The towel hits the floor at the exact moment Edward hears the door. I see his eyes widen briefly, and then he turns smoothly towards the noise without even attempting to cover himself.

Bella doesn't take long to go from her sleepy state to one of stunned surprise. Her gaze flicks over the naked stranger and then she blushes dramatically, but keeps looking for just a fraction of a second before she turns away, and I realise with a weird feeling that she finds him attractive. Then she wraps her arms around herself, as if suddenly self-conscious of her thin white nightie and sleep-messed hair. She looks between Edward and me, and then back to Edward. Her lips part.

"I was just asking Jacob if he had any spare clothes. Sorry. You made me jump when you opened the door, and I dropped the towel," Edward says first. He reaches for his towel far too slowly and smoothly, practically a picture of calm. Her blush gets brighter.

"Who…?" she manages after a moment.

"I found him. At the train station. I thought he needed help." I finally find some words.

"Sorry. Excuse me." Edward bows lightly – bows – towards Bella, and then leaves the kitchen quickly.

On our own, Bella looks back towards me. "Needed help?" she asks, confused.

"He looked – looks – ill. He was shivering, and cold, and sweating," I rush.

"He…didn't seem that ill," she says. "Is he staying?"

"Just overnight." I'm assuming.

She frowns a little. "Is he homeless?"

"I'm not sure."

"If he is, will you keep him here longer?" There's a weight to her question I can't unpick. It's like her thoughts are distracted by something else.

"I don't know." I hadn't even thought that far ahead. Bella seems nervous now, suddenly worrying. Then she stills suddenly, as if she's come to a decision.

"Perhaps I should go."

It feels like a sudden jump, and something inside me goes cold. "What? Why?"

She gives me a long look, and the kitchen feels like it is shrinking around us. She plucks at the sleeve of her nightie.

"You've been too kind to me, letting me stay here and –"

I've already crossed the space between us and I grab her shoulders firmly. "You know you can always rely on me, Bella. I'm here for you."

She hesitates and bites her lip. She looks down. "I can't. I can't do this, Jacob." She sounds…so serious. Despite its impromptu nature I have an uneasy feeling she's been planning this conversation and my muscles tense.

"Is this because of the kid? He'll be gone tomorrow, Bella, it's not an issue." Why is she doing this now? I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and tilt her chin up with my finger. She's in one of those bad moods again, I can tell, thinking bad things. "Hey."

"No, but – I…" She fidgets. "Taking care of that kid –" She glances back over her shoulder towards the door. "Taking care of me… I was going to tell you this evening, but you came home so late…" Her voice trails off, the last words so quiet I barely catch them. My hands tighten involuntarily around her arms.

"Tell me what?"

"I'm going to go back." The words come out clearly, but not without tension.

"Back?" My voice rises before I can stop myself.

"He needs me," she says quietly, "How can I not?" Her eyes flick up just for a moment to meet mine. The question is like a punch.

"No," I say. I don't know how to make myself say more. When I'm stressed the words get stuck. And those three words in particular never come. I wish I could just kiss her hard, hold her tight and close, and somehow just make her understand that way.

"I should have gone before –"

"No."

"I have to Jacob, please, understand –"

"You left him." It's all I can manage.

She tries to shrug me off, cringing as if I'm holding her too tight. I tell myself to let her go, but my body won't obey me. I want to reason with her but all the reasons I know are there have flown out of my brain. A hot, twisted feeling coils unpleasantly in my gut. He's bad, he's bad, he's bad. That's all I can think. She can't go back to him.

"He'll be worrying where I am…"

The words send alarm bells ringing in my skull. Calm down, Jacob. I can feel my heart pounding. My thoughts feel like bad static, trapped bees buzzing in a jar unable to communicate properly with each other. One thought makes it through a bit clearer. Six months. Six months, she's been here. I want to argue this, but my jaw is clenched too tight and I don't have enough time to unglue it before she speaks again.

"I'm the only one that can help him, Jacob. Please." Her eyes are glistening as she looks up at me.

The yellow walls and white cabinets are lost to me now. The lacquered wood flooring beneath me too. I see only her face, that pale and delicate face that I want to protect so fiercely I think it might rip me apart. Words, Jacob. They don't come. She has such an effect on me, when she's like this. So vulnerable, so lost. I don't know why it makes me so furious, so frustrated. I want to hold her but I can't. I'm not really her boyfriend. I'm not really her anything.

"You're too kind, but you've helped me enough now." She forces a weak smile, and I can tell how hard it is for her to say the words. I want her to unsay them.

"Don't." The word comes out hoarse and strangled. Normally I could handle this. She's been like this before, even though she hadn't seemed as set on really going before. But perhaps that Edward kid, the stress of helping him, the shock of his suggestion, the jolt of seeing Bella before I was ready and then this so suddenly, now –

"I love him," she says, with the softest of smiles.

And with that, twenty one group anger management sessions, five herbal remedies, and a handful of supposedly-good-for-venting boxing sessions burn to ash in under two seconds.

The noise of the crash is incredible. It seems to shake the entire building, even though that would be impossible. Plates. Mugs. Bowls. They smash onto the floor as easily as if they were nothing but porcelain feathers. I can hardly feel the objects on my skin. That was the dish rack. I hear barking. I turn to the cupboards. One door hinge gives out. Cereals, spices, cans. I pull a whole drawer free and throw it down onto the floor so hard that two sides pop out of their joints and the contents lurch across the floor like a tidal wave of metal. Glasses soon crash down after them, shattered shards skittering outwards like hail. I don't know if or when Bella leaves the kitchen. I wrench open the next cupboard.

I don't know when I stop, or how long it's been, but I'm looking at the open kitchen doorway and Edward is looking back at me. He's heard me. He's seen me. Something twitches inside me, a reflex as sharp as a needle of fire. My fist shoots towards him.

The next thing I know my right arm is twisted behind my back and I am being slammed onto the floor on top of the debris. Solid weight is pushing into my back, holding me down. I feel my elbow joint being pushed and twisted, to the point where a sliver of pain bursts through my blind fury, cursing up towards my shoulder. Struggling in this position is difficult – every movement puts my arm and shoulder in increasing pain – and sharp fragments scratch across my belly as I strain against the littered floor. Within five seconds I have cooled down. I still. My mind pieces together our position slowly. I realise his left shin has been pinning down my left arm whilst his right shin has been on my back. His hands are still twisting my right arm, but they relax slowly now. When he lets go the limb falls limp and heavy, and when it hits the floor the jolt sends a spasm of agony upwards. I hiss through my teeth, nervous about trying to move it. He's strong – far stronger than I might have imagined, and I'm a long way from weak.

"You're different when you're angry," he says thoughtfully. I feel his weight shift, and he moves off me.

With my left arm I push myself into a sitting position. Every movement makes my right arm hurt, the shoulder quickly becoming the epicentre of the pain. He sits across from me, cross-legged. Still, despite his relative composure, he doesn't look too well for wear himself.

"Bella," I say. I take a breath. "Where is she?"

"Upstairs."

Instinctively I want to go after her, but I already know it won't work. I slump back. I look back at Edward, afraid of what he might think of me. Hating him for having seen this.

"I'm sorry," I say.

"You're bleeding." He's looking down at my stomach. I look down too. A few small patches of blood have soaked through my blue t-shirt.

"It doesn't matter."

There's a soft whine from behind him. I see Nessie, my Irish red setter, pawing nervously at the edge of the debris, whining as she looks up at me. Awkwardly, she begins to make her way towards me. I cringe, fearing for her paws. She nuzzles up to me, whines again, and then lies down with her head in my lap.

"I'm sorry Nessie." I stroke the soft fur on her head and sigh. I can feel Edward staring at us. Staring at Nessie.

"May I?" he asks after a long moment.

I thought you didn't like dogs? I keep the thought to myself. "Sure."

He reaches out and strokes her back. She shifts a little but otherwise doesn't respond. The mood is too strange for me to really tell if she likes him right now. I think she's as undecided as me.

"She was waiting halfway down the hallway when I left, so I stopped to pet her," Edward says. "Then after Bella went upstairs she barked and paced a lot."

It occurs to me he is still wearing the towel. He's been outside the whole time.

"How much did you hear?" I ask.

"The door was still a bit open," he says quietly.

Everything. He heard everything.

"It's really that bad that she loves someone else?" he asks, softer still.

I tense, and Nessie whines. I can't expect him to understand. Her abusive, controlling ex. A man who watched her every move. A man who was obsessed with her, and convinced her he acted for her own protection. A man who liked the sight of her blood. I don't answer Edward. It isn't my story to tell anyway, and it isn't Edward's business.

I'm afraid that maybe now I've frightened her as much as her ex did. The thought makes me feel sick down to my bones.

"Can you go and check on her for me?" I hate to rely on Edward for this, but I have to know and I hardly think she'll be glad to see me now. I didn't hit her. I try to cling to that, but even to my own mind it feels feeble.

He pauses, then nods and stands. He's at the door when I call out again.

"Edward."

He glances back.

I swallow my pride. "Thanks."

He leaves.

I don't know how long I sit there, stroking Nessie, occasionally counting my breaths and waiting. Whenever I shift my weight I can hear something crunch beneath me. I dread to think of the future cleaning up I've incurred. But at the same time the thought is almost comforting. Humane. Practical. I try to let it distract me for a while, picturing how to put things back together, how to collect all the broken glass.

I'm so lost in thought it takes me a second to realise when Edward has come back.

"She's okay, just a little shaken. She wants to know if you're okay."

I let out a long breath. Caring, compassionate Bella. Worrying about me. Guilt twists my stomach into knots again. I will have to talk to her later. But I need time. We probably both need time. Edward walks towards me slowly, and then crouches down slowly. He stares at the rubble between us, and runs his index finger over half a wine glass.

"Have you… Have you done that before?" Edward asks.

I don't want to answer that. Hell, I don't even want to think about answering that. But something about his hesitation makes me feel like he's on the edge of something else. Opening up, perhaps. I wonder why he isn't afraid. I stare down at the rubble between us, too. Time passes, almost enough for the question to slip by into nothing. Then I sigh, and it's an old sigh.

"Yeah," I admit. Not in front of Bella, though.

"Same," he says.

Our eyes meet. Something exchanges – a faint connection. Without words, I know he will stay for the night now.

I struggle to my feet. The kitchen looks like it's been subject to an armed robbery. I scoop poor Nessie up in my arms and hobble towards the doorway where I put her down and briefly check her paws. It looks like she'll be okay. I look back to Edward. He glances back at the kitchen and then back to me, and I can tell he reads my intention: I'll deal with that tomorrow. Nobody has the energy for that right now. I close the door behind us and head for the stairs. Nessie nuzzles the back of my leg.

"Lounge," I command. She trots off. She has a lovely large plump bed of her own, she doesn't need to share. Bella spoils her. I head upstairs.

The spare bedding is in my wardrobe and I pull it out with faint shame; I have only one spare blanket and the colour of it is an aged beige, and it smells musty and old. I thump it out a few times in my room. It's not as thick as a duvet – I wonder if he'll be warm enough. When I look up I jump a bit – he's right in front of me. He must have moved too silently for me to notice, but I might have if I hadn't been expecting him to wait outside anyway. I fold up the blanket again and put the pillow on top, and hold the bundle towards him. He reaches for it and as it passes between us our fingers meet underneath, and I am shocked again by the difference in our temperatures.

"How are you feeling? Will you be warm enough?"

As if to answer me I see him shiver just a little. He is still only wearing that towel.

"You can warm me up," he says, moving towards my bed. He sits down on the edge and looks up at me expectantly.

"Look, Edward…" As my mind searches for some way not to confront this I realise I don't even have a hot water bottle to offer him. How do I not have one? "You can borrow some pyjamas," I finish lamely. I only have one pair of pyjamas too, I realise, because I never normally sleep in them. They were a gift from my sister Rachel, and consist of a simple grey top and red chequered bottoms. I dig to the bottom of my wardrobe for them and throw them in Edward's direction. He frowns a little as he catches them.

"Are you really that innocent?" he asks softly.

I look at him, and don't speak for a moment. "Is this what you do? Sleep with people who give you food?"

Another very slight smile. "You really are." There's almost a hint of awe in his voice.

"Look, you take the bed, I'll sleep on the sofa." I reach back towards him and take the blanket and pillow back from him. He blinks in surprise. I simply walk back towards the doorway. As I put my hand on the light switch, however, he speaks.

"What do you do for a living?"

It's an odd question to be asking now. "I'm a teacher," I tell him.

He processes this. "What school?"

I turn the light off and for a moment I just stand in the darkness, resting my hand on the doorknob, wondering why he is asking. He doesn't go to my school, surely, or I would have recognised him. I shrug.

"Forks High School."

I can't see the harm in telling him.


A/N: Thanks for following! I am going to be using 'AU' in the most wonderful sense of the word, and re/shaping absolutely all locations to my whim. Also, I am British. So if this America also ends up leaning that way, uh... forgive me? :P

I may later have to bump this up to an M rating for brushing against darker themes. We'll see.