All I Want Is Everything

That's unexpected

It's a little short, sorry! More next time.

It's a heartache
Nothing but a heartache
Hits you when it's too late
Hits you when you're down

Bonnie Tyler, It's a Heartache

Quick like bunny, Ella spun around and used the torque to pop traitorous Steve in his eye.

"Fuck!" he said, sounding shocked, hunching over and cupping his eye with one hand. Ella hopped around, shaking her hand, before pausing and clamping it between her thighs.

"Fuck's sake, Ella, he just wants to talk to you," Nat snapped, peeling his hand off his face and gently pressing her fingers above his cheekbone. He hissed and swatted her hand away.

"Fuck's sake, Natasha, I don't want to talk to him," Ella mocked, straightening up and checking for damage with her other hand. It hurt like fire but nothing seemed to be broken, fortunately. "What are you doing here?"

"You don't own this city," Nat snapped. "We have a show in San Diego tomorrow night and thought we'd come up to see you. That was a mistake."

"Obviously," Ella agreed. But the adrenaline was still blazing through her and she snarled through teeth that were not bared in a smile. "I could go a couple more rounds, though. I don't think I've expressed the depths of my feelings toward you yet." Ella had never learned to box, that was Bucky and Steve's thing and it wasn't something girls were supposed to do, her father had put his foot down, but she'd watched them train and picked up stuff. Like how to throw a punch. And Tommy Lee and Nikki Sixx liked to throw down, she'd had quite an education in street brawling from watching them a time or two. All of a sudden she understood the appeal. A lot. And Nat had a lot to answer for. She couldn't quite help herself and kicked Steve's shin. Hard.

"Goddamn it, Ella!" he wailed, now hopping. Ella grinned savagely. She was wearing pointy-toed pumps.

"Fuck," Nat muttered, stepping farther away from Ella. Ella wished her fingernails were longer; she felt that Nat's flawless face was just begging to be raked.

"Nope, I don't think she wants to talk," Belinda muttered, and she made Ella laugh, more of a short cough.

"What about you, James?" Ella asked tauntingly.

He looked pale, but it was hard to tell under the streetlights. "I'm sorry, Ella. For all of it."

"Too little, too late," she bit out, and let herself be tugged away by Gina, who had seen a cop car slowly approaching on the other side of the street.

At the Rainbow, Jane ordered a bowl of ice first thing, and they looked over the menus as Ella rested her hand  in it. Fortunately, it wasn't her chording hand. The other musicians acted normally, not referring to the incident on the street, and before long, Ella had regained most of her cheer and joined the chatter where she knew what the others were talking about. A discreet bump of coke both helped her ignore her hand and have fun. She felt sexy and confident. It was unfortunate that Clint was out of town with his band.

The next day was another matter. She was woken around eleven by the phone, which she ignored to deal with the pressing need for the bathroom. There were abrasions on her swollen knuckles and she felt like she had the flu. It was probably a crash from the coke she'd had; it was the most she'd ever done in one night. She made sure the cuts on her hand were clean, sloshed some hydrogen peroxide over them, drank a glass of water and took another back to the bed with her. She blew her nose and drew up the fluffy blanket to combat the chill she felt, starting to fall asleep again. Resentfully, she answered the phone when it rang again.