the rest. I could organize some sort of constant vigilance over her—Newton would be delighted. I could just picture him wigging his fluffy little golden retriever tail. I wondered if Alice knew, I'd have to ask her. Was she depressive, or schizophrenic?
It hurt to think she was unbalanced, but she appeared pretty sane most of the time, so that wouldn't necessarily out a strain in a relationship, if I learned to work around her—wonderful. I was planning a whole life with a girl I'd known for a week, and who appeared to be insane.
Well, at least we'd fit.
She nodded, still smiling with fondness and mirth. "Well, at least you know something about yourself."
She patted my arm, like saying 'Okay, you'll get over it, you're not hopeless', got up and left me there.
What… just… happened?
I'd have to worry about it later. As I stood, snow flaked began to fall on the open field in front of me. I breathed out and steam came from between my lips.
"Don't get killed, Edward." Emmett requested, coming to my side. "You still owe me money."
Exactly 3 dollars and 65 cents. I didn't even remember what I'd bought with them. I never had any pocket change. Emmett complained that someone as rich as me should never be about with less than three hundred, but I hadn't touched my parents' bank accounts since the murder, and a Navy pilot doesn't make enough money to carry three hundred bucks in his butt pocket.
My dad's lawyer handled the accounts, sent me reviews (that I hardly ever read) once a month, and took care of the general business. My mother's best friend Kate, an amazing business woman (and Tanya's sister) handled the company.
I hadn't gone to business school. I had dreamt of being a pianist. Father used to encourage me, he believed one should pursue what makes him happy, regardless of anyone else's expectations… he knew he'd made enough money for me to be comfortable, even long after I made my life as a musician.
Why was I thinking so much of my parents? I hadn't spared a thought towards them in over five years.
"If I get shot," I said, ignoring his flinch. "it's your troop, Emmett. Keep them together, keep them alive."
"You're better than me." He mumbled, pale.
I smiled. "I'm really not, Emmet. Not by any chance, not at anything."
"Dude, you're the third best sniper in the Navy."
"Fourth."
"Whatever, shit." He snarled. "Just don't get killed, or I swear to God I'll find away to bring you back and kill you again."
"Well, that would be a waste of time." I smirked.
"Edward," Carlisle touched my arm.
Time to flee. If Carlisle started asking me not to get killed I'd just have to humor him. Emmett I could ignore, but I knew I couldn't handle disappointing Carlisle.
So I grinned at him, and I knew I was being a little shit—he knew it too, judging by his face—but I walked right out on him. If I was going to die in less than two minutes, I wanted it to be not whining like a little bitch. That was too pathetic even for my standards.
I thought of crouching down and walking low, safer, but then that would defeat the purpose of my risking my life to be bait, so I didn't bother. Besides, I figured if I was going to get shot, I might as well make sure it's in the head, ensuring a quick death.
I really didn't have a dying speech prepared. I figured 'I wanna thank all my fans, and my mom and my dad out there, I love ya guyz!' wouldn't go over very well. Although it would certainly be memorable.
I walked slowly, studying the terrain at my feet. The ground was firm and level beneath my boots, a mixture of dirt and sand. The grass was up to my hipbones and very rough, with sharp edges that made small shallow cuts that stung like shit. The snowflakes were piling upon them and they were beginning to bend. Hell, if I wasn't expecting to die any moment, I'd think it was beautiful. I shook my head to get them off my hair. It was damp and I was pretty cold. Some flakes stuck in my reddish stubble.
I walked approximately twenty one minutes before I got to what I could evaluate to be the middle of the field. I ran into the old corpse of an animal, likely a cow or a bull judging by the size. Only the bones and the old leather like skin remained, and the skeleton was lying on its side and buried up to the spine in the ground. It had been there for some time. The grass hadn't grown around it.
I stared at it for a while. I felt oddly mesmerized by its shape, the color of its bones in the moonlight, the way the snowflakes perched on the leather. I reached my hand to bat away a butterfly and realized my skin was almost the exact same color than the bones.
Eerie.
I'd always been unhealthily pale. With the bullet and the bite wounds I'd lost quite a bit of blood. I wasn't eating well, I was pushing myself and I was drinking too little water. I suddenly understood why Carlisle was so worried about me. I felt a spear of guilt about not letting him talk to me before. I should know better. Carlisle cared about me.
One of the few that still did.
I looked up and calculated quickly. I'd been standing there for five minutes now. Twenty six minutes out on the open field and I still had all my body parts.
We were evidently not being watched. Or we were, and they didn't want me dead. Like the other time when I threw myself over Bella. They wouldn't shoot through me. It irked me because it didn't fit. I was a liability, and an annoying one at that. If they were smart they would want me dead.
So why wasn't I? That was off. There had to be something behind that. I was a strategist; if I were in their position, I would aim first to kill the leader. A headless body is easy to destroy. If I died, according to the chain of command Emmett would take my place. They'd kill Emmett, and then Rosalie, and then I just had no idea who was next in the chain of command. Most likely Carlisle. Carlisle would be a good leader, if only he were willing to give orders.
I turned to look over my shoulder and made a brusque gesture with my head, indicating it was clear and they could move out. I had twenty minutes of time to think on my own, and I would use them wisely.
So, back on track, that meant that besides Bella and Alice, I should be a primary target. Eventually they'd figure out I was the leader. I stood out; tall, lanky, peculiar color of hair, too pale skin, eyes too bright. They could mark me easily.
I was exposing myself too much. Always on the head of the line, always navigating, putting myself in these positions. I was being stupid. The troop needed me; this wasn't common arrogance, this was a fact. I was the best strategist. We were in enemy ground and they needed me. I needed to cover myself and keep myself healthy for them. I would have to start delegating responsibilities. That which I didn't have to absolutely do on my own, I would give to someone else. That person would be in danger so I would have to rotate them.
A hand gently touched my shoulder. I smiled at Carlisle, and he arched an eyebrow. I didn't move as Emmet and Newton passed us, and I joined the line after Maxwell and Julian.
"Your mood swings are giving us all whiplash, Edward." He warned, sensing my disposition.
"Yeah, well. I'm sorry."
He looked at me. "Okay." He looked away and paused for a second, then frowned slightly. "Mm, what about?"
I laughed quietly. "You took my apologies before you even knew what they were for?"
"Edward, you do a lot of bad things. I take your apologies whenever I can."
That shut me up. Well, he deserved to get no apology, but I'd never get any sleep if I did something evil to Carlisle Cullen—I was sure some God in some religion—if not all of them—would strike me with lightening for upsetting the man. Everybody liked him too much.
"About earlier." I ground out.
Carlisle looked at me, his eyes knowing. "Ah. You were afraid I would ask you to survive."
I nodded and looked away.
"Well, I am not going to use your guilt to try and make you understand how much you would have hurt me and Esme but letting yourself die." He said, and I flinched. He said that, but he was using guilt! Unbelievable. The conniving bastard!
Well played.
"We don't have children." He added and the sword went right through. "You know how we feel about you." well, twist the blade, why don't you?
"Yes, I get it, thanks." I nearly whined.
"Instead, I'll make you feel much more horrible."
That's a friend for you.
"Think about what Bella would feel, if you got killed, here trying to rescue her… in front of her."
Well, he was a little shit. I guess that's how far one's willing to go for a friend. But in any case, it wasn't like I was suicidal. The idea of suicide always seemed way too pathetic. I wasn't a whiny bitch; if I disliked something I changed it. I didn't sit around crying for my misery and generally being wretched.
"I hate you." I whispered hoarsely.
He laughed out loud, and I pushed him with my elbow.
And just then Maxwell was shot in the back and he fell like a broken doll to the sandy dirt, dead.
"HIT THE GROUND!" I screamed, and dragged Carlisle down.
What… the FUCK!?
