Little Slugger - Chapter 6

Author: realgirl_imaginarylife/gimmenothing ( Twilighted)

A/N - Holy crumbs, sorry for the wait on this. This chapter came to me very slowly, but I think it finally came around in the end. The good news is that I wrote 2500 words early in the process, and decided to shelve it for chapter 7, so the turnaround on the next chapter should be very fast, definitely within the week. Thanks for your patience. I promised myself when I started this story that I would take the time to get it right, every time.

Thanks as always to my wonderful readers and reviewers. Special shout-outs to Venis-Envy and SunKing for their brilliant pimping of Little Slugger. You guys are just...gah...amazing! And of course, the best Project Team Betas a girl could ask for, Batgirl8968 and Tiffanyanne3.

Lastly, the Twilight fandom is, once again, using numbers and passion to help a great cause - The Alex's Lemonade Stand Foundation, working hard every day to fight childhood cancers. I hope that you'll visit the Twilight Fandom Gives Back blog at http:// www (dot) thefandomgivesback (dot) blogspot (dot) com, and please consider making a donation before November 20.

If you have twitter, feel free to follow me - realimaginary - I post story news, updates, teasers, writing struggles...and lots of general oddities about my life.

Song for this chapter is Human Nature by Michael Jackson.

xoxo.

Little Slugger - 6 - Waiting for the Wind

Bella stood outside looking up at the sign above the door for a long time, swaying gently on two metal eyelets, each breath exhaling into vague clouds of vapor around her.

It looked different in the daylight.

She wasn't sure exactly why she felt so nervous. The restaurant was virtually empty at this hour on a Sunday, and he certainly wouldn't be there. She just felt kind of...invasive...doing this. He'd made it so very clear he didn't want to see her, to know her, yet here she was, sleuthing away at the merciless bidding of pocket Nancy Drew. And Rosalie, she scowled.

Her arms were still at her sides, tucked inside handmade wool mittens as she stood a few feet from the door. Minutes ticked by.

"The best way out is always through," she whispered to herself, summoning Frost to grant her the courage to go inside and warm her frigid toes and curious heart. Her fingers twitched. Then stretched. Then slowly reached forward to open the door. She had nothing to lose by at least asking.

The bell rang as she pulled the door open. She jumped. The delicate sound was tattooed on her psyche after last week's events. She considered turning around and running home as the memory of it began to overwhelm her.

Go through, go through, go through, she cheered herself on silently as she walked inside, carefully stepping over the spot where she had fallen that night. The room looked so much bigger when it was empty. Her eyes explored the odd familiarity of the space, eventually landing on the small stage, sitting barren and lonely at the back of the room. She was instantly flooded with emotions at the sight of it, as the parallel of its desolation opposed to Edward's came to her mind. She swallowed the lump that had appeared in her throat, holding on tight to the moisture veiling her eyes and feeling guilty for the forty-seven million, eight hundred thirty thousand, four hundred and ninety-fifth time in the last ten days that somehow she was the one responsible for all of his problems.

She wondered, yet again, if she'd only held on to that foolish headset, would any of this have happened? Granted, the guy was obviously troubled to begin with, and something so simple and silly shouldn't catalyze a series of events leading to such high drama, and therefore she really shouldn't feel guilty about it at all, but still...

Bella sighed. The big kind where you blubber your lips to let it all out.

"Hey, everything okay?" a voice behind her asked.

Bella turned quickly in surprise and was suddenly face to chest with a huge young man with kind dark eyes and long black hair. He was holding a tin can in one hand, a paintbrush in the other, and his clothing was splattered in paint.

"Oh! Uh...gosh, I'm sorry, I was just...um...hi." She stepped backwards once and stood up straight, sticking her hand out towards him and craning her neck to look up to his face. "My name's Bella Swan."

He cocked his head and smiled as if something about her name amused him. "Bella Swan. Alright then, it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Jacob." He looked down awkwardly at his occupied hands, and then back up at her apologetically.

"Right. Sorry. I'm an idiot. Do you work here?"

"I do, actually. I work in the kitchen. I'm a cook. But..." he looked down at his telltale attire, "since there's no one to cook for today, I'm doing some touch-ups to my mural." He gestured over to the same wolf mural Bella had noticed on the night of Edward's open mic performance.

"That's yours?" Bella asked, in exclaimed awe. "I totally noticed it the other night when I was here with some coworkers. It reminded me of..." she drifted off, embarrassed.

"What?" Oh no, he wasn't going to let her get away with that.

"No, seriously. It's nothing. I'm a dork. And now it's, like, a 'thing', and really it's nothing, and..."

"Well, you brought it up, so it's only fair that you tell me. Do you have any idea how much artists want to talk to people about their work?" He was smiling at her, clearly entertained by this unexpected addition to his day.

"I do, actually," she said, staring at a crack in the wooden floor, wishing suddenly that unrealized telekinetic powers would suddenly kick in, and the crack might open wide and swallow her whole.

"You're an artist?"

"Yeah. Well, I mean, sort of. I was in school for a while, but dropped out and now I just kinda...doodle." Despite her best mental efforts, the floorboards were still very much in place.

"Ahhh, a doodler, I see," he teased. "Well, I would love to see your...doodles...sometime."

Oh crap. He was flirting with her. This was not exactly where she had intended this conversation to go.

"Listen, Jacob, I was wondering if you could help me with something kind of random," she slyly maneuvered a subject change.

"Wait, wait, wait! You left me hanging there! What did my mural remind you of?" Jacob argued, deeply arching a single eyebrow at her. Bella had always wanted to learn how to do that.

"Honestly, it's nothing," she sighed, resigned. "It just kind of reminded me of home...I mean, the place where I grew up, back in Washington." She shifted her weight quickly between her feet, glancing around at everything in the restaurant aside from him. "See, I told you it was nothing."

"You're from Washington?" he asked excitedly. "Where?"

Bella scrunched her nose at him. "A tiny town you've never heard of in the North coast, it's called Forks." She held her pointer finger and thumb up close to her face, keeping a one-eighth inch gap between them. "Thiiiiiiiis big."

Jacob's mouth fell open in surprise and he threw his head backward, laughing loudly in a single blast.

Bella looked at him uncomfortably. "Yeah, I know. Forks. It's a totally ridiculous name for a town. And Spoons and Knives were our high school rivals," she said, rolling her eyes.

Jacob shook his head excitedly. "No, I'm not laughing at you...I'm laughing because I am actually quite familiar with Forks, and I know all the stupid jokes about it." She looked at him curiously as he continued. "I was born in La Push, and most of my family and oldest friends live on the Quileute Reservation there. My mother owns an interior design firm in Port Angeles, so I grew up there, but yeah...I definitely know Forks."

"Get outta town!" She practically screeched.

"No, I swear, I'm completely serious!" Jacob was still laughing and shaking his head back and forth, totally enjoying the conincidence. "Newton's Outfitters?"

Bella gawked at him a moment, and then groaned. "I used to work there when I was in high school," she paused and looked hard at his face. "God, maybe we saw each other back then."

He eyed her critically for a moment, leaning down and peering into her eyes, appearing to get a better look. "Nope," he stated with total confidence. "I would've remembered meeting you."

She had no idea how to respond to his overt come-ons, so she continued to stand uncomfortably with her hands knotted together as silence grew, wondering how to segue the conversation back to its intended target.

Jacob broke the silence. "Bella, I love that you saw my work and immediately thought of the Olympic Peninsula. Thank you for noticing it, and for...eventually," he grinned, "Telling me what it meant to you. That's really something, you know? Really cool. It means a lot, and it makes it all worth it." He said it with a sincerity so resolute it may as well have been set in carbonite.

Bella softened and glanced over her shoulder to the mural across the room. It seemed to be the only thing in the restaurant that looked the same as i had that night. "It's really good, you know. You're really good. I'm glad that I was able to, you know, recognize it for what it was inspired by. And..." she began, hoping she wouldn't regret the statement she was about to make. "If you're ever showing anywhere else, I'd love to come and see."

Jacob's smile lit up the room so fiercely, she could almost feel the heat from it. "Thank you." He placed his painting accessories on a nearby table for two and rummaged through his pocket for a moment, pulling out a crumpled receipt. "Do you have a pen?"

"Sorta." She pulled her trusty number two out and tossed it in the air underhand so that it made two distinct flips before he grabbed it in midair, grinning to himself and shaking his head as he jotted down his info on the back of the wrinkled paper. He handed the slip her way.

"You should call me. I have this thing with an artist's collaborative opening next month, I'd love for you to come. And maybe sometime you could show me your...doodles." He flashed her his award winning smile one more time.

Even with all the half-teasing and sexual innuendo, it was obvious that he was genuinely curious about the seemingly lost girl who had wandered into his hipster restaurant on a cold Sunday afternoon. Bella cringed at the very idea of showing Jacob her most recent works compared to his Northwestern masterpiece.

Here, have a look at these kitty cats. See how cute they are? See, they're acting out my creepy preoccupation with the coworker I once barely spoke to. See the one with the glasses? Yeah, that's him. He's the one I'm here stalking right now! I'm pretty sure he's also the reason why I'm never going to call you even though you're so huge and sort of beautiful.

Girl really needed to get out of there before she got sucked up into his vortex of pure goodness. She was on a mission, and Jacob was a deflection.

"Thanks Jacob. Maybe sometime," she said, taking the paper from him and shoving it haphazardly into her bag, "after things settle down for me. It's been a...weird year. Or two." And getting weirder every day, she added to herself.

Seemingly satisfied, Jacob allowed the subject change she'd attempted earlier. "So, aside from this crazy coincidence and great conversation, what brings you here today?"

Bella suddenly felt shy. Was she still up for this? She had hoped it would be a quick and anonymous opportunity to maybe tap some info about Edward, but now she had this new comrade to further embarrass herself in front of, and she wasn't sure how to proceed. This was the last place she'd seen him. If she was actually going to follow through with this sleuthing thing, this was the place a good detective would begin. Now was the time to decide, was she a good detective or not?

"I...I am looking for someone," she stammered. Tiny Nancy Drew threw confetti inside her belly, creating a butterfly-like sensation.

"Oh?" Jacob inquired, lifting a brow at her. There he went with that eyebrow thing again. It was so cool. She would have to practice when she got home later.

"This guy, Edward, he performed the other night at your open mic. He's an old friend of mine, but he left in a hurry," understatement of the millennium, she thought, "and i didn't get a chance to talk to him."

Jacob's arched brow deflated like a rubber boat in a cactus patch.

Bella pretended not to notice, swallowed once and continued. "And I was hoping to get in touch with him. I wondered if...if you, or someone else here, might know him? Or...?"

Jacob's posture shifted the moment she had uttered the word "Edward". His face displayed a whirlwind of emotions, landing on indifference, and his shoulders slumped slightly, making him appear less Herculean, and simply more...boyish.

"I know the guy you're talking about," he said without warmth. "He played here a few times. I always know when he's on because plates get backed up in the kitchen."

She shot him a questioning look. Jacob rolled his eyes.

"Because the servers are all up front drooling over him."

Bella made the shape of the word "Oh" with her mouth without actually sounding it.

"I don't know much about the guy. Only that he comes in, brings the house to its knees, then disappears without saying a word to anyone. A few weeks ago one of the waitstaff slid him a card with her number on it and he never called her. She hasn't stopped bitching about it since."

There went that damn belly confetti again.

Jacob shrugged. "Other than that, I have no idea. I heard about that weird exodus he made right in the middle of his set, and word is that he didn't show last week. So really, I'm no help. Sorry."

"No, it's totally okay, Jacob, I'm sorry for bugging you about it. I didn't really think that you'd know where he...I mean...thanks. I really appreciate it. And it's been great talking to you today. I've got your number!" She patted her bag like a pet as she strode slowly back towards the door.

She felt bad about Jacob. But in only a matter of moments, she would hear that bell ring again, and some masochistic part of herself longed to hear its song. If it was the closest she could get to him at this point, then it would have to do.

When she arrived home at dusk, the sound of football on the television and the smell of olive oil, garlic and basil blitzed her senses. Rosalie and Emmett were playing house.

"Hi guys," she said, breathless, as she disrobed her early winter attire, hanging her coat on a hook behind the door.

"Hey, come hang with us and watch the Giants whomp the Packers!" Rosalie called as Bella rounded the corner into the cozy living room they shared. She and Emmett were sitting side-by-side on the loveseat with matching shallow bowls of penne in their laps, and a bottle of cheap wine split between them on the coffee table. Rose wore an Eli Manning team jersey and Em had a red & blue scarf tied around his thick neck, although the apartment was steamy.

They looked so goddamned domestic.

"Buonasera, Bella Cigno! How goes it?" Emmett waved his fork in the air at her. "I cooked Italiano tonight in your honor. And it turned out gooood."

Bella smiled at him. It was virtually impossible to dislike the guy, even if he was every second in the process of stealing precious Rosalie away from her.

"Well grazie, Signore Hulk, it smells amazing. I'll be right out, just going to change. And for the record, I don't give a damn about the game, I'm only in it for the eats."

She gently closed the door, and jumped atop the twin bed that literally filled the tiny room. As her laptop powered up, she grabbed her sketchbook and began to draw.

Within minutes, Dot was standing atop a hillside. Before her a swarm of identical kitties stretched to the far edges of the page. Too many to count. A giant question mark stood at a sharp angle above her head as she surveyed the sea of tufts and pointy ears. In her paw she held a magnifying glass, but there were no spectacles in sight.

She tossed the book aside, scooping up the computer in her lap. Her skin glowed blue in the reflection of the screen as the familiar rainbow logo appeared. She typed.

Open Mic New York City

Click.

Five hundred and fifty-one thousand results. Huh. This might be harder than she'd thought.

She suspected the whole "leaving town" bit that Edward had played off with Alec and the security guard was a ruse. But it was mere instinct, and she had no proof of it. Committing herself to this hapless search went way beyond just leaping into faith. She knew it would literally be a miracle if she ever set eyes, or ears, on him again. Her heart clenched at the prospect.

She didn't even know what her motivation was for this quest. Only that it was her obligation to try.

From the other side of the door, Rosalie shrieked. Something about shoving a box of Wheaties up the referee's ass.

Cue to rejoin reality, if only temporarily.

Bella dug her fingertips into her scalp, dragging them across her head and pulling her hair with force, waking herself from her stupor. She stretched her neck and shoulders and quieted the computer. She would deal with those five hundred thousand links later on. Right now she had pasta to eat and football to ignore.

But first, just one quick thing...

She snuck out of her room and made a sharp u-turn directly to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

Rosalie yelled from the couch. "Hey! What's taking you so long, lady girl? Come be pissy with me! I have a pom pom you can rattle."

"Just one minute!" Came Bella's muffled call from the other side of the door.

Rosalie was immediately suspicious, her eyes narrowed as she ordered to Emmett to take charge of the remote.

She approached quietly, knocking gently on the door. "Bella? Did you go to the restaurant? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine Rose, honest, I'll tell you all about it after the game. I'll be right out."

Rosalie paused a moment, listening with her ear pressed to the door. Something was funny with Bella, and she couldn't quite place it. The girl was usually such an easy read. But this was not your run of the mill bathroom break, of that she was certain.

She started to knock again, but stopped herself short, and instead touched her hand to the doorknob and twisted it silently, opening the door.

Bella was leaning in close to the large oval mirror above the pedestal sink, her face contorted in a mask of discomfort and horror.

"B, what the hell is wrong with your eye?" She demanded.

Bella crumpled her nose as she looked at her. Personal interruptions were a vital part of their relationship.

"Can you lift one eyebrow?"

In response, Rosalie's right brow peaked like a tent. Yeah, it figured.

Rose leaned against the wall and slowly eased her butt down to the floor, weaving her fingers together and resting them on top of her bent knees, never taking her eyes off of Bella in the process.

"What happened today?"

Bella shook her head. "Nothing Rose. Negative nothing. I'm not even at the start line, I'm, like, three and a half miles back of it."

"Well, you'd better get hustling along then, huh?"

Bella looked hard at her reflection as Rosalie watched from the floor. Her long dark hair hung in soft waves around her face, her curious dark eyes half-full as she watched her own head nod slowly but absolutely. Through this disjointed, secondhand view of herself, she could see now how determined she was. And how certain.

Yes. It was time to hustle along.

In the ten days since leaving Vitamin Direct, Edward had had breakfast for dinner (several times), read 3 novels (two Gaiman, one Palahniuk, Vonnegut on deck), played endless games of 'toss the puffball' with Jasper, walked for miles with no destination, almost completed a NYT crossword puzzle, played many games of South Park pinball at the bar near his house, thought about the girl more than he'd like to admit, and written two and a half new songs.

But he had not gone to open mic.

Whatever his new beginning was going to be, it had not realized itself yet, and its time was running short. He could feel his anxiety swelling and spreading every day. Strangers on the street became more and more intolerable. Food was tasting more bland and lifeless. And he kept fucking up simple chords on simple songs he'd been playing for years. That was the last straw. If he didn't perform soon, he was going to lose his mind.

During the first few days it had seemed so easy. Just stop. Stop doing this. Stop torturing yourself. Stop hiding. Stop running. Just stop. Stop. STOP.

But, like everything else in life, it's never so easy as that. Patterns set like tungsten grooves are impossible to reshape, and we're forced to continuously careen down the same slides all leading to the same fate. Then we use up all of our best efforts and strength to climb back up and take another ride. Giving up open mic had seemed like a reasonable idea in the heat of the moment, but was looking less and less likely as a long-term solution.

While it was true that Edward had not been to open mic since the ill-fated set at the Blue Mango, it did not stop him completely from performing. At night, when he always felt the most jittery and off balance, he would open the window next to his bed, and welcome in the chill November air. He sat on the window sill and played softly for the city, sometimes for hours, quietly singing along.

One of the new songs he'd written was about the one person who, in all these years, had seemed to see through his act. And about running fast and far away from it, because he knew that the less she really knew about him, the better she'd think of him. The better off they'd both be.

He always waited for a stiff breeze to blow to play that song, in hopes that perhaps the wind might pick it up and carry it along to her. A gift.

It was the most he could offer.