a/n: Okies… I've had this scene playing in my mind for several months now. As much as I loved it, I didn't really want to write it because it is very canon and therefore rather cliché. But then, after reading and comparing a lot of the Pre-Twilight Rose/Em fics out there, I formulated what I think may be a fairly original theory. From what I've read, no one's really put too much extra thought into Emmett's resemblance to little Henry, one of the main reasons Rosalie decided to save him. This explores that significance a bit, while keeping true to canon, I hope. So, enjoy a new take on an old classic, true to FlamingRedFox style Rosalie Angst. Though it is surprisingly shorter than my other pieces… I admit I love the way this turned out. ;P

Summary: She could touch him, but heaven forbid he lay one hand on her... RxEm Canon pre-Twilight first kiss. Angsty, clichéd fluff.

A Twilight Fanfiction
By: FlamingRedFox
Rosalie's Point of View

"Get the hell away from me!"

Emmett was frozen stiff, fear and confusion battling for dominance in his dark, burgundy eyes. He looked very much like a deer caught in the headlights of a moving vehicle, with his wide eyes and slightly gaping mouth. He remained sitting where he'd fallen, or rather where I'd pushed him, legs tangled beneath his massive form with one arm reached behind him to support his torso. The other hand was held up in front of his face, tense enough to be defensive but loose enough to betray the shock that had to have been coursing through his body at that moment. He was wondering what he'd done wrong.

I couldn't blame him for the way he continuously stared at me as the minutes ticked by. He hadn't done anything wrong. That was the problem. This was all my fault. Emmett, my darling Emmett, was beating himself up over something he had no control over. He didn't know what was running through my mind; he wasn't Edward. And even if he did have Edward's ability he wouldn't have understood, not without an explanation.

All he had been trying to do was make a point to me. I was the one with the violent reaction. I was the one who felt ten times as scared as he looked right now. I was the one who once again was too wrapped up in her own little fantasy world to realize what was right in front of her.

The day I saved Emmett from that bear, I had convinced myself that I was saving a child. Yes, he was a full grown man of twenty. But he had this curly brown hair, dark eyes, and dimpled cheeks that screamed innocence. He looked more like a child to me than anything else. More specifically, he looked so much like Henry. Vera's little Henry… On that ill fated hunting trip I saw no man with the sweetest smelling blood being mauled by a bear. I saw a delicate child getting knocked over by the family dog, tears welling in his eyes as he wished for his mother to kiss away the pain of his fall. The only thoughts I'd had as I scooped him up and carried him home were that I wanted to be the one to kiss away all his pain. I wanted to take care of him. I wanted to be his mother.

In an odd, twisted sort of way I ended up getting my wish. I'd actually begged Carlisle to change him. I was usually too proud to even think about begging for anything. I'd begged for Emmett though. It was probably the most irrational decision of my life, or afterlife. For three days while he writhed in pain I beat myself up over my idiotic decision. Who was I to damn this sweet, innocent man with a child's face? Edward had tried talking to me once while I sat by Emmett's side, eyes transfixed on his face contorted with pain, pain that I had caused. I don't even remember if Edward had said to words to me before he'd turned and walked right back out of the room. My thoughts spoke volumes, and after that he didn't even bother to check on me.

Edward was right to call me foolish. It was a reckless decision made for all the wrong reasons. He knew it the moment I had carried Emmett home. I was only realizing it now, as I stared into the eyes of man I'd condemned because of my own selfish desires, panic written clearly across my face. I had wanted to act as Emmett's mother. Emmett clearly wanted none of that.


His voice was barely a whisper, so soft I nearly missed it even with my unnatural hearing. He had shifted his position slightly, though he still remained on the floor. His gaze was hard now that the shock was gone. I felt like his eyes were trying to cross-examine my soul, if I still had one, trying to figure out what exactly it was that made me tick. What was most shocking, however, was the concern and regret that consumed most of his expression. He had done absolutely nothing wrong by normal standards, and yet he was sorry. He was genuinely sorry.

I couldn't stand it any longer and broke eye contact with him, burying my face in my arms which were clamped tightly around my knees. Not long after I'd shoved him away I had lost my resolve and crumpled to the ground, trying to wrap myself into the tightest ball I could manage. I was trembling slightly, and while Emmett's expression had been that of a deer's in headlights mine had been ten time worse. I looked like I had just witnessed a murder. While Emmett was afraid of my wrath, I was absolutely terrified of him. And up until he'd just said my name all we'd managed to do was stare at each other. Now he was staring at me while I shattered into a million tiny fragments.

The last ten or so months had been euphoric, for me at least. When Emmett had awoken, he truly was a child in more ways than one. He was a newborn after all. As a human he may have been a man, but as a vampire he was nothing more than an infant. I had taken it upon myself to see to his care and education of our lifestyle. I answered all of his questions with patience. I smiled and praised him, beaming with pride every time he did something right or good. I was quick to slap his wrist and scold him when he did something wrong. I held his hand when he was worried or scared, fussed and worried about him when he was hurt, and did my best to keep him out of too much trouble. Essentially, I treated him no better than a five year old. I had assigned myself the task of acting as his mother, convincing myself that it was what was best for him.

I should have known Emmett didn't need a mother. Countless times he'd tried to tell me that, but I didn't listen. I never listened. I was too wrapped up in the world of Rosalie Lillian Hale, seeing things the way I wanted them to be instead of the way they actually were. Lot of good that always got me. The first time I'd ended up betrayed in the worst of ways. This time I'd ended up terrified of the one person I truly cared for more than I cared about myself, and that hurt him which in turn made my self-loathing so much worse.

"Rosalie?" he tried again.

I tilted my head up slightly, peeking at him over my arms. The expression he wore was heartbreaking, and I felt myself break a little bit more. To an outside observer the pair of us must have looked utterly tragic. That's the only word to describe it. I wouldn't call it Shakespeare's tragic; neither one of us would be dying (again) at the end of this story. But… The fear in the room was tangible, suffocating, and the way Emmett was looking at me made me want to cry.

"I'm sorry," I hissed out, voice heavy with pain. I felt my teeth sink into my lower lip as I failed to break our gaze a second time. His eyes held mine, transfixed, and I watched as confusion once again slowly became his dominant emotion.

"Sorry for what, Rose? I'm the one that should apologize."

I shook my head back and forth slightly, which caused him to furrow his brow. A long stretch of silence fell over us, him trying to figure out why I was the one who needed to apologize and me trying to find the strength to tell him the truth.

Only when he made a move to stand up and come closer to me was I able to find my voice. Panic once again consumed me as I retreated further into myself. "Stop!"

Emmett froze mid-crouch, obeying the command without question. I found he often did what I asked of him with little to no question. He hated to make me uncomfortable; never wanted to displease me. Only now did I realize his reasons for doing so weren't perfectly aligned with the ones I'd convinced myself he'd followed. Emmett didn't want me to be proud of him. He wanted me to trust him.

Before he could say something I was speaking again. "Just… just don't do anything without my permission. Please?" I hated the desperate tenor in my voice, so very much like the sound Carlisle and the others had heard when I asked him to change Emmett for me. I was begging him, and with a silent nod he'd slumped back down on the floor. He didn't need to say anything. The look on his face was enough to know that he desperately wanted to understand.

It was ridiculous really. A normal person wouldn't have gotten so bent out of shape over a little kiss. A normal person wouldn't have denied her heart in favor of her nightmares. Then again, I wasn't exactly normal. I was Rosalie Hale, and we were dealing in Rosalie standards, not normal ones.

The kiss itself wasn't so much the problem. It was the way Emmett had kissed me. We had been arguing. Apparently I was babying him again and he was sick of it. I was on the defensive and he was frustrated. Finally, he got fed up and decided that actions spoke louder than words. Emmett didn't want a mother. He wanted so much more. Before I could register what was happening he'd grabbed me by the wrist and roughly pressed his lips to mine. A million warning bells went off in my head and I shoved him to the ground before retreating to the other side of the room, horrible human memories flashing before my eyes.

I could understand why he was so confused, looking utterly rejected. We had more than friendly contact with each other on a daily basis. Every time I welcomed him home from a hunt I had a habit of kissing his cheek, and I never objected to holding his hand. Sometimes I'd even let myself snuggle into his side as we watched the television or listened to the radio. I always saw them as nothing more than innocent gestures, and the initial contact was almost always initiated by me. I was always the one touching him, never the other way around. This time he had touched me, and it terrified me.

"Rosalie… What's wrong?" His voice was a whisper again, and I could tell he was struggling to not come over and wrap his arms around me. All he wanted to do was comfort me, and I wouldn't let him.

"Everything," I whispered back, broken.

He stared at me for a long minute, contemplative, speculative. Then he shifted ever so slightly. His eyes restlessly searched mine for some sort of permission. I couldn't bare knowing that I was the reason for all the hurt in his expression, so finally I gave my head a slight nod and let him crawl over to me. He halted when he was directly in front of me, sitting on his knees. He wanted to come closer, but a fear of hurting me further was holding him back.


I loosened one of my hands from its death grip on my leg and slipped it into his, gazing sorrowfully into his eyes. I felt him give it a gentle squeeze, patiently waiting for me to elaborated. He seemed to catch on quickly that it was alright for me to touch him. Now he needed to know why he couldn't touch me. I took a deep, shaky breath. Then…

I told him everything.

Not once did he interrupt as I slipped into the world of my bitter memories, the threads of my human past that I so desperately clung to, to the point that it was forever etched into an unforgetting mind. He simply held my hand and schooled his features into an unreadable mask while I told him the story I'd never openly discussed with any of the others. Esme had learned my story through Edward, who was sweet enough to censor some of the thoughts he'd plucked from my mind.

Emmett, however, was spared no detail. I told him everything. It was impossible not to. Somehow this man, not child but beautiful, caring, innocent man, had managed to crumble all of my walls. He saw past the vanity, deflected the sarcasm, forgave the selfishness, and somehow saw me for what I truly was. He cracked my bitter, self-loathing, prideful shell and looked the broken, terrified, insecure woman that I truly was directly in the eyes. And for some strange reason… he still loved me. He absolutely, unconditionally, irreversibly loved me, and he stopped at nothing to make me see that.

When I'd finished speaking, an agonizing silence elapsed. It felt like it stretched on for hours, but it couldn't have been much longer than several minutes. I watched in something close to admiration as Emmett finally let the emotions he'd been suppressing play across his face. He never once let go of my hand, and the emotion that flickered most often in his eyes was genuine concern, a concern brought about by love. Finally, when he was finished digesting everything I'd just told him, his voice broke the silence.

"Your conditions."

"What?" The confusion I felt was clearly written across my face and laced with my tone.

"Nothing can change the fact that I love you, Rosalie, more than anything. I would never do anything to intentionally hurt you. Therefore, whatever happens between us will be on your conditions. You call all the shots. If it takes eternity then fine. I can be a patient man. We have all the time in the world, and you are worth every second of it."

I blinked up at Emmett, head tilting to one side. His words buzzed in my mind like a skipping record, and the look on his face only reinforced everything he had said. He was mine whether I wanted him or not, and he was giving me total control. In that moment I did not trust myself to speak. Instead, I drew myself up onto my knees in order to match his height. Then slowly, tentatively, almost fearfully I brushed a stray curl from his dark eyes before gently pressing my lips to his. My eyes remained open, staring into his as I felt him carefully return the gesture. He made no move to deepen the kiss, and no complaint when I pulled away after several seconds. Instead he simply watched me, waiting to see what I would do next.

"I already love you too much to make you wait for eternity," I whispered almost too quietly for him to hear. And then, despite everything that had occurred over the last few hours, I smiled. It was a real, genuine, loving smile. A smile now reserved only for Emmett. A smile I hadn't smiled in years.

a/n: And that is my take on Rosalie and Emmett's first kiss and my theory behind the significance of Emmett and Henry's similar physical appearances. I've managed to do in a one-shot what a lot of people do in some very lovely chapter fics, and I'm hoping I put an original spin on it all. We all know Rosalie's desperate want of being a mother, and when she first saw Emmett she thought of a child. To me it makes sense that in the beginning she would treat him exactly as that, a child. I don't really see her shunning all physical contact with him right after he was changed. I also can't really see the two of them plunging headfirst into the overly physical relationship they grow to have though. The thought that she could touch him but he couldn't touch her just seemed too perfect when put into this context, so I went with it. It's not unlike my own reserves about physical contact. I can't stand it if someone so much as accidentally brushes up against me, and yet I'm first in line to give out hugs.

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this. Review please? They make me smile and let me know my thoughts on Rose's character aren't completely off target. ;P