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Fanfiction Based On Characters From Stephenie Meyer’s Twilight Series
Rated MA for Mature Adult.
Blueberries
&
Copper Wire
By Hmonster4
Summary:
Sometimes what you see isn't always what you get. How does one get past a
chilly façade or a jaded heart to reveal the potential underneath? AU/AH. Complete
rework of the 2009 T rated novella
This is a rework of the T rated 2009 novella - changed pretty significantly and bumped
up a rating to M.
"Two Stellas and a club soda please."
Emmett didn't make eye contact with the tiny blonde bartender, delivering his order with the
detached efficiency that came from one too many nights out. He glanced up at the television
nestled in the corner, anywhere so that he could avoid the woman's gaze.
"Who's the poor schmo getting the club soda?" the girl asked. Her voice was just a bit
too
familiar
considering they weren't friends, friends with benefits, or anything else and never will be.
"Me. Work to do later," Emmett said. He dropped a ten dollar bill on the bar and turned away. The
routine was the same every time. He would order, she would flirt, and he would tune her out. Last
week the girl had gone so far as to try and slip him her phone number. He thought it was clear that
her interest wasn't reciprocated, but that message obviously hadn't sunk in.
It wasn't that the girl was unattractive. She was cute in a spunky sort of way, and was probably
good in the sack. Emmett could have easily gone there, and they probably would have had a few
weeks of fun. But then things would get complicated, because they always did. A little fun would
prompt her to ask for a date, or maybe even expect something more. He knew from past
experience that when a relationship started with a bang it always went out with a whimper, and
that was
long
after the sex was finished.
So he didn't respond, choosing instead to lean back against the bar and watch the crowd swirl
around him. It was busy for this early on a Wednesday night, and people moved about in small
packs, all smiles and hands lingering on hips or shoulders and air kisses. This was the human
equivalent of a mating dance, the drones hell bent on one thing - go forth, find pollen, and
perpetuate the strength of the hive. They danced and wriggled around each other, striving for the
attention and edification, oblivious to anything that might be transpiring outside their immediate
sphere of awareness.
They moved around Emmett, ignoring the tall man in the faded jeans and blazer because he was
obviously was not going to be part of their odd mating game. Emmett knew he stood out in the
crowd with his untucked, wrinkled oxford and a few days worth of scruff, and he liked that it set
him apart. He wasn't one of these people, nor did he pretend to be. It was only on closer scrutiny
that someone would notice the details – the sharp blue-green gaze that missed nothing, the
antique Rolex on his wrist (an heirloom passed down from grandfather to father to him), or the MIT
class ring on his right hand. In a number of ways, Emmett knew he was the personification of
everything these people aspired to, either for themselves or in the match they were desperate to
find, but he had no desire to put it out there because, honestly, none of it really mattered. He was
much more interested in what lie underneath, the actual substance as opposed to the trappings.
That is why he could so easily turn down the bartender. Easy sex was easy; it was what came after
that he found complicated.
So instead of mingling, Emmett maintained his usual perch at the bar, watching people talk at and
over each other. This was his role week after week, the loyal wingman standing watch over this
bizarre mating dance while his cousin, Jasper, pursued the girl.
Truth be told, Emmett had no interest in the dating buffet. He'd been there before, and had pretty
much tried everything there was being served up. No, at this point, he had zero interest in
pursuing or being pursued. He was content to stand back every week and watch the bizarre social
interactions that swirled around him. It gave him an excuse to keep an eye on the one person who
seemed so out of place in it all.
Rosalie Hale
. The golden it-girl, who held herself back, watching with clear disdain as men tripped
over themselves to charm her down off her virtual throne. Every week, Emmett watched as the
nameless faces tired to be
the one
to break through her defenses. It was the sexual equivalent of
big game hunting, Rosalie's name the trophy that would be mounted on the wall and bragged over
for years to come.
Truth be told, he couldn't fault the men who tried and failed. It was impossible to look at Rosalie
Hale and not think about tapping that. She was this surreal mashup of beautiful and fragile and
arrogant and pure sex, a combination no red-blooded American male would be able to resist. Easily
5'8 without her ever present high heels, the woman radiated the cool confidence of a Hitchcock
blonde. Two weeks ago, she'd come walking into the bar wearing a pink dress and oversized
sunglasses, her hair pulled back, looking just like Grace Kelly in
To Catch a Thief
. Serene,
gorgeous, and completely capable of cutting a man down to size with one single look.
It would have been easy to see her that way, a spoiled rich girl accustomed to getting what she
wanted, for she did little to debunk the outward impression. Emmett
might
have actually bought
into it, had it not been for that damn pink dress. Everywhere he looked, she was there, wrapped in
the color a little girl would wear. It made her even more visible in the sea of dark colors, and
Emmett found he couldn't look away.
That was when the mask slipped, and Rosalie, or
Grace
, as he'd sarcastically called her in his mind,
became Gracie. It was also the exact moment that Emmett went from casual observer to active
participant in the mad race to capture her attention. Had he not been watching, he would have
never caught her with her guard down. Emmett could have walked away, maybe indulging in a
gratuitous daydream before letting go. He would've eventually come up with a reason to stop
meeting Jasper week after week and gone on his way.
No harm, no foul.
But whatever he
might
have done flew right out the window the minute he caught her staring off in
space. People swirled around her, but Rosalie was alone, her expression one of abject sadness and
loneliness. In a sea of people, all wanting to either be her or with her, she was lost, and not a
single person appeared to care. It cut straight through him, exposing Emmett's greatest strength
and his biggest flaw - his uncontrollable need to make things better.
Even if it was for a woman he didn't even know.
And so, instead of making up an excuse to stop coming week after week, Emmett continued to act
as Jasper's wingman, always watching Rosalie Hale in the hopes that he might see that flicker
again. Maybe it would lead to an opening, a way for him to break through where others had failed.
The need was irrational, but he couldn't fight it anymore than he could change the rotation of the
earth or stop the sun from setting in the West.
It was simply who he was.
Tonight, she sat at her usual table, dressed entirely in blue - a slim skirt and little button up
sweater that reminded Emmett of the robin's eggs he'd find broken on the ground as a child. She
was nestled in a large, round booth, her chin propped on her hand, listening to her friends talk.
One of them must have posed a question, to which Rosalie nodded her response. It knocked a
strand of hair loose, which fell into her eyes. She stuck out her lower lip, huffing to blow the lock
away. The strand dropped back down into her eyes, but she didn't push it away.
"Yo, Em." Jasper slapped him on the shoulder as he crossed in front of his cousin, blocking
Emmett's line of sight. "Thanks for getting the first round."
"No prob, Slim." Emmett paused to take a sip of his club soda before continuing. "What's new in
your world?"
"Little of this, little of that," Jasper said. He surveyed the room, nodding hello to a few
acquaintances with the relaxed manner of a man comfortable in his own skin. While they were both
extroverts, Jasper had the enviable skill of being able to read and respond to people in a way that
always put them at ease, a talent Emmett had never quite been able to replicate. He was a master
at getting past the façade and finding the real person lurking beneath. Growing up together, they'd
been inseparable, Jasper the leader and Emmett the problem solver. As adults, they'd turned those
traits into viable, even successful professions, and yet they always came back together, the two
little boys who would rather dam up a creek than be cooped up indoors with their nose in a book.
"Listen, man, I need to ask you a favor." Jasper tipped his head to the side and scratched absently
at the base of his neck. For someone who didn't know him well, the gesture would mean nothing, a
simple action that probably wouldn't even register. But Emmett wasn't just anyone, and he
recognized the tick for what it was. Jasper wanted something.
"No blind dates, Slim. You can call for the infantry all you want. I'm not going to take another
bullet for the team."
"Whoa, dude, not like that," Jasper said hastily, his hands held up in reassurance. "And I swear I
didn't know that chick would go all
Fatal Attraction
on you. Come on, I'm trying to score some
brownie points here…"
Jasper glanced across the room to where Alice Brandon sat, her head inclined in Rosalie's direction.
Tiny but mighty, she'd managed to topple his cousin with a few well placed comments, packing a
punch that still had him down for the count months later. Leave it to Jasper to find the girl of his
dreams when he wasn't even looking.
"Fuck me, you are whipped," Emmett said with an exasperated sigh. "What do you want me to do,
and what's it worth to you?"
Jasper's gaze never left the table where Alice and Rosalie sat huddled together. Emmett found
himself looking in that direction too. There she was, surrounded by a group of women chattering
about who knows what, with that same faraway look on her face. She reminded him of a trapped
animal, her glazed apathy the only outward manifestation of any emotional distress.
As if feeling the weight of his gaze, Rosalie shook her head and blew that same lock of hair out her
eyes, then plastered on a smile. She leaned toward Alice, whispering something, her mouth hidden
behind her hand.
She was putting on a show, Emmett realized. The question was, for whom? And why?
"…and this guy has really been fucking with her. Things got a little out of hand last night, but she's
okay, at least physically. Anyway, Alice says this isn't the first time it's happened, so I thought you
could maybe you could teach her a thing or two. You know - how to throw and block punches, that
sort of thing."
Emmett shifted his attention back to Jasper, who was waiting for an answer. He'd heard enough to
realize this had nothing to do with blind dates or other romantic entanglements, and fished his
wallet, an old, battered brown no name piece of leather he'd purchased in college.
"Yeah, I can do that." He extracted a business card from behind a few dollar bills and dropped it on
the bar. "Pen?" he demanded, snapping his fingers together impatiently.
Jasper passed him the worn silver fountain pen, and Emmett bit the tip, pulling the cap off so he
could scribble the name of a gym, along with a date and time on the back of the card. "I do this,
and I get the first month of Seahawks home games this year."
"Fine with me, they're gonna suck," Jasper said. He extended his hand, palm up in a silent request
for his pen. "At least you'll get there on time."
It was an old routine, one well synchronized after years of use.
"Yeah, well, you're the writer. I was always late for dinner. I guess the right thing was passed
down to the right grandkid, eh?"
Emmett slid the card across the bar to Jasper and recapped the pen. He twirled it between his long
fingers, admiring the weight and balance of his grandfather's beloved old fountain pen. But before
he could slip it inside his jacket, Jasper snatched it away.
"Nice try, you big oaf."
"Yeah well, you owe me, asshole. Tomorrow, 6:30," Emmett said. "Tell your girl tennis shoes and
workout clothes, cause someone in the family is finally going to get her all sweaty."
"Dick," Jasper said, popping Emmett lightly in shoulder.
Emmett retaliated, smacking Jasper upside the head. "I'm out of here, you skinny bitch. I've got
some work to do. You good to get home?"
Jasper's body was already turning back to where Alice sat, his mind drifting back to her. "Yeah, I'm
covered," he said absently. "Good luck tomorrow. I owe you big."
"You always do, Slim. You always do."
The crowds parted for Emmett, men and women alike clearing a path, some watching in admiration
as he moved past. Ever since the growth spurt freshman year added a foot to his already
impressive frame, Emmett had captured the attention of others. At first it was solely based on size,
but over time, the attention evolved into something more. Emmett carried himself with an easy
grace, and his long stride and relaxed posture translating into a self assured swagger which made
other people pay attention and often admire.
Across the bar, Rosalie Hale watched him exit with a Mona Lisa smile on her face.
"Hey, are you okay?" Alice dropped a gentle elbow in Rosalie's ribs, reclaiming her attention.
They'd both been on edge for the last twenty four hours, Rosalie because of what happened, Alice
with worry for her friend. She hadn't wanted to come out tonight at all, but Alice had insisted,
believing it was better to be out with a group than home alone.
"Yeah, just tired," Rosalie answered absently. It was true. She
was
tired, both mentally and
physically. Her body ached, but she was too worn down and helpless to do anything about it. Every
morning, she put on her makeup, adding layer after layer like a mask before a performance. While
other people noticed the exterior, the breeding, the polish, and the good looks, Rosalie knew they
didn't see
her
, nor did they care what she felt.
Maybe that's why the tall man at the bar with the wavy dark hair intrigued her so much. At first, it
was his attitude, the devil-may-care posture and the casual clothes that made him stand out – a
wild, roguish upstart in a throng of over bred cultivation. The man, who she later learned was
called Emmett, held himself apart, comfortable being the individual in a sea of competition. Others
picked up on that, and gravitated to him based on the allure of that subtle strength. From her
perch, Rosalie watched as women approached him, batting their eyelashes in hopes of being the
one to finally catch him. It didn't surprise her that he always said no, for he simply seemed like
'that' type of man – not interested in easy or instant gratification. He watched the bar shift around
him with too much interest and awareness to give into the easy lay. No, what fascinated Rosalie
was how kind the man was when he did say no. He owed nothing to these women, and yet he
always had time for a smile, and when the women did turn away, they were clearly disappointed,
but never hurt.
"All set," Jasper said, slipping into the banquette next to Alice. Rosalie turned away, not wanting to
watch the way his arm slipped around Alice's shoulders or how she naturally leaned into that small
space created just for her. She fought off the jealousy, trying desperately to be happy for her
friend, who truly deserved happiness. But even with those reminders, the selfish, niggling thoughts
of 'why can't it be me,' gnawed at her insides, making her nauseous and cold in addition to bone
tired.
"No saying no," Alice said, refusing to let the subject die. "Especially after the stunt last night. We
knew you wouldn't do anything, so we did it for you."
Jasper pushed an ivory business card across the table, the printed side face down. In a heavy,
masculine hand, someone had written the name of the Seattle Athletic Club along with a time.
"Tomorrow, six," Jasper said. "No excuses. You need this help, Ro."
She placed an index finger on the card and slid it slowly across the table. When it reached the
edge, she gently pinched the heavy paper between her index finger and thumb and flipped it over.
The slow, extended process allowed her to bite her tongue, the urge to correct Jasper acrid on her
tongue.
You are Rosalie
, her mother had coached her as a child
. Your name is too beautiful to be
bastardized into a nickname
.
A long string of names was embossed on the card in dark type, and off set just below it, another
name, Emmett McCarty, followed by a string of letters she didn't understand.
"I don't need a lawyer, thank you very much," Rosalie said dismissively. "I told you, Royce was
embarrassed by the attention, he won't be back."
Jasper laughed and pulled Alice in a little bit closer. "Em's not a lawyer, he's an architect, and my
baby cousin, in age at least. He also has two very small sisters who can both knock me on my ass-
"
"Which isn't saying much," Alice interrupted sweetly.
"Thanks, babe, I'll remember that," Jasper said, his gaze still leveled on Rosalie. "Emmett'll show
you everything you need to know. Royce might not be back, but if you're ever in that situation
again, you'll know what to do."
Rosalie studied the card, a strange mixture of sensations churning in her chest, like flying and
falling and gasping all at once. She wanted to take control of her life, and she knew this was the
right way to do it. But wanting to take control was one thing, being taught how to do so was an
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