Why, hello there, you sexy bitches. (: First off, let me say that I would highly suggest reading 'Does Your Husband Know?' before you read this story/series of one-shots. The reason I say this is because all of these one-shots in this 'story' will be set during the time-frame of DYHK and or before or after the story line itself. I guess you could read this first one without having of read the story, but I'd still say go read it. And to those of you who HAVE read the story... Well, hello again. Glad to see you're back for more. :D Remember, I'm still taking requests for side-stories! I'm not letting my baby go. Not yet.

Er, so let's just put it this way ... Essentially, these are the outtakes to my other story. Instead of posting them onto the actual story, I've made them their own 'story'. For me, it's a way to keep the clutter out - yes, they're related to the story, but no, they're not the actual story ... if that makes sense? Er, that's my slight OCD kicking in. Ironic enough that I have OCD for writing, but cleaning my room? Yeah, fuck that.

So what is this one? Well, this one is something I introduced in Does Your Husband Know? as to why Christian could relate to Rose so well and why he was supportive of her decision. And, only one person guessed it ... but the hint was so small that it could have been easily over looked. (: This is probably about ... oh, three to four years before the story itself? Maybe three to two ... something like that. I'm bad with details like this. ): Now, keep in mind that while I may have been drunk before, I have not been so drunk to the point where I don't remember anything ... and it's kind of hard writing about drunk people, trololol.

Oh, and yes, these one-shots will mostly be done in chronological order, which is why I did Christan's secret first, because it's the 'oldest' in the list of outtakes I have. This is subject to change as I start writing these and what I feel like writing. Actually, hell, it probably won't be. I don't know. I just wanted to do this one first.

More will be said at the bottom, because this is already a long ass AN and I need to put a disclaimer.

Disclaimer: I, Ashleigh, swear to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth. The truth? I don't own the characters in Vampire Academy. The sexy ass Richelle Mead owns those clever bitches. I don't own If It Means A Lot To You by A Day To Remember, because I'm musically challenged. I don't own any of the other song lyrics seen in the story - again, musically and creatively challenged. I do own my OCs that may be mentioned from time to time, my sick and twisted mine, and a cat pillow pet. What's that? You're jealous you don't have a cat pillow pet? Oh, what a damn shame. ;D No copyright infringement is intended. All rights reserved. ©;

If It Means A Lot To You
she lives in a daydream.

"A handful of moments I wish I could change, but I was carried away.."
Therapy, All Time Low.

They weren't kidding when they told me that being a firefighter wasn't easy. Hell, even Rose told me that – and she was a mother fucking police officer, or well, working her way into being a police officer. The police academy, the fire academy – it was all the same thing, for the most part. In one of them, you learned how to deal with criminals and the other, you learned how to deal with fires. Interchangeable, really.

This would explain why I'm being such a bibulous person and crying into my drink. The past few months had been nothing but absolute hell for me. Being the new guy was never pleasant, and the fire department, just like any other mother fucking job out there, had a 'ritual'. It wasn't hazing, per say – but dammit, it might as well have been.

With a sigh, I slammed the shot class down against the table, and the bar tender looked at me. I raised an eyebrow; the son of a bitch had already heard my story as to why I was drinking away my sorrows in the shape of a bottle, instead of being a good boyfriend and going home to my girlfriend.

Girlfriend. My head pounded at the thought of that. I had been dating Lissa for what … four months? Something of that nature? I was too damn drunk to even properly know. But what I did know was that I had been dating her for less than half a year and I loved her already. It was that thought that scared me – four months and I was already in love. Jesus Christ, what if she didn't feel the same way? Then I would just look like a fool and loose the women I was damn sure I was going to marry.

"Why so gloom and doom?" I turned my head to see a young girl – maybe nineteen, eighteen at the youngest – standing next to me. How the hell did she get into the bar? There was no way that she was twenty-one. Oh, that's right, I was in the fucking sleaziest bar in all of mother fucking Missoula because it was the cheapest and most unlikely place to where anyone would look for me. She had jade green eyes that looked so much like Lissa's and brown hair that fell in a mess of tangles.

Hell, she was cute. A smirk played on my lips. "Don't worry about it, sweetheart. It's something your pretty little brain couldn't handle." I tapped her nose with my finger and chuckled. It was amazing how quickly her facial expression changed from curious to annoyed. "Aren't you a little young to be here, anyways? What are you, eighteen?"

"Does age really matter? I think what matters is the fact that my good old daddy dearest owns this place." My thoughts sobered up as I took in the girl. I was beyond drunk; it was hard to remember why I was even her- oh, wait, nevermind. She took a seat next to me and waved at the bartender, who went off to make a drink. Her head titled to the side, her bangs falling in front of her face. She was getting cuter by the minute – not that she wasn't already cute before. Suddenly, the concept of having a girlfriend just blew my mind.

"I repeat: why so gloom and doom, Mr. Firefighter?"

That got my attention. My head snapped up as I looked at her, where she had a soft smile on her lips. Her previous look of annoyance had passed, and it was now full of true, genuine concern. Given my sarcastic nature, I knew that it was the heavy alcohol speaking, not my own thoughts. I was shit-faced enough that I wasn't processing thoughts properly. "How do you know I'm a firefighter?"

"You still have half of your uniform on."

"Oh."

The bartender reappeared with two drinks, one for her and one for me. I waved at him and he rolled his eyes in response and muttered something that I couldn't even hear. Not that it really mattered anymore – this person next to me was highly interesting. Her laughter filled the area and it … it was so different than the laughter I was used to, which was generally Lissa's.

"Do I seriously have to ask this question a third time?"

"I don't know. Do you?"

She rolled her eyes in frustration as she took a few gulps of her drink. I looked down at mine and realized it was almost halfway gone. When the hell had it all disappeared. The persistent look in her eyes made me falter, however. I ran a hand through my hair. "You really wanna hear my pathetic sob story?" She nodded and I sighed. "I'm twenty-one years old. I joined the fire department a couple of months ago. Since I was born, I've always wanted to be a firefighter. The academy was fine … the job? Not so much. I'm the new guy – the guy that nobody wants to fucking deal with because I don't know shit. And then, on top of all that shit, I lost my partner today."

My heart clenched. I had only known the guy for a couple of months – he the man who was training me, and now he was fucking dead. "Dead! Fucking dead! Went into a fire and his mask malfunctioned; he died within fifteen minutes, at least!" I took a violent sip from the bottle and slammed it back down on the table. "That's why I'm so god damn mother fucking doom and gloom. You wanna know the best part? Everyone's fucking blaming me, like it's somehow my own god damn fault that he fucking got killed."

I stopped. I couldn't believe I had actually just told her all of that. How many drinks had I consumed? At least four shots … two other strong drinks … I couldn't even tell anymore. Jesus Christ, I was becoming a drunk. I was going to turn into Adrian.

Her eyes widened and I looked down at the bottom of my glass again. The memory was too painful; I was constantly reliving it – I never, ever in my life had had anything so painful, so fresh and so raw target me like this one had. My phone buzzed in my pocket and I cringed. It was Lissa's ringtone – she knew what had happened today, because I had been at the hospital getting cleaned up by her … but I just didn't want to talk with her. Ignoring her was probably a bad, bad, bad idea.

Her arm rested on top of mine and there was a sympathetic look in her eyes. My head titled to the side as I looked at her and I opened my mouth to say something, but her finger found my lips, giving me the signal for 'shut the fuck up.'

"Then I'd like to believe you have every right to be wallowing in your own misery. I can't say that I understand, because I don't – of course I don't … but I know what it's like to be the new person in something you've dreamed about. I grew up in po-dunk middle of fucking of nowhere, Montana, and now I'm thriving in Missoula, making my way through a pre-law degree. That shit's hard, by the way."

Her words were simple, but they made me laugh – laugh more than I probably would have if I was sober. Hell, a lot of my choices would have been different if I was sober – but I wasn't. My body swayed back and forth on the chair as I kept on talking with the girl. I think she said her name, but I didn't remember it. She really was from the middle of nowhere – a town of at least 700 people – and had gotten a scholarship for volleyball, which was how she wound up at Missoula University. I told her a little bit about my life – but it was all very generic, nothing in-depth like her own story. She was a bubbly person by nature, but she held some sort of rigid shyness to her. As we talked, we kept on downing drinks, effectively making my blood alcohol at lethal levels and her getting shit-faced.

So naturally, it surprised the hell out of me when I leaned in and closed the distance between us. Her lips were slightly chapped and she opened her mouth in surprise, but she didn't pull away. My hands managed to pull her closer to my body, although it was highly clumsy. With one hand at her waist and her body pressed against mine, I tangled the other hand into messy curls, noting how ironic it was that they were incredibly smooth.

We stayed in the lip-lock for awhile. My hands had finally found the hem of her shirt and my fingers traced lightly along her skin, which caused her to shiver. It would have escalated to something more, but my not-so-smooth hands had knocked both of our drinks over. I pulled away from her warm body and noticed a very pissed off bartender glaring at me.

The college girl waved it off, her lips noticeably swollen. "Aaron, take a chill pill. You know I've got this. Don't be pissed because your booty call hasn't called you back yet." His blue eyes flickered with anger and we both snickered at the look on his face as he mumbled something about the girl being a bitch. The words were nothing more than a blur now. I rocked back on my chair as she dug into her purse.

"My place?"

I nodded, my mind in nothing more than a buzz. I didn't even think of the consequences that this would have later down the road, if it had any at all. My drinking habit was already down the toilet and it just got worse when I was stressed; something I learned from my father. I wasn't proud of what this was, but I accepted it – I started to get better, for the most part. But there were just some times were nothing in the world mattered and I said fuck it and threw caution to the wind.

This was one of those times.

We stumbled back to her apartment, which was right across from the bar. Even though it was only a hundred yards away, the walk seemed impossible. She was stumbling left and right and I was laughing my ass off at her misery. I was babbling like a fool and making unwise decisions and knew that I would have a killer hangover tomorrow, but it felt good to be numb. It was like I was cutting off all of my ties from the rest of the world. Christ, no wonder Adrian drank so much.

At long last, we managed to make it up the stairs to her apartment and after many attempts of her trying to get the key into the hole, we found our way in. Normally, I would have taken the time to look at the apartment and look at the style she lived in … but not right now. Right now, I had one thing on my mind – the one thing that only mattered in the world, and that was getting her undressed and onto a bed.

The heated kissing began as soon as she shut the door. We were nothing more than a drunken, tangled mess trying to make our way to the bedroom. It seemed like hours, but it was probably only a couple of minutes before we made her way into her room and I placed her on the bed. It was soon as her back hit her bed that she pulled away from my lips.

"Christian…"

I didn't stop. I was kissing the crook of her neck when I mumbled a very incoherent 'what?' She knew what I had said however, and pushed her neck away from my grasp. I sighed as my eyes darted up to hers.

"Are you sure… I mean … I, uh, well, I don't real-" She was nervous and she was rambling, on top of being drunk. I pressed my index finger to her lips, effectively cutting her off. Her appearance was becoming a blur; I couldn't tell if her hair was black or brown anymore. It was a sign that I should stop and that I wouldn't remember anything when I woke up tomorrow, but I was already on the roll. Once I was on the roll, I couldn't stop.

"Yes, I'm sure." I frowned. She was drunk, yes, but she wasn't drunk as me. Maybe she could make a decent thought. I removed my finger from her mouth and replaced it my lips. After a moment, I broke away. For the life of me, I could not remember this girl's name, and it was starting to gnaw at my stomach. "What was your name again?"

"Jill. My name's Jill."

Okay. So I know you're all thinking WHAT THE FUCK. DID HE JUST. WHAT THE FUCK. (no hating please :) Now, let me explain. This idea came from the relationship that Christian and Jill share in Vampire Academy, only obviously very different. Christian was, in a way, sort of entranced by Jill - but this was her determination to learn offensive magic, not in a romantic way. Then Lissa became a jealous and blah blah blah, you get my point. In Does Your Husband Know?, Lissa and Jill don't have a hostility towards each other ... that you know of. ;) Given that they are not related by blood, I still felt the need to portray some legitimate reason for Lissa and Jill to not like each other - or have trouble accepting each other - because I actually like that idea, because it shows a change in Lissa's 'ever so caring' personality. The reason you never saw this was because you never saw Lissa and Jill together in a room, minus the epilogues (and even then, they weren't really 'together in a room')

I also mentioned in one point - and I believed only one point - that Christian tends to react in a negative way when someone he knows dies, mainly in the form of drinking away his sorrows. Given the fact that he was stressed out from a new job that requires quick thinking and a serious dedication, he lost his partner as well ... and on top of that, he was slightly paranoid about Lissa and how he felt about her, as he had never felt so serious about a women before. Which, alas, led to Christian getting so damn shit-faced that he won't remember a single thing about that night. As many of you know, alcohol seriously impairs your judgement ... which was obviously Christian's case. But just because Christian doesn't remember the night doesn't mean that Jill doesn't. As a matter of fact, Jill remembers this quite well...

And yes, to those of you who have read Does Your Husband Know?, Jackson is Christian's son. The hint itself is very subtle - 'his icy blue eyes, courtesy of his unknown father'. And yes, this one-shot is a two/three-shot. You really think I'd leave you hanging like that? Nah. Or, well, I might. Lololol.

Next up: some little bit of a Rose and Dimitri lemon. Yum. No reviews = no lemon. Le gasp.