A/N: Hello darlings! Still tuning in? Hope you enjoyed a little taste of Rose and Emmett last chapter.
Once again Chicklette beta'd this and kept me on the straight and narrow. I luvs her. I hope you're all reading her fics 'cause they are fantastic.
I also hope you're all having a lovely little spring holiday season, whether it's Passover, Easter, or any of the pagan rites, whatever your religious trip is, I hope you're enjoying it. Me? I had 20 people over for Passover and I think I still may be recovering. The upshot? I haven't had to cook all week I had so many leftovers. Yeah, way too much food, but that's how I do.
Once again a great big thank you to all of you have put this story on alert, reviewed it, or pimped it out (*cough* venis-envy *cough*).
Just a reminder, SM owns these people, I just put them in crazy situations.
He said to lose my life or lose my love,
That's the nightmare I've been running from.
So let me hold you in my arms a while,
I was always careless as a child.
And there's a part of me that still believes,
My soul will soar above the trees.
But a desperate fear flows through my blood,
That our dead loves buried beneath the mud.
"To Lose My Life" – White Lies
EPOV
Sweat trickled down my back as the taxi bounced along the road, and my hand tapped a nervous, staccato rhythm against my bag.
"You, first time here?" asked my driver, his English heavily accented and stilted.
"Yes," I answered, not wanting to be rude but not wanting to make conversation either.
"You here business?" he continued.
"No. Going to the hospital. My . . ." I began, before stopping short, unsure how to continue. My what? My former girlfriend? My soul mate? My muse? My raison d'etre? How the hell did I define Bella? How did I tell this man, this stranger, that my heart was lying in a hospital bed, possibly dying? This stranger from this harsh, foreign land. Did he even know what a muse was? Or the idea of a soul mate? Or had he been married to some woman he'd never seen before his wedding day?
"Ah, love," he said.
I stared at his reflection in the rearview mirror. My shock must have been evident on my face because he pointed to himself and said, "Afghani," and then pointed to me and said, "American. Not very different."
I smiled at him, and then took his picture, his eyes gazing at me through the reflection of the mirror, so that I would always remember the day I was schooled by a humble, Afghan cab driver.
"Yes," I said. "Love."
"Love is good," he replied, and then said nothing more the entire way to Bagram.
I went nuts as I was herded through the various security checkpoints, both on the road and once we reached the base. Each kilometer brought me closer to her, and each stop, each delay ripped at what was left of the shreds of my sanity.
I hadn't slept since Emmett told me what happened. As I sat and sweated while we waited out another checkpoint, I thought about the morning I found out.
I was in my studio, standing in front of a large, blank canvas, trying to recapture in my mind's eye the way Bella looked the night of my show. The way her hair cascaded down her back and perfectly framed her face. The fire in her eyes when she saw me, and the undisguised, familiar pull in them after she punched me—the same tether that lashed me to her as a child and young man, and which couldn't be replaced no matter how many others there had been in the interim—but there was also pain, something I'd put there.
She was stunning. The young woman I'd left behind had matured and blossomed, but there was hardness in her face that hadn't been there before—cynicism in place of hope, wariness in place of openness.
I needed to capture it. To capture her and commit her to my canvas. Alice and Rose said I broke her, and I wanted to make sure I never forgot what I'd done to her. To make sure I remembered that I was the one who put that hardness there, and left the haunted, pained look in her eyes.
I heard the door swing open.
"Hi Em," I said knowing it was him because he was the only other person with a key.
"Umm, hey Edward," he replied, sounding decidedly . . . off.
I turned to look at him, and there was no doubt about it, something was wrong.
"Hey, what's going on?" I asked, putting down my brush and palette and walking over to him, gesturing to the bar. He sat down heavily on one of the chairs, and I walked around and poured us each a cup of coffee. I spent a lot of time in my studio, so I made sure it was equipped with the necessities: a fully stocked bar, excellent coffee, and a small fridge to keep food and my insulin.
"Umm, Rose got a call a few hours ago," he began.
I looked at the clock, saw how early in the morning it was, did the mental math and groaned. "Fuck Em, you were with Rose in the middle of the night? That means . . . aw hell, Emmett; I mean you couldn't have waited until she was at least talking to me again? And now what? From the look on your face I'm going to guess you got the standard treatment? Or one of her infamous tongue lashings?"
I ran my hand through my hair in frustration. First Carlisle, then Emmett. "Fuck Em, really?" I whined.
"Edward, just shut up a minute. I . . . I don't know how to tell you this, okay?"
The tone of his voice scared me, and I sat down on the bar stool. "What?" I asked, my voice shaky and pitched too high.
"Bella's been hurt," he began, and my world felt like it was tipping. I gripped the edge of the stool, certain that I was going to fall off.
"What happened? Where? Afghanistan?"
"You knew she was there? How did you know? When—"
"Emmett, questions later! What happened?"
He took a deep breath. "Her car hit a roadside bomb and she was hurt badly, Edward."
I closed my eyes and asked, "How bad?"
"She took a piece of shrapnel in the abdomen and a hit to her head. She lost a lot of blood before they got her to the hospital and into surgery. Right now she's in a medically induced coma."
"What," I began and faltered, because I could barely bring myself to ask the question. "What's her prognosis?"
"Jasper said it was fifty-fifty."
"Who's Jasper?" I asked.
"It's who Bella was working with. He's the one that called Rose."
"I have to go, Em. I have to go. Fuck. Is the travel agent even open this early? What airlines fly to Afghanistan? Where's my computer?" I began rattling off questions, and wandering around the studio looking for my computer, my phone.
I felt Emmett's hand on my shoulder. "Edward, what are you going to do? How are you going to get on the base? You just going to stroll up to the gates and demand to see her?"
"I don't know. I don't know. I don't know!" I yelled. "How the fuck is Rose getting on the base?"
"That Jasper guy told her he was going to let them know to expect her, and to help with security. Rose has Bella's medical proxy, since she has no living relatives, and she's listed as Bella's next of kin."
"I'll call Rose. Maybe she can help. Maybe she can tell them—"
"Tell them what exactly, Edward? That they should let her hysterical, ex-boyfriend onto the base?"
He was right. I was getting hysterical, but who wouldn't in my place? "Maybe. I don't know, but I have to call Rose. Give me her number."
"No. Not until you calm down and have a rational plan in place. I'm going to call her now. You calm the fuck down," he ordered.
I watched him walk away as he dialed his phone and, after a moment, begin speaking. It must have gone directly to voicemail. "Rose? Hi it's me again, ummm, I just wanted to say I'm sorry. I didn't know what else to do . . ."
I had to try. "Give me the phone, Emmett!" I shouted.
He ignored me and continued, "Shit. I just wanted to say sorry—"
I grabbed the phone from him and inadvertently disconnected the call.
"Son of a bitch!" he yelled. "If you weren't my best friend, and I didn't know how fucked up you are right now, I would knock your block off," he seethed.
"Thanks," I deadpanned, and hit redial. As soon as her voicemail beeped, I began to speak, and my fear and hysteria colored my words, my tone. "Rose? God damn it, Rose! What happened? Where is she? Rose, please, please call me. Tell me she's okay," I pled into the phone, before Emmett plucked it from my hand and ended the call.
"I can't lose her, Emmett. You, you of all people know that."
"I know man, I know. I just . . . I just don't know what to do."
My phone rang and I looked at the caller ID. Carlisle Cullen flashed and I moved to toss the phone back on the table. I'd been avoiding his calls since the night of my show. I was going to talk to him. I was. I just wasn't ready to. But as I was about to let the call go to voicemail, I remembered that Carlisle had connections all over the world from his time with Doctors Without Borders. He may not have worked in Afghanistan, but I thought that maybe, just maybe he knew someone there. Maybe another doctor that worked on the base?
I answered the phone.
"Edward, thank God," he said. "I've been trying to reach you for days," he paused. "We have to talk."
"I know, Carlisle. We do have to talk, but there's something else first." And I told him what happened, and asked if he could help. He started asking me questions about her condition, the doctor in him trying to assess the situation. I told him what I knew and he got quiet for a moment. Then he said he would see what he could do and to come by his house right away.
I packed my bags quickly; a few changes of clothes, my laptop, camera, sketchpad, and some pencils and charcoal. Those last were not necessary, but sketching sometimes calmed me when I was stressed, and I figured it couldn't hurt to have them. I wanted to be ready in case Carlisle managed to pull some strings.
I was at Carlisle's house within the hour. When we walked in, he looked at me with concern. Pointing at my face he asked, "Did she do that?"
I grimaced, thinking about the cut across my nose and black left eye. I touched my face gingerly and nodded.
"That's some right she's got," he muttered, and brought us into his office.
It was a warm, rich room, filled with dark woods, and comfortable fabrics. A leather couch faced the fireplace, and an antique partner's desk sat angled at the corner by a large floor to ceiling window. A zebra skin rug lay in front of the sofa, which was flanked on either side by inviting chairs with matching ottomans. Bookshelves adorned the remaining walls, and sconces reflected a soft light against the wall in between each of them. A hexagonal, inlaid Moroccan table sat at one arm of the sofa, and small items from around the world dotted the flat surfaces of the room. Being there always made me feel like I'd traveled back in time to the estate of a retired British soldier who had served in India and Africa. It was my favorite room in Carlisle's house, but just then I didn't even give it a second glance.
"Well?" I asked, without preamble.
"Sit down, Edward," Carlisle said, indicating the couch. "Hello, Emmett."
"Carlisle," Emmett replied and shook his hand.
"Carlisle, I don't want to sit down! I just need to know if you can help me or not!" I was being an asshole of unmitigated proportions, but I really didn't care.
"Edward," Carlisle began in an exasperated tone. "I'm still waiting for a phone call. So please, sit down while we wait."
I sat down on the couch, elbows on my knees, hands cradling my head. I felt the couch move and dip next to me, as Carlisle took the other seat.
"Edward." Carlisle touched my hand as he spoke. I flinched at his touch, knowing that hand had been on my Bella just a few days before, but I looked up at him.
"I didn't know who she was, Edward. You have to believe that."
"I don't know what to believe anymore, Carlisle."
"Until the night of your show, I knew her as 'Marie Higginbotham.' That's the name she goes by when she's working abroad."
"Marie is her middle name," I filled in. "Higginbotham was her mother's maiden name."
"I see."
"How," I broke off, unsure how to continue. "How do you know, Bella?"
Carlisle stood and walked a few feet, rubbing his hand over his face. His back was to me when he began. "When Esme died, my world ended. I know that sounds cliché, but it was true. I felt like a stranger in my own house, at work, in my own skin. I couldn't find joy in the simplest pleasures, even in my job, which I'd always loved. Finally, I couldn't take staying here any longer, and I joined MSF."
"MSF?" Emmett interrupted.
Carlisle turned toward Emmett. "Sorry, Emmett. That's the French acronym for Doctors Without Borders."
He turned back toward the wall, away from us. "I met Marie, sorry," he shook his head, "Bella about a year or so after I went to Africa. She had brought in a truckload of supplies that we'd been waiting for. Strictly speaking she didn't work for MSF, but she brought us a number of things we desperately needed, as our official supply line was caught up in government red tape."
"What kinds of things?" I asked, thinking about what Alice had said. "Food? Clothing?"
Carlisle turned and looked at me, his smile rueful. "No, Edward. We were a medical outfit. She brought us medical supplies: sutures, gauze, even an autoclave when ours broke," he said, and then continued in a barely audible whisper, "and medicines."
I didn't like the implication. "What kind of medicines, Carlisle? Antibiotics?"
He chuckled. "Yes, antibiotics." I breathed a sigh of relief. "And morphine, Percocet, diazepam, and whatever else we needed, Edward."
"Fucking, hell," I heard Emmett mutter.
"Bella did this? My Bella was smuggling drugs?" My head was spinning.
"Don't make it sound so sordid, Edward." Carlisle chided. "She saved lives."
"At the risk of her own!" I yelled and jumped up.
"I think that was the point, Edward."
His words were like a bucket of ice water on my fiery indignation and I sat back down, hard.
A tendril of realization crept across my panic. "Is that what it was like for you too?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
I heard Carlisle take a deep breath. "Being in the middle of a war? The danger, the tenuous and fleeting hold on life there? It made me feel more . . . alive?"
...
See notes in chapter 2
a/n: So, poor Carlisle, huh? And how do we feel about Edward now? It's not so simple is it? Has it ever been simple for you?
On another note, Just Like Chocolate has been nominated for a few awards in the Everything's Bigger in Texas contest!
Also my one shot, Epiphanies and Grenades came in second in the open vote of the Fuck My Life contest. Thank you to everyone who voted!
White Lies "To Lose My Life" is good. Take a listen.
