This outtake takes place near the beginning of the 1950 story, let's say between chapters 2 and 3. It's okay to read this if you haven't started the main story yet, as it's not too spoiler-y. Basically the "Three musketeers" are Edward's lab group in medical school. This is the closest Edward's ever come to having real human friends; it just sort of happened naturally because they spent so much time together. I thought it would be fun to peek in on one of their studying/basketball nights, and also fun to see Edward through his friend's eyes.

March 1950

Nick Lawrence POV

I tried my best to look attentive as Dr. Harris yammered on and on, but it was four o'clock. Didn't this guy ever run out of steam?

"… on the other hand, you could interpret the trend of these findings as indicative of a… are you listening, Mr. Lawrence?!"

"Yes, sir. Loud and clear, sir."

He droned on with renewed energy for another ten minutes. Why didn't I sign up for clinicals at the hospital like William and Edward? Oh, that's right, because I refuse to get up before seven.

He finally released me at four thirty; I think my stomach had started growling louder than he could talk. I had been dreaming about Mrs. Cummings' fried chicken all day. The Three Musketeers were on a mission tonight: pass the pharmacology midterm. Take no prisoners, leave no one behind, and leave no drumstick uneaten.

I was the one who had come up with the name. I'm a smart guy, but Gross Anatomy almost did me in. I mean, I guess it's important to know the origin, insertion, blood supply and innervation of every single muscle in the human body, but it all starts to run together after a while and all the ganglia start looking alike, and don't even get me started on how I'm supposed to tell the difference between an accessory paraflocculus and a dorsal paraflocculus. There's a reason I'm going into orthopedics.

Anyway, I was sinking fast, but I had the best lab group in the world. William I had known in undergrad; great guy. And Edward is the new one- he was originally from Boston but he had gone to school in Sweden because his mom had to take care of his grandfather or something. He was the reason we had to have a lab group of three. He's a hemophiliac and so whoever he got paired with wouldn't be able to do much practicing on him, and so he got stuck with us. He was pretty quiet at first, but there's something about hacking up a corpse for four hours a day that brings people together, you know? He loosened up after awhile, once he was done staring at our scalpels like they were about to jump up and bite him. We all became friends pretty quick.

So once they both realized that the practical exams and I weren't getting along, these guys spent day after day drilling me until I had everything right. And when the custodians kicked us out of the lab, we would head over to William's house, which is only a couple miles from the school. The day before the next practical we pulled an all-nighter together. And I'm not a mushy guy, but I was grateful; this was the test that was going to make or break my grade. Five guys had already flunked out and I knew I was next, if I didn't pull it together. We all got as jazzed up as we could on spiked coffee and by four a.m. the mnemonics were getting pretty creative; even Edward was cracking up. Somehow we ended up on William's basketball court at sunrise, playing Sternocleidomastoid instead of Horse. But then I went in there and I aced that practical. Take that, accessory paraflocculus!

So after my genius lab partners had given me the requisite high-fives I made some kind of moving speech about how grateful I was, and how I would name both my firstborn kids after them, and how we were The Three Musketeers and all for one and one for all! At least, that's what they told me I said later on; I was so wired it was a miracle I had even spelled my name right on the exam. I think I slept for three days straight after that. I did pretty well once Gross Anatomy was over, and now it's my turn to keep William afloat. He's as smart as ever, but the poor guy hasn't got the stomach for bodily fluids. It's pretty funny, actually; dissection was no big deal, but he turns all green every time someone mentions blood. And get this: he got assigned to the Emergency Room in his clinicals. Isn't that rich? If he didn't look so pathetically nauseous every time he came out, I'd think it was hilarious. But that's my specialty: every time he looks like he's about to pass out, I just come up with a good joke, and his color comes back. Works like a charm. Edward tries, but his sense of humor is a little impaired. Comes of being adopted by a Brit, I guess. His specialty is talking your ear off, so sometimes that snaps William out of it, or at least puts him to sleep. We'll get him through. All for one, and one for all!

Anyway, the study nights have sort of become a tradition. Every midterm and final, and sometimes in between, we all get together at William's house, study ourselves silly, and shoot some hoops while we quiz each other. And Mrs. Cummings always tucks us in with a big bucket of her famous fried chicken. Almost flunking out of Gross Anatomy was the best thing I ever did, because let me tell you, that fried chicken is to die for.

I pulled up William's driveway at the same time as Edward. It was a gorgeous sunny afternoon, so hopefully we'd go straight to basketball and to hell with the studying. I pulled my lucky basketball out of the passenger seat and chucked it right at Edward's windshield as he drove up. If there's anything that makes me drool more than Mrs. Cummings' fried chicken (and Marilyn Monroe, yow!) it was Edward's car. Sure, this is Ivy League, so we're all pretty well off, but his folks must be loaded, because he's driving a Jaguar XK120. You would think the babes would be all over him, but he's too serious for that. And of course he's got his top up on the sunniest day of the year. What a geek. He just shook his head and grinned that oh-these-adorable-kids grin of his as the basketball bounced off the top.

"What, are you gonna sit in there all day?" I shouted, slam-dunking his windshield again. I wasn't allowed to punch him- hemophiliac and all- so his car got all the love.

"I'll be there in a minute," he shouted back through the glass, rummaging in his bag for something. I let myself in and followed my nose to the kitchen.

"Hello, Nick!" Mrs. Cummings said.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Cummings," I answered sweetly, then I looked past her. "Hey, what's that?" As soon as she turned around I grabbed a drumstick off the drying rack in front her.

"Stop it, you! William!" she called upstairs, slapping at my hand in mid-air. "Edward and Nick are here!"

I spun around and nearly choked on the drumstick when I found Edward standing six inches from my face. "Don't do that," I complained around my mouthful. This guy gave me the creeps sometimes. Why didn't he make noise when he moved, like a decent person? He was so graceful it was wrong. His mom must have put him in ballet when she realized he wouldn't ever be able to play sports.

He laid his books on the counter, nearly dropping half the stack. "Hello, Mrs. Cummings," he purred.

"Hello, dear," she replied, blushing like a school girl. "I hope you're hungry, because I made extra tonight!"

His face fell just for a second. But then he flashed a toothy smile, slipping a drumstick off the drying rack. She just beamed right back at him and pushed another drumstick into his other hand. How come I get my hand slapped, and he gets a blush and extra chicken? What does this guy have that I don't? But I couldn't blame her for wanting to fatten him up.

The truth is, I worry about Edward sometimes. I guess it's the hemophilia, but he's always so pale and tired-looking, and he's got that starving artist look going, and he winces sometimes like he's in pain, when he didn't even move a muscle. Sometimes his eyes aren't even right. But then sometimes his color will be better for a while, and he'll be more relaxed for a few days. So I guess he gets some kind of treatment sometimes that spruces him up- maybe transfusions? I asked him about it once, but he seemed a little sensitive about it. So I leave him alone, but I don't like how he never quite gets past the "pale" stage. And we don't talk about it, but I know William worries about him too. He still feels bad about that one day in Gross Anatomy where we were doing our palpation labs, and Edward said we shouldn't practice on him because he might bruise. William did it anyway, and damned if the poor kid's back wasn't covered in bruises the next day. We've both been more careful with Edward after that. We've made up a couple of special rules for him in basketball, and we always gently tap him on the shoulder in greeting when we get back from Christmas break or whatnot. But he didn't look too pleased about the chicken when Mrs. Cummings offered it; there's no way a man can have a healthy appetite and pass that up. But he dutifully took a couple of bites until Mrs. Cummings was satisfied. She piled the rest of the pieces in a bowl and made her escape just as William finally got downstairs, books in tow. "Hey," he saluted us, stopping by the fridge to get out three bottles of Coca-Cola.

I spun the basketball on my finger. "What do you say we shoot some hoops first? Nice day out there."

"Could we study for a while first?" Edward asked with a frown. "I don't understand the classifications on the cancer drugs."

"Me neither," William sighed, pulling up a stool and cracking open his Pharm textbook.

"Oh, come on you two!" I moaned. "We can study later."

"The chicken will get cold," Edward pointed out, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh."

He shoved the bowl my way. "Here, I'm done."

"Did you already eat?" William asked, grabbing a piece.

Edward shrugged, spinning the neck of his cola bottle between his fingers. "I got something earlier. And… I don't know, I can't help but think of muscle charts when I'm eating it. How's that gastrocnemius taste?"

William made a face, pulling his drumstick away from his mouth. "More for me," I announced, pulling the bowl closer and opening my own book. Mmm, gastrocnemius. "Okay, I guess I'll have to teach you two jokers how to classify cancer drugs. To a successful midterm," I added, holding my bottle up for a toast. "All for one!"

"One for all," we laughed, clinking all three bottles together.

.

.

.

We broke for basketball at dusk. First we played a little Horse- sorry, Sternocleidomastoid- and then Edward sat out while William and I had a more rough-and-tumble one-on-one. Edward always likes to park himself, his books, and his cola in the shade of this one sickly-looking shrub and shout out quiz questions while we play. The rule is that whoever shouts the right answer first gets control of the ball. Kinda geeky, but I think it helps Edward feel like he's in the game.

I was just lining up for a great shot when Edward piped up with "How do drugs get into hepatocytes?"

"PassiveDiffusionCarrierMediatedTransport!" William barked out, grabbing the ball out of my hands in triumph.

"Them's fightin' words," I growled, slamming my shoulder into his gut. He tumbled away, rolling the ball up over his other shoulder and laughing as he held it up in the air. "Not fair using the height!" I whined, jumping up and reaching for the ball in vain. He dropped it behind his back, slamming me away with one elbow as he spun to start dribbling again.

Edward turned a page. "Where in the body is capillary permeability incr-"

"Glomerulus and liver sinusoids!" I got out in a rush. "Ha!"

William scowled, shoving me the ball. I kept it tight, dribbling around his reach and shooting. The ball swished home. "Wooo!" I scooped it up as it bounced, letting out a cuss as my hand scraped hard against a rough spot in the concrete.

Edward got up suddenly, making for the house. "Where do you think you're going?" I called after him, squeezing my hand to make it bleed more. "I need a doctor over here! I'm dying!"

"Bathroom," he muttered tightly as he disappeared. Traitor. And William was no help either, turning green and looking away. Geez, you would think being around a bunch of med students a guy could get a little help! I wiped the extra blood off on my shirt so I could see the scrape better. Okay, I probably wasn't going to die, but still, some sympathy would have been nice.

"All right," William said with a long-suffering sigh. "Let me see."

I hid my hand behind my back. "You'll pass out."

"I have to get over it," he said, setting his teeth. He examined the scrape like it was a microscope slide, then shook his head. "Yes, I'm afraid it's a mortal wound," he announced, doing a perfect Dr. Patterson impression.

"Say it ain't so, doc!"

"If you're dying, you won't need this anymore-" He punched the ball out of the crook of my arm and it was back on. Edward came back in a few minutes, bandages in tow, and the quizzing resumed.

By the time the stars were all out, we had lost interest in both basketball and studying. Mrs. Cummings brewed up some coffee and brought it out to us, and after she had gone, William slipped a flask out of his pocket and doctored it up. Edward parked himself back by his favorite shrub and William and I sat down under the next two.

"Guess this is it," William mused.

"What's it?" I asked, sipping and wincing at the burn.

"Our last hurrah," he said sadly. "No more all-nighters for the Three Musketeers."

"What about finals?"

He shook his head. "Dr. Patterson told me he's assigning a paper instead. So this is it for us at Dartmouth." He took a sip. "Where did you get accepted?"

I set down my coffee and stretched out on the grass, my arms crossed behind my head. "Harvard, Yale, Princeton. I already put a deposit down at Harvard. You're going there too, right?"

"Absolutely. My old man would have a fit if I went anywhere else. What about you, Edward?"

Edward shrugged, looking down thoughtfully at his coffee. "I was thinking Yale."

I sat halfway up, leaning on my elbow. "Aw, Edward, we gotta stick together! Whoever heard of the Two Musketeers? Come on, go to Harvard with us."

"I'd like to be a bit closer to home. And they're doing some interesting research at Yale. You two will be just fine without me."

"No, we won't," William sulked. "Just think about it?"

Edward shrugged again. He looked up at the stars, getting that weird look he gets sometimes, like he's a million miles away… or maybe a million years. Sometimes he seems way too old. And the funny thing is, he's younger than anyone else in our class, because he was one of those homeschooled-genius kids. He's only twenty, and he actually looks even younger than that sometimes. But right now he looked way too old, like he was already tired of everything. I wished I could have asked him if he was okay, but we keep things light. But I didn't like the idea of William and I not being able to look out for him. I guess I thought of him as a little brother, in a way.

A little smile twisted at the corner of Edward's mouth then, though he kept his eyes on the sky. "It's been a fun couple of years with you two," he said softly.

"Well, it's not like we can't keep in touch," I protested. "And we can get together when we're home on breaks." Edward shrugged again, taking a big gulp of coffee.

"Yeah," William agreed, leaning over his elbow for a drink. "And who knows, maybe we'll all end up practicing in the same area."

I laughed. "Um, no. You're forgetting I'm gonna be the orthopedist for the Cardinals. I'll be on the road, raking in the millions while you two are back here in New England treating old ladies' gout. Losers."

"I'm thinking of a new specialty, actually," William announced.

"What?"

"Anesthesiology."

I snorted into my coffee. "I can't even spell that."

"I think it's a great idea," Edward said. "I still don't have anything picked out."

"Gout," I warned him. "Old ladies. Chicken pox. I'm telling you, pick a specialty or you'll end up in some dusty old office with your wife as the receptionist."

He laughed, looking suddenly younger. "I'll think about it."

William guzzled the last of his coffee and popped up to his feet. "Come on, let's shoot a few more before round two of cramming." He flicked on the lights up on the corner of the garage and we got the game going again. Edward even joined in a little, though we were careful not to jostle him.

It was odd to think this was really the last hurrah for the Three Musketeers. But even if Edward wasn't going to Harvard, I'd make sure we all saw each other now and then before we really went our separate ways. And even then, we'd always have this. I could see us now: three rich old geezers, playing golf at a country club and swapping horror stories about our patients and showing off pictures of our grandkids. Edward and William were the best friends I'd ever had, and I intended to keep it that way.

These are the kinds of friendships that last a lifetime.