Disclaimer: Twilight and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. The rest is my doing. Please do not repost the story without authorization.

Word Prompt: Collide

Dialogue Flex: "We need to leave right now," he said.

Using the provided snippet of dialogue, explore what comes to mind, be it a scene, a thought, or something else.

Not beta'd.

He may not be the first person to notice the scent of my body wash, but he's the only one to have the guts to mention it. I'm flattered. The implication that he likes the way I smell makes me even more delighted. Of course, crafting an appropriate deflection is nearly impossible, because all I want to do is ask him for confirmation.

He adds, "And if you value the comfortable leather seat under your ass, you'll stop calling me Eddie."

The opening he gives me is too easy to ignore. "Have I hit a nerve, Ed?"

"Ha ha ha. We've got a comedienne on our hands."

"Perhaps you'd prefer Eduardo?"

"Masen will be just fine, thank you; anything but Eddie."

"Or Ed," I say with a grin.

He rolls his eyes. "Or Ed."

"Or Eduardo."

"Damn, you know how to be a pain in the ass! Your siblings have taught you well."

I laugh; he's partly right. "Actually, I'm an only child. You just bring it out in me."

"Lucky me." The thick sarcasm in his voice is balanced by the coltish sideways glance he shoots at me.

"I think so. And everyone calls you Masen. I deserve my own special nickname for you. How about M-schizzle?"

He grunts and shakes his head. "Not if you want me to answer."

"I'm sure I'm not the first person to tell you that you're a party pooper."

His right hand is resting on the gearshift. I've noticed he leaves it there when we're needling one another. I think it means he's enjoying himself, and it reassures me that I haven't taken things too far.

"If that's similar to a shithead, then no, you're not the first." Cue my favourite smile.

"Are you saying I can call you shithead?" I turn my head to look at him. He's all dimples one moment. The next, he's gone pale. I see every emotion unfold on his features—fear, then panic, followed by determination. Before I understand what's happening, his hand flies off the gearshift and reaches across my chest to brace me against the seat.

"Hold on," he says calmly.

For some reason, I'm not afraid, not even as I look out the windshield and see two cars collide up ahead. Not even when we're barrelling towards the wreckage, closing the distance much too quickly to be comfortable. I trust Masen will keep us safe.

The brakes squeal. He swerves but never loses control, and brings the car to a stop well clear of the accident.

"Are you okay?" He can see I am, but it's kind of him to ask.

"I'm fine." My voice sounds high, but it's not shock; it's awe. I'm marvelling at Masen's levelheadedness and quick reaction time. "Are you alright?"

"Fine. I'm just gonna…" He motions towards the collision; he can't seem to find the words he needs, and I don't press him to elaborate. He hands me his phone and asks me to dial 9-1-1.

We're there an hour. I drink my latte and watch things unfold. Two ambulances come and go, one empty, the other with one of the drivers. It's just precautionary. He has several cuts on his face from the driver's side airbag, but there's some doubt as to whether he hit his head on the steering wheel. He needs to be assessed at a hospital to rule out internal injuries. Or so I learn as I listen to Masen speak to the paramedic. My guess about his professional calling was spot on.

He apologizes profusely when he gets back in the car. When I try to ask him for more details about what happened, he interrupts me.

"Buckle up. We need to leave right now," he says. "I've already made you late, but if we hurry, you can still catch your second class."

I want to remind him that none of this was his fault, that keeping me safe and helping out the crash victims easily offsets a missed class. But 'm pretty sure he knows this. Instead, I say, "Okay," and do as he asks.

I give him a few minutes to collect his thoughts before I speak again.

"So… you're a doctor."

A/N: There's still time to donate to receive the compilation honouring TwiFanG. Over 80 authors have donated stories, me included. You can find the details at: fandom4twifang dot blogspot dot ca

My next update won't be until Wednesday.

Thanks to everyone who's reading and reviewing.

You can follow me on Twitter: (at sign)picklewinkle

Leave me some love by way of a review.