5:57 AM

You love me.

It flows through you as your fingers caress my face, moving my messy hair aside to touch your lips to my eyes, still unopened and heavy with exhaustion. Your touch, your kisses, your arms around me, holding me close - they're the first things I feel as I wake each morning, assuring me you're still here. Even if my dreams had been turbulent and robbed me of rest, knowing you're near is enough to give me peace.

You whisper, "Good morning."

Slowly my eyes open, your face the first thing I see, looking at me with a sleepy smile. Drawing me closer, you kiss my forehead then tell me you love me.

I love our mornings together, but most of all I love you. And I tell you because you have to know.

8:13 AM

It's Friday. I'm in love. *B

Me too. Aren't you in class? - E

Prof's not here yet. Just checking in, let you know I got here safe. SHMILY? *B

Thanks, sweetheart. Just got here too. Gonna be a long day for me. Stop by later if you can. - E

And I love you too. - E

I'll try to stop by but it'll depend on homework. What do you feel like having tonight? *B

You. - E

I meant to eat, silly. For dinner? *B

You. Noms. - E

Pfft. Perv. TTYL. Class is about to start. *B

OK. Later. - E

7:18 PM

And we talk later. Much later. True to your word, it has been a long day, and you come home looking the worse for wear. There are shadows under your eyes, red from where you'd been rubbing them with your palms. You do this when you're under pressure.

I'm stressed, too. And tired. It's been a hell of a day for me as well, and to pass time waiting for you to come home, I finished a couple of assignments that could have been put off til later. Two hours ago, you'd sent a text telling me you'd be leaving work in ten minutes. Dinner went cold a long time ago; I hadn't eaten because I wanted to wait for you. Because if it were you, you would've waited for me.

Stress, exhaustion, hunger. Those things don't suit us very well.

There's no reason to add being upset to the mix, but I do. With the nature of your job, I realize things come up and you have to stay to fix them. But I've missed you, and while I know it's childish and insensitive, I pout and grump and question where you've been before you even have a chance to take your coat off. It's a terrible way to show how worried I was starting to get.

You say you're sorry but you do so with a scoff, telling me I know better than to ask if you've been anywhere other than work. "Where else would I have been?" you say.

The questions are innocent but we don't hear the words so much as the doubts and accusations behind them, so tempers flare and voices rise. Before long, I say you're a jerk and you tell me I'm crazy, along with a lot of other things we don't really mean but at the moment we truly feel.

I've lost my appetite, but I need a drink. You need some air, so you step out onto the patio and close the door behind you, but not before I smell the flame singe the end of your cigarette.

I grab my glass and the carafe of wine then head to bed, even if it is still early for a Friday night.

But it's been a long day.

I hear the lock on our bedroom click, effectively waking me. I don't know what time it is.

I fell asleep after my second (or maybe third) glass of cab, and don't even know if I finished it. Sometime between then and now I'd peeled off my top because it was too hot, but don't remember doing so. I'm in my bra and undies, but still I had kicked the sheets off.

The book I was reading lays open next to me. I go to move it only to have you pick it up before I can. It takes me a moment to register you're in the room at all, and I startle a beat too late. Then I remember we're arguing, so I reach for the blanket, yank it up to my chin and turn my back on you, fully intent on going back to sleep.

After a few moments you climb into bed, and though I'm tired and woozy I'm well aware how close you are, and I want you. I want so badly for you to make the first move and touch me because mad as I am, I do recognize how stupid we're being. I may be angry at you, but I miss you a hell of a lot more. Still, I don't want to be the one to say sorry first. I'd rather hope you cave in than admit any wrongdoing on my part.

I don't understand myself sometimes.

But I don't have to wish for long, either. You turn out the lights, then after a deep sigh settle in next to me by snuggling up close, your arm around my waist and your fingers splayed against my stomach, scooting closer still until your chest is flush against my back. I don't resist; I melt into you.

Thank God you don't believe in going to bed angry.

Relieved by your touch, I feel myself starting to relax again when you place a kiss on top of my head, letting your lips linger as you breathe in deeply. I wonder if you'll fall asleep, but then your hand drifts over my hip, then back up over my ribs, then back down again.

I was hot before, but now I'm on fire.

For a moment I think it just might be the wine I had to drink, but admit to myself I've never been able to stay away from you. I turn my head to face you; your breath washes over me, the cool mint doing a poor job of masking the scotch you must have had while you smoked. I wonder what I might taste like to you now, but end up not caring at all once I find your mouth with my own.

I breathe you in as our lips crash, comfort and desire taking over as we let our frustrations go. There is no tender build-up as we purge away the troubles of the day, but this isn't angry sex either. I just want you, and I'm so sorry, and oh God, I miss you. And I let you know in the way I keep seeking your lips, your tongue, your skin, your breath. I turn my body around completely so I can take you in closer, deeper. You must feel the same way for me, love, because it's all there in the frenzied way you kiss me back, like you can't get deep enough.

Please, please, don't stop.

I can't keep my hands off of you - running them through your hair, pulling on your shoulders to bring you closer, bringing my legs around yours because I'm desperate to feel you everywhere. The anticipation sends a warm current over my already overheated flesh. I need you and I won't let you go.

You lay me on my back and cover my body complete with yours. I realize you're wearing just your boxers, and still that's way too much. Quickly, clumsily, we remove everything else left between us until it's just you and me, and still we need to be closer. I open up completely while wrapping every part of myself around you. Once again your love flows through me every moment we're lost in each other this way, with every push and pull, every breathy exchange as we climb higher and higher, only to cling to each other for dear life as we finally take that fall, one after the other.

6:20 AM

"Good morning, love."

As always, your arms are around me as I wake. I turn and hug you back, bury my face in your chest. I kiss the spot over your heart and mumble, "Good morning," then listen to the soft beat of your pulse, letting it lull me back to sleep. You start to say something, though, and while I'm half-asleep and know we can talk later, you need to know I care about you now. I snuggle closer, keeping my eyes closed as I answer.

"Sorry, what?"

"I asked if you're hungry. I don't think you ate last night."

Oh, that. "I wasn't hungry."

"Are you hungry now, though?"

"No, I'm sleepy." But of course my stomach has to growl, and loudly too. I groan while you laugh.

"Yeah. Thought so. Well, I'm starving." You prop your head up on one hand, looking out the window at what I'm sure is an overcast horizon. "Breakfast?"

"Later."

"Sounds good. If we get ready now, we'll be there later. Before nine, even."

I'm tempted to look up at you, but then realize you're probably still groggy and somewhat incoherent.

I take the bait anyway. "We'll be where by nine?"

"Chestnut Cottage," you say casually, almost like I should know what you're talking about.

Now I look up, only to give you a disbelieving look. "Are you serious? I don't want to go to Port Angeles right now just for breakfast!"

Tilting my chin toward you with your free hand, you ask in all seriousness, "Then would you go just for me?"

Instead of answering I move my head back a little and just keep looking at you. Then I see you. The smirk is there, and the look you give me is hopeful but... resigned? I'm not sure. I reach up and place my hand on your cheek, kind of mirroring the way you're holding me now. It's my wordless way of saying I'm listening, I'm here.

You finally break the silence between us but hold my stare as you say, "I want a kick-ass breakfast today, Bella, and I could really use a good drive. It'd be even better if you would keep me company."

You're the only guy I know who could pull off wry melodrama that's daytime Emmy-worthy.

I hear what you're not saying, though, and while I won't deny you anything I make sure to huff like a brat before falling back on my pillow in surrender. "Fine, but I'm not dressing up."

"Really? We can go?" Your face lights up with a genuine smile, and while I roll my eyes in annoyance I feel good inside about how little it takes to make you happy. You get up and head to the bathroom to get ready as I stretch and try to wake up.

Still, I'm tired and think it's way too early to go anywhere on a Saturday morning, so as I get out of bed and throw on some sweats, I rant.

"God, Edward. Your whims, your mood swings - you're worse than a pregnant woman sometimes, you know that? The things I do for you, I swear." It's uncalled for, I know. I'm hardly sacrificing anything - you're the one who has to drive and I'll be getting a kick-ass breakfast out of this deal too.

When you don't answer right away I wonder if I've said too much, if you'll call me out on the bullshit I dish out to you in equal - hell, maybe even greater - portions.

On the contrary, I find you standing by the bedroom doorway a few moments later, leaning on one shoulder with your arms crossed in front of you as you watch me dress, that cocky grin of yours firmly in place, your eyes dancing with amusement. You're ready to go in tattered jeans and your favorite plaid shirt over a band tee. You hadn't even shaved or combed your hair, just threw on that stupid Corona cap you love so much because it's got a built-in bottle opener. I'm willing to bet you're going commando too, and I can't help the smile that takes over the frown. Only you could manage to look like a sexy hobo, and while I approve I only say, "For all the trouble we're going through to give them our business, I hope the Cottage lets us in with your camped-in-the-alley get-up."

"Whatever. You know you like it, almost as much as you love me."

And though I wish it wasn't always so obvious, you're right. I love the look, and I love you. I really do.

I reach for my hoodie but before I put it on, I stand in front of you, tip-toeing to reach your lips while you lean down to meet me, and I let go of the grumpiness for a moment to put all the love I feel for you into a simple kiss, because you have to know.

I love you.

9:13 AM

The drive to the Port Angeles was quiet and uneventful, probably because I slept through most of it. We made good time, with little delay at the ferry and stopping once for gasoline.

It doesn't surprise me there's a bit of a wait once we get to the restaurant. It is Saturday morning and Port Angeles is a tourist-trap, but it doesn't make the Chestnut Cottage any less charming. Now that I'm a bit more rested and not seeing everything through a peevish filter, I realize how long it's been since we've just up and left everything behind, if only for a day. We always used to do this, day trips or overnighters around Puget Sound, finding bed-and-breakfasts or little inns near the forests and beaches we'd explore by day, then getting lost in each other by night. With finishing up school and with work and bills and whatever else real life has thrown our way, we haven't yet saved up for our lofty dream vacations in Italy or Rio or even sunny L.A. So you and I, we've made most of what we have here in the Olympic region. On-the-fly getaways via your trusty Volvo are our escape, and we manage to come back from them refreshed and re-centered.

Port Angeles. For all our travels, this place is one of our favorite stops. Maybe it's because it happens to be the place we had our first date together, over at the Italian restaurant just a few blocks down the road. Even though it's out of the way from where we live now, I'm glad you thought of having breakfast out here. I know how much you sometimes need long drives to clear your head, but you also seem to know when I need to come up for air from the obligations we drown in from day-to-day. It dawns on me this trip is as much for me as it is for you, and I'm grateful for the way you take care of me, even though I don't ask you to, even though I'm terrible at showing you I appreciate it.

The hostess leads us to a booth near a window, and while it's cold and grey outside, the sun seems to be shining brightly behind the clouds. Instead of taking a seat on the other side of the table, you scoot in and sit next to me, and I can't help but feel like a silly teen as I giggle in surprise. Though we've grown up together, though we're high school sweethearts and have been together for years, it's small gestures like this showing you're still as crazy about me as I am for you that make my heart stutter.

You are without a doubt much too good to me. For me.

You order two dishes like you always do whenever we're here - an omelet and a scramble - because you never could decide which one you like better. I always order something sweet, knowing I could take from your plate if I decide I want something heartier. I want a crèpe today, with strawberries and whipped cream and drizzled with chocolate, sprinkled with powdered sugar and slivered almonds. My hunger has caught up with me, it seems. I guess you hadn't eaten much last night either, if you ate at all, since you all but stand up and take your plate from the server's tray as soon as our order arrives. The server smiles at your enthusiasm as you explain to him that Chestnut Cottage is your favorite breakfast place in the world, and that you drove all the way from Seattle just so we could dine here.

God, you're such a trip sometimes. It's nothing short of awesome.

We take our time to dine, casually referencing the mundane things that happened during the week at work and/or at school, and as we talk about them they don't seem so pressing from where we view them now.

I learn that last night you ended up staying later to finish up a time-sensitive report a colleague left undone. If you left when you had planned to, you would have been called back during the night anyway to come back and finish it. The hospital never closes, after all. It was that important. You sigh before telling me how your dependability at work has the corollary of making you the fall-guy.

In turn, I share with you how defeated I feel because of the crappy progress I've been making in this class I hate but have to take. "I've been an 'A' student for years, Edward. Years! Now I get a 'C' on a paper for this class!" I whine to you. "What am I gonna do to make up for a 'C' grade this late? I can't believe how badly this is going to affect my overall performance."

I hadn't realized how much this is distressing me until I tell you. I know I'm an overachiever, but I value very few things in life, and next to us my education means most. I shouldn't, but I find validation in my work, and when it suffers so do I.

You know me better than to try and give me advice or offer an empty platitude of how everything will be okay. I realize I sound like a nine-year-old girl, and a nerd girl at that, but you don't make me feel like it. Instead you take my hand into yours as I rest my head on your shoulder. We stay quiet, but it's welcome, and it's comforting.

So yes, breakfast ends up being a bit of a pity party, but it's just you and me talking about the things we're going through and how we're trying to get through them, because if we bottle them in we end up taking them out on each other. Like we did last night. Besides, I love that we're the exception to the norm in that we're both lover and best friend to each other, that we can have this kind of openness, this acceptance, this equality. We could tell each other anything, and we could work through our issues instead of letting them drive a wedge between us.

The irony of that thought is not lost on me as a reedy, obnoxiously loud voice calls out your name.

"Oh, my god! Edward Cullen? Is that you?"

We both startle, looking up to see a fairly tall, lean lady with pale, beady eyes gawking at you, walking up quickly and finally standing too close. Her blonde hair is stick straight and chopped off at chin length. She isn't exactly dressed provocatively, but when she drops her palms on the table in front of you, offering a view of her barely-there cleavage through her v-neck sweater, she certainly comes off as needy for attention. Something about her is vaguely familiar, and I'm beginning to feel a sense of dread creep up on me, but I can't figure out why.

Leave it to you, ever the gentleman, to be so polite even while you're oblivious. "Oh, uh, hey there. How you been?"

Thinking you remember her, she replies enthusiastically, "I've been great! God, I think the last time we'd seen each other was in high school!"

Oh, for the love of God, no. Lauren Mallory. What the hell happened to all her hair?

And yes, the last time we'd all seen each other was in high school, graduation to be exact, but just like then she refuses to acknowledge my presence now. Lauren is the epitome of every mean girl that ever lived, and while I believe that each soul deserves the benefit of the doubt, with her I've come to the conclusion some people are born demonic. It's the only way to explain why she's so damn evil.

I find it slightly mollifying that given how unresponsive you are while she rambles on and on about herself you still don't remember who she is. Funny that for all she's said so far she hasn't yet mentioned her name, just assuming she's unforgettable and needs no introduction. I'd like to think you've never given her a second thought anyway because even in high school you only had eyes for me.

Bella, one. Lauren, zero. Still, and after all these years. I chuckle.

As if hearing me, you take advantage of the pause in Lauren's monologue to bring attention to the fact you're not alone.

"So if you recognize me, then you remember Bella, don't you?"

Lauren's eyes drift my way and meet mine, then with her trademark condescension gives me a once-over before saying, "Of course! Chief Swan's little girl! You haven't changed at all."

I begin to regret not putting more of an effort dressing up today, but then I remember we're not in high school anymore; there's no reason for me to feel intimidated or to need her approval. There never was. While I'm amazed Lauren's presence brings to the surface all the insecurity I thought I'd outgrew, it's even more astonishing this Lauren hasn't matured in the least. She's still as tacky and cruel as ever.

To keep the interaction short but direct, I simply answer, "Likewise, Lauren. Likewise." Turning my attention away from her in obvious dismissal, I look to you with the hope you'll send her on her way, but she's not through yet.

She goes for the kill. "So, Isabella, tell me how Jacob's doing these days."

Mean, demonic, evil... none of these words do enough to describe how low this girl would sink. This is to be expected of Lauren Mallory, I know, but never in my wildest dreams had I imagined that almost a decade after high school she would once again be my bully, bringing up the worst mistake I ever made to humiliate me in front of you. But does she really think putting me on the spot will improve her chances of earning your favor?

It's all happening so fast I'm too stunned to say anything. And while my gaze is frozen on the smile she's plastered on her face, I sense you're too shocked to say anything either. I want to look at you, but can't.

Was it really just moments before I was basking in the knowledge that we could get through anything?

Fucking kismet.

I finally manage to get out an, "I beg your pardon?"

"Well," she begins eagerly, "after graduation, it wasn't exactly a secret that you and Jacob quickly became more than friends. By the time I left Forks that fall word was you guys were a sure thing and-"

"Excuse me," you finally say, and I know you well enough to recognize the restraint with which you're moderating your voice. "Lauren, um, Lauren Mallory, right?"

She faces you and laughs airily. "Oh, Edward, you mean to tell me you weren't sure? Who else would-"

"Listen, it's nice of you to have recognized me - us - but I'm not sure what your point is offering my wife a play-by-play of her past. Having lived it, she knows it better than you would."

Lauren is still smiling but remains quiet for a moment as she processes what you've told her. The she starts saying, "Isabella Swan-"

"Cullen," I correct her. "Bella Cullen." I raise my left hand with my ring finger extended, along with the middle one.

The silence persists for a few tense seconds, and I wonder why she's caught off guard at finding out you and I are married. It's not like that would stop her from making advances on you. But then I'm willing to wager she thinks you too good for me. Huh. That's one point I'll concede she and I agree on.

You continue. "And what exactly is it that you're trying to say about Bella if you assume she's with someone else but so publicly intimate with me?"

When she doesn't say anything in response, you finally tell her, "Take care, Lauren," and bring our joined hands to rest on top of the table for her to see. As if the two of us sitting right next to each other in embrace when she first saw us wasn't enough.

The fake smile persists, and her reply now is much more formal, though laced with its own venom. "I see. Well, I apologize for assuming anything."

I scoff. You stay quiet.

But Lauren is Lauren, and she's as ignorant as she is hateful. "So, uh, hope to run into you again sometime, Edward." She doesn't even look in my direction as she offers a curt, "Mrs. Cullen," before turning away.

The click-clack of her heels on the hardwood floor while she walks off seem louder than they should, echoing even after she's out of sight. Your hand still covers mine, but we don't look at each other. At least I can't bring myself to look at you. I drop my eyes to the rapidly cooling cup of cocoa in front of me.

Just when the silence between us starts to get stifling, you squeeze my hand and declare, "I... could use a smoke. Let's go?"

"I'm ready to leave," I say.

You pay the bill, and while we walk out of the Cottage I still say nothing. You're quiet too but you never let go of my hand.

12:06 PM

It's not surprising that instead of turning the car back toward Seattle, you'd taken a road heading west through the mountains and further up the coast. We've been traveling for over an hour now, wending our way along the one-twelve. If I know you at all we're headed to Neah Bay, what you cheesily call our own slice of heaven, so I'm a little confused when you navigate the car onto a beaten path away from the main road.

Then again, I don't know for sure where we're going since I haven't yet asked. In fact, I hadn't said a single word to you since we left Chestnut Cottage, too wrapped up in my thoughts and honestly crippled by anxiety to speak.

There are so many things to think about running through my head I don't know which one to follow, so many conflicting feelings rising within me I can't help but feel overwhelmed. Angered. Embarrassed. Humiliated. Insecure. Times like this, though, my default is to remain quiet, even if it makes you insane with worry.

After sitting in the unmoving car for who knows how long, you tell me cryptically that we just passed Shipwreck Point, and you think this would be an excellent spot for a swim.

I look around us. The sky, the coast, the sea stacks and cliffs, the fog that never seems to lift - all of it cold, grey, predictable but for the waves that never stop crashing against the rocks. The wind is wild out here, and it looks like rain. You want to go swimming in this?

"A swim? That must be some kind of thinly veiled euphemism for, "I'll be tossing your dead body here.'"

You laugh humorlessly, then pause. "How long have we known each other, Bella?"

"Forever."

"And in that time, for better or for worse, I like to think we've been through it all and have come out stronger for it. Don't you?"

"I do, Edward. I just don't know what to say right now." I try futilely to order my thoughts. "It's not every day I have strangers call me out on my worst indiscretions. I never imagined someone else would bring up my faults so publicly just so they could humiliate me in front of you."

"I get that. And for what it's worth I'm sorry I couldn't spit in Lauren's face without risk of getting arrested or something. After all, I'd rather spend my weekend with you than in detainment."

"Ugh, I hate Lauren Mallory. I always have, but she can say whatever the hell she wants. It was nice of you to defend me, but I..." I stop, trying to try to answer you without my voice breaking in defeat, but it doesn't work. "I just don't know why you still want to spend time with me after last night, and now this morning. She only spoke the truth, you know. God, I'll never be able to live that down. I'm so-"

"Stop. Don't, Bella. Just... stop. No reason to go there."

I finally look at you, and again in disbelief. "Why not, Edward? I never believed myself worthy of you anyway, and it says a lot when someone who knows next to nothing about me remembers enough to prove that I really don't deserve you."

I expect you to argue with me, to tell me the world can fuck off with their judgements and estimations, but instead you say nothing, turning your stare again on the horizon in front of you, your hands still gripping the steering wheel even if the car isn't running. I drop my head against the seat, closing my eyes but far from rest. It's quiet for a while again. When you speak, it's not at all what I expect.

"I'm going for a swim."

I cannot believe you're serious, and now I'm annoyed as well. I don't look at you but out the window instead.

"Really, Edward? Is this an exercise in 'What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger?' Because for mere mortals, the cold and those waves generally add up to a death wish."

"Maybe, but I'm guessing it'll be exhilarating if I live."

I turn my head, watching you open the door and begin step out. The cold breeze swirls around us from the shore outside as a sudden gust blows into the car. I shiver, wrapping my arms tightly around my torso.

"You're joking, right?" I call out before you've completely gotten out of the car. You stop, lean in to respond, and I recognize the look on your face as the same sort of resignation and resolution from earlier, in bed. I can't figure out how you feel or what you're going to say... I can't read you. I'm beginning to wonder if I know you as well as I thought I did. None of this helps my anxiety.

"I'm trying to keep things light, Bella, but I'm not kidding. I'm going swimming and no, I don't have a death wish. I do wish you'd give me a little more credit, have a bit more faith in me."

Before I can respond, you close the door behind you, and I see you light up a cigarette before you start walking toward the shore, looking over the beach in front of you as puffs of smoke trail in your wake. Walking purposefully against the wind, you disappear from my line of vision as you walk over an outcropping of rocks, then a few minutes later emerge stark naked from behind a sea stack as you make your way to the water. Your body, lithe and pale, looks all the more fragile against such a volatile background, but the way you carry yourself - like the water and the wind are at your command - gives me a bit of confidence that you'll be fine, even if I think you're crazy.

After a while I can't see you from where I'm sitting, so I reach back and grab my coat from the backseat and decide to follow after you. Grabbing a couple small blankets from the trunk before making my way down the beach, I realize you didn't bring any extra clothes. I shake my head; only you, for all your intelligence and your self-proclaimed thoroughness for any eventuality, would think nothing of going swimming without having brought a change of clothes.

I steer clear of the rocks and stay on the sand, but am close enough to see where you've folded your jeans and shirts into a crevice so they won't blow away, your socks weighed down by your boots. I look for your coat but remember you'd left it in the car. I find a large stone I can lift with some effort and weigh the blankets down with it, freeing my hands so I can stuff them in my pockets. The breeze is frigid against my face, the only exposed part of my body at this point, and is enough to chill me to the bone even if I am fairly bundled up from head to toe. At least I'm wearing underwear.

If it's freezing out here on the shore, I can only imagine the water is cold enough to shatter your bones.

We're in something of a pocket beach, and I follow the curve of the shore to where I can finally see you without the waves reaching me. You're not far from a cliff edge, maybe a little less than five yards or so, and it looks like you're swimming against the waves with everything you've got. If you stop, there's no doubt you'll be smashed up on the boulders.

I want you out of that water now.

"Edward!" I scream over and over again, trying to run towards you, but you can't hear me. I finally stand somewhere helplessly where I can see you keep swimming, and it seems like you're struggling to keep your head above water. I can't see your face, and I feel like I'm watching a train wreck with your fighting to stay above the angry currents. I'm scared to death, a different kind of cold taking over me as I realize I may be witnessing the end of your life play out.

Seriously, what the hell were you thinking coming out here?

My legs grow weak beneath me, nausea twisting my gut as an especially huge wave takes form and heads your way. My throat feels raw as I shout out to you over and over again, falling on my knees and sinking a bit into the wet sand.

Then it's as if suddenly the whole earth stills as a quietness falls over the beach. The wind dies down and isn't howling in my ears like it was just a second ago. The waves aren't as raucous either, rolling now onto the shore instead of pounding it. I feel wiped out, though, and have no choice but to take my time to get up on my feet, unless I want to pass out completely. Looking over the area I last saw you to see if you're still there, I feel both hope and dread well up with my tears as I'm not sure what I'll find.

I don't see anything but waves and rocks.

Panic turns into determination as I turn and run as fast as I can up the sandy incline without falling . I think to myself that if something has happened, the nearest town is close enough for help to get here within ten, fifteen minutes maybe. I push out of my mind the crushing thought there may not be a phone signal so I can call out at all, that I may have to leave to get help. I keep running up the beach toward the car, trying to stay calm.

I see your profile, however, as I turn the corner and approach the rocks where you'd kept your clothes. You're wrapped in one of the blankets, and while you're shivering, lips blue and hair dark and flattened against your scalp, you look totally energized.

I've never been so relieved to see you, and have never been so upset as I am in this moment.

You don't notice me until I'm a few paces from you, and you greet me with a smile so happy I almost forget how furious I am. Almost.

"Hey, babe! Thanks for bringing the blankets ov-"

"What the hell were you thinking, Edward? Have you lost your mind? You could be dead right now! Why aren't you dead?"

I see your eyebrows knit together in confusion as I come up to you yelling, then rush forward to hug you with all my might. I actually want to slap you, to beat my fists on your chest so you'd have an idea of what the last few minutes had felt like for me, but once again relief outweighs anger standing so close to you after thinking I might have lost you for good. And suddenly everything I've felt - all the tension and irritation and shame of the last twenty-four hours - it's just too heavy and I break down, sobbing uncontrollably while you hold me up.

"Hey now, Bella, I'm fine. And I'm here. See, I'm right here, with you. I'm okay. Bella, it's okay..."

You give me time to calm down, and when I do have some sort of handle on myself I feel you trembling from the cold.

"Oh, God, Edward, I'm so sorry. You're freezing! Let's go, let's get out of here."

"Okay, let's go."

You grab your clothes while I reach for the second blanket, shaking it out then placing it around your shoulders for extra warmth. When we get to the car, I head for the driver's seat, thinking how tired you must be from driving all day and swimming against the currents.

You come to stand by the door next to me, and when I don't move out of the way you roll your eyes.

"I'm okay to drive, Bella. I'm thinking you're the one who needs to relax a bit."

"Seattle's too far for you to drive back to after your kind of day. I'll take care of it."

"Yeah, uh, I could say the same for you, right? Besides, I wasn't planning on going home tonight."

"What? Why not?" I look around us at this empty beach with its dark sand and rocky shores and now deceptively calm waters. "I have no intention of suddenly camping out-"

"Wait, Bella." You make sure I'm looking at you, but it takes a moment for you to continue, hesitating before you say, "Well, I sort of made reservations somewhere near here for this evening."

Apparently, your stunt with the power swim has temporarily drained my ability to express even surprise, so I reply lamely. "Oh."

"Last night," you say, "I made a few calls. It's supposed to be a surprise. I wasn't sure if you'd still be mad at me after you got up this morning, and I was worried if I told you I wanted us to get away this weekend you'd say, 'Next time.' I realize how hectic school has been for you, and work hasn't exactly been a cakewalk for me either, but lately it seems like we can never get enough time where it's just you and me and nothing else.

"So yeah, I made plans for us. I was going to do a grand reveal of my wicked scheme right after we had breakfast, but a greater evil took the wind out of my sails." You shake your head with a sardonic grin, taking a deep breath before you go on. "Listen, I know the weekend so far hasn't been smooth, but for tonight could we try to forget everything besides just you and me? I need us to be in the same place. Just you and me, Bella. Please?"

And when you - Mr. Go-to-Guy who conquers the wind and waves - when you ask me this way, when you make yourself vulnerable by telling me how much you need me, when you've made plans without consulting me because you want to be alone with me - crazy, paranoid me - I can't deny you anything. I don't understand this power you have over me, and it baffles me even more that I have any kind of sway over you.

"Wow." I can't think of anything else to say... but I am grateful. "Edward, thank you." I wipe at my eyes and smile before hugging you around your waist. "I would love for us to stay here tonight. Well, not here literally, but wherever you made plans. We didn't bring any clothes, though."

"I was thinking we won't need them," you say, leaning down to kiss me. Your lips are cold and taste like the ocean. Surprisingly, it is exhilarating. "Look, we can go home if you want, Bella. I don't want you to feel like we have to do this... I'll be fine driving back."

"No, really, I'm glad we can stay. Let's stay, please? Where did you make reservations?"

Contentment replaces the uncertainty in your eyes. "At a bed-and-breakfast over in Clallam Bay. I was told we could check in early, so we could head over now if you want."

"Yeah, I'd like that, but maybe you should dry off and get dressed first so we can pick some stuff up for dinner. I don't want to leave the room once we get there."

"Sounds like a plan," you say with a smile.

3:19 PM

We have fish and chips and share clam chowder in a bread bowl at a bayside cafe before we head to the inn. Unlike breakfast, we don't really talk as we eat. I could see how exhausted you are, and while I'm drained myself I feel like exposure to anything more emotional than an afternoon nap will be enough to make me lose it.

When I tell you this you chuckle, saying, "Let's wrap this up so we could get out of here."

Not much later, we check-in at the Winter Summer Bed-and-Breakfast, and after signing in the host hands you the keys to the Quilt Room. True to its name, the suite is decorated with quilting everywhere as the comforter, shams, and even the lampshades are adorned with quilted patterns. The window is dressed in gossamer curtains and the walls are painted a deep maize color, adding to the cozy warmth of the room.

All I know is that the bed looks like a cloud, and suddenly I'm very sleepy. I put my belongings down and head for the bathroom. You've already stripped down and are about to step into the shower but you also have the water running for the en-suite spa bath as well.

"I thought you might want to wash the day off before bed," you explain.

"Yeah, but there's plenty of room in the jacuzzi. Won't you join me?"

"After I wash off the beach, love. Unless you don't mind me smelling like a sea lion."

"I don't. I could wash you off while we bathe."

"I'll join you, sweetheart. You go ahead."

I pour some body wash into the tub for a bubble bath, and soon the air is heavy with warm steam and the soothing scent of lavender. Instead of heading into the tub once I've cast my own clothes aside, I turn the water off then open the shower door to join you. I'm not sure if you'd heard my approach as your back remains turned, your forehead resting on the tiled wall in front of you, water running down your back. I wrap my arms around you from behind, running my hands up each side of your chest before they find rest on your shoulders. I lean my cheek against your back, close my eyes, feel the water run over my hair, my face.

Slowly you turn without breaking my hold on you then take me in your arms, wrapping them lightly around my waist. Your mouth finds mine, the kisses we share relaxed, affectionate. Judging from the light scent of soap on your skin you'd already cleansed, but we don't make any move to leave the shower. We just hold each other as the water falls around us and steam swallows us up, standing naked in a little glass box in some nondescript corner of the world. But it's our place, it's where we want to be. I choose to be here, and by some miracle you want to be with me as well. Who cares how to answer those who wonder what you or I could see in one another, or how we've made us last? I only know I'm here because I want to be, and if you're still here it's because you want me as well.

"Bella, you think we could do the bath now?"

Wordlessly, I reach behind you and turn the spray off, then lead you as we move hand in hand out to the over-sized tub. I step in slowly, relishing the warmth of the water. You follow me in, setting yourself down first then gesturing for me to rest my back against you, your legs stretched out on either side of me. You've effectively covered all the spa jets, but your hands and your lips gently knead the tenseness out of my neck and shoulders.

After some moments you speak, but it's barely a whisper, almost like you don't want to disturb the tranquility surrounding us. "I'm sorry, Bella. I didn't mean to scare you."

I sigh deeply. "Edward... I'm glad you're alright, but seriously, swimming in a squall?"

"That wasn't a squall, silly girl."

"Yes it was. And I still don't get why you wanted to go skinny dipping in it. I don't always understand me, I admit, but you? I really don't get you sometimes." I turn my head to face you. "Why did you do it?"

You answer thoughtfully, somewhat on your guard, choosing your words. "I actually wanted to go for a run. I had all this, well, tension pent up that I needed to let out. The drive was helping only so much. If I parked somewhere and took off running, I wasn't sure how that would go with you after the morning we'd had. You certainly wouldn't have been able to keep up if you decided to join me. Besides" -your hands move up and down my arms soothingly- "I meant what I said about wanting to spend as much time together as we could. A quick swim to let off steam meant more time with you at the end of the day."

"Only because you walked away alive, Edward."

"Seriously, Bella, we've tackled whitewater rapids riskier than that. You knew I'd be okay."

"No, I didn't. And I don't doubt your skills either, show-off. It's just I was already feeling overwhelmed, and watching you physically struggle against what felt like what was going on inside me, I guess... gah, I don't know, it was just too much, okay? I just wanted you safe. I wanted to feel safe."

I pause, closing my eyes and stubbornly swallowing against the lump in my throat. My feelings are, evidently, still everywhere all at once. And maybe I'm being melodramatic, but I need to say this because you need to know.

"You're more than I deserve, Edward, but I can't be without you."

I didn't realize I'd sat up, crossed my arms in front of me, but you bring your arms around me in embrace. I lean against you, my feelings raw and edgy, but when we're wrapped up in each other this way I feel safe, despite my insecurities. You respond in a whisper, but I still hear vulnerability in your words.

"The way you... the way you view me, Bella, it's ridiculous. You talk like you're so unworthy, but how do you figure I'm any better than you? Because I don't see it at all. I could go on and sulk about my failures - all of which you know too well - and justify why I'm not good enough for you, but I don't because you told me before that it hurts you when I do that. I can hate myself all I want, but God knows I don't want to hurt you.

"Why, then, do you not think twice about insulting yourself in front of me? I wish you knew how helpless I feel sometimes. I wish you knew how much it kills me to watch you tear yourself apart."

"Insulting myself? Hardly. I was just confirming what others know about me, and-"

"The jealous blonde with the nose job knows nothing, let alone about you. I'm not trying to disregard your feelings, but please know that when it comes to you and me, all that ever matters is what I know: you love me, and that's more than enough." After a pause, you reluctantly add, "I so wish you would believe me when I say I love you."

"Of course I believe you."

"Do you? Then why do you think that what someone else has to say could possibly persuade me against you?"

You wait for me to say something, but I don't, so you continue.

"You already know this, but I stay because I love you. Years and years of being together and being tested at every turn... we've survived what's killed others off simply because we won't let each other go. For all that, I trust you when you say I'm yours.

"I'm not oblivious to my faults, Bella. I know I haven't been perfect, but I wish I knew what it would take for you to trust me. I'm not going anywhere. You've stayed with me in spite of myself, and I will stay with you. Isn't that enough?"

I don't know what else there is to say. You're right, you're not telling me things I don't already know, things I already firmly believe when it comes to us. It's not like we haven't talked about this before, and perhaps that's what's lent to the strength of our bond over time. We've always determined to face these things about us one way or another. I hate that the skeletons in our closet rattle noisily every once in awhile - your sudden decision to go out of state almost right after grad, me using someone else to try and fill the emptiness, those three long years we dedicated to finding ourselves and picking up the pieces as we tried to make things work between us again. All the effort we've made for us is worth it, but issues of doubt, guilt, trust come still surface from time to time. I sensed the conversation was going to go in this direction, the reassurances and affirmations, but even if I am being petty, it's always good to hear the conviction in your voice that we'll always be together - broken promises, utter failures, and public slander be damned.

It will always be you and me, and that covers all things.

I keep leaning on you, listening while you breathe as the water warms and washes over us. "This is enough. Sometimes I just need your reminders, if that's all right."

"Always, love. Anytime." Here and now, hearts and bodies entwined, you hold me closer. In this way the truth resonates in and through us that together we can face anything.

Face... hmm. "Lauren got a nose job?"

You laugh. "You couldn't tell? That's why I didn't recognize her right away. Did you?"

"No, not until she mentioned high school."

"Yeah, well, even then I wasn't sure until she started talking to you. Sad how after all these years her defining feature continues to be 'mean as a snake.' You can't hide what's inside, I guess."

"You best be on your guard. She looks forward to running into you again soon, Edward."

"She wishes. I'm only ever around these parts when running away with you. She can go chasing after someone else to sink her fangs into." You demonstrate by playfully nipping my neck.

And so begins our night...

8:31 AM

We're standing on a balcony just outside the inn, looking out over the glassy surface of the bay. Mostly it's chilly and grey this morning as well, but there are no winds and the water is calm. As always, the sun is still obscured behind a cloudy sky but brightens the day nonetheless. I hear you take in a deep, cleansing breath behind me. It prompts me to do the same. After the light breakfast we had, we are ready to go home.

Last night we'd gone to bed early, completely bared to one another, and while we'd made love throughout the night there was no desperation or sense of urgency to it. We took our time, exploring and rediscovering, indulging in pillow talk here and there, infusing our touches with the assurance that I am yours and you are mine, each gasping breath of pleasure affirming only we could complete one another the way we do. Perhaps we were made for each other, maybe even predestined for togetherness, but those things mean nothing if we don't want each other.

My confidence, my faith in us is grounded in the knowledge that you want me, and I want you.

As we move on, I'm glad you and I can look back on the last couple of days - the good and the not so good - as a reference that everything will be alright. Whether they're escapes from the mundane or simply resting in your arms, every moment with you isn't a beginning or an ending; it's love, and it's everything because it's us.

I am indebted to my ever-faithful fic wifey, Arizona Hale, for doing the beta work on this not-so-little ditty for me. Seriously, I sent her a random text earlier this evening asking, "You doing anything right now? Can I send you a gdoc? I wanna post it tonight." And she goes, "Sure!" She is the long-suffering Severus to my Lily, and she means the world to me.

I'd found this one-shot amongst my documents, and it was dated over a year ago. I remember doing the research for it, but don't know why I never posted it. More than likely, I was irritated with having to figure out how to post on FFn. Heh. What began as an experiment in blending first and second person POV turned out to be a character exploration of Bella I didn't think I could do justice. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it. Thanks for giving it a chance.