The tale of Rosalie saved Emmett. How Emmett joined the Cullens. And how they fell in love. One-shot. RxEm. REVISED.

My take on this

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I was dying.

And for some reason I wasn't panicking.

Well, I was squealing like a stuck pig because it hurt a hell of lot more than it should have been hurting for someone teetering on the brink of total inexistence. Calling it a "chest wound" wouldn't do my injury justice. Fact of the matter was I was basically trying to keep my organs from spilling out of the huge gash in my torso.

So, at this point it was a matter of minutes.

And I wasn't frightened at all, how odd. Well, I was, but not of dying.

What came afterwards was more disconcerting. I didn't like the idea of eternal hellfire and icy-cold brimstone. Of course, I knew it was inevitable; I'd enjoyed my life a little more than I probably should have. And the giving of my soul to the devil, being unavoidable as the matter was, was what frightened me the most.

Well, that and the fact that I would never make it home to my mother's for Christmas pie and turkey. Who else was going to polish off the leftovers that wouldn't fit into the pantry? She was going to be devastated.

The pain was growing exponentially now.

Like the stupid grizzly couldn't have just swiped my head and been done with it. But nooooo, it had to maul me to make damn sure National Geographic would fulfill its yearly quota of bear attacks.

I turned my head slowly and watched my blood mix with the water of a stream a few feet away, turning the current crimson. It was no almost-naked model, but the sight normally would have made me whip out my camera and snap a few dozen pictures.

I wasn't screaming anymore. The pain felt very final, and I was too far gone for any number of transfusions. My whole body felt heavy and my muscles resisted any movement I could have tried. I was too far gone to be saved.

It was silent now, except for the occasional drip of blood into the water.

I heard the quiet pitter-patter of approached footsteps.

Another bear? Or worse, a scavenger? With my bones picked clean, how would I ever be identified. Oh, the humanity!

A few seconds later, a pair of bare feet danced into sight — I say danced for lack of a word more apropos. Whatever she was doing, the way she moved was pure ballet. From what I could see of her legs, they were gorgeous. I wanted to whistle but couldn't work up the breath.

Emmett McCarty, flirting with girls on his deathbed. That's what my tombstone should read, I thought. Weren't dying people supposed to be full of sudden wisdom, and yet all I could think was how it would feel to kiss her.

The woman knelt down next to me, gasping. Dying with a stranger was better than dying alone, and man, was she the woman to die with. From this position, without her face a foot away I could see that…she was…pretty.

Pretty, my ass.

She was amazing…beautiful…I couldn't think of words to properly describe her. The words simply didn't exist.

Was I already dead? Was she an angel?

That made sense, she was almost glowing in the sunlight. Or maybe she was a demon, sent to torture me. But it was hard to believe someone so incomparably gorgeous could have been a demon.

She had to be an angel.

My angel. I was dying after all.

She took my head in her hands. "You're going to be all right. I promise!" She was comforting me; futilely, but I welcomed it. I wanted to kiss her out of gratitude, and out of a few other things, too.

"Are you real?" I tried to ask her, but all that came out of my mouth was a wheezy gush of air.

And then, we were moving. I wouldn't have believed if I hadn't see it with my own eyes. She was carrying me and sprinting at warp speed; me, Emmett McCarty, who on an odd day weighed closer to two-hundred pounds than not. And this smoking hot, petite blonde, who couldn't have weighed more than a hundred-twenty on her worst day had just tossed me over shoulder like I was a Raggedy-Ann doll and sprinting at a speed I couldn't really even comprehend.

I couldn't even wrap my head around it so I gave up on trying to understand the hallucinations of a dying man and settled into her arms, trying to enjoy the view for as long as I had left.

Her face was contorted; beautiful, but pained and agonized. Her lips and hands were trembling and her eyes were almost aflame with emotion.

The pain, meanwhile, had grown a hundred-fold and I was writhing uncontrollably, wrenching my lips closed so I could act like a man for the last time. My vision was almost gone and I was supremely angry that this last miracle was being taken from me.

Finally, she came to a stop and laid me tenderly on the ground.

"Carlisle!" Another man joined appeared at her side. "Save him, please! Don't let him die." I looked up into the tawny eyes of the man. I frowned to myself. Knowing my luck, this was probably her boyfriend. And he was a looker; I had no business competing with him. "Please, Carlisle."

Then I couldn't see. My vision was gone. Death was here, and he was knocking.

"You could have done it yourself, you know," The man said quietly.

"I would have killed him if I'd done myself."

Cold hands stripped away my shirt.

I felt her lips against my ear and she whispered, This is going to hurt. A lot. But in the end, at least you'll live. I hope you can forgive me."

From the other side, I felt the man lower his mouth to my neck. I could feel him breathing on — he bit me! The guy bit my neck. What was he? Some kind of vampire? I was NOT that kind of guy! I was no fruit, and I'd prove it here and now with this gorgeous specimen, you know, if I wasn't out for count at this point.

I opened my mouth to protest.

But instead, a jolt shot across my body.

I was no longer speechless or blind. In a moment I was screaming louder than ever. I felt as if someone had poured salt into wounds that had suddenly erupted across my body. Agony so sharp I could never have imagined it to be so. So intense it was that I lost all control of my body. My back arched, and the scorching, white-hot sensation spread further.

I scarcely noticed when the man bit my other wrist.

Every moment that advanced induced flames that consumed me. I felt like a hot hand of iron was being fastidiously applied to every square inch of my skin, like lava was being poured onto my chest. I began to claw at my own skin, anything to make it stop! Put out the fire!

Meanwhile, blondie had started to weep. She took my hand and whispered, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," in a desperate mantra. She kissed my forehead and amid the throes of my agony, the cool touch of her skin soothed me.

The night passed in a similar way but when morning came, I began to vomit, spilling the contents of my stomach. Blood. Bits of skin from my stomach. Acid that scorched my throat.

"Water…" I said hoarsely.

Blondie quickly placed a glass at my lips and helped me pour the cold liquid down my throat. It felt nice. I gulped back as many mouthfuls as I could before giving the glass back.

"Rosalie, no!" Shouted the other man, rushing into the room. How had he heard? "No! It's going to come back up now!" He hissed at her.

I realized we were inside a house. When had we moved? I suppose during my fits, they had moved me to some sort of hospital.

I closed my eyes and let my head go limp in her hands. Just one moment of peace, please. Then, almost immediately, I pulled myself from her arms and threw up again. Water and stomach acid.

It was awful. Was this real? Or was this a hell I'd been sent to for atonement?

"It's working…" The man said almost sadly. "The venom. Your body is trying to reject all the things it doesn't need anymore…" He whispered. Blondie — Rosalie — got a rag and drenched it with ice-cold water before wiping my face clean. I was covered in sweat, blood, and vomit.

The excruciating agony that coursed through my bloodstream only got worse as the hours went by. I was so consumed by the inferno that many a time I tried to push my self out of her arms. But she continually drew me back for what little pacification she could offer.

I screamed so hard I thought my vocal cords would snap. She covered my body with her own and pressed my face to her neck. I jerked about, unable to control myself over the spams of my body. I was sobbing so hard that my body shook. There was no release.



I could feel wetness by the sides of my face and I realized my eardrums had burst. My throat was closing up from the tension in my muscles, making it impossible for me to swallow; I began to choke. She gently opened my mouth and held me at a tilt so I could spit all of the accumulated blood and saliva.

Then the seizure passed, I threw my sweat soaked face against her chest, exhausted, yet begging for the cool, icy touch of her skin. Rosalie steadied my face with her hands and pressed her forehead against mine, kissing my forehead. I couldn't help it. I pressed my face into her chest and wept, all traces of my masculinity abandoned.

My eyes burned now to the point where I couldn't open them. My stomach released acid again, all over the floor I vomited. Millions of white-hot needles pricked my arms.

I clutched at my chest, clawing at my throat, drawing blood. I writhed, scratching so hard, I was sure I was going to tear my throat right open.

I couldn't breathe. I imagined that the airways of my throat and nose seal up completely.

She seized my hands and held them securely in her. Somehow, despite the fact that I was so much bigger than her, she enveloped me in her arms, pressing me against her body so that I wouldn't hurt myself.

That was the first time in my life I ever wished for death.

Instead of lopping off my head like I'd hoped, she lifted my chin and said, "I'm sorry, it had to be this way, but I couldn't let you die. You will survive and it will have been worth it. Listen to me: I need you! You can't die on me."

• • •

I didn't dare open my eyes.

I heard footsteps approaching and remained motionless and pretending to still be unconscious.

The pain seemed a memory, a horrible dream perhaps. I wasn't exactly sure what happened, but I knew the man had something to do with it and I didn't want him injecting me anything else.

"He's awake." That was the man. " have to be patient, he may not understand this, or even want to."

"I know, Carlisle." That was Rosalie, the woman. What was her part in all this? "I just hope he'll understand why I chose him. I couldn't even tell you myself. I just knew."

The way she spoke about me was so tender, so affectionate, as if we had known each for years instead of three unbelievably agonizing days.

"Isn't he lovely?"

"He's certainly something," Blond doctor, sorry, Carlisle admitted.

"Look at those dimples, they're precious. Look at him, less than a minute old." I felt her hand touch my arm and it was with great difficulty that I remained still. "I've never been so happy." Her voice broke.


"I know, I know. I will be realistic and downtrodden, Carlisle. Don't worry."

I let my eyes drift open.

I could tell it was evening. The light from the window showed the setting sun, dousing everything in gold and pink hues, setting everything in sight alight with drops of sunshine. For some reason, it had never seemed so intensely beautiful. I felt like I had never seen it in this awe-inspiring, thrilling visage of color.

"Hello," she said simply.

For once in my life, I didn't have a thing to say.

If I had thought she was beautiful before...she was radiant, consummate, absolute perfection.

"I'm alive," I said, testing out my voice. She nodded. "…how am I alive?"

"You're…a vampire." She said flatly.


"I'm a vampire. Carlisle is a vampire. We're all vampires. He bit you. So you're a vampire."

"You could have warned me first, blondie. That was quite the spa treatment."

She smiled. "It's the transformation. Changing from a human to a vampire is painful conversion. I'm sorry...I couldn't let you die."

I started to ask her what she meant. Why not? But I interrupted myself to say, "You said 'we'? There are more of you?"

She nodded. "Would you like to go downstairs and meet them? They're all waiting to see you."

She took my hand again and instead of being cold to touch like I remember, it was rather warm and delicate. It filled with warmth.

The first thing I saw was a Christmas tree covered in lights, figurines, and popcorn: expertly decorated. It gave the entire place a warm and almost homey feeling. There were three people — vampires, I corrected myself — waiting. They were looking expectantly up at us as we came down.

The man who had changed me, Carlisle was holding hands with another woman. She had light brown hair and a sweet heart-shaped face. She looked like my mother except she couldn't have been more than twenty-five and was quite pretty. There was a younger boy lounging comfortably on the couch.

"How are you doing?" Carlisle asked as we came level.

"A hell of a lot better, thanks."

"This is Esme, my wife." She nodded amiably. And Edward, our son. And of course you know Rosalie." She squeezed my hand.

"I'm Emmett McCarty," I said as I realized they were waiting for me to introduce myself.

Carlisle waved a hand at the unoccupied couch. "Please take a seat. This might take a while to explain."

I sat.

And explain he did.

The entire time, Rosalie was watching me with an odd look on her face as if she was waiting for me run away screaming.

When he finally shut up, Esme gestured for the others to stand. "I know that's a lot to take in, Emmett. Why don't you and Rosalie talk it over while we finish our hunt."

"Hunt?" I asked.

"We didn't finish our last trip because, well, because Rose found you. Most vampires drink human blood. It's the easiest thing to do being as there are plenty of people almost everywhere. But my family and I don't agree with that so have all adapted to drinking animal blood. We're, you could say, vegetarians."

"Oh. Ha, ha," I said feebly when it was clear he was expecting a laugh for his rather lame joke.

Edward snickered and I realized h had heard my thoughts. What was my gift?

"You are pretty sturdy. You had an extraordinary amount of muscle for a human."

The mind-reading thing gets annoying really fast, Edward, I thought pointedly and he laughed again.

I met Edward's grin. "Care to wrestle?"

He was up in a flash. We locked hands.

Quickly, I kicked his feet out from beneath him and caught him in a tight embrace. I squeezed my arms close together, trying to cut off his air.

"We don't need to breathe, Emmett. Choking me isn't going to do very much."

I growled but kept squeezing. Suddenly, he scampered quickly out from between my arms and clambered on to my back, his teeth bared to my throat. I picked him up and threw him across the room.

"NO!" Esme called.

Too late for the dining table. I cringed. To my surprise, Edward threw his limbs out, like a parachute and stopped his flight by landing on the floor like a cat, a good foot away from the table.

I sighed in relief. "Good one," I said, shaking his hand.

He grinned. "We'll finish it later," he assured me.

"Well, why don't you fill him in, Rose." Carlisle suggested.

I blinked and they were gone. I could hear their voices fading as they ran toward the edge of the forest. In fact, I could hear clearly all the way to the freeway a quarter of a mile down the road. I could hear the rushing stream in the forest and hear a deer cantering along by it.

"Is this real?" I asked.

"Yes." Rose said.

"How long have you been one?"

"A few years now. Carlisle changed me, saved me, really. Like he saved you." She smiled. "But we've only been in the area for a few years."

"Why do you move?"

"Well, other than the detrimental effects on the environment, we don't age. It puts off the humans when year after year we don't appear any older."

"You — we — don't age? So when do we die? How do we die?"

"Vampires don't usually die. The process is difficult and involves ripping the vampire into pieces and burning the portions." She smiled grimly. It's quite difficult because vampires so strong."

"That's how you picked me up before!" I exclaimed. "I knew you weren't a fat cow."

She laughed. "Besides that, we're stronger, faster, better-looking." She gestured to the mirror across the room where I took in my new appearance. My skin had lost its warm buttery brown tinge to a milky white pastiness. But I looked difference beyond that. I was bigger, and somehow grander. Those were my feature, but enhanced, improved.

I felt worthy of her.

"But, resisting the blood lust is quiet hard." She admitted. "It takes almost a year usually to practice control. Carlisle is a doctor and he's the strongest of all of us, he's been clean since he was made — three hundred years ago."

"That geezer is three hundred years old?" I snickered. "He looks twenty-five."

"We're frozen in the age of our bite. " She took my hand, and led me upstairs. "There's a guestroom for you on the end of the hall across my room and next to Carlisle and Esme's room. Edward's room is this one. I glanced inside; Spartan and barely decorated though geared toward music.

"The piano downstairs…does he play that?"

"Yes. I do as well. I'll ask him to play for you, he's quite good." Then she led me into her room and we sat down. And she waited for me to spill the questions threatening to tumble out of my mouth.

"What Carlisle said before..., was it real or not real?" I asked her.

"Real. Every word."

"How old are you?"


"And how long have you been 'eighteen?'"

"A while," she admitted at last, smiling.

"Real or not real: do you sleep in coffins?"

I felt stupid when I realized we were sitting on her bed. But she answered anyway. "Not real." She hesitated. "We can't sleep."

"At all?"

"Never," She said, nearly inaudible, turning to look at me with a wistful expression.

"Don't laugh — but how can we come out during the daytime?"

She laughed, hard. I was captivated by her; she was so beautiful. Her loveliness was inhuman. Oh, well. Duh.

"Not real. We aren't burned by the sun."

Noting a shaft of sunlight in the doorway of the room, she walked to it and immersed herself. I would say, I lost my breath, but I didn't really have breath to lose any more.

Rosalie in the sunlight was shocking. Not just beautiful, not pretty. Resplendent, immaculate. Lovely. I couldn't get used to it, though I'd been staring at her unabashedly all day. Her skin sparkled, like thousands of tiny diamonds. Her face seemed to go up in scintillating flames that shimmered and shone, casting dancing lights on the ceiling.

Maybe she was a mirage; after all, I'd always doubted the existence of angels. A perfect statue, carved in ivory, smooth like marble, glittering like crystal. But all too soon the sun disappeared and she returned to her perfect par.

"And that's why we can't come out in the sun," She said in the awestruck silence that followed.

In two strides I'd crossed the floor to her.

"Real or not real? You love me."

She smiled sweetly and tells me, "Real."

So I hope that you guys enjoyed Lovely. Sure, so maybe we know Rose and Em's story, but we never saw it. I didn't put the part with Royce because we pretty much know EXACTLY what goes down there thanks to Eclipse (cue "Rosalie paused in the doorway, her breathtaking face unsure." SORRY, BUT THAT LINE CRACKS ME UP EVERY TIME).

And just to be clear, fruit is an old-fashioned word for a gay individual. I am not homophobic at all, I was just trying to emulate the mindset of the time. Emmett's comes around from the 50's or so, I think.

Plus, I just wanted this to be really happy and Emmett is always funny, and I think even when he's dying he'd be cracking jokes and stuff. (Maybe this is why he's so ripped: he's compensating for feeling emasculated when Rose saved him, haha.)

Anything recognizable is of Stephanie Meyer and Suzanne Collins (Mockingjay).

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