AN: What a journey Bella, Edward and I have taken over the years. I posted my first chapter of fanfiction (and my first Twilight fanfiction) on June 18, 2008. In the interim time, Edward played matchmaker, won a few gold medals, brooded over Esme's change, and finally rocked out with Athair. There is so much I want to say, need to say to the readers and writers of this fandom, because I couldn't be where I am today-be who I am today-without you. Usually you can count on me for a few hundred thousand words, but today I think I can break it down to just two: thank you. Without fanfiction, I never would have realized that I was a writer, and that's a gift that can't ever be repaid.
Is this my last chapter of fanfiction ever? No. Fanfiction is in my blood. It's kind of hard to quit it entirely.
Is it my last chapter of Twilight fanfiction ever? Yes. Of course, there are no absolutes in the world, but I don't see myself revisiting this world or any world connected to Twilight again.
What's next for me? I do intend to finish my GG stories (someday). I am working on a Downton Abbey short fic. I am sure there will be bethaboo stories as long as there are fandoms for me to obsess over. But mostly, I am working on original fiction.
Obviously some individual thanks are due: JosieSwan, wherever you are, if you are even reading this (or even if you're not), this story wouldn't exist without you. You pushed and prodded and made me think about what I really wanted to say. Emmward, for enabling my Red Sox mania. TheEdwardEmmett, who wanted me to make this story gorier. Sorry, no blood and no guts. Not my style, but I love you anyway. Dixie, my darling, darling love, you bullied me and tore this damn thing down until I rebuilt it the way it should have been written all along. My gratitude, always.
But mostly (okay, completely), this story is for you guys, who stuck with Edward, Bella and I to the bitter end. Now, I will shut my wordy, self-aggrandizing mouth up and let y'all read.
Chapter 36: Heroes
Edward
Bella, I'm sorry I'm so fucked up. I wish I could be better for you, but I can't.
The words sound stupid to me, and were hardly inspired enough to win a girl like Bella back from the place I'd pushed her, but with Gianna's approbation, for the first time in my life, I felt confident I could do something I'd set my mind to. Of course, I hadn't gotten to Bella's apartment yet, but in the last twelve hours I hadn't fucked it up, or even tried to fuck it up. This was serious progress, so I shook off my sudden attack of nerves and climbed what seemed like an endless fucking staircase to the loft Esme reassured me that Bella shared with Alice.
The stairs finally ended, and I came face to face with my demon: Bella's front door. Once I'd made it this far, I hadn't even imagined that I would have so much fucking trouble doing the simplest part of all: knocking on the damn door. Still, I found my resolve was sticking, and I stood there for what felt like an eternity, the voices that I'd tried to shut the hell up screaming at me inside my head.
If they were to be believed, then I was a pathetic, painful loser who didn't deserve to lick the bottoms of Bella's feet, even if she was wearing her ratty old Vans.
I'd spent enough time with Gianna to know that all of this second guessing, all this fucking mental noise, was bad, but I couldn't seem to drown it out. My feet stuck to the ground, like I'd been superglued to the gritty concrete floor, and I couldn't even feel the muscles or tendons in my hand anymore. I glanced down and realized the reason why—I'd clenched my fist so tightly that it took active thought and effort to pry my fingers out of my sweaty palm.
It hadn't felt this way when I was sitting on Gianna's plushy couch, spilling my guts, but right now, demanding that Bella accept me, fucked up brain and all, was selfish. Guilt swamped me, and I closed my eyes tightly against the wave that broke over me. I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be doing this. It was all one big, epic, fucked up mistake that made the bar brawls and the hundreds of dirty groupies and yes, even Aiming to Misbehave, look like a walk in the fucking park.
But even then, I couldn't turn away. Turning away from Bella– and god damn my clichéd soul—her fucking light, felt like the final nail in my coffin. If I let her get away now, if I never knocked on the door, if I didn't make my selfish plea, then I was as good as dead. I would mourn and grieve and lick my fucking wounds and guzzle whiskey until I was as pickled as a herring. But if you're saving your own life, that nasty voice inside me whispered insidiously, you're ruining hers. She'll never be able to completely trust you not to fuck her over, to leave her, to destroy your relationship.
I'd never wanted to be the fucking hero before, and I didn't want to be one now, but facing down Bella's door, I wasn't sure I really had a choice anymore. I knew she loved me. I knew she would probably take me back into her life, because she wanted to believe it could work. Fuck, I wanted to believe it would work, but experience had always taught me that whatever I set my mind to, I messed it up, because I could, or because I didn't take enough care to make sure it stayed safe.
I thought of Bella, curled in my arms in the dark, locked up in that house of horrors, and how free I'd felt when Jane had held that door open to us. Free and safe.
And then it hit me.
Maybe I wasn't the knight on the fucking white charger, but I'd done what was necessary to ensure that Bella had made it relatively unscathed from that hideous experience we'd shared.
Most importantly, she'd been safe. As safe as I could make her. And then I knew that I might accidentally fuck it up with Bella, but I would never do it on purpose. I wasn't built that way anymore. I'd finally found something that I wanted more than to protect myself from failing.
For the first time in as long as I could remember, the voices whispering inside, pouring poison inside my head, went mercifully quiet, and when I went to lift my arm to knock on the door, it moved just as I wanted it to. I didn't hesitate again. I knocked.
And I knocked again. Nothing. I wondered if maybe I had horrible fucking timing, and I hadn't caught Bella at home, but that didn't seem right. Esme had been certain that both Alice and Bella would be home, and that Emmett and Rosalie would be with them.
I had just about decided to take a seat on the stairway and wait for them to come back when the door abruptly swung open. What I saw made my blood freeze and congeal inside my veins, and my heart skip a beat, and then two.
Bella was standing there, pale as a sheet, her eyes hard and bright in her white face, and Jane was standing behind her, pressing a nasty looking revolver to her temple.
"Get in," Jane hissed, and I stumbled on the door frame as I tried to make my uncooperative legs cross the boundary back into hell. "It's lucky you decided to show today. That makes two for one. I don't have to go hunt you down."
"Hunt me down?" I asked stupidly as the door slammed close behind me and Jane and Bella paraded back in front of me. Bella's eyes were glued to mine, huge and afraid, but she said nothing. "But you let us go."
"Stupid me," Jane snarled, poking Bella in the temple so hard with the gun that she almost stumbled. I glanced up and saw that we were in a living room with Alice, Jasper, Emmett, and Rosalie all assembled in front of us. They were frozen in place, like a silent tableau, waiting for the worst to happen.
"I let you go," Jane crooned in that certifiably insane voice of hers, "but darling Niall couldn't take it that you'd gone. And he . . ." she mimed pulling the trigger on the gun she held to Bella's head and I couldn't help it—a strangled half-gasp erupted out of my throat as I saw Bella dead, her brains all over the floor. But Jane hadn't pulled the trigger, and I managed to gulp air back into my uncooperative lungs. But she might next time, the nasty voice in my head whispered.
"For that," she continued, "you and her; you both have to die. And I'll take the rest of you with me too, since you're lucky enough to be here."
I glanced up at Emmett, and the expression on his face was cold, dead fury. I wondered why he hadn't tried to overtake Jane yet, but still nobody spoke. I moved to Jasper next, and with only the slightest of head movements, he shook his head. Don't do it, he said to me.
That was easy for him to fucking say—there wasn't a gun literally pointed at the love of his life's head.
"I know you're thinking about it," Jane told me conversationally as she pushed Bella closer to the group frozen on the other side of the couch.
"Thinking about what?" She already thought I was stupid. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to play into her beliefs, but Jane shot me a hard look, and I realized why nobody had attacked her yet—this was one girl you didn't fuck around with. She was armed and deadly, and she had a gun pointed at Bella's head. Worst of all, you knew she wasn't going to be afraid to use it.
It was then that it hit me—we were all going to die today, at her hand—and all I wanted in that moment was to tell Bella I was in love with her.
"She's going to die, you know. You all will. One by one. The real question is," Jane paused briefly, tapping one finger near her viciously curled lips, "which one of you is first?"
I knew from Bella's expression that she'd already realized what the answer would be, and dread sank deep into my bones. I was never going to be able to tell her. I was too late, and she was going to die never knowing how I felt about her, how she'd pulled me from the muddy, soul-sucking swamp that had been my life before her. I could only hope, from the way her eyes remained locked with mine, that she somehow knew from the expression on my face.
Jane noticed our unspoken communication. "Of course, I suppose you all know who's first. No big surprise there."
Bella's hands folded tightly together in front of her, and I could tell she was bracing for the moment Jane committed the inevitable. In that last wrenching moment, I wanted to do something, to be there for her last time, to ride in on the grand white horse and save her, even if it meant dying in her place. As though she could read my mind, Bella gave me one last imperceptible shake of her head, as if to tell me no, because it wouldn't matter anyway—but a tear dripped down her cheek, and I had never wanted to save her more.
So I did the only thing that was left. I didn't let the overpowering fear dictate the last seconds of her life, and I held her gaze, steady and even, pouring all the love I hadn't said into that last look. I couldn't save her, but I could at least make sure that she wasn't alone when she died.
I saw Jane pull the trigger in slow motion. Her finger had not yet started to move, but before it could fully commit to the action, an explosion detonated like a bomb in the room.
It was a fucking iron, Hello Kitty pink and white, essentially harmless, but when perfectly placed, shooting like a rocket out of Jasper's hand, had enough velocity to knock the gun from Jane's grip. The gun detonated harmlessly into the ceiling before dropping metallically to the concrete floor. Seconds later, Jane had joined it, under Emmett's furious, bone-breaking grip. He held her there, helplessly pinned to the floor, as Jasper retrieved the gun, and, with hands that still trembled, raised it slowly until it was pointed at her the way she had held it against Bella.
I didn't want to know how he had been able to throw the iron with his hands shaking so much, or where he had even found the damn thing, but I found that when it came down to it, I didn't even care. All I knew was the soul-deep sigh of relief that echoed through me as Bella flung herself at me.
She was alive.
"Edward," she moaned as she shook in my arms. I held onto her as tightly as I could, as if I could absorb her very life into me. I couldn't truly believe she hadn't died until I felt her heart beating rapidly against the palm of my hand.
"I'm so glad you're safe," I whispered to her, though, of course, we weren't exactly yet. Jane was still here, and there was still a gun. Bad things were still within the realm of possibility.
As Jasper held the gun on Jane, Emmett retrieved his cell phone from his pocket and dialed.
"Marcus. Yes, it's Emmett. We need some. . .assistance." He paused. "No, as soon as possible. Ten minutes ago would have been great."
His face went dark. "Yes, she's here. Subdued. Okay. We'll wait."
Jane still hadn't said anything, her head down, not even glancing up at the gun that Jasper held at her. I could see from the crooked angle of her arm that the iron had probably broken it from the force, but she didn't even whimper from pain.
The next ten minutes were terrifying, but not as terrifying as the last five minutes had been. I still hadn't let go of Bella, I couldn't, not until the danger was truly eliminated.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, there was a knock on the door. Rose, still pale as a sheet, walked to answer it.
"Be careful, Rose," Emmett warned from his position holding Jane down. "Check the peep hole."
She did, and even from across the room, I could hear her breath exhale shakily as she saw who it was.
"We're friends," I heard a deep voice say from the other side of the door. "From Marcus."
Rose opened the door wider, and a huge man dressed in black cargo pants and a bulletproof vest walked in, followed by another two men that could have been his brothers in size and shape. Apparently Marcus wasn't fucking around anymore, but Jane only glanced up once, otherwise making no acknowledgement from her position on the floor.
"We'll take it from here," one of the men said, ruthlessly grabbing one of Jane's thin arms and dragging her to her feet. She didn't even resist him, and I wondered if maybe she had just lost her will to fight. Maybe she had lost it when she'd lost Aro.
For a split second, I thought I knew what she might be feeling. When I'd thought I'd lost Bella, everything inside had shrunk until I'd felt absolutely fucking nothing. But then the vision of Jane standing next to Bella, her finger on the trigger, swamped me, and for a split second, I saw red. This bitch had nearly killed the only woman who had seen through the bad, the ugly, and the even worse parts of me and had loved me anyway. For that, for giving Bella even the slightest moment of fear that her life was over, she deserved to lose her own.
That was the last thought I had when the men pulled that bitch out the door. No sympathy, I thought, and no quarter. Súil ar shúil, fiacail ar fhiacail.
An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth.
I didn't realize I was squeezing my fingers into fists until Bella gave a little cry of pain and instinctively I released her wrist. "Sorry," I murmured. "Instinct."
She laughed a little wryly. Her voice was still shaky, but I could tell she was more in control now, once Jane was no longer in her sight. "It's okay, I want to kill her too."
"For threatening you?"
Bella shook her head. "No. Well. . .that's not necessarily true. Yes, I hate her for that. I hate her for making me face my own death for the second time, but it's not only that. I hate her because I almost didn't hear what you came here to say. I hate her for almost making sure I'd never know."
"And now?"
"Oh, I still hate her," Bella admitted. "That fucking lunatic almost shot me."
"You're right," I took a deep breath, pulling her closer, until her head rested on my shoulder. "I did come here to say something to you."
"I thought you might have. I didn't want to open the door because then you'd be in as much danger as we all were." I thought I felt Bella's lips widen into a smile against my shirt, but I could have been wrong. "Even then, I still wanted to know what you'd come to say."
"I'm fucked up." She definitely smiled this time. In fact, I thought people in the next county could probably have felt that one.
"I think we covered that pretty well last time we saw each other."
"I'm probably never going to be totally normal," I forged on. "I should probably do the right thing, the honorable thing, I guess, and let you go. But I'm a selfish bastard."
It felt like every muscle in my body was unwinding from a lifetime of holding on to fear I had never understood. With Gianna's help, I'd identified what fucked me up, but that didn't mean I was "fixed." Maybe I'd never really be normal, but at least I knew the kind of life-destroying things that fear could make me do, and hopefully, with a hell of a lot more therapy, I might not feel like doing those things as much as I used to.
"Well, we knew that already," Bella interjected, her voice muffled against my shirt, "but go on. I'm listening."
I took a deep breath. "You know that once I tell you, I'm never going to be able to go back to before. You're never going to be rid of me."
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
"It might be, for you." I couldn't help the last few moments of Bella-preservation. It turned out I had a ridiculously long martyr steak, but then considering my own family history, I supposed that shouldn't have been much of a surprise.
"Will you stop it?" Bella pulled back and looked me square in the eye. "For god's sake, I know exactly what I'm getting into with you, and though it might be a terrible decision, and in five years I might wonder if I've lost what was left of my mind, but I knew ten minutes ago that you were the last person I wanted to see before I died. And that should count for something."
"So you're saying I should just tell you I love you, because you love me too?"
In the end, it was that easy. Her brow furrowed, and I could see the wheels turning in her head, like she was trying to figure out if she'd heard me correctly. But of course, she had.
I knew the moment she figured it out. The strength of her smile was wattage enough to banish more of the cobwebby fear that still resided inside of me—and maybe, combined with the words of encouragement I'd heard from Esme and Carlisle before leaving, combined with the power of the music that Athair and I had created together, combined with the velocity of Jasper's fast ball and Emmett's unflagging devotion, just maybe, it would be enough to prevent more of those life-destroying events.
Maybe it would be enough to make sure Bella was always there for me, and enough that I could always have the chance to be there for her. The armor might be a little tarnished, but I was still wearing it. That was all that mattered
"You bastard," she said, but there was no heat in her words. "You fucking bastard. Damn it, I love you too."
I was just about to kiss her, the first real kiss, when we were untimely and rudely interrupted.
"You know, hate to be the third wheel, but I just wanted to make sure you two were alright," Jasper drawled, his arm around Alice, who was gazing up at him as if he were a combination of Apollo and Brad Pitt. Of course, I thought with pride, Bella's expression was somewhat similar.
"Dude," I said, unwinding an arm from around Bella and holding it out to him. We clasped hands, and even though I couldn't exactly find the words to tell him how thankful I was he'd saved Bella's life, I thought he might understand at least a little of what I felt. "That throw was unfuckingbelievable. I didn't know you could still throw like that."
"I didn't know it either," Jasper confessed. "I just closed my eyes and prayed. The craziest thing is I thought for the longest time that the most important pitch I'd ever throw would be at Fenway, but I guess stranger things have happened."
"We're both grateful," Bella said, and I could hear the choked back tears in her voice. "More than I can say."
Emmett walked back into the room after finishing up with Marcus' men. Rosalie was at his side in an instant, her lips brushing his cheek, as if she needed to reassure herself that he still lived and breathed. He glanced down at her hand, at the ring flashing in the light, and he gave her hand a light squeeze. "Everything is taken care of," he said quietly. "She will be taken care of. The most important thing is we're all safe."
"Safe," Bella repeated. "We're safe."
"But are we ever really safe?" Alice wondered, her voice trembling.
I glanced over at Bella, and I could see from her expression she was deep in thought. "Maybe safety isn't what it's cracked up to be," she finally said slowly. "I knew it wasn't safe to go with Edward in the first place, but thank god I did, because otherwise Jane might have killed him earlier."
Lyrics echoed in my head, teased to life by Bella's words. She'd helped me create so much and hadn't even realized it; this was simply another example of the gifts she gave. "Paper," I leaned over and whispered in Bella's ear. "And a pen."
She glanced over at me fondly, understanding exactly what I needed. I felt my heart expand and contract with the constancy and steadfastness of her devotion. I was fucking honored by it. By her. "Bedroom," she whispered back.
Bella's bedroom was peaceful, like a cool spring day. I glanced over the navy blue comforter, searching for the pad I knew she kept near her at all times and finally found it lying on her desk, next to her laptop.
I picked it up, pen in hand, ready to scrawl down the lyrics that our conversation had inspired, but I had to stop short. The pad was already full of words. Bella's words.
Entry 457 Pt 2: Aiming to Misbehave, The Redux
Dear Edward Cullen,
When I wrote Entry #457 four years ago, I was burning with outrage and disgust at the depths to which you'd fallen. I announced to the world that I was renouncing you and your music. I said I'd given up hope that you could create anything worth listening to.
I was wrong, Edward. There is a tenacity of hope in you, in your lyrics, in the driving, soaring cacophony of your melodies. Even when it disgusts me, and Aiming to Misbehave did, I couldn't ignore or forget the tantalizing possibilities your music aroused in me. To this day, they echo in my soul, but most importantly they echo in my heart.
Often we think of heroes as abnormally gifted men in tight suits and capes, flying around the world, trying to save it. We think of the men who give their lives to their country, to their cause, as heroes. We expect our heroes to be something larger than life, something extraordinary.
But, to quote Dave Grohl, "there goes my hero, and he's ordinary."
My entire life, my father was my hero. I never believed he was wrong in giving his life to duty, even while I railed against him for leaving me alone in the world. I hated that he left me, but I never once wondered over the rights and wrongs of his decision. You did what he couldn't; you saved me and you saved yourself.
Your constancy, your bravery, your sense of humor when faced with bleakness—it is all of those that make you a hero, and a hero who did everything but compromise what he believed in, so he could stay alive. I know you believe that you're fucked up, and maybe you are, but if fucked up is what got us through the singularly most difficult experience of my life, I'll take your brand of fucked up any day.
Once, you told me that you wanted to write an album that would change the world.
What I don't think you realize is that you already have.
Aiming to Misbehave is a part of you, Edward. Shiteous music, hideous lyrics, awful cover art and all, it is a paean to the fear that you let mismanage you for so long, and it's also a symbol of what you are truly capable of, when you learn to shed the baggage. Without Aiming to Misbehave, the album you have yet to write that will change the world could never have happened. Without it, I never would have met you, and I never would have been privileged to know the inner hero that you hide away from everyone else.
That hero saved my sanity, and he saved my life. He fought against the fear inside of himself so that he could be a better person for me. He endeavored to deserve the love that I freely bestow on him.
I don't want to bury him under all of my fear, so let me be clear with you and with the world. I risk everything with you, but I would rather risk it with you than risk nothing and be alone.
I love you, Edward Cullen, even when you're Aiming to Misbehave.
THE END