A/N: I don't own Twilight. So it's been a little while but I'm back. I hope you guys have been well.

Previously in Static: Realizations are being realized and some ends are coming together. If you didn't read the last chapter, go back. It's one of my favorites and it gives a little background to this one.

This chapter contains: Emily x Embry, more Quil, and a lot of honesty. Peep the callbacks to chapter 69.

Enjoy.

LXXIX.

we'll go down this road 'til it turns from color to black and white

Since she had let go of Sam, Emily felt like she could see in color again. Her spirit was back. She hadn't felt this way since she'd gone to Venice, and while that stint had been all sorts of intoxicated fun, it had been too bright. Venice had been in blinding hues of neon green and pink. It had been dazzling and dizzying, but she loved New York more. Manhattan was vibrant in a sober way that she could fully appreciate, full of eclectic people.

Manhattan plagued Emily with a sense of sonder like no other. Each passerby made her feel something. Despite her constantly being in a mood, Emily didn't have a wide range of feelings—she liked to keep things low. Underground. If she were to have feelings at all, not everybody would know about them. She had saved specific emotions for Sam, who had been emotionally demanding to be around. But that had been in the badlands—Sam was behind her now. In Manhattan, Emily wasn't sure what she was feeling, but there was certainly a lot of it.

Emily was starting to feel something for Embry, too. She had never really gotten over him, but she hadn't broken up with Sam to be with him. She had broken up with Sam to be with herself. She was proud to admit this, but somewhere in her heart lived this Embry drawer that she couldn't get locked shut. She'd lost the key and the drawer was just rattling to get open, pushing against her straining, fragile fingernails.

She still loved Embry. No matter what happened to her, to him, to them, she would always love him. Not because they had history—which she didn't consider a real reason to stick around—but because she simply trusted him. He was a trustworthy guy. Dependable, too, even though his acts of heroism often went ignored by most of the group until they needed him the most.

It was 2AM, but if Emily and Embry knew anything about New York City, it was that it never slept. It never went dark. It never shut off. Overlooking Times Square from her dark hotel room, sonder continued to plague Emily like the most bittersweet disease. Everybody just on the streets below her had their own agendas—their own lives. Maybe they were trying to get into that club that Leah, Kim, Quil, and Jacob had snuck into tonight with fake IDs. Maybe they were just trying to get home.

While the group had managed to melt into one coherent, content unit during the day, they still found themselves divided at night. Bella and Paul—as expected—were their own thing. Emily frequently heard them having loud, passionate, detailed sex through the paper-thin walls of the various motels they had been occupying, but she had learned to drown them out. Then Bella and Paul would talk to each other all night like the best of friends. Sam and Seth didn't do much besides watch TV. Leah, Kim, Quil, and Jacob were always looking to get into the various clubs that this great country had to offer, into mild amounts of trouble without actually getting in trouble. (Embry had gone out with them once in Atlanta, on the night of Wafflegate, but it really wasn't for him.) Leah and Kim just wanted to dance. Nobody would question the state of their relationship as they grinded on each other in the dim lighting of a nightclub. Jacob, who wasn't over Leah but wasn't exactly about her anymore, had always had trouble with feeling alive, so he would do almost anything to get there while keeping his head. Quil didn't mind losing his head—he was used to it, and he always got it back.

"I can tell you like it here," Embry said. He sat on Emily's bed, his laptop open and an earbud in his left ear. He was listening to the tracks recorded so far for 98350. He had a notebook and pen next to him.

Emily found Embry so brilliant and interesting. He was a genius. He took this project with a technical approach rather than a musical one. He had his own little code for noticing all the little errors and taking note of which songs they would have to rerecord. The mixtape was far from perfect, and it shouldn't have to be perfect, but Embry was trying to make it damn close.

Emily finally pried herself away from the window and sat next to him on the bed. "I can tell you love being a producer," she said.

He shook his head. "I don't even know music," he admitted. "Imagine if we booked a real recording studio. This whole thing is gonna come out so ghetto, Em."

"Isn't that the point?" she asked. "Delinquent V is ghetto."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Is he giving you production credit?" she wondered. "With Jake and Sam and all of them?"

"He can cite my name or whatever," he said, finally turning away from the laptop screen. "It's not like it's gonna make any money. It's just Quil."

Emily smiled sadly. "It's just Quil," she echoed. "Do you even want to help him with the mixtape?"

"I do," he said, though he looked like he had to think about it for a moment. "He's got a huge concept going on, and it's not just about him. It's about… Well, it's about us. All of us. I like how he trusts me and Jake and Seth and our lack of know-how. And honestly, it's a healthier outlet than what he usually does." As well as a distraction from the fact that he literally murdered somebody. Embry couldn't give that away, though—that was between him and Quil and the badlands.

"I think he's definitely capable of doing both," Emily said. "I bet he's high right now."

A sad expression washed over Embry's face. "Yeah," he agreed. "I bet he is."

"Can I listen?" Emily asked. "Or is it a surprise?"

Embry smiled. "Here, I'll show you a couple demos."

Embry clicked on an audio file and gave Emily the other earbud. Emily saw that the song was titled "Bambi."

She turned to him. "So Quil still isn't over Kim," she assumed. Quil had loved Kim since the dawn of time and he still loved her, even though he knew he'd be living in the friend-zone until the day he died and maybe even a day after that.

Embry nodded. "It's one of the best so far, though," he told her. "I promise."

He played the clip, and Emily believed him. The track, "Bambi," was a quiet opener with little instrumentation, and the beat was made entirely of soft finger snaps. Quil was even singing the hook, and it wasn't awful. She hoped the final cut wouldn't be too different.

Embry then played another demo of a track that still didn't have a real title. The lyrics were about Quil growing up in La Push. He didn't sound half bad, but the production was what really amazed Emily. Despite not having much to work with, the music was atmospheric. It was cinematic.

It was Embry Call, and it was fucking brilliant.

When the clip was over, Emily removed her earbud and just looked at Embry. She was trying to conceal her widest, happiest, dumbest smile.

"What?" he asked.

"You're a genius," she told him.

He was in a full-fledged grin, and he was so happy she liked the music that he was going to kiss her. He was really going to kiss her. Then they were spooked by a loud, ominous thud against the door.

Embry got up to get the door, and Emily followed. The second he twisted the door knob and opened the door, Quil came colliding into his body.

Embry quickly caught him. "Whoa," he said. "What the fuck happened to you?"

"He's drunk," Emily said as Embry helped him into the room. She turned on the lights. "Obviously."

"Shit, man, you're burning up," Embry said as he tried to get Quil to sit on the other bed in the room. Quil ended up on his back, wide-eyed and staring up at the ceiling.

"I'm in your room," Quil said slowly, sluggishly. "Right?"

"Yes," Embry replied.

Quil turned over to his stomach, laughing like an idiot. "I can't believe I fuckin' made it. I just got into this big-ass banana and ended up here. Homeboy driving it was nice, though."

"A banana?" Emily asked him.

"What are you on?" Embry asked. "Are you just drunk? Is it weed? It can't be weed."

"Acid," Quil said. Then he started laughing again. "LSD."

Embry and Emily just exchanged an incredulous look.

"Chance the Rapper recorded his first mixtape on acid," Quil said. "Trippin' the whole time. Did you guys know that?"

"You're not Chance the Rapper," Embry told him, his voice gentler now that he knew Quil was on a trip. "You're Delinquent V."

"I'm motherfuckin' Delinquent V," Quil said. "Bring out the mic, Embry. Pull up a beat. I'm the motherfuckin' Delinquent V."

"That's probably not a good idea," Embry replied. "How long ago did you drop acid?"

"A couple hours ago," Quil said. "We were in the club."

"Did Kim and Leah and Jake not notice you leave?" Emily asked.

Quil sighed dramatically. "Guess not." Then he was gone. He was laying on the bed singing to himself. He was singing his own song, "Bambi," and suddenly, he was crying like a child.

Why did it have to be acid? Embry thought.

"What's going on, man?" he asked Quil.

"She looked so beautiful tonight," Quil replied, not bothering to wipe his tears away. "She always looks beautiful, but tonight I wanted to marry her."

"Who, Kim?" Emily asked.

His tears rolled onto the comforter underneath him. "Mm-hm."

"You've gotta get over her," Embry told him. "You've liked her since we were, what, nine?"

"Eight. Embry, she's just so fine. Every time I think I'm over her, I look at her and it's a wrap."

Emily sighed. "Quil, you've gotta get over it. Kim doesn't even like boys. Kim likes astrology and Britney Spears."

Quil's tears came running out even faster. "I wanna fuckin' kill myself," he said.

Emily's voice was gentle. "No, don't say that," she said. "There are plenty of girls out there. Straight ones."

"I really fuckin' killed someone," Quil said softly, like he was talking to himself.

Emily looked to Embry, confused.

Shit, Embry thought. He didn't say anything.

Emily looked back to Quil. "What was that?" she asked.

"I killed someone," Quil said, his voice clearer. "Jasper Cullen. The white boy from Forks. Shot him clear in the forehead."

"That's crazy talk," Emily said. She looked at Embry again. "Right?"

Embry just shook his head. "He's right," he murmured.

"I snapped," Quil said, his face drowning in tears. He was clutching his own body like he was afraid he'd lose himself. Maybe he already had lost himself. "I just snapped. What if they found the gun?"

"They didn't," Embry said sternly. "We buried it in the middle of nowhere. It's gone."

"It's not gone, though. I'm not gone and you're not gone but Jasper is gone."

All that Embry could do was shake his head, but he knew he was lying to himself.

Emily and Embry ended up pulling an all-nighter making sure Quil didn't do anything stupid for the remainder of his trip. All he really did was sink into a void of self-hatred and "what if" statements about Kim. He cried for almost the entire time. It was a sorry sight.

The next day was the group's last day in New York, and they were still on schedule. Emily and Embry ended up wasting the day away by catching up on sleep, but they needed it. New York would always be there. Emily knew the city would call her back someday.

They woke up in the same bed at around six in the evening, but it wasn't awkward. It was merely them.

"Thanks for sticking around last night," Embry said, turning around to face her. "You didn't have to deal with all that."

"Quil's still my friend," Emily replied. "It's what we do."

Somehow, Embry managed to strike up the courage to admit to Emily something that had been on his mind for the longest time. "I never got over us breaking up," he told her. "I always thought we would work it out. I just wish I knew what happened."

"It's not too late," she said.

"You and Sam aren't together, are you?" he asked.

"He didn't tell you?"

"He's too afraid to admit it."

Emily wanted to be surprised. She tried really, really hard. "That sounds like him," she said.

After getting her spirit broken countless times by Sam, Emily had never believed she had the power to do the same to him. Then again, that was the way it had always been with them, throughout the years—give and take. Maybe she could take after him and become a little more possessive in regards to her feelings.

It was late when everyone started to head further up the East Coast. This next stretch would be quicker than previous ones, and then they would be heading west. While they had all seen and done a lot, the badlands didn't sound so bad anymore. They had work to return to. Some of them had school.

So from this point on, there was a lot of driving. Various sleep schedules got even further wrecked along the way. Somewhere between Chicago and Minneapolis, Embry was driving, and Sam was the only other person in the car who was awake. They already had a few things in common, a big one being that they were half-brothers, but the topic of conversation managed to fall on the girl who was asleep in one of the other cars. It started out as awkward as anyone would expect.

"I still don't know what I did to lose her," Sam told Embry, his deep voice hushed. "I gave her everything. Everything I did was for us and nobody else, but I still lost her."

"I think what happened," Embry replied, dead tired, "was that you forgot about her. You let her fade away."

Sam still had the idea that Emily was into Embry, but he tried not to let it show. He was still more hurt by Emily than jealous of Embry. He felt small and pathetic when he asked Embry, "You think I can get her back?"

Embry didn't want to spare what was left of Sam's feelings. "Nah," he said. "She's too far gone. It's for the best."

He wasn't wrong.

A/N: Up next: homecoming.

Thanks as always,

HS