Not Without A Fight
Annaleise Marie
Round Three
AN: So, something I forgot to explain in last chapter's note. When Emmett says, "especially when you apply rule thirty-four to the phrase "places to eat out", that's a 4chan reference. I believe. That's how it was explained to me, anyway. Rule Thirty-Four of the internet states that if it exists, there is porn of it.
Uh... oh. Exciting news. One of my other stories, Asthenia, is now a collaboration with Nachos4Children. We're still trying to work out exactly how to go about it, but keep an eye out for the next chapter, and be prepared to show us some love! :D
Now, let's get this show on the road! I own a broken iPod, which is very sad, but I don't own Twilight, which is also very sad. Stephenie Meyer is drawing the royalties from that. Except when displeased fans return Breaking Dawn. Just saying.
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EPOV
"You have a GPS?" Rosalie asked, staring at the computer fixed into my dashboard.
"Yes. Yes I do," I said casually.
"Then why did I have to come along?" she demanded. Jesus Christ. How many times do I have to explain it? Because I'm Emmett Fucking McCarty, and I'm seriously hot shit.
"Well, because as hot as Garmin's voice gets me, your commanding tones are much more pleasing," I answered, only half joking. It would be a lie to say that her commands couldn't be (and weren't being) twisted into something perverted in my mind on a regular basis.
"You named your GPS?" she asked, raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow at me.
"No, the manufacturer named her. But I've made progress. She used to insist I call her Miss Nuvi. I think I've grown on her," I deadpanned. She was quiet for a moment, looking at me like I might be insane and mildly dangerous. "What's with the face?" I asked, laughing as I glanced at her before turning my attention back to the road.
"You make no sense," she sniffed, smoothing out her skirt before settling further into her seat. I couldn't help but let my eyes wander up her bare thigh to the hem, tightening my grip on the gearshift to keep my hand from wandering over there. Because I am Emmett Fucking McCarty and I am fucking chivalrous and I do not touch girls until they're begging for it.
"I make a lot of sense." I said. "You're just not listening properly."
She crossed her arms over her chest and stared out her window. And now there was the cleavage on display for me, along with her thighs. Was she trying to make me do something horribly improper?
… What if she was?
Don't be stupid, Emmett. That kind of thinking gets you kicked in the balls, remember? I told myself, recalling the redhead in Fort Meade. Fuck, she had good aim. I nearly winced at the memory. And I had no doubt in my mind that Rosalie would be ten times more brutal.
"So where do you want to go to eat?" I asked, trying to find a nice, neutral subject to distract me from the fucking skin buffet not two feet away from me.
"It doesn't matter," she said, shrugging.
"How very helpful." I smirked, causing her to glare at me. "You know, that whole angry look that you and the rest of this town have going on – it really can't be healthy."
"The anger is inspired by your arrival," she said sharply, flipping her hair. In the enclosed space of the Jeep, the smell of her shampoo hit me full in the face, and I was surprised at the scent. It wasn't that fruity flowery shit that most girls used. It was sharper, spicier. What the hell was it?
I was so immersed in this that I forgot what she had said, and had no reply, so I just settled for my usual unaffected grin. She rolled her eyes.
"How can you just... not let anything bother you?" she asked.
"Why should I let things bother me?" I asked. I wasn't sure if I needed clarification because it really was a vague question, or if that damned sharp scent was clouding my mind. I found my cigarettes and lit one, rolling down the window slightly before extending the pack to her. She shook her head.
"Because some things are serious," she said. "But you just laugh and joke about everything."
"Okay," I said, exhaling before looking quickly at her and then the road once more. "Serious time, then?" She nodded. "Moving around all of my life, I've come to realize that there are very few things in life that are serious, or in any way permanent. All the rest, if you stress out about them, you're just making yourself miserable. So for example, the fact that I invited you to dinner by saying that I needed directions, despite the fact that I have a GPS, is so far from being as serious as you acted like it was, that seriousness can't even catch a glimpse of it over the horizon." She rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to argue.
"No, listen. My turn. I'm talking," I said, holding up a hand to stop her. "Okay. Now, on the other side of the coin, this thing with Royce. Whatever it is, it clearly is serious. But since I don't know about it, and nothing else I've encountered with you is serious, I'm not going to weigh myself down in all of the bitchy angst that you seem to enjoy wallowing in." She stared at me, and I wasn't sure if she was planning on laughing, crying, screaming, or possibly just forgetting how to breathe altogether and dying. After a moment, she seemed to decide that she was going to cry.
Jesus fucking Christ, what the hell was that? Girls... They make no sense. What was there to cry about?
"Wait! I didn't mean to make you cry!" I shouted and then winced as I realized that anything outside the realm of my "inside voice" wasn't exactly comforting.
"What am I supposed to do? Laugh?" she demanded, tears still shining in her eyes. But her voice was strong. Okay. So she wasn't crying hard. Progress.
"Yes!" I said, exasperated. "That's exactly what you're supposed to do! Don't you feel better when you laugh instead of getting angry or upset?"
"I'm not here for a therapy session!" she snapped.
"Okay, anger instead of tears. I'll take that," I said, shrugging as Garmin told me to make a right turn. "So where do you want to eat?"
"It doesn't matter," she grumbled.
"What's that you say? 'Gee I would love to ride all the way back to Forks with you after eating Mexican'?" I asked. "Well, if you insist."
"No!" she yelled. "Okay. Just... find somewhere to eat that doesn't serve beans or cheese or shellfish," she said.
"Shellfish?"
"The smell makes me sick."
"Why Rosalie Hale, I do believe you're opening up to me," I said, acting flattered. She just glowered at me. "I think you'll be happier once you eat something."
"Will you still be here after I eat?" she asked as I searched for an empty parking spot.
"Of course."
"Then I have my doubts."
"That's it! We're eating tacos! Fish tacos! With cheese!" I announced, turning off the car and climbing out, circling around to open Rosalie's door, ready to dodge a kick or a punch or whatever physical form her anger might take.
She was nearly a foot shorter than me. I hadn't realized it before. I think her anger made her appear taller. Frightening people tend to grow.
Here's the thing about me: My Jeep is my fucking sanctuary. It is pretty much the only thing in this world that I own. That means that I don't allow just anyone into it. Rosalie... for some reason it just seemed natural to let her in. But I'm not even going to analyze that. That's not the point.
The point is that the running board that serves as a step is made for someone my size, not her. So I just barely had time to see her, on the edge of the seat, peering down, trying to make her foot reach the board, before suddenly she was sliding down.
Before I thought about it, I reached out to catch her, my arms closing around her waist. The problem was, being a damned foot taller than her, I caught her before her feet had actually even hit the ground. That meant that her warm, soft body had to slide down mine before I could sit her on the down, and then my forearms were resting right under her perfect rack and my face was practically buried in her hair and fuck – what was that scent? All in all, not a particularly awesome situation for me. Not that I didn't enjoy every minute of it. No, what I didn't enjoy was was the aftermath: having to pull away from her quickly before she started to affect me too much. Because believe me, there was nothing that I would have rather done than to stay like that.
"Be careful," I muttered, turning to walk to the restaurant.
---
RPOV
In my experience, there are three steps to falling: the rescue attempt, acceptance, and the impact.
When I slid down and nothing met my foot, there was a moment where I tried to regain my grip on the seat and reverse what I had done. The rescue attempt didn't work. I accepted that I was going to hit the ground, and it was probably going to hurt, and I tensed, squeezing my eyes shut, waiting for the impact.
Except the impact never came. Instead, I was suddenly wrapped in Emmett's arms and lowered slowly to the ground before he pulled away quickly, mumbling something about me being careful and then walking towards the restaurant.
For the first time in... well, probably my whole life, I was at a loss for words. I should have thanked him, probably, but he looked almost like he didn't want to talk to me. I followed him inside and then excused myself to go to the bathroom while he got us a table.
My makeup had smudged from my brief bout of crying. That had been fucking embarrassing and infuriating all rolled into one.
The way he had mentioned Royce, despite saying that he didn't know what happened, made it seem like he at least suspected what had happened, and that made me feel... dirty. Could everyone see what he had done? But that quickly passed to give way to anger. Who did he think he was, to just waltz into my life and affect me this way? I am Rosalie Fucking Hale, and no one gets to tell me how to feel if I don't damned well want to feel that way!
And then, his explanation made me think about that, about why I'm so angry all the time. Truly, it wasn't all Royce's fault. I was like that long before him.
Anger is the easiest emotion to call up. If I don't want to feel the way people want me to, it's easy to be angry instead. After awhile, I guess it just became a mask that stayed in place no matter what.
I touched up my makeup the best I could, trying not to think about the flip side of the evening, the side that had noticed how nice and apparently intelligent Emmett actually was, or the side that had begun to notice how attractive he was. I had been too busy being annoyed with him from the start to notice.
When I was finally satisfied that I no longer looked like a raccoon, I left the restroom, glancing around the restaurant to try to spot him. I finally found him in a booth way in the back, away from the bar, and I wondered if it was his dumb luck or if he had actually thought to get one of the quietest seats there. I slid into the booth across from him and he glanced up from his menu, smiling.
"Feeling better?" he asked.
"Yes," I said, and I was amazed at how hard it had been to bite back the hostile answer, 'not really'. Clearly he had been expecting something along those lines, because he looked surprised for a second before going back to his menu. I looked down at mine, and realized that I wasn't hungry. My stomach was twisting as if it was debating whether I was going to be sick or not, and I realized that for the first time in a long time... I was nervous.
What the hell? What did I have to be nervous about?
I ordered a salad, figuring that it would be the easiest thing to force down, if need be, and listened as he ordered a burger – medium-rare.
"How can you eat that?" I asked.
"The same way people eat their beef shoe-leather-style. With my mouth," he said, smirking.
"But it's not cooked," I said, ignoring his sarcasm.
"Sure it is. On the outside."
"You're impossible to have a conversation with, you know that?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.
"Yeah. I think that's the second time you've told me."
"No, the first time I said that you make no sense."
He just looked at me for a second before bursting out laughing. "Right. Sorry," he said once he had stopped laughing a little. "Okay, so, conversation then – have you lived in Forks your whole life?"
"Pretty much. I was born in New York, and then we moved to Texas, when my dad's mom got sick, and Jasper was born there. Then when I was about four we moved here," I said. "Where did you grow up?"
"I lived in Tennessee until I was about eleven, and then my dad died. After that, my mom just started moving us around," he said. "I've lived in North Carolina, Virginia, California, Utah, Colorado, Maine, Nevada, Arizona, New Mexico, Michigan, and Maryland." He ticked off each state on his fingers as he counted. "And now Washington. I guess I didn't technically grow up in any one place."
"It doesn't bother you, moving that much?" I asked. I couldn't really imagine it. I had lived in the same place, went to schools, with the same people, since I was a toddler.
"Some places are harder than others," he said. "But for the most part, it's not hard, just... tedious."
I nodded, although I couldn't really understand what he meant. We were quiet as the waiter brought our food, and for a few minutes after.
"So is Jasper your only sibling?" he asked finally. I nodded. I was surprised that he was bringing Jasper up. It seems like most guys, given the circumstances, wouldn't even want to bring up that they had ever met Jasper.
"Do you have any brothers or sisters?" I asked in return. It seemed like this was the pattern our conversation was going to fall into, parroting each other's questions.
"No. My mom wanted to have more, but she had trouble carrying me to term, and then she miscarried a few times after me, so she stopped trying after a while. Then we started moving all over the place, so it's probably best that there weren't any others."
And so the conversation went on through dinner. I was surprised at how serious he could be, if he wanted to, but as the meal went on and I relaxed more, I started to appreciate his humour more.
I was almost disappointed when it was time to go.
---
The ride home was quiet, but not uncomfortable, and once more, I was almost disappointed when I saw the turn for our street. I sat up, smoothing my skirt down from where it had ridden up a little as a result of me curling my feet under me for the ride, while Emmett pulled into his driveway.
"Thanks," I said. "For dinner, and everything."
"Thanks for... well... for eventually stopping fighting me over it," he said, grinning. I shook my head, smiling a little.
There was a pause, that expectant little pause that there always was at the end of dates – was this a date? – before Emmett leaned in towards me. I felt his breath ghost over my face, the smell of cigarette smoke and spearmint gum assaulting my senses, and I let my eyes close.
The next second there was a popping sound and the light in the Jeep came on. My eyes sprang open again.
"Goodnight, Rosalie," Emmett said before leaning back. It only took me a second to recover from the surprise and I glared at him before getting out and slamming the door.
Because I am Rosalie Fucking Hale, and the bitch is back.
I stalked across the yard to the sidewalk to my door, grabbing the key from over the door frame and letting myself in. All in under ten seconds, I'd bet.
"What's going on?" Jasper's voice called from the living room. I walked in to find him sitting on the couch, Alice stretched out beside him with her head resting on his thigh, fast asleep.
"Emmett fucking McCarty... Why is Alice here?" I asked, distracted, if only for a moment.
"Her mom's not coming home tonight, so she's staying here," he said. Alice was afraid of being alone in a dark house, for whatever reason. "Now what about Emmett McCarty?"
"He fucking..." I trailed off, unable to even find words to describe how pissed I was. "I'll be right back."
I stomped back to hall and then out the door. This was not how this night was ending.
Because nobody snubs Rosalie Fucking Hale.
---
EPOV
I was going to kiss her. Really. Because fuck, the whole way home she had had her thighs on fucking display, actually looking relaxed instead of ready to strike, and she had been acting friendly. As much of a turn on as her bitchiness could be, it was nothing compared to Comfortable Rosalie. Except instead of making me want to just fuck her into submission, Comfortable Rosalie made me want to cuddle.
Cuddle. Like a fucking teddy bear or some shit.
But somewhere between the decision to kiss her and leaning over, I lost my nerve. Or rather, I lost my desire to chance the fact that even as Comfortable Rosalie, she would reach down and emasculate me. So I watched her storm off, clearly just glad to be able to get away from me. Apparently the slight peace we had achieved during dinner and the ride home had ended now that we were back on her turf.
I shook my head, resigned to having to start over tomorrow – simply giving up was not an option; I am Emmett Fucking McCarty, and I do not give up on anything – and went inside after watching to make sure she got into her house safely.
I was all the way up to my room, trying to get ready for bed, when I heard the sound of the doorbell. I swore and threw my shirt back on as I tried to navigate down the stairs, which was a bad idea because by the third step I slipped. And when big guys like me slip, there's usually some damage.
"Jesus fucking Christ," I groaned when I finally managed to stop falling halfway down. I think about five steps had just taken all of their anger at years of being walked on out on my fucking spine. The doorbell rang insistently. Fuck. Don't they know I'm injured?
I pulled myself up and hobbled to the door, peering through the glass at the top to see who the hell it was at eleven at night.
Rosalie. Looking pissed as always. Well, there's something to be said for the comfort of consistency. I turned the bolt and pulled the door open, fully ready to deliver the line, "I knew you'd miss me, but I didn't think it would be this soon."
I never got the chance.
She stormed over the threshold, her hands coming up to push me back into the wall behind me before reaching up to pull my head down, her lips meeting mine in a fiery, almost punishing kiss.
Because I'm Emmett Fucking McCarty, and I just got my balls handed to me by a little blonde girl.
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AN: Sigh. I know. Chapter three and already a kiss. What a fight, right? But fear not, this is far from over. It's not going to automatically be sunshine and daisies from this point. :D
This chapter will probably be the last one that I force myself to write from Rosalie's POV. Her perspective just doesn't interest me as much, and I think it comes through in my writing. From now on, her POV will only be used if it's like, important. Because this is supposed to be a comedy, and Rosalie is too damned serious. Or, at least, she is in my head canon.
Something I was thinking about: I don't really care that much, personally, about the character's ages because in high school it doesn't really effect most of your classes and stuff. However, for those of you who have to know (because I've read stories before where I've felt the need to know), the ages are as follows:
Emmett McCarty – 18, senior
Rosalie Hale – 17, senior
Jasper Hale – 16, junior
Alice Brandon – 17, senior
Bella Swan – 17, junior
Edward Cullen – 18, senior (what? what do you mean I haven't introduced him yet? 0.o)
Garmin Nuvi – this is my GPS's make and model. Mine, however, is named Finn-Ahren. My friend and I then turned it on and were horrified to discover that no matter what language you set it to, it has a female voice. But despite that, its name is still Finn-Ahren. Our laziness won out over our horror.
Thanks for all of your nice reviews, favourites, alerts, etc. And thank you to Maldita, who left me a very nice review but who I couldn't reply to because... well, I'm not sure exactly. It just wouldn't let me.
A note, before I forget: Those of you who also read TRNT, please don't think I ignored your reviews or forgot to send you your previews. The chapter isn't ready yet, and I haven't written the part I'm going to send as a preview. You will get them before the next chapter is out, with your replies, and for now, know that I appreciate every single one of you. :3
And now... /bribes reviewers with promises of an eternal love that burns hotter than the fiery intensity of one thousand suns