Grand Jeté by stella luna sky

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/6108070/1/

Prologue

She snatches the last piece of pizza from his hands at the last second. She's full
to the highest extreme, but she loves irritating him. She can barely swallow her
first bite, but his scowl is worth it.

"It's your turn," he reminds her. He lies back against the couch and runs his
hands over his face, bumping the brim of his ball cap.

She swallows the tepid pizza and hands him the rest. He shakes his head at it, so
she throws the half-eaten slice back into the empty box.

"Were you scared?" she asks quietly, looking at her chewed fingernails.

She can feel his eyes on her, but she refuses to look. She doesn't want to know if
he's lying or not when he answers.

"Nah," he says finally, grinning at her from between his fingers. They are still
rubbing his face, so she knows he is lying without even having to look.

"No?" she asks anyway, letting him lie if he wants to.

"Nah," he repeats. "What was there to be scared of? If I lived, I got to live. If I
died, I got to hang out with God. Or not feel anything at all. At that point – it was
a pretty attractive option."

"That's awful," she scolds. She kicks at him a little, but her heart isn't really in it.
She understands as much as she can without actually being empathetic. She
doesn't know, but she knows what he's told her. That's horrifying enough.
Sometimes, though, she thinks she doesn't really know him, and never will. He's
dark sometimes, with his humor and his laughter and his stupid jokes about
morbid things that aren't funny.

"Yeah, it was," he responds finally. "No, Bella. I wasn't scared. But I think…"

"You think what?"

"That if I would have known you then… yeah, I would've been fucking terrified."

She cocks her head at him. He's good at saying things he means. He doesn't say
much, but when he does, she listens with all of her heart.

"I guess that answers my next question," she says, scratching at a scab on her
knee.

"That's not fair – it's my turn to ask."

"Whatever. I thought of my next question. I wasn't going to ask it – "

"You might as well. You're ruining the spirit of the game with your preemptive
question thinking – "

"I was going to ask you if you loved me." She rushes it out, afraid it'll disappear if
she takes too long. "And I'm just saying, that it sounds like… it sounds like you
do."

He shifts and sits up. He doesn't respond. He scratches his head and rubs his
eyebrows. She's embarrassed. She's really embarrassed.

"I guess… if that's what you think," he starts after a minute. "I guess… you would
know better than I do."

It's not a yes. But she wasn't expecting one. She doesn't expect anything from
him, so when she gets a little, it makes her happy. Even if it shouldn't.

"That's what I think," she repeats.

"Then, yeah… maybe, I do."

Free Falling

Well, she's not totally surprised when he finally looks up at her. I mean, she's
pretty surprised – it's been weeks of being in the same night class – but not
surprised enough to do something stupid like gasp, or giggle, or turn beet red.
She holds his gaze, and he cocks an eyebrow at her. It's rude and it's completely
invasive. It asks her what she wants, but she cocks one back, like, you were
staring, too.

He doesn't have to know she's been trying to catch him staring for weeks now.
Ever since he walked in four classes into the semester, after a time when most
professors have already dropped you. But he walked in and the professor shook
his hand and told him to take a seat. So he did, a couple rows behind her. It's
annoying to her, him being there, because she has to crane her neck to stare.

She knows she's pretty enough to stare at, or at least glance over. But he hasn't
for almost half a semester, and she wants to know why. He's not gay, she doesn't
think. No wedding band, but does that mean anything anymore? She hopes it
does.

But anyway, she catches his stare, and he's being rude with the way he's looking
at her. He's not checking her out. He's asking her to look away, but she doesn't.

Finally, he gets annoyed and looks away himself. She hears his scoff over the
professor's wheezy lecture.

So she looks away, too, and she thinks she's embarrassed. She's not sure. She
doesn't play these games, and she's not even sure if this could be a game,
because it's not fun. There's no prize, no cheering victory. Only waiting for the
annoyed stare of a fascinating man to graze over her.

She takes more notes, and then the professor calls a break. It's a three-hour
class, so it's necessary. Some people need to smoke and pee and get something
from the vending machine downstairs. She needs to do all three, but then books
slam down next to her, and she stops.

"Hi," says that man. "I'm Edward."

She takes in his leather jacket and frayed baseball cap. She expected a name like
Rex or Scott or… she doesn't know, but something synonymous with sexy and
dangerous. She tells him as much.

"My middle name is Masen," he supplies, reaching into his pocket for a pack of
cigarettes. "How's that for danger?"

"Still not dangerous," she chides, standing and pulling out her own pack of
menthols.

He rolls his eyes at them. They both walk silently out of the door, finding their
way to the balcony where other smokers are loitering and texting.

"Menthols?" He grabs at her pack. "These taste good when… yeah, never. You
must be a new smoker."

She is. "No, I've been smoking for years. What? I like them."

He packs his cigarettes against his palm. They are reds.

"Oh, of course, that's why you're judging my menthols. You like getting cancer."

He tenses, and then makes a show of lighting one and taking a long drag. The
smell of his cigarettes makes her instantly fumble for hers, and as soon as the
smooth, minty taste hits her throat, she sighs.

"Well…" She realizes he's asking for her name, which she surprisingly hasn't
given him yet.

"Bella."

"Well, Bella. You are definitely a new smoker. You're holding that cigarette like
you're terrified of it. Suck on it with authority, girl."

"Oh, that's cute, yes. Double entendres, Edward Masen…"

"Cullen."

"Edward Masen Cullen, yes."

"That wasn't a double entendre. Double entendres are a waste of time."

"Oh, why? Life is too short for hidden meanings?"

"No," he says, taking another drag. The smoke curls out of his nose. She still
can't do that without it burning. "Life is too damn long. I like to speed it up by
saying what I mean all the time, if I say anything at all. In fact, I think this is the
most I've said all day, and I haven't even gotten to my original point."

"Which is?"

"Have I had a booger hanging out of my nose for the past eight weeks?"

She definitely wasn't expecting that, and the smoke forces itself out of her nose.
It stings. "Um, what?"

"Toilet paper stuck to my foot? A zit on my nose? Because, girl, you couldn't be
any more obvious about staring at me."

She shrugs. Ugh, she's not as smooth as she thought. "I don't know… you're nice
to look at."

He snorts. "You know, so are paintings, and art museums aren't free."

She rolls her eyes. "No, but this country is. I can stare. Look, I'm staring. Right
now." She is. She doesn't know what color his hair is under the hat, but she
imagines it's brown. His eyes are hazel, and his nose is kind of crooked. His teeth
are mostly straight, except for his eyeteeth, which are turned a bit awkwardly.

He stares back at her. "Yeah, okay. It's a mutual staring now. I won't charge you
because we're both enjoying the aesthetics."

She guesses that means he thinks she's pretty. But he's so weird, saying
everything and nothing at the same time. He's teased her more in the past five
minutes than her own taciturn father has her whole life, and she's not totally sure
what to make of him. He's not warm. He's not friendly. But he's something, and
she thinks she likes it.

"You sure?" she asks, gesturing to the stairs behind her. "I mean, I could grab
you a coke. Or some Funyuns."

He grimaces, but then looks thoughtful. "Dr. Pepper." He digs in his pocket, and
she hears change rattling around. It's strange how that makes her think of what
he does during the day, how all that change accumulated. Toll-booth? Coffee
shop? Or another Dr. Pepper?

"It's on me," she insists, digging around in her own pockets for change.

He cocks his eyebrow at her again, but it's different this time.

She pees, gets their drinks, and then returns to the classroom. He's sitting where
he plopped his books, in the seat right next to her. It's kind of thrilling.

"So," she says, settling down beside him. He grabs the Dr. Pepper from her
hands and drinks greedily. "If you've noticed me staring for months, then why
today?"

"Why today what?" He caps the Dr. Pepper, and then opens his notebook back
up. It's full of notes, and his handwriting is surprisingly neat.

"Why did you decide to harass me today?"

He grins at her choice of words. "Because you look prettier than usual today."

"That's so shallow," she goads him. But then she thinks about what he says, and
then thinks about what she's wearing. "Today? Are you saying – "

"You women," he grumbles, flipping through his textbook, not even looking at
her. "No, I'm not saying that. You've looked pretty every day I've seen you."

This honesty thing is disarming. "But today – "

"Today you look prettier. End of discussion." And it really is, because the
professor is back at the board.

She thinks about what she's wearing and smiles wryly. All these weeks with the
makeup and tight shirts and skinny jeans… ha. Today, she was running late after
her Zumba class. She's in tights, dance shorts and an oversized sweatshirt. Her
feet are in rubber flip-flops. Her hair is pushed back with a ponytail and a
headband. Her face is devoid of any additive.

She laughs and shakes her head. It's like he knows why she's laughing, because
he chuckles to himself. He looks at her for a moment, and their eyes connect
again. It's warmer this time. Much, much warmer.

xXxXx

She hates sweat, but it's pretty inevitable. She dances a lot, has her whole life.
Her mom took one look at her stumbling her way around and brought her to her
best friend's dance studio. She's stayed there ever since, and that was fifteen
years ago. She's twenty-two now, twenty-two and bored. Now, she's teaching
classes to the same uncoordinated girls.

It's in the middle of Washington, so it's unlikely for any dance prodigies to be
found in the middle of Pacific Northwest. It's mostly just pretty little girls their
moms want to see in pretty little costumes, but Bella enjoys it for the most part.
She doesn't particularly love kids, but she loves watching them grow as a result
of her patience.

Esme, her mom's life-long best friend and Bella's boss and former dance teacher,
sweeps into the room. She's beautiful still, looking barely a day over thirty, when
she is in her mid-forties. She keeps her hair somewhat long, and when she
moves, it twirls around her like a ballerina's skirt. Everything about Esme dances.

"Bonjour, ma petite cherie," she says to Bella in her throaty French accent.
"Bonjour, my students."

"Bonjour, Madame Esme," the little students cry.

"All right, girls," says Bella, snapping them to attention. "From the top, okay?"

As the girls shimmy and shake to ABBA, Esme approaches Bella.

"How is Renee?" Esme asks. Her r's have never lost the guttural sound, and Bella
swears it's the best form of music.

Bella shrugs. "Your guess is as good as mine. I think she's on the coast with Phil
this month."

"Your rent is fine?"

Bella nods. "You pay me more than enough to teach three classes, Esme. If
anyone ever saw the books, they'd see ridiculous favoritism."

Esme waves her hand airily. "You've been with me since you were seven. I think
that allows some favoritism."

"Well, Renee and Phil still deposit a check every second week of the month for
me, so I'm more than taken care of. And even if we're ever tight, Emily can cover
the rest. You should stop worrying so much."

"It would be a crime to not worry about my goddaughter," Esme chastises.
"Caitlin, arms tight! We cannot have you flouncing all over stage, oui?"

Bella takes this as a cue to move through her class, nudging toes into straight
lines and correcting basic steps. Esme watches her, and she must know that Bella
feels no passion for this anymore. But she allows her to keep doing it because it's
the only constant Bella has ever known in her whole life. She has always been a
dancer, and if she's not a dancer, then what is she?

Esme nods and sweeps back through the curtain, and the girls release nervous
giggles they've been holding in. Esme scares the shit out of them, and Bella
understands. Bella is twenty-two and has known Esme for fifteen years, and
Esme still scares the shit out of her sometimes.

She smiles at them and then asks for their attention once more. They go through
the moves, and Bella goes through the motions. Just like every damn day.

She wakes up the next morning to the sound of singing. She groans and throws
her pillow over her head. Her roommate has no sense of time. Emily loves the
mornings, and Bella can't stand them. The mornings that leave her with hazy
eyes and unattractive yawns and coffee breath.

She throws a shoe down the hallway, and it thumps against the wall. Emily
doesn't hear it over the radio, so Bella rolls out of bed with the other shoe in
hand. When she reaches the kitchen, Emily is hovering over the stove, cursing at
bacon grease popping on her arms.

Bella throws her other shoe. This time, it gets Emily's attention, because it
smacks her in the back of the head.

"What the fu – Bella! Fuck! Really?"

"Feel lucky that I didn't throw the radio." She switches it off instead, and then
goes out to their balcony to smoke.

When she lights her menthol, she smiles, thinking of the obvious. He tells her to
suck it with authority – that she could do – but she is unsure about the cigarette.
He alternated between holding it like a joint and twirling it through his fingers like
a mini baton, but she's certain she couldn't do that without burning herself. She
holds it between her lips and tries to puff around it, but coughs and it falls down
to the first floor grass.

Pissed, she lights another and smokes it her way. Then she stubs out the butt in
a glass of water on the ledge and makes her way back inside.

Emily is eating egg whites with bacon. Bella snorts.

"It's turkey bacon," Emily says without looking up from the paper. "You know
what you want some. Mmmm, num nums."

"Mmmm, fruit smoothie." It's early, but Bella is definitely not getting back to
sleep. She's still at that point where tobacco and nicotine gives her a buzz. She
doesn't even know why she started smoking except everyone else did, and even
though that's a poor excuse, it's the only one she's got. It was just easier to start
saying 'yes' to the pack of cigarettes passed around than 'no.'

She regards Emily quietly as she blends yogurt and strawberries. She's her best
friend. They get along well and always pay the rent on time. They go out together
on the weekends and get drunk in bars and sneak off with boys who have green
stuff in their pockets and hope inside their pants. They always have each others
backs and fronts and drunken make out sessions, but she's not sure if she's
particularly close to her. She's not sure if she's particularly close to anybody.

xXxXx

She's at the library later that afternoon, her head buried in her Child Welfare
textbook. She's trying to memorize dates of certain acts, but she can't. Edward is
three tables over, his back to her. He's got headphones on his ears – not ear

buds, but huge, DJ style headphones – that are plugged into his massive laptop.
She can tell it's old because it must weigh sixty pounds. Her own Mac is a
Christmas present from Phil, and it's sleek and she doesn't really take that good
care of it. Edward's stuff is old, but she can tell he cleans that laptop rigorously.
She can't see a thumbprint in sight.

Maybe their interaction the other night was a fluke. Maybe he was bored. Maybe
he talks to every pretty, sweaty girl that catches his eye. She doesn't know, and
she's too unsure to strike up a conversation. So she tries to concentrate on her
outline about the Indian Child Welfare Act.

Edward gets up suddenly, and Bella snaps her eyes up at him, and then back
down when he turns her way. She wants to be nonchalant. Oh, yeah, hey.
Edward, right? What's up? Did you take the online quiz? Yeah, me too –

Nope. He moves away to the copy machine – do people still use those? – and
copies a couple pages from his book. Or at least tries to. When he gets to the last
bit, his hands come up empty, and he pats himself for loose change he knows he
doesn't have. Before she can think, she's up, and she hands him a dime without
even saying hi.

He looks startled, and then he smiles at her. "Hey," he says as he slides in the
coin. The machine spits out his copies. "You seem to have a lot of spare change."

"I – yeah," she says quickly. Is that a compliment? "At least it's not dollar bills
I'm always pulling out. Then you'd have to wonder."

"I'd wonder if you were a server… but it's interesting that you think I'd think you
were a stripper."

Ugh. Ugh. She can't say anything right. Stupid girl. "I – ha. I'm dumb. Okay,
well… bye."

"Wait, wait," he calls, grabbing at her. He misses, but she stays like he caught
her. "That was nice of you. Thanks. I really need these stupid papers."

"Sure. No problem. It's okay. I'm just… gonna go back to studying now." And not
being humiliated.

"Okay. I'll… see you in class tomorrow. Yeah?" He gathers his papers, and he's
already moving to his table.

"Yeah," she whispers, and she knows he doesn't hear her. He leaves ten minutes
later and ruffles her hair as he passes her.

It puts a stupid girl smile on her face the rest of the day.

xXxXx

Bring on the Song

It's been a good class with him. He's so weird, but she likes it so much. She tries
one of his reds on break, and she coughs for five minutes afterwards. He laughs
the whole time, thumping her on the back as she hacks.

"Um, don't do that anymore?" It's a question. It's a suggestion. It's annoying.

Bella gets annoyed, but she doesn't stay that way. By the time they're walking
out of the door, she's laughing at something obnoxious he says. I mean, all of
what he says is obnoxious, but it's not always funny, she's starting to notice.

She's suddenly struck by an idea. She wants to talk to him more, outside of class.
A lot. She wants to text him stupid things all night, questions she thinks he will
probably know the answer to, because he has that kind of voice and face and
stance that talks of worldly knowledge.

"Shit!" she cries, stopping him in the middle of a story. "Oh, shit, I've got to go –
"

"Oh," he says, and he seems a bit offended. "Okay, well, bye – "

"Um, do you remember… the homework?" This is college, Bella. There is no
homework. Wow. Wow. Stupid.

"I don't think – "

"Oh my god. Seriously. I have to go, like, now. Can you text me the homework?"

"There isn't – and I don't have your number."

"Oh… shit. True. Damn it. Here, it's – "

"You don't have enough time to listen to me tell you that there's no homework,
but you have enough time for me to punch in a ten-digit phone number into my
phone?"

Shit. He's smart. Really smart. Or else she's just completely dumb. "Oh, no, I
mean, I really – I thought it would be good, you know, to be able to check up on
– "

"I don't have texting," he says quietly. He doesn't look at her. He's embarrassed;
it's plain as day. "I can't… afford it."

There is an awkward beat before she's apologizing. "Oh, god. I'm an idiot, I'm
sorry. I just… I assumed. I shouldn't have. I didn't – "

"No, it's fine. It's really archaic not to have texting, but – "

"No. Don't. Let me apologize. I'm an idiot."

"That's not apologizing. That's insulting yourself. How would you know I didn't
have texting? Actually… weren't you in such a hurry a second ago?"

Now she's embarrassed. "Yeah. I… bye."

"No, Bella." His voice is warm, so she would have stopped even if his hand hadn't
touched her shoulder. "I'm sorry. I… I am a jackass, I think. Definitely stunted. I
shouldn't tease you just because you found a better way to ask for my phone
number… a better way than I could think of to ask you for yours."

xXxXx

He asks her to call around eleven. It's ten fifty-nine, and she's lying in bed with
her phone on her face. If it vibrates, she's going to die.

Eleven on the dot. No, too soon. Too eager. Even though he seemed happy
punching in his number on her phone. He has big fingers. Long, she means.

Except his thumbs. They're thick and he has a silver ring on one of them. It has
something written on it, but he was too quick with the buttons for her to read it.

Her phone buzzes. She dies. It's him. Oh god. Oh god.

"Hello?"

"You're late. I'm impatient."

So he doesn't play games either. Eleven means eleven to him. She'll remember
that. She likes that a lot.

"I'm so sorry, your majesty." Well, she likes games a little. She's still weirded out
about this calling thing. Just a week ago, she didn't know his name. Now, they're
talking on the phone like old friends. Or new friends with awkward sexual tension.
Or maybe just tension, and she's wishful thinking the sexual part.

And anyway, she's never actually just had a phone conversation before without
some sort of preemptive text. Even when she was asked to call at a certain time,
she would shoot the person a text asking if they were ready or available. Now,
she just has to rely on the fact that he wants to talk to her. Which she is pretty
sure he does, because he asked her to call.

But what about other times when he doesn't? What about times when she has a
question, or just wants to hear from him? Does she have enough confidence in
her place in his life to just pick up the phone and say hey?

Is this how people back in the day felt? Without any sort of technology – no
email, no texting, no IM or Facebook message? She thinks of men in the fifties,
picking up the phone to dial their object of affection, only to be questioned by her
father and then spend five minutes of awkward words and giggling before finally
getting around to asking her to the Dairy Freeze.

Or even earlier, the men in the Edwardian era, who had to rely on house visits
and courting on porches with lemonade and a chaperone.

Edward asks her why she's so quiet, so she spills all of this onto him. He asks, so
she tells. She hopes it will always be that easy.

It's his turn to be quiet after she's finished, and then he kind of chuckles. "I
guess all that tobacco didn't go to your head after all."

She's kind of hurt at the distant response after pouring all of that out. She
remembers that he said he's stunted, and she remembers from experience that
he's obnoxious. She's patient and waits for a real response.

She doesn't get one.

"Well?" She's demanding his attention.

"Well, what?" He sounds surprised.

"Well, what do you think?"

"I think that I like that you're thinking."

"Of course I'm thinking. I want to know what you're thinking about what I'm
thinking!"

"It's none of my business to think something about what you're thinking. Is that
the only reason for you to think? Do your thoughts have to approved by
someone?"

"No, but they stopped being only thoughts when I shared them with you. Now,
they're ideas. What do you think?"

"I think that I liked your idea earlier, about getting my phone number, even if
your execution was bad. I think I like having your number, too. I think I like
knowing what you're thinking, even if I don't think anything in particular about
it."

xXxXx

Her stepmother emails her whenever her dad starts complaining that he hasn't
seen his daughter in too long. He has a son with Sue, and if Sue had her way, he
would forget entirely about Bella. But Bella will always be his girl, and Bella loves
that and Sue hates that and Charlie deals with that.

Sue's emails are always passive aggressively rude, but seem sweet if her dad
ever has the whim to read them.

…When are you going to come see your father and I? Jake is asking about you,
too. It's been a while since you've been up here. I hope you have enough gas
money to get here. I know it's only a few hours drive, but that seems to have
stopped you before. Let us know when you're planning to come.

Love,

Sue

Translation, thought Bella, is that you are an ungrateful daughter who doesn't
want to see her father. You're making my son, who is strangely attached to you,
sad that you don't care to spend time with him. I hope you have enough money,
but I'm sure you do, because of your flighty, whore of a mother. I hate you, the
woman who won.

She thinks Sue is bitter because even though Renee left Charlie, she still hasn't
gotten the "reap what you sew" revenge Sue thinks she deserves. Renee didn't
cheat, but she did get bored, and Sue's devout Christianity doesn't allow any
room for divorce. Bella wonders where marrying a divorced man plays into that,
but she's never voiced it.

Renee left Charlie, Bella's father, when Bella was barely five. She kind of just
took off, and yeah, Bella guesses that hurt her feelings but she was always closer
to Charlie, anyway. Renee always had hobbies to get to, and raising a child that
wet the bed and spit up wasn't one of those hobbies. Charlie took it in stride,
though, and even though he wasn't a jovial man, he was a good man and a good
dad.

Sue came into Charlie's life around the same time Renee met Phil Dwyer, the heir
of a monopolizing logging company in the Pacific Northwest. He was and is abso-
freaking-lutely loaded, and that fit Renee's needs just fine.

Charlie was heartbroken for a while, as heartbroken as a taciturn man could be,
and Bella suspects he may still be. But he let Sue take care of him, and she's
been there ever since, going on ten years now. They have a son, Jacob, Bella's
half-brother. He's a cool kid, with the Native American looks from Sue and the
blue eyes from Charlie.

She went to live with Renee when Charlie got remarried because she couldn't
stand Sue or their honeymoon stage. There was nothing quite like having the
bedroom next to her newlywed father's room. She was around thirteen, so that
was fine, because thirteen-year-old girls need a mother. She didn't exactly get a
mother, because Renee was still too busy for her, but she did get Esme, which
Bella thinks of as a much better alternative. She was also brought into a life of
privilege a daughter of a Police chief wasn't accustomed to, with designer clothes
and big bedrooms and private tutors.

She sighs and Emily asks her about the noise.

"Another email from step monster," Bella replies. It's a petty and cliché answer,
but she really can't stand the woman. "Hey, wanna come to Forks with me this
weekend?"

"What, and kill myself just to find something to do? No, thank you."

"Emmy…" Bella pulls out the big guns.

"Hell no, Bella Swan." But that means okay, fine, get out of my face, so Bella
leans back, triumphant.

"It'll be fun. Hey, maybe Sam will come around." Bella wiggles her eyebrows in
her roommate's direction.

"Oh, cool, and wind me up some more with his bitch of a girlfriend. Bella, I swear
to god. What does he see in Leah? She is the most heinous cu – "

"I hate that word. Don't be crude, Emily. She's a total bitch, though. Agreed.
Which is why you need to steal him away and treat him right. I know he has a
thing for you."

"Oh, good, yeah. Just what I need, a practically engaged dude to lust after me.
That bodes real well for a future with me."

Bella silently agrees, but she agrees more that Emily needs some excitement in
her life. Or at least a penis. "Dude, come on. Every time you come with me to
Forks, you and Sam, like… engage in serious unresolved sexual tension. It's
totally stifling. It needs to be – "

"Ridden hard and put up wet?" Emily is still crude, but Bella loves her.

"Exactly."

Emily thinks for a minute. "Yeah, whatever. It's not like I have a life."

So around twenty-four hours later, they're driving the three hours to Forks. They
live on the outskirts of Seattle. Bella hates big cities – she's too small town girl
for that – but she guesses the suburbs are okay.

Emily has her feet propped on the dash and is reading sex tips out of Cosmo.

"Bella, what do you think about this finger probing thing? Apparently, guys love
it."

"Guys have hairy assholes, Emily. I'd sooner drop my body in an unknown bush
in the Amazon."

"Apparently, it tickles their version of a g-spot."

"Apparently, guys are just going to have to settle for a plain ol' blowjob from me.
I know, their lives suck, don't they? It's awful, having a girl on her knees, making
her gag. It's so hard to be a guy."

Emily is laughing. "Dude, no. I think the finger up the asshole could be a revenge
thing. Unannounced shove into throat? Unannounced finger up the meat locker."

"Meat locker? That's enough." She turns up the radio. "It would be more of a
punishment for me."

"Okay, well, what about you? Ever wanted someone to toss your salad?"

"Nah, I'm a wedge salad kind of girl."

"What, you want someone to wedge their – "

"Yes. Oh, yes. With no lube."

"You are so weird."

"I prefer 'sexually adventurous.'"

"Sexually deviant."

"It was a joke. Oh my god, drop it."

Bella's phone buzzes, so even if Emily doesn't want to drop it, she has no choice.
Bella glances down, and it's Edward, and he's calling, and it wasn't planned, and
Bella's heart is in her throat.

"Hello?"

"Is that Edward?" Emily crows.

"Yes, this is Edward," he answers.

"I know who it is – shut up, Emily!" Emily is making a grotesque face that looks
like a mix between a blowjob and an orgasm.

"Hi, Bella. Bad time?"

"No, good time. Perfect time. I get to ignore my roommate, so that's great.
Thanks."

"Are you sure? It's okay that I called, right?"

"Yes!" She knows how uncool she sounds. How eager. Emily laughs. Bella coughs.
"Um, yes. It's totally cool. I told you that. Anytime."

"Seriously, anytime," Emily chimes in. "Especially if she's DJ-ing herself to
thoughts of you."

"DJ-ing yourself," Edward repeats.

"Emily – so help me god I will go Tonka on you and dump truck you out of this
car if you do not shut up! Edward – I don't know. Sorry. She's just… she has
issues."

"DJ-ing," Edward says again. "What… oh. Oh. I get it. Like," he makes a
scratched record noise, whee-kah whee-kah, "okay." Then he starts laughing,

and she hasn't heard him laugh like that yet. She's pissed that Emily is the
person who makes him laugh like that.

"Ask Edward how he feels about surprise fingers," Emily suggests.

"Surprise fingers?" Edward inquires, still chuckling. "What? Eleven fingers instead
of ten?"

"Yes," says Bella, as Emily shouts no.

"Would you like to talk to him?" Bella snaps.

Emily looks taken aback, then grins. "Actually… yes." She snatches the phone
from Bella before she can think twice.

"Hi, Edward!" Emily sings. Bella is fighting Emily for her phone back, and she's
pretty sure she's flinging the car all over the road. "This is Emily, roommate par
excellence. Tell Bella to relax. She's going to kill us… Bella, Edward says to relax.
No, she doesn't look relaxed… Oh, we're going to Forks. What? No, it's not a
restaurant. It's a town, where Bella grew up. There's like, nothing in it – what?
Um, yeah, I guess there are a lot of eating utensils – "

And it's Bella's turn to snatch the phone back. Edward is laughing again, but it's
more of a private joke sort of laugh. "Hi," she says. "I'm so sorry, I'm seriously
going to trade her in for a new model."

"Maybe you should. She didn't get my eating utensils joke."

"Make better jokes," Bella suggests. "So… what's up?"

"Oh," says Edward, and he sounds startled. "Yeah… um. So, there's this art
museum. In Seattle."

"I'm aware. I believe it's deceptively called the Seattle Art Museum. Such an
awful name. They could make it a little more clear what it is – "

"Oh, you're Bella the comedian today."

They have known each other for a couple weeks at this point. They talk on the
phone every couple of days, chat during class, and harass each other in the
library. Every time, he names her as something – "Bella the blank" – usually
something rude, Bella the jackass, Bella the fail, Bella the… comedian.

"Yes, today. Who knows what tomorrow will bring?"

"Is tomorrow going to bring you back to Seattle?"

"Oh, um. No. I'm staying in Forks all weekend."

He's silent. Then: "Okay, never mind."

"No, what?" She thinks he's going to ask her out, and she really wants him to.
She tries to get him to tell her with a lot of different tactics, but none of them
work. He's embarrassed. She's embarrassed for him.

"Nothing," he says, his tone completely final. "It's not important. Have fun… on
your trip to Spoons."

"Forks."

"Sporks, then."

"Yeah, sporks. I live in a town called Sporks."

"It's not completely out of the question."

"Yeah, whatever – "

"Bye, Bella." And he's hung up, and Bella is staring at her phone, completely
bewildered.

"He sounds like kind of a jerk," Emily offers as Bella slings her phone into a cup
holder.

Bella shrugs. "Yeah… he kind of is, but also, he's really not. I'm not totally sure…
but I think I really like him. He's like… he's not nice. But he's not a bad person.
Does that make sense?"

"Kind of like you," Emily says, closing the Cosmo and rolling down the window.
She lights up a cigarette, and Bella does the same, thinking about that.

"I'm nice," she says finally. Emily gives her a look, and Bella continues, offended.
"I am. I gave Edward a dime when he ran out of change. I teach little girls how to
dance. I…"

"Can't think of anything else," Emily finishes. "Bella, really. I love you, but you're
just kind of…" She pulls a face that looks blank and wide-eyed. "I think you're
just really bored."

Bella, for some reason, feels like crying. Emily isn't being cruel – she's used to
her friend's blunt speak. She laughs at it usually. She agrees with it usually. She
agrees with it now, but it still hurts. She doesn't know where her passion for
everything has gone, and she's not sure if she wants to be one of those girls who
comes alive again only because of a boy.

She vows to smile more.

It's a start, at least.

Her phone buzzes against the plastic cup holder as she takes the exit to Forks.
It's him again.

"Hello?"

"Next weekend? Are you going to be here?"

"Yeah," Bella says slowly. "I'll be in Seattle."

"With me?"

Bella pauses. It's presumptuous and not exactly a question, but it's so him. She
doesn't want rainbows and flowers. "Okay."

"Okay." And he's off the phone again.

Yeah, that 'smiling more' vow? She doesn't think that's going to be a problem.

xXxXx

Never Too Soon

"Bell-laaaaaaaaaaaa!"

Bella is unloading her bags when something screeching attaches itself to her leg.
She laughs and playfully shakes it off, but it just clings harder.

"Jacob. Let go of Bella so she can get her things."

Bella glances up and sees Sue, the step monster, standing on the porch of her
father's home. She's wiping her hands on a dishtowel in a picture perfect
mannerism of domesticity.

"Hi, Sue," Bella says quietly.

"Hello," she says, her smile weak. Jake has let go of Bella's leg, and Sue's eyes
are on the back of her son's head. She's never liked the relationship between her
son and Charlie's daughter.

"Emmy!" Jacob loves Bella's friends, all of them. It's that childlike wonder at
people bigger than him, she knows, but it's still adorable. He completely melts
under Emily's ruffle of his hair, and then attaches himself to her leg this time.

Bella hauls her bag over her shoulder and Emily follows, dragging Jacob and
making a scene.

"So… heavy… can't… make it…"

Bella laughs at their playing, and Sue steps aside so she can enter. Bella always
feels a bit smug about it, that she was the first lady of this house. Her dad is
standing just inside the foyer, a grin on his bushy face just for her.

"Hey, Bell," he says, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and taking her bag off
her arms. "You get prettier every time I see you."

Bella smiles and tucks her long hair behind her ear. "Ah, Dad… so do you."

He scoffs and laughs, and then harasses her about what she's going to cook for
all of them.

"I was planning on making spaghetti," Sue says. She's been behind them the
whole time, watching their exchange with a neutral face.

"You know Bella always cooks for her old man when she comes home," Charlie
chastises with a smile. "I miss your cooking, Bell."

To a man, it's a simple statement. But for two women fighting for the same man's
approval and affection, it's everything. Sue's expression shuts off completely, and
she turns away. When she faces them again, it's with a smile.

"Charles, I just realized – " She calls him Charles, and Bella hates it, " – that I
actually have to put in a shift at the church library tonight. Mrs. Chandler is sick,
and I promised."

Bella is not fooled, and she wonders if her dad is. In any event, he looks put out.
"You have to?"

"I absolutely have to," Sue says clearly, making her way to the stairs. "In fact,
I'm almost late. Besides, it will give you and Bella plenty of time to catch up
without me getting in the way." Sue pauses by the stairs. "Jacob doesn't eat
anything. Good luck with finding something he will eat." She says it with a smile,
but it's definitely not a joke.

Bella turns to Jake. "Hey, man. How do you feel about cheeseburgers?"

"Cool!" he cries, clinging to her once again. "No onions, though. And lots of
ketchup, and…" He lists his favorite toppings for a burger, and Bella cocks an
eyebrow at Sue.

Ha.

An hour later, they're all eating pan-fried cheeseburgers and oven fries. It's not
gourmet, but it's not take out, so it's better than what Charlie used to eat before
he had women in his life. She's been surveying Charlie a lot this evening. It's
strange, this picture of him she has in her mind – he's perpetually around thirty,
the age he was when she was about seven. But it's been fifteen years, and years
aren't always kind to a small town man. He's still ruggedly handsome – do all
girls think their dad is handsome? – but he has grey hairs in his mustache and at
his temples.

He's about forty-five years old, give or take a few years. She can't really
remember, but she's just now noticing the aging in him. It makes her really sad
for a reason she can't place, like this is just another thing she's failed to notice in
her float through life.

"Why don't you ever cook for me like this, Bella?" Emily demands, drawing smiley
faces in her ketchup.

She shrugs. "I don't cook much anymore." She used to love to cook, but she
hasn't gone into the kitchen with that creative spirit in god knows how long.

"That's a crime, Bell," Charlie says, leaning back and patting his full belly. Bella
notices that his stomach stretches over his belt. It didn't used to do that – when
did that happen?

Bella just shakes her head. "I've just been busy, I guess."

"That's right," smiles Charlie. "That's my girl – what's the name of that fancy
degree again?"

"Psychology," she laughs. "I'm just getting a specialization in children. It's not
that fancy – I just… you know, people have locks on their minds, like shields. I
want to be the one to help open those up. All that protection on their… well,
never mind. I'm going to go on a rant. I just want to be able to help children not
form the blocks on their minds that adults have."

Charlie smiles at her, and she wonders if he really understands what she's saying.

But worse, she wonders if she really believes what she's saying.

xXxXx

He's not in class on Tuesday, and she's so disappointed she can hardly sit still.
Her attention wanes, and her break cigarette doesn't taste good. She's really
annoyed that she can't just text him, and she's definitely not lending him her
notes. Could he not let her know? What if he got in a car accident? What if he's
sick? What if… what if he had just let her know he wasn't going to be there? She
would have let him know. He practically asked her on a date, and then he can't
even – ugh, no, she's too annoyed for this train of thought, and if she continues,
she knows she's going to call him and yell at him for nothing.

As soon as class lets out, she calls him. He doesn't pick up, so she waits until
she's driving back home to call again. He answers this time, and he sounds
groggy and disoriented.

"You missed class," she told him by way of greeting.

"Bella?" His voice is rough, and if she closes her eyes (which she shouldn't do
because she's driving), she can almost feel him lying next to her in bed, using
that voice to wake her up in the middle of the night.

"Hi," she whispers.

"Hi," he says back. "Man… I feel awful. Fuck." She hears rustling, and she
imagines sheets falling away – is he naked? She hopes.

"I took notes. You can borrow them, I don't mind." She's weak once she hears his
voice, and how truly sick he sounds.

"Thanks." He yawns. "I didn't mean to skip class – god, what time is it? I told
myself I'd only sleep for an hour."

"It's a little after nine."

"Oh, god damn it. I knew I wasn't ready for this shit – fuck."

"Ready for what?" He's cursing a lot. He doesn't have the cleanest mouth, but
that's three in the past thirty seconds.

"Nothing," he says quickly. "Not… you. I wasn't referring to you, or anything… if
that's what you thought."

That isn't what she thought. She wasn't thinking anything. But she is now. Does
that mean he's ready… for something? For her? Or that he's not discounting it
totally? Does he ever just come out and say anything?

They breathe back and forth for a couple moments, and then his voice comes
back.

"I'm sorry. I… I really need to go back to sleep."

She's disappointed again. She was hoping that he'd talk to her all night, like he
did the whole time she was in Forks. She's missed him a lot, and she thinks it's
weird, but she feels so good all the time that it's okay.

"Oh, okay."

"Bella, I – I'm sorry. I need to. I don't want to, but I can't… I'm fading fast."

"Go. It's okay. Goodnight."

She waits for a few seconds, and he doesn't say anything. His breathing evens
out, and she knows he's asleep. She should hang up, but she listens to the sound
of his peace all the way back home.

xXxXx

He's in the library the next day when she gets there, and she blows out the giant
breath she's been holding. She walks up behind him and puts her hand on his
shoulder. It's a bit bony, but she squeezes it as hard as she can.

Without taking off his headphones, he puts his hand over hers and drags his nails
lightly down the back of her hand. It's a hello, and Bella's insides churn and melt
and die.

She sits down across from him, and he looks terrible. He smiles at her briefly and
adjusts his cap, and she wonders why he always wears a bandana under it. His
head must get hot like that, the way it drapes down his neck. He has deep
bruises under his eyes, and his mouth, though smiling, is tight.

"Hey," she mouths as she cracks open her book.

He grins over his laptop at her, and they work in silence until he gets up to leave
an hour later.

She taps her fingers against the table as she watches him go. He's walking
slowly, limping a bit. Bella chews on her lip – maybe he did get in a car accident.
Or something.

xXxXx

"Why don't you all take a break?" Esme suggests, sweeping into the room. Her
hair is up in a tight bun, Bella notices, and it makes her look older than she
remembers, too.

Has she just been asleep the past few years? At least Sleeping Beauty's kingdom
had the pleasure of not aging while she got her act together, but Bella has had no
such luck. Esme doesn't look old, and neither does Charlie, but they both look
older, and it's stabbing her in a really weird place, between her heart and her gut.

The girls scatter as Esme says this, all going for their water bottles and giggling
with their friends. Bella stands and watches as Esme walks towards her, a
determined look on her face.

"Bella," she says in a low voice as she nears her. "Ma puce, what is the matter
with you? Your heart is not in this dance."

"I'm not the one dancing," Bella answers, even though she knows that's horse
shit.

"You thought up the steps for your little girls to dance to, but you disrespect
those girls and the art of dance by not giving them and it your whole self."

Bella sighs. "What's wrong with the steps? They're all ones you taught me
yourself."

Esme shakes her beautiful head. "There is nothing wrong with the steps. They are
technically perfect and flow seamlessly. But you are not proud of this, of what
you've created and taught in a bunch of girls who look to you for guidance. Dance
used to be your passion – what happened?"

"I had a lot of passions," Bella says quietly. "Dancing, cooking… photography. Do
you remember when I couldn't put my camera down?"

Esme nods, smiling. "Yes – so many unflattering pictures of your old godmother."

"Now," Bella continues, "I don't… do anything. It's like it all slipped from my
fingers so slowly, I didn't realize it was leaving until I had lost it. I want it back,
but I'm just so tired lately. Too many psychology classes, maybe… realizing the
amazing potential of human life and the way we all waste it. I'm becoming a

statistic in a psychology book, or something. I don't know. I'm not making any
sense."

Esme pats Bella on the back, and then rubs her nails against her shoulders in
soothing circles. "Bella, cherie, you cannot wait for life to inspire you."

Bella knows. She's heard it all before, and yet, it has never sounded plausible to
her. Grab life by the horns? No, life was too busy shoving its horns up her –

"Start with something small, oui?" Esme is still talking. "Something that you used
to love. Dancing is huge, has been huge your whole life – it'll be more difficult to
find your inspiration for it, because you have had more time to become, ah…
disillusioned towards it. Go home and cook for your roommate, something
inspired. A soufflé. Ha! Do not give me that face – pasta? Homemade pasta
noodles. Anything."

"There's still thirty minutes left in class," Bella protests.

"I will take it from here," Esme says, clapping her hands together and calling the
girls back to order.

"They're terrified of you," Bella whispers, smiling.

"A little fear is something everyone needs in their life," Esme says sagely.

As Bella gathers up her things and hugs her students goodbye, it hits her. Hard.

Her problem isn't some grand depression with life. It's her lack of fear. She has
everything she could ever want, and nothing she is scared to lose.

xXxXx

"I made pasta from scratch," she tells Edward the next night, as they lean over
the balcony, smoking their cigarettes. He looks better tonight, less tired and
handsome all the same.

"That must have taken years," Edward comments, smoke furling from his nostrils.
"I did that with my mom once, and I was pretty sure I had arthritis afterwards."

"It wasn't that bad," Bella laughs. She scratches her ankle with her opposite foot.
"It was actually… it was fun. I used to cook a lot, and I really…" She shrugs. "It
only took a couple hours, and the look on Emily's face when I had dinner on the
table when she came home was priceless. She asked if someone died."

Edward laughs, and she loves the sound so much. As a dancer, she's always been
really in tune with music, its beat and melodies. The way it moves around life,
and the way it sets a backdrop for everything. His laugher is no different.

"She had been bitching at me about never cooking for her… she seriously asked if
she had to sleep with me before she could eat it, like some overworked, cranky
husband. I told her I'd rather she just shut up and ate it – "

"Like an everyday wife," he says, grinning at her.

"Exactly!" She's giggling like crazy, and she nudges him in the arm. "Sounds like
you know a little about women handling."

He just shakes his head and smiles, and it's enigmatic and secret and perfect. He
trips her as she walks back into the classroom, and she acts like she doesn't
notice when he winces at her slap on the chest.

xXxXx

On Saturday, he arrives at her apartment at five PM. She lets him in, and his
eyes scan her place slowly. He whistles under his breath at the high vaulted
ceilings and open floor plan. Her apartment is modernly furnished and from an
outsider, it looks like a very wealthy person's place. She sees her jacket flung
over the couch, and her dirty dishes still on the table. She's sure he sees the
plasma TV on the wall, and the fireplace in the corner.

"So, what did you have in mind?" she asks finally. They haven't really said
anything about the 'date' except Bella giving Edward directions and he smiling
shyly as he wrote them down.

"I don't…" He's still looking around. "Want to give me a tour?"

"Oh! Um… okay." It's not that big; he's acting like it's a three-story manor. She
wonders what he goes home to. Being too poor for texting means being too poor
for any sort of luxuries. Or maybe not – maybe he just picks and chooses his
indulgences. Maybe he has a huge, California king bed that he just had to have
instead paying for texting each month. Or something.

She leads him through her apartment – the living room and kitchen are open, but
there's a little bar separating the two. She shows him the view off the balcony,
the lush green woods, healthy from the constant Washington rain. She walks him
down the hallway, pointing at Emily's room but not opening the door (it's always
a mess, and she knows Emily would be mortified).

"That's her bathroom," says Bella, pointing at the closed door next to it. "And on
the other side of the hall…" She dons a game show host voice. "What's behind
door number one?"

She flings open her bathroom door, and there on the floor are the bra and
underwear she forgot to pick up after her shower.

"Pretty," Edward remarks, and she doesn't know if he means the mint green and
brown theme of the room, or her purple lace bra and white panties.

"Um… okay. Moving on," she laughs. The door at the end of the hall is her room,
and she cracks it open, quickly scanning it for more embarrassing things. She's a
pretty neat person, so there's nothing even on the floor.

"This is really nice," says Edward, stepping in past her.

"Thanks," she responds, watching him look around.

She's got a queen sized bed with all white sheets and huge, fluffy down
comforter. Her walls are lavender, and the floor – just like in the whole apartment
– is wood. She's got a butterfly chair in the corner, a messy desk and a couple
shelves with haphazardly stacked books. Her MacBook is thrown carelessly by the
bed, where she dropped it the night before. She remembers the careful way he
treats his things, and she's embarrassed by her lack of… something.

"Do you take pictures?" he asks finally, pointing to the camera on her desk.

"I used to," she says, walking over to it. It's a Nikon D700, one of the nicest
digital SLR cameras on the market. She expressed an interest in photography to
her mother over an email about a year ago, and a week later, it arrived for her.

She took a class in photography last semester, and she had learned that she had
a natural eye for unusual beauty. Her professor had absolutely adored her and

kept offering to set Bella up with photography studios around the Pacific
Northwest, but it had just been a hobby for Bella. She was a psych major – psych
majors didn't just drop out of a prestigious program to take pictures.

She realizes she hasn't picked up the camera since, and does so, feeling the
weight of it in her hand. She misses it, so she puts it up to her eye – even though
it's a digital screen, she's always preferred the lens – and snaps a picture of
Edward when he isn't looking.

"Hey!" he cries, covering up his face. "Rude."

She looks over the picture. It's all wrong, semantically. She hasn't adjusted the
light or the settings, so he looks to be almost glowing in the picture, against the
backdrop of her walls. It's not a good picture, but she loves the unguarded
expression on his face.

"Sorry, I should have warned you." She puts the camera down, but she vows to
herself to pick it up again. Soon.

"I wouldn't have let you… unless you would have let me do my Blue Steel." He
pouts dramatically, and it's funny and silly, and she rolls her eyes and laughs at
him.

"Zoolander – nice. Whatever. Come on, are you done inspecting my room?"

"Not yet." He toes off his beat up sneakers and climbs into her bed. Her eyes
nearly bug out of her head – what is he… is that even legal –

"Get out!" she shrieks. "You're going to get your nasty balls smell all over my
clean sheets."

"My balls do not smell," he murmurs, snuggling into one of her many pillows.
"This is niiiiice." He opens an eye. "Well, come on. Stop staring and climb in."

"Space invader," she grumbles, kicking off her flip-flops and sitting gracefully on
bed. Far, far away from his body.

"No, no," he chides, and grabs at her foot. He yanks her in his direction, and she
screeches. "Come here." He pats his chest.

He's so weird. So strange – doesn't he have any sense of chronological order?
Date first, kiss second, make love third, cuddle in bed fourth.

"I have to know," he says as she crawls over that way, "if we fit together this
way. If we don't… then what's the point?"

"Right," she murmurs, because she doesn't really understand, but she wants so
much to be close to him. She lays her head to his chest, and it's like his
heartbeat is right there, with no flesh covering its sound.

His bones are prevalent, and she's kind of uncomfortable. There's skin but not
much mass, and she runs her hand down his sternum.

He catches her hand. "Don't."

"What's – there's something, Edward… just tell me."

He's quiet for a long time, but keeps dragging his nails up and down her arm.
Then, he finally says, "Food doesn't really like me right now."

She's not really sure what to say to this, but she can tell he's uncomfortable, so
she keeps it light. "That's so… ugh. I'm starving and wanted to take you to my
favorite restaurant, but now… no. I'm not going to be the fat girlfriend."

As soon as the 'g' word leaves her mouth, she groans. Stupid. Dumb. Wow. Idiot.
Wow. What are you – DUMB. She rolls over off of him, but he doesn't let her.
He's laughing. It's not funny, insensitive boy.

"Bella – stop. Stop!" He can't quit laughing, so really, he needs to stop. "What, do
you think I'm doing all of this to be your friend? I mean… come on."

"Yeah, but still – it's so…"

"Honest?"

"Presumptuous," she finishes. "Honest? No. I mean, yeah… but. There's being
honest and there's being…"

"Candid. Caught off guard. Yeah, I get it, Bella. But it's nice – I mean, I like it. I
like hearing what you think, and the weird things you say."

"I don't say weird things… and anyway, so do you! I mean – you know. Ugh.
UGH. Edward, I'm such a mess – "

"Yeah, you are," he agrees. He gets off the bed and drags her with him. "A smart,
pretty, funny little mess."

There are more romantic things he could have said, she guesses.

But she can't think of anything.

xXxXx

They agree on a movie instead. It's some romantic comedy, and it's actually
terrible. Or maybe it's terrible because she feels terrible. She doesn't let him
know she saw, but after he paid for their tickets, he took out the rest of his cash
and counted it carefully, and then stuck it back in his wallet with an irritated sigh.
But he hasn't said one word, and he seemed happy enough to do it – but she
feels awful.

She's never had to look in her wallet and think, well, I guess I'll be going without
milk now. Or whatever it was he thought when he saw he only had three little
dollars left. She can't stop thinking about it, but she doesn't know how to make it
up to him without insulting him or making herself look shallow.

They go for a walk after the movie, down the busy streets of Seattle. Edward is a
bit winded, but she tries not to notice his huffing and puffing. She does notice the
grunt of pain when someone runs into him, so she suggests they call it a night.

He drives them back toward her apartment. It's the strangest thing – he has a
really nice car, almost nicer than hers. It's a modern Volvo with leather seats and
tinted windows. It's pristine and well cared for, except for the saran wrap
covering the back left window.

"It was broken into," he had said by way of explanation. "I don't live… well, a
flashy car where I live is just asking for it."

"Hey," she says suddenly, "pull in here." She points to a gas station on the
corner.

He does, and she goes in and buys two packs of cigarettes, one for her and one
for him. He hasn't smoked all night, and she thinks she knows what he gave up
when he decided to buy her ticket.

She tosses the Marlboro Reds his way as she climbs back in.

"What are –" He's staring at them like he's seeing Jesus.

"They had a two-fer deal on Marlboros. That's your brand, right?" She's lying
straight through her teeth – it was almost fifteen bucks for two packs, but she
doesn't care.

"I – yeah." He fumbles with the pack – the cellophane and the aluminum paper
on the inside. "Do you have a lighter?"

She rummages through her purse and pulls out one. He lights up, and then leans
back against his seat. His whole body seems to still.

She lights one up, too, but slower. She hasn't gotten to the point where she's
shaking without one.

"Better than any food," he says after a minute, and then smiles at her.

When he drops her off, he doesn't kiss her. She remembers how he does
everything out of order, so she doesn't really mind as far as that goes. But she
wants it more than anything. More than air.

She waves as she watches him pull out of the parking lot.

She's smiling and kind of crying, too.

She finally has something she's scared of losing.

xXxXx

I haven't given any credit to the last two chapter titles – they're lyrics, just like I
did in Bare.

"Free Falling" is from a song by the same name, by Tom Petty. I love the John
Mayer version, too.

"Bring on the Song" is from "Bring on the Wonder" by Susan Enan ft. Sarah
McLachlan.

"Never too Soon" is from "Sweet Disposition" by The Temper Trap (listen to the
Ellie Goulding version. She'll melt your heart).

xXxXx

As Free As We'll Ever Be

His hands whisper over her, writing ghostly lyrics on her skin. She rolls with him
and lands on her back. His fingers skip down her ribs, playing her like a
xylophone. She makes a noise, and he smiles at her music. His lips follow her
squirms, and he quiets her with the yellow flash in his hazel eyes.

He bites at her hipbone, and it tickles. She nudges him with her pale thigh, and
he bites that, too. He bites and bites and bites. It starts to hurt. She tries to jerk
away, but he holds fast. She can feel his teeth. They're so sharp, like knives and

razors and stingers. She screams and pushes at his head. He doesn't move. He
begins to drink. She can feel the blood leaving her body, and she pleads with
him.

He raises his face, and her blood is dripping from his teeth. From his mouth. He
drags his lips back up her body, leaving a trail of red cells in his wake. He kisses
her, and she tastes the coppery tang. She's crying. She's exhausted. He thanks
her.

"I need good blood," he whispers in her ear.

Then she hears a familiar screech, and she shoots up in bed, her hand attached
to her pounding heart.

"Shit," she curses, her breaths uneven and shaky. She reaches across to her
nightstand and shuts off her alarm.

She swings her legs out of bed, checking the inside of her right thigh. It's
unblemished, save for the small white stretch marks she accumulated when she
was much younger. She grew to a whopping five four in fifth grade, making her
the tallest in her class. She hasn't grown since, but the speedy shoot-up in height
left her with tiny scars.

But no teeth marks. It felt so real – she could feel the pain, the fear, the
adrenaline, and the desire. She can still feel those things. They are coursing
through her like the blood she watched leave her body.

"I need good blood," she repeats. Details of the dream are quickly fading, but she
doesn't know if she'll ever forget the way he kissed her with his bloody mouth
and whispered those cryptic words to her.

It's a rainy Saturday morning, a week after their first date. She hasn't seen him
outside of school since, but he's been in every class. He's looking much better –
more rested, less sickly. It makes her happy and makes her worried at the same
time. There's always a veil of seriousness around him, even when he's cracking
jokes.

Emily is already awake when Bella shuffles into the kitchen.

"You're alive?" Emily looks shocked. "It's not even noon."

"Don't remind me," groans Bella. "I have to put in a couple hours at Esme's."

"Ew. Hey, make me one!"

Bella is throwing yogurt, ice and strawberries in the blender. "No way. I have to
get going."

Emily holds up her hand. "Wait – don't turn that on. I think I hear your phone."

They're quiet for a moment, and Bella hears the generic tone of her ringer.

"Who is calling me at eleven AM on a Saturday?" She rushes back in the direction
of her room. She picks up the phone from the floor, and Edward's name is
flashing across the screen. "Hello?"

"Hey."

"Hey…"

"I didn't wake you up, did I?"

"No." She stifles a yawn.

He laughs. "I did!"

"No!" She's laughing, too. "You really didn't. I just woke up, though… like five
minutes ago. What's up?"

"What are your plans for today?"

She clucks her tongue. "I have to put in some hours at work – at the studio. I
skipped out yesterday because I had a migraine from Hell. Why?"

"Oh. Nothing. Never mind."

She knows him well enough by now to know he was going to ask for her
company. She presses him. "No, come on. What?"

"It doesn't matter now."

"It totally does."

"It totally doesn't, valley girl."

"Don't mock me… what are you up to? Super bored?"

"No, super antsy. Just wanted to get out of the house."

She's trying not to smile and failing. He wants adventure, and he wants it with
her. "Well, listen. I'm sure it's out of your way, but… I've let the miles run up on
my car, and it's way overdue for an oil change so I really shouldn't be driving it.
Feel free to say no, but I could really use a ride…" She's lying. Her car miles are
fine. But she has to be subtle with him. He has a fragile ego.

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes." He hangs up. She's used to his non-goodbyes.
She likes them. She never wants to say goodbye to him.

xXxXx

He's there fourteen minutes later, ball cap and all. She waves goodbye to Emily
before darting down the slick stairs to his car. It's warm and comfortable when
she slides in, apologizing for getting his leather seats all wet.

"That's the beauty of leather," he says, looking behind him as he reverses out of
the parking spot. "It wipes right off." He grins at her. "Nice outfit."

"Shut up." She has a zip-up hoodie over her leotard and tights. She crosses her
legs, embarrassed. "If I remember correctly… and I do, you said – "

"I remember what I said. I was being serious."

She scoffs. "Oh, right. 'Nice outfit, Bella.' That definitely means 'nice outfit,' not
'you look like an idiot.'"

He shrugs. "Believe what you want, but it's a waste of energy to think I'm lying.
Plus, I didn't mean you looked pretty in your… dance whatever. I just like the no
makeup, low maintenance thing. It works for you. You have freckles."

She touches her nose. "So? I hate them."

"Why?"

"They're stupid."

"They're… I don't know. You're really… beautiful." He kind of chokes on the word,
like he's trying out a different language. "So… the sum of all things makes you
that way. Don't hate a little part of the equation."

She thinks she's blushing. She hasn't blushed in years. She nudges his arm,
trying to hide it. "Listen to you, mister poet laureate."

"Yeah, yeah." He turns up the radio, and they ride the rest of the way to studio in
comfortable silence. When they arrive, it's pouring. She grumbles about all the
hairspray in her hair and how the rain is going to make it all sticky. He peels off
his jacket, and she catches a glimpse of his protruding collarbone.

"Here," he says. "For your precious hair."

"Always mocking me," she sighs. She opens the door and throws his warm jacket
over her head. She runs, screeching the whole time, her flip-flops tossing water
on the back of her legs.

He walks much slower, and he's soaked by the time he reaches the overhang.
She hands him back his jacket, and he gives her this 'oh thanks' look. It cracks
her up, and they walk into the studio laughing.

Esme is standing in the lobby, talking to a parent. She raises a very European
eyebrow at Bella and Edward, and her lips lift in a smile. She turns back to the
parent and excuses herself.

"Morning, cherie. A little late, non?" She turns to Edward. "May I take your coat?"

"Oh… um." He kind of fumbles with it, almost drops it, and then finally stuffs it
into Esme's hands. "It's really wet. I'm sorry."

"Yes, this is what happens when it rains." She gives him a smile and drops a wink
at Bella.

"This is Edward," Bella says, trying not to laugh. Men young and old always fall to
pieces when they meet her timeless godmother. "Edward, this is my godmother,
Esme. She owns this place, along with the responsibility for any dancing ability I
may have."

"Very nice to meet you, Edward."

"Be nice to him," Bella warns.

"I am always nice," Esme assures. "Do you like coffee? Tea?" She loops her arm
through his and leads him towards the back.

Bella watches them go, her heart strangely light and heavy at the same time.

xXxXx

The hours pass by quickly. She's so into teaching and encouraging and laughing,
it startles her when Esme turns off the music.

"Time to go," she calls. "Wrap it up, girls."

"Do we want to show Madam Esme what we learned today?" Bella asks with an
encouraging smile.

The girls agree, so Bella motions for Esme to start the song over. Bella gets in
her place, back to the girls and face to the mirror. 'Dancing Queen' starts, and
she does small movements to remind her girls where they're supposed to be in
the dance, but lets them lead. They've only learned half of the routine Bella
taught, but she finishes the rest of it as the girls watch.

"That's what you'll be learning in the next couple weeks," Bella promises. "I know
it looks hard, but I know you guys can do it. We'll take it really slow, okay?"
They're basic moves, but to little feet, anything looks daunting.

The girls pack up and give her hugs goodbye, and she turns towards the door.
Edward is leaning against the doorjamb, his arms crossed over his chest. He's
smiling at her, and she completely forgot he was here.

"Cute ass shaking, Swan," he calls.

Esme gives him a sharp look and makes a 'tsst' noise, indicating his language. He
goes nearly purple and apologizes profusely. Esme pats him on the shoulder as
she goes past.

"I'll be in the office," she tells Bella. "Let me know when you two leave."

Edward moves as the little girls file past. They stare up at him, and Bella can't
help but smile. An attractive man is a pull for a girl, no matter their age.

Bella tightens her ponytail nervously as Edward approaches.

"You seem to really enjoy that," he says, putting his back against the mirror as
she fiddles with the CD player.

"Dancing? Yeah… I do."

"Teaching," he clarifies. "You're good at dancing, but you love teaching. You're a
natural. I was watching you pretty much the whole time… you looked really
happy."

"They're great girls." She straightens up and looks at him. "What are you
implying? I don't want to be a teacher. I could never stand in a classroom – "

"No. I didn't mean that. I meant… teaching dance. Taking over for Esme, or
something. I mean, since she's leaving you the business and everything."

"She… she what?" She's completely blindsided. "Did she say that? When?"

"Oh… um. Maybe I wasn't –"

"Tell me what she said!"

"Relax, Bella. She just said that she made up her will a couple years ago, and she
left this to you. She didn't tell you?"

"No! I'm going to –"

He grabs her wrist. "Don't. If you get mad at her about it, I think it may… really
upset her. She looked really excited. I guess I wasn't supposed to say anything.
I'm sorry. Just let her tell you, okay?"

She shakes her head. "She made her will? I don't… I hate that. I understand the
practicality, but I can't imagine a world without her." She shakes her head. "She's
healthy, though, so – "

"So was I."

Bella whirls around. "What?"

He's pursing his lips. His eyes are closed. He has 'I said too much' written all over
him. "I'm just saying… disease and… and death don't just happen to unhealthy
people."

She stares at him until he looks away.

"So… are you going to dance for me?"

She scoffs. "I'm not a stripper."

He laughs. "Such a shame." He dodges a slap. "Those pink shoes hanging out of
your bag… the ballerina shoes. You didn't use them today."

She glances at her bag. Her pointe shoes are hanging out by the ribbons. "I don't
teach pointe right now. No one signed up for the class this go-around."

"So why the shoes?"

She shrugs. "I like carrying them with me. Pointe was the first thing I really
excelled at in dancing. It's easy to be a good dancer, but it's hard to be great. I
was great."

He looks at her shoes, and then at her. "Show me."

She shakes her head. "No way. So you can just ogle me like a weirdo?"

"There will be no ogling." He holds up his hands. "I promise. Just admiration of
the arts."

"That's the biggest load of – "

He puts his hands on her face. They're clammy and rough, but it's him, and he's
touching her. "Please."

She's weak. So weak. She sighs and goes over to her bag, untying her shoes
from the handles. She slides on the toe pads and slips her feet in the familiar
warmth of her pointe shoes. She ties up her ribbons quickly, aware of his eyes
following every loop. She walks on the flat bottoms of the shoes over to the CD
player and changes it to the second CD. It's the one with generic classical ballet
music – Tchaikovsky, Debussy and the like.

She settles into first position as the CD cranks up, and then lifts onto her toes.
What comes out of the speakers is anything but classical music – it's a loud,
raunchy R&B song. It must be from the adult hip-hop class, but surprisingly, her
feet are carrying her.

She loses everything in her steps. She's not in the studio, and Edward is not in
front of her. She's in some sort of place where time doesn't exist, only beats and
rhythm and harmony and motion. Her hips twist as her toes point and kick, and
it's this strange mix of sultry, suggestive swaying and classical pointe. She twirls
with a long, elegant neck, and then bends into a move that Esme would be
horrified to see. It's not the best dance in the world – it's choppy and strange and

doesn't flow at all but it's coming from some strange, deep place inside of her
and she's exhausted and crying and passionate and alive, so so so alive –

The music stops, and she drops to the floor. It's like she's been through an
exorcism, and everything in her life has been sucked through the smallest hole in
her body and then stuffed back in the biggest void in her life – her heart. It's so
full and beating and Edward is there, crawling towards her.

She locks eyes with him, and he looks as flushed as she. He takes her foot into
his hands and unties the ribbons around her ankle. He does the same to the other
foot, rubbing her bloody toes – she was dancing that hard. He crawls up her
body, kissing her right thigh, right where – oh my god, right where –

And then she can't make any connections to dreams because the most integral
connection is happening in her present. He bends down when his body is over
hers completely and kisses her without any words.

He kisses her so, so sweetly. His kisses are his words, the words he doesn't have
and the words he's unable to say. She meets him in the middle. She doesn't let
him give more than he gets. She's never kissed like this, with the tongue and the
teeth and the panting and the embarrassing noises and bodily reactions and the
grinding and her hands crawling up his thin t-shirt.

Her fingers scoot along his spine, each knob a speed bump in her path. He stops
kissing her at once and draws back, shoving his baseball cap firmly onto his head.

"Don't – don't touch me like – "

"Sorry." She doesn't know what she's apologizing for.

"I don't – you can't… Bella, it's not fair. It's not."

"It's okay." She tugs on his arms, and he comes back to her. They're kissing
again, and his whole body is pressed against her, and he's hard, and she's
desirous and dizzy and wants everything. She doesn't know if it's the dancing or
if it's him, but she's full of so much… so much… she doesn't know. There's no
name for this, the soft lips and the wetness of his tongue and the bite of his teeth
and the hard, hard, hard part of him, pressing up against her.

He backs away again, but it's slow, and it's okay. They need to breathe.

"Shit," he breathes, scrubbing his face with his hands. "I'm sorry."

She's still lying flat on her back, turned on and completely out of her mind. "For
what?"

"I don't know."

She sits up slowly, and then it's her turn to crawl over to him. She brushes her
shoes out of the way, and then puts her hand to his face.

"Why are you sorry?" she repeats.

He looks at her. "I'm not." He goes to kiss her, but the brim of his cap knocks
into her forehead.

"Ow," she cries, rubbing the spot. "Why do you wear that stupid thing, anyway?"

It's a rhetorical question. She's not expecting him to answer, and she's definitely
not expecting him to rip the hat off his head. But he does.

He's not bald. But it's weird. He has a short growth of hair, like a military buzz
cut. But some parts are longer than others. And it's… it's…

"Fucking red," he grumbles, running his hand over it. "My hair is growing back in
red."

"It's not red," she insists. "It's like…"

"Red," he says flatly. "I'm a ginger."

"No. Like… copper. Like a penny." She touches it. It's fuzzy in some places, and
spiky in others. "I like it."

"It used to be brown. Dark brown, I guess." He shoves his cap back on his head.
"It's like a guessing game, when you lose your hair. How it will grow back. Really
entertaining."

"Where did it go?"

"It fell out."

"Why?"

He laughs, but he's not amused. "Can't you guess?"

A throat clears. They both spring apart, and Esme is smiling at them. "I'm
leaving. I don't want to lock you two in here – let's go."

Bella stands up quickly and offers Edward a hand. He takes it, groaning as he lifts
his body.

xXxXx

He doesn't call the rest of the weekend. She wonders if she blew it. She wonders
if he thinks he blew it. She wonders if she should call him. She almost does
several times, but stops when she remembers the silent ride home. It wasn't
comfortable silence, like before. Instead, it stretched between them like a chasm,
empty and bottomless.

She's confused by it all, and she doesn't get any answers. She's surprised when
she sees him Tuesday evening when she walks into their mutual class.

He's sitting in his seat, head in his hand. His cap is pushed up, the brim visible
from the back. She sets down her things quietly and sits down even more quietly.
She takes out her phone and gets onto Facebook and scrolls through status
updates so she doesn't have to look at him.

The class starts without a word between them, and an hour stretches into two
before the professor lets them on break.

They have their cigarettes, but he still doesn't say a word. She's getting pretty
pissed, but at this point… if he's going to be like this, then fuck him. She has
nothing to say to him, anyway.

The last hour of class drags, and when the professor dismisses them, she already
has her things. She's out the door quickly, cursing quietly to herself. Damn him…
no, fuck him. Fuck him for all the passion, all the excitement he brought to her
life and fuck him for thinking he can just take it all away.

"Bella." It's him, somewhat close behind her. She's practically jogging through
the parking lot to get to her car and get away so she can cry without being
humiliated.

She doesn't respond. She digs her keys out of her purse and unlocks her car with
a beep.

"Bella, please." His voice is unsteady, broken, exhausted. He's panting like
keeping up with her is a huge effort. She feels awful, and that makes her even
more enraged.

"What?" She whirls on him. "What? Finally have something to say after four days
of silence?"

He looks so small, standing there. He's not small, per se. He's tall and lanky, but
something about his expression makes him seem like he's been hammered into
the ground.

"Chemo."

She stares at him. "I beg your – "

"You asked… about my hair. Chemo. It… made it fall out."

"Chemo," she repeats.

"Yeah. I… that's why I missed the few first weeks. And… that night you called me,
a couple weeks ago? When I slept through class… I took my last batch of it that
day. That morning. It… I don't know how much you know about it – "

"Hardly anything."

"Well, it's… exhausting. And… yeah."

"Edward," she whispers. "Are you sick?"

"I was," he answers. "Very sick."

"Was? You aren't anymore?"

"Not if this shitty excuse for a cure does what it's supposed to do."

"Oh." She shuffles her feet. "So, that's why you're so thin?"

"Don't remind me."

"Sorry."

"Yes. That's why. It… chemo and food are natural enemies."

"I'm… sorry." It sounds dead when she says it.

"Don't say it like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you don't care."

"Of course I – you're the one who – ooooh!" She groans and it ends on a squeak.
"I let you in. But I can't do it alone."

"It's not fair. I… I don't have any guarantees."

"I don't either. I could go walk in front of a – "

"Just stop with that horrible cliché. I have less of a guarantee than you do. That's
all I mean. So… it's up to you. I want… I want to let you in. But I'm not… I'm not
going to take you into this world of mine without your total consent. I have
baggage… a lot of it."

"I don't care."

"You don't care about my baggage?"

"What are you – stop! Just stop making it sound like I'm being an asshole. I'm
really sorry that happened to you, Edward. That's awful, and I want to know
more about it and you. But don't… don't you dare use it as an excuse to treat me
like shit."

He looks like she just punched him. "That's not what I was trying to do."

She sighs. "I'm sorry. You just… I'm being an asshole about this."

"God, no." He moves to her. He takes her hand. "You're the first person… the
only person who's kind of blinked at me about my… whatever and said, 'and?' I
mean, I know that seems like an asshole thing to someone who doesn't have…
my problem, but… to someone with… my problem, it's refreshing. Awesome.
Amazing. I don't want that excuse. I don't want to be given everything because
I'm sick. I want someone to push me and… and to make me work for it, and…"

She kisses him, and it's a different kiss from the other day. It's soft and it's shut
up. "Let me in," she whispers against his lips.

He blows out a big breath and kisses her lightly. "Okay."

xXxXx

xXxXx

Hearts Are Heavy Burdens

The phone rings while Bella is taking an online test. She glances over at the
insistent thing, buzzing irritatingly against her nightstand. She watches it until
the buzzing almost carries it off the table. She grabs it at the last minute and
puts it to her ear.

"Yes?"

"What did you choose for number six?"

"I chose… hmm… do your own work, cheater."

"That's not an option…"

"Edward. I'm not helping you."

"Can I come over?"

"Are you deaf?"

"What? Repeat that?"

"Funny."

"Please, Bella. I can't find my book anywhere, and the old asshole has the
Lockdown Browser on so I can't use trusty Google."

"It's a timed test. I only have a few more questions to go."

"I can pause it now and be over in twenty."

Bella thinks and gnaws on her thumbnail. It's ten o'clock on a Wednesday night.
She hasn't brushed her teeth in about twelve hours and has a sheen on her face
from the makeup she hasn't freshened in about as long.

"I haven't showered," she warns.

"Oh, well that changes everything."

"What?"

"Shut up. I'll be there soon."

She taps her nails against the silver keyboard of her laptop and blows out a long
breath. Everything with him has felt different and new, and this is no exception.
They've only ever hung out on weekends and coming over on a random weekday
night seems significant. Important. Huge. Scary. Wonderful. Yeah… wonderful.

Smiling, she pauses the time on her test and jumps out of bed. No time for a
shower, but there's definitely time for a toothbrush. And deodorant. And a new
shirt. And some powder to stop her horrible T-spot glow. Maybe she should just
wash her face and reapply – no. Too much effort for someone who invites
themselves over… right? Maybe she should just wash her face so he can see the
freckles he admires so much.

She deliberates for fifteen minutes while she chugs a bottle of water and watches
half of an "I Love Lucy" rerun. After wiping her face for the millionth time, she
decides to just take off the stupid makeup and stop being a psycho.

She's scrubbing her face when the doorbell rings. Cursing and choking on soapy
water, she blots at her cheeks and runs to the door. Emily is asleep, and she
doesn't want the bell to wake up her nosy roommate.

"Hi," she says, pulling open the door.

He grins at her, and then it turns into a full out laugh. "Did someone punch you in
the eye?"

"No…" She steps aside and lets him in.

He swipes under her lower lid and black mascara comes off on his thumb.

"Ugh… um… excuse me for a second." She darts back to the bathroom. It looks
like she's been crying in the rain. Great.

After she wipes it off, she goes to the living room, expecting to see him there.
"Edward?"

"In here," he calls. His voice is coming from her bedroom.

She walks in with her eyebrow raised. He's propped up on a bunch of her pillows,
lounging like a prince with his gigantic laptop resting on his knees.

"Just make yourself comfortable," she laughs, scooting up onto the bed.

He smiles at her over the top of his computer, more shy than she's ever seen
him.

Bella opens her laptop back up and loads the page. Edward has done the same,
and he's rifling through her textbook, muttering to himself. She leans back
against her headboard, her hip connecting with his bony one.

"Did you figure out number six?" she asks after a few minutes of silence.

He looks over at her and tries to peek at her screen. She moves it over and
repeats her question.

"No. It's stumping me." He pushes his laptop off his legs and rubs his eyes. "I'm
so tired. I shouldn't have waited until the last minute to do this."

"I always say that to myself, knowing I'm going to procrastinate the next time."

He yawns and takes off his ball cap. She's shocked and tries not to show it. He's
never done that so casually. He scratches his head, ruffling up the little tufts of
hair between his fingers. The cap falls to the floor, and he doesn't bend to pick it
up.

Instead, he turns to her. "Are you almost finished?"

She looks back at her screen. "Yeah. Only a couple more… so give me my book.
You've been usurping it for the past ten minutes."

"No way. I have double the questions. You can just wait."

"Excuse me," she says haughtily. "It's my book."

"Excuse me," he mocks. "I'm using it."

She crosses her arms over her chest and leans back. If he were stronger, she
would be wrestling for it right now. But she's still kind of hesitant to be too rough,
because he always seems so brittle and broken.

"That's a very pretty pout, Swan."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Pretty ineffective."

"You are such a – " He never finds out what he is to her. Instead, he finds out
what he does to her. He leans over and kisses her quickly, like he's scared and
unsure that he's able to do it. They haven't kissed since their fight in the parking
lot a week or so earlier, like they both realized they needed to back up a couple
paces and keep it more friendly and less friendly.

She's found out a lot about him in the past week or so, more than ever. He's
always very quiet, letting her do most of the revealing. But the afternoon at
Esme's and the argument after seemed to have opened him up, and he took to
heart her plea to let her in.

He's twenty-two, just like her. He likes classic muscle cars – his first car was the
same Trans-Am model used in "Smokey and the Bandit." He wrecked it two
weeks later, and his parents bought him the super-safe Volvo as punishment. His
favorite food used to be any kind of Indian food, but he hasn't been able to eat it

since he got sick. His family lives in Chicago, but he won't say much more about
them. He moved here about two months ago to live with his sister, a fashion
buyer. He got his own place about a month ago and pays for it with his savings.
He doesn't have a job because he's too exhausted to go to work and school, and
he thinks his education is more important than living like a king.

She shoves him away slightly, their lips disconnecting with a plunger noise. She
laughs, and he wipes his mouth.

"Cow mouth," he accuses.

"Book stealer."

"Bed stealer."

"This is my bed."

"Room on the bed stealer."

"This is my – "

"Done," he announces randomly, throwing the book at her. It connects with her
side.

"What is your – that hurt!"

He looks contrite. "Sorry. As I slowly gain strength back… you know. I always
forget. If I would have tried that a few months ago, it wouldn't have moved."

She rolls her eyes at him and takes her book back. He clicks his mouse a couple
times, and then closes his laptop with a huge yawn.

"What did you put for number six?" she asks.

"B."

"That's what I got." She looks over at him, and his eyes are drooping. "You look
exhausted."

He shakes his head. "I'm okay." He stretches out his legs and rises. "I'm going to
go smoke and try to wake up. Where's your balcony again?"

"Through the kitchen. It's a sliding glass door – you can't miss it."

He nods and fumbles for his cigarettes. She watches him go. He's limping again –
his whole body must be tired.

She finishes up her quiz in another ten minutes, and Edward still isn't back.
Puzzled, she creeps into the kitchen and out onto the balcony.

He's asleep in one of their plastic chairs, snoring softly. Her heart aches for him.
His cigarette is still burning, the cherry dangerously close to falling on his pant
leg.

She reaches out her hand and runs it over his shorn hair. "Edward," she
whispers.

He jolts awake, the motion causing the cherry of the cigarette to fall exactly
where she suspected it would. He curses, blowing and wiping away the ash.

"Shit, I'm sorry," he groans, standing. "I can't believe I… I should go."

"You can't drive. You fell asleep on my balcony!"

"It's fine." But his voice is weak, like he's going to fall asleep standing up.

"Don't be ridiculous," she snaps. "Our couch is really comfortable. Come on." She
leads him inside and forces him onto the couch.

"Bella, really…"

"Shut your stupid face."

It's dark in the living room, but she can hear his smile. "My face isn't stupid."

"Stupid and ugly. I can't look at you. Here." She throws a blanket in the general
direction of his head. She hears the muffled noise, knowing it connected. "Do you
need pajamas?"

"You have guy pajamas?"

"My dad left some…"

"Oh, that's a likely story."

"Shut up and go to sleep."

She finds her dad's pajama bottoms for him, but he's asleep by the time she
makes it back in the living room. She places them by the couch and kisses his
forehead, trying not to notice the medicinal smell to his skin.

When she makes it back to her room, her email icon is bouncing with one new
message. It's from her mom. Smiling and surprised, she settles down to read it.

Hi, baby –

Can't write much. We're about to leave for a weekend in Vancouver, but I was
thinking about you today. I bought the most beautiful dress for you in one of the
vintage shops I found in Portland, but you're just going to have to see your dear
mother to get it.

What do you say, darling? I know your semester is coming to a close soon, and
Christmas is right around the corner. Maybe you can spend a few weeks with us?
We're going to be at our house in Banff over the holidays… it's beautiful there.
You'd love it. Bring Emily, if you'd like. Or anyone, if you're not still friends with
her.

Send me a note to tell me if you're coming!

All my love,

Mom.

Her silly, flighty, loving mother. She used to think her mom didn't love her
because she wasn't like the moms who made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches
and kissed boo-boos. Now, she knows her mom loves her very much, but she's
just the type of woman who lacks a maternal instinct and makes up for it in
friendship and adventure.

She wakes up before she realizes she's asleep, and it's still dark. It must be the
middle of the night. Her laptop is still on her chest, and it's left a warm spot on

her skin. Her mouth tastes fuzzy so she stumbles into her bathroom and brushes
her teeth.

She's climbing back into bed when she hears the knock. Edward comes in quietly,
standing by the door. The moon pours through her window, casting him in
shadow and light. He looks ethereal and exhausted.

"I heard you up," he whispers. "I can't sleep."

She scoots over to the left side of the bed and pats the warm spot. "Come on."

He needs no further convincing. She notices that he's changed into the pajama
pants, and they hang off his hips. The drawstring is nearly screaming with no
slack.

He lifts up the side of her covers, and his cold feet brush her bare legs. They
hover at their respective edges before she moves or he moves or they meet in
the middle, but his head is suddenly against her breast and his short hair is
tickling her chin.

"I would prefer you laying on me," he says after a moment, his breath warm
against her skin. "But I know I'm not the most comfortable. All my bones… it's
like resting on stone."

She's shoving him before his speech is finished. She settles against his chest and
tells him to shut up and to remember their discovery that she fits here.

Her last memory of the night is the dampness she feels on her forehead when he
presses his cheek to it.

xXxXx

"Dude, I'm not going anywhere."

Emily is not happy when this comes out of Bella's mouth. Emily is dressed in her
club gear – tight shirt, tighter jeans and sparkles everywhere. Bella is dressed
like she's not going anywhere – massive sweatshirt, cotton shorts and a zit on
her forehead.

"Yes, you fucking are. You haven't been out with me in ages. It's a Friday night!
What else do you have to do but go out and look pretty for boys?"

Bella rolls her eyes. "I was going to catch up with the episodes of Law and Order
I TiVo'd."

"Oh, that's right," Emily says suddenly, clearly not listening to Bella. "You already
have a boy to look pretty for."

"That's right," Bella replies blandly. "So pretty."

Emily levels a stare at her, and then disappears for a few minutes. Thinking she's
won, Bella goes back to reading on the couch. She hears Emily's voice, and then
she's back in the living room, standing over the couch, Bella's phone against her
ear.

"Yeah, she totally won't go anywhere, Edward. I figure if you come along, we'll all
win. She doesn't have to sit at home and touch herself – " Bella swipes for the
phone at this, "- and neither do you. And I get my BFF just like old times."

"You stupid bitch," Bella snaps, bending over the couch to snatch the phone from
Emily's hands. "I swear to God, Emily – take no for an answer!"

Bella's extremely agitated because she know Edward will agree because he's
Edward but he's too tired and weak to go anywhere like a club where people will
be drinking and groping and dancing and she can't stand the thought of him
being anywhere like that.

But Emily doesn't know that, so Bella can't be too angry. Just… she's so fiercely
protective of Edward, who keeps trying things he's not ready for yet. The night
before he showed up at Esme's to take her to class, which left her smiling like
crazy. Until he snuck a piece of her chicken curry take out and threw up violently
until he was weak and clammy and shaking and she had to take him home,
except he wouldn't let her take him there, so she had to take him to her house
and it was just a mess. They both missed class and... and he can't go to a bar or
a club tonight because he was so sick and she can't... it hurts. It hurts so much.

"Don't listen to her. It's fine," she tells Edward. "Emily just wants… she's stupid. I
don't want to go out."

"You should go," he says after a beat. "I'm taking up all of your time. I don't want
to hurt your friendships."

"Emily is doing that well enough on her own," Bella grouses. "It's not a big deal. I
don't want to. Seriously."

"Will you go if I come along?"

"Don't." It's out of her mouth, curt and quick.

"Why not?" He sounds aggravated, like he knows exactly why not.

"Because… why don't you just come over here? You can watch TV with me."

"It's because of yesterday, isn't it?"

"No."

"At least respect me enough to be honest."

"It's not just about yesterday, Edward. It's about all the days. Don't push
yourself."

"I know my fucking limits."

"Obviously not." She's getting irritated with him. How can he just act like… it's
like now that the chemo is over, he's done with the whole thing. He smokes and
pushes himself and a lot of other things that really piss her off, but she can't call
him on it because she doesn't know if she has a place to yet.

She waits a couple seconds to speak. He hasn't replied. He's mad, she knows it.

"I'm sorry," she whispers. He doesn't respond. She pulls the phone away. That
little – he hung up on her!

She dials him back furiously. He answers on the first ring. That cocky son of a –
he was waiting for her to call back. He knew she would. She's furious.

"You can scream at me, call me names… but don't you dare hang up on me.
Ever."

"I'm not going to sit there and listen to someone… someone who has no idea
about what I've gone through – or, or… or anything! You're not my mother…
don't coddle me. Don't."

"I'm not coddling," she hisses. "I'm caring – there's a difference! Why are you so
stubborn? Why are you so – never mind. Never mind. You know what? Fine. I will
go out. Why don't you come? Be an idiot like every other guy your age."

"Bella – "

"But we're picking you up from your place. The club we're going to is on the other
side of Seattle, so it's on the way."

"You are not picking me up here."

"Then you are not coming with me, and I'm going to get really drunk and make
out with who knows what – " She's raving. She's raving and stupid and mad as
hell and saying anything she can that will upset him because she's fucking upset,
too.

He's silent, and she can almost feel the steam leaving his ears. He says his
address really quickly. "I'm not giving you directions. Enter that in on that fancy
fucking GPS of yours."

He hangs up again, but she's smiling triumphantly.

xXxXx

Several hours later, Bella is being supported as she stumbles through her front
door. Emily has one arm and Edward has the other, and they're both talking over
her head about bed and baths and Jagerbombs.

Emily lets her right arm go, and Bella falls into the foyer table. She knocks over
the bowl full of keys and coins, laughing as Emily curses at her.

"Dude… whatever." She's slurring, but she makes sense. Right?

"I'll pick this up in the morning," Emily says, rolling her eyes. She's pretty drunk
herself, but Bella is wasted. "You got her?"

"Yeah," answers Edward. "Night."

"Good luck," Emily grimaces.

"I'm thirsty," Bella whispers, totally ignoring their exchange. "Do we have any
margarita mix?"

"I don't fucking think so," he grumbles. He's been so testy with her all night and
ugh, it hurts her feelings. She kind of remembers why… kind of. It doesn't seem
important.

She pushes on his mouth with her fingers. "Smile."

He shakes his head, but one side of his lips quirks up. "You need some water."

She shakes her head. "No. That'll make me…"

"That's the point."

"Ugh. Nooooo." She tugs on him as he goes to her fridge and pulls out a bottle.
"Bed. Bed sounds goooooooood."

"Thank god," he groans. "Let's go."

He gets her to her room, and she starts undressing. Rummaging through her
drawers, she finds a big t-shirt to sleep in and turns to look at Edward.

His eyes are wide. He's staring at her legs. Her panties. Her stomach. Her breasts
that are bare save for the arm she has thrown across them. "Bella…"

She grins. "Yes?" Boys are so easy.

"You… go put some clothes on."

"I'm trying."

"Away from me."

"Why?"

"Because…" She can tell he has no good reason. "Just… go do it."

"But, Edward…" She doesn't want to get dressed. She hasn't felt this alive in her
own skin in… well, time isn't important right now. But she swears she can feel
every place his eyes drag over, like he's branding her.

She drops her arm from her breasts, but her long hair mostly hides them from his
view. Still, he can't look away. She wraps her arms around his neck, bringing her
hair high enough where her nipples are scraping against his cotton t-shirt. She
sucks in a breath. It feel so good.

"Kiss me," she pleads, her mouth so close to his.

"Please stop," he whispers.

"I really… reeeeeeally want you." She kisses him on the corner of his mouth.
"You're so beautiful – do you know that? How beautiful you are? Every bit of you.
I want to feel it. I want to taste it, smell it – "

He unlocks her death grip. "You won't be happy with me in the morning if I do
that."

Her desire turns to danger. "Fine. You probably really… you probably suck and
have a small – "

He grabs her hand and places it against his… his… she's wrong. Small is definitely
not the problem. "Now go to sleep. And put a shirt on."

"Stay?" she asks softly, her shirt going over her head.

She thinks he means to be cutting or something, but what comes out is tired and
defeated.

"Where else am I going to go?"

xXxXx

She wakes up in the morning with the worst headache ever. Oh my god – is the
sun always that bright? This is ridiculous –

She smells food. Her body doesn't like food right now. At all. Her stomach is
churning and she's running and she's puking and she's going to die.

Edward is behind her suddenly, holding her hair.

"Better out than in," he says. His voice is rough and soft at the same time.

"Go away," she moans between sessions. "You don't need to see this."

He laughs. He actually laughs. "As if I'm going to be squeamish about vomit. You
ridiculous girl."

She's wiped out when she's all done. Her whole body is sweating. Edward flushes
the toilet for her as he helps her up.

"Sorry, it's my fault," he says suddenly, looking extremely sheepish. "I made you
eggs… they always make me want to throw up, too. I don't really like them, but
my mom told me once they help with nausea."

She hugs him tightly around the middle. "Shut up. Thank you."

He hugs her back, pressing his face against her hair. "Welcome. I'll go throw
them away…"

She stops him. "I'm starving now. Nothing in the tummy." She pats her stomach.
"Did you make toast, too?"

He did. She eats her eggs on top of the toast and chugs a glass of orange juice.
He smiles at her the whole time, like watching her eat his food is the best thing
he's ever seen.

"I'm glad you stayed," she told him as she washed the pan in the sink. "Really
glad. I was awful to you on the phone yesterday."

He shakes his head, leaning against the counter next to her. "It's not your fault.
Like I told you, I'm just not used to straight talk from anyone. Even doctors. You
tell me how it is – or at least how you think it is." He grins at her. "You may not
always be right, but I appreciate your honesty either way."

She shrugs. "I shouldn't have spoken to you that way, and I'm sorry. I have a bit
of a tempter." She realizes she hasn't apologized for her temper in forever, and
that makes her smile. Something has stirred in her, making her want to feel
angry and passionate and alive.

"That's a very sincere apology, with that shit-eating grin on your face."

She clamps her lips together. "Sorry. Just… happy."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He moves her hair out of her face and kisses the side of it. "Me, too."

"So," she starts after a couple minutes of comfortable silence, "I don't really
remember last night. I remember getting to the club…"

"You started downing shots to piss me off, and it worked. You looked… not like
you. Made up and slutted up."

She crinkles her brow. "That's not nice."

"Let me tell you something, Bella. Nothing makes a guy happier than catching an
inadvertent cleavage – or even better, nipple – glimpse. So when you wear shirts
like that, where it all hangs out… totally takes the fun out of it."

She flushes. "Well, I'm just so sorry."

"Well you're just so forgiven."

"I wasn't really apologizing!"

"Good, because you're not really forgiven. Seriously. You don't have to wear that
to get my attention. Or any guy's attention for that matter. You're fucking
beautiful, okay? Right now, you're beautiful. With your vomit and eggs breath."

"That's disgusting!" She shoves him.

"With your makeup all over your face because you were too drunk to wash it off.
With your hair a rat's nest. It's just you. You're a mess sometimes, but you're
beautiful all the time so just… knock it off."

"Yeah, okay." But she's swelling on the inside. How he can insult and compliment
her at the same time is beyond her, but she loves it.

"Did I do anything else embarrassing when we got home?"

He smiles a secret smile. "Nope. Just went straight to bed. Well, you snored like
crazy, so that's pretty embarrassing."

"Whatever. At least I didn't try to seduce you. Like you could have resisted my
charms." She wiggles her eyebrows at him.

He rolls his eyes. "Oh yeah, so charming. Stumbling all around, being an
asshole... a regular beauty queen."

She grins at him. "Come here and kiss your beauty queen." She hopes he doesn't
mind the your part. But she feels like she's his, and that's what matters.

He doesn't mind. "I would love to… right after you brush your teeth."

He's such a jerk. She stomps off. He catches her arm and kisses her, bad breath
and all.

Has she mentioned how much she really likes jerks?

xXxXx

xXxXx

All the Way to the Edge of Desire

Bella has her camera positioned at Edward's face as he logs into the school
server. He's so nervous about passing his first semester after his illness, his long,
pale fingers are shaking against the keys. She knows his password and checked it
this afternoon - he got an A, two B's, and a C plus. He was hoping for all C's; he
has trouble getting his hopes up.

So she has her camera, and he's annoyed, thinking she's about to mock his
bereavement. But when this huge smile breaks out over his face, cracking all the
worry and stress cemented against his expression, she clicks left and right,
laughing with him.

"Holy fuck," he breathes, putting his hands over his face. "I think I just shit my
pants."

She snaps a picture of him side-eyeing her, and then another picture of him mid-
tackle. Her camera falls to the bed, and his lips smoosh hers.

"You knew," he whispers against her mouth, his lips brushing back and forth.

She closes her eyes and hums. It feels so good. So soft and sweet, like the echo
of a love song.

"You left me in suspense." He draws her up, off her back. He settles against the
headboard, and she plops against him, his chest against her shoulder blades.

She picks her camera back up, fiddling with the many buttons. She takes a
couple pictures of his large hand against her thigh. She loves it there so much,
and she refuses to forget what it looks like.

"I knew you'd rather figure it out yourself," she answers finally, zooming in
against the strong angle of his jaw. He clenches it, and the tendon bulges against
the fulcrum.

"Keep taking pictures like that, and you'll have an excellent career ahead of you,"
he says against her neck, his lips wet and warm.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah… the paparazzi is calling your name." He settles again, and she leans
against him fully, loving the warmth of him against her back. "I can't believe my
grades – I can't."

"We should celebrate," she remarks, setting her camera down on her nightstand.
"And you should call your parents and tell them the good news."

His smile drops into a scowl. "They didn't even want me to go to school to begin
with. That's why I moved. I had to get on with my life. They wanted me to stay
around and 'recover' – I mean, how am I going to recover if I keep acting like I'm
sick? You know?"

It's the most he's ever said about his parents, so she doesn't want to interrupt.
Still, he's asked her opinion (kind of), so she offers it. "I think there's a balance
there, one you still need to find. If you weren't aware that you're still sick, you
wouldn't push yourself so hard. You'd probably be as lazy as me."

She feels his shrug. "What grades did you get, hmmm?"

She doesn't want to tell him. "Are you hungry?"

"That's the least subtle subject change ever. Did you fail? Come on, tell me."

"I didn't fail. I did okay…" She tries to hop up. "Come on, I'm starving."

He wraps his arms completely around her. "Spill."

"All A's…" She's embarrassed by her success, because she doesn't want him to
feel like she's accomplished more by having better grades. She's just always been
a good student, and the fact that he was in school at all – that's the greatest
accomplishment in the world.

"Wow. Good job." He sounds pleased for her. "I wouldn't have gotten a B in
behavior mod had you let me copy off your answers more, though."

"Maybe if you would've spent more time studying instead of trying to pry answers
out of me…"

He grins against her hair. She can feel his lips pull up, and hers do too, like
they're magnets. "I'm happy for you… baby."

He's never used a term of endearment for her. He says it hesitantly, trying it out
on his tongue, like an expensive wine he's not sure he wants to buy. But her
heart tells her that she loves it, pounding an excited tattoo against her ribs.

He works his hands across her shoulders, and she flexes her neck against his
touch. She loves his attention and flourishes under any of it. He smoothes his
hands down her bare arms and tickles her stomach.

"You know what's weird?" he whispers after a moment of dragging his blunt nails
across her thighs.

"What?" Her skin is coming alive under his touch.

"You're hard everywhere. I mean… you're soft. Your skin is so soft, but
underneath that, it's all hard. You're all… every time you move, I can feel the
muscles it shifts."

She breathes with him for a few moments, just enjoying his scratchy nails and
warm palms. Then she grabs a hold of his hands, and says, "There's a part of me
that isn't hard."

He breathes out slowly. "Where?"

She slides his hands up her thighs, her torso, and onto her breasts. His hands
flex around the weight, and she kisses his neck, and her breath is damp on his
skin, and he's squeezing and panting and she's on fire.

He's had her flat on her back in this bed, grinding against her until she was sore.
He's skimmed the underside of her bra, and she's rubbed against his erections,
but they haven't gone this far. She doesn't know if it's the 'baby' or the pride or
the fact that she feels like they're finally official after months of dancing around
it, but she's ridiculously turned on by him and his breath and kisses and sounds.

His hands sneak under her shirt, and his fingers are on her bare skin, twisting the
pink peak and making her pant against his chin. She bites him, and he pinches,
and she's hot and squirming and wet and wants those fingers everywhere.

Keeping one hand firmly grasping the tight nipple, he scoots the other under her
yoga pants. She arches her hips to meet him, and he's not subtle. He doesn't
waste any time, and she loves it, how he can tell she wants the feeling now. He
slides a long finger inside and groans against her ear, and she rotates her hips
against every pull and push of his digit. He pulls out and uses her wetness to rub
her in tight little circles, all the while plucking at her nipple, and she's there,
there, there –

He latches onto her neck and sucks as she comes, writhing and twitching and
trying not to make too much noise. She turns immediately to repay the favor, but
he bats her hand away. Before she has time to be offended, she's flat on her
back, and his face is between her legs, and his tongue and lips are stimulating
the over-stimulated.

"Ah, ah, ah – Edward," she hisses, grabbing his hair to push him away or maybe
pull him closer. Her thighs twitch with every pass of his tongue, and it's so hot,
and she's so out of it, and she can't think, just feel, and even that is difficult, with
all the – the –

It takes her forever to come this time, like her body is exhausted from the first
unexpected rupture. When she does, she presses his face close to her, and it's
slow waves, warm in her belly, like whiskey by a fire. She hums quietly, and he
scoots his wet lips against her skin, and she's reminded of her bloody dream, but
this is so much better.

He wipes his wet mouth against her rumpled, tattered shirt, making her laugh.
He rests his whole body on top of her and kisses her, and she tastes herself and
his gum and cigarettes and the combination of them makes tears come to her
eyes, like the end of a Disney movie.

"That was unexpected," he murmurs, still kissing her lips.

"Edward, I want – " She reaches down towards his buckle. She doesn't want to
come again, but she wants to feel his weight in her hand, the taste inside her
mouth, the push inside of her body.

"It's not really – " He sighs and backs away. She straightens her shirt and pulls
her pants back up. "The drugs – the chemo. They kind of… wreak havoc on
everything. Including my little swimmers. And I… well – " He goes onto explain
how his sperm just isn't healthy, and if they accidentally conceive it could be
disastrous, and that he's lucky to even get erections in the first place. "It renders
a lot of men impotent, but…" He grins. He's such an attractive combination of
boyish charm and destroyed man, she wants to hold him and blurt four letter
words that could mean trouble.

"So what does that mean… as far as our sex life?" She blushes. "Well… future sex
life. That is, assuming – I mean. I don't know…"

"Are you asking me out?"

"Don't be mean, Edward."

"I'm not. I thought a lot of that stuff was implied. Well, all of it. Sorry, I… the
term girlfriend really grates on my nerves. Sounds so high school prom, you
know?"

"Yeah." But she thinks it would sound like an honor to be called his. "I… never
mind. My mom… she invited me to Banff. Have you been?"

"No. Where is that?"

"Canada. Alberta… um, near Calgary. It's beautiful. They have a home there.
They want me to come for Christmas."

He nods. She watches the loneliness creep into his eyes, like a recurring
nightmare. "Oh. Cool. That'll be fun."

"I want you to come."

"What?"

"Actually… you're coming. I already know you're not going home. And you owe
me after what happened on Thanksgiving."

He scowls. "Bella, I've said I'm sorry – "

"Yelling at me for inviting you to Thanksgiving dinner in Forks… accusing me of
making you into a charity case – "

"Do we have to do this again? I got you flowers."

He did. He pulled them out of the flowerpot on her neighbor's sill. They still
smelled like earth. But she had forgiven him anyway and took his plea to not let
him push her away to heart.

"No. We don't. All I'm saying is that you owe me for ruining my Thanksgiving. I
told mom I was bringing Emily, but she's actually going home for once. I have an
extra plane ticket, so… you're coming."

"I can't afford – "

"When did I say you have to pay? You don't. Trust me, my mom loves wasting
money. She's exceedingly generous. Anyway, my whole point is… was…
whatever, that I don't know what to tell her you are."

"Tell her I'm a human."

"Don't be a jerk."

"I'm not. What do you want me to say, Bella?"

"Are you my boyfriend?"

"Is it that important to you?"

She wants to cry for some reason. "Is it not important to you?"

"I could take or leave the title."

"Get out. Just go away." She turns away from him, feeling ridiculous. She feels
younger than him for being so upset about it, but older than him for realizing the
importance of being able to call someone hers.

"No. Stop. Bella…" He shakes her shoulder. "Come on. I don't understand. We're
adults here – you know how I feel about you."

"I really don't," she bites. Maybe she does, but she wants to hear it. He's taken
and given, but she wants the middle part, too, where he doesn't have to do a
thing, and she'll still want to be with him.

"Bella… look, this is hard for me. I know I should be a lot more in touch with my
emotions because of the whole death thing, but I – "

"Never mind. I'd hate to make you uncomfortable." She's being such a brat, but
does he not get that it hurts?

He takes a hold of her face and kisses her until she's clinging to him, her legs
wrapped around his waist. His lips are so smooth and soft and insistent and want
things from her that she can't stop giving.

"You're… really important to me," he says finally, brushing his nose against hers.
"It scares the shit out of me to care about someone this much, and to…
assumedly, make someone care about me, too. I don't have any guarantees. I've
told you that. My life is literally a time bomb. Do you understand that?"

She does, but she doesn't. Right now, he's warm and alive and earnest and
beautiful. She can't imagine the disease slamming into him, and then having to
see him cold and broken with the flat heart line and the – no, no, no.

"I understand," she whispers against his cheek. "But do you? The cancer is just a
part of you. It's weird - sometimes you act like it's not even there, but then you
get mad when I do the same. What do you want? You're asking me that, right?
Well, I'm asking you. My friends are important to me, but I don't want to be with
them. They're just my friends who are important."

"I want to be with you," he tells her. "I want to do all the stupid stuff that means
we're together, like eat in public, hold hands in public, and do dirty stuff in
private. And then wake up and still like each other and want to do it all over
again the next day. That's what I want. I want you."

"I just like knowing where I belong," she says after a moment of smiles and
kisses. "I want to know if I belong where you are, Edward."

He sighs. "You belong here. I want you here, and I want to be where you are, all
the time. You're my first thought in the morning, and my last thought is either
being glad I'm next to you, or wishing I was." He draws his thumb down her
cheek. "For someone who just came twice thanks to me, you are sure
demanding."

"You got a B in behavior mod because of me. I let you use my book, remember?
Pay back."

"That's right…" He settles against her chest.

"I have one more request," she states after a few quiet minutes.

"Of course you do."

"I want to see where you live."

xXxXx

It's a fight. A big one. But an hour later, Edward is silent in the car on the way
there. Bella is a bit triumphant, but trying not to show it. The only time she's
even glanced at his place was the night they went to the bar, but she had been a
little tipsy at the time, and not really paying attention.

But he's so been so fiercely adamant about not seeing it, her curiosity is running
overtime. So she might have done mean girl tricks like cry a bit and the silent
treatment, but it worked in the long run, so whatever.

"Edward…"

He sighs. "What, Bella? What else could I possibly do for you? I spill my heart
out, and then show you the land of my poorness. What more do you desire?"

"I just wanted to know if you could turn up the heater. I'm freezing." She really
is. It's December, and the heater is barely on the first notch.

"No. You better get used to it." His hands clench around the steering wheel.

"What?"

"I can't afford to keep the heat on for very long. So, it's a million layers of clothes
and coffee. Still wanna come?"

She crosses her arms. "Yeah, I wanna come."

"Are you sure? I'll just bet you've never been cold in your entire life."

"You don't know anything, Edward. Anything. Before my parents divorced, we
were extremely poor. My dad wasn't Chief; he was just a new officer on the force.
My mom substitute taught sometimes, but in a small town like Forks, the
teachers basically have to die or retire before you can get a job. So we were
poor. Mom made this thing… she called it 'beef stew', and I never really
understood why, no matter how many spoonfuls, I never got the beef. You know
what it was? Carrots, boiling water, and a couple beef bullion cubes. And a lot of
saltine crackers." She's not ashamed of the memory. She's proud of her parents
for always having food on the table, and always making sure she was fed first.

She thinks Edward must have been her opposite: a spoiled rich boy, and now a
sour poor man. Instead of being grateful for what he has, he's upset about what
he doesn't.

"I didn't know," he says quietly after a minute.

"Obviously. Oh, and Ramen. It's still ridiculously cheap, but back then, it was like
ten cents a pack. Sometimes, mom would sprinkle a little garlic salt in it, to give
it a bit more flavor. But that was pretty much the extent of our luxuries for years.
I guess mom got fed up and left… I mean, not just because we were poor. She
and my dad – such different people. And not good different, not opposites attract
different. Like, I'm making your life frickin' miserable different. So, she left… I
didn't understand for a long time, but I do now. And ironically, after she left,
since Charlie was feeding one less person, things got easier. He kept getting
promoted, and stuff evened out. Esme had always given me free dance lessons,
and that continued… so things were okay. I'm not trying to give you a lecture.
I'm just saying don't act like I couldn't possibly understand."

He's quiet for a long time, but his hand sneaks across the console to hold hers.
She squeezes his fingers and he sighs in a way that asks, how can things get
better than this?

xXxXx

It's in a low-income area, one that houses mainly families. It's not covered in
graffiti or broken couches, and it's not even dirty. It's just distinctly plain and old-
looking. The stairs they climb to his apartment are cement and cracked, and his
front door needs paint, badly.

So, she's thinking it's not nearly as bad as Edward makes it out to be. She thinks
he's just being a drama queen. But when he pushes open the door, she can't help
but let her mouth drop a bit.

It's one room. There is no furniture except a mattress in the middle of the room,
with a space heater next to it. There are a few overturned crates that have
mismatched dishes with remnants of food on the surface, and a threadbare sheet
covering the bathroom area.

And it's freezing. Her teeth chatter nearly right away, and Edward curses and
goes to a box stacked against the wall. He pulls out a t-shirt, a sweatshirt and a
big parka.

"Arms up," he tells her.

She thrusts her arms in the air, and he puts each layer over her body,
apologizing the whole time. She refuses to punk out and act like it bothers her.
But in actuality, his apartment is the saddest thing she's ever seen. Not because
of his obvious income problem, but because she has to think of him here, night
after night, sick and shivering.

"If you caught a cold here… Edward." She's done some research on chemo, and
his type of cancer, which he revealed to be leukemia a few weeks back. "I know
your immune system is stronger – but when you first moved here…"

"I was with Alice when I was extremely sick. She took care of me."

"Except that one night you missed class – "

"It's in the past, Bella. I don't have a choice."

She sighs and moves to the kitchen area. He has several orange packages of
chicken Ramen stacked against the mini-fridge, along with a couple things of
instant grits, coffee grounds, and a flat two-liter of grocery store brand coke.

"Stay with me," she blurts. She's embarrassed about saying it, and she knows
how he feels about charity, but she can't let him do this – be poor and hungry
and freezing when he doesn't have to be.

"I'm fine here."

"Which is why you spend all of your time at my apartment."

He makes a disgusted noise. "Because you're there. Not because of your heat or
light or cooking – "

"At least for the winter. You said it yourself – whenever you wake up without me,
go to sleep without me… it sucks. I feel the same way."

"We've only been dating for – "

"Two hours?"

"Hilarious. A couple months. We'll drive each other insane."

"Maybe. But this – this will drive me more insane. Knowing what you're coming
back to. It's not that it's beneath me to let you live here – it's not about your
favorite buzzword, charity. It's about – "

"I don't even have a job. I can't pay you, and I'm not living with you if I can't pay
you."

"Orgasms are as good as gold."

He laughs, but scowls like he's mad about it. "No."

"Edward – "

She doesn't really know if she believes in fate, but at that moment, it steps in.
Her phone buzzes against her, and when she answers, it's Esme.

She's ranting in broken English and French, and Bella has to tell her to slow down
before she can understand a word her godmother is saying.

"It's Jack," Esme says finally, sounding mad as hell. "The plumbing backed up,
and I don't want to even attempt to try, I'll make it worse – that lousy
maintenance worker just up and quit! Just like that!"

Bella is trying not to smile – when Esme is really upset, her 'th' sounds become a
'z'.

"What's the problem?" asks Edward, sitting down with a huff on his mattress. It
groans under his weight.

"Esme's maintenance worker – I'm not allowed to call him a janitor, she says it's
uncouth – just quit on her after the plumbing backed up."

"Just tell her to get a snake and – "

"A snake?" Bella cries, and Esme echoes her sentiment.

"It's a long cord – you can use it to unclog drains…" He looks embarrassed. "My
first job was a plumber's assistant… weird, right?"

"So… you know what to do?" Bella asks.

"Yeah…"

"Esme," says Bella, all business now. "Did you say you need a new maintenance
man?"

"Oui, that imbecile just quit on me!"

Bella smiles at Edward. He sighs in defeat, nodding.

"Okay."

"Esme? I think I found you a handyman," laughs Bella. She hangs up the phone
and grabs Edward around the middle. He's looking at her with this strange mix of
awe and annoyance.

"You don't give up, do you?"

"Edward, Edward…" She kisses him, and it's difficult to do so, because the parka
she has on is so fluffy. "You can't always get what you wa-want…" She starts
singing an old Stones song, and he covers his ears, groaning.

"Can it, Swan."

"But sometimes… what you need finds you." She grins at him, and he smiles
back.

It's the best victory she's ever had.

xXxXx

xXxXx

Don't Waste Another Day

Edward on a plane is amusing, to say the least. Bella allows him to act unafraid
because she thinks this is how he copes – outside calm, internal freaking the fuck
out – and if he needs to do this, she's not going to be the bitch that calls him out.
Still, his flared nostrils and volume-cranked iPod are strong indicators, and she

has to stifle a laugh every time his hand twitches against her thigh due to some
sort of turbulence.

When the pilot finally announces they are preparing to land, Edward's weight
sags. His whole body just collapses in relief, and Bella's laugh escapes her before
she can smother it.

"Something funny?" he gripes.

"Oh, no… nope. Nothing funny." She turns away, fiddling with her carry on. The
smirk on her face keeps growing into a smile until she can suppress it back down
into a straight face.

He pokes her in the cheek. "Something is funny. Are you laughing at me?"

She slides her laptop into her carry on and zips it shut. "No… well, yeah. Why
didn't you tell me you're afraid of flying?"

"I'm not!"

"Yeah, okay. We could have driven. It would have taken half a day, but whatever
– you should have spoken up!"

He shrugs. "I'm not afraid. It just makes me nervous… plus, we watched that
stupid movie last night – "

"Which one?"

"With the aliens causing all that weird shit to happen – "

"Knowing? With Nicholas Cage?"

"Yeah, that one. With the plane crash… all the burning bodies, I don't know –
stop laughing!"

"I'm not. You're just… very cute." She pats his head.

"Oh yeah?" He grabs her wrist. Yanking her to him, he plants a big kiss on her
lips. She's really getting into it when the plane makes a noticeable dip.

He whimpers. Whimpers.

She pulls back, laughter bursting out of her. "Just nervous, huh? Really,
seriously, honestly. Next time, we can drive."

"You already had the tickets. I didn't want to make my… uh, nervousness into
something that was going to inconvenience your mom before I even met her."

"Um… about that. Yeah, I didn't have the tickets already. I just kind of
anticipated your argument and lied because I really wanted you to come."

He blinks at her. "You are such a bitch." But he sounds a bit impressed.

She pats his head again. This time, he lets her.

They land safely at Calgary International Airport. All their luggage is intact, and
not even thirty minutes later, they're driving in the direction of Banff in the
rented Chevy Trailblazer her mom secured for them.

Snow is falling lightly against the windshield, and Christmas music is playing out
of the radio. It's a peaceful moment, and Bella's smile isn't due to mirth – it's
complete and total contentment.

It's about an hour and a half drive to Banff from Calgary International, but it's a
gorgeous ride. Snowcapped mountains and rolling hills line the TransCanada
Highway.

"Look," Bella whispers at one point. "See that slide looking thing off in the
distance?"

Edward tears his eyes away from the road. "Yeah. That's awesome."

"The 1988 Winter Olympics were in Calgary… isn't that cool?"

He smiles at her. "Pretty cool, ma'am. Have you been here before?"

Bella nods. "A few times. Mom and Phil have a house here, and they love to come
at Christmas. Mom says she's pretty sure the downtown area of Banff is actually
the North Pole."

He taps the wheel with his thumbs. "Bella, I… I'm really glad to be here. I don't
think I've said thanks, and you've had to drag me kicking and screaming. And I
guess that's really dumb because I would be ridiculously depressed back at your
– "

"Our," she corrects.

"Our," he says awkwardly, "apartment, alone. I mean… I guess I would go see
my sister, but she has a kid, and she's planning her wedding… and we're not
really speaking. She's really mad at me for moving out."

She has a lot to say on that subject, but she doesn't want to ruin his expression
of gratitude with a lecture. "It wouldn't be the same without you here… which is
cheesy, but it's true. The whole time, I wouldn't be enjoying the season and all
the blessings surrounding it. I'd be wishing I was with you, and hoping that you
were warm and safe. Here, I can make sure you eat and sleep and… well. I'm just
glad you're here, too."

The rest of their drive is mostly silent, but Edward keeps his thumbs moving
against her knuckles. They pull up to the house, and he lets out a huge breath.

The house is beautiful – a two-story cabin-like home, with snow on the roof and
Christmas lights strung around everything standing still. The door opens
suddenly, and Bella's mother runs out, nearly falling in the ice.

"Oh, Mom," Bella laughs, going to open the car door.

Edward is still. "What if she hates me?"

"Renee doesn't hate anyone. She'll love you. Come on. I'm sure Tanya will have a
meal on the table for us. Aren't you hungry?"

"Who's Tanya?"

"Um… Phil and Mom's live-in maid, cook and… well, she does everything domestic
that my mom can't. She's like everyone's favorite aunt, okay?"

"Okay."

"Edward. This is going to be great. You're not going to want to leave."

He nods, and then climbs out of the car slowly. She worries about him tripping on
ice, but she's been trying to convince herself lately that he isn't fragile. The
everyday workout of cleaning up Esme's mess at the studio has given him
stamina, and he's not a toddler. He knows his own limitations… kind of. And she
knows he doesn't want to appear fragile in front of her family, but –

Her thoughts are cut off by her exuberant mother grabbing her in an icy hug.
"Oh, Bella, Bella!" She rocks Bella back and forth in her arms, pressing her mouth
against Bella's hair. "I missed you so much, my girl."

Tears creep up behind Bella's eyelids. She had missed her mom, too – and just
like a lot of things in life, she didn't realize exactly how much until just this
moment.

Edward is standing awkwardly behind Renee, his hands shoved in his pockets. He
has a half-smile on his face, and she wonders what he's thinking, and if he's
missing his own family.

"Mom," Bella says, pulling back. "I want you to meet Edward."

Renee turns on a dime. "You are the most handsome – Bella, look at him. He's so
handsome."

"Yes, he is." Bella starts grabbing bags out of the car, watching Edward hold out
his hand.

"It's so nice to meet you, Mrs. Dwyer."

"Edward, if we're going to get along, you're going to need to lose the stick up
your ass."

Bella laughs loudly, hoping the sound is muffled by the car between them.

"It's Renee, and I don't shake hands. I hug. Now come over here." She grabs
Edward into a huge hug. "It's so good to finally meet you."

Bella watches Edward's reaction to the hug. He looks shocked, and then his eyes
close, and he seems to take in a big breath. It's like… all mothers seem to just
smell like moms, whether it be their perfume, makeup, or a special type of
enzyme they all secrete. But nothing is more comforting than the smell of a mom
when she's got you wrapped up in her arms, even if she isn't your own.

"Edward, come help me," Bella calls after Renee releases him with a pat on the
cheek. "No, Mom – you go back inside. No, we don't need Tanya's help! It's
freezing out here."

As Edward grabs a couple bags from Bella's hands, she can't help but whisper a
smug, "told you."

xXxXx

Phil and Edward hit it off immediately. Fifteen minutes into dinner, Bella and her
mom are rolling their eyes at each other. They both love baseball and share a
strong distaste for the Washington Nationals, who won the World Series this past
October. Edward grew up in Chicago, and he's a huge White Sox fan. Phil is from
Arizona, so he's all over the Diamondbacks.

"The ump was so biased. It pissed me off," Edward rants, taking a huge bite of
Tanya's homemade mac-n-cheese. "Did you see that one steal, where he took off
from the bag before the pitcher even released the ball? Made me fu- um, really
sick. Just… disgusting."

Phil is in total agreement, so Bella turns to her mom. "So, what did you have
planned for us to do?"

Her mom shrugs, taking a sip of her wine. "I thought we'd play it by ear, day-to-
day. Shopping on Banff Avenue, maybe go see the glaciers in Jasper Park. Um,
on Christmas, we're going to Norquay, as usual. Maybe go back to Calgary and
see some sites there, has Edward ever been?"

Bella shakes her head. "No, he hasn't. I was thinking of us going into the city one
day, checking out Glenbow museum, eating dinner at Calgary Tower – "

"Oh, definitely," her mom agrees. "I was thinking we could all go to the Banff
Springs Hotel for a night, just because it's so beautiful. Maybe the twenty-third?"

Bella sips her own wine, nodding. "I want him to have good experience. I've seen
it all before, but…"

"Yeah," says Renee. "It's a whole different experience, watching it through
someone else's eyes. How's Esme, by the way? I talked to her yesterday, and she
was crowing about how she's going to miss you and Edward."

"She's good," Bella answers, smiling. "Crazy as ever. Edward works for her, too,
now."

"Dance instructor?" Renee questions, surprised. "Edward, I didn't know you could
dance."

"I can't," laughs Edward. "I'm a glorified janitor. I needed a job… and well, she's
more than generous with how much she pays me."

Renee nods. "We all have to start somewhere, yeah? Bella used to eat Ramen for
dinner every night… and well, you know how she lives now."

"Like a little princess," Edward agrees.

"Okay, okay… this is not rag on Bella time." She takes a big bite of her salad.
"And don't worry, Edward… I can teach you how to dance."

"Oh yeah?" asks Edward, skeptical.

"Oh yeah," Bella says, smugly. "It's all in the leading."

xXxXx

Edward is completely shocked to learn that they're sharing a bedroom.

"We're adults," Bella reminds him, speaking slowly. "They're completely aware
that we live together."

"Yeah, but…"

"There are two other bedrooms to choose from if it bothers you that much."

"Bella," he grouses. "Of course it doesn't bother me. I sleep so much better when
you're there. You know that. It's just… it seems… improper, I guess."

"Because it's my mom's house?"

"Yeah. When Alice brought home her fiancé, they had to sleep in separate rooms.
My dad wouldn't hear of it."

Bella laughs, tying her hair back. "I'm pretty sure that has more to do with Alice
being his daughter. He'd probably clap you on the back."

He looks winded by this revelation. Shaking his head, he groans, "Even still…"

She unbuttons her jeans and drops them to her ankles. She steps out of them,
completely aware of his eyes on her legs. She wanders over to her suitcase and
pulls out her pajama bottoms.

"Well, maybe it's okay," Edward decides, a typical male reaction. He drops his
own pants, and she smiles at his thin legs, covered in wiry hair.

When she comes back into the room after brushing her teeth, he's already under
the covers. She scoots in, and he grabs for her, bringing her next to his body.

"Edward?"

"Mmm?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Mmm-hmmm."

"You said your dad wouldn't allow those things. What about your mom?"

He's silent for a while, running his fingers down her spine. "I have no idea where
my mom is. My parents are divorced."

She's floored. "But – you never told me!"

"There's a lot I haven't told you."

She's weary. "Yeah. I'm starting to see that. Sometimes, I swear I know you so
well – that I can read your every thought. But then I realize I don't know a thing
about who you were, just who you are."

"Who I was and who I am have no bearing on each other."

"That's such bullshit. Who you are depends on who you were. You can't just
forget the past – because if you do, you're doing it for a reason, and so who you
were still relies on who you are."

"I was a healthy white boy from a wealthy part of Chicago. Now I'm a sick white
boy who has to live with his girlfriend so he doesn't freeze to death. Happy?"

"Do you really think sarcasm is getting us anywhere?"

"That's not sarcasm. It's all true."

"As is most sarcasm. Stop it. It's not fair. If you don't want me to know you, after
all these months, what am I supposed to do? The mysterious thing was kind of
sexy for a while, but now it's just annoying."

He rolls onto his back, detaching himself from her. "What do you want to know?
My mom left my dad when I was fifteen, to chase the drug dealer she loved so
much. We had no idea – my dad included – that she was using again, and… you

know, doing her drug dealer because my dad couldn't trust her with money, so
she had nothing to sell but her plastic surgery'd up body… just, stop it, Bella. It's
– I don't want to think about it anymore."

"Please," she whispers, running her hands over his shoulders.

"When I got sick, she never came to the hospital. Not that I – I mean, I don't
want to sound like, oh I'm so pitiful. But – I mean, my own mom. I was dying,
and she… whatever. After I got better, my dad refused to put me back in school.
He and I got in this huge fight, and I left one night, even though I was still in the
middle of my outpatient treatments. I just hopped a plane and showed up at
Alice's doorstep." He rubs at his eyes. "My dad transferred all of my paperwork to
Seattle so I could continue my outpatient treatment at the hospital there. I lived
in Alice's apartment at that time. As soon as my treatments were done, I moved
out, into the apartment you saw. And that's the story."

She deflects the subject a bit, because his posture is like ice. She can tell he's
done talking about that, at least for now. "Do you have any siblings besides
Alice?"

"A younger brother, Emmett. He's the opposite of me in every way."

"Yeah?" She smiles, resting her head on his chest.

He shifts and wraps an arm around her. "Yeah. Loud, rambunctious, but oddly
charming. He has no subtlety. And he's an amazing athlete. I was a bit of an…
outcast, I guess. In high school. He's a senior this year, and he's the life of the
school."

"An outcast, huh?" She can't imagine anyone as handsome as Edward being an
outcast.

"Oh yeah. I never relate well to people my age, so I really kept to myself."

"Never?" She pinches him.

"It got better as I got older… plus, you're really hot. That makes it easier to relate
to you. We're on the same level of hotness."

"You're such an idiot!" She shoves him.

He falls asleep shortly after, but she's still wide awake. It's only an hour time
difference, and the plane ride was relatively short, so there's no jetlag involved.
Her mind is just whirling, so she gets out of bed.

She stands by the window, watching the snow fall on the sill. She can vaguely
make out the dips and rises of mountains in the distance, and she hangs onto the
curtain, suddenly overwhelmed. Is this what it means to live in the moment? To
not be thinking of the next minute, hour, day, year, and to just be happy to be
standing there, alive, with someone you care about and might love snoring softly
in the background?

She realizes that she's been living like her next second is guaranteed. She's not
in a car or a plane or walking through traffic, so it's likely she'll live to see the
next minute, but the thought suddenly frightens her. What if, while she and
Edward are driving somewhere tomorrow, completely ignorant of their imminent
deaths around the bend, they swerve to miss a deer and end their lives? What if
he goes out with Phil to get some milk and never comes back? What if –

What if she stops thinking about what if's and makes them into right now's? She
turns from the window and watches Edward's chest rise and fall. Then she moves
into action. Going over to Edward's suitcase, she rummages through it until she
finds a box. She opens this box, grabs out what she needs, and throws it on the
nightstand next to his side.

Then she straddles him.

He wakes up. He barely gets out a 'what the fu-' before she's kissing him. She
wraps her arms around his neck, and his hands find purchase on her hips. She
grinds down into him, and he hisses against her throat.

"What are you doing?" he asks breathlessly.

"Living in the moment," she answers.

"What… what's this moment we're living in?" He watches her strip off her shirt,
dazed.

"Sex."

"Sex? Bella, we can't without - "

She throws the condom she got out of his bag in his general direction. "Edward, I
want you. I've wanted you for ages. What if you die tomorrow and I never – "

"I'm not sick anymore," he protests, but wiggles out of his pajama bottoms.

"I don't mean like that, I mean like – in a freak accident, or a brain aneurysm,
something no one can see coming, and I never got to – we never got to – "

"If you're telling me that one of your biggest life regrets, if I die, is not being able
to fuck me, I might marry you."

"Later. First, let's just…"

He rolls her onto her back, pulling her pajama pants off of her legs. He peels off
her underwear and finds her with his fingers, kissing her wildly, hotly, with more
breath than lips. She wraps her arms around his back and moves her hips in time
to his circles, and soon she's arching off the bed, shuddering against his chest.

They both reach for the condom, knocking their heads together as they do so.
They laugh, and he fumbles with the thing, trying to figure out which side is the
'roll down'. He finally gets it, and she watches him as he rolls it on.

She tips her head, taking him in, balancing with his cock in one hand, and the
other on her hip. He's still thin, but he's recently started working out a bit, so his
muscles are easily seen without any fat as a barrier. He's… sinewy, corded, and
delicious. And the thing in his hand, that he's about to stick in her, is nothing to
sneeze at either.

He presses forward, and then falls on his forearms when the tip of him is easing
in. She lifts her hips and wraps her legs around him. They both make a keening
noise as he slides into her, his forehead against her neck. She can feel his breath
on her skin, his fingers bruising her hips, and then him, all of him, inside her.

"I… uh," he whispers, shifting his hips, making her groan. "This is… going to be
quick."

"That's okay," she answers, shoving her heel into his back. "Just… move."

He moves, hesitant at first, like he's getting back into something he only just
remembers how to do. She reaches up her lips and kisses him, and that seems to
make him stop thinking and he just…

Feels really, really good. She's liked sex in the past, loved it sometimes, but it's
like – this time, her whole body is open to him, not just her lady bits. Her heart is
there, and her mouth is there, and her eyes are there, all open, all watching him,
waiting, as he thrusts against her, and she realizes it's not about the sex but the
person, and she could have been just talking to him right now and it still would
have been a worthy moment.

But really, she has just wanted him for ages, and then she realizes she's thinking
and not enjoying, when he's doing enjoyable things, like pressing his thumb
against her clit, timing the ticks with his thrusts, and even though she's not going
to come this quickly, it feels so good.

She draws him back down to her and kisses him again. She loves kissing him like
this, all connected to him, trapping his breath inside her body while the rest of
him traps her.

Then he stops being about the journey and starts going towards the destination.
She can feel the tensing of muscles in his back, and she whispers how good he
feels, because most guys seem to like that when they're coming. He yanks back
from her suddenly, and she cries out at the sudden suction, then the loss.

He jacks himself off once, twice, three times before he comes into the condom,
groaning and shaking. He falls back onto his ass and sighs, his head ducked, chin
against chest.

She's a bit confused by the sudden departure. "What…"

"I just – I'm nervous about coming in you, even with a condom. You know, my
sperm - it... like I told you, it may not be okay. I should... go get that checked
out, before anything... else," he says, panting. "Excuse me for a second."

He walks to their adjoining bathroom. She hears the toilet flush, and she stares
at the ceiling, wondering if you should plan for things after all, rather than just
taking them in the moment you deem them correct.

He crawls back in bed, and she doesn't move. She's kind of frozen – where's the
balance, she wonders? The balance between give and take, and living day to day
and seizing the moment? She thinks she was wrong in this. He wasn't ready. He
wasn't ready at all, but he's a man who cares about her, and she was naked, and
he was going to do it once he saw her willingness.

She rolls into him. "I'm sorry," she whispers against his arm.

He's warm. He kisses her forehead, letting her know that he's thinking, but not
mad. She lets him have his silence, since she didn't give him much choice in
anything else.

"I'm glad you want me," he says finally, after a few minutes of trailing his
fingernails down her arm. "I want you, too. That was… it was something,
something really good. Like, something great for us is on the horizon. And I'm
not saying that first times have to be candles and rose petals, but maybe they
shouldn't be because of misguided philosophical musings."

"Yeah," she murmurs. "Still… you felt awesome."

He grins at her. "It's been a while for me. I'm glad."

"Since before you got sick."

"Yeah. I had a girlfriend back in Chicago when I got sick. Nothing serious… and
she bolted when she heard the news. I can't blame her. I wouldn't want to
casually date chemo-cock either."

"Chemo-cock," she snorts. "That's awful. What a skank."

"Oh yeah, total skank. Anyway, she was the last one."

"And now me," she smiles. "Sorry… I'm sorry. I really…"

"Don't be sorry. I was… I mean, I was there, too. In fact, I did all the work – "

"Shut up!"

"So you can't take all the blame. Just… let's… figure this stuff out together, okay?
I'm not… really in a position where you can make sudden executive decisions like
that. And well, I don't think anyone should be making executive decisions
anyway. So… let's just…"

"I get it," she says. "I'm sorry – "

"Stop apologizing, Bella." He rolls her onto her back and rests his weight against
her. He's got her pinned to the bed, but it's not sexual. It's just comfort. It's
perfect. "I really like you… a lot. I care about you. You're beautiful, so, so
beautiful. It's not like it was a chore. Things are just… different with me."

She kisses him softly, listening to the sounds their mouths make together.
"Yeah… they really are," she whispers.

xXxXx

Another Chance to Live

"He's just wonderful, isn't he?"

Bella looks over her shoulder to where her mom is sitting at the table, sipping a
mug of hot chocolate.

"Who's wonderful?" she asks, going back to kneading dough.

"Your Edward," Renee answers, standing up. She plays with Bella's tangled hair,
twisting it up in a knot and securing it with a chip bag clip that was lying on the
counter.

Bella's Edward is currently passed out cold on the couch, a knit blanket up to his
nose. His snores are almost louder than the Christmas music playing in the
background, and it makes her smile. She knows she won't always find Edward
snoring in his sleep endearing, so she enjoys the cute snuffles while she can.

"He's exhausted," Bella says quietly, grabbing a rolling pin to flatten the dough. "I
don't think he's ever done so much physical activity in his life."

"Well, it's Christmas Eve," Renee says after a moment. "He can rest all he likes.
He can't sleep there, though – how will Santa sneak in the presents?"

Bella rolls her eyes. Her mom has never let go of the 'Santa' thing. "I'm sure
Santa will just have to tell Edward to get his tired butt out of the living room."

"Santa isn't rude, Bella!"

Bella laughs loudly, which stirs Edward. He grunts and rolls over, his face getting
pressed into the back of the couch. The blanket falls to the floor, and before Bella
realizes it, her feet are carrying her across the open space to the living room
area.

She picks up the blanket and tucks it back around him. He makes a blind grab for
it, but snatches Bella's hand instead. He pulls her to him, crushing her against his
back.

She takes her hand back and smoothes the blanket over him. He sighs, and she
can't keep the grin from splitting her face. Her happiness in him is pure and
uninterrupted. He's a bit of a jerk sometimes, but –

Her thoughts are cut off by her phone ringing. She takes it out of her pocket and
stares at the unfamiliar number – it's not a Washington area code, and it's
getting kind of late. Still, she picks it up, curious.

"Hello?"

"Hello, is this Bella?" It's a male voice, deep, with a somewhat familiar accent she
can't place.

"Yes, it is."

"I'm very sorry to interrupt you, but I'm looking for Edward Cullen."

She sits down hard on the edge of the couch. "May I ask who's calling?"

"This is Carlisle Cullen, Edward's father."

She falls off the couch in an undignified pile. "Oh dear."

"Yes. I'm very, very sorry for this. My daughter, Alice, gave me this number to
contact Edward. She said his cell phone doesn't have an international plan, and
he'd be in Canada for the holidays. I understand you're his girlfriend."

"Yes, I am. I'm sorry, sir – you've caught me by total surprise."

"It's no trouble. I know it's late, but it's Christmas Eve. I'd like to talk to my son
and wish him a Merry Christmas."

"Of course. Hold on, he's sleeping. I'll… wake him up."

"Thank you very much, Bella."

She puts the phone down on the hardwood floor and stares at Edward for a few
seconds. She doesn't want to upset him, but – no, he needs to talk to his father.
She doesn't care if it upsets him. This has gone on for too long.

"Edward," she whispers in his ear. She shakes him a bit.

He spins around, groaning. His eyes blink in the dim light of the candelabras.
"Hey, sorry I passed out. What time is it?" He tips his face for a kiss.

She gives him a quick one. "It's about nine. Listen, there's…" She picks up her
phone. "There's a phone call for you."

He takes it gingerly, looking at her with unease. "Who is it?"

She chews on her lips. "I – just… just answer it."

He keeps his eyes on her when he answers. "Hello?" He listens to his father
speak, and his eyes droop immediately. She thinks he needs some privacy, so
she squeezes his thigh and goes to rejoin her mom in the kitchen.

Edward shoots his hand out. "Stay," he mouths.

So she does. She curls up next to him, listening to the muffled sound of Carlisle
Cullen talking to his son for the first time in months, she presumes. Edward
doesn't talk much. He asks about Emmett and tells his dad that he misses them,
too. It chokes her up, and she has to hide her girly tears in his shoulder so he
won't see.

"Merry Christmas, Dad," he says finally. He listens for a few more seconds.
"Maybe we will. That's… a long way off. I know, but I'm okay. You don't have to
count down the seconds anymore. I realize that I could – Dad, knock it off. I've
been to my regular monthly check ups, and they told me… a second opinion?
That's ridiculous. I need another doctor to tell me that I'm free of cancer cells
right now? They told me not to come back for another three months after this last
one, and then if I'm good, it's six months, and so on – you know this, so what in
the hell – I'll use that language if you deserve that language! See, Dad? This is
exactly why – yeah, Merry Christmas to you, too, asshole!"

He throws the phone across the room. Luckily, it bounces off a beanbag chair in
front of the TV.

"Oh, shit, Bella! I'm sorry – I didn't think." He moves to get up, but she pats his
shoulder.

"I'll get it. No big deal. Wanna come help me with the bread?"

He eyes her suspiciously. Sure, her tone is too casual, but she's pretty sure he'd
rather die than talk about what just transpired.

She's wrong. "Bella, come here."

She goes back over to him, tucking herself into his side. "Yes?"

"I really appreciate how you walk on eggshells for me sometimes. Well… that
sounds really fucked up. I mean, I appreciate how you don't force me to talk
about things if I don't want to. That's great. But I won't talk about some things,
things I maybe should, unless I'm forced. You know what I'm saying?"

"I don't want to pry – "

He shrugs. "I've been thinking a lot about what you said the first night we got
here, about how you know me sometimes, but don't other times. It really bugged
me."

She nods. "Yeah, it bugs me, too."

He blows out a breath. "Well, I didn't really realize what I was doing, you know?
The push away and then the tugging back. Maybe it wasn't that dramatic, but I
was definitely keeping you at arm's length, while you gave and give everything.
Which is… shitty."

"It didn't feel that awful. You don't have to beat yourself up – "

"See, Bella? This is exactly what I mean. It's great that you don't automatically
think the worst of me, but sometimes, I do fuck up. I mean, you call me on a lot
of shit, but not the personal stuff, and I don't want you to grow to resent me for
being a closed book. So…"

"I get what you're saying. I just…" Then an idea comes to her. "Come into the
kitchen, okay? I just made dough… I was going to turn it into bread, but how
does pizza sound?"

After setting the pizza in the oven, she takes peppermint Schnapps out of the
liquor cabinet. Her mom has long since gone to bed, and even though she's legal,
it still feels dangerous, taking shots with her parents (and makeshift parents)
upstairs.

She offers a shot to Edward, who shakes his head at her, looking very amused.

"Are you trying to get drunk off peppermint Schnapps?"

"No," she protests. "Just… getting into the holiday spirit."

"I think your pretty red sweater is festive enough," he divulges. "With your green
tights – you look like a walking advertisement."

"They're leggings," she protests, pouring herself a shot. "Well – here's to a Merry
Christmas."

"I'm going to laugh my ass off if you're hung over tomorrow."

"I'm not getting drunk!" She tosses back the shot, wincing at the strong taste.
"Unghhhhh, ew. Ewwwww."

Edward is making a face with her. "God, I almost felt that. That's disgusting."

She shakily pours another one. "I feel like I could breathe fire." She knocks back
this one, and it's smoother this time.

Edward takes away the Schnapps bottle. "If you're going to get drunk in front of
me – again – at least drink something respectable where I can get some sort of
vicarious enjoyment out of it. You're just giving me heartburn with that shit."

"Fine, master." She opens the liquor cabinet. "I'll do anything… but brandy. I hate
brandy."

He picks up the bottle of brandy. "If I had you do a shot of this ten-year-old
beauty, you'd fall over dead." He sets it back down and grabs a small vile of
tequila. "This will do nicely."

"I can't drink tequila!"

"Why not?"

Well, thirty minutes later, she's done with the tequila. She's pretty tipsy and
keeps telling Edward this is the best pizza ever. She wanted it out of a box, so
they found an old cardboard thing to set the pizza in. He agrees when she swears
it tastes better that way, but she thinks he gave in because she was annoying the
crap out of him.

They move into the living room. Edward sits on the couch, but Bella goes to the
Christmas tree. Rummaging under it, she pulls out a present.

"This is one of your presents," she says. She thinks she's slurring a bit, but
maybe not. "I really want you to open it now."

"Why?" he asks, taking the brightly colored package from her hands.

"Well… it's not really that emotionally significant, but I've been so excited to give
it to you – I guess the buzzed side of me can't wait any longer."

He laughs at her. "Yeah, you're buzzed all right." He shakes the package. "You
sure it's okay to open this? This isn't going to be a morning regret, is it?"

She shoves him slightly. "Shut up and open it."

He does, his fingers peeling away layers of wrappings and tape. She picks up a
piece of pizza, chewing happily as he busts the box open to reveal the innards.

"Oh, geez, Bella…" He pulls out a White Sox baseball cap, with his last name
embroidered in the back. "Holy shit, this is awesome."

"Yeah?" She's grinning so big.

"Yeah – my other one was falling apart. Half the reason why I stopped wearing it,
really."

"I thought you stopped because your hair is growing back."

He touches the almost inch-long hair on his head. "No, I just… that cap was
starting to make my head smell. I usually wouldn't care, but you…"

"You didn't want stinky hair because of me? Oh, Edward, so romantic."

"Shut up." He shoves the hat on his head. "It's a perfect fit – how did you know?"

"I stole the measurements off your stinky hat." She runs her fingers across his
cheek. "It looks great. Plus, it hides all that ugly red hair."

He pinches her. "It's bronze."

She shrieks with laughter. "Oh, is it now? I clearly remember you calling yourself
a ginger. Now it's bronze."

"Fine – I'll just shave my head."

"No, you won't," she giggles, grabbing another slice. "I think you're a little vain,
Edward Cullen."

"Yeah," he agrees dryly. "Death has no power upon my beauty."

She sighs. "So morbid." She snuggles into his chest, and he wraps his arms
around her tightly. "I have an idea."

"I'm sure you do."

"Let's play the question game."

"That's always a good idea when drunk."

"No, seriously. It's just about honesty. I ask you a question, and you have to
answer it honestly. Then vice versa. You can say pass, but only once."

"I think I'm going to regret this, but okay."

She sits back, crossing her arms daintily. "You can start."

"Okay." He rubs his chin thoughtfully. "When did you lose your virginity?"

"About a week ago…" she whispers.

He nearly falls off the couch. "WHAT?"

She nearly falls off the couch, too, but for a different reason. "Just kidding. That
was mean, sorry. You asked for it."

"Oh my god." He feels his heart. "Don't… that's not… Jesus Christ…"

"Okay, okay. Um… I was seventeen? Prom night."

He laughs. "Really?"

She shrugs. "I lived in a small town – I probably lived up to every stereotype
there ever was about that. The first time I got drunk was in a barn."

"Wow."

"Yup. Okay, my turn. Same question."

"About a week ago…"

"Funny."

"I was fifteen. I was drunk. I was on a toilet seat."

"Oh my god, what?"

"Yeah, I was at a party, and this girl and I are fooling around. She sits me down
on the toilet – yes, the lid was closed – and starts, you know… so my pants are
off, and it really seemed like a good idea at the time. I at least had the sense
enough to find a condom in the medicine cabinet."

Bella shakes her head. "I swear to god, the difference between a girl's first time
and a guy's is so different. Girls are like, 'as romantic as possible.' Guys are like,
'as soon as possible.'"

The questions remain lighthearted for a while – first drunken experience, first
kiss, favorite food, first car. But it's hard not to delve deeper, Bella thinks,
knowing that she has the perfect opportunity to find out things she's always
wanted to know and has been too sober to ask.

He goes to grab a piece of piece of pizza – it's the last piece. She snatches the
piece of pizza from his hands at the last second. She's full to the highest
extreme, but she loves irritating him. She can barely swallow her first bite, but
his scowl is worth it.

"It's your turn," he reminds her. He lies back against the couch and runs his
hands over his face, bumping the brim of his ball cap.

She swallows the tepid pizza and hands him the rest. He shakes his head at it, so
she throws the half-eaten slice back into the empty box.

"Were you scared?" she asks quietly, looking at her chewed fingernails.

She can feel his eyes on her, but she refuses to look. She doesn't want to know if
he's lying or not when he answers.

"Nah," he says finally, grinning at her from between his fingers. They are still
rubbing his face, so she knows he is lying without even having to look.

"No?" she asks anyway, letting him lie if he wants to.

"Nah," he repeats. "What was there to be scared of? If I lived, I got to live. If I
died, I got to hang out with God. Or not feel anything at all. At that point – it was
a pretty attractive option."

"That's awful," she scolds. She kicks at him a little, but her heart isn't really in it.
She understands as much as she can without actually being empathetic. She
doesn't know, but she knows what he's told her. That's horrifying enough.
Sometimes, though, she thinks she'll never know him, despite everything. He's
dark, with his humor and his laughter and his stupid jokes about morbid things
that aren't funny.

"Yeah, it was," he responds finally. "No, Bella. I wasn't scared. But I think…"

"You think what?"

"That if I would have known you then… yeah, I would've been fucking terrified."

She cocks her head at him. He's good at saying things he means. He doesn't say
much, but when he does, she listens with all of her heart.

"I guess that answers my next question," she says, scratching at a scab on her
knee.

"That's not fair – it's my turn to ask."

"Whatever. I thought of my next question. I wasn't going to ask it – "

"You might as well. You're ruining the spirit of the game with your preemptive
question thinking – "

"I was going to ask you if you loved me." She rushes it out, afraid it'll disappear if
she takes too long. "And I'm just saying, that it sounds like… it sounds like you
do."

He shifts and sits up. He doesn't respond. He scratches his head and rubs his
eyebrows. She's embarrassed. She's really embarrassed.

"I guess… if that's what you think," he starts after a minute. "I guess… you would
know better than I do."

It's not a yes. But she wasn't expecting one. She doesn't expect anything from
him, so when she gets a little, it makes her happy. Even if it shouldn't.

"That's what I think," she repeats.

"Then, yeah… maybe, I do."

She nods, her heart pounding out of her chest. Can he hear it? It's so loud. She
crawls over to him. He cups her face in his large hands and kisses her soundly.
It's sweet and it's soft and it rots the marrow in her bones and leaves her useless
against him.

"I didn't think anyone would ever want to love me," he whispers against her
cheek. "The disease – it's not pretty. A relapse could happen any day. Any time.

Right now, there could be cancer cells reforming. Love isn't easy to begin with,
but when you put this into the equation, it can be impossible."

She shakes her head and kisses him again. She feels so fragile, like the air
around them is going to shatter if she breathes too loudly. He groans quietly
against her lips.

"This is going to sound cheesy… but it was never an option for me," she says
quietly. "I knew, going into this, that I would love you. That you would change
my life. That you would teach me."

"What could I teach you, Bella? You have everything at your fingertips. You're
beautiful, healthy, really fucking intelligent. You're so… talented, with dancing
and cooking and photography… and with people. You're gentle. You can handle
anyone. Me, Emily, your mom – we're all different people, totally different. But
you care for each of us, and never try to change us. You just – you just care.
What can I teach you?"

She kisses him again because she can, because she's so overwhelmed with this
moment. "You teach me why all of that is important."

xXxXx

"There's no way I'm stepping out on that thing," Edward tells her.

Bella turns on the spot. "Come on, you big baby. It's not going to give." She
jumps up and down to make a point.

He looks green. "Get back here right now."

She rolls her eyes at him. "Leukemia, no problem. Heights? Acts like a giant
toddler."

"I prefer my death to be dignified – as in, I don't want to be splattered all over
downtown Calgary."

"I'm pretty sure no one has died by observation deck."

"Get. Your. Ass. Back. Over. Here." He yanks her arm and walks them briskly
away from the glass floor of the Calgary Tower.

She laughs the whole way. "I'm telling everyone what a big chicken you are.
Bawk bawk bawk – "

"So cute, Swan. All dressed up for dinner, bawking like a chicken."

"So cute, Cullen. All dressed up like a man, crying like a baby."

He opens his mouth to protest, but she kisses him instead. "I'm just kidding."

"You've unmanned me," he grumbles.

She rolls her eyes, straightening his dinner jacket. She gave it to him last night, a
present from Renee and Phil. He balked at first, but she explained that they were
going to a somewhat fancy restaurant tonight, and he would need more than just
the jeans and t-shirts. Well, he was still in jeans and a t-shirt, but the dinner
jacket dressed him up beautifully.

She feels pride in being on his arm. She's never really felt that before. She
doesn't feel jealous or spiteful when women cast Edward admiring glances. She

knows she deserves the place right next to him. She is his person, and vice
versa. They belong to each other, and that's that.

They are seated at a table, and a wine list is placed in front of them by a
simpering server. The Calgary Tower restaurant rotates slowly, so the diners can
enjoy a different view every time they look up. The setting sun over the
mountains and the laughter of patrons with their clinking glasses set the
backdrop.

It's lovely.

And boring.

She feels this rush under her skin, like if she doesn't do something to save herself
quickly, she's never going to get out from under the water. She loves her mom
dearly, but Renee Dwyer lives for these social niceties. Bella abhors them, rebels
against them – any day of the week, she'd rather be in her pajamas, eating some
sort of fattening homemade meal. She's not going to just conform… she feels
ridiculous, because she's done this a million times, but right now, she wants to
break free. Do something on impulse.

She asks her mom and Phil to excuse her, takes Edward's hand and pulls him
with her.

"Where are we going?" he asks, tripping over his feet to keep up.

"The bathroom."

"I don't need to – "

She shoves him into the woman's restroom. "I cannot stand the uppity society
that congregates here. And you're really, really gorgeous. I want to make out,
right now."

His eyes bug out, but she pulls him by the lapels into a stall.

Five minutes later, her legs are wrapped around his waist, and he's slamming her
into the wall. His mouth is attached to her neck, and she's grinding against his
hips. She's pretty sure there's someone in the next stall who is very offended, but
she's way past caring. She's got him so worked up, and she's drunk off the power
and his lips and his fingers, pinching her nipple underneath her expensive silk
dress.

"You drive me insane," he whispers into her ear, his breath hot against her.

There's a sharp rap against the stall. Bella drops to the ground and opens the
door to find a very displeased security guard staring at them.

Ten minutes later, they're walking the busy streets of downtown, towards A&W.
She texts her mom to let her know what happened – they were kicked out – but
she can barely stop laughing to breathe. They look ridiculous when they stroll into
the fast food restaurant, dressed in their eveningwear.

"So, recap," Edward says, leaning against the counter as they wait for their food.
"I was invited to a fancy meal, but my girlfriend couldn't keep her hands off of
me, so now I'm reduced to eating chicken strips at a fast food joint with a boner."

"Don't forget the lecture the security guard gave you," Bella reminds him, licking
ketchup off her finger. Getting the ketchup out of the little dispenser always
makes a mess.

"Oh, right. He would never believe it was your fault – that you were the one
molesting me."

"You are bigger and stronger," she points out helpfully.

He shakes his head disapprovingly. It would pack more of a punch if he could
keep the grin off his face. "You're really proud of yourself, aren't you?"

Bella kicks off her heels when they sit down at a greasy booth. She dunks her
chicken into the honey mustard and takes a big, fatty bite. "Why wouldn't I be?"

He opens his mouth to retort, but then shuts it with a snap. He grabs her feet
and places them in his lap, tickling her toes a bit. "You're exactly right. You
should be very proud of yourself."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. That big grin on your face? That's called happiness, Bella. That's called
living."

She shakes her head at him. She loves when he teaches her lessons she knows
he had to learn the hard way. "Are you living?"

He stuffs a bunch of fries in his mouth. "I'm finally alive."

The identical big grin on his face says so much more than he could ever
articulate, but she understands perfectly.

xXxXx

xXxXx

To Make You Feel My Love

The door slams, and Bella looks up, startled. Edward is standing against it, his
back leaning against the wood.

"What are you doing?" She puts her book down, dog-earing her page. Spinning
her chair to face him, she raises her eyebrows. "Is your shift over?"

He nods. "Yeah. I've been elbows deep in toilets all morning." He wiggles his
fingers at her.

She wrinkles her nose. "Um, so… don't touch me?"

He walks across the tiny office in Esme's studio, takes her face in his hands, and
kisses her soundly. "Not an option."

She hums. "Well, I hope you washed your hands, at least." She tugs at his belt
loop and brings him forward for another kiss. He turns the slow kisses into
stinging smacks on her face and lips, and she laughs and shoves at him. "Go
away!"

He looks wounded, and she'd almost believe it if he would stop smiling.
"Whatever you wish, princess."

"Don't call me that!"

"I guess it's good I didn't actually mean it, then." He pulls her leotard strap back.
"I'm just going to head…"

"Home?" she offers when he stutters over the word.

"Yeah," he grins. "I'm still not used to calling it that."

She raises her chin up and plants a kiss on his collarbone. "Well, it's home. Get
used to it."

He tugs her hair and takes his leave. She picks her book back up, trying to get
lost in the world of Abnormal Psychology – a class they're taking together this
semester, which just started a few days prior. She can't get back into personality
disorders, so she stuffs the thick textbook into her bag and goes to the main floor
to stretch.

The big recital for all the students of Esme's is coming up in a couple months.
Usually, all of the instructors – there are three others, besides Bella – do a
number at the very end, to kind of showcase the talent of what the little dancers
could become to the parents and audience members. Bella usually hates it, but
she's kind of looking forward to it this year, and it may have something to do with
the auburn-haired boy that just left, and his promise to be there.

xXxXx

When she walks into her apartment a few hours later, the sight she's confronted
with is the last thing she's ever expected to see.

Edward is standing in the living room, embracing a dark-haired woman. Edward
isn't a hugger, so it's all the more strange and upsetting.

"Hello?" she says rudely, dropping her bag on the hardwood floor.

They break apart quickly, both of them obviously startled. She crosses her arms
over her chest, staring at Edward in a way that says, 'you have a bunch of
explaining to do.'

But as soon as the girl turns, she relaxes. She's the girl version of Edward
through-and-through, the only difference being the black of her hair.

"Hi," the woman says, moving towards Bella. Her hair is short, close-cropped to
her head. "I'm Alice. You must be Bella."

Bella shakes the woman's hand. Everything about her is tiny. Bella isn't a tall girl,
but she has at least five inches on the small creature.

"Sorry to barge in like this," she continues, moving back to her brother. "I
couldn't get a hold of Edward – "

"My phone's dead," he cuts in.

" – and I needed to speak with him. He gave me your address a couple weeks
ago, saying he was subleasing the shithole he used to live in – "

"Alice."

" – so I just stopped by." She shrugs. "I should probably get going. Edward said
you two have class later."

"We do," agrees Bella. "But not for a couple hours. I was going to make some
dinner… would you like to stay?" She wants to know more about Edward's family.
Besides the terse phone call from Edward's father, she's never met anyone of his
own blood.

Alice smiles, but it doesn't meet her eyes. If Bella can assign one word to her, it's
disapproving. Everything Alice looks at, says, or even the thoughts she's thinking
– she has blatant disapproval laced in every syllable.

"That's really nice of you, Bella, but I should get home. I have mouths to feed,
too."

"Okay," Bella nods. "But feel free to come by any time. I didn't mean to snap. I
was just startled."

Alice waves off their concerns. Bella feels like she should say something else, but
she's horrible at small talk.

"Smoke break?" Edward asks, breaking up the awkward silence.

"Sure," Bella says, relieved to have something to go do.

"You smoke, too, Bella?" Alice inquires, her voice dripping in disapproval again.

Bella bristles. She knows it's a gross habit, but she'll be damned if Edward's sister
– who apparently just showed up at her house – is going to judge her for
smoking, or anything else for that matter.

"Goodbye, Alice," Edward says firmly, dragging Bella away. She's sure he can tell
she's about to be a bitch; he's seen it plenty of times.

They hear the door close as they step out onto the balcony. Bella collapses into a
chair, pulling out her pack and lighter.

He steals her lighter from off her thigh and takes a long drag, running his hand
over his hair. It was long enough to be cut into a style, so last weekend, Bella
took Edward to some salon, where they cooed over him and gave him some sort
of messy, spiky thing. He hasn't once taken the time to actually style it, so it's
less spiky and more messy.

"Why do you smoke, Bella?" he asks after a second.

She shrugs. What is this, judge Bella day? "Emily smokes, as do a majority of my
friends. It was easier to just accept a cigarette after a while, and then I'd start
wanting one, but kept feeling bad for bumming smokes…"

"So you started buying your own, and after that, you're fucked."

She nods. "Yeah. I think I could quit any time, though. Shut up, I know everyone
says that. But I don't…. I don't, like, love it, you know? It's just something to do.
Something to do with my hands and mouth."

"I've got something else you can do with your hands and mouth…"

"Funny. Edward has jokes." She tugs on her ponytail. "Anyway, I'm sure your
sister thinks I'm an awful influence on you."

He laughs. "My sister knows I don't do anything I don't want to, trust me. She's
just really protective of me in general, I think. You're the scary girl who could
break my heart. You could leave if I got sick, and make me lose my will to live – "

"Don't ever say anything that stupid again. Losing your will to live if I left – that's
ridiculous!"

"A lot goes in to fighting for your life, Bella. Everyone can find little reasons to get
up in the morning – for the most part – but to actually sit there, know you're
dying, and try to figure out why you're battling on… it gets tedious. Lonely.
Depressing as hell. I don't know if you've noticed, but my sister sure has – you've
brought me… you've brought me to life again. That sounds so stupid – "

"No, it doesn't."

"Anyway, I guess she's just scared for the same reasons I am. You took me out
of the hole. It's like I told you a couple weeks ago – I'm living. You know? It's the
first time I can honestly look at myself in the mirror and think 'you're alive'
instead of 'you're dying.' That's… big. I'm fucking terrified that it's going to go
away." He finishes his cigarette, mashing it in the glass ashtray.

"You're scared that what's going to go away?" She's pretty sure she understands,
but he so rarely gives her a peek into his heart, she needs to push everything out
he's willing to tell her.

"You. Your love. This… us. It's turned my world upside down. Everything is going
so well – we live together, for god's sake. We carpool to class. We work at the
same place. We're constantly together, and even though sometimes I want to
strangle you – "

She makes a face at him.

" – I'm not tired of it. I want it. I'm just so afraid that it's going too well. Since
when is anything supposed to be this easy?"

"I wouldn't say it's easy," she counters, holding her hand out to him. "I would
just say it's worth it." He pulls her up easily, and she rests her head against the
chest that is getting firmer with muscle every day. "And Edward? I'm not going
anywhere. And you're not ever going to get sick again."

"Ever?" It's like no one has ever told him that before, because he sounds so
desperate to believe it.

"Never."

"Promise?"

She looks up at him. His face is cast in shadows due to the fading sun setting
between the heavy, thick trees. His hazel eyes flash yellow in the dim light, and
his mouth is nearly red from his sharp teeth worrying his fleshy lips. His hair is
turned every which way over his forehead, and his skin is so pale, she can see his
blue blood at the surface.

He's stunning, and he's hers, every scared, healing inch of him.

"I promise."

xXxXx

Emily demands her attention a couple days later. She's been pretty absent from
the apartment lately, but Bella knows not to pry with her. She's tighter than a
porthole when she doesn't want to tell a secret, even more so when pushed.

So Bella meets her for lunch downtown. Emily looks haggard, which is strange.
She's usually very put together, whereas Bella tends to be a bum.

"What's wrong?" Bella asks as soon as they sit down. She looks close to tears.

"I think I'm pregnant," Emily bursts out, garnering many looks from other
patrons.

Bella's eyes widen. "Um. Um. What? Why? I didn't even know you were sleeping
with anyone!"

"No one did," she wails miserably. "I'm so stupid, Bella! Such an idiot!"

"It's okay," Bella soothes, even though she's not sure that it is or isn't. "Let's just
eat some lunch, and then we can go get a pregnancy test and figure it out.
There's no point in not knowing, right? Then you can figure out your options from
there."

"I'm a million weeks late," Emily continues after they place their drink orders. "I
skip my period sometimes because I suck at remembering to take my pills, so I
thought that's what happened last month. But I was due for my next one two
weeks ago, and it didn't come, either. I'm in deep, Swan. I really think I am. I've
heard that women can just tell sometimes… I think I am."

"Okay," says Bella, trying to be calm. "Would your parents help out?"

Emily shrugs. "Yeah. They wouldn't be happy with me, but they love me, you
know? It would just be a huge adjustment. I'd have to move back home…" She
looks at Bella, guilt drowning her expression.

"I know." She puts her hand over Emily's. "Look, that's the last thing you should
worry about, okay? Edward and I will figure it out."

"So, he's sticking around?" Emily asks, obviously wanting to stop thinking about
her own angst.

"Well, yeah, of course."

"It's just weird, Bella. You've always been so fiercely independent, and now
you're a 'we'. You know?"

"Yeah… but it's a good thing. He makes me happy."

Their salads come, and Emily is quiet for a while. "How do you do it?" she blurts
out finally.

Bella is in the middle of chewing spinach. "Huh?"

"With Edward – he's great, don't get me wrong. A good guy. But… aren't you
constantly freaking out?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Even if he wasn't sick, he could walk out in front of a bus – " She used that
excuse on him once, and he had scoffed at her. Emily does the same.

"Don't bullshit me, Swan."

"Of course I'm scared! But it would suck – life would – being without him. Yeah, I
was fine before him. But I'm so freaking happy. I'm not going to sacrifice that
happiness for the fear."

Emily studies her silently. "You're really fucking strong, you know that? It's
almost scary."

Bella shakes her head vigorously. "No, no no no. It's not like that. I hate when
people say that. It's not strength. It's not a conscious decision to be strong for
him or us or anything. It's just – I just want him, so I'm gonna have him until I
can't. People are thrown barriers in relationships all the time, you know? This is
one of them. It's just… a thing. I don't want to be admired or anything. That's…
no."

"I freaking love you, Bella. For real. You don't want admiration or pity. What do
you want, then?"

She thinks about that for a second. "For everything to work out. To have him.
And to be happy... to not have to worry. And to not have to stare at him and
wonder if I'll be looking down at him in a hospital bed one day."

"I've been sleeping with Sam," Emily shouts out, a couple beats after Bella's
proclamation.

Bella chokes on her water. "What? Sam Uley – Leah's boyfriend?"

"Yeah," whispers Emily. "Remember when we saw him briefly that weekend we
went up to Forks?"

That had been months ago. "Yeah…"

"Well, you made all those jokes about how you think he's interested in me – "

"Don't blame me!"

"I'm not! I was just bored, so I got his number when you walked off to call
Edward, and we started texting. Well, a couple weeks later he invites me out to
La Push, to hang out. He and Leah were… are… having problems, so we got drunk
and talked about it. And well, talking led to fucking. And more fucking. And now…
we've been having an affair of sorts during his on again off again relationship with
Leah ever since."

"And now you're pregnant with his kid."

"More than likely."

"Jesus, Emily."

"Dude, I know. Trust me."

Bella doesn't know what to say, because she has no idea how she herself would
react in this situation. She just hopes someone would have solidarity for her, no
judgments, and a shoulder to cry on if necessary.

xXxXx

When Bella drags herself into the apartment several hours later, Edward is in the
kitchen, making himself grilled cheese and tomato soup.

"Want some?" he offers as a greeting.

"Yes, please," she sighs, sitting down roughly at the table.

He kisses her forehead as he puts a steaming bowl in front of her. "What's the
matter?"

She spoons some mozzarella cheese into her soup, and then swirls it around
absently. "Emily is pregnant."

"What?"

"Yeah, with this guy's baby who's practically engaged. It's a huge mess." She
takes in spoonfuls of the hot soup, knowing Edward is watching her carefully.
"She met me for lunch downtown, then we walked to the drug store and bought a
pregnancy test. She took it right there in the bathroom. I took her to see a movie
after, so she'd get her mind off of it… and now, I'm assuming she's on her way to
her baby's daddy's house."

"Well," Edward says after a few moments of slurping. "At least she's an adult.
She has options… is she keeping it?"

"Yeah," Bella nods. "At least, that's what her decision was today. I have no idea
how Sam will react and if that will sway her decision. I think she wants him to
leave his girlfriend… well, no, of course she wants that. She wants him to be in
her life, and the baby's. I feel really bad for her… but geez, I mean, she even told
me she knew she was being irresponsible with her birth control. And her family –
I mean, their genetics show how fertile they are, you know? She's one of six, and
her mom was one of ten. The egg probably swam to the sperm."

Edward laughs, choking on his soup. "Well, at least we'll never have that
problem."

"What?" Bella picks at her grilled cheese.

He looks distressed. "What do you mean, 'what'?"

"I mean, I don't understand what you're saying."

He takes a long pull from his water. "It means I hope kids aren't something you
want, because I'm most likely sterile."

She's not concerned about that at all. What's got her mind so wrapped up is his
casual reference of a future together – kids? That implies… marriage, a
mortgage? Does she want that? Can she look that far? She's shocked Edward is
looking that far in the future.

"Just tell me – your face is freaking me out," he says.

"I don't care about kids," she tells him. "It just… makes me ridiculously happy
that we're having this conversation because – "

"I'm serious about you," he cuts her off. "Bella, I love you."

He's all but said it several times. The words 'love' have been there, but not in
that format, not the three little words that, even if they're implied, mean
everything once they're finally said.

"You do?" she whispers.

"Yeah," he agrees shyly. "Why… don't you? Do you not? Am I an idiot? Should I
move out?"

"Shut up, shut up," she cries, crawling into his lap. She kisses him once, twice,
three times, and then another, because she likes it so much. His hands splay
across her back, and she's tired and sweaty and mentally drained but so alive.
His touch is electric, full of sparks that are igniting her skin. "I love you, Edward.
I love you. I swear I do."

He picks her up, and she remembers the days he could barely lift his own self
from a chair. He's so strong now, so strong and living and fluent under her busy
fingers. His shirt comes off and she flings it… somewhere. Her shirt goes too, and
then her bare back is against the cold fridge. She yelps against his lips, so he
sets her down on the counter and gets to work on her bra.

He throws it, and it lands in the cooling pot of soup. She screeches in protest –
that was her favorite! – but then his mouth is doing very nice, interesting things
against her nipples.

"Bed?" she suggests.

"Too far away," he protests. He shoves her underwear down until it's hanging off
an ankle, and then lifts her legs so she's spread wide open on the counter.

"Um… we have neighbors," she whispers.

"Then I suggest being very quiet."

Quiet? How can she be quiet with his tongue and teeth and fingers and lips and
the suction and motion and all the other things he does so well? She's had plenty
of her boyfriends go down on her before, but she thinks Edward loves it. She
thought it was a myth, guys that loves going down on girls, but apparently not.
Or maybe Edward is too good to be true, like she often thinks.

But then thinking goes out the window, because he trails a finger up her stomach
to wrap around a nipple, and his tongue is so warm, so wet, and she can almost
taste herself on his lips if she thinks about it, and his moans against her are the
most arousing thing she's ever heard.

When she comes, she bangs her head against the cabinets. It sounds like a
gunshot. Edward snickers at her, pleased with himself. She kisses his wet mouth
as he drops his pants and scoots her closer to the counter's edge.

"Where are the closest condoms?"

"Bathroom," she gasps.

"Wait… where are my pants?"

"No idea."

He spots them hanging off a lamp. He digs through his pockets for his wallet, and
then pulls out a small foil package.

"Such a boy scout." She watches him roll the condom on himself, and then she's
watching the back of her eyelids. It's unfair that anything feels this good.

She wraps her arms around his neck as the force of his thrusts scoot her across
the counter. He's keening quietly in her ear, and she's so full, fit to burst, of love
and life and goodness and him. She bites down on his shoulder and digs her feet
into the small of his back as he plants his arms down next to her sides.

They've done this a handful of times since the first night in Canada, and it's
always been sort of a need for release. But this time, it's some sort of statement.
It's like she's taking him in, his love, his flaws, his diseases and his healing, and
she's telling him she wants it all, hard, soft, rough or smooth times – it doesn't
matter.

He presses hard up against her for a couple of short, deep thrusts, and then pulls
out, pulling at his cock and groaning into her neck. She rakes her fingernails up
and down his back softly, murmuring that she loves him so much, more than he
will ever know.

xXxXx

Later in life, she commonly refers to this day as 'the day it all went to hell.' She
doesn't know if her general optimism steered her down this course, and God was
displeased with her for not being more frightened, but whatever it was, it woke
her up out of the happy dream she had been living in.

She rolls over to him that morning, her naked side pressed into his chest. He was
warm, so warm – too warm?

She looks into his face. He's sweaty, but his teeth are chattering. She presses her
palm to his cheek.

"Edward?" Her voice betrays her panic.

"I don't feel good," he whispers.

xXxXx

xXxXx

Up With Your Turret

"I should kill him," Bella sighs into the phone. "It's entirely his fault, but I can't
even be mad at him. He knows he's not well enough to do things like that… but
he doesn't care. He's always had a weak spot for that little girl, and I completely
forgot."

Renee makes a sympathetic noise. "How is he now?"

Bella settles into her couch. "Sleeping. He's exhausted. At least his fever broke. I
called his dad when he woke up sick yesterday morning, and he told me to wait
twenty-four hours to see if his fever comes down before taking him to the ER. I
called him again just now, and he told me that since the fever broke, to just keep
an eye on him, keep him filled with fluids and let him rest. I guess… well, Dr.
Cullen told me that even though he had chemo, it's been about five months – so
his immune system is somewhat back to normal. He didn't get as sick as he could
have… so I'm grateful."

"Poor boy," her mom says softly. "So, the little girl had the flu?"

"That's the only thing we can think of, Mom. He was in the bathroom cleaning,
and Kayleigh ran in there, throwing her guts up. He cleaned it up, helped her out
and sat with her for a couple hours until her parents could come get her. He said
she was shaking really bad but sweating, so he kept her wrapped up in his jacket
while feeding her ice cubes."

"The flu is really contagious even without all of his added complications," Renee
says. "I remember you having it as a little girl – it was awful. You were so sick."

"I know. He shouldn't have been around Kayleigh. I can't blame him for being
sweet to her, but – "

"Don't be too hard on him," Renee advises. "I'm sure he feels sorry for it now."

Bella takes her hair down from the ponytail, relieving tension in her head. "He
does. I haven't said anything to him. He was doing it out of the goodness of his
heart, but I'm so stressed out. It's just the flu, Mom. Yeah, the flu sucks, but he's
completely out of it."

"Just be there for him, Bella. Is his sister there?

"No. Alice is completely impossible to be around. She's a nightmare. She thinks
it's my fault he's sick, since I'm the one that got him the job."

"Edward is a grown man."

"That's what I told her. But I think she just wants it to be someone's fault, you
know? Cancer is so random, and as the mother figure in his life, I'm sure she
feels pretty helpless. If she can find blame in something, she's going to cling to
that. Especially if it's me. We don't really get along."

"Well… how's Emily doing?"

Grateful for the subject change, Bella goes where her mom leads her. "She's
okay, I think. I haven't really heard from her. She texted me yesterday morning
and said 'I told him. He freaked.' But I never texted her back because I was so
worried about Edward. I hope she's okay, but I can't concentrate on her right
now. That makes me a really shitty friend, I know."

"Not really. But maybe call Emily and tell her what's going on. She'd want to
know."

"I will."

"Bella?"

"Yeah?"

"You didn't get this strength from me, you know. I'm ridiculously proud of you
and completely in awe of you."

"Mom…"

"No, listen. When the going got tough, Renee got going." She laughs at her own
joke. "There's a lot I'd do differently, but sometimes I think if I hadn't left, maybe
you wouldn't be so strong. And your strength is one of your best qualities, even if
it's a quiet one. You don't shout from the rooftops about it. Let your mom make
some impartial observations, okay?"

"The fact that you're my mom hardly makes them impartial."

"Don't sell yourself short. You're made of tough stuff."

She hears Edward call for her down the hallway, so she jumps up. "Mom, gotta
go. I'll talk to you soon."

"Okay. You're in my thoughts, Bella."

"Thanks." She clicks off while moving down the hallway at an impressive speed.
She stops at the doorjamb. "Hey. You okay?"

Edward sits up against the pillows, holding out his cup. "I'm out."

"Dying of thirst?" She grins, teasing him.

"Maybe. Sorry. I just get lonely when you're not in here. I'm glad you had your
flu shot. Being by myself yesterday was miserable."

"That was more for your protection than mine. Your dad basically told me to stay
away, and cover my mouth whenever I walked in here."

"Yeah, well… I feel better."

"Good. Be right back." She walks to the kitchen and pours him some lemon-lime
Gatorade. Something occurs to her as she looks out onto the balcony.

"Edward?" she asks as she walks back into the room.

He quirks his eyebrow as he drinks deeply out of his glass. "What?"

"You haven't smoked in a couple days."

"Don't remind me."

"Maybe… you should make it three days, then four, five, six… every day?"

"Are you suggesting I should stop smoking, Madam Hypocrite?"

She sits down on the bed, patting his covered feet. "Well… yes. You always ask
about me smoking all the time, but you get pissed if I suggest that you should
quit. I don't get it – that's dumb. Yeah, smoking is ridiculously unhealthy for
everyone, no matter what… but you've already stared death in the face – "

" – that's a little dramatic. I just kind of… peeked at death behind my fingers – "

"Shut up. Aren't cancer and lung disease due to smoking in the top three killers
for North Americans?"

"Point?"

"You know my point."

He slumps back into the pillows like an irritable child. "I didn't smoke much
before I got sick. I was kind of like you, smoking just in a party situation, or
whatever. After I was diagnosed, it became, like… a thing. My thing. You know?
My one attachment to the normal world. Getting to go outside for a smoke was
the best part of my day. The only good part of my day. Chemo, chemo, chemo,
cigarette, visitors staring at me awkwardly, chemo, chemo, more visitors,
cigarette. The best option is obvious."

"Fine, I'll buy that. But you're not – "

"Am I not?"

"No, you're not. You're not sick."

He pointedly looks around. "Pretty sure I'm all but incapacitated due to a little flu.
I think 'sick' doesn't begin to cover it."

"Oh, so, today you want to be sick?"

"What?"

"You heard me. I'm not trying to antagonize you. I'm just trying to get a feel for
which Edward is talking to me today."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"A week ago, it was 'I'm not sick, Bella. Stop treating me like an invalid.' Now, it's
'I'm so sick that I'm going to keep smoking cigarettes and killing myself because
I'm probably going to end back up in the hospital anyway.' Wow, I wish I could
turn things to my favor like that."

"You can."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. You can turn the bitch card on and off whenever you please. Being nice
when it suits you, then being a total fucking bitch when that suits you, too. Just
like now."

"I'm a bitch because I disagree with your smoking?"

"No, because you don't know anything. You weren't there when I was sick. You
don't know how bad it was. You can mock it all you want because you see me
now, recovering. You have no fucking clue."

"I have not once mocked your illness, Edward. I've only treated it with the same
blasé attitude you have. I'm not going to cry over you if you say you're okay. On
the flipside, I'm going to be concerned if you get ill, and I'm seeing that you're
not okay. And the 'bitch' comments? Yeah, get out of my house with those."

"You're kicking me out?"

"What? Are you crazy? I'm asking you to be a little respectful of me, and not call
me a 'total fucking bitch' when I dare to challenge you. If you think that's too
hard for you, I don't know what to say. I'm sorry you're ill and scared. I care
about you, how you feel. I want to be here for you. But you take me in and then
push me away when things resemble hard times. Like my mom said earlier about
herself, when the going gets tough, Edward gets going."

He wrenches the bed sheets off his legs. "You're right about that."

She grabs his hand. "You're actually going to leave?"

"Yep." He searches for his shoes.

"You're in pajamas. You're subleasing your old apartment. Where are you going
to go?"

He looks at her for a long minute. "Alice's," he hisses, knowing that it's the
ultimate blow.

She doesn't even address that. "Sit back down. You aren't well. You're going to
kill yourself trying to drive like this. I'm sorry, okay? Let's just drop it."

"No. Fuck you." He shoots out of her bedroom, and she follows on his heels.

"Edward, stop. Jesus! What are you so mad about? I shouldn't have spoken to
you about that, I guess, but you're completely overreacting."

He grabs his keys from off the table by the door. "Oh, well in that case, I should
just go so I don't need to overreact anymore. Bye." He slams the door behind
him.

xXxXx

An hour later, she's sweating harder than she ever has in her life. She doesn't
even know if this can be classified as dancing, the pounding of her feet against
the hardwood floor and the beat of the music taking form in her blood. She can
feel Esme's concerned eyes watching the flow of her legs taking her across the
room in leaps, spins and shuffles, but if anyone, Esme understands that demons
can only be danced out.

Bella hasn't really danced for herself in ages. A dance without purpose is
something different than a choreographed routine. It comes from someplace
inside you, someplace deep, dark, frightening. The raw, skinned part of you.
Dance in pure form is an exorcism rather than an expression. It's demons and
death and the release of those things so the dancer can go on living once more.

When the music stops, she takes in a deep breath and leans against the bar.
Esme has a bottle of water in hand, and she presents it to Bella with a small
frown.

"Edward had a shift today – he called me to tell me he couldn't come in, that he
was sick. Why aren't you with him?"

Bella downs nearly half of the water in two gulps. Wiping her face, she hands the
bottle back to Esme, and bends down into a stretch. "We got in a fight."

Esme rolls her eyes. "You two are always bickering."

"It's different this time. Sometimes, he wants to be pitied. Sometimes, he wants
me to act like he's not sick. I can't keep up, so I called him out on it. He left.
Went to his sister's."

"That shrew? She is so rude."

"How do you know?"

"She came by yesterday, demanding to know why I employed a sick boy. First of
all, I said, he is not a boy. He's a man who needed a job. She said, he's only a
boy, and he doesn't know what's good for him, and neither do I. She said she
was going to get someone to check – make sure my health standards were up to
code. I laughed at her. She left."

Bella turns away so she doesn't say all the horrible things going through her
mind. "She's seriously unbalanced," she says finally.

"She was a mother, protecting her young. At least, that's the impression I got."

"She doesn't need to threaten you to do that."

Esme laughs. "Oh, hardly. She didn't look smart enough to rub two thoughts
together. To think – calling the health department on my studio! The case
wouldn't even go through. Of course Edward got sick – he took care of a sick
girl." She pats Bella's head. "Ma cherie, do you love your boy?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Do you love it like you love your dancing?"

"What do you mean?"

"Is it a passion that wanes in and out, something you only go back to when you
have nothing else?"

"No, of course not!"

"Then all will be well, I think. You told me once, when you were little, 'Esme,
nothing will ever make me happier than dancing.' Then, you grew up. You fell in
love, and that means everything. That makes you happier than you could have
ever anticipated, even if it makes you miserable sometimes."

Bella doesn't talk for a few moments, and when she does, it's in reference to
something totally different. "My passion for dancing hasn't waned. I've just been
so caught up, and now that Edward won't let me worry over him for however long
he's going to be at his sister's, I'm finally worrying about myself. The dance, it – "

" – centers you, oui. No, you do not need to explain. I am just trying to be
impartial, a Devil's Advocate. You have to know that this is what you really want.
Do you think Edward one day will wake up and feel okay about cancer? Do you
think he's going to get less stubborn?"

"I don't know."

"And does that change your mind?"

She ties up her hair into a tight knot. "I've changed my mind more times than I
can count, but my heart has remained the same. I'm in this. I can't just back out,
not now. And I don't want to. Not because he needs me, but because I need
him."

Esme kisses her cheek, and then tells her she's leaving for the day. She reminds
her to lock up, and then leaves Bella with her thoughts.

xXxXx

She's cleaning up the studio when she feels someone watching her. The
cognizance creeps down her neck like cold rain. She turns, and Edward is in the
doorway, his hands shoved in his pockets.

"Hi," he says quietly.

"Hello." She shoves the last of the mats into the closet, closing the door with a
sharp slam. "Ready to call a truce?"

His baseball cap is back on. She hasn't seen him in one since Christmas. The
sight is strange and unwelcome, although she can't figure out why.

"Come take a walk with me," he invites, nodding towards the grey skies.

She raises her eyebrows. "A walk? It's probably about to rain, and you shouldn't
be out in that."

His eyebrows draw together. He hasn't stopped looking at his shoes. "It'll only
take a second."

Crossing her arms, she asks, "You aren't about to do something really stupid, are
you?"

"Just come," he repeats, motioning with an open hand.

She grabs her things, and then follows him outside. He stands by his car, leaning
against the hood. She leans against him, wrapping her arms around his small
waist. She can hear the breath rattling in and out of his lungs. He heaves a great
sigh, and then returns the hug with a tight squeeze.

"Listen," he starts, backing her away. "I realize how selfish I've been throughout
this whole thing."

"Edward, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have – "

He holds up his hand. "You should have. You should've a million times. Or
maybe… maybe I just shouldn't have to begin with."

"What do you mean?" She wishes he would just look at her.

"This whole… Bella, it's not fair to you. You're so – you're amazing. Do you know
that?"

"No…"

"Well, you are. And it just – the fact that you said 'no', the fact that I haven't
shown you that you are, that's my fault. I don't know… I don't know what else to
do. I talked to my sister – "

"Oh, I bet that went well – "

"And she agrees with me on this. She thinks… I think, I think that it would be
better if we parted ways." He rushes on, like he has a whole speech planned. "It
was just the flu. A pretty mild case, at that. The flu. If you were with, I don't
know, someone else, someone not me – the flu would have been chicken soup
and a good night's sleep and some tissues. With me, it's life alert. That's not fair,
hanging on this edge, you with me. Like, if I let go, you're going to fall, too. I
can't bear that weight, and you shouldn't, either."

She stares at him. She stares and stares and stares. She wants to know if he
really believes what he's saying, this utter bullshit, or if he's really so down that
he feels like the only thing he can save is her from himself.

"You are so fucking stupid," she says finally. She rarely curses in situations like
these, but she can't think of anything else. 'MORON' is blinking like a vacancy
sign in front of her eyelids.

"What?"

"You. Are. So. Dumb." She turns from him, picking up her things. "Fine, try to be
without me. If you want to be self-sacrificing for no fucking reason, you go on
ahead. I'm tired of playing these games with you."

"Games?"

"Yeah, games. 'I love you, Bella. Oh wait, just kidding, let's break up. Bella, I'm
sick, take care of me. Bella, you're coddling me, leave me alone.' Finally, you
decide on something you want, and it's this! Fine. Just… fine." She walks away
from him, seething. She gets into her car, starts the engine, closes the door, and
screams.

It starts to rain. The drops against her windshield sound like bullets. Her ears are
ringing, and she's buzzing with adrenaline, fear and anger. Was she really just
broken up with? Was he testing her again? Is he ever just going to adore her
without fear, like she does him?

She watches him get into his car. He puts his seatbelt on, cranks up the ignition,
then puts his forehead against the steering wheel. His shoulders heave, and then
she's moving out of her car before she can blink. She slams the door behind her,
her mom's words about strength ringing through her.

Edward talks about strength, about holding onto the edge, about not wanting to
drop her. In reality, she's pretty sure she's the one holding onto the edge, and
him, because she knows she has to be the one to hang on right now. Even
though he thinks he's so tough, even though he thinks he can batten down the
hatches, he can't hold himself together. She loves him so much that for now,
she'll take that burden from him.

She rips open his car door. He looks up, surprised. She unbuckles his seatbelt,
moving the wet hair out of her eyes. She grabs his shoulder, wrenches him up,
slamming him against the vehicle.

"You aren't leaving me," she says low in her throat, as threatening as she's ever
been. "You're the best thing in my whole world, and even if you don't say it, I
know I'm the best thing in yours."

"Bella, I – "

"No. Look at me. Tell me, 'Bella, I'm not leaving you.'"

"Stop it."

"No! I know you don't want to leave me. I know you don't, and I don't want you
to leave me, either." It's starting to rain harder, so she tries to drag him inside.
He stays paralyzed against the car.

"I don't want to leave you," he admits finally, grabbing onto her elbows. "I'm
fucking terrified. You're all I – " He breaks off, like he's ashamed to admit it. "You
just – you have the world at your feet. And there are men out there, men who
can see how beautiful and smart you are, that would snatch you up in an instant
and give you everything I can't. A definite future, children… comfort. I've got
nothing to offer you but my run down body and the few pennies I can rub
together."

"Do you want that? Do you want me with some other man?"

"No, I – " He finally seems to realize it's raining. "I'm freezing."

She nods. "Come on."

She leads him back into the studio, telling him there should be some dry clothes
somewhere. She closes the door behind them and locks it, drawing the curtains
shut. She sheds off his sopping clothes, the cotton hitting the floor each time with
a splat.

His jeans are heavy as she rakes them down his legs, but she gets them off. She
hesitates at the elastic of his boxers, but she takes those down, too.

He stands before her, naked as the day he was born. He clenches his fists at his
sides, staring her in the eye. He's not erect, so it's nothing sexual, but it's so

beautiful. Every scar, every bruise, every protuberant rib. Every layer of muscle,
every thin piece of skin, every wiry hair.

He shivers and brings her out of her daze. She leads him into the office, where
it's always warmer. He stands awkwardly in the middle as she searches for a t-
shirt and sweats. She finds them, and a towel. As she dries him off, he leans his
head against her shoulder, letting her take the weight off his mind.

"Thinking about you with another man is one of the most awful things I can
imagine," he whispers against her wet shirt.

"You don't ever have to think about that. I'm not leaving you."

"Do you promise? Do you swear?"

"I've sworn time and again," she tells him, drawing away. "I'm not going
anywhere, Edward. I'd appreciate it if you stopped running away."

He fists his hand into her hair, right at the base of her neck. She thinks he's
going to kiss her, but he just holds her there, staring at her. She stares back,
unblinkingly, letting him see.

"I know you're scared," she says. "I am, too."

"You are?"

"Yes," she admits.

"Thank God," he breathes, releasing her. "Bella, I… that was one of my huge
problems. You never acted afraid, and I love your bravery, I really do. But you
have to be afraid of things like this. To me, you not being afraid meant you not
having a grip on reality, on what could happen. Being disillusioned, you know?
And then once something happened, you'd realize it was the real deal, and then
bolt."

She stares at him, completely winded. The unfailing strength, the constant
reassurances, the promises that everything would be okay – she thought he
needed those from her. In reality, he needed to know he wasn't alone in his fear,
and that she would be there regardless. That she was just as naked as he, in her
fear, her hopes, and her love.

"I'm terrified," she whispers.

"You should be."

"You're okay now, though."

"Yeah, I'm okay. Just a little scare."

"Just the flu?"

"Just a mild case of the flu. I guess I'm stronger than I thought." His shy smile
kills her, so she kisses his forehead, still wary of mouth-to-mouth germs.

"You hungry?" she asks, watching him put on the dry clothes.

He nods. "Yeah, starving." He scratches the back of his neck.

"I've got some chicken stock in the fridge. I'll make soup or something."

"Okay. Yeah, I'm tired. Let's… let's go home."

She feels like maybe she should say something cheesy about how she's always
home with him, but then she realizes his statement is perfect enough on its own.

xXxXx

xXxXx

Spun Out So Far

Her cell phone always seems to ring when she's in the least mood to answer it.
Currently, her legs are planted firmly to the side of Edward's lap, and his mouth
is doing interesting things to her nipple. No, she definitely doesn't want to answer
the phone, but it just keeps ringing, so she draws back with a sigh.

Edward pouts. A hardcore, legitimate pout. It may be because his mouth is blood
red from all the activity, but it cracks her up. She knocks the butt of her hand
against his forehead lightly, and then picks up the phone.

"Bonjour," she laughs.

"Bonjour, ma puce. You sound winded. Did I catch you at a bad moment?"

"YES," calls Edward, getting up off the couch. He shakes his legs to release the
erection all caught up in his boxer briefs, and Bella snorts into the phone.

"Oh, I apologize. You did not have to answer the phone."

"I didn't the first time," Bella reminds Esme, pulling up her tank top. "It's okay.
What's up?"

"I know you're off today, but we've had a sudden change in scheduling. I know
it's unorthodox, but I think I've decided to hire a new instructor. I just need your
approval – "

"My approval?"

"Oui, yes, that is what I said. You've been here almost as long as I have.
Granted, you were about six when I took you on, but you know me, what I like,
and what the studio needs. He's coming back in a couple hours for the formal
interview, and I'd like it if you could interview him with me."

"Him?" They've never had a male instructor.

"Yes. He's a wonderful dancer. He does mainly hip-hop, which is wonderful,
because I'm getting too old to do the sharp movements."

"So he's taking over for Whitney?"

"Yes. Whitney and I have had scheduling conflicts for months now, but I haven't
had anyone else to take her place. If it works out with Tyler, we can let Whitney
go."

This excites Bella. She really dislikes the diva hip-hop/modern instructor, and if
going down to Esme's right now means getting rid of her, she'll do it.

She agrees to meet Esme down there in about an hour. She hangs up the phone
and turns to Edward, who's sulking in the kitchen.

"Oh, come on," Bella chides, walking over to him. "You can come clean a toilet."

He tries to fight a smile but fails. "Rude."

"Esme's making you wear a mask when you clean from now on. She doesn't trust
you not to pick up germs. Plus, I think your sister terrified her a little."

"I don't think anything terrifies that woman," he comments. "So, you have an
hour?"

"Thereabouts."

He grabs her face and kisses her, pressing her against a wall. "Can we continue
what we started now?"

"Really? So softcore porn dialog of you."

"Shut up and touch my aching cock."

She laughs, slapping his chest. "Only if you caress my throbbing core."

"You can count on me impaling you with my thick shaft."

"Thick? Let's not get ahead of ourselves – "

He tickles her mercilessly, and then kisses her. She's still trying to muffle her
giggles as his lips rain down on hers, and he keeps scoffing when she bursts into
a fresh round.

"Do you think this is funny?"

She's saved when her phone rings again. He lets out a noise that resembles what
she'd imagine a war cry sounds like.

"Don't you dare answer that."

She darts around him, grabbing her phone off the coffee table. It's Emily.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Swan."

"Hey, how are you – Edward!"

He's picked her up, and before she knows it, he has her like a sack of potatoes
over his shoulder.

"Put me down!" she screeches, kicking out.

"Not a chance." He walks them down the hall, towards the bedroom.

"Is this a bad time?" Emily laughs.

"No, it's not a bad time."

"Yes, it is. Bye, Emily." He takes the phone from her hand, hangs up, and then
throws into her butterfly chair across the room. "So help me god, woman, if you
ever answer the phone during my seduction again – "

"You'll what?"

He drops her on the bed, and she scrambles up to the headboard, laughing.

"I'll… deprive you."

She snorts as he crawls over her. He drops small kisses on the inches of innocent
exposed skin – her elbows, her collarbones. She sighs and cups his face, staring
at the beauty in the angles and planes.

"You have a scar," she whispers, touching a barely visible white line beneath his
full bottom lip.

"Sure do," he agrees, running his nose down the bridge of hers. "I was playing
baseball, going back for a pop fly. Well, you're never supposed to run backwards.
You're supposed to turn and run – you know. Well, I fell into a pothole, twisted
my ankle, and knocked myself out when I hit the ground. When I came to, I
discovered that I had bitten through my lip on impact. Straight through it. Pretty
gruesome."

"Did you have stitches?" she asks, running her fingernail over it.

"No, they just butterfly'd it closed on one side. They couldn't stitch it up both
sides; the mouth is too germy."

"I like it. It gives your face character."

"Great. I'm practically a Disney character with all of this goofy red hair – "

"I've never seen you with anything else."

"You've seen me without any hair at all."

She shakes her head. "No, you always wore a cap."

"Didn't you notice the absence of my eyelashes? My eyebrows grew back pretty
quickly, but they're nowhere near as bushy as they used to be. They're like…
naturally shaped now. Alice asked me if I got them waxed."

"I didn't really notice, no. Your cap was so far down your face all the time, plus
you scared the crap out of me. Every time I caught your eye in class, you'd scowl
at me."

"I thought you were staring at me because you could tell something was wrong."

She shakes her head, running her nails against his scalp. "I know it sounds corny,
but I was staring because you're so handsome. I couldn't look away."

"I don't think I'd believe that if it was anyone else but you."

"Why?"

"Because you're so weird."

She huffs. "See? I try to be nice, and – "

He kisses her, his mouth open and soft. She practically sighs when he draws
away. "The first time I saw you, you were in dance clothes, all black. I could see
your pointe shoes hanging out of your bag. You kept messing with your hair,
taking it down and putting it back up. Your freckles made your face look
otherworldly, because they were sticking out against the paleness of your face. I
wanted to touch every single one." As he says this, he drags the pads of his
fingers, mapping each one against her skin.

"It's a testament," he continues, "to how beautiful I found you that I couldn't stop
staring at your freckles, when you have such a nice rack."

"Such a guy," she comments, hardly bothered.

"It made me nervous to have such a beautiful girl staring at me," he admits after
a moment. "It made me feel… more exposed, I guess. The contrast of you being
so pretty, and me feeling so unattractive all the time – it made me act shitty. But
you were so nice, buying me a drink, letting me tease you about the cigarettes. I
mean, yeah, every guy wants a challenge, I guess. But a girl who's beautiful,
kind, smart and funny? Yeah, that's what every guy really wants. And you… just
kind of fell into my lap."

"I'm not all of those things," she whispers, curling up into his side.

"Yes, you are. Don't fish. I emailed my little brother a picture of you the other
day – "

"What picture?"

"Well, I emailed him your Facebook link."

"What?"

"Yeah, so, if an Emmett Cullen requests you – "

"You did not."

"Anyway, he went on this rant about how he doesn't get how an 'ugly fucker' like
me gets such a hot girlfriend."

"That's not very nice!"

"No, but it's brother speak. He called me that before I got sick, and if he ever
stops calling me that just because of the cancer…"

"I understand," she murmurs. "I can't believe you're letting people stalk me on
Facebook."

"People back home are curious," he admits. "Ever since I moved here, I've been
pretty vehement about not wanting to go home, but I think I was just waiting for
someone to convince me they… you know… wanted me back bad enough. But
now, I flat out refuse to go."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

She presses a kiss against his shoulder. "Good." Glancing at the clock, she
groans. "Speaking of going…"

"No," he protests, hanging onto her. "Don't leave."

"I have to."

"Take me with you."

"I have to conduct an interview!"

"I'll clean a toilet."

"Edward. You're not well enough to be around germs like that."

"I'll wear a mask."

She stares at him, hard. "Why are you so determined to go? I know you've got
homework to do, and your show is on in thirty minutes. Don't act like you're
desperate for my company. I'll be back soon."

He nods, deflated. "I know."

"What is it?" she presses.

He buries his head in her chest, muffling his words. She makes out 'guy' 'dancer'
'jealous' before she lifts his head back up and kisses him soundly.

"Want to know a secret?" she whispers.

"Okay."

"I think male dancers are really unattractive."

"What? Really?"

She nods, getting off the bed. She has to look somewhat presentable for this
interview, and she's in one of Edward's t-shirts and a faded pair of leggings.

"They're usually really arrogant," she starts as she rifles through her side of the
closet. "They think they're better than they actually are. They're really handsy
and have no awareness of personal space. Male dance instructors are ten times
worse than that." She grabs a black turtleneck and dark jeans, heading to the
bathroom to shower.

"So, no reason to be worried about a tall, dark, handsome asshole dancing you
off your feet?"

She pushes his nose with her forefinger. "No reason to be worried about
anything."

Five minutes into her shower, he joins her under the spray. They've only
showered together a handful of times, and even though sex in the shower is
completely impractical and difficult, she can't help but cop a feel when he washes
the soap off his body.

"Desirous, Miss Swan?"

The shower may be impractical, but the bathroom counter, they find, is quite
sturdy.

xXxXx

When Bella arrives to Esme's studio, she's on the phone with Emily. She's
cracking up at Emily's description of Sam's face when he found out about the
baby, and not at all paying attention to the fact she walked in late to the
interview.

"No, shut up! He really said it wasn't his? He called you a what? Um, I don't
know, wasn't he the one cheating? Exactly. Guys seriously have a ridiculous
sense of right and wrong – "

A tactfully cleared throat spins Bella around to face Esme mid-tour with a male
around Bella's age.

"Oh, shit," she swears, causing Esme to go purple. "I mean, shoot. Emily, can I
call you back?"

"Always an excuse with you, Swan."

"Okay, bye."

Esme raises a slightly amused eyebrow at her. "So glad you could join us."

She checks her watch. "I still have a couple minutes!"

"I was just early," offers the man, Tyler.

Now she sounds lazy. "Just give me two seconds to put up my stuff. Emily was
talking to me about – well, you know."

Esme nods and shoos her off. She drops her things into the office, straightens the
clip in her thick hair, and then rejoins them in the main studio.

She makes eye contact with the man. He's tall, with skin the color of warm brown
sugar, and eyes as dark as hers. He moves with grace as he goes forward to
shake her hand, and his smile is full of straight white teeth. Clinically, he's a
beautiful man, but it doesn't even stir something inside her. She has the most
beautiful man in the world waiting for her at home, and with that comforting
thought, she and Esme lead him to the back for an interview.

Thirty minutes later, Tyler Crowley has a job. Bella is actually somewhat excited.
He's a choreographer, and he shows her a dance he'd thought up from start to
finish. He teaches her a couple steps and makes her laugh. He's humble and
talented, and she nods in approval when Esme shakes his hand in
congratulations.

Bella follows him out, telling Esme she'll see her tomorrow. She digs her
cigarettes out of her purse, and Tyler asks if he can bum one.

"Sure," she says, surprised. She hands one over and leans against the brick wall
of the building.

"I've been going nuts for nicotine for about ten minutes, but I left my pack at
home because I didn't know if being a smoker would hurt my chances at the job,"
he explains, handing her the lighter back.

He has an eyebrow piercing, a bar with two metal balls at each end. She likes it,
and tells him so.

"Thanks," he smiles, touching it. "Esme says it has to go, though."

"Just put in a clear one," she advises. "She'll be fine. And yeah, she's not super
thrilled I smoke, but…" She shrugs. "I'm not super thrilled about it either. My
boyfriend smokes, and we kind of enable each other."

"Isn't that always how it goes?" He flicks ash off to the side. "So, how long have
you been teaching?"

"Teaching? Um… a few years. I've been with Esme since I was a young kid,
though. She's practically raised me. She's… well, I'd say she's like a mom, but
she's not. She's like a cool older sister or something."

"Yeah, I can tell you two are close." He stubs his cigarette out against the wall,
and then throws it in the trashcan. "Well, it was good to meet you. I'm looking
forward to working with you two."

"Thanks," says Bella, smiling.

xXxXx

When she gets home, Alice's yellow VW Beetle is in her parking spot.

"Fucking really?" Bella grumbles, beating her steering wheel. When she gets to
her door, she hears shouting.

Edward is bellowing, and Alice sounds like she's crying. She wonders how much
of a dick move it would be to leave. Then she hears something breaking, and
that's the last straw.

She bursts into her apartment, taking in the scene. There's a picture on the floor,
the glass of the frame shattered around it. Alice is sobbing, and Edward's jaw is
clenched so tight, it looks like she could knock it apart with one punch.

"What the hell is going on?" she shouts, slamming the door behind her. "I'm tired
of you just showing up, causing problems wherever you go." She points at Alice,
then the door. "Don't let the door hit you in the ass on your way out."

"Bella – " starts Edward.

"No," she all but yells. "I'm so sick of this shit. Every time you come around, you
cause some sort of epic issue. Threatening my godmother, implying what an
awful person I am, telling Edward he can't fend for himself? Who are you? Get
out of my house."

Alice grabs her purse, and without another word, leaves.

"Get the broom and dust pan," Bella orders Edward, somewhat annoyed with
him, too. Can't anyone hold their temper?

He does, and she scoops up the glass into it. The picture is of Edward, Alice,
someone she assumes to be Emmett, a blonde man and dark-haired woman.

"Is this your family?" she asks softly, cradling the picture in her hand.

"Yeah," Edward says, pulling Bella off the ground. "That's my mom and dad, and
Emmett."

"Your hair was so dark," she states, running her fingernail over his dark brown
hair.

"I know."

"I like it better now," she says decidedly.

He smiles at her, his eyes crinkling in the corner. "Do you now?"

"Yes," she says simply, hugging him around the middle. He's ridiculously tense.

"I missed you," he whispers into her hair.

Drawing back, she assures him he was also missed. "Now, tell me what the hell
happened."

He shrugs, moving into the kitchen. "My mom got in touch with Alice this
morning, and apparently Alice told her we'd all be delighted to see her again. She
set up a time for us to go to Chicago and everything. I'd rather someone force
feed me dog shit."

Bella rolls her eyes. "She's the most meddlesome person I've ever met."

"It's weird, isn't it? When my mom left, Alice immediately took over as my
caregiver, and Emmett's. But now that my mom's showing her face again, ten
years later, Alice is the one who welcomes her with open arms. I don't get it."

Bella shrugs, not wanting to psychoanalyze his sister. Personally, she thinks Alice
is just plain unbalanced, even without her mommy issues.

"I don't know what to do," he says finally, plainly asking for help.

"I think you should go to Chicago," she says finally, taking some strawberries out
of the fridge for a smoothie. "I think you need to see your family. I know you
miss them, even if you can't stand them. Maybe from there you could choose
whether you want to see your mom or not. But you should go. Seriously."

He nods carefully. "Would you go with me?"

'Yes' is on the tip of her tongue before she thinks it through. "I can't. I've got
school and work – "

"So do I."

"Yeah, but you can get those things excused. Plus, you have mostly online
classes. I don't. And we just hired a new instructor, so I've got to train him and
all that – "

"The new male instructor?" His mouth is turned into a bitter frown.

"What is it going to take to show you that I love you, Edward?" She turns and
stares at him, waiting for his answer. "I don't understand. You want to be mad at
me all the time, but I haven't done anything."

He sighs. "I'm not mad. I just… really want you to come."

"I'd really like to go, but I just can't. I can't drop everything right now. It's
February, and my midterms are coming up. The recital is in early May, so we're
really coming down to the wire with the dances. Plus, I've still go to work on my
own performance – "

"You know we've never been apart?" he asks quietly. "Since we've been together,
you and I have always been together. We work together, we go to school
together. We live together. We went on vacation together. You're my entire
world, Bella. Do you know that?"

"Don't say that. You have so much going for you."

"You're the best thing. The most important thing. I don't know how to show it
sometimes. You say things like, 'what else can I do?' when in reality, I know I'm
the one who should be asking. What else can I do, Bella?"

"Keep your sister away from my house," she jokes.

He laughs, but remains serious. "Tell me. Anything. I'll do anything for you. Do
you know that?"

"Go to Chicago," she says quietly. "See your family, if not for you, then for us.
You need to see that I'm not the only one in this big world who loves you." She
smiles at him. "Even if I do love you the most-est."

xXxXx

Edward leaves for Chicago a couple days later. They don't say goodbye with tears
and arms and kisses, but with a smile. There's nothing sweeter than knowing
when you come back from being away, the one you love will be waiting for you.

Her apartment is quiet without him in it. Emily calls and asks Bella to help her
move her things out of the apartment, and she agrees. She spends all of
Saturday moving Emily into her parents' house in a Seattle suburb.

"Twenty-two and moving back in with the 'rents," Emily grumbles, sitting down
on her old childhood bed. "Little one, you better love me forever for this." She
rubs her stomach.

"They will," Bella assures her, thinking of Edward. He wouldn't hate his mother if
he didn't love her so much. "It's very hard to hate your mom, even if she's the
world's worst."

"Speaking from experience, Swan?"

Bella shakes her head. "No. Renee is a good mom, but it took me years to figure
it out. I'm thinking about Edward, actually."

"He make it to Chicago okay?"

"Oh yeah. He got there a couple days ago. He – get this – texted me from a new
number. He let his dad buy him an iPhone."

"Let," Emily snorts.

"I think it's a big deal. He hasn't accepted a cent from his dad in months. Even if
it's shallow, little signs like that can mean the bigger picture of forgiveness. You
know, letting someone take care of you and all that. That's when I knew Edward
was falling in love with me, when he agreed to move in with me. He accepted my
help. That's huge, especially for someone like Edward."

"Miss Psychology 2010," Emily deadpans. "I get it. So, what are you doing
tonight?"

"All the instructors are going out to eat and stuff. It was Esme's idea, to get Tyler
more comfortable with all of us. I'm not looking forward to it."

"It could be fun," says Emily. "Have some drinks for me, okay? Apparently,
babies and alcohol don't mix very well. The doctor pounded that in my head at
least seven times. Do I really look like a party girl?"

"We've been moving all day, and you're wearing eyeliner. Yes."

"Shut up, Swan."

xXxXx

Bella isn't super close with the rest of the instructors, and she spends most of the
dinner texting Edward. He's very cute with his new phone, sending her pictures of
random things – and things she can't show other people – and texts at all hours
of the day.

Enjoying dinner? He asks.

The food is good. I just hate watching all the girls shoving their boobs into Tyler's
face. It's making eating difficult.

I thought you were eating dinner at a public restaurant, not a brothel.

Funny.

"Are you surgically attached to that thing or what?" Tyler asks, nudging her.

She flushes, realizing she's being really rude. "No. Sorry."

"How's Edward?" asks Maggie, one of the other instructors.

"Good," Bella smiles, missing him something terrible. "He's having fun with his
family."

"Have you met Edward?" Siobhan, the other female instructor, asks Tyler.

"Not that I know of," Tyler answers. "Why, should I have?"

"He's the handyman," Bella tells him, hating the word 'janitor' and all its
implications. "At the studio, I mean. You'll meet him eventually."

"Is that how you two met?"

"No, he got the job after we started dating."

"Sounds like you're a good girl to stick around," Tyler laughs.

"Anyway," Bella says pointedly as the others laugh. "He's doing good. He'll be
back in a few days, and I'm glad."

"He's a nice guy," Maggie tells Tyler. "You'll like him. He actually got sick just
recently from helping this little girl with the flu. He caught it really quickly and
was bedridden for a while. He hasn't been back to work yet."

"Must have been a nasty case," Tyler comments, sipping his beer.

"He has cancer," Bella says quietly.

The table is completely silent.

"He… what?" Maggie is the first to recover.

"That's why he got sick like that. He has… had… leukemia. He's in remission, but
his immune system was shot. I just… wanted to let you guys know."

"We had no idea," Siobhan murmurs. "We're sorry, Bella. That must be difficult."

"Sometimes," Bella allows. "Anyway… now that I've made things awkward – "

They all pick up conversation quickly, just to prove to Bella that it's not awkward
at all. She's glad for it. She's laughing with them when her phone rings.

It's not Edward, like she expected.

It's Sue, her stepmom. Her heart racing, she picks up the phone.

Her dad is in the hospital. He's suffered a heart attack. She bolts out the door,
apologizing.

In her moments of panic, there is a kind of morbid clarity. She remembers
months ago thinking that Edward was the first thing she had in her life she was
afraid to lose.

In actuality, Edward came into her life and showed her all the things she took
advantage of having. She prays to whoever is listening that if she has the chance,
she'll never take anyone for granted again.

xXxXx

xXxXx

I Want His Wings

"Got any fives?" questions Bella, peeking at her hand of cards.

"Go fish," Jacob answers blandly, picking at a scab on his knee. "Got any
sevens?"

Bella hands over a seven, and Jacob puts it down in his large pile without much
enthusiasm.

"Do you want to play another game?" she asks her half-brother.

He shakes his head, his dark eyes darting around the waiting room. They've been
here for a few hours, and even though the news was favorable, it's still daunting
to be in a place ensconced in sickness.

Sue stands by the door, leaning against the jamb. It's very early in the morning,
and her usually kempt stepmother has circles under her eyes the size of
dartboards. Bella wants nothing more than to go home and sleep, but she feels
an obligation to stay in the waiting room until her stepmother gives her some sort
of signal to go home. Sue has barely said one word to Jacob the whole time, and
Bella wants to keep her brother entertained and out of Sue's hair.

They have Charlie on drugs to clear out as many clots as possible before putting
him into bypass surgery in the next twenty-four hours or so. Bella hasn't even
seen her dad yet, but Sue's ten-minute hourly visits assure her that he's stable,
but asleep.

There's another reason she is staying in the hospital instead of going home, and
that's the very obvious absence of Edward. She keeps wondering what it would
be like if he was here, holding her hand, annoying her, anything – and all she can
imagine is how much better it would be to hold on to hope incarnate.

This thought barely has time to clear her brain before she hears a soft clearing of
the throat, and looks up to see Alice Cullen in the doorway.

"Hi," she says quietly, giving Sue a small smile. "Edward called me."

"Hi," Bella answers back, putting down her cards and shuffling them together.
"What are you doing here?"

Jacob, as if he senses some discord, attaches himself to Bella's leg. She runs her
hands through his dark hair, and then whispers to him to go be with his mom.

"I just thought you may be lonely, sitting here by yourself," Alice offers after a
few moments of awkward silence. "I had to come home from Chicago early
because my fiancé had to pick up some extra hours at work, and we have no one
to watch our son… well, anyway. I just thought you may need some company.
Hospitals can get lonely."

"I'm with my family."

"Of course," Alice murmurs. "How is your dad doing?"

"He's stable. He's going to be okay."

"Good." Alice opens her purse and pulls out an envelope with tons of photographs
spilling out. "Have you ever seen pictures of Edward before he was sick?"

"A couple. Some on his Facebook, and then the one in the broken frame from the
other day." As she answers, Alice shoves the envelope of pictures in her hand.

Bella takes them out, her hands shaking a little. There are tons of pictures of
Edward from birth until sickness, but one in particular stands out. He looks to be
about sixteen, leaning under the hood of a black Trans-Am. He has a wrench in
one hand and annoyed look on his face, but his shoulders are so strong, and he's
so beautiful in his health she wants to cry.

"Can I keep this?" she asks Alice, cradling the picture.

"Sure," Alice smiles.

"So this is the Trans-Am?"

"He told you about it?"

"He couldn't stop talking about it. 6.6 liter V8, blah blah blah."

Alice looks at the picture fondly. "He worshipped that thing. He and my dad
worked on it for weeks before it could be driven."

"He told me he wrecked it."

"Well… it was totaled, that's for sure."

Bella looks up. She takes in Alice for the first time as another woman – she's
beautiful in a sharp way, just like Edward. Her eyes are darker than Edward's, but
not yet brown. All of her features are tiny, like with a strong wind, she'd be blown
away. But she also looks tired and worried, and Bella understands that look more
than anything.

"I really like your haircut," Bella tells her randomly. It's short and hugs Alice's
face.

Alice touches it on impulse. "Thanks. I shaved all my hair off when Edward lost
his hair."

What a forthcoming thing to admit. Bella's taken aback, but she just nods. "I'd
probably do the same thing."

Alice turns a scrutinizing eye on Bella. "You do know that one day, you may be in
that position?"

Does she just have 'maladjusted idiot' written on her forehead? "Yes, I'm aware.
What were you saying before about Edward's car?"

Alice sighs. "His friend stole it and wrecked it. Edward covered for him."

"He did?"

"Turns out he cares more about people than things," Alice says quietly. "He's
always been a strange kid. Quiet, you know? Emmett, our younger brother,
always wears his heart on his sleeve. But Edward was always reserved, and it

was always a guess as to what he was thinking. He's really surprised me with the
heart he has. I've discovered that it's the quiet ones you want to watch out for. I
know that's a common thing to say, but it's true in many circumstances. Quiet
men are the ones who feel the deepest because there aren't enough words in
English for them to say their thoughts. That's Edward."

Alice continues after a breath. "I was certain he was going to die. We all were.
They had to adjust his meds so many times, and then he just took off from
Chicago in the middle of the night and came here. When he showed up at my
door, it was like a horror movie. He was a skeleton, and there was nothing in my
house he could eat. He fell asleep on my couch, and I watched him all night, his
chest, making sure I could see the rise and fall of it. Everything evened out
eventually, but I'll never forget that. Ever. Even if he wants to act like he's okay,
I can't, not until I know for sure."

"How will you know for sure?"

"They say after five years of remission, you can be considered cured. That's five
years of getting tests and having them come back clean. That's five years of
crying, praying and blind faith. That's five years of holding his hand, wondering if
this time will be it. And what if it's almost five years, and the cancer randomly
shows back up? Then it's five more years again to wait. Do you understand that?"

"What I understand is that I love Edward, and you're not going to scare me off by
spewing facts at me. I appreciate what you're saying, but I'm not your enemy. I
care about him, just like you do. We both want what's best for him. We should be
working together, not separately."

Alice looks thoughtful and goes silent. The clack of her boot heel against the
linoleum floor is somewhat distracting, but not annoying.

"How was Chicago?" Bella asks, breaking the silence.

Alice shrugs. "It was okay. It was good to see my dad."

"Did you see your mom?"

"Yes. We all had lunch with her."

"Can I ask how that went?"

"Extremely awkward, especially since her new husband showed up."

"What? Seriously? She hasn't seen you guys in years, and then brings her new
husband to lunch?"

"Right? I wanted to throttle her."

For a second, they become gossiping friends, bemoaning the shortcomings of
family members. But then they realize they aren't friends, so the silence falls
awkward once more.

"How was Edward?"

"I think it was harder for me in regards to Edward than it was for him. You know,
he's very quiet, like we've stated. He didn't say much, but when she hugged him
and cried… it made me feel like I could commit murder or something. Where was
she when he was diagnosed and treated? Who even knows."

Bella waits a beat before responding. "I know you think I'm some evil temptress
or something, here to break your brother's heart. And I can't guarantee that
things will work out because I can't see the future, but I do know myself, and my
own heart and feelings. I can't be without him. Not 'I don't want to be' – I can't
be. I've prided myself on my independence in the past, but ever since he walked
into my life, he's completely eclipsed everything else."

"Codependence isn't exactly healthy."

"Well, Edward isn't healthy," Bella says finally. "So I guess… maybe I'm not,
either."

xXxXx

Bella is rarely shocked, but when she walks into her apartment and sees Edward
pulling on a t-shirt with his keys in his mouth and one foot toeing a shoe, that's
the only word appropriate.

She drops her purse on the ground and lets out this noise she's not sure any
human should be capable of making. It's this giant heaving breath under her
tongue that rolls out onto a cry. She runs towards him and he holds out his arms,
and for the first time in hours, she allows herself to completely relax and let
someone else hold her up.

"I'm sorry it took me so long to get here," he whispers in her hair, leading her
over to the couch.

She doesn't let go when he sits down, just crawls into his lap like a child and curls
herself around him. "I told you not to come," she murmurs against his neck, her
tears a close reality.

"Even if I didn't want to – which I did – after all you've done for me, Bella, if I
hadn't come, you'd have every right to kick me out."

"It's not like that – "

"But it is. You've taken care of me for months. It's emasculating. Lie against me
now, and let me take over my role as protector. See, I psychoanalyzed myself for
you, so you didn't even have to do that."

She giggles against him, and she's aware of how delirious it sounds. "I'm so glad
you're here."

"Me too, baby." He presses a kiss against her nose, and that coupled with the fact
he so rarely calls her 'baby' leads her into a contentment that is immediately
followed by sleep.

She doesn't sleep long. When she wakes up, Edward is still sleeping, his arm
thrown over his face. His snores are loud and indicate how tired he is, but she's
got to get some food in her and then go back to the hospital.

"Wake up," she murmurs against his lips.

He groans a little, and then cracks an eye open. "What time is it?"

"A little after 2 PM," she whispers. "Hungry?"

"I could eat."

She kisses him one, two, three times, and has him smiling against her mouth
when she pulls away.

"I missed you so much," she tells him, running her nails through his soft hair.

"I missed you, too. Even your morning breath."

"You are just so charming."

"That's what they tell me." He rolls off the couch and adjusts himself. "I'm gonna
go hop in the shower. Wanna join me?"

She makes a face at him. "We need to get back to the hospital."

"That wasn't a proposition. I just want to wash your hair and feel your skin."

With words like that, how could she say no?

xXxXx

"I think all waiting rooms in the world look the same," Edward comments as they
settle down into the plastic chairs that Bella and Alice vacated hours before.

"Yeah? I guess it's good that you're seeing the waiting room for once," she says,
smiling.

"Yeah, I can't say that I'm complaining. I'd rather watch a million episodes of
Days of Our Lives and Dr. Phil in these straight-backed chairs than be in a
hospital bed again."

"Were you a patient here?"

He shakes his head. "Only outpatient."

That reminds her. "You took your meds today, right?"

He kisses her face. "Yes, mom."

She pushes on his nose. "Speaking of mom… how was Chicago?"

He shrugs. "You know, I really don't feel any better or worse having gone. She's
never going to be the mom of my childhood again."

"Alice told me she showed up with her new husband."

"Oh yeah… wait, you and Alice talked? Was there screaming? Bloodshed? Do I
need to hide a body?"

"Funny. If anyone needs to hide a body, it's you. Maggie caught sight of your
cock when I opened a picture message unawares at the studio the other day. She
won't stop talking about it now."

"That's just stupid of you, Bella."

"What? Me? Why? You were the one sending pictures of your – "

"Yep, I sure did. In fact, that's all I sent you pictures of, I think. So process of
elimination should have told you that's what the picture you opened would be of…
see what I'm getting at? You shouldn't have opened it. Unless it was around
Esme. That would've been okay."

"You are so disgusting."

"Anyway, she brought her new husband around. He's a good deal older than her,
surprisingly. He had to have been in his sixties."

"Did your dad go?"

"No, only us children. Alice left the same day and came back here, to Seattle. She
said it was because of Riley, but I think she knew she was going to murder mom
if she stayed."

"That's what she told me. We kind of bonded."

"You think so?"

"Why, do you not?"

"How would I know? I wasn't here. I'm surprised she showed up, but I'm glad she
did. I think my anger towards her in most of the situations you've been involved
in was really the catalyst between you two. You both are actually a lot alike;
she's just a bit crazy when it comes to me and Emmett. Very mama bear and cub
scenario."

"I gathered that."

They continue to talk for another hour or so, but when there's nothing much else
to say, she leans against his shoulder and pulls a book out of her purse. He is
content to let her lean against him and toy with her ponytail, sending random
commentary about the soap operas out into the universe.

Sue peeks in at one point, informing Bella that Charlie is being prepped for
surgery. She introduces Edward, and Sue is more pleasant than she could have
anticipated. Hmph, of course it only takes the face of a beautiful boy to soften her
stepmother up.

At around seven PM, they walk down to the cafeteria to grab some food. Bella
manages a salad of wilted lettuce, mushy tomatoes and sour vinaigrette before
giving up. Edward opts for hot soup, which he informs her tastes like hot salt
water.

Instead of going back to the waiting room, they venture out into the small garden
outside. It's still cold; it's not even March yet. Edward takes Bella's ungloved
hands and puts them between his thighs as they sit on an icy bench.

"Still coming to my dance recital?" Bella asks randomly, watching Edward stare
off into the distance.

He turns to smile at her. "Of course I am. You're a really good dancer, and I love
you."

She smiles back. "What are you thinking about? You seem so lost in your mind."

He shrugs after a moment. "One night, Alice and I talked about what being cured
really means, and how many people never see that day. Do you want to know the
statistics?"

She blanches. "No, I really don't."

"You need to know them. They aren't awful, but there's still about half a chance
I'll die from the disease within the next five years."

"Edward, for god's sake," she snaps. "I said I didn't want to know."

"I don't know if I can really wrap my mind around it," he continues. "Not reaching
my thirtieth birthday. Not watching my hair turn grey, or my eyes turn wrinkled
in the corners. All these signs of aging that people take for granted, I want. Is
that weird? I remember talking to this old man once, in the hospital. He had
leukemia too, but a kind that really only occurs in senior citizens. He said to me,
'I don't understand plastic surgery. I wear these wrinkles like a badge of honor.'"

Bella shivers against him, and he pulls her closer. How can she articulate it isn't
the coldness of the temperature that made her chill, but the resignation in his
voice?

"That really stuck with me," he says after a few seconds. "I always think about it.
Sometimes, I'll stare in the mirror after I get out of the shower and look for grey
hair. Something I can be proud of. Something that indicates I've lived a long life.
Because Bella, do you remember when you asked me if I was scared about
dying?"

"Yes," she whispers.

"And I told you, 'if I would have known you, I would've been.' You know how I
know that? Because I do know you, I might be dying, and I can't stop being
fucking afraid. I know there's not much I can promise you, and that kills me. I've
thought about it all, too. At night, when you fall asleep, I sit up and think about
running away. Just waking you up, telling you to pack some clothes, and then
hopping the next flight to… wherever. But then I realize, it doesn't matter where I
run. It doesn't matter if I ask you to marry me right now, or never do. It doesn't
matter if you love me today, tomorrow or forever. Cancer will always be there, a
part of me, a part of us. I can't just be Edward, and I'll never understand how
you can look at me and see past all of that. You make me feel like you take out
all the parts of me that are dying and put new things in there. Things that will
survive much longer than my body, or any body ever could."

There is no possible response to that, Bella thinks. One, because she's never
heard him so vivid, so honest, so afraid. And two, she feels like if she opens her
tightly clamped lips, she'll start crying and never stop.

She gets a hold on herself, because she knows he needs something from her, any
sort of indication that she may feel the same way he does.

"I'll be with you," she chokes, "all the way. Until your heart stops beating."

He kisses her, and it's so cold outside, but his mouth is so warm. Out here, in the
garden, where things live and grow while people inside wither and fade, she feels
the last bit of her reticence break off and surrender itself to him, forever.

xXxXx

Bella straps on her pointe shoes, tying the ribbons around her calves with
practiced ease. She stands and shuffles over to the CD player, picking a random
mix. She doesn't need a particular type of music or even a beat. She just needs
background noise to remind her not to get lost.

Most of the lights in the studio are off. She can hardly see herself in the mirror,
but that doesn't stop her from gaining her wings. She lifts to her toes, making
her body long. She breathes in through her nose, reaching for the sky.

A lot has happened in the past few days. Her dad came out of bypass surgery just
fine. He's expected to be released within the next week. She and Alice made
tentative plans for lunch, to hopefully forge some sort of bond over caring for
Edward.

And most importantly, she missed a test in two of her classes. She has a few
options: beg the professors and provide proof that her dad was in the hospital,
withdraw from those classes and pray they offer them in the fall, or withdraw
from school altogether.

She hasn't given the last option much thought until now. Edward mentioned it
offhandedly when she told him what had happened. He began talking about his
own problems with keeping up, and how he was considering taking a semester off
to work a full time job, now that he and Bella had to find a new apartment.

She paid the hefty fee to get out of the lease, and now they have a month to find
a new place and move out. She simply can't afford the luxury condo with her
paycheck alone, and even though Esme is generous with both of their salaries,
Edward is still only part-time.

So, Bella has also questioned whether she should step down from school this
semester. She doesn't know if she wants to, but she emailed the photographer
she had taken classes from about a year ago, wondering if she still needed an
assistant.

The photographer, Kate, remembers Bella and enthusiastically offered her a part-
time job as a photographer's assistant. Doing that, along with teaching dance,
would be the equivalent of a full-time job.

But… but what? That's what Bella keeps asking herself. She loves photography.
She loves psychology, too, but it's more of a deep understanding than a passion.
And she needs the money, since she uses the check Renee gives her to put into
savings.

Does she need such a life upheaval right now? Should she withdraw from her
classes, take on a dream job of photography, and just let life lead her where the
wind blows, without any huge plans?

Well, that's what she does, right? She lets her feet lead her across the tiny world
that is the dance floor, with all of its planes and space. Some steps require small
shuffles or graceful twirls.

But others, other steps require huge leaps of faith, ones where you close your
eyes and hope you find your balance when you land. Some steps across the
surface require nothing more or less than a grand jeté.

So, what does she do? Has the transience of life taught her nothing? To enjoy this
life, she has to adapt to the darts thrown at her. Some, she ducks. But others,
she allows to hit her, straight in her head, heart and gut. If Edward has taught
her anything, it's to just jump off the cliff and trust that someone will be waiting
to catch you.

The music stops, clicking to an eerie silence. Her ears are ringing, and even
though she's not completely winded, she can't stop taking deep lungfuls of air.
What was it that Edward was saying the other day? That wrinkles, worry lines and
grey hair are badges of honor?

Well, she's ready. She's done playing safe. Done making small, cautious steps
she defined as chances because she'd never tried them before. Chances aren't
sure things, and isn't that what life is? Embracing that nothing is a sure thing?

She doesn't know.

But she's going to find out.

xXxXx

xXxXx

And Now Your Dream is Real

One Month Later

Bella sits on the shore, fiddling with her camera. There are surfers crashing
against the powerful waves, and she's trying to catch them in one of their more
complicated, successful endeavors. These seem to be amateurs, though, because
they're not doing a very good job of staying upright.

She puts the viewfinder to her eye again – despite the digital screen – and zooms
in on the dark-haired Quileute boy, the only one who has mastered the waves.
His long hair sticks to his face as he concentrates, and she smiles and clicks
away.

A hand on her shoulder startles her, and she nearly drops her camera into the
rocky sand.

"It's time, princess," her boss, Kate, sings in her ear. She offers Bella a hand, and
she takes it, groaning as she stands.

She wipes the sand off her jeans and pulls her coat tighter around her. The wind
off the Pacific Ocean is brutal in late March. She pulls up the hood to hide against
the chill and trudges after Kate, towards the clump of rocks that Alice and her
little family – fiancé and son – are sitting on, waiting for their picture to be taken.

Alice waves as Bella gets closer, and Bella smiles back. Things have gotten better
between them. Not great – Alice had a special kind of cow when Edward dropped
out of classes next to Bella – but better, and Bella can't ask for more.

Her son, Riley, is perched on his father's knee. Jasper, the handsome fiancé,
looks tiredly at his watch. She stifles a smile, thinking that it's a characteristic of
all men to hate formality, especially when a picture is being taken of it.

"Ready?" Bella calls, brandishing her camera. She starts barking out directions –
Alice, tilt your head; Jasper, hand on her knee. Put Riley in between you two, and
make him smile this way!

She takes several pictures, getting down on her knees when necessary, smiling
the whole time. She loves her job. She can't say she hasn't thought twice about
withdrawing from classes, but she doesn't regret it. It was the right move for her
at the time, and school will always be there.

Renee and Phil were a little miffed, especially since Bella was only a year away
from going to grad school. But if anyone can understand whims and taking life by
the horns, it's Renee Dwyer.

She still has yet to tell Charlie and Sue. Even though it's none of their business,
technically, she thinks it's sneaky not to at least let them know. But she's afraid

of telling her father about a life upheaval so soon after heart surgery. But it's
been a month, and Bella's work is stable, and her father is doing just fine. No
more greasy cheeseburgers at the diner has been hard for him to take, but he
hasn't been stubborn about it.

Either way, she's telling them tonight. She's all the way out in La Push, so she
promised her dad and stepmother she'd stop by. Edward is joining her. In fact, he
should be here at any minute. She looks up toward the pathway, but his lanky
form is nowhere to be seen.

"All done," Bella announces, taking apart the camera. "Let's have a look."

Alice follows Bella to the laptop set up in Kate's car. As Bella loads the pictures,
she and Alice talk about the weather and how adorable her son is. It's a tenuous
relationship at best, yes, but it's peaceful, too.

"Wow, Bella… these are great," Alice breathes as Bella scrolls through the
different photos she took of their little family.

"You go ahead and pick the ones you want, and then we'll talk about sizing and
packages," says Kate, who handles the business side of things.

Bella backs away, and when she looks up again, Edward is climbing down the
pathway. She smiles, feeling everything inside her relax now that he's here and
safe.

"You about done?" he asks when he gets to her.

"Just about," she responds, kissing his cheek in greeting. "Why? Hungry?"

"Starving," he admits.

"Why didn't you eat at work?"

"Bella, please. I've had to serve those meals for three weeks now. If I have to
look at another popcorn shrimp or crab cake…"

Edward is a server at a casual seafood restaurant in downtown Seattle. Being on
his feet so much was really hard on him at first, but he's slowly accommodating.
He complains about it everyday, but the satisfaction on his face when he brought
home nearly two hundred dollars in tips after one busy night let her know that he
knows it's a necessary evil.

"Are you sore?" she asks, rubbing at the tight cords around his neck.

"Not too bad," he murmurs, moving his head to accommodate her fingers. "I took
some pain pills before I got on the road. Actually, I may be a bit high."

She rolls her eyes. "What have I told you about that?"

"What?"

"Not sharing." She pokes him in the ribs. "I have some bad news, though."

"What…?"

"We're having stir fry at Charlie's. With shrimp."

"Seriously?"

"No, with chicken. Your face was worth that ten second lie, though."

"So cruel, Swan." He hugs her tightly, and she is content to just rest against his
heartbeat.

Ten minutes later, Bella and Edward are heading towards Forks. It takes about
fifteen minutes when Edward isn't driving like a psychopath, so Bella takes her
time reapplying makeup the sand and grime washed away.

"I wish you'd stop wearing that stuff. It stinks," he complains, watching her dab
on foundation. "Your skin smells so much better than that crap."

She gives him a look. "Just because you think I'm pretty without it doesn't mean
the whole world does."

"Since when are you concerned with the whole world's opinion?"

"I'm a girl. End of story."

"I'm just saying, our bathroom is completely covered in a film of makeup and
whatever that crap is you put in your hair."

"Spray gel."

"Spray gel. Well, I'm pretty sure you get it everywhere but your head. I tried to
clean the bathroom the other day and ended up making the tips of my fingers
bleed, trying to get the layer of spray gel off of the counter so I could get to the
real mess it was protecting. From now on, you do the bathroom."

"Fine, but you have to vacuum."

"Deal."

They pull up to Charlie's house a few minutes later, and Jacob is absently kicking
a soccer ball around the thawing yard.

"You're going to catch your death out here," Bella scolds, scooping her chilly
brother into her arms. "And when did you get so heavy?"

"It's all the muscles," Edward answers, giving Jacob a high-five.

Jacob looks smugly at Bella. "Yeah, I'm way stronger than a girl."

"Is that so?" she asks, giving Edward a look. He's trying not to laugh. "I challenge
you to… an arm wrestling match!"

"You're on!" Jacob cries, flying into the house.

Bella follows more slowly, still giving Edward a look. "You just wait until he's a
teenager. You're going to make him into a misogynist little shit."

"Bella, Bella," he placates, pinching her side. "I know boys are stronger, but look
at how I turned out. Not a misogynist bone in my body."

She scoffs. "Well, when he's fourteen, talking about a chick's 'rack', you're going
to be the one to run interference."

"I'm twenty-two, and I still talk about racks. Only yours, though. Such a nice
rack."

"I'm serious." She pushes on his nose with her forefinger. "He's going to be all
yours to deal with."

He smiles at her, but it doesn't quite meet his eyes. She's taken to talking about
their future – not months down the road, but years and years. It's not that she's
in denial, but she knows people need things to live for, and sometimes the
present isn't enough. Sometimes, people need to hear about their future, things
that can be theirs if they only have patience.

Sue is a bit miffed when Jacob and Bella take opposite sides of her dinner table
and proceed to arm wrestle. Bella lets him win twice, but the last time, she
actually uses her strength and beats him easily.

"Two out of three," Edward says sadly, mockingly. He pats Bella's shoulder.
"Looks like you're the loser."

She looks around. Sue is on the other side of the kitchen, not paying attention.
Jacob has run up to his room to watch TV until dinnertime. So she leans into
Edward and whispers,

"See this mouth?" She points to her lips. "Remember all the wonderful things it
can do? Yes? Well, I hope those memories serve you well, since this," she points
to her mouth again, "is out of commission."

He laughs, hugging her. "Such a grouch."

Sue calls that dinner is ready, so Bella and Edward take their seats next to each
other at the kitchen table. Charlie shuffles in, and Bella gets back up to give him
a long hug.

Stir fry and edamame is passed around the table amidst light conversation. The
stir fry is pretty good, if not bland. Bella mentally adds a list of ingredients she
would have added to spice it up a bit and vows to make stir fry sometime soon to
see if hers is any better.

Edward wolfs his down. When he asks for more, Bella has to smile. She
remembers the days that getting him to eat anything was a battle. Now, he loves
food again. She squeezes his knee under the table, and he gives her a smile. He
has zucchini in his teeth.

"So, how's school?" Charlie asks finally, setting down his fork. "You two getting
good grades?"

Bella and Edward exchange looks. Putting down her own fork, she hedges, "Well…
that's kind of what I – we – wanted to talk to you about, Dad. We both withdrew
from classes this semester."

Charlie looks baffled, but his expression eases as Bella goes on to explain all their
reasoning. It really does make sense, and Bella's quality of life has gone through
the roof.

"And you two are at a new place?" Charlie inquires.

"Yes, sir," Edward answers, chewing on a soybean. "Closer to the hub of the city.
It's small – one bedroom, one bath – but it's cheaper than Bella's old place."

"It has a gas fireplace," Bella adds, as if this makes a lot of difference. "Really
cozy. It's nice being closer to the city, too – Edward doesn't have to make a long
commute to work, and neither do I. Kate – that's my boss – her office is
downtown. Esme's is a bit of a drive now, but I don't mind. Edward and I carpool
there."

Charlie nods. "Well, it sounds like you two have got everything all figured out.
Proud of you, Bella. You too, Edward. You made very adult decisions and moved
them into action. Takes guts."

"You're certainly your mother's daughter," Sue comments, taking a sip from her
after-dinner coffee.

Bella nods. "Yes, I am." She can feel her blood starting to simmer under the
surface. Whenever Sue makes a comment about Renee, it starts a fight.

"Whimsical. Idealistic. Flighty, even. Just quitting school when you're so close to
being done… that seems a bit irresponsible to me. You can't be a photographer
your whole life."

She's pretty sure her knuckles are white. "School will always be there when I
have more time to focus on it. A bachelor's degree in psychology isn't something
to just float through. Especially since I can barely do anything with a bachelors –
I have to get my masters at least. I want my doctorate. I'm nowhere near being
finished, and working full time is more conceivable right now."

"That's right," Charlie cuts in, looking at his wife. "I approve of what Bella's
doing."

"Mom does, too," Bella smiles. "Since my parents are okay with it, and I'm
happy… that's all that matters."

The emphasis on the word 'parents' was a low blow, but it's always negativity
with Sue. Always. She needs a hobby that doesn't involve talking to other gossip-
mongers at the church.

"Hmmm," Sue murmurs noncommittally, pinning Bella with a gaze over her
coffee mug.

They leave an hour later, tension thick throughout the small house.

"I really hope Sue doesn't start a fight with him," Bella groans, slamming her
head back against the leather seats of Edward's car. "He doesn't need to be
excited like that."

"I can't really see your dad rising to the bait," Edward comments, heading
towards the interstate.

"He usually doesn't, but he's pretty protective of me. The only fights he and Sue
have really gotten into have to do with me."

"It'll be okay," Edward promises, patting her knee.

xXxXx

"Come up with anything yet?"

Bella nearly falls from the delicate arch she's created with her body. She does
squeak in surprise and grip the bar for more support, glaring at Tyler in the giant
mirror.

"I'm going to put a bell on your neck if you keep doing that," she threatens,
bringing her leg back to the ground. She brings the other behind her, touching
her toes nearly to her forehead.

"I'll take that as a no," he replies, retrieving a mixed CD from the player. "Want
some advice?"

Bella brings her left leg down slowly, watching him out of the corner of her eye.
Tyler is a nice guy, but her original thoughts about male dancers remain. He's full
of unwarranted advice about her problems, and delivers said advice with a smug
look on his face, like he's just come up with the cure for AIDS.

"Advice on what, exactly?"

"Listen, your girls are going to be great out there. You couldn't be a better dance
teacher. They're tight, know their steps – plus, they're really fucking cute. But
you – your heart isn't in this like it used to be, so you're stumped on the dance
you have to do yourself. I'm a choreographer. Let me help you."

"We're all choreographers," she snaps, taking down her tight bun. She has a
headache straight from Satan.

"True enough, but you teach little girls to memorize something like… shuffle, tap,
shuffle, tap, turn, pout, shimmy – "

"What's your point, Tyler?"

"Can you just relax around me for two seconds? I know you don't like me. That's
fine, Bella. But I'm good at what I do, and you're a beautiful dancer. I admire
you, one dancer to another."

"I'm not trying to be tense around you, but your attitude really irks me."

"That's fine, too. This isn't about how you feel about me personally. Just about
what you can do with your body, and how I can help."

"Okay, I'll bite. But please try to make yourself sound less creepy."

"I admit that sounded sexual, but that's not what I meant. Okay? Just… relax."

She breathes in and out slowly, aware of the music clicking on. It's a funky beat,
ska/punk, with reggae undertones.

"I can't dance to this," she protests.

"Why not? It's got a beat, and it's fun. Let go of those uptight ballerina thoughts,
and just be a dancer."

She locks eyes with Tyler across the room. He raises his eyebrows almost
skeptically, and it bugs her to no end. She takes off in a complicated series of
turns, her leg propelling her spins. She feels the smile creep across her face as
she accepts the weird music into her veins, and she hears Tyler laugh.

He saunters up to her, his weird mix of hip-hop and classic training moving his
feet and hips in a pattern she's never seen.

"Teach me that," she demands, pointing to his step.

"I'm going to have to touch you," he warns, wiggling his hands.

"Lightly," she grouses.

He moves behind her, his hands finding purchase on her hips. He keeps a
respectable distance, and she relaxes.

He gyrates her hips, laughing at her stiffness. He kicks at her heels, forcing her
feet to move. Soon, she's doing the step, laughing at how ridiculous she looks.

"What are you doing?"

His voice is like a dousing of cold water in a blizzard. She stops immediately, the
smile dying from her lips. Tyler removes his hands quickly, and even though he
never once touched her with any other part of his body, she can easily see that
this is a… delicate situation.

"He's just teaching me a move, Edward," she starts cautiously.

"Hands-on demonstration?" he asks acidly. He's trying to be menacing, but he
has a plunger in his hand.

She giggles, and then pushes her lips closed. "He was just trying to get my hips
moving correctly. There's a syncopated – "

He holds up his hands, and then realizes he has the plunger. Dropping it, he
crosses his arms. She feels a temper tantrum coming on.

"I'm sorry if it looked inappropriate, but it wasn't. Please don't blow this out of
proportion." She uses her best psychologist voice, calm and soothing, feeling bad
for using her bag of tricks on him.

Tyler tries a different approach. "Glad to see you back around, man."

Edward turns towards him, his eyebrows nearly in his hair. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Bella told us you were… you know, pretty sick – just glad you're doing
okay."

Edward's face is purple. "She told you I have cancer." Not a question, but a very
scary statement.

"It's not a big deal, man. My grandfather died of lung cancer a few years back – "

"So that automatically means you know everything about me?" Yep, he's
definitely in scary Edward mode. "Why do people say that? That makes no
fucking sense. People know one person with cancer, and they suddenly become
the cancer oracle. Fuck off."

Tyler holds up his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. My fucking bad, dude. Sorry,
Bella. Didn't mean to… you know. Whatever. Bye."

She waves him off. She has much bigger things to worry about now. She didn't
think telling everyone about his cancer would annoy him so much. In fact, she
thinks it wouldn't annoy him so much if it were Maggie, or someone pretty,
sending him her condolences. But since it's Tyler…

"You're overreacting right now," she tells him calmly. "Don't say anything you
don't mean."

"I cannot – I just can't – you fucking – "

"I told them about the cancer because… it was like they were mocking you for
being out for the flu, like you were weak! It annoyed the crap out of me, so I just
– "

"I don't care if they think I'm weak. I don't – "

"Really? So you're not freaking out about another male knowing a weakness in
your body?"

He gives her an awful look. "I don't care if they think I'm weak because I have a
common ailment. But I sure as fuck care that they know something very private
about me, something it took me weeks to even admit to you, even being stupid in
love with you since… since… pretty much the first day!"

"You've loved me for that long?"

"That's not the – " His face closes off. "Why? Have you not loved me that long?"

He hates being caught vulnerable, with his heart cracked open. It's like his heart
is this wound that's constantly bleeding, and he's so used to people examining it
without actually taking sutures to it, to close it back up.

"Of course I have," she says softly, moving towards him. "I stalked you for weeks
before you even spoke to me."

He smiles, but it's more of a grimace, like he really doesn't want to. "Yeah, you're
pretty creepy, aren't you?"

"Really creepy." She reaches for his hand, and he lets her take it, but doesn't
actively hold her hand in return. "The creepiest. And the sorriest. I didn't… I
wasn't thinking. I told them to protect you, your image. But I don't think that's
what you're the most mad about, to be honest. It's just a vessel for you to hang
on to – right? You've been jealous over Tyler since he started working here."

He makes a face at her. "I thought the psychobabble would stop after you
withdrew."

"Don't be mean."

"I don't like that guy. He leers – "

She giggles. "Leers? You make him sound like some villain, coming around to
steal my virtue."

"I'd like to think I've stolen all the virtue you had left."

"I'm sure I have some more you can find… somewhere." She's being coquettish
and distracting him from the argument, and it's working beautifully.

"Is that so, Miss Swan?"

"I know how you can find out."

xXxXx

Twenty minutes later, they're both searching for their clothes in the tight space of
Esme's office. They can't stop laughing, and she keeps poking at his butt every
time he bends over.

"Exit only, Swan!"

"Yeah, I remember telling you that… and you 'accidentally' missing several
times."

"It was slippery down there. Not my fault."

"Actually, the slippery-ness was all your fault."

He's in the smug post-orgasm phase, so those words wash over him like a warm
bath. "Very true. Still… keep your fingers away."

"Emily was telling me that some guys really enjoy it."

He gives her a withering look. "All this anal talk is really… you know what, are
you stuck in the Anal Stage, miss psych?"

"Do not quote Freud to me."

"It's a valid question."

"Anyway… um, let's not mention this to Esme, okay? I don't think she'd fire me,
but…"

"She's not going to fire her heir."

"She still hasn't told me about that, by the way. I wonder what she's waiting for.
It's killing me not to ask why she's left me this place."

"She told me she was waiting for 'the right moment.'"

Her phone chooses that moment to go off, so she scrambles to hook her bra and
search for the buzzing thing.

"No, keep the bra off. All the jiggling is very enticing."

"You're so weird. Just a note, girls don't appreciate being told they jiggle."

He walks up behind her as she grabs her phone, and very immaturely takes hold
of her boobs, jiggling them.

"Stop! Hello?"

"Hello, my young Jedi."

"Hi, Kate. What's up?"

"Just wanted to call and congratulate you! You've officially become a
photographer."

"What? What do you mean?"

"You've booked your first gig alone. You were asked for very specifically."

"What? That's awesome!" She tells Edward, and he gives her a thumbs-up with a
pretty little smile. "When? Where?"

"In a couple weeks. The Cullen-Whitlock marriage. You're the wedding
photographer."

"Alice Cullen?"

"Yep. Congrats!"

"I… thanks." She clicks off the phone. "You knew?"

Edward shrugs. "Alice told me she wanted you. She loves the beach pictures you
took… they're really great, baby. I think she's really trying to make amends and
show faith in you."

"But… Edward! A wedding! Her wedding! If these pictures suck, they'll follow me
around forever!" She shakes her head, trying to wrap her head around it. "I
didn't even know the wedding was so soon. I don't even have a dress."

"We got the invitation in the mail ages ago. You two were just… not really getting
along, so I didn't say anything about it. I didn't know if you'd want to go."

"She's your family, Edward. Of course I'd go."

He pushes her nose with his finger. "She's your family, too, Bella." He hugs her,
kissing her sweaty hair. Then he makes several unmanly spluttering noises.

"What is it?" she laughs.

He gives her a dark look. "Spray gel."

xXxXx

xXxXx

As Long As You're Alive Again

"Hand me that, Swan."

Bella hands Emily the water glass she was reaching for, giving her a look the
whole time. "You're barely showing yet. Do I really have to endure another seven
months of excusing your laziness?"

Emily flicks off Bella as she chugs the water. "Let me tell you something. I don't
care if you're two weeks, two months, or two years pregnant – "

"That's not possible."

" – Every thing in your body is different. I'm like… constantly uncomfortable. So
yes, I'm going to milk this for all it's worth, believe me."

Bella rolls her eyes, smiling. She picks up the pair of Edward's boxers she was
folding and moves them into the 'done' pile. Scooping up one of his shirts, she
continues the assembly line.

"So, this wedding is tomorrow?" Emily asks after a couple minutes of silence.

"Yep," answers Bella, looping a pair of socks together. "I'm just so looking
forward to it, let me tell you."

"So much sarcasm to exist in such a tiny person."

Bella sighs, rubbing her face. Her bangs are getting long and practically tickling
her nose. "It's not that weddings are bad – in fact, they're good. Very good. I'm
just nervous as all hell about having to take pictures for Princess Alice. These will
be forever cemented in wedding heaven or hell, do you realize that? Just… why
me? It's like she chose me just in case I fuck up, or something, so she can haunt
me forever."

"I thought you said you two were getting along."

"We are. I'm just… never mind. I'm just being mean because I'm so nervous.
Plus, Edward has been in and out of the house like crazy the past couple days
because a bunch of his family is in town, and they all have to see for themselves
that he's okay."

"I get it. You miss your sugar daddy."

Bella snorts in a very unladylike way. "Speaking of that, let's talk about the major
bomb Edward dropped on me the other day."

"Oh, goodie. Let's."

"Remember when he was so poor he was living in a one room apartment with no
heat?"

'That's the whole reason he moved in with you, right?"

"Right. Well, we're out to dinner with his dad, and he starts talking to Edward
about his 'other account.' So, naturally curious, I ask him what he means. Edward
cuts across his dad when he starts to explain and then tells me he'll explain
later."

"Let me guess. Trust fund."

"Yes! What the fuck?"

"So, he was living in rags when he had god knows how much money in another
account?"

"He refused to draw from it because it was his family's money, and he was
determined to do it on his own. I appreciate the gumption behind the notion, but
he was nearly dead. All that pride inside of him really worries me sometimes. It
turns out that he has almost a million dollars at his fingertips, but he won't use it.
What else does he have that he won't use?"

"A vibrating dick?"

Bella laughs, throwing a balled up shirt at Emily's face. "I'd be ten times more
pissed about him keeping that information from me."

"You and me both, sister. Okay, I know you're all freaking out about this
wedding, but let me give you one word that will make you feel instantly better."

"What's that?" Bella says disbelievingly.

"Tuxedo," Emily whispers.

"Tuxedo," Bella grins back.

"You're drooling, Swan."

xXxXx

Bella sits in the back of the church, snapping pictures as random relatives walk in
on the arms of the ushers. Her eyes and lens keep going back to Edward,
standing with the rest of the groomsmen up front. He looks so handsome, if not a
little uncomfortable. Thankfully, the tuxedo is a little downplayed and he's not in
a goofy bowtie. She sighs happily, knowing all about what's under that penguin
suit.

She toes off her heels, and they fall to the floor with a thump. She rubs her toes
through the pantyhose, already hating her life. She hasn't been in them for
longer than two hours, and they're making her life miserable.

The last of the guests stream through, and then the processional music begins.
She hadn't even noticed that Edward disappeared into the church somewhere,
but she looks up just as he walks by. He briefly holds out his fingers to her – the
pinky, forefinger and thumb outstretched. The sign language for 'I love you.'

She smiles at him, but he's not looking at her. He's still walking straight ahead,
holding the arm of Alice's college roommate. Still, the tiny gesture warms her up
and gives her the ammo to put the heels back on and continue with the
photographs.

She hears her name being whispered, so she whips around. Alice is hanging out
of the church doors, frantically motioning at her. As quietly as possible, Bella
dashes into the lobby of the church.

Alice looks like she's about to pass out. Bella hands a peppermint to suck on, and
Alice takes it greedily.

"Can you please take a picture of my dad and I?" she asks, gesturing to Carlisle,
who's smiling down at Bella kindly.

"Of course." She puts the viewfinder to her eye, counts to three, and snaps an
adorable picture.

"Can you stay back here and take pictures as I'm walking down the aisle? I'm
thinking the back of my head, definitely include the veil, and try to get Jasper's
expression – "

Alice trills on and on out of nervousness, Bella guesses. She nods along, agreeing
to try her best. Kate taught her how to deal with frazzled brides: agree, agree,
agree, and pray they don't remember their crazy demands when the pictures are
returned to them.

"My brother looks pretty handsome, doesn't he?" Alice asks suddenly, cutting
across her own ramblings.

"Yes, he does," Bella answers, sneaking a peek through the cracked door. He's
shuffling nervously at the front of the church, and if she tries really hard, she can
see everyone else melting away, and she can imagine herself in a big ivory dress,
and –

"Do you see this," Alice continues, holding up her bouquet, "in your future?"

Bella smiles at Alice, unsure of how to answer. The topic of Edward's future is
fragile at best, and she's not sure what the best response is, especially when
confronted with Edward's own father.

"Alice," Carlisle cuts in. "Let's just worry about you today, okay? I'm going to get
grey hairs if we keep discussing my children being married off."

Suddenly, the bridal march begins. Alice shrieks so loud, Bella's sure that
everyone in the sanctuary hears it.

"It's going to be okay," Bella assures her, as the wedding director rushes up to fix
up any last minute details.

"Get good pictures," Alice begs.

"It won't be difficult. All of you – you're so beautiful. The camera barely has to
work."

Alice squeezes Bella's hand in thanks, and then she straightens up at her dad's
side. The doors open, and Bella starts clicking away.

xXxXx

An hour later, Bella's shoes are off again. She's darting around the lawn at the
reception, making sure she's catching every single member of the crowd enjoying
themselves in one way or another. Really, she's biding time until they cut the
cake, smoosh it in each other's faces, dance the first dance, throw the bouquet
and leave. She's more than ready to get out of her dress and put on some
sweats. And maybe a mud mask. And maybe some Edward.

"Hey," she hears behind her, and then feels a warm hand on her shoulder. She
leans back into him, and his arms come around her middle. "Getting ready to
drop?"

"I'm okay," she answers, placing her camera down on the table in front of her.
It's starting to feel like a brick hanging around her neck. "How are you?"

"Holding up. Feet are sore," he says quietly, sitting down at the table.

She follows suit. "Your cheeks probably are, too."

"From all the smiling?"

"No, the pinching. Your great-grandmother Ethel over there seems to think you're
the most handsome man she's ever seen."

"So I've heard," he grumbles, rubbing his face. "Have you met Emmett yet?"

"Other than really briefly the other night, no."

"He's here with his girlfriend. Let me flag him – "

"Please, no," she moans, putting her hands over her face. "No more polite
introductions. No more schmoozing. I can't meet another person today; I swear I
can't. You have the biggest family I've ever seen."

He laughs at her. "It's just my kid brother. He'll make you laugh. C'mon, I
promise."

Before she even agrees, he's waving at someone behind her. Emmett, who looks
almost completely different from Edward, walks up with his girlfriend. She's thin
and blonde and silent, which makes up for Emmett's gigantic, loud presence.

Introductions are made, and as promised, Emmett does make Bella laugh. She
thinks it sounds forced coming out of her mouth, like she's a bit crazed and
exhausted, but at least it's something. It makes Edward smile, anyway, so she
can't be too upset.

Suddenly, all of the unmarried women are called to the center to catch the
bouquet. This is Bella's cue, and she grabs her camera to get a picture of the
lucky – or unlucky – recipient.

What she doesn't catch in her lens is Alice's obvious aim, and she's more shocked
than anyone else when the bouquet lands on her head. There is a chorus of 'aww'
and Alice grinning at her sneakily. Bella just smiles, taking the pretty white
flowers and walking back to Edward.

"What's this?" he asks, grinning from ear to ear.

She sets down her camera, takes a flower out of the bouquet, and ties the end
into a tiny knot. She slides it onto his left ring finger, and it hangs off awkwardly.
But the intent is clear, and before she knows it, Emmett has her camera and is
taking a picture of the gaudy flower ring on Edward's hand.

"Cute, Swan," he tells her, but he's clearly pleased.

"A promise ring," she says, "for poor folks like us."

"And what are you promising?"

"Not to ring your neck when I get mad at you, now and forever, amen."

xXxXx

Bella breathes in deep as Edward rolls her over. She clings to his shoulders for
dear life, and then drops down onto his chest as his hips finish the motion. She
gasps into his neck, already completed minutes earlier. He's trying to find his
end, so she kisses him and holds his face tightly as his eyes squeeze shut. He's
on that borderline of pleasure and pain, where you want to come so badly it
almost hurts.

"Relax, relax," she murmurs.

His body shudders, and then he finds himself and his completion. He rises up so
she's seated in his lap, and he buries his face in her breasts as he groans and
twitches.

He lays her back down against the sheets, and she smiles up at him. Usually,
they're playful during sex, but that turned into something quiet and intense, with
no sound between them at all.

"Hi," she whispers, still respecting the sanctity of silence.

"Hey," he smiles, his mouth quirking up in the corner.

She palms his face, and he kisses her fingers, palm, wrist and elbow. Then he
draws back, falling against the pillows.

She crawls up, snuggling up next to him. "What's wrong?"

He rubs his face, and then looks over at her. "You know my big appointment?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm just… nervous."

"Nervous? Why? Do you feel okay?"

He cradles her face. "I feel okay, Bella. It's just like, the farther along I get with a
clean bill of health, the more fucked up it'll be if I don't get one suddenly."

She leans forward and kisses him softly. When she backs away, he follows with a
small smile. She kisses him again, and then bats his face away. "I had a point,
then the kissing can continue."

"Hurry with the point," he demands, already working down her neck.

"Doesn't thinking like that always get tiring?"

He looks up at her, his stubble scratching at her tummy. "Yeah, of course. I'm
just ready for the day that I don't have to think that way."

"Me, too," she admits. Then she shoves on his head. "Now get to your point."

He grins at her, and then finds the point very quickly.

xXxXx

"Can we speak?" Esme asks Bella as the last dance class wraps up for the
evening.

"Yes, of course." Bella shoos the rest of her girls off, smiling as they talk amongst
themselves about the recital. It's closer than Bella realized – only two weeks
away.

"Let's go into the office, oui?" She gestures for Bella to follow her, and Bella does,
taking her hair out of the tight bun and releasing her head from its ache.

Before Bella has time to close the door, Esme bursts out with, "I've met
someone!"

Blinking rapidly, Bella takes Esme by the arms and sits her down. "Okay. Calm
down. You're hyperventilating."

Esme rapid-fires some French that Bella doesn't understand, but waits until the
English starts coming out. "…and zen, oh, it was so beautiful – we looked at each
uzzer, and it was like lifetimes were born between us – "

"Okay, okay," Bella laughs. She's shocked; Esme is notorious for finding flaws in
every man she's tried to date. "Start over, in English."

"You're going to kill me. I'm going to be dead once you 'ear zis."

"I'm not going to kill you."

"Oui, yes, you are, Bella – dead! I'm dead, oh…"

"Who is it?"

Esme stares at her, visibly shaking.

"Esme, it can't be that bad. He's not a murderer, is he?"

"Non, not a murderer. But you will become one once you 'ear zis!"

She stares at her godmother before all the pieces click into place. "Carlisle?"

"Oh, oui, yes, Bella – Carlisle! I knew it; I'm dead! I can't see 'im anymore, you
are more important, even if 'e 'as zee most beautiful – "

"You've been seeing Edward's dad? For how long?" Bella keeps smiling, but then
trying to check herself into seriousness.

"Since 'e came into town for zat shrew's wedding. 'e stopped by 'ere to drop
something off for Edward, and zen – voila!"

"Voila," Bella repeats, a bit dazed. "I'm not mad at you. Not even a little bit. I'm
so happy for you."

"Oh – you are? You are? Oh, Bella, my life – it's changed completely, like
everything 'as realigned. I 'ave been dying to tell you, but I didn't know – "

"Why would I be mad? Don't be ridiculous!"

"Well, I'm practically your muzzer, and 'e - 'e is your boyfriend's fazzer!"

"Take a deep breath. All this French – I can't understand half of what you're
saying."

Esme takes deep breaths, and then starts over. "I'm so in love with him, and I
think he feels the same for me. He has been talking about moving here, to
Seattle, to be closer to Edward and Alice… and for me."

Bella hugs Esme tightly, laughing. "That's wonderful news. Really. I couldn't be
happier for you guys. And for Edward – he'll be really excited about his dad being
closer. I know he misses his family, and he needs more of a support system than
just us… how could I possibly be mad?"

"I don't know. I'm crazy. I've been stressing about the recital, and then so happy
about him, but so worried how you would take it – "

"If you need it, which you don't, you have my blessing. One hundred percent."
Then Bella takes out her phone, grinning wickedly.

"What are you doing?"

"Oh, just anticipating Edward's reaction." She puts the phone to her ear. "I can't
wait for this."

xXxXx

And then suddenly, the recital is upon her. A year's worth of teaching these little
girls, and now she's walking among them, in clouds of hairspray and powder. She
straightens costumes and gives hugs, all the while thinking of her own dance at
the end of the recital.

She doesn't have one planned. She has the music and a slight idea, but she
keeps thinking back to that time when she had nothing but her own two feet, a
beat and Edward, staring at her, making her feel beautiful and transient. He'll be
here, and she'll be there, and he'll be watching, and she'll be moving for him.
That's all she needs.

Her phone buzzes against her, and she takes it out, smiling when it's Edward.

"Hey, baby."

"Hey." He sounds strained, and she's immediately worried.

"What's wrong?"

"Listen, Bella. The doctor's office called me – they… they want me to come in for
the results."

Her stomach drops to her toes. "What does that mean?"

"I… I'm not sure. But I don't know if I can make it to your recital, baby. I'm so
sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry – "

"Shhh, shhh. Shush. It's okay. You – when you are going in?"

"Now. Well, in a few minutes. Your dance isn't until the very end, right?"

"Right."

"If everything is okay… I mean, this is the big one, you know? These results, this
means I don't have to go back in for six months. This one means freedom. So, if
they're good… I should be able to make it in time to see you."

"Okay. …okay. Okay."

"But if not – they have to admit me right away and start treatment. It's policy. So
I won't be able to – "

"No. No. That's okay. Don't worry – just. Just call me and let me know, okay? If
it's bad, I'll go to straight to the hospital and be with you, as soon as the music
stops. You won't be alone, not a step. Okay?"

"I know. It's – it'll be okay. I don't know why they're calling me in, usually I just…
I mean, I don't know. This – this could be bad. This could be bad, Bella. This
could be what we've been talking about."

Tears are streaming down her face, but she's trying to remain calm. "I know. I
know that. Either way, I'm right here. Don't worry about a thing, okay? You just
worry about you."

"If it's good, if everything's okay, I'll be there. I promise. I'll see you dance if it –
if it kills me."

She thinks he's crying, too, but she doesn't say so. "I love you, Edward. I love
you. Okay? Everything will be okay."

"I know… I know. I love you, baby. Go dance and be beautiful. I'll… either way,
I'll see you soon."

And that's the only thing she can cling to. If it's good or if it's bad, either way,
she'll see him soon.

xXxXx

xXxXx

You Fell Towards Me

A tiny dancer spins in its box. The springs twist in constant motion, rotating the
ballerina on the spot. It plays a haunting tune; sad, almost – like a love gone too
soon, a heart left to rot after ripening without being plucked. She watches it spin,
her tiny brown eyes taking in each rotation.

"Ma puce, we are almost late for class. Are you listening to this again?"

Bella nods, her little fingers clinging to the edge of the dresser. The box closes
softly, and Esme's hands cradle Bella's face.

"I know you are sad and that you miss your mother. But she is not so far, and I
am here. I know everything there is to know about her, and you will know
everything there is to know about me."

Bella nods, too young to really understand. But Miss Esme smells so sweet, like a
swizzle of sugar and light pink petals on bathwater. She wants to dance just like

her, wants to move underneath the notes of the music, lift her arms to the sky
and let the clouds carry her through her jumps.

Esme promises her that one day, she will. One day, she will have all the eyes in
the room on her, but will only care about one pair. And she says, when that day
comes, she will be a dancer.

Bella doesn't know why this particular memory clings to her skin as she washes
her face in the bathroom behind the stage, but it does. It swallows her heart and
she feels each contraction as it moves down the windpipe. She breathes deeply,
trying to right herself, but each move she makes is heavy and ungraceful.

Every eye in the room will be on her in less than an hour, but the only pair she
cares about will not be.

She has already resigned herself to the fact that he is sick again. Why else would
a doctor call in a patient? If things are okay, it's barely a phone call. But when it's
bad news, the doctor feels an obligation to give a face-to-face explanation, and
then move the person into the treatment options.

But she has to do this. She has so many people counting on her, even though
she's put on her coat and taken it off three times so far.

She emerges from the bathroom, and Esme is there, smiling at her in that way
she has. Bella takes a deep breath and wipes her face.

"You are going to be beautiful out there," she whispers, pulling Bella's hair back
from her face. "Come, let's do your makeup. You washed it all off."

"It all came off," Bella corrects, but allows herself to be led down the hallways
into the dressing rooms.

"Sit," Esme demands, pointing to a stool in front of a vanity mirror.

"I was thinking about when I was staying at your house when I was little," Bella
tells her.

Esme sits on the vanity in front of her. She pulls over a big box of glittery stage
makeup and begins applying foundation. "What about it?"

"How sad I was because I didn't understand why Renee had gone. How happy I
was to have you. And that music box with the dancing ballerina, how I played it
constantly before every dance class. Do you remember that?"

Esme smiles at her, rubbing the foundation over her nose. "Of course I
remember. I'm surprised you do. You were such a little thing."

"I don't remember very much, but… what you said to me, I can still remember it.
How I wasn't a dancer until I only cared about one person's eyes, not the whole
world's. Did you mean that, or were you just trying to babble at a little girl?"

Esme looks at Bella softly, her eyes crinkling as she considers her goddaughter.
"I didn't feel like a dancer until my father finally came and saw one of my recitals.
He had never come, and I begged him to for years. When he finally did, my body
was so aware of him out there that I danced better than I had my whole life. It's
like I was dancing to make him proud, and maybe to make him see that getting
off the sofa to come see me was worth it."

Bella nods, causing powder to go flying. She laughs as it tickles her nose, and
Esme waves it away with a giggle.

"You are thinking of your Edward," Esme continues, brushing the now still powder
over Bella's eyelids.

"Always," Bella answers quietly.

"You do not think he will come?"

"I know he will if he can. But no, I don't think he'll come."

Esme cups Bella's face in a way she hasn't done in years. "Ma cherie, I have seen
you come alive in these past months. Before, you were a beautiful shell. Now,
you are a woman with passion and faith. Don't betray yourself before your big
moment."

"My big moment?"

"What is faith if it hasn't been tested? What have you been telling Edward for the
past seven, eight months – to never fear, never give up, to always fight. If you
can't muster up enough spitfire to trust your feet to move you, you might as well
lie in bed and let life cover you."

Bella dabs at her eyes, resolute to not let the tears spill. Esme is working so hard
to make her beautiful, and she doesn't want her sadness to muddy it up. "What if
he doesn't – "

"Non, mademoiselle. What if he does?"

xXxXx

She regards herself in the mirror after Esme leaves. Her eyelashes fan out to her
eyebrows, and her eye shadow is a thick layer of silver paint and rhinestones. Her
lips are a pale pink, and her hair is tight on her head, tied off like a sailor's knot.
Feathers extend out of the bun, almost falling over her eyes. She looks beautiful,
like a swan – which was Esme's goal, she's sure.

Underneath the makeup, she can see the little girl she used to be. She
remembers her first pointe shoes, and the patient way Esme showed her how to
lace them up. She still has them hanging by her bedside. Edward always
complains they smell like 'baby funk', but she knows that's just his way of
compensating for having something so girly in his domicile.

Edward.

His name is a whisper in her ears. It travels down her veins into the tiny
capillaries, stuffing itself into the tight crooks of her. She rubs her arms, missing
him already. Was it really just this morning that she kissed him goodbye with half
a breakfast bar hanging out of her mouth? He had complained about her nose
being cold, and she had stomped on his foot in retaliation. He had wished her
good luck, and she had said 'see you this evening.' And he had said, 'yes, you
will.'

And then life changes that quickly, which is something he's taught her, something
she hasn't really thought about until now. All it took was a quiet man in a leather
jacket and baseball cap to scowl at her, make fun of her smoking technique, and
then seven months later, he was everything that alighted her passion.

She walks towards the stage, her little girls about to go on. They throw
themselves at her, and she laughs and whispers encouragements.

"I'll be right here," she promises them, feeling their anxious energy. "If you need
me, just look over your shoulder, and I'll guide you."

Then the group on stage exits, and she pushes her girls on. This is only their first
number – they have tap and jazz to go. But this, ballet, is what she is most
anxious to see.

They flounder and look for her help a lot, their sweet little brains on overdrive
from all the people and bright lights. But they look adorable, and they do their
steps with tiny feet and big hearts. They get a loud round of applause, and no
one is clapping louder than Bella.

She high fives and hugs all of them as they shimmy off the stage, the lights still
bright in their eyes. She leads them back into the dressing room, assisting them
in the costume change. She checks her phone in a moment of peace, and she has
a text waiting for her.

Still in the waiting room. Haven't heard anything. Send me a picture and make
me smile.

She grabs one of the girls and takes a "MySpace" style picture with her, the
camera above their heads, the angle off. But she has a cute little girl with missing
teeth in the picture next to her opulent makeup, and if anything will make him
smile, that will.

She sends it quickly, and then taps her toes in anticipation of his response.

"Miss Bella?" asks Shayla, the little girl in the picture with her.

"Yes?"

"You look like a princess," she whispers. The girls behind her nod and agree, and
she smiles at all of them.

"So do you," Bella promises.

Her phone goes off, so she checks it as the girls make last minute preparations to
their costumes.

Exactly what I had in mind. You are beautiful. They just called my name – I'll see
you soon, either way.

Bella's heart leaps into her throat, but she puts down her phone before she calls
him and sobs. She has a job to do, and she's not going to let these girls down.

"Come on, let's go!" she cries, clapping her hands and raising excitement among
them.

xXxXx

The lights are bright, brighter than she remembers. She closes her eyes as much
as she can without shutting them completely. Her ribbons are tight, strung
around her calves. She can feel sweat clinging to her back, dripping between her
shoulder blades.

When she gets to center stage, she looks up. She can barely see to the right or
left, but she can see the middle row leading to the double door exit perfectly.
There is no one there watching her, so she drops her head as she tries to forget
her heart and recall it into her dance at the same moment.

The music starts up: a heavy, sad piano. She rises onto her toes, and then the
world falls away.

"Oh, please don't go… I want you so… I can't let go… For I lose control…"

It's like the lights of the stage invoked 'life flashing before your eyes' sequence
that occurs after death. Edward is not here, which means her whole life is about
to be reborn into something new, something scary, something – despite all of her
bravado – she doesn't know if she's strong enough to handle.

She sees him in her mind, sleeping against her arm, laughing at her millionth
stupid joke, closing his eyes before he comes. Tears spring to her eyes, and she
can't push them back down. She's on stage, and she's crying, and she's
heartbroken, and every bit of movement she puts forth shows that.

She crumples onto the stage, like a swan falling from the sky, her wings too new
to fly. She picks herself back up slowly, wiping her eyes on her fingers. She can't
bend to the wind now, now that it's blowing harder than ever. If she can't fly,
she'll dance.

And so she does. Even though he can't see her, it's for him. It's all been for him,
she realizes. Every moment of passion she's reborn inside herself, it's to show
him how living again is easy when you have someone every step of the way.
There's no reason to be scared, because if you fall, someone will always be there
to catch you.

And the last thing she wants to be is a liar. She doesn't want to be that person to
preach and preach and not practice, so she's determined to step off this stage the
second the music stops and go to him. She's going to show him that she has the
strength he's shown her every step of the way.

She was going through life without much passion, without much conviction. She
met a man who taught her the meaning of treating transient life with respect,
with love, so she's going to take the biggest leap of faith she's ever faced.

The music slowly comes to a close, and she drops her arms, breath heaving. The
applause rises around her, and she smiles, thanking them with a curtsy.

When she raises her head to take her leave, she sees.

She sees her whole life before her, and he's standing against the double doors, a
beautiful smile on his face, clapping loudest of them all.

She's a trained dancer, and she knows how to keep her poise. But she doesn't
give a damn. She leaps off the stage and bounds down the middle row, tears
streaming past her smile.

She jumps up into his arms, and he falls back against the door.

"You were amazing," he tells her. "I wanted to cry and beat off at the same
time."

She laughs through her tears, because this is such a poignant moment, and he
always ruins those with his stupid boy comments. But she couldn't be happier.
She loves him, and his stupid boy comments, and his hair, and his health, and his
heart, which he showed to her all those months ago. His heart, which he gave
her, and she took, and she mended him, and maybe she taught him a thing or
two about how to live, too.

Or maybe they mended each other. Or maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe all that
matters is that he's kissing her, and she's kissing him, and the bemused people in
the audience are still clapping. Maybe all that matters is the reason they called
him down to the doctor's office was so his dad could surprise him with the results
himself, and the news that he was moving back, and that they were going to be a
family again.

Or maybe all that matters is that she loves him, every inch, and she knows she
can take that leap and he will be there at the other side to bring her back to the
ground.

Or maybe he'll be there, right beside her, taking that grand jeté with her.

xXxXx

xXxXx

His Ladder To The Stars

Five Years Later

A young woman sits alone in a hospital hallway. She's just received the worst
news of her life. She can barely contain the tears dripping from between her
fingers. People walk by her, and she can almost feel their sympathy, but she
doesn't look up. It seems like everyone in a hospital has sympathy without
answers. Why is this happening to her? She married her young husband barely a
year ago, and now a death sentence – or at least the start of one – is brought
upon them.

A door opens to her left, and for some reason, she looks up. A handsome man
emerges from the office. He's tall and broad, and he's in need of a haircut. It's
this weird color, and it keeps changing from brown to red under the fluorescent
lights. He calls to someone inside the office, laughing. When he turns, there are
tracks of tears on his cheeks, melting into the scruffy beard against his jaw.

"Stop molesting the doctor, Bella! It's even worse that it's my dad –"

A beautiful woman steps out of the office. She has even more tears on her face
than the man, if that's possible. She has glossy brown hair that is layered just
past her shoulders, and her eyes – the same color – are fanned by impossible
lashes. The woman in the chair straightens her hair self-consciously. How can
some women look so pretty in their tears?

"Oh, Edward – I – " She jumps up into his strong arms. She can see his biceps
contract as he supports her weight, even if she's a tiny thing.

Even still, he stumbles back against the wall. She kisses him wildly, her glittering
left hand grasping the man's – Edward's – hair tightly. Maybe that's why it's so
messed up.

The woman sniffles, but she can't help but smile to herself. They are obviously
deeply in love and deeply moved by some sort of good news.

"I can't believe, I can't – " the beautiful woman – Bella – sobs against his neck.

He puts her down gently. A gold band on his left hand glints in the light. "I know,
baby. I can't – we're… I'm done. We never have to come back to this – I swear to
god, I'm not coming to another doctor in my life. Herbal remedies, baby. That's
all we're doing, ever."

"Don't be stupid," she laughs, but she can't stop hugging and kissing every part
she can reach. She takes his hand, and they start down the hallway, in the
woman's direction. "We have to get home. We promised Emily we'd babysit
Candace, so she and Sam can have a date night."

He shoots her a look. "I can't believe you did that. All I want to do is go home
and fu – "

It's Bella's turn to shoot him a look. "Language!"

"Fu…nction. I was going to say function."

The woman snorts back laughter, but because of the tears, it comes out louder
than she meant it.

The couple looks in her direction. Edward grins in a way that could only be
counted as a smirk, and Bella looks embarrassed.

"I'm sorry," Bella says. "We just – we just got the best news of our lives. We're
acting like animals."

The woman waves off their concerns. "I'm very happy for you. I… think I just got
the worst news of mine."

They're in the oncology wing, so that could only mean one thing.

"You?" Edward asks.

The woman shakes her head. "My – my husband."

Edward shakes his head. "I'm sorry. We…"

Bella squeezes his hand. "Go on. I'll meet you at the car."

He smiles at her. It's a smile of pride, of reverence, of love built on a house of
cards that received the glue it ordered years ago. He kisses her, murmuring little
words against her lips. Bella smiles, the tears flowing again.

"You did it," she whispers.

"We did it," he corrects.

The woman watches him go. He musses up his hair, and then slaps his thigh in
triumph. The double doors open, and the sunlight sets his happiness aflame.

Bella watches him go, the smile never leaving her face. Then, she crouches in
front of the woman, so they're eye-to-eye.

"Five years ago, that man was barely a shell. He was wrecked from chemo, but I
couldn't help loving him. We pushed on, and every report came back clean. We
built a life around each other, waiting for the other shoe to drop. It never did.
Today, he was pronounced cured." Bella puts her hand on the woman's.

"My husband – he – we just got the news. They're readying him for treatment.
I'm so lost. I… I don't know what to do."

Bella regards her carefully. "A woman I love very much told me once to not give
up your faith before your big moment. This is your big moment. Don't lose your
faith before it has a chance to be tested."

The woman nods. "Your name is Bella?"

"Yes, it is."

"I'm Jessica."

Bella digs a card out of her purse and hands it to Jessica. Jessica takes it, looking
at it. It's a business card, naming a dance studio in downtown Seattle. It has her
cell phone number on it.

"Please use it. No one should ever be alone in times like these."

"Are you coming, Bella?"

Edward has stuck his head back in the hospital, looking like he's ready to leave
and never look back.

"Go," whispers Jessica.

Bella stands, brushing Jessica's bangs out of her eyes. It's so maternal, tears
spring to Jessica's eyes again.

"This is your big moment," Bella says again, and then points to the card.

Then she turns with all the grace of a prima ballerina. "Impatient, much?" she
calls to the man, who's nearly vibrating with energy.

They join hands, and Jessica watches them disappear into the light of the sun.

THE END.

xXxXx

What can I say? Yes, this is my last full fanfiction. I might get the bug in me
again, but for now, I'm exhausted. This story was so deeply personal to me,
because of my own connections to cancer, and the wonderful dad I have that
didn't make it.

I can't express my gratitude to each and every one of you. You're the reason I
wrote this. I hope you carry a little something from it with you, because I'll carry
all of your words, encouragements and love with me.

This is dedicated to Ali, who has all the talents of Bella, and all the beauty. Thank
you to her, and my other wonderful beta, Shaina. I love you both very much.

I'll see you guys soon. Keep me on alert – I have one more one shot to write.
And maybe some outtakes.

This chapter's title comes from "Timshel" by Mumford & Sons.

Cold is the water

It freezes your already cold mind

Already cold, cold mind

And death is at your doorstep

And it will steal your innocence

But it will not steal your substance

But you are not alone in this

And you are not alone in this

As brothers we will stand and we'll hold your hand

Hold your hand

And you are the mother

The mother of your baby child

The one to whom you gave life

And you have your choices

And these are what make man great

His ladder to the stars

And I will tell the night

Whisper, "Lose your sight"

But I can't move the mountains for you.

Love always,

Lindsey xoxo