The Muses of ice and of fire

Are attendant on Stephenie Meyer

We disclaim to infringe on her talents and rights

We only intend to admire.

Surprise! I bet that most of you have written this fic off as flounced. I admit that I haven't written on it for over a year, but I have a bunch of chapters saved up for posting. I'm hoping that your reviews will inspire me to write some more. This is a shameless plea for reviews, yes.

Now that For Whom the Bell Tolls is finished, my brain is the plot bunnies' playground. I have several other stories I'm thinking of, but I felt I owed it to the few people who were interested in this story to at least give it a shot.

I haven't decided if I will continue to post on Twilighted. The wait to get things validated has begun to annoy me. Sorry, ladies, I know there's a reason for it...

As Bella was pounding Jake's ass at the arcade at Seaside Park, Edward was pounding on his piano, writing another song about Pink Panties.

You have to find out her real name. She's not a seventies French detective movie. What if you're talking to her someday and that shit pops out?

I'm not going to be talking to her. Ever. She doesn't need to be hit on by skeezy stalker guy. And I'm not going to be spying on her any more.

Yeah? So why haven't you moved your camera away from her window?

"Fuck," he muttered, resting his forehead briefly on the keys. A discordant clang sounded throughout the apartment, ruining the groove he had going.

Images of her sprawled out on her couch swamped him. Her pretty auburn hair, halfway escaped from its ponytail, feathering over her cheek. Her hands tucked under the throw pillow she had scrunched under her head. The way her shirt rode up high on her ribs, exposing a wide strip of pale skin.

The morning after the gig, he had wandered out into the living room at five-thirty, unable to sleep. The eastern sky had just begun to grow pink. He had given into temptation and peered through the viewfinder of the camera, which was still trained on her window. He had looked in on her a couple of times. Her apartment had been dark each time.

He was surprised to see that the overhead light in her living room was on. Even more so when he saw that she was passed out on her couch, fully dressed.

He frowned. If she had gotten home from her job at Jake's an hour after closing, say, three o'clock, she should definitely be in bed.

"I'd be more than happy to tuck you in, gorgeous," he whispered to the empty apartment, making a minute adjustment to the camera's focus. He fantasized briefly about gathering her up in his arms – she would snuggle into the nook of his shoulder and burrow her nose in his chest – and laying her down in the middle of the bed. His bed. He wasn't sure how they made it from her couch to his apartment, but he didn't dwell on that. He imagined divesting her of her uncomfortable and unnecessary clothes. He'd put her in one of his shirts – one of the old, soft ones that he liked to wear while lounging around the apartment. Not because he felt like she needed to cover up, but because he didn't want her to be cold. He considered putting her in some boxers too, but he eschewed that idea in favor of the pink panties that she was so conveniently wearing. Little satiny things that rode low on her hips and showed just a hint of the dent above her bottom –

Cut it out, Edward.

He bit his lip, hard, and wrenched away from the camera. Pink Panties was still mostly clothed in his little fantasy world, but he was already breathing hard. Some other things were getting hard, too. Groaning, he leaned against the window pane and located her window. He could see that her light was on, and that she was on the couch, but the finer details were too hard to make out.

The place was a lot neater than it had been the last time he'd peeked. No more cardboard boxes or wads of newspaper sitting around. There were still stacks of books and bedsheets and stuff piled here and there, though. He could see a whole section of the kitchen counter was covered in pots and pans.

She had hung some of her pictures, which made the place look much homier than it had before. Most of them looked like photos of family and friends. A large one of a wedding party hung over the fireplace.

Are you married, gorgeous?

He didn't think so. He'd involuntarily checked out her ring finger the night that she'd served him a beer, and it had been bare. There had been a wide silver-colored band on her middle left finger, though. Maybe she was separated. Getting a divorce.

But if that was the case, she probably wouldn't have her wedding picture displayed so prominently in her new apartment.

Several art prints were interspersed between the pictures. He was pleased to see that he didn't recognize any of them. No tired copies of Klimt's The Kiss or Van Gough's Starry Night for her. He and Jasper used to keep track of how many of their dates had those pictures on their dorm room walls.

He thought of shooting her.

Sepia, he thought, thinking that black and white would be too cold for her. He'd start with some outdoor shots. He'd pose her in a meadow, with tall grass and wildflowers all around. Have her lay on her stomach with her feet in the air, crossed at the ankle. Reading a book.

Then he'd turn her over and have her looking up at the camera, her hair fanned out beneath her. Her arms splayed out above her head.

He thought about teasing her out of her shirt and laying her on her side with her back to him. Her jeans riding low on her hips, her bra straps dark against her white skin. Peeking over her shoulder at him, one eyebrow arched.

He forgot about the camera and imagined spooning up behind her, running his hands over her abdomen and letting his fingers dip down into her jeans. He thought about kissing her neck, making her head fall back and her hair spill over his arm. He thought about easing his knee between her thighs and pushing her pelvis back against him, letting her feel how hard he was, rotating his hips against her luscious ass –

Stop it, Edward!

He came back to himself with a start. He had unfastened the button of his jeans and was gripping himself hard, his hips moving in the manner that he had been contemplating trying on Pink Panties' oh-so-unaware body.

You cannot jack off while peeking into that girl's apartment. It's like an episode of Law & Order: SVU. Go find some internet porn and get yourself off like a normal person.

This had taken place three days ago. And while he had obeyed his conscience and stayed away from the window while seeing to his baser needs, images of her had sneaked unbidden into his brain anyway.

He was so fucked.

Jasper noticed, damn him. Jasper always noticed shit like that. It was like the guy had some kind of an angst radar. They'd met for breakfast that morning, and after his pancakes and Jasper's grits had arrived, the interrogation had begun.

"So, what's her name?"

There was no point in prevaricating. "I don't know."

"You going to talk to her?"

"Probably not."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"What you don't know seems to be a lot."

"Yeah."

Jasper snickered. He actually fucking giggled. Edward glared at him.

"I'm sorry," his best friend and bandmate covered his mouth. "It's just that you're usually much more fun to tease. She must be something else."

"Yeah." Edward speared a piece of pancake with his fork and lifted it, rotating it slowly to let the syrup soak into every part of it. "I saw Jake Black flirting with her. I wonder if they're dating."

"Okay…change of subject, I guess. I got us a gig at a little coffee shop nearby. They're having some kind of art open house and wanted some acoustic stuff. Just guitars. Not a lot of money, but we can sell some CDs, maybe get some good tips."

"That's fine. You know I don't care about that stuff. You okay on your rent, man?"

"Yeah, I'm good. Gramma sent me some money last week. She loves having a starving artist in the family."

"One of these days you're going to have to get a real job, Jazz."

"Not until it's absolutely necessary, though." Jasper winked at him. "Maybe I'll meet a hot girl with a rich daddy who wants to see her name up in lights."

"Good luck with that."

Jasper picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. "I need to go by there and check things out. See you at your place tonight?"

"Yeah. I got the check, go on."

"Later, man."

Jasper clapped him hard on the shoulder as he sauntered out. Edward hissed and kicked at him, but missed. "Jackass," he muttered.

"So what are we going to do about this?"

Esme looked up from the soy latte she was making. "Do about what?"

"Jake and Nessie. We can't leave him to his misery. He's like a beached baby whale. All gigantic and pitiful."

"Well, I suppose minding our own business is out of the question."

"It is." Bella leaned up against the counter and crossed her arms over her chest. "We could break his leg. Make a paint can or something fall from the rafters and hit him on the head. Then we can rush him to Carlisle's office while Nessie's working –"

"And while my pediatrician husband is calling 911 and bitching me out for being so stupid, Nessie will be dealing with a large angry dude who's totally humiliated and in pain in front of the love of his life. Next plan."

"I see your point." Bella frowned. "Jake works on cars, right? We can break Nessie's car and ask him to come look at it."

"Nessie doesn't have a car. She rides her bike."

"I bet Jake could work on bikes, too."

"So can she. She's competed in bike races."

"Shit. I hate competent women." Bella pouted.

"Bella, why don't we drop all the cloak and dagger and just take her out drinking?"

Bella's mouth opened. And closed.

"She just turned twenty-one a few weeks ago. I'll get the girls in the office together and we'll bring her to Jake's for a little late celebration."

"You are brilliant. A genius. Right now someone is composing an ode to your greatness. When are we going to do this?"

"I'll do some recon as soon as I get off." Esme checked her watch. "Alice should be here in fifteen minutes or so."

"Right on. We should invite her, too. She would be all over this."

"Uh, I don't know, Bella. Getting Alice drunk is kind of like playing tag with a hummingbird. A really loud, obnoxious hummingbird."

"Nice visual," a new voice said. They looked up. A tall blond man with lazy, hooded gray eyes was leaning on the counter.

"Oh," Bella said in surprise. "Hi. What can we get for you?"

"The keys to your heart, darlin'. Anything beyond that is negotiable." His Southern drawl made it sound like he was offering to cover her in hot fudge and take his time licking it all off.

She gaped at him.

"I'm Jasper Whitlock," he said, holding out his hand.

"Oh!" Esme wiped her hands on a towel. "You're here about the open house next week. I'm Esme Cullen. We spoke on the phone."

He winked at her. "Pleasure, ma'am. Just came by to check out the venue and introduce myself." His eyes shifted back to Bella. "And what's your name, pretty lady?"

Bella cleared her throat and finally took the hand that he was still holding out to her. "Um…Bella Swan."

He smiled down at her, squeezing her hand warmly. "Delighted to meet you, Miss Swan. May I call you Bella?"

"Of course." She could feel her cheeks heating, but couldn't suppress a smile. What a playa, she thought to herself.

"So, what did you lovely ladies have in mind for this exhibition of yours?" Jasper was still holding her hand, rubbing his thumb slowly over her knuckles.

"Um…" Esme coughed, trying to smother a giggle. "Some atmosphere music, really. The artist who's doing the show does landscapes, mostly ocean and forest scenes. She's very bohemian, quiet, elegant. That's kind of the vibe we're looking for."

"Sounds like fun." Jasper looked around, still playing idly with Bella's hand. She wondered if he planned to give it back. "Could we set up in that corner over there?"

"Sure. We'll get rid of about half the tables so there's room to move. We have a small platform that we've used in the past."

"Wood?"

"Carpeted."

"Perfect." He drew the word out, peeking at Bella flirtatiously. "We'll have a six string and a twelve string, and we'll both sing. Unplugged. For a couple of songs one of us will drop out and play a little light percussion. Tambourine, egg shaker. Nothing too loud. What's your favorite song, darlin'? Eddie and I take all requests from pretty ladies."

"Hmmm." Bella tipped her head to the side. "You know any Matt Nathanson?"

"Honey, I own Matt Nathanson."

"Really. Not much for that old Thirteenth Amendment thing, huh?"

He laughed. "We'll take him out for a spin at the show."

Esme cleared her throat again. "Well, I see Alice pulling up, so I'm going to take off, Bella. I'll let you know about going out."

"Much as I hate to admit, I have to be running along myself," Jasper said. "May I walk you out, ma'am?"

Esme rolled her eyes. "If you must. Bye, Bella."

"Bye." Bella blushed again at Jasper's wink and watched as he held the door open for Esme. She kept her eye on him, giggling when he nearly tripped over a crack in the asphalt checking out Alice as she walked past him.

"Hey," Alice said when she came inside. "What's up?"

"Oh, Esme and I just got swept off our feet by Rhett Butler's little brother."

"That tall piece of caramel goodness in the parking lot?" Alice grinned. "Nice."

"He's playing for that art show next week."

"Oh, damn!" Alice stuck out her lower lip, tossing her purse under the counter. "I'm not going to be here. I have dinner with my parents in Bellevue."

"So sorry." Bella smirked at her.

"So tell," Alice said abruptly, throwing on her apron. "How was your date with Jake?"

"Oh…" Bella rolled her eyes. "It was great, wonderful, awesome. And Esme and I have plans to set him up with jailbait. Are you in?"

Alice's eyes went wide. "Start at the beginning, sista!"

"Well, apparently he's falling all over himself for this chick named Nessie…"

In other news, I have to tell you a secret. Since I began this story, I have learned who "Mary Sue" is. This Bella is dangerously similar to such a creature. Her life experience is very much like mine, except that she's further along in her journey. And she's got Bella's personality, not mine. As we continue with her story, you will pick up on what I'm talking about. But if this particular cliche drives you up the proverbial wall, well...sorry. Runs and hides