Fanfiction Based On Characters From Stephanie Meyer’s Twilight Series

Rated M for Mature

A Little Crazy

By tby789 & LolaShoes

Summary: Edward is the new, mysterious tenant across the street. Bella has spent her whole life

here. Can he convince her that life isn't a place, but what you keep with you?

~*~

Chapter One

June 3rd

He moved in quietly in the middle of the night. A large truck sat at the dark curb and three men shuffled boxes
and a few pieces of furniture inside.

I watched from my living room, awake as usual.

The truck pulled away with a deep shudder and the street fell silent again.

~*~

June 4th

Parents ushered their kids into cars, and husbands kissed wives goodbye at the doorway. I sat on my stoop
watching the house across the street.

Dusty blue paint curled at the window sills, and the grass had overgrown since the previous tenants – a young,
scruffy couple – had moved away.

The house had been silent since the last box was unloaded, and the door shut behind whispers of thanks.

I waited to see him again, wondering if he was the one who stayed, or if he was one of the two who left in the
truck.

The house was never rented for long. Three months, six months. Once it had been rented for almost a year. The
neighborhood had grown tired of the revolving door of tenants and had learned to ignore the quiet house. Kids
passed it over at Halloween, neighbors borrowed sugar two doors down instead, and Fourth of July parades never
lingered in that yard.

But I always noticed the house. I noticed the transient tenants. The neighborhood's general disregard to the
permanence of the house made me feel protective, defensive. I felt the house deserved better. I always made a pie
for new tenants, in hopes it would convey to them that it mattered to me they were here, that someone cared about
the house.

~*~

June 7th

The asphalt was melting in the heat and the air was distorted close to the ground. I parked and began unloading
my groceries when I noticed him deep in his driveway, washing a car I had never seen before.

It was a late 80's Volvo station wagon: rust colored and dusty. He was beautiful and shirtless, his arms covered in
blues, reds, and yellows. His hair was damp from sweat and his shorts were drenched with water from the bucket
on the ground. I let my eyes linger on his arms, on the stories they told above the rippling muscles of his forearms
and the taut lines of his biceps. His back was bare but for words in black along his lower spine.

He stood and stretched, turning to crack his back. Our eyes met and lingered.

"Hi," his lips said in a smile.

"Um," I mumbled, before turning and walking into the house with my bags.

~*~

June 8th

His pie had crust latticed over apricots, blueberries, and scattered purple plums. Colorful and beautiful. I hoped he
wouldn't notice, and I hoped he would.

I carried it over, hopping barefoot over the hot street, balancing the pie. I reached the door and knocked once on
the familiar wood.

Footsteps slapped along the hardwood and his auburn hair appeared in the row of windows before his eyes peeked
over and then disappeared.

Moments of silence passed and I feared he could hear my heart beating. I also feared he had walked away. The
knob turned and he appeared in front of me. Clean but scruffy, beautiful but unfortunately clothed. His ears were
stretched with small black bands, his eyebrow was decorated with a small ring, and he had a silver vertical labret
in his lower lip.

"Hi," I smiled. "I brought you a pie."

His eyes broke from my gaze abruptly and looked down at my hands. "For me?" he asked, grinning.

I nodded, looking at the blue and red ink spanning his neck. "It's what I do whenever someone moves into this
house."

His face registered this, and what looked like disappointment and excitement mixed over his features. His lips
pressed together in recognition that other lips had tasted pies that I made just for them. His eyes shone when he
guessed that I had only ever blended color like this for him.

"I went a little crazy with yours," I confirmed, nodding to the pie. I bounced on my toes on the hot porch.

He took the pie and lifted the corner of his lip as he smiled. "I like a little crazy."

I laughed and turned to leave, waving at him quickly. "Bye colorful neighbor guy."

"Bye a-little-crazy neighbor girl," he murmured.

I felt his gaze on me the entire way back across the street.

~*~

June 9th

His light was on when I woke at 2am, hot and unable to find comfort in the big house. I sat on my porch swing,
sipping water, imagining him eating my pie in the middle of the night.

~*~

I climbed out of bed and pulled a t-shirt over my head, padding to the door to fetch the paper. On top of the Times
was a small piece of white paper, folded in fourths.

I bent over to retrieve it and smiled. A drawing of a stick figure, smiling and holding its belly, was scribbled on
the paper. I laughed, walking back inside.

The rest of the day my thoughts lingered on the man across the street as I worked in my office. The slightest
sound from outside would send me needlessly into the kitchen to peer out the window.

From there, if I bent ever so slightly, I had the perfect view of his little blue house. My eyes scanned the yard in
search of the sound, ready to be disappointed again, when movement near the fence caught my eye.

He walked around the tall oak in front, a tool box in hand and stopped at one of the smaller front windows. My
breath caught as I noticed that he was once again shirtless.

I watched as he bent down and focused on his task, completely unaware of my wide-eyed spying. The muscles of
his back flexed and twisted as he finally forced the old window open.

My eyes were drawn down his torso as he moved to the next window, trying to make out the colored markings
that began along his ribs and disappeared below the waistband of his shorts. He was so different than anyone I'd
ever known before, and yet in the few minutes we had spent together, I felt inexplicably comfortable and known.

Reluctantly pushing away from the counter, I sighed and looked at the clock. My jaw dropped. How was it
possible that I had spent an entire day thinking of a man I didn't even know?

I opened the refrigerator and began mechanically removing items to make dinner, pausing with a smile as the
lawn mower started across the street.

An hour later I had a piping hot pan of lasagna in my oven mit-covered hands, and it occured to me what I was
doing. Without realizing it, I had prepared two pans and was in the process of crossing the street to place one on
his porch. Before I could second-guess my actions, I secured the foil over the glass dish and stepped out into the
waning sun.

The sound of children playing bounced off the hot pavement. The air was thick and cooler now, ripe with the
smell of freshly cut grass and family barbeques.

I was surprised by the noticeable difference in the old blue house. Gone were the waist high weeds that spiraled
around the weathered mailbox and the long overgrown lawn that I used to watch sway in the breeze from the
window seat in my bedroom. The grass was now short and covered in a criss-cross pattern. The flower beds were
now bare but weedless and the once desolate looking windows were liberated from their broken blinds, proudly
streak-free and framed by the freshly-sanded blue paint.

Silence greeted me as I hopped up the warm sidewalk, balancing the hot pan in my arms. I put the dish down and
turned, quickly scurrying back to my house. A lone purple flower, saved from the twisted mass of overgrown
weeds caught my eye as I passed. It struck me how that defiant little flower seemed to belong. Strong, unusual
and truly beautiful.

The next morning, I stepped out onto the porch to retrieve the paper, once again surprised to find something there
waiting for me. My clean dish held another folded piece of white stationary. I bent to retrieve it and laughed out
loud, my hand moving to cover my mouth as the sound echoed in the quiet morning. The paper displayed a simple
sketch of two stick figures eating together.

I glanced up then, meeting his wide smile from the front window. I looked down momentarily, blushing, and was
greeted by his smile and wave when I lifted my gaze back to his. I quickly returned his wave and turned back to
the house, already planning our dinner.

~*~

I wasn't quite sure what I was getting into. My body moved without any voluntary action from my brain. My
knock on the door sounded louder than usual even though my arm felt weak with anticipation.

The sound of bare feet padding to the door spiked my nerves and I took a stumbling step backwards as the door
flung open and he stood before me, gorgeous and grinning. "Come on in, a little-crazy neighbor girl." He made a

broad sweeping gesture with his hand before he noticed that I had stumbled. "Oh damn! Are you okay? Did I
scare you?"

"No," I laughed nervously.

"Well, I didn't mean to open the door so suddenly after your knock," he laughed, waving me inside.

"Exactly," I smiled. "Give a girl at least the customary ten seconds."

"See?" He grinned, shaking his head. "This is where I always mess up. I never know the rules."

I looked around and lost track of what I was going to say in response. He had started to unpack and the house
looked like mayhem. There was little furniture, a couch in the living room, a small coffee table, and a few crates
of books. Most of the floor was covered with drums. Scores and scores of drums.

"Wow," I murmured. "You have a lot of drums." I bit my lip and groaned inwardly at the obvious observation.

"I do, and most of them I haven't seen in over three years. I hope it's not too loud for the neighbors, but man, I
have missed these." He looked wistfully at a line of tall narrow drums against a wall in what used to be the dining
room, and then shivered into the present moment, reaching for the bag of food I carried. "Here, let me get that."

I handed the bag to him and wandered into the dining room, letting my fingers run over the different shapes of
wood, gourds, and metal. Some had bells, strings, and keys. Some were covered in hide, others in fibers. He came
back from the kitchen and watched me pick up a goblet-shaped drum and run my fingers over the stitching.

"That one is a Djembe," he said, walking towards me and offering me a glass of wine.

"Where is it from?" I put the drum down next to its twin and took the glass, swallowing a large sip and begging
my body to relax.

He scratched the back of his head, thinking. "Well, you can find them almost anywhere now. They're used in all
sorts of music. But I got these in Africa."

"You've been to Africa?" I asked, not sure why I was so surprised. If I had to guess, I would say he had been lots
of places.

He nodded into his own wine glass. "Yep."

I walked to a pair of large drums shaped almost like wine barrels. "What are these?"

He swallowed and followed me, running his hand over the taut drum head. "These are both taiko. This one," he
ran his hand over the longer of the two, "is a nagado-daiko. The other one is a sanchou shime-daiko."

"Let me guess... Japan?" I smiled.

"Yes, Japan," he said, returning my smile and pursing his lips slightly. "And I am an Edward. A colorful, neighbor
Edward." His eyes were relaxed and familiar and I found it hard to break my gaze from his.

"From the United States?" I asked. He didn't have an obvious accent, but he didn't sound American, either. His
words almost had a faint lilt, all smooth edges and soft vowels.

"Hm, I suppose," he shrugged. "Born abroad, sometimes raised here."

"And drumming all over the world, I take it."

He nodded, "I try." His vague answers didn't beg more questions, but when I thought about them, they didn't seem
to give me much information, either. He leaned forward and gave me a playfully stern look. "Do I get to hear your
name? I'm happy to keep calling you a-little-crazy neighbor girl if you like."

I laughed, almost choking on a sip of wine. "Bella. I am a Bella."

~*~

We made our way around the dining room, talking about his drums. He seemed to be thrilled that I was so
interested and I couldn't get enough of his voice, his quiet, easy laughter, and his infectious enthusiasm.

We finished our three-walled circuit and I looked at the door to the kitchen. "Should I get dinner ready?"

He froze and my heart flipped uncomfortably. Had I misunderstood his drawing? "Oh my God, Crazy Neighbor
Girl. I invited you over and didn't even think to cook for you."

I laughed, relieved. "I love to cook and rarely get to do it anymore. This would appear to be a win-win
partnership." I went into the kitchen and began unloading the food. Having no idea what kind of kitchen
equipment I could expect, I had planned a no-cook meal of chicken salad sandwiches and cucumber salad.

"It would indeed," he sighed, relieved. "I'd love to make you dinner in theory, but I am useless in the kitchen. I
could probably burn water."

I looked over my shoulder at him, interrupting my hunt for utensils, and laughed. "If you could do that, you'd be a
scientific genius."

He nodded, chuckling. "I suppose I would. I'm sorry I haven't really unpacked much kitchen stuff yet. Is there
anything I can do to help?"

"There isn't much to do," I assured him, putting the food on paper plates I had packed. "You can tell me a story,
though. You can't have obtained that many drums without getting a few stories in the process."

"Hm, that's true," he murmured. He took our plates and walked to the living room putting the food on the coffee
table. He sat down on the floor and looked up at me, wincing. "Is this okay? I don't really have much furniture."

"It's fine," I grinned, flopping down across from him and looking at him expectantly.

"Story?" He scratched his cheek absently and my eyes were drawn to his labret below his full lip. He watched me
looking at him and smiled.

"Story," I nodded, blushing.

And with that, our dinners began. Quietly, comfortably, and with our eyes on each other nearly constantly.

The first story Edward ever told me was of his trip to Ghana when he was twenty and traveling with an African
music ensemble from college. He'd gone shopping with his best friend for some light-weight clothing, not
bothering to research clothing customs in the region. When he arrived with his suitcase full of shorts, his host

family teased him that he would be shunned from the mens' table and should sit with the boys.

"That suited me just fine," he laughed, pouring us both some more wine. "I sat with the boys and learned more
drumming from them in four hours than anyone else learned in the entire trip. I told my host Father that next time,
even if I came back when I was fifty, I was bringing nothing but shorts."

I laughed and nodded, easily picturing him sitting on a stoop with some boys, drums in their laps as they taught
Edward how to play the instruments of the region. "Have you been back?"

"Not to Ghana," he said, looking away. "But I've been back to Africa several times."

I finished my sandwich and leaned back on the heels of my hands. "I imagine you've picked up a lot of great
music there."

He looked past me, far away for a moment, and then his eyes met mine. My body suddenly felt leaden, as if I was
having one of those moments that I would remember for the rest of my life, exactly like this. I felt calmed by the
wine, but charged by the way he was looking at me.

I started to stand. "I should probably get home, I have a busy day tomorrow."

"Me too," he groaned. "I'm going to start painting the house."

"You are?" I said, excited.

He eyed me carefully. "You really love this house." It wasn't a question, but I could tell he wanted me to explain.

"I do," I said, defensively. "It's a great house. The people who live here are always so nice and no one notices the
tenants because they aren't in the PTA or coaching the kids' teams."

He laughed, shaking his head. "I think this house needs a guardian like you."

I grinned at that, putting the leftovers in his fridge even though he protested. "You're going to need food when
you're painting tomorrow." I insisted, winking. "It's really for the house's sake that I'm leaving you food."

"Ah, well in that case, I can't refuse. I know how attached you two are to each other." I felt his hand gently grip
my arm as I grabbed my bag. "Thanks for dinner, Bella. You're welcome over any night."

I looked out the kitchen window, thinking. "If you like, I could bring dinner tomorrow. I mean, you'll probably be
pretty wiped..."

"I'd love that," he murmured, letting his hand slowly drop from my arm. "Seven?"

"Seven," I nodded.

~*~

June 13th

"So how do you fill your days, Bella?" he asked, scooping up the last bit of gazpacho with a chunk of bread.
"Besides feeding hungry men that is."

I smiled. "I work, I garden…I watch cooking shows." I swirled my spoon in my soup and shrugged, realizing how
incredibly ordinary that sounded.

"Do you do anything in particular, a little-crazy neighbor girl?" he teased, lowering his chin to meet my eyes. I
couldn't keep from smiling.

"I write," I began, resting my spoon across my plate. "What do you do?"

"I help people," he stated simply, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"By playing the drums?" I asked, confusion evident in my expression. He wiped his mouth, placing his napkin on
the table before leaning back on his hands, a hint of a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.

"Sometimes."

"Why do you do that? I asked, watching him through narrowed eyes.

His smile broadened. "Do what?"

"Never really answer anything?"

He leaned towards me, his arms folded on the table, his gaze meeting mine. "I'll answer any question," he said
softly, his fingers reaching out to brush a stray piece of hair from my eyes. "You just have to ask."

I felt my pulse quicken at his proximity and took a deep breath to steady myself.

"Okay," I said, drawing the word out and attempting to keep the slight tremor from my voice. "Do you do
anything in particular?"

Sitting back, he regarded me for a moment before running a hand through his hair.

"I travel a lot," he started, motioning to his drums. "And I'm a doctor."

He paused, appearing to wait for me to speak.

"You're a doctor?" I gaped.

He nodded.

"How is that possible? I mean...wouldn't you need to be in one place?"

"Well, I go where I'm needed. If there is a humanitarian crisis in Thailand, I go to Thailand. After the Wenchuan
earthquake in China I went to China for several months. And whenever I can, I go to Africa. Because there is
more work there for me than I can possible handle, and I never feel finished."

Aware of my stunned silence, he leaned forward again, propping his arms on his knees.

"How long have you lived here?" he asked, his soft eyes full of genuine interest.

I shook my head distractedly. "In this town, my whole life. Across the street, three years." His eyebrows rose.
"What?" I asked, confused by his expression.

"That's just," he trailed off and shrugged. "I don't know, hard for me to comprehend. Don't you ever get the urge
to just leave? To see new things?" His voice didn't carry judgment; he was simply curious.

I considered this as my eyes followed the vivid blue ink that wound up his forearm and disappeared under the
sleeve of his t-shirt. A river perhaps. From what I'd seen, his tattoos were all that way. Not shapes or drawings
from a book, but his memories. Scenes of mountains and rivers, lush trees and thick vines. They told a story.

I met his eyes again. "My life is here."

"But is your life a place? Or is your life made up of the few important things you can carry with you?"

I sat back, resting against a box behind me. "I guess I never thought about it that way. To me, I suppose, my world
has consisted of what I've known - this town, my home. I've never ventured beyond it."

"Maybe you just haven't found what you want to keep with you."

~*~

June 16th

"Pulled pork..." I smiled, putting a plate in front of him. "But watch out: I put habaneros in the simmering sauce."

"Spicy," he said with a silly accent and grinned, leaning over to inhale deeply. "You're spoiling me."

"I never get to cook like this anymore. I miss it." I shrugged and sat down across from him on the floor, draping
my napkin on my lap.

"Have you ever had a roommate?" he asked, stabbing a bite with a fork and avoiding my eyes.

"Yes," I said, looking at the ceiling. "My boyfriend and I bought the house together."

His head shot up and our eyes met. "Oh. I…" he looked around the house as if to understand why I would be here
and not at home.

"He moved out a few months ago," I explained into my wine glass.

"I'm sorry," he said, running his hand through his hair and leaning his elbow on the low table. He winced at me
and smiled.

I put my glass down and smiled back. "I'm not. We weren't a good fit." I laughed, remembering. "Not at all."

"How did you know?"

"We were together for eight years," I mumbled. "We met in college. First love isn't always best love." I offered
him a small one-shouldered shrug and bit my lip.

He grinned and then pursed his lips as he watched me. "So, what, you grew apart, or.. were just not right for each
other after all or...?" He leaned in towards me.

I smiled. "He liked going to the bar and playing darts every Friday. He liked predictable sex." I watched him

carefully as I buried this important admission in my list. I saw his arm twitch. "He liked getting take-out every
Wednesday and listening to the same Tom Petty album in the car on every road trip. I didn't." I shrugged and took
another sip of wine.

"You don't seem to be averse to habit," he teased, nodding towards our dinner, indicating our new routine.

"I love habit." I nodded, laughing. "It's the particular habit that matters. I also love to incorporate something new
into routine."

"Ah yes. You started with blueberries and apricots, and worked up to habaneros," he smiled, reaching for his
glass. "You are a positive daredevil of habit."

"Exactly," I giggled.

We were quiet for a moment. He stared at his glass and his eyes shot up to meet mine. A flash of desire was
immediately replaced with a warm smile. He dragged his tongue ring along his upper lip unconsciously. His eyes
were slow to relax.

"What about you?" I asked quietly.

"What about me what?" His voice was gentle and my heart pounded. Did I want to know this?

"What about you and… girlfriends?"

"Never really had one," he shrugged.

"What? Even in college?"

"Well, at least not what I think you mean. I've been with women, Bella." He smiled, almost apologetically. "In
college I was focused on school and music. I dated, but not much more. And now that I travel so much... no one
has really made me want to stay put." He shrugged, taking a long sip of wine. "It's hard to build relationships
because I move often. It's also hard to open myself up over and over again. It gets exhausting. I like what I do,
even though sometimes it's lonely. Unfortunately I'm averse to constancy, so I need to move around." He winced
a little and took a bite of his dinner. I watched him chew, watched him enjoy the dinner I had made us, watched
him relax into the familiar moment here, with me.

"There is constancy in your life," I pointed out, daring him to react. "You're committed to your lifestyle, at least."

He nodded, swallowing quickly in order to answer. "Being averse to constancy is not the same as being averse to
commitment, Bella. My aversion is about geography, not romance."

Our gazes remained locked for the longest silence we had ever shared.

"You're beautiful, Bella."

It took me several seconds before I could respond, and when I did, my voice sounded like it was coming from
behind me. "Thank you."

He leaned forward, maintaining eye contact. I was unable to look away. "I've never said that to anyone before," he
whispered.

I finally managed to break his gaze and sat forward, grabbing my wine glass and smiling. "You're going to break
my heart." I laughed a little, trying to make it sound like I was kidding.

He bit his lip, watching my mouth. "I don't want to."

We stared at each other for a moment before I put my glass down and fidgeted with my napkin.

"Wow, that got heavy," he laughed, running his hands through his hair.

~*~

June 17th

The next night I made a pasta salad with fresh mozzarella and heirloom tomatoes.

"God, I love your cooking," he mumbled into a bite. He always hummed and closed his eyes when he chewed
something that tasted good. I wondered if he knew he did that.

"The tomatoes are from my garden," I smiled. "So is the basil."

"The tomatoes are amazing," he sighed. "What are they called? They're so colorful, they have to have some crazy
fruit names like Wild Woman and Big Bird."

I laughed and nodded. "The purple ones are Cherokee. The yellow ones are Banana Legs. The green ones - my
favorites - are Green Zebra."

He mouthed the words "Banana Legs," and chuckled, shaking his head as if it made perfect sense.

I watched him eat and he looked up at me and smiled before leaning to take another bite. I felt a twist of anxiety
and excitement mingling in my chest. I didn't know how I could feel this way for someone I had only just met. He
seemed to be taking everything in stride so easily. His desire to see me every night was a simple fact to him,
uncomplicated. He loved our time together as he loved this dinner: something to be enjoyed while he had it in
front of him.

He looked up at me again and saw me watching his lips. "What?" he smiled but his eyes simmered with
something heavy and warm. He licked his lips slowly. "Are you watching me eat?" I felt him toying with me,
daring me to admit to the layer that continually thickened with each of our nights together.

I let my eyes drop to my hands and I laughed, but it sounded forced. I wanted to let the tension out of the space
between us. I wanted a bare admission that we both felt this pull, this inexplicable draw, but I was terrified to
know whether it meant something different to him. I wondered how many women he left behind who felt like I
did.

I blinked to clear my head.

"What made you choose your tattoos, your piercings?" I asked quietly.

He lifted his arm and inspected it. "I love every home I have, no matter how long I'm there. I like keeping some of
it with me. I felt like I needed decoration. It's not about disliking my skin, it's about loving it." One tattoo on his
shoulder was of a small tree bearing yellow fruit. The tattoo on the inside of his forearm was a man's face, old,
wrinkled, and patient.

"Who is that?"

He whispered, running his finger over it, "My grandfather."

Without realizing what I was doing, I reached up and stroked the ring on his eyebrow. Instead of flinching or
moving away, he leaned into my hand, his eyes closing. He exhaled as if he had been waiting for something for a
long time and had finally found it. Warmth spread from my fingertips and radiated down my arm. My heart
hammered like one of his drums underneath his hands and I held my breath, resisting the urge to run my fingers
down his face and down his neck to his bare shoulder.

I watched his face relax under my touch and slowly moved my hand away. "And that?"

It was a long moment before he spoke, and when he did it sounded sleepy and relaxed. "Same thing. I think it
suits me." He opened his eyes and looked at me. "You, on the other hand, are best completely undecorated."

I felt the heat behind his words, the meaning of more than just tattoos or piercings. The tension between us was
laid bare and I ached to touch him again. Perhaps because I knew he would leave and it felt safe, or perhaps
because I knew I was falling in love with him, I wanted him to know me, to really see me in a way no one had.

His eyes moved down my neck to my shoulder and back up. I took the napkin from his hand and pulled his
fingers to me, pressing his index and middle fingers against my nipple, letting him feel the metal there.

He hissed in a breath, letting his hand spread over my breast and pressing his palm against my piercing. His
thumb swept back and forth over the side of my breast. I held my hand over his, watching his face freeze in an
expression of need.

I pulled his hand away and gently replaced it with the paper napkin. He dropped the napkin, his hand still molded
in a curve. He stared at it before meeting my gaze. "Bella?" his voice was hoarse. I imagined I saw his pulse
racing below a tattoo of a mountain across his neck, a small crack in our fault line had been carved.

I wanted to crawl into his lap and press my lips to that pulse.

"Let me get these," I said instead, ducking my head and gathering the dishes.

~*~

June 21st

"What are you making?" His voice, nearer than I expected, caused me to jump slightly. "I'm sorry," he said softly,
his hands coming to rest on my hips. "I didn't mean to startle you."

I swallowed, certain he was able to hear it. "You didn't. I mean…I just wasn't paying attention." My hand stilled
on the cutting board, the tomatoes momentarily forgotten. The heat from his palms filtered through the thin cotton
of my skirt and my eyes closed as his thumbs drew small circles on my lower back.

"I just needed to reach something." His hands lingered on my hips a moment longer, easing me over slightly to
reach two glasses from the overhead cabinet. He smiled a cute half smile, his eyes meeting mine briefly as he
closed the cupboard door.

My stomach always fluttered at that smile.

Still standing closer than necessary, he peered over my shoulder. "Salad?"

His scent drifted to me, and my eyes fluttered closed.

"Thai chicken salad with peanuts and lime," I answered, turning my head to see him.

He was so close.

My nose brushed his jaw, the rough texture of his unshaven face abrasive against my skin. I leaned into him
slightly, my lips mere inches from his neck. He swallowed and I was unable to look away, hypnotized by the way
his Adam's apple moved and the muscles flexed along his throat. My breath caught as he pressed into me, my
body now trapped between his and the counter. I felt his lips move to my hair, that simple chaste gesture more
intimate than any heated kiss I'd ever experienced.

"Bella?" he questioned, his voice low and the sound reverberated through his chest. I tilted my chin towards him,
the movement bringing my mouth to his jaw. I brushed my lips from side to side, enjoying the coarse texture
against my skin, and pressed the softest kiss there.

The persistent beep of the kitchen timer filled the air, pulling me from my haze. He exhaled deeply and pushed
away from the counter, my body feeling the loss instantly.

"Why do you come back?" I asked, watching as he pulled out a plate for each of us. "How long do you stay?"

"I come back here to rest, see my family, see my dentist, get my blood tested..."

"Blood?" I stopped moving and then nodded awkwardly when I understood. "Oh." I mumbled, slicing some limes.

He stepped in front of me and stilled my hand. "What is 'oh'?"

His face told me I misunderstood but until his voice explained, I wasn't pushing.

"It's just the smart thing to do after visiting third world countries," he urged quietly.

"No, I get it," I nodded.

I could feel him watching me as I diced the tomatoes.

"What's going on with us, Bella?" His voice was unobtrusive and calm. Too unobtrusive and too calm. I was a
tornado inside, full of too many things I couldn't keep together. I felt like everything I knew was being uprooted
and thrown.

"I don't know," I sighed, willing whatever it was to stay put between us and not keep melting into another layer of
tension. "Nothing."

He leaned forward and waited until I looked at him. My eyes gave it all away. "Okay," he murmured, smiling
sadly and tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "Okay, sweet thing. I hear you."

I could feel him watching me cook and several times I knew he started to speak but then stopped. Hesitation was
rare for him and it made me nervous that he had something to say that he was anxious to bring up.

"So, have you done all those things?" I asked in a mumble, knowing my question would unfortunately show me
the hourglass flipping, my time with Edward coming to a close.

"What things?" he asked, confused.

"Dentist, family, blood," I said quietly, pushing the tomatoes into a bowl.

"Oh, yeah. Dentist and blood are done. Family is in Australia this time. Mostly this trip I wanted to come here and
work on the house. I've neglected it way too long, as you have surely noticed."

I dropped the knife and turned to him. "What are you talking about?"

He stared at me and then understanding softened his eyes. He pulled at his eyebrow ring absently. "I figured you
knew I owned the house..."

"Why would I know that?"

He shrugged and his hand dropped and slapped against his thigh softly. "I mean, you saw me working on it. I
painted it, fixed the windows, did some work inside... So I figured you would know it was mine."

I realized immediately that all the signs were obvious and that everything he had done since he'd been back
showed that he was more than just a passing tenant. I was embarrassed for not putting it together, and frustrated
that I had to ask him everything, that nothing personal was ever offered.

"Why don't you want me to know you?" I said, looking at his feet against the kitchen tile.

"What on earth do you mean by that?" he said gently, pulling my chin up with his index finger.

"I have to ask you everything. You offer nothing voluntarily. I feel like it doesn't occur to you to help me get to
know you."

He stared at me and then looked away, out the window behind me. "It doesn't," he said simply. "I don't know how
to let someone like you in the way I want, I don't know how to... do this," he waved at the space between us. "But
you tell me it's nothing and so I figure it's just me misreading everything. But Bella, I feel something and I don't
know what to do with it. I'm not perfect."

I realized that I had thought that, in a way. I had believed that since he was well-traveled and educated and always
seemed so comfortable in his own skin that he would know how to do this. I trusted him to guide me until he was
gone, assuming that he came up against this often: starting to get close to someone and then having to leave. I
believed - despite what he'd told me - that wherever he went there was a Bella, and dinners, and tension, and then,
ultimately...a departure.

"You haven't done this before?" I whispered.

"No," he insisted. "Almost everything about this is a first for me."

I ran my hands into my hair and tied it up in a loose bun on my head. "Oh."

~*~

July 13th

"I'm going to China." His voice was barely audible.

My heart froze in my chest but somehow my hands continued to move, robotically forming the falafel into balls.
"When?" I tried to keep my voice light and interested. Instead I sounded anxious and shaken.

"Soon." It wasn't even a whisper. I'm surprised the sound made it to my ears.

"Why?" I looked up and out the kitchen window. I couldn't see him in the reflection; he had stepped to the side so
I couldn't see his face.

He was silent.

"Edward?"

I didn't hear him but suddenly he was there behind me before I could turn around. He stepped closer and pushed
my hair to the side, letting his lips rest against the curve of my ear. "Do you want me to say 'because I'm scared?'
or 'I'm not that guy?' Is that why you think I'm leaving?"

"Honestly? It's what I expect to hear," I admitted, watching us in the window. I let the most selfish words out:
"You can be a doctor anywhere."

He placed his hands over my back, splaying his fingers across my ribs as far as he could, testing to see how much
of me he could encase.

I felt tiny in his hands. I was sure he would break all of me.

"I'm going because it's what I do, Bella. I travel. I heal." His voice was neither defensive nor apologetic. He wasn't
leaving me. He was leaving to go help others. I hated the tight curl of resentment than pulled at my stomach.

"I'm scared," I whispered. I was scared to be apart. I was scared he wouldn't come back. I was scared he would
come back, but different.

"I know."

"You're not?"

I could feel his body moving in a one-shouldered shrug behind me. Without words to explain, it felt too casual. It
was not at all the reaction I was having and it made me feel even more defeated.

"Don't start this. Please?" I heard the pleading in my voice and almost welcomed it. I had no more strength if he
touched me again.

He pressed his lips to my neck and I felt the cool air between us as he stepped away just as I began to lean back
into him. "Okay," he murmured. His hand was the last part of his body to leave me as it lost contact with my hip.

I finished cooking dinner and we ate in silence for the first time, staring at our plates and pushing our food
around.

"I'll get the dishes," he said quietly, although he didn't move to get up. I could hear the question in his voice. He
wanted me to stay.

"Okay," I nodded. I broke my own heart: "Good night."

He was disappointed, but not surprised. "Good night, Bella."

~*~

July 14-15th

I didn't see him the next night. I spent the night in my room, not eating, not sitting on the floor, and trying not to
think about him.

The soft drumming that blew across the street distracted me all night. I didn't want to cover the sound with music
or television or even my hands over my ears, but it made my chest hurt, made me remember his stories, his
fingers, the lilting rhythm of his speech. Probably no one else on the block heard the music over the crickets and
cracking wind. Maybe the sound was like the house itself - only noticed and appreciated by me, something that
had to be attended to actively to be seen or heard. He was a magnet to me; anything he did I would notice. It only
made sense that the house was his. I had always belonged to him and had never known it.

I cooked the next day. I cooked for us, maybe out of habit but more out of a naked, conscious need to imagine that
he would be in that house tonight, and the next night, and every night after that. I layered phyllo dough over kale,
squash, and various Spanish cheeses. I made it delicate and hearty and colorful. I made it something we would
both want, something that would bring us together with comfort and spice, novelty and familiarity. I knew he
wouldn't get to eat it if I didn't take it to him, but I was nothing if not constant. I wondered idly if I would cook for
him every night of forever, even when he was being inconstant elsewhere. It came out of the oven bubbling hot,
steaming, golden, and beautiful.

The door rumbled with the movement of feet up the front steps. I didn't need him to knock, and he knew it. I felt
him on the porch. I dropped my dishtowel and went to the door, opening it and letting in the humid night air, the
dry wind, the smell of him.

He stood on the doorstep, scruffy and distraught.

"Are you scared that I'm not that guy?" he asked, his eyes begging.

"Yes."

He moved towards me and I took a step back, overwhelmed by what I wanted from him and terrified that he was
going to give it to me.

He pressed me against the closet door, his hands planted next to my head.

"You make me want to stay here," he whispered, running a hand down my bare arm. "You make me wonder what
is most important."

"You make me want to leave with you." I admitted, finally. I felt my brow furrow, felt my eyes sting with tears. I
was so naked for him; I felt like there was no floor underneath my feet.

His gaze lingered on mine for a moment before his eyes dropped to watch both of his hands move to anchor my
wrists to the door with his thumb and index finger. He had a small bandage on his wrist and I started to ask if he
was okay, but he looked up at me and leaned forward, letting his lips hover in front of mine, mere millimeters

from touching my skin.

"Do you think you can love me?" His voice was strained, needy. "Just like this? The way I am?"

"Do you want me to?" I asked quietly, watching his eyes.

"Very much," he nodded, spreading my legs with his knee and leaning into me. He raised his hands and pressed
them against my cheeks, wiping my tears with each of his thumbs. They were warm and calloused, and his touch
felt achingly familiar. He felt like home against my skin.

He bridged the short distance and pressed a single soft kiss to my lips, pulling back to look at me. "I never once
asked you to leave." He kissed me again, longer this time, but still chaste. "I would never have asked you to leave.
I've never been so lonely as I was last night."

His words sent a thrill throughout my entire body and I closed the small space between us.

His mouth was warm and welcoming and I felt the breath leave his lungs in surprise, the moist air fanning across
my lips.

I moaned softly as I felt his lips fully against mine, his taste, his smell wrapping around me. His hands cradled my
face, his thumbs brushing in feather light strokes along my skin. I melted into the door as his tongue slipped
between my lips, tasting me for the first time.

My hands trembled as I brought them from my sides, unsure as I placed them against his chest. Hard muscle
flexed beneath my fingers, and his hands threaded into my hair, his fingertips massaging my scalp as he deepened
his kiss. He was gentle and tender and my heart tore with the knowledge that this could be the only time we were
together. Sliding my hands down his chest, I let my nails drag softly along his hard stomach, feeling the muscles
contract and release under my touch. His breath caught as I reached the waist band of his jeans, slipping under the
hem of his shirt.

He was warm and smooth under my fingertips as I traced the sculpted muscles running along his torso. My mouth
was becoming more urgent, teasing, searching and silently pleading with him to take more. As

if sensing my need, he pulled away from my lips, his teeth dragging along the column of my throat.

"Bella?" he whispered, waiting for my permission.

Without a word I pushed him away slightly and began walking backwards, leading him down the hall towards my
bedroom. His lips never left my skin, he pulled his hands from my hair, letting them linger as he moved them
down my body, stopping at my waist.

"Can I see you?" he asked, his hazel eyes searching mine.

I nodded, moaning softly as his callused fingers grazed the soft skin of my stomach. He slid his hands up along
my ribs, the thin material of my tank top gathering under his fingertips, and pulled it up and over my head. A
ragged breath escaped his mouth as he looked at me, his fingertips brushing along my neck, across my collar
bones and down between my breasts.

"Can I see you?" I whispered, my lips brushing along the cotton of his t-shirt.

"You never have to ask that," he said into my hair.

I freed him of his shirt, my eyes feasting on the beautiful colors and pictures painted into his flesh.

"You're so beautiful." I traced my fingertips along each image, trying to memorize them.

He laughed quietly, letting his hands run from my shoulder and down to my hand, pulling my fingers to his lips.
"Bella, I have no words..."

I smiled and he kissed me then, his hands running back up my arms and over to the soft lace of my bra.

I led him towards the bed, our hands exploring, learning the planes of each others bodies. He removed my bra and
bent to take one nipple into his mouth before moving to the other. My hands threaded into his hair as I watched
him, his gaze meeting mine as he caught and lifted the silver ring with his tongue, hooking his barbell and pulling
gently. My head fell back and I moaned, finally seeing what I had fantasized about every night since I met him.

My hands moved to the waistband of his jeans, unbuttoning them slowly, feeling his lips move over my chest and
to my shoulders, gently sucking. His hands began to work my yoga pants down my hips.

"I need to see you," I whispered.

"I know," he breathed. "God, I know."

Our hands became impatient, pulling down the remaining clothing between us, and hungrily touching everything.
His fingers moved between my legs, spreading me, learning and memorizing. His mouth covered mine, his kisses
becoming almost desperate in their hunger.

It was a frenzied moment, his hand was at first hesitant and then ravenous, finding a rhythm on my skin, pumping
his fingers inside me and stroking my clit in fast, light strokes. I clawed at his back, bit his lips. He held my leg up
around his waist with his free hand and balanced us as I ground against him, crying out in my almost immediate
orgasm.

It was almost as if my release calmed us both and allowed us to slow down, our kisses slowing to languid, his
movements more measured as he lowered my leg and rubbed my hip gently.

"You were so wet," he breathed. "Your sounds... Bella..."

I ran my hand down his stomach and lower, feeling him twitch beneath my first, tentative touch.

Our foreheads touched as we looked down at my fingers feathering his shape and tracing the piercing through his
frenum. "Did it hurt?" I asked in a whisper, ghosting my fingertip over the horizontal bar.

"A little," he admitted quietly, always honest, never verbose.

"Does... this hurt?" I wrapped my fingers around him loosely and squeezed.

"Hurt?" he whispered, letting out a quiet laugh through his nose. He shook his head slightly. "Not at all."

I found myself wanting to move my hand, but not sure what to do. We stared at my fingers around him, and he
seemed to be content just with this level of contact, this level of stimulation. He was always so patient with me,
never pushing.

I pulled my head up and our eyes met. His were heavy and dark and his breathing was choppy. Lust spiked
beneath my sternum and ran down my abdomen. "Show me?" I breathed.

His eyes dropped to the space between us and I rested my forehead against his again as his hand moved to cover
mine. He shifted my grip up slightly before squeezing his hand around my fingers, tightening my grip. With a
slow, smooth movement, he shifted our hands down, pulling his foreskin over his piercing in the process, and
back up again, covering the head of his cock.

"You don't have to be tentative," he murmured. "It just makes me... sensitive."

I repeated the action and felt his hand loosen and then release mine. My thumb reached his tip and I flicked it
gently over the top, spreading the moisture around before stroking down again, his skin covering the piercing
quickly in the downward movement. He moaned and his head fell back. His Adam's apple bobbed as he
swallowed heavily.

"God," he hissed in a trembling breath. His hands moved up to cup my face, pulling me towards him and kissing
me roughly. "That's just... " he trailed off, letting his teeth run over my bottom lip.

I felt bolstered by his reaction and gripped him tighter, increasing my pace. He sighed against my lips and I
watched his eyes roll closed. His lips moved with mine almost as if we had been kissing like this for years, not
hours, and I took a step closer to him to feel my chest brushing against his, my arm moving between us.

The feeling of his piercing under the base of my thumb as my hand moved down and up, of his foreskin slipping
easily over the head of his cock, was the most delicious sensation I could imagine. I felt a surge of confidence, for
the first time I was certain with a lover that I could ask for what I wanted, I could be honest in what I needed.

"I want it on my skin," I whispered.

Without needing further explanation he grunted quietly, and his words came out in a tight moan, "Where, Bella?"

"My chest."

He stepped forward and I stepped backwards until the back of my knees hit the edge of the bed. I kissed him,
pulling his bottom lip into my mouth and letting out a whimper around it. "You feel so good in my hand. Does
this feel good?"

He let out a short, tight laugh, communicating everything he needed to in that single, overwhelmed sound. I sat in
front of him, my eyes level with his stomach. He stepped between my legs, bracing his hands on my shoulder as
we both watched my hand glide over him.

"I'm so..." he whispered. "You..."

I leaned forward and licked a bead of precum from the tip of his cock and sat up again to watch, needing to see
what I did to him. "Oh God," I whispered. "I want..."

That finally did him in.

He twitched in my hands and his fingers gripped me. He moaned my name and his entire body froze before I saw
and felt him coming on my chest, on my neck.

"Fuck," I breathed at the same time he did.

He stood still in front of me, his head bent and resting on top of mine. "Jesus, Bella."

I held him in my hand, feeling his body relax. "Stay with me," I whispered, still looking down at him in my hand.

"Of course," he murmured, kissing my head and stepping back, disappearing for a moment before returning with
some wet tissue from the bathroom to clean me up.

We crawled into the bed, pulling a sheet over our bodies and letting our limbs tangle with the familiarity of years
together.

He buried his face in my hair and I wrapped my arms around his torso, pressing my face into his chest.

"God, this is nice," he said, kissing my hair.

"What is this?" I asked, rubbing the gauze on his wrist.

"A truth from my most recent home."

His tone was casual but it was still a sharp reminder that he was leaving

"Edward?" I asked quietly and he hummed in response. "How long?"

He was completely still against me for a long moment. "At least six months."

I froze, feeling my throat close. "When?"

I felt him swallow heavily against my forehead. His voice shook, "Tomorrow, Bella. They needed someone who
could come right away. I had it in my paperwork that I could be a last-minute resource if need be." He looked at
me and kissed me, long and slow. "That was true until recently."

That was finally too much for me. "Why didn't you come over last night?" My voice broke. "We wasted a day and
I didn't even know!"

Edward held me and whispered softly as I sobbed against him, clutching his back with my nails.

"Please," I whimpered, pulling him over me. "God, please."

He moved fluidly, brushing the hair from my face and looking down at me. "Do you have protection?"

"I'm still on the pill," I whispered, stroking his arm he used to prop his body above me. "I've been tested..."

"Me too," he smiled and I laughed quietly, remembering the jealousy that had ripped through me when he
mentioned his regular blood work.

"I've only been with one person," I said, biting my lip. I felt like I needed to explain. I wanted him to know what
he meant to me before he left.

"I want to be the only one that matters."

I reached down and took him in my hand, rubbing my thumb over his piercing, pulling his foreskin over his head

and taut again.

"Fuck, Bella," he choked.

I rubbed him along my slick skin before pressing down and letting him push inside me. We both moaned, our
mouths coming together in the same slow rhythm as his movements in me. I pulled my legs up along his sides, my
knees at the side of his chest, letting him slip deeper.

"I love you," he breathed.

"Already... so much," I whispered.

He pulled my hand up next to my shoulder and held it there, resting his forehead against mine as he moved over
me.

"Will you come back to me?"

"Of course," he whispered.

It was the last thing I asked him, our words giving way to soft breaths and quiet moans. He moved in and out of
me in the shortest of increments, preferring instead to stay as deep and connected as he could while he was here.

"Oh God," I whispered.

"I know."

"I'm...I'm... "

" Oh God...Oh God..." He covered my mouth with his, the sounds of our climax spreading only as far as the space
between us.

~*~

July 16th

He was reluctant to sleep, but I begged him to try. He fell asleep almost as soon as he gave his body permission,
his head curled against my chest, his arm bent at my waist, his hand on my breast.

For hours I couldn't sleep. I could only let myself think about how his skin felt against mine, how he looked at me
over the coffee table. I stared at the bare skin of his wrist where I had seen the bandage earlier. The bandage no
doubt came loose at some point in our lovemaking. The gauze was gone, somewhere buried in my bed, and I
could see the edge of asian characters underneath the protective sheer covering. I reached in my bedside table for
my pad of paper and a pen, and rolled his arm slightly, trying to copy the characters.

He stirred, moving his arm to my waist and pulling me closer. "Bella?" His voice was thick with sleep, but his
body woke next to me.

I dropped the paper on the floor and rolled to him. He pulled me on top of him. "Please," he whispered.

I lowered myself onto him and made love to him, kissing him goodbye over and over.

~*~

It wasn't a long, drawn out goodbye. It was made up of sweet kisses and strained voices. I watched him climb into
the cab and two hours later the same movers that brought him to me came to carefully pack up his drums and take
them to storage again. I stood and watched the entire time, absently sweeping my hands across my wet face.

It was the middle of the night, when I was thinking about how he felt moving inside me, and I remembered the
tattoo. I found the paper and searched online dictionaries for the characters I'd seen.

I hadn't drawn them entirely right, and I wasn't sure I even found the right characters until the translation popped
up on screen.

??????

I'm destined to be hers.

I crossed the room and flung open my closet. My suitcase looked ridiculous: too new, never really used.

My hand reached for the handle and pulled.

~*~

Chapter Two

July 16th

Bella was touching me, tasting me, wanting to see me come on her skin. She knew nothing ever sounded strange
when she said it to me. She knew I wanted to be everything for her, that I would wait a hundred years for her to
figure out how to say what she needed to say.

Her soft hands were running up my arms as I moved on top of her. "Oh god," she whispered.

And then she was above me, moving over me in the dark room.

Her moans were just for me. I knew instinctively that she'd never made that sound for anyone before. I knew,
because she'd told me, that no one had ever made her come, that she had always had to do it herself.

I knew when she said she loved me, that it was the first time she really meant it.

I woke up with a jerk, slapping the bottom of my tray table and nearly knocking over the lunch the flight attendant
had just placed in front of me.

I had no appetite for this food.

~*~

July 17th

We descended into the haze of Lanzhou and I had been sitting for so long that my legs were coiled and tight,
trapped in the small economy seat. I feared I wouldn't be able to exercise for many days, certainly not until

everything had been unloaded and my presence in the village had been accepted. With a final, indulgent breath of
filtered airplane air and after squeezing my eyes shut to burn the image of her into my mind, I stood up to prepare
myself for what I had ahead of me.

I had been to Lanzhou twice before. It is a city with a vast history — common for most of China's larger cities —
but to me Lanzhou had never been a city of politics, activism, or even associated with my general routine of
traveling to treat illness. It was a city of discovery, of unearthing the history of early ceramic drums and finding a
true and deep passion for the origin of Asian percussion.

Lanzhou was large and sprawling, but choked with pollution caused by rapidly expanding industry and decades of
unregulated waste disposal. In recent years, the government made an effort to curb the generation of pollution, but
I felt certain, as I looked around the air just outside the airport, that I wasn't the only one who wondered if these
efforts weren't already too late. In any case, from what I gathered from the assignment letter, the city population
wasn't my concern. My concern was ChenghuaCun, a small village outside of the city — one of the hundreds of
"cancer villages" — where almost every inhabitant was struggling with various malignancies, most of them
presently untreated. The healthy youth had long since fled the small farming community. What remained were the
older generation, the farmers who had taken pride in their land their entire lives, and who now had nowhere else
to go.

I fetched my own baggage and walked to the customs office to retrieve the boxes of medical supplies that were
sent here for me. Each step away from the plane felt like one more step away from her, from the life I'd
unintentionally grown so attached to. A quick glance at the inventory of each box and my stomach plummeted.
This was not a standard field trip for me. I was not there to treat disease or save lives. I was there to treat only
symptoms. I was there to give comfort, not hope.

I turned on my phone to send Bella a short text, suddenly desperate for a tether to a more optimistic world: I've
arrived safely. There are no green zebras here. What's for dinner?

The chaos around me while I waited for a taxi was a stark contrast to the calm of my life with Bella. There were
people everywhere. It was hot and the air was suffocating. I felt burdened by how many bags and boxes I had to
transport, and finding a taxi that was large enough for my parcels seemed to take hours. Nothing about the
experience was familiar, and yet, everything about the experience should have been. This routine — bustling
travel, crowded airports, foreign surroundings — was my life, was what I knew.

Suddenly it seemed almost impossible that I had known Bella for such a short time. Every trace of her seemed to
have back-filled my memories in such a way that even my trips before I met her were somehow colored
differently. How could it be strange that she was not with me? The realization shook me, given that, had anyone
asked, I would have answered that it would be truly surreal to have her here.

Although she'd never really been anywhere, I found that I was able to imagine her everywhere. It never would
have occurred to me to ask her to come with me but I found, with a crushing realization, that perhaps given
enough time to prepare, she could have.

Would she have?

The drive to the village would add another couple of hours to my trip and once I was tucked into a van, I
struggled to calm my fidgeting, tense limbs. Traffic slowed our progress and the late summer air was thick and
hot. I didn't know what to expect when I arrived, only that my friend and colleague Tommy would be there and
that people would be sick and in pain. I wanted to close my eyes and think of her, but I knew if I did that, when I
opened them, I wouldn't be able to resist asking the driver to take me back to the airport, to the comfort of her soft
wet lips, her endlessly accepting dark eyes.

Instead, I focused on the passing landscape, on the road diverging from the familiar route to Xianghuajian village
where the Lanzhou hand drum originated and where I found comfort in the community but no intimacy other than
through music. Only through music had I ever found any semblance of intimacy, and always fleeting.

...Before dinners on the floor together...
...Before being able to reveal myself bit by bit with someone every night...
...Before Bella...

I looked around as we drove on barely passable roads and felt the crushing weight of helplessness. The Yellow
River, the Mother River, was dying. The river had sustained this region, and many others, for centuries. Now,
stained with pollution, its beautiful color altered by sewage, crowded with dams that should never have been
erected, it trickled almost lifelessly. Although its path used to stretch thousands of miles, in the past decade, there
had been years when the river failed to reach the sea at all. This dwindling was apparent everywhere, but the
pollution was most apparent here, just outside the city limits.

I gave in and closed my eyes, swallowing my desire to reverse our route. I tried to imagine her at my sink,
snapping the tops off of beans fresh from her garden. Her foot would be tucked against one leg as she scratched
her calf absently with her toe. Her hair would be in a high messy ponytail. Her legs would go on forever beneath
her shorts, and when she looked at me, her eyes would turn up into a smile that was just for me.

A large pothole on the road roused me from my daydream, and I realized hadn't heard back from Bella.

I looked at my phone. I had no cell service out here.

~*~

Tommy stood, waiting at the small mouth of the village, having seen the dust cloud of the van approaching for
miles. My old friend looked exhausted. No longer the round-faced and grinning med student I knew years ago,
now he was thin and worn. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and I imagined he often stayed awake solely with the
help of caffeine and will power. Clearly, he was barely keeping enough energy for himself. I was immediately
glad that I was here for him.

I stepped from the van as it stopped and climbed out to embrace my old friend. He wore a lab coat that was
yellowed from wear and, presumably, from being washed in local water. I glanced at the embroidered pocket.
???. Dr. Zhao.

"Hey Little Zhong," I said, grinning as I used the familiar nickname. "How're they hanging?"

"Neglected," he smirked, returning my hug and patting my back with surprising vigor. He seemed to almost
deflate with relief. "Welcome to ChenghuaCun," he said, stepping back and sweeping his hands in a grand
gesture. "You need a drink?"

"Yes," I laughed, grabbing a box and beginning the process of carrying my baggage to the small group of
buildings in the distance. "Are we at the same hotel?"

Tommy laughed as he fell into step with me and nodded his head to a small home at the end of the long row. The
houses were barely habitable but the accommodations were better than other I'd had in the field.

"That one's yours," he said, adjusting the weight of the box of supplies in his arms.

Once we had carried all of the supplies to a small building that seemed to be serving as his medical headquarters,
I wandered to my temporary residence to change and unload my luggage. I knew without having to ask that it had
been recently vacated because of a death.

The home was neat and well kept, if sparsely furnished. There were three rooms: a larger main living area with a
bed and small table with two chairs, a bathroom area that housed a wash-basin and small tarnished mirror on the
wall, and a small kitchen area with a camp-sized stove, some pots and pans, and a chest for food storage. There
was no running water, no plumbing, and no electricity in the small grouping of homes. The toilets were grouped
outside, down the hill. Existence here was simple, straightforward, and until the last decade or so, had required
little help from the outside world.

I pulled my phone from my pocket and stared at it, willing the bars to appear in the corner. Never before had I
even pulled my phone out of my bag once I arrived in the field, and now it was my only connection to her. I
unpacked my small manual generator and placed it on the table. I realized my action was futile, that I didn't need
to bother to keep my phone charged, but I was unable to stop the compulsion. I texted her again, knowing she
wouldn't see it for weeks and suddenly not caring. Even if it was just a symbolic act, I needed her here with me.

I walked to Tommy's home several houses down from mine and felt the eyes of the village's inhabitants watching
me from inside their homes. I smiled at each dark window and the invisible faces beyond, hoping to communicate
that I was here to help them. Tommy told me that there was a dinner to welcome me later that night, but I knew
we needed time together before that, for him to debrief me on the situation.

I handed him a bottle of Talisker and his eyebrows shot up. "Dude," he breathed. "Nice."

He carried it to his small table and grabbed a couple of aluminum cups before turning and staring at the label.
"How'd you get this here?"

"I'm a sneaky bastard," I smiled, looking around his place. He had clearly been here awhile. "When did you get
here?"

"February," he said, pouring a couple of fingers into a glass for each of us as I sat at the table. "I am totally
fucking drained, man."

I nodded, taking the cup from him and watching as he sat down across from me. "When are you leaving?"

He shook his head and shrugged. "I don't know. They've set up a heavy ion cancer center for the area, but are still
not able to take everyone here. ChenghuaCun is low on the list, because almost everyone left here is over forty. I
think they just see this village as a lost cause."

"They didn't send me any Ara-C or Daunorubicin," I said quietly. "All I have is Zofran, morphine, and a few other
symptomatics." When Tommy nodded into his glass, I realized he probably hadn't requested any
chemotherapeutics to be sent with me. He didn't hope to cure anyone, either. "What is the goal here, Tom? Are we
just giving comfort?" He nodded again, not meeting my eyes. This was a fairly simple medical assignment, if not
completely depressing. "You need to head back to the states and recover? I can cover it for a few months."

"No," he said, looking resigned. "I just needed help. I was burned out when I called Steve and asked for you. I'm
trying to get samples of local water to help the Lanzhou environmental council, and sometimes it requires long
day trips. I just can't treat everyone and also do those support activities at the same time."

We grew quiet as we sipped our scotch and gazed out his back window to the lush earth sloping down to the river.
In the back yard between our homes was a newer stone building, presumably for bathing. It was surrounded by

hungry and wild vines and looked like a small oasis. I looked back at him and took in the circles under his eyes,
the prominence of his cheekbones. His request, although posted as urgent, was relatively straightforward. He had
been doing everything here by himself and simply couldn't do it alone anymore and knew I would be sent
immediately. He also couldn't find it in himself to leave a helpless situation, even if it was clearly affecting him. I
was suddenly gripped with a nearly overwhelming sense of loneliness, of longing.

"Not eating so much," I observed quietly, thinking of her, of everything I left. I tried to swallow my resentment at
the realization that I had come halfway across the world because Tommy was burnt out. I wanted to conjure
strength for my friend, as I would have done readily and without hesitation before my life had changed so
dramatically. He needs me, I thought. He matters. My stomach remained knotted.

"There's not so much to eat from here. Only for about eight weeks have we been able to have the food trucked in
from Lanzhou. Before that we had vouchers but no way of getting it easily."

I nodded, looking past the stone building to the withering crops beyond. The food had to be horrifically toxic. To
imagine the residents were getting food shipped in only for the last couple of months sent a chill across my arms.

I changed the subject. "Are you seeing anyone back home?" Tommy was a famous serial monogamist.

Tommy shook his head as he finished the last of his scotch in a single gulp. I realized I'd have to keep an eye on
his drinking. "Nope," he croaked, wiping his lip with a finger and reaching for the bottle. His face was flushed
already and he didn't seem to care. "I need to get laid."

I sat quietly, wondering why I'd chosen that topic as the distraction. I had made love to Bella less than two days
ago and still felt the burn of her touch on my chest.

The return question hung in the air and I felt it several seconds before he mumbled, "You?" It was a polite
question and he expected the answer to be 'no'.

I rubbed my hand across my mouth and then leaned my forehead into my palm, rubbing my eyebrow ring
absently.

"Yeah?" he asked, and I could feel him sitting straighter in his chair. "Is it serious...?"

I moved my head lower and then rubbed my face roughly in both hands. What the fuck was I doing here?

"Really?" he whispered, amazed.

"Yeah," I mumbled.

I could feel the weight of his realization as it sunk in. "You left her to come here," he said, leaning forward in his
chair slightly, "...for this." His voice held an unmistakable color of apology, his expression one of dismay.
Looking down at the table, I ran my finger along the scarred wood as I considered this.

I knew without question that what we did as an organization was important, that we saved lives and made a
difference. I'd always given my energy and time without hesitation, knowing that the life I'd chosen was what I
was put on this earth to do. People lived, and villages just like this recovered because of our efforts, but looking
around at the desolation and utter hopelessness surrounding me, I felt more grief than hope. The world hadn't
changed. I had.

"Edward?"

I looked up to find him still watching me, waiting for an answer. I took in the new lines in his face, the heaviness
of his jowls. This life in the field generally brought gratification beyond description, but it also disguised the
passage of time. Our lives beyond this didn't stop when we worked; they moved on, without attachment, without
milestones.

"Yeah," I said again, knowing it was all I could manage.

~*~

June 8th

She stood before me, bouncing lightly on bare feet. Her toes curled up to protect the soles from the hot porch. Her
hair was pulled away from her face; her lips were smooth and wet from what I would come to know as her
continual and unconscious habit of licking them. She thrust a dish at me — a pie, leaking deep purple juice and
with yellow fruit peeking through the lattice. I looked up at her face, disbelieving. This vision before me was for
me. The pie, yes, but also the transition of her cheeks from pink and excited, to scarlet and amazed.

I knew what she felt in that instant because her expression perfectly mirrored my emotions.

Wonder.

Thrill.

A sharp spike of desire and longing.

I could see all of this in her blush, in her restrained smile, in her eyes. She looked slightly wild, bursting from
behind everything.

"For me?" I asked, feeling my entire body lean towards her.

She licked her lips again and smiled, nodding. Her eyes crinkled into beautiful crescents when she smiled.

I thought she was the sweetest, most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

~*~

July 17th - August 15th

I had never really fit in anywhere, unless I was in the field. It always took the locals several days before they were
comfortable with me. The reason could have been that I was white, or perhaps that I was tattooed and pierced, or
that I simply fell outside of their cultural norm. Regardless of my background or appearance, I had never been
rejected or even mildly disliked.

Once the residents got over their initial hesitation, they let me into their homes and their hearts without pretense
or expectation. Though many still didn't understand that they could not eat their crops or drink local water — even
if boiled — they offered me everything and anything they had when I came to visit.

There were twenty-seven people left in the village that, only five years ago, used to be home to over seventy
adults and many children. The youngest resident was twenty-five, a woman caring for her sick father. She was not
ill, at least not yet. Of the residents who remained, seventeen were clearly dying, another five were sick but still

able to care for their loved ones, and the remaining five were still untouched by disease. Most healthy residents
had left in the past few years when the government had encouraged the tiny population of ChenghuaCun to move
to the city and seek out factory work while the river pollution was addressed. That was to say, indefinitely.

Those who remained received 4,000 yuan for housing and sustenance subsidy annually, but few of them, if any,
knew what to do with the money. The homes had remained dilapidated and leaning, and because of the distance to
Lanzhou, all food had still been acquired from local crops or trade with nearby villages with livestock. Beyond
even the relative insurmountable distance to the city and the availability of safe food, until recently, it was clear
that the residents were reluctant to believe that the crops and herds they raised with their own hands were
poisoning them. Protein in their diet was scarce; livestock herds were faring worse than were their caretakers. The
population of farmers was therefore weak, resistant to change, and also living by a horribly polluted water source.
Exposure was inevitable, even with all available precautions.

I knew it was only a matter of time before I fell sick with an acute illness. There were different flora here,
different things my system was not used to dealing with. What worried me most was my ability to keep local
produce from my diet, to keep local water from my everyday activities. It was almost impossible to be here and
avoid contact with contaminated water.

~*~

August 16th

Bella once questioned my commitment to constancy but it would probably surprise her that, in the field, my entire
world was built of routine. Every morning, I would greet each family and provide the needed care and treatment. I
would text Bella some short note before repeating the visiting circuit to ensure that each individual was drinking
water from the correct bottles and eating food from the bins we provided, not from their own supplies. Invariably,
I would have the same conversation multiple times each day, every day, in my broken Mandarin, knowing the
same skepticism and concern would greet me the next day.

My own care and comfort became the concern of a small woman in her fifties, Jiang Lin. Her hands remained
cracked and thick, though she understood earlier than most that her farming efforts were futile. She now survived
on the provided rations, the generation of nonexistent gossip, and caring for Tommy and me.

Her husband was sick but refused most pampering and virtually every treatment except the occasional dose of
morphine. Instead of engaging in continued attempts to get him to agree to her hovering, she doted on us, cooking
for us and insisting on cleaning our homes.

Without pomp or pretense she entered my home as I sat, organizing doses of morphine at my small table.

"Jian qi lai," she motioned for me to stand up. "Wo xian zai da sao yi xia." I'll clean now.

"Jiang Sao," I started before she hissed and shook her head. "Ah Lin," I corrected, using the more familiar name
she insisted we use. "Ni bu yong da sao." You don't have to clean.

She quieted me with a shake of her head and a sweeping gesture, and I stood, reaching to gather my bottles from
the table.

In a blur of movement, she caught my arm and pulled it to her with two strong hands, staring at my anthem,
forever tattooed on my wrist.

I'm destined to be hers

I winced, having been only able to gaze at those words when I was alone and allowed myself to be vulnerable in
the dark of night.

"Ta shi shei?" she asked quietly.

"Bella," I whispered. We both stared at my arm.

She repeated the name softly, running her fingers over the characters. Somehow, even with her accent, the name
brought Bella here, into the room. The thought of her here both stirred me and caused my chest to ache. The
sound of her name filled the room with light, but I didn't want her light polluted by the land.

Ah Lin looked up at me. "Ni ai ta."

You love her.

From the moment I saw her, I wanted to say. Instead, I simply said, "Yes."

She dropped my arm gently and cupped my chin in her hand, pulling me down closer to her face. "Come," she
smiled at me. "Wo hua ta de hua xiang gei ni."

My heart seized.

I will draw her for you.

~*~

June 17th

We stood in comfortable silence in my kitchen, her back to me as she sliced a bowl of brightly colored vegetables.
I leaned against the counter opposite her, my eyes moving along her glossy hair, the curve of her shoulders
beneath the thin straps of her top, to the way her hips shifted slightly with each move of the knife.

My eyes darted to the cupboard above her, knowing how my life must look to someone as grounded as her. I knew
these feelings I had could never be returned, and yet, I couldn't keep my eyes away.

Clearing my throat, I pushed off the counter and moved toward her.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" I paused, unable to keep from smiling as I waited for her practiced answer.
We had developed a routine of sorts, she would cook and I would watch. Then I would eat and she would watch.

I couldn't not watch.

"No," she began, her ponytail swinging softly as she shook her head from side to side. My eyes were drawn
instantly to the graceful curve of her neck. "I'm almost done actually. It's been so hot, I thought we'd both like
something cool."

She scooped the colorful pieces onto the blade and deposited them in a blue ceramic bowl.

"Sounds perfect."

Turning, she reached behind me, offering me a warm smile as she retrieved a large spoon from the drawer to my
right. Her cheeks were flushed slightly, whether from the sun or the unrelenting June heat, I wasn't sure. I placed
a hand on her forearm to stop her, my thumb moving to her face to absently brush along her pink skin.

"Is it too warm in here?" I asked. My gaze followed the movement of my hand, completely mesmerized by the
softness under my finger. I met her eyes, bright and curious and warm brown. She shook her head.

"No." She licked her bottom lip unknowingly and pressed her palm against her other cheek. "I must have gotten
too much sun today."

I smiled, my hand lingering before reluctantly pulling away. "You're pink, Neighbor Girl," I said, my smile
widening as I reached up again and brushed a piece of hair from her warm forehead. "It suits you."

Her eyes fell briefly, her expression bashful. "You're teasing me." She chewed her bottom lip before looking up at
me again, a devious glint in her eye. "And I think I like it."

I laughed, loud and happy, shaking my head as she winked and turned back to her crazy vegetables.

We sat later around my scarred coffee table, her feet tucked beneath her as she waited. She had made us pasta
salad tonight, it was bright and colorful and delicious.

"God, I love your cooking," I mumbled, my eyes falling closed as I chewed.

"The tomatoes are from my garden. So is the basil." She smiled widely, the pride in her voice evident. So that's
what she'd been doing outside all afternoon. I savored each bite a little more knowing it had come from her.

"The tomatoes are amazing," I sighed. "What are they called? They're so colorful, they have to have some crazy
fruit names like Wild Woman and Big Bird." I speared a particularly bright yellow one, pausing to examine it
before popping it into my mouth. I looked up at her laughter.

"The purple ones are Cherokee. The yellow ones are Banana Legs. The green ones — my favorites — are Green
Zebra."

Laughing, I shook my head, loving that she would chose things like this to fill her time and her garden. She was so
unlike anyone I had ever met, so open and so real, as if every emotion that passed through her mind, moved in
tandem across her sweet face. What was she doing here with me? I wondered. She should have someone in that
little yellow house that watched her cook dinner and helped her in her garden.

I'd never met anyone like her. She loved my house, old and forgotten as it had been, welcoming me as if she'd
always known I would be here.

I looked up to see her watching me. Watching my mouth.

A longing stirred from deep within me. The tension that always surrounded us seemed to continually thicken. I
was drawn to her in a way I'd never known, as if the air changed into something vibrant and alive when she was
near. It was more than just our bodies. I felt her, in every sense of the word.

"What?" I asked, licking the vinaigrette from my lips. "Are you watching me eat?"

She blushed and I wondered if she would admit it, admit to this thing that seemed to be pulsing between us.
Despite knowing she shouldn't, I wanted her to.

Her eyes fell to her hands and she laughed, shaking her head briefly before looking at me again. "What made you
choose your tattoos, your piercings?" she asked, her gaze moving along my exposed arms.

"I love every home I've had," I began, examining the pieces of my life that covered my skin. "No matter how long
I'm there. I like keeping some of it with me. I felt like I needed decoration. It's not about disliking my skin, it's
about loving it."

I remembered my first tattoo, a small bird with yellow and red feathers painted along the left side of my torso. The
colorful bird held the most important memories I carried of my time in Kenya. It had been my first official tour,
my first time on my own.

I'd traveled with my parents as a child, yet being on my own seemed different. I'd struggled more than I'd
expected to those first days. My Swahili was still rough and I'd felt like an outsider to some extent. One morning I
had awoken, still chilled from the cool savannah nights and sore from a particularly long night of sleeping on a
threadbare cot. I had made my way out of the tent and been faced with a small bird perched on one of the smooth
stones that encircled the extinguished fire.

I'd smiled.

Each morning, it would be there, a small reminder of the color and beauty that existed in this brown and dusty
place. This was the piece I'd chosen to take with me when my time there was up.

"Who is that?" she asked, her voice and tentative touch along my forearm bringing me back to my small living
room. My hand followed hers.

"My grandfather."

She shifted, her hand moving to my face to lightly stroke the metal ring that pierced my eyebrow. Her hand was
warm and soft I leaned into her touch, my eyes closing from the sheer weight of having her know me this way.

"And that?" she asked. I opened my eyes as she motioned to the piercing just below my lip. I was lost in a way I'd
never known, in a way I'd never wanted with anyone before her.

"Same thing. I think it suits me," I answered, smiling softly at the way her eyes moved across my face, at the way
she took me in and seemed to accept the differences between us.

"You, on the other hand, are best completely undecorated."

I couldn't help but watch her in the same hungry way that she'd watched me, unable to keep the literal meaning of
my words from forming in my mind. She would be so beautiful: naked soft skin, and sweetness, and welcoming,
open arms.

A strange expression moved across her features: uncertainty, shyness and finally a look that spoke of
determination. She took the napkin from my hand and pulled my palm to her, placing it against her breast, her
nipple between my fingers. She pressed me to her more firmly and I felt it, the distinct feel of metal, of a ring
pierced through the hardened tip.

My breath caught and I hissed at the realization. I was torn between looking into her eyes, to understand what she
was feeling, and watching the way her perfect breast fit in my grasp.

Her breath was heavy, her heart pounding beneath my touch as my thumb moved back and forth, relishing in this
hidden piece of herself that she was sharing with me.

Too quickly she pulled my hand away, placing the paper napkin in my empty palm. It fell to the floor, my hand
unwilling to forget the shape and perfectness of her.

"Bella?" I asked, my voice full of confusion and wanting, my world and what I thought I knew having tilted off its
axis in that single moment.

"Let me get these," she said quietly. She didn't meet my eyes, the pink of her sunburned cheeks deepening as she
gathered our plates and made her way to the kitchen.

I watched her go, my chest heaving and my mind in chaos, wondering if perhaps we weren't so different after all.

~*~

August 16th

With painstaking slowness I described Bella in my limited Mandarin, gesturing when I had to. I spent what felt
like hours describing her eyes, her blush, and the long slope of her neck. Ah Lin smiled at me knowingly as she
drew in meticulous and breathtaking detail, and when she handed me the paper, I felt the agony of longing so
intense it made me nauseous.

I calmed myself as much as I could and thanked her profusely before taking the picture out back and leaning
against the stone shower, staring.

It rocked me, yes. I felt like I was suffocating, looking at the picture in my hands. I hadn't seen her face in weeks.
This drawing gave me a piece of her to gaze at and to remember. But so much was missing, and in some ways it
was the missing pieces that hurt the most.

The picture didn't capture how her neck felt under my lips, or how her laugh sounded in the kitchen but was
always quieter and deeper from across our makeshift table in the living room.

I had never had a chance to hear her laugh in bed, underneath me, above me, or feel how she squeezed me when I
made her laugh while I loved her.

The picture was beautiful but it didn't capture how she'd watch me take my first bite of dinner, pretending not to
look, not knowing that she held her breath every single one of the thirty first bites she witnessed and how she
exhaled slowly when she saw with her own eyes how much I loved her cooking.

It didn't capture how she felt under my fingers, or how her voice sounded the first time she climaxed with me
inside her. She whispered later, when I was beneath her and she was making love to me, that she already didn't
know how to go a day without being with me, and I came into her then with a low groan, unexpected and
overwhelming.

I pulled out my useless phone and texted her: You are so beautiful.

I played these images of Bella in my head over and over later that night, when I was alone and fighting the
consuming loneliness after yet another evening without her. In my bed, I closed my eyes and took my erection in
my hand, remembering how her fingers felt under mine as I showed her how to touch me. When I came, I
imagined her watching, asking me to come on her breasts. I remembered how she licked her lips and looked up at

me, not moving to clean herself, instead almost seeming to feel more beautiful with my orgasm on her skin.

I felt my cock soften in my hand and struggled to keep her voice in my ear. I didn't want to be done. I didn't want
to lose this connection with her, even if I was alone, thousands of miles away.

I grasped at the images: Bella tugging on my hair, hungry for my kiss. Bella curled up against me as her entire
body relaxed. Bella's hair tangled underneath her, underneath me. Bella's voice asking me to put my mouth on
her.

This last fantasy shook me because I realized I had spent thirty evenings with Bella and had never tasted her. This
thought haunted me continually for the next six days until I fell ill and continued into my delirium.

~*~

August 22nd

It felt like it took me forever to make my morning house calls. I didn't want to leave the house without eating, but
I couldn't find anything that my body wanted. I felt cold in the sweltering heat. Pushing the thoughts aside, I
grabbed my morning doses and left, waving weakly to Ah Lin as I passed her on the path.

In the cool damp darkness of his home, ChangMing's arm was tiny and wrinkled in my grasp. "How do you feel?"
I could hear the improvement in my Mandarin, but it still took me so long to find the words.

He shrugged. "I don't like what the medicine makes me feel."

I looked up at him. "Tell me what you mean. I want to make sure I have the right dose."

"I'm tired all the time," he said, frustrated. "Wo ren he de shi qing dou be neng zuo." I can't do anything anymore.

I inhaled deeply, stilling the nausea I had been fighting all morning. "Part of that is the cancer," I told him quietly,
wanting to be honest. "And part of that is the morphine. It will make you tired."

He huffed softly.

"Is the pain better?"

He hesitated and then nodded once.

I watched him, feeling sorry for this man who had once been so strong. I knew that more could be done to help
him if he would consent to being moved to the treatment center in the city. His life could possibly be saved, the
cancer sent into remission. His health had improved somewhat with the changes in his diet, but it wasn't enough. I
could only do so much here and had told him as much, several times in fact, but like the others that remained in
the village, he was unmoving.

"Lei de gan jue bei tong hao shou?" Is the fatigue preferable to the pain?

He didn't answer. I took it as a yes and smoothed an alcohol wipe over his arm, moving slowly so he could stop
me if he wanted.

The front door opened and closed quietly behind me.

"Zhao yi sheng, ni hao," ChangMing called weakly to Tommy behind me.

"Go lay down," Tommy told me as he walked in and stared at me with concern etched on his forehead.

"I'm good," I mumbled, leaning to give ChangMing the shot. My hand was steady, but not without effort.

"Ah Lin told me you were weaving. You are. You're like a drunken sailor."

I didn't say anything but felt a spike of panic when I realized he was right. I felt terrible; I looked up at him,
feeling frantic for several long seconds, trying to track any and every exposure I might have had in the past
month. He put his hand on my arm, understanding.

"Dude, you're sweating like crazy. Go."

I was sweating. I had a fever. My body was fighting an infection, nothing more.

I nodded absently and stumbled from ChangMing's home. The path to my place felt like an illusion, it continually
stretched and retracted. I needed water.

Small hands gripped my arms and an arm slid around my waist.

"You have a fever," Ah Lin whispered. "Come."

I collapsed on my bed and stared at the ceiling as it rippled above me, like water suspended. Ah Lin tilted my
head up and poured bottled water into my mouth.

I coughed a bit. "I'm not so weak that I can't drink on my own." I managed a laugh, taking it from her.

She placed a rough hand on my cheek, assessing. "Ni jiu hui."

You will be.

~*~

Chapter Three

July 2nd

I watched as she unloaded the canvas bag she carried, laying our dinner ingredients out before her.

"Let me pay for these," I said, noticing the way she paused briefly before setting a bunch of deep purple grapes on
the counter.

"That's not necessary, Edward. Really." She turned her head to glance at me, her face open and welcoming and
honest. I was struck in that moment how beautiful she was, how simple, and sweet, and utterly beautiful.

"Bella, you've cooked dinner for me twenty nights in a row. Please, let me pay you for it." I pleaded with my eyes,
willing her to understand how much I wanted to do this, how much her simple kindness meant to me. Feeding me
was more than just sustaining the physical part of my being; it was what it represented — care and nurturing, the

sharing of ones self.

I was used to caring and being cared for in return. In the villages I traveled to I helped those that couldn't help
themselves; I gave of myself willingly and they accepted it. The women in the fields took care of me. They thanked
me with food and meals from their own land and tables. I accepted it with gratitude.

This was different. What did I give to Bella? What did she receive from our time together?

"Cooking for two is easier than cooking for one," she answered simply, folding her bag neatly and moving it to
the opposite counter. "I miss having someone to cook for."

And with that, the conversation was over. She moved around me with ease, returning to her task of sorting and
unwrapping, her expression clear of all but the simple smile I had grown so attached to.

Her hands paused and she turned to me, her lips turned with slight worry. "You have a grill, don't you?"

"A grill? Yeah, sure, it's right out here." I lead her through my small kitchen to the back porch, motioning to a
forgotten charcoal grill that sat just off the landing. "It's not much," I said, shrugging and rubbing the back of my
neck. "I don't really use it."

She brushed passed me and lifted the lid carefully, peering into the cobweb filled base.

"It's perfect."

Her eyes moved around the small yard as if looking for something.

"Can you clean out all the spider webs and I'll run across the street for some briquettes?"

"Yes, ma'am," I answered, happy to have something to do, a small way to help. She nodded and I watched her
retreating form move to the door and disappear from my view.

My eyes lingered on her long, tanned legs.

By the time she returned, another canvas bag in hand, the grill was cleaned and waiting. I smiled as I listened to
the screen door open and close. I enjoyed the ease with which she moved around my home. I met her at the
bottom of the stairs, eagerly taking the brought items from her arms.

"You bring anymore stuff over and we might as well put a toothbrush for you in the bathroom."

She smiled and broke eye contact as her cheeks reddened.

"Sorry," she mumbled, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. "I have sort of taken over your kitchen
lately, haven't I?"

"Bella," I said, tilting her chin upward. "I was teasing you. I love seeing your flowery girl bowls in my
dishwasher."

She smacked my arm and laughed, and together we made quick work of starting the fire.

We sat together on the rough wooden steps, wine in hand. Her hip was close to mine; I felt the heat of her even
through the late afternoon sun. The tuna steaks she'd brought for dinner were marinating in the refrigerator, and

we watched the coals turn from black to grey to almost white.

"Just about there," she remarked, her eyes moving from the smoldering briquettes to my pathetic yard. "You've
really done a lot here." She turned to me with a pleased smile on her face. "You care. It shows."

"I've cleaned up," I said, trying to see it the way she would. "The last occupants really let it go."

She nodded in agreement and continued to take in the bare space.

I couldn't help but feel almost inadequate as I considered the differences between my imagined idea of her yard
and my own. I felt my respect for her grow as I considered the time and effort it must take for a woman living on
her own to maintain.

"Neighbor Girl," I said, keeping my eyes trained on my wine glass. "I really enjoy our dinners." I turned to her
and smiled.

She nodded and took another sip of wine. The sun glinted off the crystal stem of her glass and the red and gold
highlights in her hair. I'd never really noticed them before; they were like flames. I suddenly understood the
thousands of metaphors about fire, and each one fit.

"So do I."

She laughed softly and I waited, wanting to ask but knowing it wasn't necessary. People weren't books left open
for the world to read.

"It's been nice actually," she began, moving a small pebble across the cracked cement with the toe of her shoe. "I
miss these things, the small things."

I took in the tone of her voice; removed and soft. I wondered what other things she missed.

"You mean cooking for someone?"

"Sure," she nodded. "Jake and I were… good. That's the only way I can explain it. But we weren't great."

It was my turn to nod, understanding what she meant, to find enjoyment with a person but not feel like you
belonged to each other.

"It's the silly things I miss," she began with a shake of her head. "Mowing the lawn, getting something heavy off
the shelf…" she smiled and I nudged her slightly to continue with the almost caressing sound of her voice,
intrigued with the way her cheeks suddenly flamed.

"It would be nice to have companionship…" she trailed off before licking her lips and arching an eyebrow. "But I
can manage certain things on my own."

The blush faded and she took a long draw from her glass. Her lips curved into a devious smile before she turned
away, but I saw it, and my eyes widened at the realization of what she was saying. There was so much to this
sweet girl, a fire that licked and crackled just below what she let the world see.

"I'll get the fish," she said suddenly, standing and retreating into the house. She returned moments later carrying
a large platter filled with tuna steaks and sliced vegetables.

The fish hissed and sizzled as she placed it along the heated metal rack, the rich smell of smoke and sesame
evoking memories of so many dinners past — dinners that were less intimate, less grounded, less... everything.

I didn't want to think of them tonight.

The food cooked quickly and we found ourselves once again sitting across from each other at my battered coffee
table. I took a large bite, my eyes closing at the way the delicate fish melted in my mouth. I hummed to myself as I
chewed, unsurprised to look up and find her watching me.

"How many tattoos do you have?" she asked, her eyes moving along my arms and shoulders and across my neck.

I finished chewing as I contemplated my answer, unable to look away from her silent appraisal of my body.

"A lot," I answered with a smile. Her eyes lifted to me almost in surprise, as if she'd been so lost in her thoughts
she'd forgotten the question she'd asked.

"That's not very forthcoming," she chided, reminding me of a previous conversation. She'd asked why I didn't
want her to know me. I'd been stunned, so lost in my own routine it had never occurred to me that she would want
to know me in that way.

I nodded in silent understanding. "I had more to begin with. I added to them until they melted into one another. So
in answer, I have fewer now, they just cover more of my skin."

She put a snow pea in her mouth, chewing as she mulled over my response. Her tongue reached out to lick a drop
of sauce from the end of her chopstick.

I had to look away.

"How many piercings?"

"Six," I answered, taking a long drink of my wine. "This is delicious, by the way."

"Six," she said softly, more to herself than as a response to me.

Her voice was quiet, her eyes shifting as if trying to account for the piercings she could see — and the one she
couldn't. I dipped my head to take another bite in an attempt to hide my smile.

Moving slightly, she stretched her leg out along the edge of the table, her bare foot coming to rest against my
outer thigh. My hand burned to reach out and touch the smooth skin.

"You're not like you seem."

I met her eyes across the table. "What do you mean?"

"On the outside. You're nothing like you seem on the outside."

I smiled widely then. "Neither are you," I said pointedly, thinking back to that hidden piece of herself she'd shown
me.

She held my gaze, a knowing smile lifting the corners of her pink lips. "I know."

~*~

August 23rd

Calloused hands and humidity. A constant hum of complete silence. This village was so quiet. Where was the
urgency I expected?

"He needed me here," I said, explaining to the air why I was thousands of miles away from my Bella. "It's not just
the masses that matter, it's the few you need."

"Drink now."

Water was poured carefully down my throat. I struggled to sit, to hold the bottle with my hands. My hands shook
so much. Water spilled across my neck, my chest.

"Don't move so much. You're such a busy man. Why do you always have to be so busy?"

Warm broth followed.

"Don't want."

"Shh," Ah Lin's voice calmed me. "You need more than water."

I slept most of the time. I didn't know how many cycles of light and dark moved through the room and over me.
The sun came and went, leaving a relieving swath of darkness and cool air when it departed. Nighttime was
harder inside my head, but more comfortable against my skin.

"You make me want to stay here." The words were spoken in English and they sounded like they came from my
own mouth.

"Quiet. Keep your strength, Xiao huo tou."

"I don't know how to let someone like you in the way I want," I explained quietly, pleading behind closed eyes.
"I'm going to China."

"Sleep now."

…….

"...Neighbor Girl..."

…….

"...banana legs..."

…….

"...I love seeing your flowery girl bowls..."

…….

"...not like you seem..."

…….

August 25th

I heard voices outside for the first time in days and I woke up, damp and disoriented. The room shifted and swam
until I closed my eyes.

"Come in, a little crazy neighbor girl," I said, laughing messily at my private joke.

Tommy's voice and Ah Lin's and then a quiet gasp and some shuffling back through the door and outside.
Everything became too quiet for me to hear. I fell back asleep.

~*~

Footsteps entered the room and I didn't bother to open my eyes. The air was heavy and soothing. I heard shuffling
and the clanking sound of a pot on the small stove. A hand lifted my head and I drank. The broth in my delirium
tasted like Bella to me; in my fantasy I tasted the signature of her cooking.

Hands on my face, again, but softer now and I wondered how long my stubble must be to cut through the texture
of sweet Ah Lin's abused fingertips.

"I'm scruffy," I mumbled.

"You are perfect," Bella whispered in my dream.

~*~

August 26th

The sunlight bleached everything in the room and I pressed the heel of my hands against my eyes, bringing back
the easy darkness for a moment.

The house was quiet. I was alone.

I inhaled deeply and opened my eyes, waiting for the room to spin. It didn't. I sat up, slowly.

The house was tidy, and I swallowed heavily at the familiar smell of her somehow still in my head. The vivid
dreams were turning to vapor too quickly, but somehow her smell stayed with me. I shifted so that I sat at the
edge of the bed and leaned my head into my hands.

The stillness and quiet of the room was pierced with a shriek from outside and I jumped up before bending over
against the table to steady myself.

The sound wasn't Ah Lin.

Images rushed through my head: soft brown eyes, smooth fingers, a broth that tasted like home to me. Hushed
whispers and promises during the night.

Bella?

I stumbled outside to the shower and my legs nearly buckled under me as I stood frozen, watching her bend to
pick up a tin of soap. I blinked hard and staggered slightly from the forced movement, but she was still there.

I turned and stared back at the main house and tried to remember the contents of the table next to the bed I had
occupied for days. There had been nothing there that would make me hallucinate, nothing there to indicate I had
been suffering anything other than delirium from fever.

I turned back to the doorway of the small bathroom outside. She was still there, her back still facing me. Her hand
dragged a soapy cloth down her side and suds ran from her naked back, down her hip to her thigh and curled
around her knee.

"No," I whispered, not believing what I saw, and terrified that my instinct to believe that it was all in my head was
the right one.

"Holy shit!" she yelped, whipping around and covering her breasts instinctively. She gaped at me and I felt my
chest heaving violently. I gripped the side of the door.

"Edward?" she whispered, dropping her arms. "Baby, are you okay?" She looked behind me almost as if she
expected to see Ah Lin following me with a cup of broth and some herbs.

I nodded, numb. She was so beautiful. She was here. She was still mine.

She lowered her arms and held them out to me, beckoning. My heart was restored when she did this and my tears
began falling, propelled by the wracking sobs of my chest. She was naked, but I was completely bare for her.

"Shh, sweetie. Come here," she said, nodding and curling her hand to me. "I can't believe you're up."

I couldn't move. Not because I didn't want to go to her — I wanted nothing more than to feel her skin, to smell her
hair, to just fucking kiss her with abandon and tell her I loved her — but because I was afraid if I moved she
would disappear.

"What..." I started, shaking my head slightly and wiping my face. "How."

She licked her lips and, given my hesitation and delay, seemed to wonder whether she should cover herself. She
reached for a towel slung over the side of the small stall.

"Don't," I said, too loudly, and my voice cracked on the single syllable. It was hoarse from misuse but I rasped,
"God, Bella, don't." I felt as though I may lose my mind if she covered herself, if I lost any part of her in front of
me now.

She dropped her hand and smiled. Her eyes crinkled and I moved towards her then, completely unable to stop
myself.

I practically fell against her but she was close enough to the wall that my momentum simply pressed her against
the stone of the small shower. I heard her sob and her arms flew around my shoulders. I completely lost it then,
heaving in my relief and gripping her as tightly as I could.

She held me.

Her hands. Her voice. Her smell. It was all real.

The water seeped through my clothes and made me shiver but I ushered every ounce of strength I had to keep her
from letting go of me. She was here. She didn't disappear.

"I found you," she whispered, running her hands over my shoulders.

~*~

Her hands smoothed over my back until I stilled. I was several inches taller than her but she held me firmly,
slowly shifting how we stood until I leaned against the stone.

"You should lay down."

I shook my head. "I can't leave you."

"I'm almost done," she whispered. "Do you want a bath too? Can you stand for a few minutes?"

I nodded.

Her fingers slipped gently under my shirt and then tugged, urging me with an expectant lift of her eyebrows to
raise my arms as she pulled the shirt over my head. She untied my pants and pulled them down my hips. Her eyes
never left mine.

"Are you cold?"

I nodded.

"Here," she said, bringing a cloth to my chest. "The water was really hot. It's probably okay now."

She took a cup and poured some down my chest, looking at my face to make sure I was okay. Another cup went
down my back. She carefully tilted my chin up and poured a cup over my head and through my hair.

And just like this, with soft familiar fingers that had fed me so many nights, Bella bathed me. On her tiptoes she
washed my hair, and on her knees she washed my legs.

Her hair was wet and smoothed back and away from her face. I had forgotten how far down her back it reached.

Her neck was so much longer than my memory told me. Long and smooth, tensing as she reached behind my
thighs.

Her ears were small and unpierced. I had never studied them before. Her lips were fuller, slightly chapped. I
imagined her biting them continually as she watched me come in and out of my fever.

Her collarbones seemed sharper — had she lost weight? Her hands were exactly how I remembered them, but her
shoulders were stronger.

Only now when I realized how much I had missed in describing her, did I truly believe she was here. My
imagination could not have come up with her exactly like this in front of me.

"I love you." My voice broke and the last word stuck in my throat.

She looked up at me and her face crumpled at the words. She stood and wrapped her arms around my neck.

~*~

My eyes opened up to darkness; flashes of my fragmented dreams fogged my vision of the room. Something
warm pressed against me and I pulled it closer. My hands tangled in silk that smelled like home, like Bella.

I sighed and felt the emptiness inside me fill. The ever-present ache dulled as I held her in my dream.

"Bella." I murmured her name through dry lips, my eyes opening as something stirred against me.

Dark hair nestled against my neck. I lifted my head to peer down, wincing as a wave of dizziness and fatigue
swiftly flooded through me.

I closed my eyes tightly, shaking my head before opening them again.

I remembered waking to a surprised cry from the shower, how the familiar sound had pulled me forward like a
cord inside my chest. I remembered her body; the way the sun had danced along her wet skin, and how certain I'd
been that she couldn't be real.

My eyes moved over her face, the face I'd seen so many times as I'd looked at Ah Lin's drawing. It was so much
more beautiful than I remembered. With trembling hands I brushed a piece of tangled hair from her forehead.

She shifted in her sleep and with easy familiarity, pressed her cheek against my chest. Her bare leg brushed
against mine before moving to rest along my hip.

I felt her skin, her softness.

Even in my weakened state, my body stirred.

My arms shook as I lifted my hand to ghost along her body, over her shoulder, down her ribs. Her fingers
twitched and I lifted them to my mouth, kissing her palm. Dark ink caught my eye and I shifted her arm to see.
There, along her wrist and in Chinese characters were words so much like my own.

…….

Fated to love him

My thumb traced the newly inked skin; the significance of what it meant was not lost on me. She had marked
herself — I was what she wanted to keep with her.

I was tired and weak, and my limbs trembled as I tried to support my weight. I kissed her wrist again, closing my
eyes as I pressed my lips to the words. I kissed her warm cheeks, her nose and finally her mouth.

She moved beneath me, her eyelashes fluttering along my cheeks. Sighing against my mouth, she rolled me onto
my back.

"You should be resting," she said into my mouth.

My hands moved under her arms and to her shoulders, holding her to me as I kissed her.

"You're sick," she murmured against my jaw.

"Please."

My hands moved to her hips, then lower, cupping her bare curves in my palms. She fit so perfectly.

She bit her lower lip as she considered.

"I'm fine," I said softly, seeing the hesitation in her expression. I brushed a piece of hair over her shoulder.

Her eyes moved across my face before her lips pressed to mine. I moaned at the way she felt in my hands and at
the way her scent enveloped me. She opened her mouth to me, and I felt myself harden between our bodies as her
tongue tangled with mine. She fit so perfectly against me, her naked body molding to mine as it had in each of my
fantasies.

A sense of urgency overtook us as she sat up, her legs on either side of my hips. Her hands slipped down my chest
to grip me, her fingers brushing along my length, her thumb tracing the underside of my piercing.

"That feels so good," I said, watching as her hands became reacquainted with my body.

Her touch was so familiar and I was overcome with longing, practically shaking with the need to feel her. My
eyes never left hers as she positioned herself and took me inside.

I watched as she moved over me, helpless to look away. My eyes devoured her. She was so vibrant and full of
life, so perfect in every way, such a stark contrast to the unending fatigue I felt. My arms lay heavily at my sides,
only having the strength to relish the movement of her hips or lightly brush along her stomach and breasts.

I felt every breath, every sweep of her hand, how her thighs tightened against me and her skin pebbled beneath my
trembling fingertips. I watched where our bodies connected, and how her breasts moved above me. I watched her
hair fall around us as she leaned over me for a kiss, how it felt like we disappeared from the world. I relished in
the sounds she made, and the way she would close her eyes for only a second before looking down at me again. I
watched the way the metal through her nipple glinted in the moonlight and the way she tensed and sighed my
name as she brought us both to orgasm. Moaning softly, I shook as I came inside of her.

"I love you," I breathed heavily, the only words that filled my head, my body. She fell against my chest with a
contented sigh.

"Your heart is racing," she laughed and the sound was so beautiful. I smiled at the way it vibrated through me.

My hands moved to her hair and I closed my eyes, holding her to me, feeling whole for the first time since we'd
been apart.

She shifted and I lifted my head to find her propped on my chest, silently watching me. I brushed the back of my
fingers across her jaw and down her neck, to her arm. I kept my eyes on hers as my thumb traced her tattoo.

She smiled as I brought it to my mouth and kissed it gently.

"Did it hurt?" I asked, wondering about the story behind it, if she regretted marking herself this way.

"A little." She looked down as if suddenly shy and I lifted her chin. "It made me feel closer to you somehow, like
a tie between us. A tangible piece of what mattered."

"It's beautiful," I said simply.

She smiled widely. I wondered if maybe she had been worried about my reaction.

"It is."

~*~

Chapter Four

August 27th

My strength returned slowly throughout the morning, and I insisted on checking in on the village. Bella's small
arms held me in bed, urging me to stay still.

"It won't take me long. I just need to check in."

She must have seen something in my eyes, some determination or deep-seated responsibility because she nodded
once and, after kissing me, let me go.

"Come back to me," she said.

Hearing her say this from my small cot in this house in China pulled a smile from me and I nodded. "I don't even
really want to leave you now."

When I returned, we made love again, quietly and unhurried. I curled up behind her and held her to me, rocking
forward and back, relishing the sounds she gave me. The afternoon sun lit up the dark space and we slipped into
an easy routine when we got up a while later, moving comfortably around each other. I sat at the table organizing
doses and Bella tinkered in the tiny kitchen, chopping vegetables from the safe-food ice chest.

For at least half an hour we worked quietly, simply listening to the sounds of the other's task. I watched her
between prepping each vial, relishing the familiar comfort we shared so immediately upon our reunion. But the
silence started to feel heavy; Bella rarely went so long without speaking. I looked up at her just as she inhaled to
speak.

"I'm relieved." She continued to work but her movements slowed.

I looked back down at the vial in my hand to make sure I labeled it correctly before putting it on the table and
looking up at her. "Relieved? Tell me what you mean, sweet girl."

She shook her head slightly, letting a curtain of hair fall between us.

I hated that I couldn't see her face as she sorted out her answer. Her voice had been slightly shaky. "Move your
hair, Bella," I murmured. "Let me see you."

Her hand reached up and tucked her hair behind her ear. She glanced at me briefly and then smiled down at the
carrots she was chopping. "I'm relieved that you were happy to see me."

I stared at her for a long moment, not entirely sure how to react to this. I realized there was a world of books and

talk shows that would make everything so much more complex than this, but this is always where my own reality
misaligned with the conventional wisdom because I had never understood the value of empty words. I loved her.
She loved me. She came to me and I was glad for it.

But in that moment, I realized she needed more from me, she needed the words, full of meaning and honesty. "I'm
completely restored." The only other thing that made sense came out of my mouth: "I love you. I truly do."

"I know." Her blush was beautiful and warm.

"Bella, seeing you is the only thing that could keep me together. I was falling apart without you."

She nodded and put the carrots in a bowl, stirring them and then walking to the table. When she sat across from
me, everything stopped buzzing in my ears and it was just Bella and I at a table. I wondered if she felt that, too.

"I love you, too," she said.

I swallowed heavily and watched her lips as she smiled. The words themselves were so new to me, and although
they didn't sound awkward or at all forced, I realized we were saying this for the first time without touching.

She pushed a bowl of carrots in vinegar, oil, and soy towards me. They were freckled with dark sesame seeds and
even in their simplicity they were beautiful and vibrant. She reached for one and then held it between her fingers,
examining it.

"It was kind of a big leap of faith coming here." She watched a drop of sauce roll from her fingertip down the side
of her hand and then licked it as she looked up at me.

"I can see what you mean," I said slowly, trying not to stare at her tongue on her skin. "I hope you know it was
never my intention to leave things unclear. I hope you never doubted my feelings for you."

"You left, though." She shook her head at her own words, clearly not meaning to sound harsh. "I mean, I'm just
glad that you were being honest that night, and that you weren't only caught up in the moment."

I stared down at my hands for a moment before the scraping sound of the bowl cut into my thoughts and the bowl
pressed against my fingers.

"Eat," she said.

I picked up a carrot and slipped it into my mouth, chewing while I considered articulating everything in my mind.
It was all so new, I almost felt like I was stumbling to translate my thoughts into the language of loving
reassurance and possession. "I've never thought the words 'I love you' to a woman, let alone said them out loud. I
suppose you would have no way of knowing that, though."

"No," she whispered, watching me eat. "I don't know that side of you at all."

"I'm in love with you. And I'm not sure how to do my life differently. I'm used to traveling when I'm needed. I'm
used to being more transient. But everything is different now."

"Different how?" Her face looked warm and tight with desire.

"I couldn't find my space here," I said and her eyebrows furrowed a little, not understanding. I shook my head
slightly, hoping the meaning would come out if I just kept speaking. "It doesn't usually take much for me to feel

settled somewhere for however long I'm there." I rubbed my face and took another carrot. Her face relaxed
somewhat when I did this and I smiled. "But this time it felt weird to not have you here."

She smiled and chewed her lip. I reached across the table and touched her mouth, missing the sight of her doing
that enough that I needed to feel it underneath my fingertips. It occurred to me that I had no idea what her journey
had been; I just accepted her presence. I took in the faint lines of exhaustion that circled her eyes.

"Will you tell me what you did while we were apart? Why you decided to come to me?" I asked, running my
finger over her lip. I hadn't seen her in a month. I wondered if there was some hesitation on her part, some
building up of courage she required.

"I wanted to come right away," she admitted staring at her hands.

"I would have loved that." I could touch her face for hours. "I wish I'd asked you to come with me."

"But I didn't have a passport," she said, laughing self-consciously.

"Oh. I never thought of that." I took off my glasses and rubbed my eyes, realizing how much she had been
through to get here.

"So that took a few weeks. And in that time I had to find you, because all I knew was that you were going to
China."

I smirked at her. "I hear China is a big place."

"It is," she laughed. "So, I... uh..."

I laughed at her guilty expression and took her hand, kissing it. "Spill. Tell me how you became a sleuth."

"I called your parents."

I stared at her, stunned. "How did you find them?"

"You'd told me your father's name once. I used some of my connections at Newsweek; they looked up his office
number in the states and I left him a message that I knew his son and needed to find him. He called me back."

Her determination floored me and humbled me. She was so tenacious when I had been floundering. "You spoke
with my dad?"

"I did." She smiled proudly when she said this and I could just imagine how my parents would fall for Bella.

"What on earth did you tell him?" This I had to hear. Carlisle knew how little expectation I had that I would ever
find what I had with Bella. I wished so much I could have seen his face when he heard from her.

"I told him how we met. I admitted to him that we fell in love." She knotted her fingers when she said this and I
realized that the last month had been just as hard for her. I also knew from the way her voice broke that Carlisle
would never in a million years question what she said. "I told him how you had to leave so abruptly and I didn't
think I could let six months pass without seeing you."

My chest grew tight. I couldn't imagine what this had done to my father; how it would have brought him so much
relief to know that I was learning how to love. "And he called Health Relief for you?"

She nodded. "That day."

I reached for her face again, pulling her closer to me over the table. We both had to stand somewhat but I didn't
care. I needed to feel her mouth. "You did so much to get here."

She nodded against my kiss, smiling because I understood. "So I'm relieved you're happy to see me," she
murmured.

~*~

It was such a humid night it almost felt like we were sleeping in a pool of water in the cot. Bella tossed restlessly;
even as exhausted as she was, she was unable to get comfortable.

I felt stronger, more aware and I was tired of sleeping. I wanted to relish the sight of her, the smell of her.

The taste of her.

She was nude, next to me. I had insisted on it when we went to bed together that night, when she had taken me in
again and loved me with quiet urgency. I never wanted her to sleep clothed with me, ever. In the light from
outside, from the fiery stars and half moon, her legs looked opalescent and smooth.

I spread her thighs with my hands, crawling down to the foot of the cot to gaze up at her. I kissed her heels, her
ankles, her calves. I kissed her thighs and touched her clean, unmarked skin. I wanted her to only wear her words
for me.

The sheets beneath her smelled like both of us and the love we had made before bed, but when I ran my tongue
along her, she tasted exactly how I imagined: soft, wet and somehow… familiar. I was completely lost.

She woke up slowly, humming and touching my hands on her thighs.

"Oh." Her legs jerked when I slid a finger inside her and she registered what I was doing.

I breathed her name, finally sucking her into my mouth, but gently. I needed this so much.

"I don't..." she mumbled. "No one ever..."

My mind reeled with what she was telling me and I focused my efforts, wanting her to always want this from me.
"Never?"

"It's..." she whispered. "Do you...?"

"I'm lost in you," I reassured her, kissing up and down her skin with increasing need. "I've wanted this for so
long."

"Really?" she breathed. I felt her arch into me, giving in to it.

"Really."

?? ~*~

Her orgasm was wild and writhing and when I looked at her below me as I crawled up her body, she shook with
her need for more.

"So good," I whispered, telling her how she made me feel.

I expected her to pull me over her, to want me inside her as much as I wanted it, but she stilled me with a hand on
my hip.

She ran her hand up her side and pinched her nipple softly. "I want to see you."

Her eyes moved down my chest and to my hips. I swallowed at the darkness of her stare. "You enjoy that."

"I do." Her eyes grew almost black when she said this.

"Why?" I asked, running a finger up her stomach and circling the nipple she ignored.

"I like visual stimulation."

I smiled down at her. "I give you a lot to look at."

She growled and ran a hand up my arm. "I like thinking about what you did when..." she blushed and I smiled
down at her, waiting. "…when you thought of me."

I watched her for a long moment, relishing the woman who emerged when we were alone at night. "I love this
side of you."

"Will you let me see?" She pulled her lip into her mouth and chewed it, growling a bit.

I took myself in my hand, pulling back my foreskin and tugging her nipple ring with my other hand. "What is it
you want to see?"

She bit back a moan. "How did you do it when you were without me?" She tilted her head on the pillow and ran a
hand up my thigh as I straddled her legs spread below me. "Did you savor it?"

"A couple of times I did," I admitted quietly.

"And when you savored it, what were you thinking about?"

"Tasting you."

I saw her blush and knew this new experience pressed back against and challenged her daring mood. She closed
her eyes and breathed, "You thought about that a lot?"

I waited until she opened her eyes to nod. I began to move my hand and her eyes grew hooded. "I didn't know
you'd never been touched like that."

"Yeah." She stared at my hand.

"I like that."

She looked up at my eyes and I saw the relief there.

"That was part of the fantasy, actually," I admitted.

"Really?"

I nodded again, moving faster. "You kept that just for me."

Just like this side of you, I thought. Just like your innocent honesty, your willingness to be daring and ask me for
what you want.

"The piercing..." she murmured.

"Do you like it?" I flicked it lightly with my index finger and she gasped.

"I like how it looks." She looked up at me and licked her lips. "I like how it feels even more."

"Yes," I hissed. I closed my eyes and arched my neck, struggling to prolong it. "Where do you want me to come?"
My voice was tight and she gasped.

"My hip."

"Why?" She loved the vision of me like this and I found I loved nothing more than her whispered directions.

She was quiet and I met her gaze, straining to hold on. "I don't know," she said. "I just want it there."

I looked down her body and realized how my release would move down her hip and between her legs.

The way her fingers desperately clawed at the sheets when I came was the most erotic thing I had ever seen.

~*~

September 4th

I returned from my morning of rounds, scrubbed my hands in the water basin, and walked to the field behind the
house, in search of Bella.

She was lying in the grass, gazing up at the sky. I stood for a moment, watching her take it all in and I tried to see
what she was seeing in our world here.

Only since Bella had arrived had I let my surroundings in more. The river was polluted but much of the land was
paradoxically green and lush. The hill behind the house sloped softly toward the riverbank. The long row of
houses was punctuated every ten yards or so by a stone shower, a well, or a small bench.

A stand of trees shaded Bella's lower body, speckling her legs with shadows and the undulating movement of the
leaves in the wind.

She smiled when she saw me lean over into the beam of sun in her face.

"It's so amazing here," she breathed, lowering her hand from where it had shielded her eyes. "I can't get over how
different everything is."

I moved to lie down next to her and she took my hand. I brought her fingers to my lips, inhaling and kissing her
skin.

"I missed you," I whispered. I kissed her fingers again.

She hummed in response, and I could hear her smile in the sound. She looked so comfortable here, even
thousands of miles from her home, her garden, her familiar life.

"What did you do today?" she asked.

"The usual. Visited each home. Gave medication – mostly pain meds at this point. I'll go back after lunch and
make sure everyone is still eating and drinking from the right sources."

She turned towards me, brow furrowed. "Don't they know not to eat the food from the field?"

I nodded and shrugged. "They do. But this village is many generations old. It's hard to tell them that it's not
enough to wash or boil the food. It's very hard for them to understand that their land is poisoned, that what they
are growing is toxic from within. That's a very painful reality for the people who have lived off this land and
chosen to stay here. If I don't make sure they're eating from the safe food, they just go back to habit."

She looked back up at the sky and I could see her mind working. Her brown eyes grew darker in her thoughts; her
hand clenched and unclenched mine.

"Ask," I murmured. "Anything."

She smiled and rolled to kiss me.

"I mean it."

"I know," she whispered, kissing my nose. "So, why are you only giving pain medication? I guess I figured these
types of things – your trips, I mean – dealt more with outbreaks and, like… " She closed her eyes, trying to
remember something. "Like the movie, Outbreak." She winced, looking at me and laughing a little at what she
perceived to be her naiveté.

I kissed her flushed cheek. "I do sometimes focus on infectious disease," I admitted. "But our goal is very rarely
to contain outbreaks. That is usually left to the larger government agencies. Health Relief International does
non-profit work. What we do is more out-reach. Getting to the places that don't have resources. Providing care for
places just like this."

"I love hearing you talk about it," she murmured. "We never really talked about our jobs before."

I nodded and leaned to kiss her. "Okay, well, let's see... Sometimes we help a local population learn how to treat
their water and food to prevent infection. Sometimes we go to a disaster area and do acute triage. Sometimes we
deal with parasitic infections."

"Do you come here a lot?"

"I've never been here for work. China doesn't usually bring in many foreign aid workers. The HRI people here are
nationals." I realized there was really more to her question and added, "I usually go to Africa or Haiti."

"Is this job how you met Tommy?"

I shook my head. "We met in medical school. He worked at Mass General for a while but ended up coming back
to China and through my connections he started coordinating HRI efforts here. Even though I don't often work in
China, I came here this time because Tommy needed help. This village is close to where he grew up and it has
been largely left for dead. He was burned out. He's always known that I could come at a moment's notice and he's
taken too much on by himself."

She considered this. "How do we do this?"

I knew exactly what she meant, how my reference to being available at a moment's notice triggered this
conversation. My answer was swift because I had spent so much time thinking about this in the past weeks. "I
require more notice. I don't go away for as long. We make our life together, we travel together sometimes, and I
fit this in around all of it." I looked over at her. "I could never do six months away from you. Even one was hard. I
think we figure it out as we go."

"I like that," she whispered. I leaned to kiss her and it lingered deliciously. I closed my eyes, losing myself in her,
escaping everything else for just a few moments.

She ran her hand down my face and cupped my cheek. When I opened my eyes, she was looking intently at me.
"You seem sad here sometimes. Are you often sad in the field?"

I shook my head. "No. Never. I feel alive when I'm working."

"What's different about this assignment?"

"It's more than just being away from you, although I know that's part of it. I don't feel like I'm making a difference
here because no one will get better. There will always be patients that I lose, but here the pollution reaches
everything, and no one who is sick here is going to make it. Many of them refuse symptomatic treatment, as
well."

"So, everyone has… cancer?" she asked tentatively.

I nodded. "Mostly leukemia."

"Do you give them chemo?"

I shook my head.

Her face registered what this meant, that this was care giving and not lifesaving.

"That's so depressing."

"I know."

Her eyes were bottomless and tears pricked in the corners. "Why do you do it?"

I looked at her; saw the pain and concern on her face. I tried to calm her, squeezing her hand and smiling wryly.
"Someone has to. And I don't mind death. I just mind suffering."

She sucked in a breath and looked at me with an expression I couldn't decipher.

"What?" I asked.

"You're so strong."

I laughed, feeling like that statement could make me laugh for a long time given how incongruous it was with my
current self-image. "I don't feel very strong. I feel very selfish all of a sudden."

"How so?"

I considered how to answer, finally deciding on simple. "I just want to be with you, but I don't want you here. So,
in a sense, I don't want to be here either."

Her eyes narrowed. She meant it to be wary, but it came off as adorable. "What do you mean, you don't want me
here?"

"I don't like the idea of you being exposed to any of this."

"It's very sad, but there is something so liberating about just facing the stark reality. Seeing you doing something
to help is… a relief. I can handle it. I want to be with you, to support you however I can."

I shook my head. "That isn't just what I mean. Exposed to what is happening, yes, but not exposed to this land,
this water, this…toxic area." I ran my hand over the soft smooth skin near the crook of her elbow. Everything
about her was so tender.

"Oh," she whispered and her face fell slightly.

"Bella, it's more than just cancer. Women from this village became infertile. You're too young, too…" I shook my
head, unable to continue. You're too important. "I want you. So much. I just don't want you here."

~*~

September 10th

I made love to Bella for the last time the morning of her flight. The sun came up as I moved over her. I held her
face in my hands as I kissed away her tears. She was so strong and brave to have crossed the world to find me,
and yet as she lay in my arms, I saw her fear that I would not return to her.

"Shhh," I said against her warm cheeks. I pushed up onto my knees to lean over her more, my body pressing
deeply into hers. Her eyes were closed tightly and I whispered her name, wanting her to look at me. I wanted her
to know that it would be okay, that I would return to her.

"Bella," I said again.

Her eyes opened slowly and the love I felt for her nearly crushed me. She drew in a shaky breath and nodded. I
smiled at her quiet and complete understanding of me, of us.

~*~

I held her hand in mine as we made the long trip into the city. The roads were rough and slowed our progress, and
I found myself wishing they were worse, that our time together wasn't ending. As the sound of pavement under
the tires replaced the sound of dirt, I tightened my grip on her hand. I wasn't nearly as strong on the inside as I

seemed, and with each mile that passed, I felt myself wanting to turn the Jeep around and take her back with me.

As if sensing the war going on inside me, she spoke.

"I planted three kinds of pumpkins this year," she said quietly. Her head was turned slightly, her eyes on the
passing green hills.

I smiled at how easily she took me home.

Home. That word pulled at something inside me as I watched the way the wind moved her dark hair around her
face. I'd never felt like I had an actual home before, only a place I kept my drums, the boxed pieces of my past.
Home had always been such a broad term used to describe my life at the moment. Wherever I was, in that place, I
was home.

"What are they called?" I asked. I wanted to remember her voice, the silly names of the things that grew in her
garden.

"Green-Striped Cushaw, Buckskin, and Big Moon." She turned to me with red eyes. "The Big Moon make great
Jack-O-Lanterns," she said, swiping at her eyes before smiling. "They can get really heavy though. I'll need help
carrying them into the house to carve."

I knew what she was saying, what she was asking of me. Halloween was two months away. She was asking if I
would be there.

"I'm coming home in a month," I said. I held her eyes, needing her to see the truth behind my words.

She looked down at our joined hands and squeezed, her thumb brushing mine as she nodded. "Okay."

I kissed the back of her hand and turned back to the road, my thoughts on the decision I had made in the night.
Though I longed to follow Bella as she boarded her plane today, I had a responsibility to the people of the village,
those still clinging to the hope that their home could be saved. I would stay and see ChangMing taken to the
treatment center, and together, Tommy and I would do what we could to help the ones who chose to remain.

There was much to do and I knew a month would never be enough time. Five years would probably never be
enough. But as I looked at her, at the words etched into our skin, I knew I had also found what I had to keep with
me. I would have to learn to balance my need to be with her and the unending work to be found in the world.

The airport was crowded and I held on to her tightly as we walked silently to her gate. She'd only brought one
piece of luggage, a canvas duffel that was slung over my shoulder. We stopped in front of a grouping of chairs
encircling the boarding area.

I pulled her to me, breathing in her scent and trying to memorize the way her body folded itself into mine. My lips
moved along her throat as her pulse beat wildly beneath my lips.

"I love you," I whispered against her skin.

"Please be careful." She gripped me more tightly and her voice broke on the words.

"I promise."

"I love you so much."

I held her until they announced her flight.

"I have to go." Her voice was muffled against my shirt. She sniffed and placed a single kiss on my chest. Even
through the thin cotton I felt the heat of her lips. I nodded and placed her bag over her shoulder, taking her face in
my hands and pulling her mouth to mine.

"I love you, Bella," I said, not wanting to let her go.

"I miss you already."

"I know, baby."

With one last kiss she pulled away from me and walked slowly down the jet way.

I watched her leave. My stomach turned and my chest ached as she moved farther and farther away. My fingers
burned to touch her again, to stop her, to reach out and keep her here.

One month.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. Reluctantly, I pulled my eyes from her, surprised by the sound I hadn't heard in
weeks.

32 Messages Sent

I watched in shock as I skimmed through a months worth of unsent texts.

[7/17/08 02:25:04 PM] I've arrived safely. There are no green zebras here. What's for dinner?
[7/20/08 11:16:36 AM] Thinking of you as I tuck into lunch. What are you doing, I wonder?
[7/24/08 08:10:43 PM] It is strange to see the sun set and not be sitting with you.
[7/27/08 03:27:32 PM] I love you Bella. I want you to know I've never said that before.
[7/31/08 11:58:00 PM] I miss your hands and what they did to me.
[8/01/08 10:14:32 AM] How is the garden? All around me are wasted crops. It is a stark contrast to
your vivid fruit.
[8/03/08 01:20:38 PM] Struggling every day to understand why I left you to come here.
[8/03/08 04:52:09 AM] I dream of tasting you.
[8/04/08 07:12:33 PM] Are you still cooking for two?
[8/07/08 03:45:21 PM] I'm not sure what I'm doing here.
[8/09/08 10:23:11 AM] I love you.
[8/10/08 03:52:09 PM] I think about you all the time.
[8/11/08 05:16:22 PM] I see you everywhere. Do you see me, too?
[8/12/08 02:24:18 AM] I'm so lonely.
[8/15/08 08:24:21 PM] Please tell me you're missing me, too.
[8/16/08 10:16:42 AM] You're so beautiful
[8/19/08 03:21:01 AM] I'm desperate without you.
[8/21/08 01:56:23 AM] I know you'll never get these but it's all I have.

I looked up to see her stopped on the jet way, her eyes on the phone in her hand. I realized she must have just
received them, too.

Lifting her head, she turned to me, our eyes meeting across the crowded expanse.

Her look of understanding took my breath away.

Running toward me, her body crashed into mine with a force I hadn't expected, causing me to stumble back
slightly. Her arms held me tightly, her legs gripping my waist. She was suddenly everywhere.

"Edward," she sobbed.

"I love you," I said over and over again, kissing her face, her hair, her lips.

"You'll come back to me in one month."

"One month," I promised.

"You'll be home."

"With you," I said, kissing her lips again.

She smiled and it was like the sun breaking through the clouds.

~*~

The End

~*~

A Little Crazy Outtake

Future Outtake

EPOV

She stood with her back to me as she peeled carrots into the sink. I sighed, feeling a new joy of contentment and
grounding as I listened to her humming softly.

The days were much cooler now and the occasional rustle of naked tree limbs moving in the wind joined the
backdrop of our world, became just another sound filling our easy, shared space. The sky had grown dark hours
ago and I watched her sweet face reflected back to me in the window above the sink.

"Is soup okay?" she asked without looking up. My eyes followed her arm as she reached for her wine glass, her
lips as she placed them against the rim, her throat as she swallowed.

I closed my eyes, so thankful to just be here with her. "It's perfect."

Hearing something in my tone, she looked up and met my eyes in the glass. We shared a moment of knowing
silence. Her cheeks flushed and she smiled before returning her attention to her vegetables.

"It's chicken noodle," she said, placing the last of the carrots on the cutting board. "Can you get the roast chicken
out from last night?"

Nodding, I pushed myself from the counter and retrieved the blue bowl from the fridge. I placed it next to her and
leaned over, placing a kiss against her temple.

"Need help?" I asked, brushing my lips against her hair once more.

"No," she said quietly, the knife pausing in her hands.

I ran the back of my finger along her cheek and her eyes fell closed. She exhaled a shaky breath.

"Okay, sweet girl," I answered, resuming my spot behind her.

My eyes continued to follow her as she puttered around my small kitchen, attempting to memorize every move
and every sound I'd missed while away.

She added the carrots to the steaming pot on the stove and began chopping celery. "There's a movie on tonight,"
she began, looking back over her shoulder. "Watch it with me?"

I wanted to tease her, to see her bashful smile and see her cheeks turn a soft pink. "I'll probably watch you."

"You always watch me," she said, her reaction exactly what I'd hoped.

I grinned at her, unable to deny it. Since coming home, my eyes had been ravenous to look at her, my fingers
starving to touch.

She laughed as she continued working, and I made my way over to the window.

The snow had begun falling, and thick white flakes started to accumulate in the driveway outside. My eyes moved
across the street to her yard, making a mental note to shovel her driveway when the storm let up. This thought was
so foreign to me, so simple, and yet I couldn't wait to experience the normalcy of all the small things I had never
expected to share.

~*~

BPOV

We stood in silence for a moment as he gazed out at the snow collecting on the driveway. "I have to find the box
with all my long pants," he mumbled absently, moving to the fridge to grab a beer.

I relished the feel of his words slipping around us with easy familiarity. His long fingers brushed against my arm
as he reached for the bottle opener. I held my breath, holding his scent in my head as long as I could. I had missed
the smell of his soap on his skin. It was like his accent: subtle, soothing, calm. He took my wine glass to refill it
and handed it back to me, rubbing my index finger with his before letting go.

"What are you going to do in this snow storm?" I asked and he growled slightly, smirking knowingly at me. I
grinned, biting my lip. "I mean, no more tinkering outside. Will you come play for me all day?"

"We could spend all day in a movie theater. We could choose something really bad so we can spend the entire
time making out?"

"Some of us still have to work," I laughed, meeting his eyes in our reflection in the window again. His expression
remained intense and hungry. "I haven't been working for months solid. I don't deserve a break."

He chuckled behind me and took a sip of his beer.

"You were pretty patient about my job," he murmured between sips. "I suppose I can afford to support yours for
awhile. I'll take you whenever I can get you."

I shook my head, exhaling the stress threatening to envelop me and letting his presence soothe me. "I've been so
bad about deadlines the last couple of weeks."

"My fault?"

"Absolutely." I nodded and grinned at him before looking back down at the celery I was chopping.

"I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not."

"I'd say I regret putting myself in this position, but I don't." I laughed down at the cutting board and felt him step
behind me. His hands moved to rest on my hips and he pressed me into the counter.

"Bella."

I immediately recognized his tone. It was the way he'd said my name when he'd come home from China and taken
me on the floor just inside my front door. It was the voice that woke me up in the middle of the night most nights,
softly, simply saying, "Please." It was the tone that told me how much he loved being home with me.

"You feel good." His hands bunched up the sides of my shirt and he ran his fingers over my stomach. His lips
pressed against my hair. "You smell so good."

"I thought you said you were hungry." The words came out exhaled through a smile.

He didn't say anything in response, just reached a hand up to sweep my hair to the side before he dragged his lips
down my neck and bit lightly at the juncture of my neck and shoulder.

"Want something else instead?" I whispered.

"Yes."

He gripped one hip and gently pulled, pushing the other with the heel of his hand until I was facing him. I slid my
fingers under his shirt and squealed when he reached behind me and shoved the contents on the cutting board off
of the counter into the sink next to us, picking me up and putting me down in front of him.

His hands pulled me forward to the edge of the marble and he settled between my legs, gazing at me.

"We could go upstairs." I pulled him closer by the hem of his shirt.

"No," he said, smiling a little. "I like it here."

"Yeah?" I grinned at him.

He didn't answer, just leaned to kiss me, taking my top lip and gently sucking as I let my tongue slide along the
underside of his, toying with the cool metal penetrating him there.

Soft reclaiming kisses turned hungrier and louder, moans mingled with humid breaths. His hands held me steady
as he rocked against me slowly, grinding into me. Our movements became coordinated: familiar circling of my
hips, practiced angling of his, and even through our pajamas our bodies met with the knowing rhythm that seemed
to define us: easy, slow, never pressured.

His hands slid up my sides and to my face, tilting my head slightly, tasting me at a different angle. The gesture
communicated absorption, possession, and hunger. Even though his fingers trembled slightly, our movements
remained slow and measured. He reached down and shifted his erection in his pants before holding my face again
and kissing me. He watched my expression as he rocked against me now meaningfully — almost experimentally
— and I cried out, a shaky, desperate sound, when I felt him trapped between us.

His eyes darkened with satisfaction at my response and suddenly his hands were on my backside, pulling me
closer, and my legs were around his hips, gripping him to me. He ground into me, urgent and hard.

There were no other sounds in the room except the soft wet sounds of our mouths together and the rough rustling
of our bodies creating friction through our clothing. I rocked into him, loving the feel of him so close to me,
sliding with me, teasing and tormenting.

"Fuck." It was guttural and relieved; it was him finding everything he needed here.

Our kisses no longer felt languorous and paced; teeth bumped and tongues tasted chins. His labret dragged across
my bottom lip and his moans filled my mouth. He devoured me and I him, and it was at once desperate, and
searching, and completely liberating to take him so hungrily just because I could.

"More," I begged and I wasn't sure where the sound came from because it just felt like the word swirled and
whipped behind my eyelids. He tasted like oranges and beer and his warm lips. "Oh, God..."

He became frenzied, practically fucking me on the counter. We were paradoxically too impatient to even take off
our clothes, and I realized the shift in his energy was about what I'd said — 'Oh God' — and how he told me the
night before that I always said that when I was close to climax. He had meant to tease me when he'd said it, but
from the way his posture had changed, I knew it was also an utterance that made him wild, motivated him to do
whatever he could to get me there.

He watched me, always. He knew me so well. Somehow he had gotten to know me even better during the months
when he was halfway around the world. The understanding of that wracked me and I clawed at his back knowing
he replayed every intimate moment we'd ever shared while he was away from me. He'd relished them, learned
from them, hoped to improve them. His lips met mine again; he was relishing it all now.

"Bella," he groaned, tormented and ecstatic.

"I'm..." I whispered.

His movements transitioned then to smooth rocking and circling, giving me the focus I needed. His mouth turned
softer, more devoted and less urgent.

"Yeah?" he asked, softly. "You gonna come?"

I nodded, hooking my ankles around him and coiling the fingers of one hand in his hair. He loved me like this,

with knowing accuracy, until my breath stuttered and I gasped into his kiss, climaxing from the feel of him
moving against me. I fell to pieces, quietly and with the fingers of my other hand wrapped in and stretching his
shirt.

"Yes," he hissed, reaching up to press his hand around my breast, feeling my nipple harden from my orgasm. "Oh,
Bella."

~*~

EPOV

She was beautiful when she came, identical to every memory I'd replayed in my mind and yet so much more. She
was soft and yielding to my hands, my lips, my spontaneous need for her. She was wanton and frenzied and never
ashamed, knowing I would give her anything.

I watched as she arched against me, her nipples growing hard beneath my fingertips. That she had come from just
the feeling of my clothed body against hers was one of the sexiest things I'd ever seen.

Her forehead fell against my shoulder, her breaths heavy and warm against my shirt. I kissed her hair and held her
to me.

"Bella," I whispered again, completely lost in the way she'd come apart in my arms.

Her grip loosened on my shirt, and she hummed into my neck. I shivered as she placed a soft, lingering kiss
against my throat.

She lifted her chin and smiled softly at me. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair tangled from my fingers.

"I love you," she said simply, pressing her mouth to mine. I felt her palms against my chest, pushing me slightly. I
took a step back and watched her slide from the counter, weaving a little when her feet met the floor.

"You okay?" I smiled.

She grinned up at me and pulled my head to hers. "Mm-hmm..."

Her hand moved slowly down my body to palm me through my pants. I moaned and our eyes locked as her
fingers formed to the shape of me.

"Bella, you feel..." I trailed off, trying to find the words.

My head fell back as slipped off my shirt and kissed down my chest and along my stomach, her hand continuing
to move over me, teasing me through my pajama bottoms.

"Edward," she said softly, and I raised my head to peer down at her. She had moved to her knees in front of me,
her eyes wide as she slipped the elastic waistband of my pants down my hips.

"Yeah," I said, unable to look away. My words caught as she took me in her hand and slowly slid my foreskin
back. Leaning in, she pressed her lips to the tip before circling it with her tongue. "Jesus..." I groaned.

Her eyes met mine and turned mischievous. Holding my gaze, she pulled her mouth back slightly and sucked on
my piercing, tugging it slightly between her lips. My hands dug into her hair and I widened my stance, afraid I
might fall over from the look in her eyes alone.

She spread her lips around the tip and took me in, flicking her tongue against the bar."

I like it when you play with that," I whispered.

Her eyes fell closed at my words and she moaned around me.

"Fuck, Bella," I hissed, unable to stop from rocking my hips forward.

Her hands moved to the backs of my thighs, encouraging me to move.

"Thought of this so many times," I mumbled, moving my fingers to lightly trace her lips. "Taking you right
here...seeing you like this."

She looked up at me then and I shook in a quick jerk from the sight of her mouth wrapped around me. I felt my
chest heaving and my breathing became rough and ragged to my own ears. Her hair was soft beneath my fingers,
and her mouth was warm and hungry for me. Wrapping her hand around my shaft, she stroked me in time with the
movements of her mouth over my head.

"It's good," I murmured, pushing her hair back from her face. "Bella, it feels really good..."

I was already so close, so sensitive from the way we had moved together against the counter. I wanted to relish
the sight of her here, wanted to absorb the feeling of her mouth around me, but even letting the images wash over
me was too much. Her lips squeezed me, her tongue pressed against my piercing. As her eyes rolled closed, she
hummed softly, and the vibrations spread along my length and into my abdomen. The reality of seeing her derive
pleasure from giving me pleasure brought me to the edge.

"So close," I whispered.

She kept pace; never rushing, never in a hurry.

"Oh, fuck, so close," I said again and I heard the tension in my voice, felt the strain in my neck muscles as my
body prepared to let go.

She took me a bit deeper, telling me it was okay to come in her. With a groan, I came, the tightness and urgent
need sweeping past me as the pulsing of my orgasm filled my entire body. My back arched and I heard my
involuntary low moan continue as she held still over me and let my climax wash through me: slowly, deliciously,
heavy and warm.

It took several moments before I could open my eyes, but I felt her mouth slide away from me, felt her lips press a
kiss to my tip, and felt her hands grab onto mine to help her up.

I looked down at her and she was grinning up at me.

"You alive?"

I nodded, smiling and dazed. With weak arms I pulled her to me, kissing her temple.

"Damn," I murmured into her hair.

She chuckled against me and kissed my lips once before reaching for my beer and taking a long swig.

"I'm going to remain pants-less," I mumbled, stepping out of my pajamas. "My arms aren't working."

"Perfect," she said, threading her fingers in my hair and kissing the corner of my mouth. "Sit down and tell me a
story. I have dinner to cook."

~*~