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"Dinnertime!"
"What the fuck? How'd you get in here?"
He dangles the spare key. "Jesus, Edward. You showered lately?"
"Fuck off, Em. And give me back that key, while you're at it."
"Yeah, right," he snorts, taking the bag he brought over to the microwave. "Rose says you've had your two days, and she told me not to come home until you eat something."
"That's one way to get rid of your sorry ass," I huff.
"My ass is sorry?" he laughs derisively. "What the hell is that awful show you're watching anyway?"
"It's called 'Morgana Takes Over.'"
"She's nasty."
-o-
"You can go now, Em. I showered. I ate. I even changed my bandages. Mission accomplished."
"Not quite, bro." He plops down indelicately next to me. "What's your plan?"
"Well, I thought I'd start cooking that State Dinner I'm hosting tomorrow, and then later, climb Mt. Everest—"
"Edward, cut it out."
"Cut what out?"
"Stop pretending like you don't care."
"Jesus FUCK, Emmett! Of course I care!"
He sits quietly for a second, then asks, "Well, why aren't you doing anything about it?"
"There's nothing to do. She doesn't want any part of me. I have to respect that."
-o-
"That's bullshit."
"How is that bullshit? You want me to stalk her?"
"If that's what it takes to get her back, yes."
I fall back against the couch, suddenly exhausted. "How about making yourself useful and getting me some Advil before you go?"
He wants to say more, but he's too smart to place his head inside the lion's mouth. "How many do you need?"
"Three, no, make it four."
He saunters to my side, hands me the water, and opens his hand. "This isn't gonna take away your pain, you know."
The look is back. The pity. "Thanks, Buddha."
A/N: Yeah, he know. Yeah, he cares. We love you, Emmett. XXX ~BOH