Chapter Four.
The Way We Were
doesn't really matter since the way we are sucks.

As they both exit the car and follow her father into the station, Bella makes the first request she has of Edward in… well, ever. The way she says his name alone alerts him that what she's going to say is not a joke. "Could you... be nice? Behave for once?"

He mimes a halo round his head to which Bella rolls her eyes. "I'm serious, Edward. This... this is important." Moved to solemnity, Edward wordlessly nods.

Because when someone runs their mouth off as much as Edward, a lack of a retort really is the ultimate demonstration of sincerity.

"I can't even believe this is real… I mean, I know it was on the report but reading it and seeing it are two completely different things," Edward observes, once he, Bella and the Chief have sat down inside the station. He receives no answer, and looks up and sees that, next to him, Bella is once again uncharacteristically unforthcoming. She's also anxious as hell, he can tell, from the way her eyes are darting everywhere. Hoping to deflect the awkwardness, if not for Bella's sake, then for his sanity's, Edward addresses his question directly to Charlie. "So this really is what we're dealing with?"

"Looks like it," comes the terse reply.

Edward turns his head to side, and his attention to Bella. "I've never seen anything like this. In fact, I can't even remember reading any cases like this before."

"Yeah, me neither," she replies. Her voice has no gusto behind it, it's like a wet match that just won't light. Where is all that sass and fire from the car? Edward wonders as he looks from one laconic Swan to the other. They're both withdrawn, unknowingly hunched mirror images of each other, heads slightly lowered, eyes casting around for anything to latch onto but one another.

Edward hates tension. He hates long silences. And he's not a huge fan of seriousness. So this tension-l-laden, seriously lengthy silence that has fallen on the three of them is unbearably annoying to him. He wants to crack a joke and by extension, the tension, but he can't.

Ruminating over just how to coax a modicum of ease into the room, Edward turns his attention to the Swan he's less familiar with. Ever heard that phrase "the eyes are the window to the soul"? Sure, you have—Edward has, too—but in Charles Swan's case, the mustache is the window to his soul. In the few minutes he's spent in his presence, Edward has already discerned that should he ever need to glean emotion from Charlie, his facial hair will tell him more than his eyes—or even his mouth, for that matter—ever will. Right now, under his heavy breaths saturated with nerves and awkwardness, the bristles are swaying slightly. A few moments later, when the Chief stomps to the window, Edward can see the ends droop even though he can't see the frown that makes them do so.

"Deputy Hale!" Charlie has that type of voice—the one that you think would carry more power in the quiet, measured tones he uses everyday. Until you hear him raise it, and then you understand that his gun is not nearly his most powerful weapon. "You will unhand Mr. McCarty and get in here in the next minute, or you will look for a new job!" He mutters a few words under his breath that sound like, "I had to be Chief in the real world version of the Hellmouth, didn't I?" (It appears that the Chief is a Whedon fan.)

He's rolling his eyes and Edward cannot ignore how similar Charlie and Bella are. His disposition is the opposite of his open-book of a daughter, but their looks—from the strong chin and big eyes to the shades of brown and pale that color their features—are nearly identical. He is a stoic, male version of the face Edward knows so well.

Edward's mind works in ludicrous ways sometimes. For example, he realizes that in addition to their other features, Charlie and Bella even have the same mouth: small and quite feminine, though Charlie's is hidden by his mustache. Then Edward thinks of how he's kissed that mouth quite a bit—Bella's, not Charlie's. Then Edward wants to gag a little at the fact that he even had to make that clarification.

Edward manages to drag his mind from his depraved thoughts, only to face the two silent Swans (yes, that does evoke the 12 Days of Christmas for him, too). He takes it upon himself to break the silence. His tongue strains with all the things he could say, even as his mind reminds him of a promise he made—and actually wants to keep—a few minutes ago.

"So, Chief, what are the chances I can get a cup of that coffee Washington is so famous for?" he asks. In trying to infuse a friendly atmosphere, he affects an artificial upbeat tone, making him sound like a cartoon version of himself. No wonder his personality defaults to 'sarcastic asshole'—the other option is 'social doofus.'

But Charlie just looks relieved to have something to do that doesn't involve yelling at the bizarre behavior of his subordinate or lolling in the awkwardness of the worst family reunion ever. "Sure, Edward. Uh, Bella, would you like some coffee? I mean, do you even like coffee?" His words are common enough, probably spoken a million times a day by people around the world. It's his tone—stilted and overly cautious—and his body language that heighten the discomfort in the atmosphere.

Bella's no better. "I'll have some," she says in this tiny kitten voice, nothing like the insults and retorts she roars at Edward. "Black, please, I'm lactose intolerant."

"Oh yeah? Me too," Charlie says, seeming to finally understand how casual conversation works. "What are the chances…"

And it's back. That tension-filled, serious silence, except now also twined with so much discomfort it's nearly palpable. Bella and Charlie both visibly balk at the realization that it's not just that he and Bella have this in common—it's that he probably caused it in Bella.

"I'll have mine black, too," Edward says, seeing the way her face closes down like a shutter. He's got to do something. "I'm not lactose intolerant… I just don't like milk. It's very uh, milky. So white. Too white. And sometimes cloudy. It just doesn't sit right with me. Of course, that could be because I once accidentally drank sour milk, and it put me off the stuff forever. Plus it gives you awful breath. Not to mention, it makes my stomach feel funny."

It would have been bad enough for Edward to stop there. But, no, he continues.

"I mean, I won't go into details, but it gets a little… gurgly… and to me, stomachs just shouldn't be gurgly. They should be, uh, smooth. Not like flat because, I mean, well, they're nice when they're flat. I don't know though, some people don't mind a bit of a gut. I don't really have preference for smooth stomachs. In fact, I sometimes even like a little, er, tummy as long as it's… y'know, not gurgling. So yeah, no milk in my coffee either. Please."

Bella stares at him incredulously. If he could, Edward would stare at himself incredulously. Although he has succeeded in his intention—which was to draw attention away from the inadvertent mention of Bella and Charlie's kinship—he hadn't meant to do so by appearing to be an idiot, but desperate times call for dumbass measures, and at least it worked.

"Uhhh, okay," Charlie says, giving Edward the kind of look that speaks volumes (Volumes like, Why are you so odd? How did you ever manage to become an agent? Did you really just tell me you like 'a little tummy'?)

Suddenly, Rose bursts in through the door of the station.

"I'm going to… uh, take the day off, Chief," she says, out of breath and erratic. "I'm not feeling so well." She's smiling so wide Bella can see her pearly white molars. It wipes off her face when she hears a car engine start. "No! Emmett! Don't leave me!" And then she is out the door.

"God damn it, Rose!" Charlie quickly hands the mugs of coffee to Edward and heads out after her. Edward hands Bella a cup, and they both take sips as their eyes meet over the rims.

And then there is a Moment. The type that warrants a capital letter, one where green meets brown, and magic—not the kind they're experts in, but the kind they know nothing about—fills the space between them, the gaps in their rapport, and the holes in their history.

It's the type of moment—sorry, Moment—so laden with inexplicable meaning that it triggers Bella's memory on one particular detail about Edward. She can't stop thinking of how his lashes are long and thick, rendering a softness to his etched bone structure. In fact, they're so long they almost sweep the top of his previously mentioned cheekbones when he blinks. Within a nanosecond, she's recalling the time they had been in bed, and she'd told him he had butterfly-kissing lashes.

After she'd explain to him what they were (he was a guy, how the hell was he supposed to know?), he'd rolled onto her, pinning her arms and fluttering his lashes all over her face while she shrieked in mock annoyance and undeniable enjoyment. She can recall the euphoria in the air and the ease of being with him, the utter freeness of his weight pinning her down—she can recall it so vividly that she almost feels his lashes on the apple of her cheek, tickling her and tingling all over right now when he blinks, but he blinks, and the moment is over.

On the other side of the gaze, Edward has no idea what just happened. He knows something did, he could see it in the way Bella's gaze glazed over while holding his, but he couldn't read anything in them, couldn't see the thoughts she normally gives away so easily.

When the Chief comes back in, Edward decides that there's been enough dilly-dallying. They're not here for the delightful awkwardness or to rubberneck at strange occurrences—he and Bella have a job to do.

"So Chief, give us a rundown of anything and everything that's happened since the events listed in the file," Edward prompts. He grabs the case file and opens it, holding it between him and Bella.

It's like someone has turned on a switch. Whereas he was slouching and shuffling before, Charlie is upright and commanding, even in an action as simple as pulling another file out of the drawer of his desk. When he speaks, it's with authority and intelligence, and his demeanor alone easily earns Edward's respect—from one law enforcement professional to another.

"Well, you saw my deputy, Rosalie Hale. Until yesterday, Rose was one of the best officers I've ever seen come through here; sharp as a tack, uncompromising, great bullshit detector," he says, sighing. "Now, she's like a rabid teenybopper for Emmett McCarty. Whom, I might add, she couldn't really stand 'til yesterday."

"Is she the only who is acting this… er, crazy?" Edward asks. He considers nudging Bella with his elbow, reminding her to chime in anytime, but when his eyes slide over to her, he can see she's listening carefully—she has that look on her face, where her mind is pulling itself in a million different directions, investigating all ideas and possibilities.

"If only. She's not even the craziest one," Charlie says, with a light snort. "In fact, I just got the okay from your boss, Aro, to get her in on the case. I was going to fill her in, as an extra set of eyes and then… well, you saw. People have only been acting like... this for the last week or so. Initially—about three or four weeks ago, folks started pairing up. I mean, it was nothing particularly out of the ordinary, just a lot of people… getting together, dating, whatever you want to call it."

"Any changes in the town around then? Newly discovered natural phenomena—or new residents?"

"Well, as for the natural phenomena—only the thing I talked about in the report," Charlie answers. Edward nods as he flips to the page. "There have been new residents—a slew of them, actually, and they all arrived at around the same time—just about a month ago."

"Alright, we'll need a list of these people," Bella says. Both men are surprised to hear her speak, but out of respect to her as an equal officer, make no overt mention of her emergence from her previous zombie-like state.

Charlie grabs a pad and scribbles something for a few minutes. Ripping the sheet off, he hands it to Bella. "Here's a list of them; since you have access to the archives here and the online database, you can look up their records and addresses."

Bella looks at the list of names. "There's only four names here. I thought you said there was a slew."

"In a town of three thousand people, four new residents in a month is a slew." Edward nods before Charlie continues, "Like I was saying, the first ten or so people it happened with, I just chalked it up to coincidence or maybe delayed spring fever, but after that I couldn't ignore it. The folks here started talking about it, talking about how extraordinary and magical and romantic our town was because of all that was going on. That's when I knew something was up. Forks is special, but not in the way its residents think it is. It's not 'we're so lovely' special. It's 'there's a whole lot of strange here' special. Anyway, around last week, people started acting out—the way Rose is, and that's when I contacted your department. Anytime things have been out of the ordinary here, it's been because of something… not human. Last time, it was the vampires. In fact, you should know that—"

He's interrupted before he can tell them what they should know by the sound of loud sirens.

"What the hell?"

All three rush out the station just in time to see Rosalie doing her best Speed Racer impression, gunning down Forks' empty main street with the police siren blaring.

"God damn it!"

All three watch for few seconds as the car jets down to the far end of the street (also the other side of town), and swings wildly into a parking spot. Rose sprints into the Thriftway few seconds later.

Charlie lets out a rather exaggerated sigh. "Well, now she's all the way across town. How am I ever going to catch her?" His mustache twitches and Edward realizes that the Chief has just made a joke. A funny one, too. He laughs belatedly and Charlie joins in with a few chuckles. It's almost as if they've decided to not expect Bella to react, so they both miss the small smile on her face.

"I thought she'd stay put. I threatened her job—that's usually the line for Rose," Charlie says, rueful in the next moment. "Now, I'm going to have to write her up. If she continues to act like this, I'll probably have to suspend her badge, and put her on probation."

At the mention of the "p" word, Bella's face drains of color. Without even realizing his protective instinct kicking into gear, Edward decides that it's time for Bella and him to head over to the Forks Inn and settle in. Meaning no offense, but there's been enough of Charlie and his deluded deputy for now. Better they end on a slightly upbeat note than allow the discomfort to seep back in.

Instead of heading straight to the motel, Edward and Bella agree (stranger things have happened, though not many) to swing by the local diner for some food before collecting a water sample, and sending it off to the lab at headquarters for testing.

Edward feels rather proud of himself for being such a good ally to Bella—not only did he save her a few times from some awful, awkward moments, but he did so at the expense of Charlie's notion of his intelligence. He's not particularly self-sacrificial or overtly chivalrous, so he's expecting some form of thanks from Bella during their extremely short drive.

He gets nothing.

"You have anything to say to me?" Edward asks.

"Oh, I have plenty to say to you."

"You have nothing… positive to say to me?"

Bella snorts. "After you spent the car ride irritating me, and then launching into a diatribe of sex euphemisms?"

Oh right. Forgot about that. Edward sighs. He wasn't necessarily expecting a parade in his honor, just some sort of acknowledgment that he is, in fact, on her side. (Unless they're alone, in which case, it's every man for himself.)

"Well, here's something positive," Bella begins. He brightens for a moment. "I'm positive you're an idiot after that spiel about coffee in Charlie's office." And any lingering wish Edward had for peace is shattered—mostly because he subjected himself to humiliation via idiocy for her.

By then, they have reached the diner (Forks is really small), and the thin veil of formality and cordiality between them has completely lifted. They silently slide into opposite sides of a booth, glaring at each other, but not saying a word.

The waitress, who stops by their table at that point, fresh pot of coffee in hand, has no idea of the war zone she's stepped into. "Coffee?"

Bella declines but Edward says, "Yes, please. Black."

"Like his heart," she mutters.

The waitress frowns at the seemingly unearned insult as she pours, but all she asks is, "Going to have a late breakfast? What would you like? Eggs?"

"Yes, two eggs," Edward says, flashing a polite smile at her. "Sunny side up. Like my personality."

Bella rolls her eyes. "I'll have eggs, as well. Two, over easy." Her head jerks away from the waitress toward Edward, and she cuts him off. "Don't say it, Edward."

He doesn't really need to, Bella. You've done it for him.

But any further nastiness is cut off by the sight outside their window. A young, cocoa-skinned man has pulled up right onto the lawn in front of the diner. He scurries out of his dark grey van and climbs on top, nearly falling and slamming his jaw on the side view mirror. He stands on the roof of the van and begins to shout.

"Lauren! Lauren!" There is the sound of clattering dishes. Edward turns towards the noise and sees their waitress rush to the front window.

"Tyler? What are you doing?" she screeches.

"What I should have done after that night of sensual lovemaking!" he yells back. Bella looks at Lauren. First she goes white, eyes darting around to see who heard that revelation. Then she goes red with the realization that everybody heard it. But Tyler's not done. Not by a long shot. "I should have told you after our passion-filled rendezvous that you… are amazing. I can't stop thinking about you. You complete me."

"That's from Jerry Maguire!" someone in the back yells. "At least get your own material."

But Tyler isn't deterred by his lack of originality. "And I'm going to show you how committed I am to you. To us!" He begins to unbutton his shirt.

"Tyler, no! Please don't take off your clothes!" Lauren yells back. Several people agree with her request, but Tyler merely continues to unbutton his orange and pink Hawaiian-print shirt, and pulls the left side over his shoulder to reveal a tattoo of a… gremlin?

At least that's what it looks like to Edward until Tyler clarifies, "I got your face tattooed. Over my heart. Because that's where you live, Lauren—in my heart. Forever. That's why it says 'Lauren 4-Eva' below." He helpfully points out the writing under the picture of Lauren.

"Oh. I thought that was a beard," Edward says. His eyes are unable to leave the wreck of a scene in front of him as he drolly intones to Bella, "Are you as turned on as I am right now?"

"How turned on is that?"

"Less than not at all."

"Oh yes, definitely."

"Lauren? You better get that boy out of here," a soft, yet nonetheless stern voice cuts through all the din and chatter. Lauren nods and scampers, muttering, "Yes, Esme," as she passes by a gently aged, rather stunning woman, with toasted walnut-colored hair and warm eyes.

Bella turns back to Edward. "What's our method of action here? Grab him and try to get some information out of him, or head to our rooms and run some prelim tests?"

Their attention is snatched away as Tyler, in an attempt to rush to Lauren, falls down off the top of his van, but quickly jumps up, embarrassed and asserting, "I'm alright, I'm cool. I'm cool."

Almost in unison, Bella and Edward both say, "Prelim tests."

So they leave, and a few minutes later, check into the luxuriously lavish, six room property that is the Forks Inn. Conveniently, all they have are four single rooms and two bedrooms with a connecting door between them.

Guess which ones Edward and Bella get?

Because life is predictable, and maybe this story is too, Edward and Bella are given the two connecting rooms. They separate to clean up and unpack, and within a few minutes they are back to business, finishing up the requisite paperwork and mandatory bureau formalities. Bella has changed into new clothes—just jeans and a t-shirt—and rolls her eyes to see that Edward has changed into a fresh suit.

Currently, they stand on either side of the open door that connects their rooms. When Edward suggested they finish their initial round of paperwork in his room, Bella shot the suggestion down. Of course, when Bella suggested they do it in her room, Edward retaliated in kind (with a double entendre, of course). So now they both stand, laptops in one hand, finger typing with the other, refusing to compromise. It's funny how often stubbornness and stupidity overlap.

"You think it could be a disease or something?" Edward asks, trying to balance on one leg as he rests his computer on his knee while thumbing through the case file.

Bella looks at him, eyebrow arched, and smirks at his juggling act. "Are you serious?"

"No, I'm not serious. I was just setting up for a 'the town is lovesick' joke."

"Clever." She says it sarcastically, but secretly, she thinks it kind of is. She quickly grabs the end of his laptop as it slides down the side of his leg and holds it for him until he finds the page he was looking for.

"For your entertainment, partner." He smiles, full lips stretched thin and enticing.

Bella frowns. "I hate the way you say that."

"What, 'partner'? What's wrong with the way I say 'partner', partner?"

"Your tone implies the word 'sexual' should be in front of it."

"Once upon a time, that wouldn't have been completely wrong."

"Don't say 'once upon a time'. We were not a fairy tale."

"What, you think this is my idea of a happily ever after? It was just a turn of phrase, partner."

"You said that different."

"Well, you told me you didn't want me to call you 'Swan'. So I changed it. Now you tell me you don't like my tone. So I changed it. Contrary to what you believe, I don't attempt to annoy you." She fixes a look on him. "Alright, I don't always attempt to annoy you."

"Yet you always manage to."

"Oh, the zingers, partner! I feel like I'm in a shooting range."

"Now it's more like partner... in crime."

"Well you are my partner in solving crime."

"I don't think what we're investigating could be considered a crime."

"Anything that makes anyone act the way Rosalie and Tyler did, should be," Edward reasons. Bella, for once, can't argue.

Slowly, as they go about their work, they find a middle ground, even though their conversation is constricted and rigid, not veering away from the case even once. She doesn't like it—this lack of deviation on the job. One of her favorite things about her work is the human aspect of it—even when she's studying creatures and chasing demons, there's always a personality to be dealt with, a human aspect to the monster. And of course, there's the human partner, whether Edward or someone else, who she gets to share it all with. She doesn't know if she'd like her job half as much without that.

But she doesn't know if she's ready to be buddies with Edward. Their jabs and insults may be the most she can handle right now—it still stings a little too much, what happened between them, and after what happened with Jake, she's not ready to let her guard down at all. Not to mention the fact that, even with all his words, Edward hasn't really said anything about what happened between them. He, like her, treats this hostility as if it were innate between them, rather than borne of recent events.

"So…" Bella says, not knowing how to segue into a conversation with Edward that doesn't reek of belligerence. She wants to say something that will let him know that, while she's not ready to be friends or anything, she understands that they are working together and should attempt to get along. And that she may be slightly sorry for outright calling him an idiot earlier. "You didn't give me shit when Charlie mentioned probation. You totally could have. You could have told him."

Yeah, Bella, that's not it. Especially not in that (unintentionally) provoking tone.

Maybe because he's tired, or maybe because he's trying, Edward doesn't take the bait. "Yeah, well, we're on this one together. There's no point in undermining you. Our jobs are joined now." Immediately, he can't help but think that the last time their jobs were joined, there was a whole lot of other stuff they joined too. "Here, plug this in so I can turn it on?" He hands her the Discerner, used to detect the presence of airborne magic.

"True, but I think I have more at stake here," Bella says, as she undoes the ties and pieces the machinery together. "Forget probation or getting fired—I mess this up, and Aro'll slit my throat."

"Probably with Occam's razor," Edward mutters.

"What?"

He sighs. "You over-complicate things. Everything. Simple things. You can never take things at face value." He hands her a background research article on top-secret, highly complicated behavior modification and personality alteration cases, and then he says, "I don't get why."

Bella puts the sheaf of papers and her laptop down. She could argue with him, but she wants to stay focused. She was trying to say something to him, before he distracted her by being infuriating. "I just meant... you could have totally embarrassed me and told Charlie his daughter had messed up."

"I have nothing to gain from belittling you in front of Charlie. You always assume the worst of me," Edward says. He, too, puts his stuff down and grabs the Sourceror 3000, another device, used to categorize the nature of detected magic.

"You haven't exactly been benevolent."

"Well, that's because you've been pretty hostile."

"You're the one that brought up Jacob in the car!"

"You're the one that... if you hadn't been with that thing, I wouldn't have had anything to bring up!"

"Oh you've got to be—" Beeeeep, "—ing kidding me!"

Beeeep. The machine signals again as if trying to alert Bella that it has completed its analysis, but aside from shooting it a withering glare, as if it is the reason for her rage, she doesn't make a move to see the results, simply continuing, "There wouldn't have been anything to do if you hadn't left!"

"I left for work! How was I supposed to turn down the opportunity to track Medusa? You know how rare a sighting is? You know what it meant for my career that the department asked me?" He's not going to tell her that once he was on his tracking assignment, he was miserable, both from the nature of his job—not at all his forte—and from leaving her behind. He's not going to tell her that he actually called up Aro to request to have Bella reassigned to the case with him, only to find out that she was suspended because she'd been personally involved with one of the subjects of her investigation—Jacob, he clarifies as he inwardly shudders—a little more than month after Edward had left.

"It wasn't about turning down the opportunity. I wouldn't have expected that," Bella says evenly, but then her tone becomes emotional. "It was about giving me a little more than three hours' worth of notice that you were abandoning me, both professionally and personally!"

"You didn't seem to care too much—you certainly bounced back fast!"

"How would you know? You weren't there! You don't know anything about what happened after you left."

He's about to just lay all his cards on the table and reveal that he, in fact, does know—and more infuriatingly, that he had to find out from Alec of all people, but the machine beeps again, even more insistently than before. He takes it as a sign to retreat. He doesn't feel like fighting this battle, hates the nausea that rolls in his gut when he thinks about her and someone else, hates the lines of hurt that mar her pretty face right now, hates this red hue of resentment that colors their every interaction. Neither are malicious people, and he loathes how their presence now brings out the worst in each other. He can only find solace that this is in their personal interactions; professionally, they seem to be doing okay—even if he conveniently ignores that that is a rather preemptive diagnosis, considering they've only been on the case for two days.

So instead he walks over and prints out the results from the two devices and reads them. "It's not airborne," he says, holding up the results from one machine before flipping to the other. "But this confirms it—Forks is indeed in the throes of a town-wide love spell."


As always, thanks for reading. So you probably guessed before the end of the chap, but now you know just what is going on in Forks. And the Tyler thing is as cracky as this story'll get, promise.
I think.

Anyway, The Fictionators recced OM,WF! Thank you, ladies! If you've seen this rec or recced it yourself, tell/remind me? I have rewards.
I'm gonna continue to thank famouslyso for the beautiful banner she made me:
http:/ / bit. ly/ bFSE8O.

RL has been nutso, so I apologize for taking so long to update but also for not getting to review replies-sometimes it literally comes down to writing or replying and i figured you guys would prefer the former. RL also took quothme away but I'm SO lucky to have the lovely amerymarie step in. As always, moondreamer333 is the moony to my padfoot . I love daisy3853 for floating like a butterfly, and stinging like a bee.

if you've not heard it yet, you guys are awesome.