Author's Note:
Reviews, positive as well as negative, are always welcome!

Word count: 1,477
Summary: If the mortal and immortal alike are matched in anything, it's their hard-headed ways.

PART ONE: STRENGTH OF WILL

"I can strictly guarantee you, it isn't all that you say you wish for," he said with a sigh, knowing that his logic, albeit from first hand experience, was wasted on her. If anything contrasted more sharply with her frail and beautiful human nature, it was Bella's unwavering hardheadedness. Even if Edward had come to adore the challenges she threw his way ever so often, there were certain obstacles that he had been ready to do away with for the longest time. One such being the topic of conversation at hand - the notion of him bringing Bella into his world, into the shadows he walked in, daily.

He couldn't resist stealing just a peek at her as they sped down the road, impossibly fast speeds whipping them around the spidery curves of the back roads they were exploring, that evening. She was pouting, he saw, in response to his almost paternal warning to her. He merely chuckled and shook his head, disapprovingly. When a person, or vampire, for that matter, is consistently saving your life, it is assumed that you'll suck it up and put on an appreciative smile, isn't it?

Bella couldn't manage that; it was far too difficult to hide the sulking feeling she felt at that moment, even if in the far reaches of her mind, she realized Edward knew best, as he always did. He was inhumanly gifted in every area, and as far as they had managed to come in their relationship together, there was no evidence that being correct in most situations was any exception to that rule. Be that as it may, it was just not a fair trade, in her mind, for him to pretend to be seventeen, yet still act as though he were some sort of father figure, a protector. But that is precisely what is, she had to remind herself, my protector.

"How do you know what it is that I wish for?" Not the most daring challenge she could have put on the table, but the first that sprung to mind in order to fuel her argument, even a bit.

"Because you never miss an opportunity to inform me," he replied, easily. She supposed this much was true, though she was not contented by the smirk that slid over his perfect lips as he became satisfied that he'd squashed her case, beyond rebuttal.

"Perhaps if you just gave me what I want, these conversations would become less frequent. Disappear altogether, even," she suggested angelically, the innocence and naive wonder behind those words tearing Edward between a smile and anger. She did not know what it was that she was asking him to do, nor did she seem to have gathered what it was that she wanted beyond the fact that she wanted him. That was something that she had, something she would always have, if his damned forsaken conscience would keep to its own, once in a blue moon. Still, she lacked experience, knowledge, understanding . . . and perhaps he lacked the courage and the selfishness to make good on her insistent pleading.

"Bella," he spoke gently, sadness winning out the battle between anger and adoration, "you're young, much too young."

She pondered the meaning of that sentence, the double meaning in it's tone not having been lost on her in the least. He meant that she was too young to make the change, though he simultaneously meant she was mentally too young to understand her own desires. She saw that, on some level, and it all but enraged her.

"Yet I'm not too young to know I love you completely, is that it? Though, I'm likely fooling myself into that, as well, aren't I?" She spat out suddenly, surprised by the words and the venom that leaked from her mouth so readily. They were words she could never mean, words that she only hoped would be able to call back, a hope made dangerous by the hair pin trigger attached to his moodiness.

"Haven't I always said do?" Not in so many words, he hadn't, or perhaps just not the same words. He'd always said he was too beautiful, too pure, angelic, good, even, to belong to something as wretched as him. He'd always believed that to be true, and it was a thought he felt he would take to his grave, so to speak. He knew she felt some bewitching enchantment towards him, that she named that feeling love, but really, what was love to a human, with their short lives and flighty patience? And, more over, what was love to a seventeen year old human girl, who was just crazy enough to proclaim that feeling to a vampire, of all things?

"You know that I didn't mean that Edward," she began to protest feebly as the car came to an abrupt stop along a clearing lined with thick forest. Perhaps nighttime in a wooded location was a more dangerous scene than speeding along empty roads with a vampire, but Bella could only feel relief that he was not immediately careening towards her home to drop her off.

"No, I don't," he lied, eyes settling someplace off in the distant dark, away from her. Perhaps he knew she did not completely believe in the words she'd used against him. The real sting lie in the fact he could never know for sure just what percentage of that sentence she had meant with any fraction of her heart, her mind still a guarded fortress far out of his jurisdiction. "What I do know, however, is that you are utterly blind to what you're asking me to take from you, what you're so freely giving up."

"To be with you," she reiterated, delicate brow creasing as she did. "What I'm giving up to be with you."

"Precisely the reason I cannot let you do it," he said, turning to face her as he spoke. He was evidently frustrated, she could see, his golden eyes swimming with slight anger at the topic of conversation in general. It was not something he enjoyed discussing, or even something he felt merited such a lengthy battle, day in and day out. "Your human emotions, your stubbornness, even your unwise love for me - none are your fault. But when you can see all the results of a decision that lies before you, making the wrong choice based on impulse would be your fault. And even more so my own, for not making you see better."

She fumed at this; she didn't need him to make her see, to make her do anything, for that matter. She needed him only to love her, to allow her to be with him the way she wanted to be, rather than with the looming prospect of aging and of time dancing overhead constantly. She needed to be assured that they were to be one another's and only so, forever, and the promise that he was not going anywhere did little to soothe her. She had little to work with in the way of a comeback to his painfully logical and steadfast way of saying no, and so she sat in silence as his liquid gold eyes burned into her.

"You're well aware that I love you, are you not?" He asked, sincerely and hopefully, his ice cold hand enveloping her much smaller, much warmer hand within it. It seemed as though that simple question broke the tension if only a little, as she lifted her misty eyes momentarily to his, long enough to see the small apologetic smile that hung on his lips. She sighed, knowing she could scarcely stay angry with him when the electricity of their bodies met at the hands, when his eyes atoned for his staunch way of having dealt with the conversation.

"I know you do," she assured him, lifting her free hand to rid her cheeks of the tears that had spilled there. Every time the subject was broached in any seriousness, it garnered the same reaction from both of them. She would go to tears; he would resort to proving his affection to her as best he was able. It was an ugly wash, rinse, repeat cycle, but it was a dance they seemed deadlocked into, until someone's iron will finally bent to suit the other's.

"Then understand why I would never hurt you, or even dream of it," he said in his velveteen voice, leaning towards her and gently pressing his cold lips to her warm, tear stained cheek. Even the scent of her tears enchanted him, he noticed, the tip of his nose brushing lightly along her cheek as he attempted to comfort her. Smiling up at her through those long, dark eyelashes of his, her expression gave him what he considered free reign to believe he had been forgiven.

And he had been, as he always was, as she was incapable of preventing.