Hugs and kisses to susayq. Thank you darlin'

Disclaimer in chapter 1. Any mistakes you find are mine...

This chapter is shorter so there'll be a mini update on Sunday, March 6th, with the next regular update on Friday the 11th.


December 2008

"Are you going home to Chicago to see your dad for Christmas?" Bella sat on the floor and plugged in a string of multicolored lights, frowning when only one-third of the strand decided to cooperate. "Huh. I thought that if one didn't work it wouldn't affect the rest. Stupid lights." Her legs stretched out in front of her as she leaned back on one hand, the other rubbing a tiny patch on her knee that she'd missed with her razor. "I give up," she sighed as she shoved the lights away with her foot.

"I'll get more," Edward murmured. He flipped through a notebook of handwritten recipes, pausing every once in a while to fold down a corner. "Hey, which one sounds better for the special? A Holly Berry… that's gin with raspberry… or a Crantini… which is exactly what it sounds like."

"Crantini."

Edward nodded and turned to the large chalkboard on the wall beside the bar. He made a show of rolling his shoulders and wiggling his fingers before he started to draw. Grinning, she brought a knee up to rest her chin and settled back to watch, fairly entertained as he stuck his tongue out in concentration. Her gaze slipped from the curve of his lips to the strong flutter in his throat and then, almost against her will, down to the sliver of underwear peeking out at the top of his jeans. She felt prickly and hot and forced herself to stare at the tops of her sensible shoes until she was sure he wouldn't notice her flush. By the time she raised her head he'd drawn and erased several pathetic attempts at a martini glass… and was now adorably frustrated.

"Did you hear my question?" She asked, as she bumped him out of the way.

"Yeah," Edward folded his arms, watching her fingers fly with the chalk. "How do you do that?

She smiled shyly and finished with a flourish. "So. Chicago?"

"Are you staying here?"

"And where would I go?" She said wryly.

"Why are we talking in questions?"

"God, you're impossible. Edward, it's a simple answer. Yes or no."

"Let's do a little bartering. Negotiating," he said, watching her closely.

"Negotiate what exactly?"

"You know, the scoop. The lowdown. You want to know something about me… well, I want the same in return."

Bella stiffened, but made an effort to shrug her shoulders indifferently. She glanced toward the door out of the corner of her eye.

Edward chuckled. "No, no, no… you can't leave now." He lazed against the bar. "You promised you'd help with the decorations."

"Fine," she said, waving her hand for him to get on with it. "Since you inexplicably find me so interesting, by all means. Negotiate." The box of Christmas decorations suddenly needed her full attention. She stomped the four steps to the table so he would have no problem knowing exactly how much she hated being maneuvered. She faced him with arms crossed over her chest, her hip stuck out and a scowl on her face, the official posture of Fuck You and the Horse You Rode in On. "Just so you know," she said coldly, "you have no leverage. I could care less where or when you go or even if you go at all." She sat down with a huff.

Edward's eyebrows shot up, barely holding in a snort of laughter. "I love it when you get testy with me, Swan. You can pout all you want." He lurched in her direction with his arms out, a beach-dwelling Frankenstein. "There will be no escape," he droned.

Nothing. Not even a smile. He walked slowly to where she was trying her best to ignore him, noting the slump of her shoulders. "Come on," he said softly, watching her dig through the box. He nudged her foot with his own as he sat down. "Don't you trust me? I already know all the important things about you… favorite color… Stones or Beatles…" he leaned in close to whisper, "you have all that vodka under the kitchen sink…"

Bella's head flew up, mouth hanging open in a laughable "o".

Edward pressed his lips together to hold in his glee. "I know! A gallon, Swan? Really? And it's not even good vodka either."

She finally smiled. "Shut up," she sighed.

"It's time to tell me all your secrets. I usually give about a six-month friendly grace period and you're way over that. The pancake story could only last so long," he teased, leaning back in his chair.

"I said it was fine. I don't mean to be so… secretive, I guess. So go ahead and ask." Her tone shifted from exasperated to something harder and she narrowed her eyes. "I get veto though."

Edward rubbed his chin and studied her. She was going to fight him, he could tell. "Okay. Just so you know, I never wanted it to be this clinical. Let me get you a drink… it's happy hour somewhere right?"

"No. Come on."

He sighed, frowning, trying to listen to all the things she wasn't saying. "I don't know; now I feel stupid," he said, tracing the grain on the table with a fingertip. He hadn't taken his eyes off her. "I was just wondering about your family and where they were… your parents, mostly. It sounded like you were really close to your dad."

She shrugged. "Charlie, my dad… he was a policeman. He was killed in the line of duty when I was eight. My mom Renee remarried when I was seventeen."

Bella's father…killed. He took a deep breath. Of course something like that had happened. Before he knew what he was doing he'd leaned forward and startled her by grabbing her hands.

"Hold on… you're not giving me very much to go on, Swan. Elaborate," he pressed, seeing too late the hostility that flashed in her eyes.

"Why? Are you writing your book?" She pried her fingers out of his grasp and backed away where he couldn't touch her. "Let me guess," she hissed. "You need a pitiful character with a tragic family history and you want to use me as your model."

"What? No!" he said immediately, appalled, waiting for her to see the sincerity in his face. But she'd closed her eyes, probably hoping he'd disappear or forget about this whole thing. He debated on whether to let it go but more than anything he just wanted her to talk to him.

"You think you have a tragic past?" he asked.

"Everyone has a past… don't they?" She tugged her hair, hiding her face from him. "What do you want from me, Edward?"

"I want to know you, Bella," he pushed, "really know you. Maybe if you talk about-"

"But why?" She cut in, looking at him earnestly. "There's no good reason to bring all this up. Neither you nor anybody else can change what's already happened. Why can't we just keep moving forward?"

He reached for her hand again but she stayed out of reach. "I just— there are parts of you…" he shifted in his seat, raking his hand through his hair. Finally he sat up straighter and squared his shoulders. "Part of you is hurt. I don't know why or what happened but I don't think you've ever had a shoulder to cry on, and-"

"A shoulder-?" she said with an incredulous laugh, "I don't need a shoulder to cry on. The last thing I want is to drag all my crap out to let some rubbernecker satisfy their morbid curiosity about why timid little Bella can't function like a normal human being." She was slightly hunched as she held herself tight, like her heart would spill and leak all over the floor if she relaxed her arms.

"Is that what you think of me?" The flash of pain that crossed his face was gone in an instant. "Damn it, Bella, I can see what you're doing and it's not gonna work with me."

Her eyes blazed as she lifted her chin. "It's none of your business."

"It is my business because I-" His eyes went wide as he abruptly stopped, clenching his fists. He shot out of his chair and stalked to the window, staring out at the water. "Why can't I touch you without you acting like something horrible will happen? You flinch whenever I get too close."

"I should have known all this was about something you wanted."

"Bella…" he warned in a low voice, his anger gathering, hands fisting on the windowsill. It was an effort to keep still but he did, because if he turned around he might shake her 'til her teeth rattled.

"Fine, something happened but I can't talk about it, Edward. I have never and will never talk about it. Don't ask me to," Bella said, her tone freezing the air around them.

"When you were sick, you had nightmares that fucking broke my heart," Edward muttered, still gazing outside. "You talked in your sleep. You cried in your sleep." He turned to meet her eyes. She looked taken aback at the anguish on his face. "You fought and kicked and cried for your dad and for someone named Rosie. You cried for help and… for someone to stop hurting you." He swallowed heavily. His chest ached. "Bella, please," he whispered, "I want to help you."

She stood so quickly her chair fell over. It felt like sawdust was in her mouth. Even if she'd wanted to speak she wouldn't have been able to. Time to go. Her head swam and for a moment she really thought she might throw her lunch up all over the nice hardwood floor. Get out of there, Bella. Run. She didn't want to cry in front of him, not Edward. If she started she might never stop.

Edward watched her with impassioned eyes but didn't move. It killed him to see her trembling, white as a sheet, eyes glazed. He was so over his head with this. Whatever her secrets were they were literally eating her alive. He was no psychiatrist but he knew that she needed to talk about it… whatever it was… or it would always be there, between her and him and any progress they could make. She backed away, escaping, alarm and panic rolling off her. God, he felt like a monster.

"Bella."

She came around to the sound of his voice; stumbling slightly and that seemed to clear her head. "Rosalie was my sister," she said, her hand gripping the doorknob like a lifeline. By the tremor in her voice he could tell she was about to cry.

Edward gulped and stayed very still. "Was?"

"I need time," she rasped, "please, I need time to think. To think about all of this."

He found his voice. "Whatever you need. I'm sorry."

Nodding slowly, she walked out in a daze. After the door closed Edward laid his head on the table, breathing deeply. After a minute he sat up, wondering when the table had gotten wet. Then he realized the wetness had come from him.


It just made more sense to end it there... A little more from Edward on Sunday.

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