Moonlightdreamer333 & Amerymarie betaed this so fast and on xmas weekend. Awesome isn't even the word. Daisy3853 is the Riggins to my Street, even though I'm pretty sure Riggins can't preread like her. Or read even.
Mistakes are all, always mine. And FF word count is lying again.
Chapter Eight.
All Out of Love.
Out of love. Not in it. Definitely not in love. Nope.
You know some thing is wrong when you can summarize the progress of a relationship in Simon & Garfunkel songs. If last night was all about building a Bridge Over Troubled Water, then today, there is only the Sound of Silence. This morning, all is not as smooth as it was the night previous. You'd think that now, with most of their dirty laundry aired out and that little truce from the night before, Edward and Bella would finally function like normal people around each other instead of the humanized version of Tom & Jerry they've been playing.
You'd think wrong. When they emerge the next morning, ready for yet another full day of fantastical Forks fuckery, it's with shy, bashful smiles, darting glances, and to complete the cliché, even a little foot shuffling.
To an extent, Edward and Bella's tentativeness is understandable. The first part of their relationship was expressed physically. Then it was expressed angrily. Now, with neither sex nor grudges to guide their interaction, they are flailing a bit, testing the waters to see if they will sink or swim in this new situation.
But there is something in the air this morning, that makes both of them cheery, despite the gloomy weather looming in front of them, and their silence is accompanied by smiles.
Maybe it is because the Ghost of Break-ups Past has stopped hanging over them, but Bella can admit, easily and even happily, that there were good times—a lot of them—and that she wrongly colored her memories with the garish hues of regret. There were soft moments, pretty and happy, like when Edward would kiss her ear instead of her lips; or when he named the freckle underneath her left breast; or when she'd wake up to the disappointment of an empty, cooling bed only to have it tempered by the sweetness of a fresh cup of steaming coffee by the bedside.
What Edward has always done so well, the thing that has undone her many a time, is to bring some sweet to his sultry spice. He blazes and burns, consuming and scorching, but the warmth underneath it all is gentle, not destructive.
So when they get to the car and he crosses over to hold the driver's side door open for her, not only in a demonstration of chivalry but a surrender in their daily battle as to who will drive, she can't help but smile, something rarely achieved before she has her first cup of coffee.
"My, my," she says, her teasing tone lending a lilt to her voice, "looks like I've spotted the rarest creature of them all this morning." She slides into the car, but Edward doesn't close the door, confused by her words.
"What creature?"
She grins at him, and lets it rest on her face even as she faces forward and turns the key in the ignition. "The gentleman," she answers and shuts the door.
It takes him a moment, but when he gets it, his smile warms her more than a cup of coffee ever could.
A few minutes later, when they are seated in the booth that has become their usual, Edward points out, "Hey, there's Carlisle. You ready for some mooning glances between him and Esme?"
"They're so obvious, I don't know how the whole town doesn't see it," Bella remarks. As if his body senses the ridiculous lack of self-awareness in their exchange even if Edward doesn't, he lets out a sneeze, punctuating the conversation.
However, both agents' attentions are still directed outside the window where, instead of heading into the diner, Carlisle has ducked around the side of the building, and out of view. Moments later, Esme almost knocks into Lauren and her full tray, trying to maneuver a large box through the narrow space behind the counter.
One of the patrons notices her struggle and approaches, trying to take the large, clearly heavy object from her. "Esme, let me help with—"
"No!" she says emphatically. She takes a short breath and calms herself as she swings around, so the object is no longer in reach of the attempted Samaritan. "I'm fine. Please, go back to your food; don't worry about me." She shuffles, with some effort, out of the door.
"Ten bucks says if we go out back, we'll solve this case," Edward declares, before sneezing again.
"Bless you," Bella says, even as they both rush up and out of the diner. But when they get there, there is hide nor hair of Esme and Carlisle. The box Esme was carrying is discarded and empty—or perhaps, emptied, and when Bella picks it up, it is cold to the touch.
"Where the hell did they go?" Edward asks.
She frowns. "I don't know but all I can think is that if Carlisle is a… you know, then he's aware of more Magic than a regular person. It's very likely whatever is going on here can be linked back to him—and Esme, too, I'm willing to bet."
"We need to call headquarters, see if Marcus has him in the registry. And speaking of—what the hell is going on there? No one has called in for a debrief in days," Edward notes.
"Yeah, that's a good point. Let's head back to our rooms and see if we can get anyone on the phone. They haven't even sent us the results of the sample we mailed almost a week ago—usually it only takes a few days."
"Argh," Bella grunts a few minutes later, hopping on one foot as she leans against car, which has just pulled into the Forks' Motel parking lot.
"What's wrong?"
"My foot's asleep." She winces as she takes her shoe off. Edward walks back to her and crouches down. "What are you doing?"
"Just hold still." He pokes at her foot, sending a jolt through her body.
"Ow!" He pokes again. "Edward! Stop that!" He pokes again and she yelps as he grabs her foot when she tries to move it away from him.
"Just hold still, Bella. This'll get rid of the numbness," he says.
"How is poking and irritating me going to bring back the feeling?" Edward doesn't answer, just tightens his grip on her foot and pokes her more. "Jesus, you're a pain in my ass."
Edward grins even as he holds up the finger he is poking her with. "What's that? You have a pain in your ass? I can take care of that for you, too." She rolls her eyes as she looks away but smiles and says 'bless you' as he sneezes again. She doesn't want to admit it, but slowly, by poking and prodding her, Edward has, in fact, brought feeling back.
She means poking and prodding her foot. And that he's bought feeling back into her foot.
Why yes, the metaphor is rather obvious.
A short while later, they're settled in the room. After giving their agent codes to dispatch, they're transferred to Aro's office. And that's where the peculiarities begin. First, Gianna take eight rings to answer.
"That's four rings," Edward declares, somewhat astonished. "Aro would never stand for the phone ringing four times. Where the hell is Gianna?"
"Maybe he fired her," Bella suggests.
"For what?"
"Not answer the phone quickly enough?" They both stop their conversation when someone picks up.
It's look of disbelief Edward gives Bella is nicely paired with the one of confusion she return. They ask to get transferred to Aro, but are put on hold for nearly ten minutes. Then when someone finally picks up, it is Stefan, one of Aro's deputy directors.
"Hello Agent Masen, Agent Swan," he says, polite but hurried.
"Hello, Director Vladek—we were actually hoping to speak with Director Aronson," Edward clarifies.
"Er… yes… Aro—wait hold on one minute." It is actually another four minutes that they are put on hold before yet another deputy director comes on the line. "Masen, Swan," he intones.
"Alistair, we were hoping to speak with Aro," Bella repeats.
"Yes, but at this point in time, that is not possible. We understand that you are long overdue for a debriefing as well as the results from some samples you sent into the lab," Alistair replies, tersely. "Marcus will contact to you in the near future regarding a meeting time. Until then, you carry on with your investigation and submit your daily reports as you have been doing." His tone invites no questions, and Bella and Edward don't get a chance to ask any as he hangs up immediately thereafter.
"What was that?" Edward asks.
"Why is Marcus setting up a meeting? He should be sitting in on it, but I thought we were reporting to Aro with this one."
"Some thing is going on at headquarters."
"Yeah, well, until we actually get to talk to someone for more than thirty seconds, we're not going to find out what. I guess until then, we just sit tight."
"I'm actually going to sleep tight—I'm feeling really tired. We don't have anything scheduled for tonight, do we?" Edward asks.
Bella shakes her head and with that, they separate for the night.
~O~
Bella wakes up late the next morning but judging from the silence next door, Edward isn't up yet. He still isn't moving around when she emerges from her shower. When she knocks quietly on the connecting door and gets no answer, she wonders if he is even in the room at all.
She opens the door and is beholden with a precious sight—Edward, curled up in a tight ball, still sound asleep. She's never, in all the nights she shared his bed, known him to sleep in that position, and as she approaches him, she notices he's shivering rather violently. She presses her palm to his forehead. Edward is hot.
And not the kind of hot he usually is.
He's running a high fever. He wakes slowly, not quite fully, and mutters, "Bella? Keep your hand there, please? It feels really nice."
"Edward, I think you're sick," she informs him. "You've got a fever."
This rouses him. "What? No," he says, barely able to raise his voice above a mumble. "I'm not sick. I don't get sick."
"Edward…"
"No, I'm not. I'm fine; just a little hot. And is it me, or is it really cold in here?"
"Listen to yourself. You just claimed to be hot and then asked if it was cold!"
"I'm fine, Bella, you're just—" he cuts himself off as he attempts to sit up and fails, falling back to the bed. "Okay. I'm dizzy. Not sick. But really dizzy."
Bella can't help but chuckle. "Alright, fine. You're dizzy. You should spend the day resting though—you don't want your… dizziness to get worse."
"I hear you saying dizzy, but meaning 'sick'. If I was sick, could I have…" But he's asleep before he can finish telling Bella whatever it is he could have.
She drives to the drugstore and picks up some medicine, hoping that he's suffering from a twenty-four hour virus as opposed to something more serious. When she returns to his room, he is still fast asleep and still shivering, though this time, he's kicked off his sheets. She tucks him back in, and leaves a note, with instructions on when to take what medicine and what to do to lower his temperature. She's too keyed up and not creepy enough to just sit around and watch him sleep, so she goes to grab some food. Afterward, she's on her way to the station to see Charlie when she's stopped by a familiar and somewhat unwelcome voice.
"Bella, Bella!" James calls.
"Hello, Mr. Herring," she replies politely.
"Did you see what I did there?" he asks, smarmy grin in place.
"Uh… no. What did you do there?"
"Bella Bella! I wasn't saying your name twice! 'Bella' means beautiful in Italian, you know," he says, roving her body with his eyes. There's only one thing worse than a lech, and that is a cheesy lech who thinks he's charming. "Has anyone told you how bella you are?" Make that an unoriginal, cheesy lech who thinks he's charming.
While her ideal retort would be a slap in the face—or maybe a kick right in his Herringbone—Bella simply replies, "Uh, yes."
"I'm sure everyone tells you how pretty you—"
"What can I do for you today, Mr. Herring?"
"Oh, please, call me James. I don't see your gentleman fellow around. Is everything alright?"
"My what?"
"The tall fellow who is normally stuck to you like glue. Always looks like he's going to a funeral. Or a wedding. Or the Oscars."
"Oh, you mean Edward. He's not feeling well. And uh… we're not—he's not—my gentleman—"
"You mean to tell me… you and Edward aren't together?" James asks. It's a loaded question because no, they're not together, but so close they might as well be.
In truth, they've never really been able to define themselves. Whether fighting, flirting or fuc—fornicating, Edward and Bella aren't just people to each other, aren't a relationship or lack thereof. They aren't the sum of the words they speak or the ones they suppress. They're a feeling. For her, they're one of comfort, of home, of the only thing and person she ever really counted on. And even as he grounds her, she sets him free—rolling her eyes at his jokes, but never at him, staying steady and sure although he tends to turn off on tangents, never hesitating to tell him just what is going on in that fascinating mind of hers. They're not the type of people that are perfect for each other; they're utterly, wholly, humanly imperfect apart, and not much better together. That's the fun part.
"Thinking hard?" James interrupts her reverie.
She smiles, more because her thoughts are on Edward than because of the man in front of her. "Hardly thinking. And no, Edward and I aren't, uh, dating. We're just colleagues. And friends." The minute she says it, a leer appears on James' face that makes her regret her words.
"You're alone? Oh, Bella, what a shame. No one—especially not a girl as pretty as you—should be alone. That isn't the way it's supposed to be. Well, now that you're here in Forks, we can set you up. I bet there are men just lined up for you. What do you think?"
What she thinks is that he is strange and suspicious and sleazy. And then he steps closer, puts his hand on her arm and she thinks she wants to shower. "We'll find you a nice man, Bella. I'll dedicate all my efforts to it. A woman as beautiful as you shouldn't be alone."
She steps back. "I'm not alone."
He steps forward. "But if you're not with Edward, then you are alone."
Jeez, voice her innermost insecurities, why don't you?
But if there's one good thing about Bella, it's that she is strong willed and has learned, since the incident, how to protect herself. And so, rather than being hurt on James' cutting words, she's trying to control her anger, which is rising because of his implications and his unwanted proximity.
"I'm fine, James. Your concern is wholly unnecessary," she replies, hoping the ice in her voice will shoo him away. Then he squeezes her arm with a sympathetic expression, and says, "Oh, Bella. It's okay. Everyone deserves someone."
Now Bella Swan has never, and will never, need a man to get out of a situation. She's smart and resourceful, and her sharp tongue and cutting remarks have shooed many a lesser man away. And while James is lesser, he's also stupider and doesn't see the hostility behind her crossed arms or hear the irritation behind her terse answers. She's on the verge of a full blown Bella Swan-song—both inappropriately and appropriately named as there is nothing bella about it, but it is usually the last thing the receiver will ever hear from her, usually the last thing they'll ever want to hear from her. Edward, while never having been on the receiving end, has borne witness to it a few times. Forget grown men like James, Bella's harangue has been known to make giants cry.
So it's safe to say that when a low, male cough interrupts their conversation just as Bella is about to unleash, that—despite appearances—it is more the dumbass who is being rescued than the damsel.
Bella smiles at their interrupter, surprised at how genuinely glad she is to see him. Charlie is surprised by the ease with which she greets him, when just a few days ago, they could barely look at one another. Not for the first time, he silently thanks whatever power (who is, unbeknownst to him, Aro) that allowed him this opportunity. He'd take a hundred love spells and thousands of crazy townspeople just to have the chance to know his child. And her smile says that this is that chance.
"Bella," he greets. No mustache twitch for her. She gets a full blown smile from her father—quite rare considering that neither Swan is really a grinner. The smile drops as soon as his look turns to James. There is a detached, intimidating iciness in Charlie's voice when he greets James that makes the man drop his hand from Bella's arm immediately. Bella is surprised she recognizes it—it's a look she has used before.
"Chief Swan! I was just chatting with your daughter!" James replies, oily smile not wavering. It drips down and falls a little when Charlie deliberately steps closer to Bella, forcing James to take a step back.
"Were you?" It is amazing the amount of formidable suspicion Charlie puts into two syllables. It's not something that can be learned in Chief school.
"Uh, yes. I was just telling her how lovely it is that she's come to our town."
"Really?" But this time, his question is warm and directed to the angry, yet amused brown eyes that are the mirror image of his own.
"Well, that wasn't quite it," Bella says, stoking the fire of James' fear a little more.
"Was it, Mr. Herring?"
"Well, no. I was just telling her to call me James."
"And?"
"Oh, and that a girl as lovely as she is should be in a town as lovely as this," James says, trying too hard to affect a casual smile.
"With her lovely father," Charlie supplies.
"Yes. Exactly. With her f-father." Perhaps seeing how similar Charlie and Bella look in that moment, stern mouths in a line, each with one eyebrow arched, James falters and takes a step away from them.
"Kind of how you should be with your lovely wife, the lovely Victoria," Charlie suggests. Bella balks for a moment at the thought that he is married—he may not have been outright about it but she knows he was hitting on her.
"Oh, you know what? I think it's about dinner time," James says hurriedly. He looks at his wrist—there's no watch on it but still he says, "Yup, I'm late." And he quite literally scampers off.
Bella and Charlie share another smile before he clears his throat and the awkwardness seeps in. It is so typically Swan—to be instinctual and at ease when working, and completely the opposite without the guise of their jobs to lead them.
"So, I was thinking… uh, maybe you would like to join me for dinner. A break from diner food," Charlie asks. He hides behind that excuse for a second before summoning his courage. He'll be damned if, after all these years, he's just going to beat around the bush. Still, that's easier thought than said, so his words are nervous and frail. "It would be a nice opportunity to spend a little time together."
"Sure." It's something beyond politeness and deeper than instinct that propels those words out of her mouth without thinking. It's a chance for something she never even knew she could have—a father. They part after making plans and Bella can't help but look forward to the evening a bit.
Closer to the dinner, however, that feeling fades away into an erratic nervousness as she paces in front of Edward. He's up after having slept most of the day away, but his fever still rages on. He sits on the edge of the bed, eyebrows raised, eyes following her back and forth, to and fro, as she works herself into a tizzy.
"I mean, what was I thinking? I barely know him. We're going to have nothing to talk about. This is seriously going to be the most awkward dinner since the Pilgrims invited—"
"Bella," he says, trying to break through her agitated soliloquy. She's pacing even faster now, and combined with the light-headed, airy feeling of his fever, it's making him all too dizzy.
"You know, this is all Aro's fault. If he'd never assigned us to this case, then I wouldn't have to deal with all this," she rambles on. It doesn't miss Edward's attention that she only bemoans being assigned to duty in Forks, not with him. That makes him more light-headed than even the fever could, but in a whole new way.
But Bella is the Energizer Bunny of rants, and she is still going on and on and on. "I mean, he does this—you know he does this. He plays with people's lives, toys with their emotions. He totally set this situation up, took me off desk duty so that I could—"
"Get to know your father." Bella stops short, right in front of him, and turns to face him, wide eyed.
"Oh, God, Edward. I'm a terrible person. I'm getting this chance that so many people want—to get to know their dad—and all I can do is complain. What is wrong with me?" She's wailing a bit and he just can't handle it. Bella is not a wailer, and he is not Moby Dick.
Poor Melville humor aside, he knows, in that way that only Edward knows Bella, that she needs to calm down. So he stands, albeit slightly wobbly and more than a little woozy, and puts his hands on her shoulders, cringing on her behalf over how clammy and warm they are. When she still doesn't calm down, he does gently places one palm over her mouth and begins speaking soothing words.
But Bella has barely realized Edward is speaking. She's too enraptured by sensation of his skin against her lips and she can't help but think of how long it's been since she's kissed anybody. This isn't even a kiss, just his palm against her mouth to stop her prattling, but how does that line from Romeo and Juliet go? "And palm to palm is holy's palmer's kiss." Too bad, old Will never wrote anything about palm to lips. Whatever else the move may incite in her, it's effective in halting her rant and mollifying her.
"… be okay, Bella. He's a good guy, he just wants to get to know—" Edward breaks off abruptly as her eyes meet his. Everything that needs to be said is right there, and he smiles at her as he lowers his hand. She smiles back and he knows his girl is going to be all right.
There's no need for you germaphobes to worry about contagion—it's rather clear whatever affliction he has, she's got it too.
Realizing she'll be late if she doesn't tear herself away from Edward right now, Bella does so, with great reluctance, and spouting words of caution. "Take a shower, it may help break your fever. And drink lots and lots of liquids. And you'll feel really hot but bundle up because—"
"Bella," he says, gently, halting her riotous instructions.
"I know, I know—you'll be fine."
"I know you'll be fine, too."
And they don't say goodbye as she leaves, still smiling sweetly with a small amount of sorrow over having to part at all.
~O~
As Bella arrives at Charlie's house, the realization hits her that this was her first home. Having left as a baby, she has no memories of it, and it makes her a little sad. She is relieved, however, when Charlie doesn't make any comment about that, simply telling her that he's made stroganoff for dinner from a recipe from Paula Deen.
"Paula Deen?" Bella asks.
"I have a weakness for the Food Network," he admits sheepishly and she laughs.
"I would have never pegged you for a Paula Deen kind of guy."
"I know! Can you imagine the shame if this got around town? Let's keep it our secret, alright? No one else needs to know," Charlie states, in a tone of mock conspiracy, and Bella nods, smiling. It's the first thing that only she knows about her father and silly as it is, it makes her feel closer to him.
"Of course," she says.
"I mean, I watch sports too, y'know," he adds quickly. "In fact… there's a Mariners game on right now. You wouldn't mind if we watched while we ate, would you?"
She actually doesn't, relieved that the television can provide a source of conversation and commiseration. "I'm not much of a baseball fan," Bella admits.
"Oh. Oh! Well, I mean, we don't have to watch the game, we can watch something—"
"No, no," Bella says, inwardly cringing at their inability to communicate smoothly. "I meant, maybe… maybe you could explain to me what's going on? I mean, if that's not too annoying."
Mustache twitch. "Not annoying at all." And so, over a delicious meal, Charlie explains the ins and outs—or rather, the innings and outs—of the game. "See, now this guy, he's what we call a 'forced out.' The guy who was just at bat—"
"That's Bradley?" Bella clarifies.
"Yes, Bradley," Charlie says. He pauses to grin at her ability to pick up the game quickly. "So Bradley is already on first base, but the guy who was on second base, Hernandez, didn't think he'd make it to third, so he stayed put. Which means the guy in the middle, Pauley, is forced out."
"Because he has no choice, he has no way to get on a base."
"Yes, exactly."
"But that's so unfair! He goes out because someone else made the decision not to take a chance. It's not his fault at all! He had no choice!" Bella argues.
Charlie smiles sadly. "That's baseball." Charlie thinks sadly, That's life.
The evening passes quickly, a sign of how easy father and daughter find spending time together. Before they know it, Bella is taking leftovers and excusing herself to go check on Edward.
"You know… Edward, he's not a bad guy—a little overdressed, but he really cares for you, which is all you can want in someone," Charlie says.
Bella wonders if there is anyone in town who doesn't think she and Edward are together. "Oh, Edward and I are not…we're not dating. We're just colleagues and friends."
"Oh, well, I apologize. But I guess what I said still stands. He seems like a good guy."
"He really is. I'm beginning to see that now," she says, talking about more than Edward. "Thank you, dinner was great."
"You're welcome back anytime. And bring Edward when he's feeling better—but he can't wear a suit to dinner," Charlie jokes.
"Oh, well then, good luck getting him to come at all," she retorts. They enjoy an amicable laugh before Bella heads home.
When she comes back to the motel, it is with a full stomach, a light heart and a buoyed mood, and the only person she wants to see is the one in the next room. She doesn't knock, and while she pretends it is because she is in much too good a mood for manners, it may really be because she's hoping to find Edward freshly showered and in some state of undress.
He is the former, but not the latter, but even that can't bring her down. Edward looks adorable and boyish, t-shirt dark around the neck from where his wet hair has dampened it.
"Hey."
"Hey!"
"I take it dinner went well," Edward surmises from her smile.
He doesn't expect the grin he gets back, but is happy to see it nonetheless. "It did. How are you feeling?"
"Much better. My fever broke in the shower—"
"I told you."
"You told me." He beams back. Her mood is more infectious than the mood of his infection. "I don't feel sick anymore, just really tired. I think I'm just going to go to bed."
"Oh." Her tone plummets. "Okay."
"I mean… I'm not really sleepy, though," he hastens to add.
"Can I just hang out here for a bit?" she asks. "I don't want to be alo—I'm just in the mood to hang out."
"Sure." He shuffles around the things on the top of the dresser, searching for something as Bella sits down on his bed gingerly. She watches him for a few moments before scooting up and settling her back against the headboard.
"I have a hair dryer if you need it," she offers.
"Huh? No, I was just looking for—never mind, I found it," he says, triumphantly, holding up a tube of something. "I'm not drying my hair, but thanks."
"You have to dry your hair! You're going to catch a cold—or, uh, catch more of a cold, since you already have one," she amends.
"I'm pretty sure that's an old wives' tale."
"I don't care! You're already sick, why risk it?"
"I'm really not in the mood to blast my head with scorching amounts of heat right now."
"At least, towel-dry it."
"Bella, I can barely stand up." She doesn't miss that despite his visible fatigue, he still agreed to spend some time with her.
"Oh, you big baby. Give me your towel and come lie down. Put your head here, face down," she instructs, patting one of her thighs as she sits crossed-legged on the bed. Her eyes go wide when she realizes what she's implied, and wider when she sees Edward is too exhausted to make a lewd comment about it. Instead, he grabs a pillow and places it in her lap before flopping down, his head, per her instructions, on it.
Edward behaving with propriety? He must be wiped out. Of course, he'd have to be dead before not making a wisecrack of any sort, so it's inevitable that he says, "This isn't some covert way of trying to smother me to death, is it?"
She chuckles. "Don't be silly, I wouldn't do that." She pauses, his shoulders relax and he sinks more fully into the bed before she continues. "Not while you were sick. That's just mean."
She can hear his muffled laugh in the pillow. "Of course. Not while I'm sick." Bella picks up the towel and gently begins working it through his hair, rubbing slowly and soothingly. It's rather ineffective at drying his thick hair but effectual in calming the tenseness that radiates off him. She thinks he might be more stressed over being sick than from the sickness itself, and it makes her smile. Edward tries so hard to hide his weaknesses around her, and today, she's willing to prolong his delusion that he actually does.
The low rumble of contentment she feels, more than hears, through the pillow makes her smile even wider. This may be the closest Bella comes to taking care of anyone else—and he's okay with that. He's far too independent, too stubborn to be the kind of guy who wants to be coddled. He'd rather be challenged. Only now, sick, a little bit lovesick, and therefore vulnerable, does he feel the need to be comforted. She's doing that for him, and the only person she ever does it for is him. Edward revels in this knowledge, in being the exception to her many rules, in being the chink in her defensive, sharp-tongued armor, in being her Achilles' heel. In being hers.
When she pulls off the towel, he braces himself to be kicked unceremoniously from this position of bliss he's being treated too. Instead, she puts her fingers in his hair, and he can't control his hum of delight, not knowing that she enjoys combing and parting the soft, drying strands as much as he enjoys her fingers on his scalp.
But he's not Edward if he's not pushing his luck, so he flips over, mumbling and grumbling like a little boy that he can't breathe properly. This time, it is Bella who thinks that he's going to get up but instead he just lays down on his back, and looks up at her expectantly.
He is just as handsome upside down, and just as haughty. "Continue," he demands, reaching up and blindly groping for her hands until he finds them and places them back on his head. She tugs one of his ears playfully, eliciting a closed-eyed smile from him, before doing exactly as he demanded.
When he speaks, it is slurred with relaxation, sloppy with a sleepy euphoria. "I always loved when you did this."
Bella's gaze roams over his face, watching his closed eyes—long lashes dark against his face, smile small but so sweet. His nose is slightly red from the cold he's caught, and his forehead is still damp and a little clammy from the heat of his shower, and she's making an utter mess of his hair, but she doesn't think he's ever looked lovelier.
And then he manages to when he opens his glassy green eyes and stares up at her. He places his hand on her wrist and traces it up her arm, then shoulder, finally letting it rest on the side of her neck.
"I should probably let you sleep—your fever's broken so you'll be fine, but you're so tired," she babbles, her words rushing out, but it doesn't stop her from placing her hand on his, her other hand tracing a finger gently over the tired bags under his eyes. He says nothing just puts pressure on her neck, making her bend so she is closer. So her face is closer. So her lips are closer.
Her hair falls around them like a curtain and they are in their own world, nothing but the warmth of his hand on her neck, the coolness of her breath falling over him, the crackling combination of attraction and affection in the air.
"Bella," he says, so softly it is barely a breath. "I want to kiss you."
"Okay."
"Okay?"
"Yes." She leans down further. "But I think I'm the one kissing you."
His chuckle is cut off midway when she places her lips on his, her nose brushing his chin in this upside down, over easy position that is so strange, so sweet—so them. She pulls away, less than a millimeter to smile, just for a second before moving down again, pressing their lips together more firmly as he strokes the length of her neck with his thumb. The kiss is caressing, careful, caring, just his bottom lip on her top one, his top lip on her bottom one, and nothing but bliss in between.
funny thing: that 24 hour flu+fever that Edward caught this chapter? I totally wrote it... and then caught it too. except it's lasted for five days. blech.
but wow. wow. holy... wow. you guys were wonderful. thanks so much for reading. I love reading your reviews. I hoped you enjoyed the silly little outtake. (if you reviewed and didn't get it, do let me know.) if you're interested, reviews this time get the first time Bella and Edward meet :)
See you next year, guys! Stay awesome.
