Disclaimer: Descriptions of the rooms are Steffi's. I borrowed them for obvious reasons and they fill my pages nicely.

Summary: Edward has been unmanageable for years and his home situation has gotten out of hand. Eventually, social services finds him a new home with his aunt and uncle. But is a change of scenery really what's needed for a change of heart?

Saints and Angels

Chapter 3

I woke the next morning completely disorientated for a long few moments. I was laying on something much softer than my bed and I actually had room to stretch. That was definitely something I had didn't have enough room for in my bed. I tensed for a moment, my mind producing several scenarios and non of them were pleasant. Then my memory caught up with my mind and I remembered where I was.

I bit back a groan. Even the worst scenario my mind had come up with wasn't as bad a reality. I cracked one eye open slightly and squinted at the sun glaring in my face. Judging from its position in the sky, I'd say it was almost noon. I hadn't even realised I was tired enough to sleep that long.

As I sat up rubbing my eyes, a blanket slid from my shoulder and pooled in my lap. I stared at it for a moment, that hadn't been there in my last conscious thought. And I was definitely sure I had been wearing my shoes. Anger started to bubble up inside of me. Someone had been in here while I was sleeping. Didn't these people understand the meaning of privacy?

I got up and threw the blanket onto the couch. From the closet I grabbed my most torn pair of jeans and a black hoody. From the dresser I produced a clean pair of boxers and went into the bathroom to have a shower. I grumbled again at the size of the room. Though I had to grudgingly admit, the warm water was pure bliss and it was nice to actually fit in the shower for once and still have room to move.

My stomach growled at me. Of course I should've known I wasn't allowed to enjoy even the smallest pleasure. I quickly finished my shower and got dressed before going downstairs. The moment I opened my bedroom door, my nose was assaulted by the smell of freshly baked cookies. Biting back a groan, I scowled and thundered down the stairs. Life was definitely out to get me.

Esme was just pulling a tray of cookies out of the oven, while a new one stood ready to go in. 'Good morning, dear,' she greeted. 'Just a moment.' She put the next tray in the oven and reset the timer before turning to me. 'Let me get you something to eat. Go on, sit down. What do you want? Bacon and eggs, waffles, pancakes, cereal? You name it.'

'Cereal is just fine,' I muttered in reply. What did she think I was? An eight-year-old child still? I could make my own breakfast just fine. Thank you very much. A few moments later she placed a bowl of cereal in front of me. Then she went back to preparing yet another tray of cookies, but looked over her shoulder at me.

'Did you sleep well?'

I shrugged in reply. What did it matter to her anyway= My sleep was my business, not hers. To save myself from any verbal answering, I quickly scooped a spoon full of cereal into my mouth.

´The rest of your stuff will be arriving tomorrow,´ she informed me. ´I couldn´t help but notice yesterday that you had but a few clothes with you. Will there be more among the stuff arriving tomorrow?'

I looked at her incredulously. When there was actually money around, clothes really weren't on the list of priorities of things to buy. Shows just how well she stayed in touch these past seven years... not at all, aside from the birthday and Christmas presents they started sending three years ago. Apparently, she caught the meaning behind my look.

'I'm asking because Alice is going shopping in Seattle with a friend tomorrow. I could ask her to buy a few things for you too,' she explained.

'Whatever,' I muttered in reply. At least she hadn't suggested for me to shop for clothes myself.

'I'll ask her to buy some notebooks and such for you while she's at it, for school,' she added.

Oh, now we reached a somewhat interesting subject: 'school'. I hope for them they didn't get their hopes up about me going to school. I had gotten expelled from my school in Chicago two months ago and I had gotten used to doing what I wanted and not be locked up in a classroom all the time. Not that I went to class all that often, I hated school and no one was going to change that.

I quickly finished my bowl of cereal and started to leave. 'Edward?' Esme called after me. I stopped but didn't turn back around. 'I'm watching three of the chief's children today. I have to pick them up at 2.30, just so you know.'

'Whatever,' I muttered again and went back to the room I had been assigned to. There I took out my phone and turned it on for the first time since boarding the plane back in Chicago. As I had predicted, I had several missed calls, texts and voicemails.

I listened to the voicemails first. They started out jokingly, asking where I was and to get my arse in gear. Then they became irritated until the last was downright angry. The tone of the texts moved the same way, but it wasn't anger that dominated the last text. It came from David, the somewhat leader of the group I hung out with back home. All it said was not to call, but the hidden message was clear. I was no longer welcome. Like I had wanted to leave them to come here.

I flopped down on my bed and stared up to the ceiling. The silence was soothing and I was enjoying my time alone, not realising how much time actually passed until I heard a knock on my door. 'Edward, I'm going to pick up the Chief's children now,' Esme said through my door. 'I shouldn't be long, but if you want anything in the meantime, just look in the kitchen. Oh and feel free to help yourself to a cookie or two. I baked more than enough, a few always get stolen.'

She waited outside my door for a moment, probably waiting for an answer. But when I didn't give one, she left without another word. I didn't move until I was sure she had left the house, before pushing myself up and waltzing out of the room. I didn't want to, but couldn't help myself. I was curious about the house, but I didn't want them to know, they might read too much into it.

Carefully, I crept down the stairs. Firstly I slipped into Carlisle's office. From what I heard other kids say, parents' offices were off-limits, so if there was one place I didn't want to be caught, it was here. It looked like it could belong to a college dean. The room was high-ceilinged, with tall, west-facing windows and the walls were panelled in a darker wood than the hall, which was honey-coloured. Most of the panelling was hidden behind towering bookshelves that took up most of the wall space. I had never seen so many books together. Well, maybe in the library, but it had been years since I set foot in one.

A huge mahogany desk stood in the centre of the room with a leather chair behind it and two in front. A book lay on the desk with a bookmark sticking out. Again I couldn't control my curiosity and had to know what he was reading. I frowned at the cover, a collection of Tennyson. Who still read poetry anyway? Still I flipped open the book and froze the moment I scanned to page. "And ask ye why these sad tears stream?" was staring up at me. The first strophe hit me hard and I fled out of the room, suddenly not bothering if they found out I had been in there or not.

I raced down the stairs and then looked around, panting. My mind told me my search would probably be most successful in either the living-room or a den if it was included in the many rooms of this house. I immediately struck gold in the living-room and smiled weakly and I walked over to the little cabinet and pulled the doors open. Or at least, I tried to. I glared at the empty keyhole. Figures, they locked the drink cabinet. I'd might find a beer or something lying around, but I really was in the mood for something much stronger.

Damn them! I stormed back out of the living-room and froze again. I'd walked passed it last night and this morning, but only now it registered. On a raised portion of the floor stood a beautiful, shiny black, spectacular grand piano. After the many blows I had already had today, it was my undoing. Memories I had fought for so long suddenly resurfaced.

Proudly my fingers caressed the ivory keys of the old and battered upright. I had worked so hard, but finally I had mastered the piece and just in time for my recital too. I was getting better every day and my teacher always told me I was a natural, if not a prodigy. She told me that if I kept this up, in a few short years I might actually be composing my own pieces.

Dad always teased me, telling me she probably said it to all her students so they would put more effort in their studies. For some reason though, I knew she meant it when she said it to me. It thrilled me and I thought of it every time I played. Secretly I imagined the pieces I was playing were my own compositions.

I wondered what I would write. Would my compositions be able to live up to the great masters? Or would I be a lesser composer? The first would of course be great, but I could live with the second option. I knew few people ever really thought about it, but most cartoon music was classic.

'Are you plotting to wake up the rest of the house?' A joking voice asked from behind me and I spun around, looking into the green eyes of my father.

'Sorry, dad,' I muttered, slightly ashamed. 'I couldn't sleep anymore and I was playing as soft as I could.'

'It's okay, kiddo,' he smiled and sat down next to me. 'It sounded really good. How about you play me something, not too long though. Afterwards I'll make us some breakfast.'

I nodded eagerly and started playing Ode to Joy. Next to me, my father softly chuckled at the choice. The song finished all too soon for my liking, but before I could start another, my dad gently removed my hands from the keys and closed the lid. 'That's enough for the moment. Now it's food first, you can play some more later,' he told me.

I beamed up at him as he got up and lifted me from the bench, a small indulgence I allowed myself. I knew I was getting way too old for it, but I liked the gesture. I followed my dad into the kitchen. It seemed like no time at all before he put a plate of strawberry pancakes in front of me, with whipped cream and all.

We talked while eating, about the recital, school, anything really. It was nice, just the two of us, male-bonding and all that crap. But my father had a busy job and we hardly ever saw him during the week and when he was home on weekends, we hardly got to spend time bonding. It was usually the whole family.

I finished my breakfast first and waited patiently for my father to finish too, before putting my plate in the sink and going back to the piano in the living-room. Dad came back a bit later and sat on the couch to read his newspaper before having to go to work.

I got lost into the keys again, playing both easier songs, from when I started, and harder songs I couldn't yet play completely flawless. But that didn't matter though. Before long my mom woke and came downstairs. She smiled at me before giving both me and my dad a kiss on our hair and went to get ready for the day.

Soon it was time for my dad to leave, he ruffled my hair affectionately as he said goodbye. 'Don't break your fingers,' he warned. I grinned and nodded, never pausing my playing. Time always passed differently when I played. It seemed only seconds later when a sweet voice called my name.

'Edward,' Esme smiled as she came into the door. Behind her were three young children. I cursed silently for having been caught downstairs. Now surely I'd be expected to entertain the little brats. 'Meet Dean, Alex and Julie Swan.'

A/N: Sorry for the long wait. This chapter was hell to write. Keeping Edward cold and indifferent is rather hard, especially if I have whole days for him to kill in the meantime. Anyway, I hope you all think this chapter was worth waiting for it. Any suggestions how Edward can waste his time are more than welcome.

Please review, I enjoy reading your reactions. I'll try to update sooner this time.