A/N: 'Lo, loves. Sorry this one took so long. As she did in Beauty and the Beast, Lomesir is going to beta for the Attic. She's spectacular, so you can expect a significant change in the quality of my writing, and also less grammatical mistakes for you to wince at. Chapter One of this story was inspired (oddly) by Separate Ways, courtesy of Journey. The music for this chapter is Float On by Modest Mouse.

--Poola

Chapter Two

Three Years Later

"Bitch," Rosalie spat.

Bella held her down for a second longer than necessary, enjoying the moment. She was euphorically aware that everyone had witnessed her victory. Her dark hair tumbled down into Rosalie's face, which seemed to irritate her even more.

"You know, that's still one of the hottest things I've ever seen," Jasper commented from behind them, the southern drawl making his voice unmistakable. A couple of men whistled at his remark, and Emmett chuckled in agreement.

Bella released Rosalie, smiling in triumph, and leapt to her feet in one fluid movement. She offered a hand to help the blonde up. "Call it beginner's luck," she mocked.

Rosalie, ignoring Bella's hand, rose to her feet gracefully. She was panting lightly from the fight; so was Bella. Her face was wreathed in an indignant scowl.

Emmett laughed and came toward them. "Aw, Rosie baby, don't sulk," he said cheerfully, bending down to kiss her frowning mouth. "You know you're still the prettiest." He looked over his shoulder to wink at Bella.

Rosalie shook out her golden curls and wiped the sweat from her forehead, beginning to smile despite herself. She turned to Bella and leveled a fierce look at her. "Don't expect that to happen next time," she warned.

"Oh, I don't," Bella replied, still smiling. It was always so much fun to go up against Rosalie, because she was incapable of laughing anything off. She was always so offended when she lost.

Bella never underestimated her, though. Rosalie was a good fighter, better than quite a few of the men. And she knew that a couple of years ago, those blows would have killed her. It seemed impossible that so much could happen in the space of a few years.

People say that God created the world in seven days. It had taken Bella much longer than that to recreate herself.

It was an excruciating process. Emmett wasn't one to throw light punches, and he had insisted that she needed to learn to overcome pain before he could teach her anything else. She'd been beaten within an inch of her life, stabbed in various places, and she was shot so many times in those bullet-proof vests that at one point she couldn't even see the color of her skin past all the bruises.

There was an upside to it, though: the Healers. Just as the association had advanced technology for killing, it had advanced technology for healing. There were certain kinds of creams that stimulated white blood cells, making the healing process ten times faster. There were oils that erased all pain, and ones that made you feel like you'd had fifteen hours of sleep, even if you hadn't slept at all that night.

For a while, the Healers were the only remotely good thing about her life, and she'd hated Emmett with a passion. But then, gradually, Emmett began to teach her. He started her education out small, training her in man-to-man combat, teaching her how to throw a decent punch, teaching her how to keep throwing in a way that your opponent went down, and stayed down.

Emmett taught Bella gracefulness, as well; taught her to be flexible and fluid, taught her to jump from a roof to a window-sill without making a sound. In a world where one wrong move could be the difference between living and dying, no one could afford to be klutzy. They murdered her clumsiness together, and another fragment of Old Bella broke off and disappeared.

After that, after she began to trust him a little bit, he taught her how to kill. People always associate killing with a weapon of some sort, but that really isn't necessary. There were certain points all over the body, especially around the neck, that proved fatal if you applied the right amount of pressure. This only worked, however, if you could get that close to your target without being detected. Which you usually couldn't.

Her tutelage in weaponry came last, and it was long and difficult and terrifying. It was also very empowering. Before she'd met Emmett, Bella could hardly tell the difference between a rifle and a shotgun, a dagger and a bread knife. Now she could catalogue nearly every gun or blade known to man, and discuss in detail the good and bad points of each one. And, of course, she could use them.

Bella took her first hit and become a member of the Vindici four months after Emmett first began her training. Much longer than seven days.

Vindici was a Latin term for Avenger, or, more literally, Vindicator. The organization was headed by Aro, who was Italian—hence the Latin name—and managed by Carlisle. Bella met and been approved by both of them before officially becoming a member.

Carlisle came first. He was a tall man with light blonde hair, and devastatingly attractive. The kind tone in his flowing British accent put Bella immediately at ease, but there was an agonized somberness in his blue eyes that made her sure that if she failed to pass his test, he would have no choice but to order her killed. And Emmett, bright, happy Emmett, would have no choice but to do it.

Thankfully, she passed the examination. Carlisle seemed satisfied with the skills she demonstrated, and the even confidence in her answers to all of his questions. Emmett was relieved, and she was glad that at least someone cared whether she lived or died. Over the past few months, she'd come to think of him as a friend, just as he'd predicted that first night.

There was no test required when she met Aro. It seemed as if he just wanted to meet her. Aro had long black hair and olive-toned skin, and there was no hint of steel in his eyes, only gentle amusement. In truth, he didn't need to display his authority at all—his air was so completely regal and menacing that appearing anything but kind would be superfluous.

"Hello, Bella." Aro greeted her with an almost-paternal familiarity.

"Aro," Bella inclined her head respectfully. She fought back both the instinctual urge to bow and the instinctual urge to run.

Aro smiled pleasantly. "Carlisle has told me that you wish to join our ranks, my dear. Was he mistaken?"

Bella shook her head firmly. "No." She wished that she could sound more intelligent, or at least say more than one word at a time, but her tongue seemed stiff in her mouth.

His expression was a study; reassuring and calculating and delighted all at once. "I'm glad to hear it," he said generously. "Carlisle has informed me of your skill, your determination. But I'm afraid that the choice to become a member of the Vindici is a bit more permanent than your average career. Once you have committed yourself, the Vindici expects your full and unwavering loyalty. Your duty will be to complete your missions without fail, and protect your fellow members, also without fail. You understand me, yes?"

A small part in the back of Bella's mind was amused that Aro was naming the disadvantages of becoming an assassin, knowing that he would kill her if she refused. But her voice was clear and steady when she answered, "I understand completely, Aro. You have my word."

Aro stood up from the wide, intimidating desk he had been lounging behind. He drew a clear packet full of papers from a drawer and slid them silently across the desk toward her.

"You may find this information useful," he said. "Carlisle will administer all of your missions in the future…You may go."

The day that Bella met Aro was the day that the meager funds in her bank account increased one hundredfold. Her assets were unlimited. All she had to do was kill people.

She'd thought that her decision not to be trained by Emmett was the major turning point in her life, but on the night of her first hit she realized that she'd been wrong. It was this choice, this moment, which would define her future. Maybe she was in too deep with the Vindici to just up and run, but she still had a choice to make. Emmett had never discussed it with her, but she felt that she deserved the choice not to pull the trigger. She could explain that she needed more time, that she would try again…

The man was named Ralph Campton, and was a Green River Killer imitator. He was careful with the women he killed, careful and sleek and quiet and clever, and the police hadn't had any new leads in months. His victims were virtually untraceable.

It was almost too easy—it took Bella less than a week to find him. She went, Emmett along with her, to the man's small Tacoma apartment. At the time she was carrying a Sig Sauer handgun, compact and smooth, perfect for taking a quick hit. She wore soft leather boots to further ensure that she moved in silence.

Bella found Campton in his bedroom, reading under the dim light of a bedside lamp. It was nearly 12:00, but he was still awake, almost as if he'd been waiting for her. He didn't say a word when he saw her enter his room, gun cocked and aimed at him. He just put the book down and stared at her expectantly, his gray eyes hungry and cold.

She gazed, transfixed, at the small point of his forehead that she was aiming for—perfect aim. Adrenaline slid furiously through her veins, and yet all she could do was stare.

Ralph Campton's eyes never gained any expression, but his mouth twisted upward in a questioning smile.

"Go, Bella," Emmett whispered from behind her.

"Nice one, Bell." Jasper murmured. She hadn't noticed him climbing down the ladder behind her. He smiled, ran a hand through his honey-blonde mane, and draped an arm across her shoulders.

Bella smiled lazily, barely flicking her eyes upward to acknowledge his compliment. Speech was often unnecessary with Jasper, they were so well attuned to eachother. While she and Rosalie fought, catlike, with a secret fondness for eachother, and she shared an easy camaraderie with Emmett, Bella and Jasper were perfectly in sync. Even now, as they walked together, they matched eachother perfectly: Jasper's confident saunter and Bella's smooth, seductive lope were exactly the same movement, the same motion.

"You have any hits that require your immediate attention?" Jasper asked.

"None," Bella said carelessly. She didn't feel like leaving the base again. She'd taken eleven hits in the past week, and she felt entitled to a bit of a break. Besides, her targets weren't going anywhere today. And if they were, she had more than enough money on her person right now to buy a plane ticket. She sighed, and added, "But I probably should check the lists, just in case. Wait for me, will you?"

Jasper nodded. "I'll wait," he said amiably. "If you're free, come to Pike Place with me. My next hit usually has a coffee in the little café at about four o'clock. I wanted to study her."

"Her?" Bella asked, interested. Female targets weren't unheard of, but they didn't come around often.

Jasper nodded again, his face indifferent. He, like everyone else, had quickly become detached from any sympathetic feelings for his targets.

"Give me two minutes," Bella ordered, and strode down the hall toward Carlisle's office.

His door, as always, was open. Bella drew back a little, knocked lightly on the wall just outside the doorway to announce her presence. Carlisle looked up from his papers.

"Hey, Carlisle." She flashed him a smile.

"Bella." He waved her inside the room.

She looked around at the shelves of books and weapons interspersed along the walls of Carlisle's office. He didn't seem to have any problem with his surroundings. She had always marveled a little bit at Carlisle, not because of his astonishing good looks, but because of the ease with which he seemed to regard anything that came along. It was why the members of the Vindici much preferred to work with him than Aro, who was imposing and eerily kind. Carlisle rarely showed any kindness to any of her peers, but underneath the steely authority, they could all sense it was there.

"Any new people you want me to kill?" Bella asked cheerfully.

"Yes," Carlisle replied, unphased as always by her attempt at irony. "Three of them. Lucky bastards, I was thinking about sending Embry instead."

"Wise decision," Bella teased. "But, hey, Carlisle, can the lucky bastards wait a while? I thought I might take a day off."

Carlisle raised his eyebrows.

"Eleven hits," she reminded him, tilting her head pleadingly to the side.

Carlisle nodded slowly. "You've done well," he allowed. "I'll give you two days. But after that, back to work. And no more throwing numbers in my face. I'm not going to barter with you."

"I promise," Bella said delightedly. "Have you updated me? I'll go check right now."

"It's done. Get out of my office, Bella."

She quickly complied, and began making her way to the lists, only two doors down.

The lists were kept by a machine that looked a lot like an electronic Arrivals and Departures board that you would find in an airport. To the left side were the assassins' names, and to the right were the hits that had been assigned to them.

Bella found her name immediately, and scanned the board for her next three hits.

Antonio Tendez

Edward Masen

Paul Girming

She read and memorized the names quickly, filing them away for later. Done, she thought, and left the room to find Jasper.

The next two years passed in a blur of laughter and steel and loneliness. Bella found a family in the people that surrounded her—she was proud and invincible and beautiful—she paved the road of her life with an empty, fierce sort of joy—but one of the side-effects of achieving apathy is that the numbness begins to encompass every part of you. You try to fight the utter indifference creeping over you, but in the end all you can do is hold tightly to the last shred of humanity you have left, and do the best you can with the hand you've been given. That was the way she saw it, anyway.

They say that the horror of your first kill never leaves, that it screams inside of you until the end of your days, and maybe they're right. But if that was true for Bella, she certainly wasn't aware of it. Killing was easy, like jumping off a cliff in the certainty of the moment after you've made your decision. The difference was, you never hit the ground afterwards. You just kept falling.

On Bella's first hit, she hesitated.

On her second, she smiled.

And by the third hit, she didn't feel anything at all.

But it would be a lie to say that nothing mattered to her. She could still feel passion—nights spent with certain male Vindici members assured her of that—and she was extremely loyal and protective of the many members of her 'family'. They were all in the same boat, after all, they had all sinned more than enough to consign themselves to hell, and they all loved eachother, because what else could they do?

One night, an intruder entered home base. He was young, only a year or two older than Bella had been when she first came. No one ever knew why he came or what he came for.

They had him surrounded, guns cocked and aimed, before he'd taken two steps out of the elevator door.

Letting him go free wasn't an option. He obviously understood just what he'd walked in on. They could also tell, from his righteous expression and the condemning words that immediately spewed from his mouth, that they didn't need to give him his choice. He'd already made it.

The other members of the Vindici contemplated the boy with faces that were expressionless, but Bella watched him with a mixture of respect and disgust. This could have been her, so easily. She had been an inch away from this young man's future…he was more courageous and blind than she had dared to be. As she stared at his indignant face, her eyes boring into his skin, she felt Emmett's hand grip the back of her neck tightly.

She hadn't felt sympathy of any kind for anyone outside of her family in over a year—sympathy was dangerous, and to be avoided if possible—but she felt it now to the point of pain. She knew exactly the feelings that the boy must be experiencing, despite his proud expression: the desperation, the utter helplessness, the rising panic. His eyes sought hers the precise second before he died, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. In those eyes, those innocent, judging eyes, she felt the stamp of her own doom.

Garrett, tall and blonde and reckless, was the one to take the shot. It was all over in seconds, and it wasn't until Bella saw the boy wilt and fall that she realized she was shaking. Her pistol rattled dangerously; she slung it into its holster over her shoulder silently, and then she put her arms around Embry's neck and allowed him to carry her to her room.

Rosalie foregoed Emmett's bed that night to sleep with her arms curled around Bella's sobbing form, showing for once the affection that she always hid. Garrett spent the night leaning against the wall right outside her room, not coming inside as he usually did, listening to Bella's cries and staring at the wall.

There were other circumstances such as this, as often happens in an organization such as theirs, but Bella never shed a tear again. And the night came when Garrett visited her room and found that she had nothing left for him.

Bella later looked at these events with more satisfaction than pain. They had freed her, after all, from weakness, and also from dependency on others. Most importantly, it started the process that allowed Bella to reconcile herself to her fate. She decided that if she was going to spend eternity in hades, she might as well earn it thoroughly, and she planned on having one hell of a time doing it.

She loved being a Vindici, an Avenger. She loved the power and justice interwoven into her life. She was more proud and invincible and beautiful than ever before, and when Jasper came along, she was more than ready to meet him.

Bella had been a killer for two years when he arrived, out of nowhere, with no luggage or belongings to be seen. This didn't help his case, at first—both Aro and Carlisle believed he was a spy of some sort, or an assassin from another organization assigned to take them all out.

From the beginning, he didn't seem at all intimidated by the poised knives and cocked guns. In fact, his dark blue eyes brightened when he saw them, as if he knew he had finally come to the right place.

"You have 10 seconds," Bella said, pointedly glancing at her wristwatch. She held two fingers up, signaling the armed men around her to wait.

Jasper's lips eased up into a confident smile. "Ma'am," he nodded to her, mocking, the southern twang prominent in his deep voice, "you have room here for a man who can type 72 words a minute?"

Bella regarded him for a dubious moment. It was entirely probable that he was bluffing. There was only one way to tell. Lips pursed, she flicked a glance at Benjamin. Benjamin's wrist flipped; his knife darted across the space towards Jasper's left shoulder.

Immediately Jasper's torso slumped downwards as he ducked. In an impressive, startlingly quick move, his fist smashed the hilt of the long knife upwards, and the other hand caught it as it came back down.

Jasper offered the knife to Bella, hilt first. "I'm also great with copying machines," he said persuasively, his breathing only slightly labored.

For the first time, their eyes met, and Bella knew that they understood eachother. She nodded, a slow answering smile lighting her face, and offered, "I'll see what I can do."

Two hours later, she was standing in front of Aro and Carlisle. Aro was smilingly furious at her for not having killed him immediately.

"You go too far, Bella," he said simply. "This is a breach."

"It might not be," Bella argued, her eyes anxiously glued to the warning curve of his dark lips. "Emmett did this for me, remember? He saved me when everyone else wanted to kill me. And because he did, you got one of your top killers. Why not let him do it again? Emmett can—"

"I say we give him a two month probation," interrupted Carlisle, who had remained silent before this. "We can research him while he is trained, if he's on the other side of the line, we'll find out. At the end of his review, like Bella's, you can make your decision. Which I will honor." To Bella, it seemed like he said the last sentence bitterly.

Aro, who had paused for Carlisle's words like he never paused for anyone else, cocked his head introspectively. "That sounds…reasonable," he finally said. "I like to be reasonable. It makes one's life so much less difficult. But you, Bella," his dark eyes dropped to meet hers from under finely arched black brows, "you will have the training of him, since you have defended him so valiantly. He is now your responsibility. If you train him well enough and we find that he is not an assassin from another organization, then he will live." He paused. "Does this work for you? If it doesn't, now would be the time."

"Yeah," Bella whispered, her stomach sinking. "I'm good." She thought of being solely responsible for someone else's life, and her stomach sank further. She had no idea how to do this. At killing she was an expert, but at keeping someone alive?

"Good luck," said Carlisle flatly, his eyes on Aro's face.

"You may leave us, Bella," Aro added pleasantly.

Bella found Jasper locked in her room, with Joe and Felix guarding the doors. She raised an eyebrow at Joe. "Locks?"

"So he can't get out," Joe explained self-consciously.

She laughed at that. "He came to us. I don't expect him to make a break for it anytime soon." She eyed Joe and Felix, who was appraising her with a speculative smirk. "Now get away from my room, both of you."

They slunk away, and she approached the custom lock on the door. She typed in the seven digit code used for all of the locks and keypads at home base: 4243648. The numerical code for VINDICI spelled backwards.

Her door slid open with a click. Jasper was sitting on her bed with his eyes on the far corner of the ceiling, drumming his fingers casually against her bedspread. He saw her at the door. "So. What's the verdict?" he asked and smiled, cavalier at the prospect of his own death.

Bella's mind was racing at a hundred miles an hour, quickly preparing for how she was going to have to do this. She silently crossed the room and pulled into a crouch in front of him so that they were on the same level. Her slender fingers reached up to twist the material of Jasper's collar down toward her face. Jasper looked back at her, his smile now gone, his marine eyes dissecting her expression.

Bella's voice was low and urgent. "If you want to live, then you'll do exactly as I say. You got me? I'll do my damndest to help you, but you're gonna have to trust me and do what I tell you to, even if you hate it."

"Yes." Jasper's eyes were bright with excitement. Bella could sense that underneath the cocky exterior, he was eager for a chance to prove himself.

"You sure? You understand that you're pretty much taking a swan dive for hell here," she warned.

He shrugged. "I'm fucked anyway."

Bella chuckled approvingly. "Then you'll fit right in, honey. Welcome welcome."

"You got a name, miss?"

"Call me Bella."

"Jasper," said Jasper.

They stared at one another once again as if they understood, not realizing yet that they were mirroring each other exactly, and then they got up and she took him to the attic and they went to work.

It wasn't a hard job, training him, because Jasper had a natural talent for anything martial. He had grown up in a place in the south where if you didn't know how to handle a gun, you couldn't expect to get by for very long.

Bella tried to employ the methods that Emmett had used on her, but with a few differences. She concentrated on working him ten times harder than Emmett had worked her, on teaching him more quickly, training him more effectively. Jasper didn't get mad easily, and he accepted most of what she gave him without complaint. He seemed to understand how hard she was trying to give him a chance. He learned, and he grew deadlier and deadlier under Bella's careful guide. The first time Jasper was strong enough and fast enough to leave a bruise on her skin, she spent the whole week with a proud smile on her face.

Bella made sure to point this out to Aro and Carlisle after the two month's probation. In reality, the fact that Jasper was already good enough to bruise Bella was probably the reason that they let him live. It was a long deliberating process for them, however. Carlisle, despite his earlier announcement that he would accept Aro's decision, pressed for Jasper's recruiting…Aro was cautious and reluctant…Carlisle pressed harder…Aro was even more reluctant still. In the end, Jasper was allowed to pledge his fealty to the Vindici, as Bella had, and his future was set, his life saved.

Bella didn't allow him to slack after that, though. She didn't really believe that Aro would change his mind—but the phrase 'better safe than sorry' rings even more true for assassins than it does for normal people. Jasper was equal to every task she gave him. The harder she pushed him, the fonder they became of each other.

They tried only once to go down the romance road, as it was natural for them to do. After all, their natures were so similar that they were almost exact copies of each other. Not in an 'I Am Heathcliffe' kind of way. But Bella's nonchalant fierceness was matched by Jasper's confident, easy style of lethality; Jasper's secret love for Civil War literature was matched by Bella's secret passion for old English Classics. It was obvious to Bella that whatever people's souls were made of, hers and Jasper's came from the same mold.

That first and last kiss came three months after Jasper became a Vindici, at two o'clock in the morning. Jasper had just killed a young man who had been a friend of his in school. Bella knew that this was probably Aro's doing, either because he thought the personal element would make Jasper more eager to take the hit, or because he was testing Jasper once again. You never knew with Aro.

Jasper was also like Bella in the way that he didn't express his emotions verbally. Instead, they seemed to emanate from him almost tangibly, to swing out like a cape over everyone present. Bella could feel the hollow ache in him as they sat together on his bed, Jasper's head in his hands.

"I'm sorry, Jazz," Bella mumbled sincerely, if awkwardly. "I wish I could fix it for you, really I do." It was true. Well did she understand how it felt when you allowed your victims to haunt you. An assassin's life was a constant refrain of the echoes of lives lost, targets hit.

Jasper raised his head, lifted his tired eyes to hers. He had done it many times before, but as he reached over and brushed her mahogany tresses over her shoulder, there was a deliberation in his movements that left her no doubt what he meant.

Bella shook her hair back, accommodating him readily. She had expected this moment to come for a long time, after all. And she loved Jasper as she had never loved Emmett or Rosalie or any of the other men, she loved Jasper as she loved herself. This was always going to happen eventually. A couple of Vindici had actually placed bets about how long it would take.

Bella met Jasper eagerly, and it wasn't a bad kiss at all. Truly, Jasper was a better kisser than any of the meaningless flings that she'd used to chase the loneliness away. It was a very good kiss.

But that wasn't what she remembered about it for months afterward. She remembered that suddenly, as she was kissing Jasper, she had the impression that she was trapped in utter blackness at the bottom of a well, with no way to escape; and the pain and desperation and panic of centuries stretched on endlessly before her. They say that you never feel closer to someone than when you kiss them, but Bella never felt so lonely in Jasper's presence as she did during that kiss.

They broke away from eachother, scrambling to opposite sides of the bed. Bella guessed, from the panicked and shocked expression on Jasper's face, that he had felt the same thing that she had. They looked askance at eachother, mistrusting, for a moment—not in sync as they usually were.

It took them a moment to calm down and unstiffen their bodies. When they had, Bella heard Jasper gasp out, "Never again," and she nodded in emphatic agreement. Then, tentatively, Jasper opened his arms. Bella went into them with relief, and clung to him tightly, letting his naturally comforting presence erase the unnatural fear he had caused.

They never tried anything like that again. Those months later when she recollected the fiasco, Bella understood how stupid they both had been, the way that a child is stupid in thinking that two identical puzzle pieces will somehow fit together.

But now that their friendship had boundaries, it only grew stronger. As the months passed—a blur of laughter and steel and loneliness, the continuing cycle of Bella's life—they became allies, partners, companions, loyal to eachother above all else. Jasper couldn't belong to Bella, and he couldn't erase her darkness, but he could always make her smile, could always keep her grounded. And in a way, he was exactly what she had needed. Because now, after years of struggling and defensiveness, Bella found herself content with the life she had chosen.

Bella slid into the passenger seat of Jasper's '99 Mercedes. She shared a tight, exhilarated grin with Jasper, and then let herself revel in it, the adrenaline pulsing, heart pounding triumphantly, the glory of the hunt.

Yes, she loved her life. She was icy hot, lethal, unstoppable. She was Bella Vindici: Avenger, Vindicator. And she didn't plan on letting anything change that anytime soon.

A/N: Comments? Criticism? Positive feedback? Please. Reviews are loved.