I don't know if anyone ever actually follows this sort of recommendation, but if you want to hear a great song that seriously influenced the way this chapter ultimately ended up (and gave me this chapter's title), listen to Will Do by the always great TV on the Radio.

With that, I unapologetically submit to you the eleventh chapter of Tantum. :D

11. If Ever You Should Decide

Bella never thought she'd have any reason to miss the virtually ever-present traffic on the 405 freeway, but she found herself oddly comforted by the familiarity of it—the smell of ocean and exhaust, a sea of red tail lights, a symphony of honking horns, and a seventy degree breeze sliding in through the inch of open driver's side window.

She wondered how long it would take for the effect to wear off.

They'd barely arrived back in town just shy of two hours ago, and already her mind was racing, any relief at being home laughably short-lived. There was too much to think about.

As they'd been closing up a post-tour leg meeting at Mase's house, Mase had pulled her aside and hit her with questions she wasn't sure she was prepared to answer. Her hesitation could have been that their friendship was still a little tenuous after the incident on the bus, but she knew that was merely an excuse, an avoidance tactic. Granted, they had barely had time to discuss much of anything, since they'd flown home directly after New Orleans. In two days, they would meet back up to sort through the equipment once the tour buses arrived back in L.A., and she'd have to have some answers by then.

She knew the things Mase was asking of her might take a little more time to consider, and she was pretty sure Mase knew it, too. That didn't make it any easier.

Admittedly, his first request was much easier than the second. He'd told her that he wanted to put some of the song ideas they'd been toying with down on record, and wanted to know if she'd be willing to spend some time in the studio, tinkering out new material for a potential new album. It had taken her nearly every grain of restraint she had not to reply with a resounding fuck yeah right off the bat. Of course she wanted to do it. If this tour had taught her anything, it was that she loved composing, especially with someone as talented as Mase, and she'd missed that from her life as a studio musician more than anything. But she'd quickly come to realize it wasn't just someone as talented as Mase. She'd plainly missed what the two of them were capable of together, and she'd never met anyone else that had come close.

The second request was a silent one, contingent upon her answer of the first, but it stood between them as clear as day. If she maintained any sort of working relationship with him, she knew she'd be as good as a permanent part of Tantum once again. Sure, she could draw the line, say no, but it wasn't bloody likely as far as she was concerned—if she composed new music with Mase, she couldn't go half-assed. Her sense of musical integrity wouldn't allow it. At least for a while, she'd tour with him, let the fans experience the music the way the new material was intended, before she'd be willing to hand the reins over again to whomever her permanent replacement might be. But it was clear they still had a spark for composing together, and the cycle would be perpetuated. If drugs were no longer a factor to throw a wrench in things, it might well go on forever.

She'd be lying to herself to deny that the spark exceeded the boundaries of music making, as well. It had all but been etched in stone at this point that they still had unbelievable chemistry. It wasn't as though they'd parted from any lack of love, but instead purely for her own self-preservation. They were different, but the same. They were the evolved versions of themselves, harder and softer in the right places, settled into their places in this world. If they'd all but eliminated the sources of destruction that had pushed them apart in the beginning, what might buffer this inevitable fall?

Furthermore, was it futile to resist? Perhaps even a great transgression to deny what she knew they had between them?

A blaring horn from the lane next to her jolted her from her thoughts, and she realized her phone was buzzing from the passenger seat. Not bothering to think too much about the unfamiliar number on the screen, she hastily accepted the call and hit the speakerphone button.

"Hello?"

"Bella?"

Her brow furrowed as she tried to place the voice before it finally clicked.

"Jacob?" Why the hell was Jacob Black calling her? And on her cell phone—a number she knew she hadn't given him? Lauren was clearly still sucking at her job back at Entity Records.

"Yeah, Mike told me you'd be getting back in town today, so I thought I'd try to get in touch."

"Oh, is there a problem on one of the tracks? I can probably make it in the studio this week for a retake if you need it."

She wasn't sure what to make of the fact that he began chuckling nervously.

"No, no, the tracks are great. We're getting close to finishing up and moving into post-production."

"That's great, Jacob." She couldn't help but roll her eyes, taking a hand off the wheel to roughly comb a hand through her brown hair, tangled and disorderly from the hours of travel. "So… what's up?"

She could hear him clear his throat, muffled as though he'd pulled the phone away briefly. "I, uh … was wondering if you had a free evening sometime this week. I'd like to take you out."

Mouth falling open, Bella blinked several times, struggling to formulate a cohesive sentence. The car next to her blared its horn again, and she closed her mouth, reaching for the crank to roll up her window. She'd need some silence for this exchange.

"I think that's everything, Mase."

Mase looked up from the mixing board to see Demetri and Felix exiting the practice room, and gave a nod.

"The kit ready to go?" He asked.

"All set up the way she likes it," Felix replied with a poorly concealed smirk.

Mase chose not to acknowledge it. "Thanks, guys. Have a good break, and I'll see you when we start up rehearsals again."

The six-week break would serve as both a blessing and a curse. Six weeks. So much time to make or break the future of the tour, the band, the music. Mase's sanity and heart. He'd have to approach this carefully, really take his time with getting this right.

He owed Iz so much and he'd been putting it off for far too long. Still, he had to be true to himself, true to his feelings. He wouldn't force anything he wasn't ready for.

And he wouldn't hide from what he was ready for.

There was a lot of ambiguity left in that resolution, but a resolution it was. He was going to trust himself to make the right decisions this time around.

Glancing down at the black screen of his phone, placed purposefully beside the board, he thought of calling Iz. She was supposed to come by today, pick up the stuff she hadn't wanted to haul onto the plane with her, and hopefully give him some sort of indication about where their future might end up.

Sure, nothing big.

Jaw twitching as he chewed on his indecision, he reached for his phone four times then pulled back before he finally picked it up.

He was just scrolling through his contacts for her number when two voices filtered into the room.

"So he just called you on a number you didn't give him and asked you out?" Seth was asking dubiously.

"Yep. Made the trip home a little more interesting at least."

As he instantly recognized Iz's voice, Mase's insides clenched as he registered the implications of the conversation he was overhearing.

"Who?" He bit out as soon as they appeared in the doorway of the studio, the word forming itself before he could stop it.

Iz and Seth both stopped promptly, heads whipping toward Mase.

Seth had an unreadable expression on his face. "Jacob Black. Bella was doing a session for him just before we left. Guess she left an impression."

The name was vaguely familiar, and Mase was scrolling through mental catalogues of names he'd come across recently, until he remembered the article he'd seen in Spin about up and coming artists. Jacob Black was young and apparently talented, the thumbnail image he'd seen revealing the kid as young, good-looking, clean-cut type.

Mase was historically quick to anger, but the force of emotion that hit him when he considered that Iz might actually date the kid surprised him. She couldn't actually be considering it, could she?

What about everything that had been undeniably happening between the two of them recently?

The question was simultaneously accompanied by a harsh dose of reality—she was free to do whatever she wanted because he'd been a pussy about this whole thing from the beginning. He had yet to clarify where she stood with him, and where he knew he now wanted to stand with her. They'd danced around each other, stolen some sweet, secret moments of pure cathexis, and a single electric kiss, but no part of this had been solidified by either of them in words or actions.

That was all going to change. So long, careful approach.

Iz had moved on into the practice room with Seth, apparently oblivious to or just plain unmoved by Mase's internal struggle, and he determinately followed, yanking the door open.

She spoke up before he had a chance to even open his mouth.

"Hey, I was thinking about what you asked me."

Her eyes were on the DW kit that the roadies had finished setting up just minutes before, before she broke her gaze to rifle through the bag she'd carried in with her.

A lump formed in his throat and he stood still in the doorway. Would she end it all now before he'd even had a chance to share with her this newfound revelation of his?

"…And?"

It was then he noticed she had a small smile curling her lips, though she still had yet to look at him. "My answer is… yes."

No further explanation. No qualifiers. No provisions. Nothing but a concise and eloquent answer, and he was overcome. Resolved. Done with tiptoeing around.

"I can't take this anymore," he declared roughly.

Her eyes were on his instantly, and she recoiled, likely misinterpreting the intensity she saw in his face. "I'm … I'm … I mean, I was just thinking that we could start with the one we were playing around with on the bus. Most of the framework is done, so…"

"Iz," he tried to interrupt her rambling, glancing at Seth as he skirted past them and out the door with a growing smirk on his face. Mase would worry about him later.

She hadn't heard him or was ignoring him entirely. "We can work up to something more … involved. Later. Unless you've changed your mind." Her voice had trailed off into a whisper, her chocolate brown gaze dropping to the floor.

Swallowing, agonized at the hurt he was seeing in her face, he began to step toward her, slowly. "Iz, listen to me. I haven't changed my mind."

The pain eased from her expression and she met his eyes once again. "Oh, good. Because I have some really good ideas, and I've been dying to show you." She once again resumed the search through her bag, pulling a pair of drumsticks out a second later.

"I lied," he blurted out. She stilled again, her eyes fixed to his face once more. "I can't be your friend. I can't fucking handle it."

He could easily see the movement in her throat, her head tilting as she braced herself for his next words, and it suddenly occurred to him that she might have been expecting exactly what he'd say next.

"I still love you," he said plainly, sick of avoidance and vague words. It was the truth and it wasn't fair to either of them to deny it. "I need you to be part of my life. As more than just a friend."

When her expression didn't change, he knew his assumption was correct. She had expected it. He didn't know what to make of that. She'd obviously come here with the intention of sticking around, so his feelings couldn't be any sort of deterrent. What did that mean for hers?

Tense, willing his hands not to tremble, he waited as her eyes shifted first to the floor, then to the drum kit, and finally back to him. He wasn't sure he liked what he saw there.

"I love you, too," she replied weakly, still tightly clutching her sticks.

The delivery of those sacred words left him reeling, teetering on the edge of a precipice. Joy and terror warred against each other—he couldn't be certain she was actually happy about this.

Still, he stepped closer, determined not to let this shake him. With patience that would once have been uncharacteristic of him, he didn't speak, leaving the silence in the air hers to fill. He wouldn't let her off with a distraction, or an easy way out.

After several moments, she spoke again, shadows clouding her eyes. "But I'm not sure about our future, Mase."

He was inches away by now, and he lowered his face to peer into those deep, mahogany orbs, alight with a brilliant, glowing flame. It was all the answer he needed. "Fuck that. I am."

He was waiting for her, for some sort of signal that she wanted to run; she could read it in his hesitation. Not for the first time, she was observing Edward Masen being mindful of someone other than himself, but she knew this was infinitely more meaningful than anything he'd done for her these past weeks.

Bella knew exactly what he was giving her—a choice and a chance to take absolute responsibility for herself.

A question formed in her mind, but it wasn't one that needed to be spoken, for it was only she who could provide the answer—the answer that had made itself abundantly clear, and she was only now figuring it out.

Being inherently good was not better than succeeding in the great effort to overcome one's darkest nature. Mase kept proving that he'd done just that, and she didn't want to continue hanging him for something he'd clearly hung himself over and ultimately conquered.

It was with this simple conclusion that she stepped forward, literally and figuratively, and dropped her sticks on the floor. There would be no doubt of it this time; she was the one to place her lips against his, an offering to share with him this affirmation.

A moan reverberated against her mouth, deep and masculine, and his arms instantly came around her, holding her firmly flush with his body. It was only seconds before she found her own hands at his waist, tugging at the hem of his shirt and skimming up his back, taking the fabric in tow.

Reluctantly, their kiss broke for just enough time to get the shirt over his head and discarded noisily over the crash cymbal.

She hadn't really intended for things to go this way. She figured they would need to talk now that they'd established that they had the same goal in mind for the direction of their relationship, to figure out all those complicated issues like boundaries and sorting out all of those hurt feelings they'd both harbored for so long. It was becoming clearer, however, that they'd mostly done that already—it was something they'd accomplished during all those years apart, the way it had always had to have happened. There were still things to discuss, they both knew it, but most of the healing had occurred long before. They were the best of themselves right here, right now, and holding out for answers about a future they'd never be able to predict was a waste of unrecoverable time.

For now there were more important matters at hand, matters like his hands running down the length of her back, gathering a gentle fistful of her hair, and his lips making a trail down her neck, his breath so warm against her skin.

"Mase," she breathed as her head tilted back, eyes wide open and unfocused on the ceiling of the practice room. "The door..."

He seemed to understand what she was not articulating all that well, and he turned them around, lips finding hers once again as he urged her backwards, toward the open door of the room.

Somehow, blindly fumbling the whole way with stubborn refusal to allow more than centimeters between them, they found their way up the stairs, down the hall, and into the bedroom they'd both once known so intimately. Bella had managed to lose her own shirt somewhere along the way, along with her boots, and was now contending with Mase's belt.

When the backs of her knees hit the edge of the bed, she let herself fall backward, her hold on the leather strip enough to bring him down with her.

It wasn't the first time she'd thought it, but it never failed to surprise her. In so many ways, it felt as though nothing had changed. Of course, it had, in all the right ways, but this was a piece of their past, the time when they'd been so devoted to each other, so happy, committed to enriching each other's lives in every possible capacity—it had felt just like this.

The urgency made them clumsy, but it seemed neither of them had forgotten this routine, demonstrated in the way his fingers would dance over that delicate skin on the back of her neck that always shot tingles down her spine, to the way he'd brush over the back of her knees once he'd managed to pull her jeans from her legs, then pull her wrist to his lips, ghosting over the tender skin at the inside—all places he knew drove her nearly to the brink of begging. She returned in kind, fingernails playfully scratching against his hips as she pulled the fabric of his pants from him, then up the sides of his ribs, eliciting a sharp gasp.

It was all as though not a second was lost between them, and the thought brought a sudden devastation she wasn't prepared for, at just how finite time really was. She didn't know what the future would hold for them, but she knew she couldn't let more time evade her. It was this that propelled her, no more fabric or hang ups or doubts obstructing them—save for a hastily found condom from the nightstand, and she slid a hand between their bodies, grasping him firmly and bringing him to her entrance, permitting, pleading without words.

A breath slid sharply in between his teeth, and he broke the kiss he'd just placed against the corner of her jaw, bringing his eyes up to meet hers.

It wasn't a question, but a confirmation; mutual recognition that this was happening and neither had any desire to stop it.

"Edward," she rasped raggedly, watching the change in his eyes as he absorbed the significance of what she'd just said.

His eyes closed tightly and his forehead pressed against hers, his hips pressing forward, eliciting an involuntary sound from her lips, halfway between a moan and a gasp, as he slowly slid into her.

"Fuck," he whispered once he was firmly inside to the hilt, the breath of the word warm against her mouth, and she tilted her chin to capture it, lips against lips.

A few still, agonizing seconds later, he finally began to drag his hips back, then ever so slowly push back in, and she realized he was shaking all over.

Or perhaps it was she who shook, overwhelmed by the sudden sensory overload, physical and psychological.

It didn't matter, though, as she found herself quickly swept up in a flurry of desperation, her hips rising to meet his, fingers seeking purchase anywhere she could find, his back, his hips, anything that would offer some leverage or urge him on deeper and faster. He responded in equal measure, unsteady and arrhythmic, evidently as affected by the urgency as she.

It wasn't the time for a slow, painstaking rediscovery of each other. This was a frantic reclaiming, an elegy of opportunities lost and a revelry for paradise regained, and it went without saying that there would be time for tenderness and exploration later. She clung steadfast to him, a volley of grosgrain moans and broken whimpers spilling over as she rapidly approached the edge.

In seconds, she was shattering, a hoarse cry erupting from her throat as she felt him follow her but a moment later, his face buried in the crook of her neck, shuddering violently above her and releasing a strangled groan in the blanket of hair beneath her.

It took her a series of deep breaths to slow her heart and become cognizant of her surroundings once again, only then recognizing that Mase was speaking, words muffled and weak, but indubitably reverent.

"I love you, Iz," he was saying. "I've never loved anything in this world more. I won't make you doubt that again."

A smile unfurled over her lips, and she didn't think she'd ever spoken truer words.

"I believe you."

Thank you so much for your reviews, faves, recs, follows, and mostly your patience. It was a crazy couple of weeks, so I got behind schedule, and didn't reply to all the reviews I'd intended to.

HUGE thanks to the help I received—the beta of SunflowerFran, Cejsmom for the encouraging words and read-through, and TwilightMomofTwo for just being there after all this time!

Tantum didn't win the poll at The Lemonade Stand, not even close (though I wasn't last!), but I'm honored to have been considered, and so, so grateful for everyone that voted (or attempted to). I may not have tons of reviews and readers, but man, I've got the best in the bunch, I'm pretty damn certain. Thank you eternally.